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Chapter Text

Day 1 - Saturday

Thomas had never been one for ‘days off,’ as his job takes up the vast majority of his life, and he finds little reason to spend a whole day in his empty Rome apartment. His friends are all professors, and his interests primarily include history, philosophy and books, all of which could be easily found at the university. He hadn’t taken a single day off all year, until he had offered to pick Vincent up from the airport at four in the morning, and the other man had insisted that Thomas take the next day off. Vincent had said it was to help him get settled in Rome, but in reality, he just wanted Thomas to rest.

When Thomas first picked Vincent up from the airport, there was an anxious tension between them. After many long weeks spent on the phone, the joy of having each other physically present was overwhelming. They had barely stepped through the doorway to Thomas' apartment when Vincent gently pushed him up against the wall and leaned in to kiss him. 

Thomas’s knees nearly buckled as Vincent pressed his body into his, but Vincent steadied him by pinning his arms to the wall, an experience which thrilled Thomas in a way he could not have expected.

Thomas remembered his kissing techniques, which thankfully still worked perfectly, leaving Vincent trembling and moaning into his mouth. After only a few minutes, they were both left panting, out of breath from pleasure and exhaustion. The sun would rise in a couple hours, and they were too tired to go any further. And besides, they had all the time in the world. They were more than content to collapse into bed and fall asleep in each other's arms.

Before Vincent had left for Baghdad, Thomas sheepishly confessed that despite being sixty, he was completely inexperienced when it came to intimacy. Vincent reassured him that he too was very out of practice, and it had been well over a decade since he had been in any sort of relationship. It was best for both of them if they took things slow.

This desire for slowness had evaporated rather quickly when the reality of six weeks apart had hit them. They spent many long nights imagining their reunion, so it was no surprise that after waking up together in Rome, they proceeded to spend their day off in bed. There was no pressure or urgency between them, only the joy of getting to know each other in a new way.

Day 4 - Tuesday

After four days of living together, Vincent moved into his new place, which luckily for them was only a few blocks away. They could continue their routine of walking to and from the university together, arm in arm, Thomas stopping to point out all the little architectural and historical details of the city.

The day Vincent moved, they spent the evening putting together Ikea furniture while listening to Latin music, and laughing at how difficult it is for two grown adults with PhDs to assemble a couch. When everything was set up, Vincent opened a bottle of wine that had been gifted to him after the election, and they spent several hours discussing the romantic implications of Gilgamesh’s quest for immortality after the death of Enkidu. It was nearly one in the morning by the time Thomas glanced at his watch.

“Christ, I’m meant to be teaching a class tomorrow morning. I should be off.” Thomas moved to get up.

“You’re leaving?” Vincent did a bad job hiding his disappointment.

“I could stay. But I thought maybe you would want some time alone in your new place.”

“Why would I want that?” Vincent grinned, eyes twinkling. Thomas was very grateful to be one of the few people privy to his mischievous side.

They were both a little drunk and it took a few minutes of fumbling around before they made it to the bedroom, their clothes strewn across the otherwise pristine apartment. Thomas laid back in the new bed, Vincent over top of him, kissing his neck. Thomas breathed heavily, running his hands through Vincent’s hair, which he had let grow down to his shoulders. 

In contrast to the intensity of his kisses, Vincent’s hands gently caressed Thomas’ chest, feeling the rough tissue where the burns had scarred. Thomas let out a small gasp, though he wasn’t sure if it was due to the pain of the still delicate skin, or the pleasure of Vincent’s mouth on the underside of his jaw. 

Over the past week, Vincent had learned to be careful of the burn marks that still covered Thomas’ upper body. It did not go unnoticed to him that the burns had yet to fully heal, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. He wanted to think about the feeling of Thomas’ body under his.

