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Thom slouches at a table tucked into the corner of a Cafe & Bar, hoping the low lighting and awkward angle will be enough privacy for the two of them.
If Clay even arrives.
He hopes he comes.
The thought of meeting him at their —no Clay’s— apartment didn’t sit right with him. It’s too cozy, too warm and inviting and the place where he let his emotions get the best of him. There were so many shared memories there that he didn’t want to risk soiling them further with this conversation.
He might be known as an emotionless asshole, but even he is aware how intrusive it would be to show up at the guy’s house after leaving him at the altar.
Thom couldn’t do it. Call him a coward for all he cares. It’s evident he’s already one based on his decisions that day, what more could prove it?
The waiter that served him loops back to him again. She’s nice. Giving him his drink and a wide berth for the hour he’s been here, not attempting to question him on how his day is going like she has for the other customers. Thom appreciates it, he really does, but the pitying look in her eyes gives her away. She knows and is walking on eggshells around him.
Though everyone should know by now. It’s all the news channels and tabloids have been discussing, even on whatever channel the restaurant;s tiny TV is set to.
“Would you like a refill on that drink?” she asks sweetly, standing just a bit too far away from the normal distance any waiter does.
“No, thank you, I’m good.” Thom would love a refill. In fact he’d love something stronger, but he doesn’t want Clay to find him tipsy. That would only make things worse.
“Alright then, let me know if you need anything.” She walks off, hesitating for only a second as she glances over her shoulder. It’s like she wants to say something more.
Thom’s relieved she doesn’t.
He can only talk about this earnestly one time and he’s going to do it with Clay.
If he even comes.
He’d understand if he doesn’t.
Leaning over, he takes another sip of the water left over by the melted ice.
Checking the time on his phone again, with no message notifications he cares about, he settles in again. He’ll wait another hour.
God, he hopes he comes.
A distant ding from the front door goes off, but Thom doesn’t turn around. He’s had his hope rise and fall countless times when he does. At this point he’s convinced Clay isn’t coming. Why would he? All he’s going to find is the same wasteful shell that couldn’t be honest with himself for months and they both know it.
“Excuse me,” Thom knows that voice, “do you know if a – oh, thank you.”
Turning around, Thom sees him. Clay is standing in one of his odd sweaters and slacks that Thom is fairly sure are from the failed wedding with the waiter from earlier pointing in his direction.
Their eyes meet and he sees irritation in Clay’s, and a bit of resignation.
At least it’s not anger.
Sliding into the seat across from Thom, Clay crosses his arms and regards the other. Clay looks good. He somehow always does, even if it’s in his own dorky way. His hair is the same curly windswept bush that it always is. This might be one of the few times his posture is perfectly straight. It’s like he has mastered Thom’s pose for interviews and podcasts, but he doesn’t want to give himself credit. Even though he can’t see his long legs anymore, Thom’s sure the pants are indeed a part of his wedding outfit. His shoes have been changed to his regular worn down sneakers.
If it was any other day, Thom would tell Clay he looked ridiculous.
Now it’s the most comforting sight.
Thom hasn’t said anything for the stretch of time it took to make his observations and he doesn’t know what to say now. He knows what he should say, what he wants Clay to understand, but he doesn’t know how to word it. He’s sat in this squeaky cushion for so long one would think he should at least have a draft in his head. He always had before. When he had to attend events, comment on behalf of the governor, even when sending a message to his parents. He always had bullet points on what he needed to say before the interaction even started.
He always had to be the one in control of the conversation.
Now, he’s waiting for Clay to give him a starting point.
Now, he wants to be honest.
He prays to whatever God that will listen that it won’t be the last time.
“You know,” Clay starts, leaning back into his chair, “there’s other ways of telling someone you don’t want to marry them.”
Thom sighs, knowing he deserves worse. It’s only because Clay is too nice that he hasn’t been punched in the face yet.
“I’m sorry.” He casts his eyes down to his drink, watching the condensation drops fall. The ring-shaped puddle they’ve created is considerably larger and messier than it was when he first got the drink.
“Don’t.” Clay snaps. The harshness of his tone has Thom risking a look upwards. Clay sucks in a breath, turning his head towards the rest of the building. His eyes scan the area, but Thom knows his attention is elsewhere. He recognizes the face Clay makes when he’s thinking too hard about something.
