Tuesday Afternoons
by dreamofthem
He knocks on the door and opens it straight after, peering round the side of it to call a hello and wait for the response before he comes in proper. His shoes are left by the side and he shrugs a jacket off as he makes his way to the sitting room.
Danny is on the biggest sofa, t-shirt and jogging bottoms, feet up on the table.
“Get your feet off the table,” Tom says, batting them off himself, and Danny is outraged.
“Whose house is this?” he says, and Tom throws himself down on the other sofa.
“What are we watching?”
“Last season,” Danny says, even though Tom can tell anyway. It’s the kits. “How far along,” he says, but he can tell that too - there are players in snoods and little black gloves, and David Luiz is playing for Chelsea.
They watch for a few minutes. Tom shifts position, puts his feet up on the cushions.
“Feet off the cushions,” Danny says, scandalised, and Tom laughs.
“When did you get this DVD?” he says, sure that he didn’t know Danny had it.
“Uh.” Danny waits. “It’s yours, I think.”
That makes more sense. Tom’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he wriggles around till he can pull it out. A friend from Bradford is asking if he’s going to be home that weekend. He closes it and puts his phone on the coffee table. He can text back later. “Who’s texting you?” Danny says, and then without waiting for an answer, “Did Phil text you?”
“Phil who?”
“Jonesy.”
The front door opens and closes and they look up in unison. “My mum,” Danny says when Tom looks over, and they hear her call a greeting.
She appears in the doorway and smiles at Tom. “Hello love,” she says, and, “Danny, feet, off.”
Tom laughs at him.
“How are you,” she says, “how’s the leg?”
“Improving, thanks,” Tom says, and moves his feet off the cushions in what he hopes is a surreptitious manner.
“I’m letting you off,” she says, “because you need to keep your feet up.”
“Mum!” Danny protests. “Mum, he doesn’t-”
Tom shushes him, laughing.
“Tea?” Danny’s mother says as she leaves the room, and doesn’t wait for the answer. They call their thanks after her.
“You’re so jammy,” Danny says as Tom keeps laughing. “Why do mums love you so much?”
“It’s my boyish charm,” Tom says, and Danny throws the DVD case at him.
Tom ducks but it lands on his chest and he shrugs it off. He looks back at the screen and they’re talking about the players who left the league.
“Why was Phil texting me?”
Danny sticks his head up to peer at Tom over the arm of his sofa.
“What?”
They can barely see each other but Tom is too comfortable to move. His feet have found their guilty way back onto the cushions.
“You said Phil was going to text me - oh shot!” This last is as Scott Parker chips it past Carragher and into the Liverpool goal.
“Nice,” Danny says. “That was a good game to be fair.”
“Literally everyone left that team though.”
There’s a pause. Tom picks up his phone again and checks twitter out of habit more than anything. Hundreds of replies ask for his prediction for the weekend.
“Phil was trying to get people together for a birthday thing.”
“Isn’t his birthday in March?”
“February I think, I don’t know, he wanted to book somewhere or something. Don’t ask me.”
Tom smiles. Danny’s mum comes in with two cups of tea and he finds himself sitting up automatically, feet on the floor and facing the table. Manners he can’t shake however many people are following him on twitter. “Thank you,” they say simultaneously, and grin at each other. There are custard creams to go with the tea and Tom realises he’s starving.
“Can I stay for tea?” he asks, and Danny’s mother smiles. “Of course you can,” she says, and Danny rolls his eyes good-naturedly.
The DVD finishes with a promise of things to come, things that have already come for the two of them, and Tom feels the anticipatory energy running through him and giving him goosebumps. Two more weeks, he thinks.
He looks up at Danny and Danny eats a biscuit. The DVD is on the title screen.
“Put on Sky Sports News,” Tom says, and Danny does.
He knocks on the door and opens it straight after, peering round the side of it to call a hello and wait for the response before he comes in proper. His shoes are left by the side and he shrugs a jacket off as he makes his way to the sitting room.
Danny is on the biggest sofa, t-shirt and jogging bottoms, feet up on the table.
“Get your feet off the table,” Tom says, batting them off himself, and Danny is outraged.
“Whose house is this?” he says, and Tom throws himself down on the other sofa.
“What are we watching?”
“Last season,” Danny says, even though Tom can tell anyway. It’s the kits. “How far along,” he says, but he can tell that too - there are players in snoods and little black gloves, and David Luiz is playing for Chelsea.
They watch for a few minutes. Tom shifts position, puts his feet up on the cushions.
“Feet off the cushions,” Danny says, scandalised, and Tom laughs.
“When did you get this DVD?” he says, sure that he didn’t know Danny had it.
“Uh.” Danny waits. “It’s yours, I think.”
That makes more sense. Tom’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he wriggles around till he can pull it out. A friend from Bradford is asking if he’s going to be home that weekend. He closes it and puts his phone on the coffee table. He can text back later. “Who’s texting you?” Danny says, and then without waiting for an answer, “Did Phil text you?”
“Phil who?”
“Jonesy.”
The front door opens and closes and they look up in unison. “My mum,” Danny says when Tom looks over, and they hear her call a greeting.
She appears in the doorway and smiles at Tom. “Hello love,” she says, and, “Danny, feet, off.”
Tom laughs at him.
“How are you,” she says, “how’s the leg?”
“Improving, thanks,” Tom says, and moves his feet off the cushions in what he hopes is a surreptitious manner.
“I’m letting you off,” she says, “because you need to keep your feet up.”
“Mum!” Danny protests. “Mum, he doesn’t-”
Tom shushes him, laughing.
“Tea?” Danny’s mother says as she leaves the room, and doesn’t wait for the answer. They call their thanks after her.
“You’re so jammy,” Danny says as Tom keeps laughing. “Why do mums love you so much?”
“It’s my boyish charm,” Tom says, and Danny throws the DVD case at him.
Tom ducks but it lands on his chest and he shrugs it off. He looks back at the screen and they’re talking about the players who left the league.
“Why was Phil texting me?”
Danny sticks his head up to peer at Tom over the arm of his sofa.
“What?”
They can barely see each other but Tom is too comfortable to move. His feet have found their guilty way back onto the cushions.
“You said Phil was going to text me - oh shot!” This last is as Scott Parker chips it past Carragher and into the Liverpool goal.
“Nice,” Danny says. “That was a good game to be fair.”
“Literally everyone left that team though.”
There’s a pause. Tom picks up his phone again and checks twitter out of habit more than anything. Hundreds of replies ask for his prediction for the weekend.
“Phil was trying to get people together for a birthday thing.”
“Isn’t his birthday in March?”
“February I think, I don’t know, he wanted to book somewhere or something. Don’t ask me.”
Tom smiles. Danny’s mum comes in with two cups of tea and he finds himself sitting up automatically, feet on the floor and facing the table. Manners he can’t shake however many people are following him on twitter. “Thank you,” they say simultaneously, and grin at each other. There are custard creams to go with the tea and Tom realises he’s starving.
“Can I stay for tea?” he asks, and Danny’s mother smiles. “Of course you can,” she says, and Danny rolls his eyes good-naturedly.
The DVD finishes with a promise of things to come, things that have already come for the two of them, and Tom feels the anticipatory energy running through him and giving him goosebumps. Two more weeks, he thinks.
He looks up at Danny and Danny eats a biscuit. The DVD is on the title screen.
“Put on Sky Sports News,” Tom says, and Danny does.