Some time later, they lay together. Thomas traced circles in Vincent’s hair.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

This wasn’t the first time they had told each other, they used the words often. Over the phone while Vincent was away, in the airport upon his return, on their walks to and from the university, in the mornings when Thomas brought Vincent coffee in bed. Tonight, they basked in the intoxicating beauty of those words. How lucky they were to be in love.

Day 5 - Wednesday

The students in Thomas’ lecture the next morning were shocked to say the least, when the ever diligent Professor Lawrence arrived nearly fifteen minutes late, looking a little disheveled, and wearing a turtleneck despite the heat. Thomas cursed himself for agreeing to teach a summer class. 

Day 6 - Thursday

Thomas once again stayed over at Vincent’s. Neither of them could think of a good reason why they should be apart.

Thomas thanked God that he was there when around 3am, he woke up to the sound of water running and a light shining from the en suite bathroom. 

“Vincent are you alright?”

There was no answer. Thomas knew immediately that something was wrong.

Vincent was leaning over the sink, eyes bloodshot from crying. He was trying his best to control his breathing, but by the sound of his shallow, rapid breaths, Thomas could tell he had been hyperventilating.

“I’m here, my dear Vincent.” 

He wrapped his arms around the shaking man, stroking his back. The pressure of Thomas’ body focused Vincent’s mind, bringing him back to the physical reality of the marble tiled bathroom, escaping the blurry visions that were racing through his mind. A nightmare. Vincent was no stranger to them. He was very grateful for the few weeks of peaceful sleep he had recently enjoyed, and tried to remind himself that no matter how awful he felt tonight, the feeling would pass as it always did.

The thought wasn’t as comforting as he wanted it to be. The sounds of screaming, sirens, and distant gunshots seemed to echo through the walls of his little Rome apartment. Half a world away, and yet that somehow made it worse. The guilt of having left his students behind to deal with the pain and struggle of living in a war-torn country, all while trying to get a bachelor’s degree. Vincent’s heart ached to go home, or maybe to bring them all with him. He wasn’t sure.

Later, back in bed, he would explain all these fears to Thomas. Pouring out all the tangled emotions onto him as he listened patiently, gently running his fingers through Vincent’s hair. Thomas made everything better.

At the beginning of their relationship, Vincent had been reluctant to share this side of himself with Thomas, not wanting to burden the already stressed and high-strung man. The only person Vincent had ever truly talked to about the nightmares was the psychiatrist he’d seen a few years ago when the dreams had gotten so frequent that he couldn’t sleep for days at a time. She had been the one to encourage him to face the visions, to talk about the fears that haunted his subconscious. Or write them down in a journal if he didn’t have anyone to talk to. With her guidance, Vincent had learned to manage mostly on his own, and the nightmares became much more infrequent. 

The journal helped a lot, and Vincent felt guilty at the thought of putting his troubles onto anyone but a licensed professional, so he had stuck to writing for several years. But then suddenly, Thomas entered his life. Brilliant, kind, thoughtful, generous, comforting Thomas. He knew the other man would gladly listen to him, he had told him as much when Vincent had woken up to a nightmare in their shared hotel room during the election. But Vincent hadn’t been ready for that conversation.

It wasn’t until about three weeks into their forced separation that Vincent finally opened up. That night, the nightmare had been particularly gruesome, and in his state of panic, Thomas was the first person Vincent thought of. The journal worked alright, but maybe it was worth leaning on someone else for once.

Vincent called him around 2:30 in the morning (1:30 am Rome time), voice shaking and panicked. Thomas picked up right away.

“Vincent, is everything alright?”

“Tomás? Tomás?”

“I’m here, my dear. Are you okay?”

“I - I don’t know, I - I saw - I thought -”

Thomas had understood immediately, and spent several minutes whispering sweet nothings into the phone until Vincent’s breath stabilized.

“Would it be okay,” Vincent’s voice was a whisper, “would it be okay if I told you about the dreams?”

Thomas was an excellent listener. When Vincent felt he had properly exorcised the nightmare from his mind, he paused, allowing Thomas to respond.