He’s made that face a lot lately.
Maybe Thom has too.
After a beat, Clay looks back. Face set and eyes missing his usual nervous energy. The sight only serves to make Thom curl more.
“Let’s skip the part where you apologize,” Clay tilts his chin up a bit. It’s false confidence, Thom knows, but he won’t be the asshole who points that out. “I came here to hear you out. I just want to understand. What the hell was that?”
While the anger seething out of the other’s eyes is warranted, it’s not easy for Thom to look at. He’s had Clay look at him with annoyance or frustration before, sure, but nothing has stung quite like this.
“I didn’t want to get married.” Thom winces inwardly, he’s already fucked up. He should’ve been more clear on what he meant.
“Right.” There it is. “I got that much when you didn’t show up this morning.” Thom sees Clay’s jaw tense. He’s getting this wrong and they just started.
“Sorry, I’ll rephrase that.” His voice is scratchy, but he isn’t going to try to clear it up. He honestly doesn’t have the energy to focus on how pathetic he may sound. “I didn’t want us to get married because the media thought we should. I didn’t want our marriage to be a ploy for Governor Lennie to win more votes. And I really didn’t want to promise my life to you until we were both sure that’s what we wanted.”
For a moment, Clay doesn’t say anything. Thom watches another drop trail down the cup as he waits. He can’t look up at Clay’s face and see anymore anger. He knows he deserves it, but he can’t bear the thought of ruining yet another good thing he had so quickly.
When Clay speaks again, his voice is quieter than before. “And when did you decide that?”
Thom closes his eyes. “Last night.”
“And you didn’t think,” Clay scoffs, he uncrosses his arms to place them on the table, “to, I don’t know, tell me about it?”
“I should’ve.”
“Yeah, you should’ve. If saying it to my face was too difficult for you, then you could’ve left a note, called me, even a text message would’ve sufficed. I would’ve gotten the message, got my mom, and left for home. Trust me, I would’ve loved to leave the governor and Felicia with their mouths wide open. But you know what ruined that?”
A beat passes. Thom’s throat prickles. “What?” he whispers.
“Having to stand at that altar alone. Having everyone in that crowd look at me like I was some puppy left alone on the street.” Clay’s leaning forward now, Thom can feel his hot breath on his face. “That ruined it, Thom. I would’ve been happy to cancel the whole thing if I had fucking known about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I bet you fucking are.” Clay laughs without humor, running a hand through his hair. He’s leaned back now, Thom somehow feels worse when the cold air hits his face again. “I know you are.” he mumbles, not bothering to look at Thom.
Somewhere at the bar, a group of men yell out in celebration. Thom resents their happiness.
At this rate, they’re not going to get anywhere. Thom knows from past arguments that they’ll stew in their frustrations and leave it at that for another time. He doesn’t want there to be another time, he doesn’t want them to sit in the mess that he’s created any longer.
Taking a breath and trying to sit up more, Thom reaches out again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I left you there alone. And I’m especially sorry for getting you into this mess in the first place.”
This makes the brown-haired man look at him. “What?”
“If I hadn’t overreacted and pushed you against the wall like some maniac, we wouldn’t be here right now. Lennie wouldn’t have had anything to go off of and we could’ve thought of another alternative solution to her mess.”
“Not that this is the point of this meeting–”
“Of course not.”
“–but I appreciate you admitting that.” Clay huffs. “You were absolutely crazy for that.”
“I was.” He lets a small smile fit onto his face, but sobers up quickly. “But seriously, it’s my fault that we’re here and if I had communicated better and been more honest then this disaster wouldn’t be happening.”
“Communicated about what?”
“How I–” Thom’s throat closes up. He’s not used to this. He’s not good at talking about things like this. But Clay deserves this at the very least and he’ll be damned if he fails him one more time. “How I felt.”
When Thom doesn’t add anymore. Clay leans forward again, intertwining his hands into a fist on top of the table. Out of his peripheral vision, Thom can see Clay search him up and down again. “Felt about what?”
Clay’s voice went back to the softer tone and Thom can hardly handle it. “You. Us. This whole thing really.” He looks just below the eyes of the other, it’s the best he can do for now.
