"soma", jon/tom.
1: lamp
soma
Tom is blinking slowly, Jon can feel it even more than he can see it and the sun is almost quiet, stepping through the window in increments and Jon knows it is so so fucking cliche but he wants to slow time down, pause it for just a while and let this moment last. He wants to see, feel, taste Tom, just make sure he's okay and his eyes are still open. He wants to hear Tom breathing in beat with the rise and fall of his own stomach, he wants to be that rhythm, the pause between each opening and each closing. He feels this overwhelming sense like they're melting into one another, the light distorting on Tom's hair so the only way Jon doesn't lose sight of his fingers in it is because he can feel the gentle tug and release and this is home, this is what he needs to hold on to, this is what he needs.
"I just. It's not scared even," Tom is saying, fist twisting in Jon's shirt. "It's so real and it's not something i can put in the back of my head and forget about. Like it's every day and it's every where and I don't know, like I just...every second is like one second lost. We can never go back or something and I just want everything to shut down for a second and everyone to go outside and take a breath and stop fucking acting like things are perfect, because." He doesn't finish, just shakes his head and Jon doesn't say anything about the break in his voice, just finishes in his head because it doesn't need saying - they're not. It's one of the few times Jon feels completely useless. He knows he can't reach into Tom's chest and pull out all the negative because Tom's right and it's something Jon tries not to think about but it scares the shit out of him. It's the most terrifying, brain-clenching thing Jon has ever realized because -
"I don't want to leave you," he says after a moment and then regrets it a little, only because the words are cheap and all wrong. "I mean, that sounds whatever but..."
"I know," Tom almost whispers, hand pressing just slightly into Jon's ribs and it's a little uncomfortable but Jon likes the pressure, likes imagining Tom's fingerprints on every surface of his life. "I'm glad I know you. I'm glad you're...you." And Jon almost laughs because they're so fucking bad at expressing anything but he understands, he knows, of course he does and he lays his hand over Tom's fingers to tell him so.
------
Tom's hair is thick in that thin sort of way and Jon lets it slip past, through, into his fingers, watches the few strands that stay back stand and then slowly sink. Jon wonders if Tom is dreaming. Tom's been listening to a lot of The Smiths lately. Jon can feel the music radiating through the pores in his skin, in Tom's skin, watches the almost imperceptible rise and fall of Tom's chest. He tries to make out if Tom's eyes are moving under his eyelids.
3: fold