(Untitled)

[since_1997]

In the dream, his phone is ringing. He shifts, pushes his face into the couch and tries to ignore it. He ended up being at the office until late, feel asleep on the couch before he could make it into bed with Tom. His phone keeps trilling and the sun's slanting in through the window and he shifts, groping in his hip-pocket for it. He's got his

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[makethem_notice]

Tom woke with a start, jolting upright in bed with a loud, "Wha'?" He had the worst case of bedhead in recent history, and what he thought might've been a mild hangover, but that definitely wasn't the weird part.

He was home. No, not home. He was in his apartment, in Los Angeles, a place he hadn't really thought of as home in a while. For a long moment, all he did was stare, blinking stupidly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Finally, he stumbled to his feet, plodding heavily toward the living room in a rumpled t-shirt and boxers.

Leaning in the doorway, he looked down at Paul sprawled on the floor with a phone to his ear and widened his eyes in a silent, what the fuck is going on?

[since_1997]

He's so stunned to be hearing her voice that he can't react, for a moment. He just lies there on Tom's couch, and then he realises that Tom is standing there and Paul's so used to him in boxers and a t-shirt, tousle headed.

For a moment, he's speechless, caught between them.

[makethem_notice]

Tom didn't know what to do. Blind terror wasn't really a completely new feeling for him, but it had been a while since he'd felt this useless. He stood, staring down at Paul, the distant, tinny sound of Robin's voice filtering out through the phone pressed against Paul's ear.

He couldn't understand her, the sound too muffled, but he could still hear the stress in her voice.

"Paul... Say something, man. You're freaking her out."

[since_1997]

Tom's right; of course he is. He ignores the grind in his chest and clears his throat. His eyes stay fixed on Tom's face.

"Okay," he hears himself saying gently. "I'll be back soon, okay?"