“What made you decide to call? I mean, I’m glad you did. But I - I know you don’t usually like to talk about these things.”

There was silence over the phone as Vincent considered. “I needed to know I wasn’t alone.”

“You’re never alone my dear Vincent. I’m right here.”

“You’re so far away.”

“I can hear your voice. That is enough.”

“I want you to hold me.”

“And I will. Soon, I promise.”

Thomas was forever grateful that he got to keep that promise the first time Vincent had a nightmare since moving to Rome.

Day 7 - Friday

It was late when Vincent stopped by Thomas’s office so they could walk home together. Thomas had lost track of time pouring over project proposals, and welcomed the interruption. As he stood up, he suddenly felt very faint and had to steady himself on his desk. The dizziness was a familiar sensation and he braced himself as his eyes went dark and the sounds of the room drifted away. 

“Tomás? My love, are you alright?”

Vincent’s voice sounded distant and echoey for a moment, before Thomas regained his bearings.

“Yes, yes. Just haven't stood up for a while.”

Vincent looked concerned. His eyes darted across Thomas’ pale face, which was drained of what little colour it had.

“Did you eat enough today?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Thomas did a quick mental scan of the day, and realised that he had not in fact eaten anything yet, despite it being nearly 8pm. He hadn’t had a proper lunch in years, and though he usually took a small breakfast, he found that sometimes, he felt more comfortable going without eating until dinner time. It helped with the stress.

He didn't want to explain all this to Vincent right then, so he offered up a half-truth.

“Probably need to drink more water.”

“I see,” Vincent said, sounding a little unconvinced. 

Thomas cursed himself internally for not doing a better job at holding himself together. He certainly did not want to worry Vincent. Despite whatever concerns the other man had, Thomas was perfectly fine.

Day 8 - Saturday

On Saturday, Vincent stopped by Aldo’s office in between the many meetings that were required to establish Vincent’s new teaching position at the university. He had barely spoken to Aldo, but he had heard many things about him from Thomas, and was certain that Aldo had heard things about Vincent as well. He hoped to befriend him one day, but first, he needed his advice. There was no one who knew Thomas better, not even Vincent. The thought made him a little sad, but it was only logical given the time that they had known each other.

“Come in.” Aldo’s voice had a quiet confidence. “Ah, Professor Benitez.” 

“Please, just Vincent.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Aldo gestured for Vincent to sit down across from his desk. The office was crowded with overstocked shelves, papers strewn across his desk and piles of books stuffed into every empty corner of the room. The chaos made Thomas’ office down the hall look organized by contrast. Vincent made sure to shut the door properly before taking a seat.

Aldo watched as Vincent wrung his hands together, trying to build up the courage to speak. Vincent didn’t seem to be a nervous man, so his current state was a little surprising.

“Actually, I hoped we might speak about Tomás for a moment.”

“Of course.” Aldo gave Vincent a look. He had definitely been told about their relationship, and like any good friend, was sure to be a little skeptical of Thomas’ new beau. Vincent wanted to make a good impression, but more than that, he needed to get some answers.

“I’ve noticed Tomás doesn’t do the best job of taking care of himself. I thought perhaps it was just because of the stress of the vote, but even now - I only mean that I care for him very much, and I worry. I wondered if you had noticed anything, as someone who has known him for much longer.”

Aldo sighed and leaned back in his chair. 

“Thomas is a complicated man. He has a hard time with himself.”

“You’ve talked to him about this? About his - neglect?”

Aldo took a long pause, considering what would be appropriate to say. He decided that Vincent could be trusted.

“Yes. I’ve brought it up a few times. Privately of course. He’s not easily rattled, but he - he made it clear that he doesn’t like to talk about these things. He is surprisingly stubborn. I found that it was better not to fight and risk alienating him, so I offer support without necessarily pushing back. It’s imperfect, certainly. I wish I knew how to do more.”

