Work Text:
Thomas closes his laptop and sets it on his nightstand in the dark. He picks up his phone from next to him on the bed. The smaller screen illuminates his bearded face and long dark hair. Shit. It’s late and he has to work in the morning. He glances briefly at his work emails, notices unread texts from Jude that he doesn’t bother to open and he starts to think about boring things he could google to help him fall asleep. Instead, his thoughts stray to the captivating woman with short, dark hair he watches every morning at the coffee shop. He doesn’t want to admit to himself why he feels so drawn to her. He can’t help but wonder what she would think of him if she knew what he did every night alone in his bed. How he eventually sets his phone down, turns on his side and spoons with one of his bed pillows while imagining that he is a fictional character holding onto his imaginary lover. He sets his phone on the charging pad and sighs. Thomas knows he is not supposed to think of himself as Neo.
He sits up in bed and pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. He gets under the soft, thick covers in just his boxers. He grabs a pillow from the pile propped up against his headboard and scoots closer to it, wrapping his arms around it. Thomas nuzzles the corner of the smooth pillowcase just a bit, his warm breath making a slight damp spot on the cool fabric. “Trin.” He breathes out and grazes the soft pillow with his lips. He feels himself start to get hard but he ignores it. His mind wanders through several well-loved Matrix scenes he knows backward and forward. He thinks about fucking Trinity on a hovercraft and making love to her in Zion. He thinks about hugging her tightly in a train station and kissing her passionately on a rooftop. He thinks about a little moan escaping her sweet mouth in an elevator and holding his breath next to her in silence, his fingers itching to touch hers in the dark. He pictures her poised and sleek in black sunglasses and then much less poised in nothing but his worn navy blue sweater. He will always be in awe of her, his Trinity. He imagines he can thread his fingers through hers right now and whisper his goodnight words into her ear, the ends of her short, dark hair tickling his face. He would whisper that he loves her, too damn much, in fact. He would feel her smile and squeeze his hand while pressing her back into his front, trying to get closer. He would ask her if she was cold. The Neb was always cold, especially at night. He knows it was because he wrote it that way. He closes his eyes and squeezes the pillow in his arms one last time before he drifts. Thomas knows not to think about her death. It’s late and he has to work in the morning.