#thomallyweek

“Really, Thomas?” Gally grits out, blue eyes pinning Thomas with his most hateful glare. Huh. Thomas hasn’t seen that look directed to him in… years. He actually misses it, come to think of it. He misses the Gally who can’t stand the sight of him. He misses the aggressive banters, the punches they easily threw around. What Thomas would give just to go back to that. Those were much simpler times. “You brought him to my party?”

As it is, this is Thomas’s reality now. Anyway, looks like the animosity is back all the same. He just got to… maintain it this time. He can’t let it slip into… whatever it slipped into the past few years. This is Thomas and Gally’s design. Not… whatever that was.

Thomas attempts to shake Gally’s hold, but it only tightens. Gally even presses closer, pinning him completely by placing his other hand on the sink behind Thomas’s body. He brings his face closer, too, his freckles more pronounced in the proximity. Thomas wishes the sight didn’t make him yearn. But as easy as Gally is to anger, it almost takes no effort for him to break Thomas inside even though he’s sworn to himself that the last time was the last time. That they're equally good at: breaking promises.

Looking into Thomas’s eyes, Gally growls lowly, “What do you want from me?”

Keeping the façade of nonchalance, Thomas replies, speaking for the first time. “I don’t know why you’re so mad, Gally.”

“Bullshit,” Gally’s eyes flash, and his whole body vibrates. “You did not take Newt to my party as your plus one because he’s an old friend.” Gally spat the word 'friend' with as much vitriol as he can summon, and it makes Thomas inwardly smile in sick satisfaction.

“No, I didn’t,” Thomas agrees flatly. “What about it?”

“You’re doing this to spite me, huh?” Gally accuses. “To hurt me back?”

Thomas can't hold back his snort, “You’d have to care to be hurt, Gally. And you don’t.”

“Fuck you!” Gally shouts, pushing into him even more, that the blue in his irises is almost too dark in Thomas’s vision. He's seems upset for being told the truth. “I cared for you, shank –“ Gally slightly wavers at the word, realizing that they have used the old slang for endearment than for insult for such a long time, the entire duration of their stupid affair, that it leaves a too bitter taste now in their mouths. “I care for you more than you can imagine.”

Thomas shakes his head. He doesn’t want to do this now. He indeed brought Newt – an old crush that nothing came out of – to provoke Gally, but Thomas wants his disgust, his absolute, vicious fury. Not his lies.

He attempts to wiggle out of Gally’s prison, but he might as well be pushing against a brick wall. Effortlessly, Gally blocks him without breaking a sweat or his cruel gaze. This gets a rise out of Thomas. They’re too close. Thomas can smell Gally all over him, and it’s making him nauseous. His touch is poison. His words are knives stabbing Thomas in the back, in the heart, everywhere that matters. Gally is a death sentence. With more force, he starts shoving.

Gally catches Thomas’s wrists in his hands, and he holds them against his chest in the little space between their bodies. Thomas can only hiss in frustration.

“Thomas –“

And it’s like a floodgate opened.

“You don’t care, Gally!” Thomas shouts, and he hates that the corners of his eyes are stinging. He thought it was over. He thought Gally had wrung the last of his tears, yet here he is on the verge again not five minutes into being alone with Gally. “You have a godawful definition of ‘care’ if this is what you do to people you care about!”

Instantly, the anger melts from Gally’s face, and guilt takes its place after the outburst. He opens his mouth but closes it again, not able to find a suitable reply.

Just as well because Thomas is not finished. He jabs a finger on Gally's chest, repeatedly, hoping it'll at least leave a mark. “You don’t get to invite me to your engagement party with a woman and expect me to be fucking fine! Are you fucking insane?”

“I didn’t send the invitation; she did!”

Thomas laughs, control over his emotions slipping from his hands – hands that are now clutching the fabric of Gally’s pristine shirt, ruining it. Something his future wife probably chose for him. Or maybe his father, because Gally can’t fucking decide for himself. He has no spine to defy his family – not even for his happiness. “Is that supposed to make me feel better, you dumb shank?”

“I don’t love her!” Gally cries out, hoarse and layered with desperation and misery. “I don’t…” His voice breaks, closing his eyes in a scream as one of his fists punches against the bathroom countertop, surprising Thomas to silence at the loud impact. For a beat, Gally’s labored and unsteady breaths are all they can hear between them. Then, gently, his forehead touches Thomas.

“I don’t know how to fight for you. I hate how much I can’t fight for you,” he confesses, and it shatters Thomas’s heart all over again. Because isn’t that just the truth?

Thomas’s hands hold tighter on Gally’s shirt, pulling him to him. He doesn't remember closing them until Thomas opens his eyes to look at Gally’s suspiciously wet lashes. His heart aches for him – if he wasn't blinded by hurt, he'd have noticed right at first glance how Gally looked the least happy groom-to-be out in his own engagement party. The whole evening felt like a business deal, and Gally's father had tapped his son's shoulder proudly, grinning ear to ear because once again, he got his way.

“I hate…” Thomas starts, and Gally holds his breath, bracing for what he thinks is the official end of them. For the record, Thomas came to the party to do exactly that. To watch Gally fall apart as he repeatedly saw himself do after finding out Gally’s involvement with another. That while Thomas held a tight grip on the hope that Gally would finally love him enough to come out to his father, Gally knew all along that he was arranged to someone else.

I hate you. Three easy words. Thomas can say them. He should. Because for a moment, he did. For a moment it was his truth. But that moment was long gone.

“I hate how much I don’t hate you.”