Aldo was surprised by how much he had shared; Vincent was an easy man to talk to.

“I’d like to help him. Or at least try to.” Vincent’s deep brown eyes were full of desperate hope. Aldo felt a little sorry for him.

“I wish you the best of luck, truly. For your sake and his.”

Chapter Text

On their second Saturday together, just over a week after Vincent had returned from Baghdad, Vincent came over to Thomas’ for afternoon tea. Last night had been their first apart since Vincent had returned. They had both thought it best to spend a few evenings in their respective homes, so as to not become entirely dependent on each other so early on into the relationship.

Vincent slouched into Thomas’ worn out blue couch. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, though not because of any nightmares. Thomas was sitting across from him on an old leather arm chair, sipping his orange pekoe tea.

A strange quiet settling between the two. They often enjoyed spending time together in silence; even while Vincent was away they could spend hours on the phone without saying a word, listening to the sounds of pages rustling, keyboards tapping, and the other’s breathing. It was comfortable. This was not that.

Vincent watched, a little too intently, as Thomas nibbled at a jam filled biscuit that Vincent had bought on the way over. He felt like a detective in one of Thomas’ mystery novels; preparing to make a big reveal after spending a week gathering clues. Except there was nothing fun or rewarding about this - whatever this was. No, it was just difficult.

“How are you Vincent?”

“Hmm?” Vincent looked up from Thomas’ hands, still holding the biscuit, and met his clear blue eyes, which were examining his face intently, as if it were a ledger to be filled out.

Thomas’ brow furrowed in its familiar way. “You seem a little tense. Is something on your mind?”

Vincent sighed. He was grateful that Thomas had been the first to speak. It was better this way.

“Actually, there was something that -” Vincent’s mouth was very dry. “Something I wanted to talk about. With you.”

“Anything.” Thomas set down the remainders of the biscuit.

“It’s just that - well I wanted to make sure it was a good time.” Vincent was stalling and he knew it.

“Of course it is. Is it - Are you okay?” 

“Well actually it's about you.”

Thomas leaned forward, clasping his cup of tea with both hands. “Go on.” 

“It's just that I’ve had such a beautiful time with you ever since coming back. And I love all our time together, but there’s just something -”

“Oh,” Thomas sounded suddenly concerned, as if Vincent was about to confirm some deep seated fear he had been wrestling with.

“No, no, nothing like that” Vincent reassured him quickly, recognizing where Thomas’ anxious mind must have gone.

Thomas let out a breath. 

“I don't really know how to say it,” Vincent had rehearsed the discussion in his head all morning, but now none of the words seemed right. He paused for a moment before looking at Thomas. He had to be brave. For him.

“I just keep thinking of the day with the shower, when you were hurt.”

Thomas looked down at his tea. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but he also didn’t want Vincent to know that.

“I wondered if maybe you would want to talk about it. About what happened.”

Thomas paused for a moment, considering. “I thought we talked already.”

“I mean you said you were angry, but never about -”

Vincent’s voice trailed off. The expression on Thomas’ face was unreadable, even to him. “What's there to say?”

Vincent had spent decades listening and speaking with others. He thought of it as his greatest tool as a historian, it came very easily to him. But this was different. Already, Thomas was shutting down.

Vincent chose his next words carefully. “I hoped we could talk about the burns.”

Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Please my dear Tomás, you can be honest with me. I won't judge you.”

He shook his head, as if tossing off Vincent’s concern. “You did a good job caring for me, I’m very grateful. They’re all healed now.”

“No they aren’t, my Tomás. I've held you. I've touched your skin, it's so delicate that you still flinch. You're not letting them heal.” Vincent had hoped he wouldn’t sound angry, instead his voice came out pleading. “Just please tell me the truth, my love. Have you been taking more of these showers?”

Thomas’ jaw tensed. “That was an accident.”