“Well, go on.” The taller leans down to be eye level with him. “You got my attention.”
Thom takes another breath. He doesn’t know how people do this often. He hopes it gets easier. “I loved spending time with you. I loved working together on assignments, even if they were idiotic at best. I loved doing seemingly mundane things together and I loved going to your apartment to do nothing together.” He risks a glance up.
Clay’s face hasn’t changed. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He looks to the side, praying the wooden wall will give him strength. “I know I pretended I didn’t and I know that hurt you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel like you were another part of work instead of being someone important to me.” His eyes start to sting. Fuck. “You’ve become a staple in my life and I wouldn’t tell you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for pushing your feelings aside. I didn’t think this would go on for as long as it did or grow into something more and I was wrong. I was wrong and I’m sor–”
“Hold my hands.”
Thom peeks back. “What?” he sniffs. Clay had opened his hands to sit on either side of the table, palms up. Thom regards them.
“Hold my hands, Thom.” he whispers. Clay’s face has softened and his eyes are slightly glassy.
Slowly, Thom moves his hands from in between his thighs to hold Clay’s. They’re warm and soft. Clay squeezes his hands and Thom gives a slight squeeze back.
The taller one gives him a sad smile. With horror, Thom realizes his cheeks are wet. He’s not a crier, never was as a kid and definitely not as an adult. He finds he doesn’t mind all that much. His back is to the rest of the building. Thom doesn’t care if Clay sees him like this.
Clay is warm and inviting.
He’s home.
On a regular day, Thom would hate that line, but that’s what he needs right now.
He lets out a short breath. It’s not a laugh, but it’s not a sigh either. “I’m truly sorry for leaving you alone with all those people.”
“I know you are.” Clay smiles slightly. “Besides, gave me an excuse to eat straight from the dessert table, no way Lennie is getting a refund on it now.”
Thom chuckles. Of course Clay would find a way to joke at a time like this. “You’re ridiculous.”
“She would’ve tried and you know it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so strict about the budget for an office party.”
Thom laughs more, his chest feeling looser as Clay joins him. They sit there and share a laugh about their ex-boss for a minute.
“I love you.” Thom says wetly. Maybe he should’ve waited for a more private moment, made a whole thing about it, but he genuinely feels the words right now.
He’s tired of pushing them down for later.
Clay grins at him.
“I love you too.”
Suddenly, this seems easier to handle.
“I’m a mess.” Thom laughs, bowing his head slightly. He lets a short laugh out, he hopes his face isn’t blotchy after those few tears.
“We’re a mess.” Clay joins him, shaking their hands a little as he leans back in Thom’s space. It’s a welcome addition. “I can’t tell you how many looks I got on the way here. Probably looked like I shopped from a lost and found bin.”
Thom hesitates. “Isn’t that where you usually get those monstrosities?” he quips, voice still a little scratchy as his eyes flick to Clay’s sweater. He hopes it isn’t too soon for their usual repartee.
Clay scoffs, but it isn’t unkind, a fond smile settling on his face. “I recall you loving this “monstrosity” when you wore it a few days ago.”
He feels his face heat up. He hadn’t released the other man who had caught him. Damn, he’s got no defense.
“Didn’t think I saw you practically snuggling it while you made breakfast, huh?” The way Clay can read his mind would unnerve Thom a few months ago, but it only makes him laugh now. “Making waffles and everything. Adding blueberries and shit like the freak you are.” That only makes Thom laugh more, his eyes squinting. “And you got batter on it. Tried licking it off like it wouldn’t get sticky later, you bitch I had to use a wipe on it because it was driving me crazy.”
Thom’s sure the other customers can hear how he’s sucking air back into his lungs after laughing so hard, but he hardly cares as he leans forward and squeezes Clay’s hands again.
“How long were you standing there?” he finally gets out. Opening his eyes fully to see Clay grinning back at him, eyes filled with a familiar light.
“Way too long. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t notice me.”
“Your stove is a mystery. I look away for five seconds and suddenly everything starts to burn.”
“You’re just shit a cooking.”
“You had all your appliances shoved away when I first cooked you dinner and barely any ingredients.”
“I can cook, I’m just broke.” Before Thom can open his mouth with a retort mid eye roll, Clay continues. “And no, cutting my spending on my DLCs is not an option. That’s my baby.”