Vincent could feel the emotion rising in his throat. He tried to calm himself down. Remain composed. He didn’t want this to seem like a confrontation. 

“You were in the shower for fifteen minutes, Tomás. Burns like that don't just happen after a couple seconds.”

“It was nothing, truly. I'm fine.”

“I’m not judging you or trying to be difficult. It’s just that I notice things. I see how you don't take care of yourself. It's purposeful, methodical even. I can't ignore that.”

Thomas put his teacup down and stood up.

“Vincent. I don’t know what you think is happening, but I'm perfectly well.”

“But I don't think you are, my Tomás. The way you talk about yourself. The way you treat yourself. It’s - ”

“It doesn't matter.” Thomas turned away from Vincent and moved towards the window.

“It matters. It matters to me the way you neglect yourself. Overworking, not sleeping until you’re almost passing out. The other day in your office -”

Vincent paused. There was more to say, but he hadn’t been sure if he should bring it up today. He didn’t want to overwhelm Thomas with everything all at once, but now in the moment, he needed him to understand how serious this was.

“It doesn't help that you're not eating.”

Vincent couldn’t see Thomas’ face, but he could imagine what his expression must be. His whole body had bristled at the words.

“That's not - I am perfectly healthy.”

“You skipped meals during the vote and I put it off as you being busy, but it's the same ever since I've lived with you. You need to eat, my love.”

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of some way to escape this conversation. For a moment, he thought about walking right out the door, but to do that he would have to pass by Vincent, and he imagined that the other man would likely try to stop him. Instead he tried again to dismiss Vincent’s concerns.

“You're -”

“I’m what, Tomás? Imagining? Overthinking?”

His voice sounded urgent. Thomas wanted to jump out the window.

“Yes. Maybe. I don't know. But I truly am fine, you must believe me, my dear Vincent. I know you haven't known me for long, but this is just the way I am. I have a small appetite. No one else notices.”

“Aldo noticed.”

Thomas turned around, surprised.

“Well that's - did he say that?”

“Yes.”

Thomas let out a huff and looked around in disbelief. Betrayed by his own friend.

“Don’t be mad at him, Tomás. I asked.”

“So now you’re what? Conspiring?” Thomas suddenly felt like a trapped animal. “I don't know what is going on with Aldo or what he told you, but I’m sure he was just being dramatic. He worries too much. And now he’s saying - I don’t know what he’s saying. But whatever it is, it’s not important, alright? He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Maybe there were times in the past when - but not anymore. I’m doing fine. I’m doing great actually.”

He could tell that his rambling was not doing anything to convince Vincent that he was okay, but there wasn’t much else he could do. Vincent looked at him with pure care and concern, his brow furrowing as he waited for Thomas to finish. A question had occurred to him.

“Did you eat lunch today?”

Thomas was suddenly out of words. A deer in headlights. Vincent spoke very calmly, but he could hear that there was a storm just below the surface.

“Breakfast, Tomás?”

Thomas scoffed and looked to the floor.

“So all you’ve eaten today is a biscuit.” Vincent’s voice got deathly quiet, sombre almost. “Is this another way that you’re hurting yourself?”

Thomas’ eyes shot up, making contact with Vincent’s. He made sure to look shocked at the implication. Mouth agape, eyes wide, he even scoffed a few more times for good measure.

“Hurting myself? What - Don't you think that's a little over the top.”

Vincent didn’t buy it. He got up from his chair and moved towards Thomas.

“The showers, Tomás. I don't know what you think that is, but it's hurting you.”

Thomas backed away, shaking his head.

“For the last time, that wasn't anything serious. I am fine. I am perfectly healthy. Perfectly - in control.”

Vincent reached out and placed his hands on Thomas’ shoulders.

“I think control is the problem. You’re so tightly wound, so restricted in everything, in these habits and routines that you have.”

Thomas shrunk into himself and looked down at his feet.

“This is embarrassing.”

“No, no it's not Tomás. It's okay to be struggling. There are many things I struggle with.”

Vincent moved closer, looking up towards Thomas’ downturned face. Thomas’ eyes were welling with tears that threatened to fall at any moment.

He spoke with an unsettling finality. “Your problems are much worse than mine.”

“Don't dismiss yourself please, my Tomás.”

Vincent reached up to brush the tears from Thomas’ cheek, but Thomas moved away from the touch, once again putting distance between them. He turned his back to Vincent, arms crossed, like a wounded animal protecting his soft underbelly. Vincent felt a chill as Thomas took a deep breath. His next words sounded cold and composed.

“I understand that you like to be the caretaker, but I am capable of handling myself.”

Vincent felt a sharpness in his tone that had not been there a moment ago. It stung a little, but he didn’t falter.

“I know you can handle yourself, Tomás, but it isn't a weakness to lean on others every once in a while.” Vincent reached out towards Thomas’ back, which was arched and tense. Like an alley cat , Vincent thought. “I told you about my nightmares when they were too much to bear on my own. I still struggle, yes, but having support makes it better. I want to share these burdens with you, and I want you to share yours with me. That’s part of being in a relationship.”

“Well maybe I can’t do that.” 

The words hit Vincent like a truck. Thomas realised too late what he had said, and quickly spun around to face him. 

“No, Vincent, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it that way.”

Vincent had wanted to be calm and thoughtful. He had wanted to respect how hard this was for Thomas, but it was just too much. He couldn’t hold back the frustration and anguish in his voice any longer. 

“Don’t you see how you’re ruining your own life? You have all these wonderful things, all these people that care about you - Aldo, Ray, Me - And you’re pushing it all away. I don’t understand, Tomás. Why? Why are you doing this to yourself? I love you. I love you so why are you doing -”

Thomas didn’t mean to yell, but his next words came out harsh and cruel.

“Because I don’t deserve it.” 

Because I don’t deserve you, he thought but didn't say. 

They had never really argued before today, never raised their voices at each other, and the look of horror and shock in Vincent’s eyes burned themselves deep into Thomas’ mind. His whole body wanted to rush over and comfort him, but how could he do that when he was the reason for this fear? Instead, he stood still, every muscle in his body wound tight. Immoveable, like that moment in the hotel before Vincent had first held him. 

For a moment they stared at each other like that. Thomas was sure that Vincent might yell back, or maybe just walk out and slam the door behind him never to return. And I would deserve it , he cursed himself internally. Maybe it was for the best that things would end this way. Thomas just wasn’t made for this type of… vulnerability.

Watching Thomas, Vincent thought he looked so horribly brittle that even the smallest touch would make him shatter. This has all gone so horribly wrong . He wished he could say something to make it all better, but he was at a loss for words. All he could say was the truth:

“You’re breaking my heart Tomás.”

Thomas’s face fell instantly. His body softened, and then crumpled to the ground, his chest heaving with sobs. All the walls he had built up finally came tumbling down on top of him, defeated by a few quiet words.

Vincent rushed to him. He embraced him and held his limp body in his arms.

“Come on my love, let's get you to bed, we’re too old to lay on the floor like this.”

Thomas allowed himself to be guided up, sobbing into Vincent’s shoulders. He would be embarrassed if he was able to form a coherent thought, but instead he just felt a great emptiness.

Vincent led Thomas towards the bedroom and laid him down in the bed before getting in beside him, pulling the blankets over them both and wrapping Thomas in his arms once more. Vincent stroked his hair and whispered reassurances until Thomas ran out of tears. The two of them lay there, underneath Thomas’ cream coloured bed sheets, wearing their slacks and crumpled button up shirts, and illuminated by the warmth of the afternoon sun spilling through the window. There were many long minutes of silence before Thomas croaked out a few words.

“I’m sorry”

“There’s no need to apologize”

“I should never have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“I shouldn't have sprang all this on you. This was supposed to go differently. I said some things I shouldn't have, I know it was overwhelming.”