“Of course it is.” Thom huffs, already imagining the hellscape of a budget they’ll have. He gazes at their still joined hands as the idea of a domestic life they’ve admittedly already started living solidifies in his head.
Yeah, he definitely wants that.
“I um–” Thom feels the urge to steer away from vulnerability attempt to close his throat, but he pushes past it. It’s a little easier this time. “I really meant what I said. I don’t know how I can start to make it up to you, but you say and I’ll do it.”
When he chances a glance at Clay, praying he didn’t just kill the mood. He was surprised to see the taller man still smiling widely.
“Hmm.” Clay puts up the act of thinking, eyes going up and around the room as he tilts his head. Thom can feel himself melting at the silliness.
“You’re paying for all future dates.”
Thom laughs, shaking his head. “Okay.”
“You’re doing my taxes for me.”
“Done.”
“You have to fully move in with me.”
That makes Thom’s breath catch in his throat. He had resigned himself to never seeing Clay’s apartment ever again this morning. The idea of being welcomed back indefinitely has him almost crying twice within the hour.
“I practically–”his voice catches. “I practically live there already–” He’s trying the joking route, but completely fails. Clay’s face sobers a bit at the sound. A beat of silence passes as Thom breathes.
“Are you sure?” He sounds small. He feels it.
Clay suddenly lets go of Thom’s hands, standing up from the table.
Fuck, maybe he did change his mind. He should’ve kept joking around with him instead of reminding him of why they were even there. That’s fair, he’s probably exhausted Clay’s patience in the last week alone.
Thom hadn’t moved since his hands had been released. But instead of feeling the slap of cold air as he's left alone, warmth crowds his side.
Clay moved his seat next to him, both of their backs facing the rest of the building. It’s a comforting shield.
“Wha–” Before his question is even halfway formed, Clay leaves a small peck on his cheek, effectively shutting him up.
“Of course I’m sure.” Clay puts his arm around Thom’s shoulder, moving his head far enough to look the tentative man in the eyes. “Like you said, you basically live there already and I honestly think more space between is the worst idea right now. I like sharing the tiny couch with you.”
Relaxing again, Thom leans into the softness of Clay’s body. “I do too.” he admits, knowing he sounds completely smitten as both men smile at each other.
Clay gives another peck on Thom’s forehead, softly adding. “I’m going to add one more thing to the list of demands.”
“Anything.” Thom’s pretty sure he’ll have to be dragged from this spot.
“We’ll both work on our communication.” Thom isn’t entirely surprised, their refusal to hold a serious conversation for more than a few minutes should honestly be studied. While the love hasn’t left Clay’s eyes, his face becomes more firm as he continues. “I’m serious, I don’t want to keep guessing at what you’re thinking or overthinking every little thing. And I definitely don't want to see you cry because you held something in for too long.” Another kiss to the cheek and a squeeze of a hug. “Okay?”
Thom returns a kiss to the other’s cheek, smiling so much it’s more of a press of the lips. “Okay.”
“Okay, good.” Clay grants a quick kiss to the tip of Thom’s nose and the shorter man giggles. Fucking giggles. He feels light with love.
“You’re going to have to explain everything to my mom, by the way.”
Thom comes crashing back down.
“What.”
“Yeah, I didn’t explain a single thing to her on the way back to her hotel. Super awkward by the way, you would’ve hated it.” Clay swipes at Thom’s forgotten cup and chews the remaining ice. Seemingly ignoring the panic settling into Thom’s core.
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s going to kill me.”
“Maybe,” Clay quips, waving down the waitress. “Though she’ll probably kill us both for letting Lennie use us like that.”
Thom sighs, already knowing how crazy they’ll look. He decides then and there that his family is never going to find out. His brother will surely never go.
As Clay asks for menus for them, pointedly making sure Thom knows the covered dates start now, Thom settles in. He holds Clay’s free hand in between both of his own and rests his head on Clay’s shoulder. One of the few times he’s thankful for being the shorter one. He catches the waitress’ smile as she comes back with the menus and makes a note to himself to tip her well for having to deal with his trainwreck of night.
With Clay’s ramble about which type of fries are best for late night eating and the warmth of his body having left him boneless, Thom welcomes many more nights like this.