“No, that's no excuse for the way I behaved. I saw the fear on your face Vincent. I’ll never forgive myself for making you fear me.”

Vincent shifted down so that he was face to face with Thomas. He ran his hand through Thomas’s hair and caressed his face, still red from crying.

“Please my dear, there's nothing to forgive. I’m not afraid of you, I’m afraid for you. I worry.”

Thomas flinched at the words. He looked away, but Vincent’s hand on his cheek kept him from turning away completely. 

“No one was supposed to - I didn’t want - You shouldn’t have to worry.”

Thomas’s voice wavered, threatening to break into tears again.

“Tomás, you must understand that the problem isn’t me worrying about you. The problem is that you are hurting yourself.”

Thomas didn’t say anything in retort, instead he closed his eyes tight. Tears dripped down his face. Vincent leaned in to kiss Thomas on the cheek.

“Please let me help you, my love. I want you to be well. I want to understand you. You bring me so much happiness, and I think - I hope - I bring you happiness in return, but you must also find joy in yourself. I want this for you, and I think you need help to find this. I don’t know why you are so bent on destroying yourself, but I don’t want you to feel this way anymore. So just please help me understand and we can get through this together.”

Thomas listened, eyes still firmly shut, knowing if he looked into Vincent’s at that moment it would break them both. 

“Will you talk to me, my Tomás?”

Thomas responded only with a small nod of agreement. Vincent let out a sigh of relief and pulled Thomas back into his chest, head against Vincent’s heart. Thomas was grateful for the contact, though unsure if his meager response deserved such a reward. He wanted to offer more, but he couldn’t find the words. 

As if reading his mind, Vincent said, “It doesn’t have to be right now. Just whenever you're ready”

“Thank you”

“Thank you, Tomás. You’re very brave. I mean it. Now please get some rest.”

Thomas’s body relaxed into Vincent’s arms. He found that he was very tired, even if it was only mid-afternoon. Listening to Vincent’s heartbeat and the sound of their rhythmic breathing, it didn’t take long for him to drift to sleep.

Chapter Text

Several hours later, Thomas awoke to an empty bed beside him. It was evening already, the light no longer shining through the half open window. He sat up and tried to think over the events of the afternoon, whether that had been real or just a cruel invention of his mind. His clothing, the white button down and gray slacks, confirmed that it had not been a dream and he had in fact slept through the second half of Saturday.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the memories of Vincent’s worried face and pleading voice. There was music coming from the kitchen, so he focused on that and got up slowly, anticipating the headache that hit him as soon as he stood up.

Vincent was at the stove, humming along to some Spanish folk song, and it took him a moment to notice Thomas shuffling awkwardly into the kitchen.

“Good evening my dear Tomás”

“What time is it?” Thomas failed to suppress his yawn, and Vincent smiled at him fondly.

“Dinner time! I hope you don’t mind. I popped out to the corner store while you were sleeping.”

Thomas looked away, suddenly ashamed of his empty fridge. “No it’s okay. You should have woken me, I could have helped.”

Vincent was going to say something about how Thomas needed the sleep, but thought better of it. 

“You were so peaceful. And besides, I like cooking.”

“At least let me set the table.”

Vincent didn’t argue and Thomas quickly set about laying out plates and pouring two glasses of water.

---------------------------

Thomas twirled his fork around in the pasta before noticing that Vincent was watching him intently.

“For Christ's sake Vincent, I’m going to eat it,” He tried to sound sarcastic, hoping to break up the awkward silence.

“Hmm, what?” Vincent snapped out of his trance, unaware of what Thomas had said.

“You don’t need to watch.”

“Was I staring? Forgive me. You look so beautiful when you’ve just woken up.”

Thomas’ felt his face flush and the back of his neck heat up. He quickly stuffed the fork full of pasta in his mouth, as if that would distract from the red on his cheeks.

Vincent laughed loudly.

“I love how easy it is to make you blush.”

Thomas swallowed the pasta, trying to think of a witty response. “Next time, I’ll be the one to make you blush.”

Vincent reached out and grabbed Thomas’ free hand.

“Is that a promise?” Vincent smiled, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

Thomas blushed again.

They ate their dinner slowly; Vincent using his left hand, as he couldn't bear to let go of Thomas with his right. They laughed and talked about silly things like grading papers and the Roman public transit system. Vincent’s thumb drew circles on Thomas’ palm, unsure if he was soothing Thomas or himself. Neither of them mentioned the conversation from that afternoon. It wasn’t the time.

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After dinner, Vincent was tired but Thomas was wide awake, having only just woken up. Thomas insisted that he should sleep now, but he didn’t want to. He thought about how broken the other man had looked only a few hours ago, and he didn’t want to leave him alone to stew in his thoughts just yet. And besides, Vincent had to admit he was worried that the stress of the day would be enough to induce a nightmare, which was just about the last thing the two of them needed today.

Instead, Vincent recommended they watch a movie; something which, admittedly, neither of them had done in a long time. Thomas was a little surprised when his remote actually worked and he managed to turn his TV on. He was still signed into Aldo’s Netflix account, who, one time he was over, had insisted that Thomas watch some new murder mystery movie about a rich family and a girl who kept throwing up. It was entertaining, but Thomas hadn’t liked the southern accent that the main detective had.

Having absolutely no idea what he was looking at, he handed the remote over to Vincent, who gladly took over. Vincent liked movies, though not nearly as much as books, and it had been a while since he’d really thought about sitting down to watch one. He scrolled through the selection of new movies that he hadn’t heard of before landing on a familiar title.

“This one is good.”

“Oh yes, Pride and Prejudice . I must have read the book, though it may be too long ago to tell for sure.”

“Really it's a silly movie. Lots of unnecessary drama with the British aristocracy, so ridiculous. No offense.”

Thomas chuckled. “None taken.”

“But the love story is nice. And Matthew Macfadyen - I mean, I knew I was gay a decade before the movie came out, but Mr Darcy certainly confirmed it.”

Thomas couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. He knows it isn’t logical, but he didn’t like to remember just how easily Vincent could have ended up with anyone but him. I mean, really, who would ever want some washed up old professor?

Vincent leaned into him, interrupting his thoughts. “I guess I have a type.”

Thomas’ brow furrowed “A type?

Vincent lifted his head to look at Thomas. He loved looking into those eyes, always so full of thought, always wondering. It reminded him of the beautiful mind that he had fallen in love with.

“Sad English men with soulful blue eyes.”

Thomas blushed again. Vincent was certainly winning that little competition.

“Am I like that?”

Vincent didn’t answer, instead he kissed him. Thomas responded immediately, tilting his head to the side so Vincent could get a better angle, and bringing his hands around Vincent’s waist. Vincent opened his mouth as he leaned back onto the couch, gripping Thomas’ shirt so he would follow. 

Thomas held himself up as best he could, not wanting to interrupt the sensation of Vincent’s tongue running along the roof of his mouth, but his arms shook with the effort. 

Vincent pulled away, breaking their lips apart. “Lay down on me,” he said, eyes fluttering open to meet Thomas’ with a look that could only be described as desire.

Thomas allowed his arms to relax, placing his weight instead against Vincent’s chest. The man let out a deep sigh as he settled onto him. Their faces were now centimeters apart, and Thomas couldn’t help but giggle a little.

Vincent smiled in return, moving his hands away from their place on Thomas' back so that he could guide him back into a kiss. Thomas moaned softly as Vincent ran his hands through his hair, and returned the favour by sliding his own up under Vincent's shirt, letting them wander up and down the sides of his ribs before settling on his waist, which he gripped as he pressed down onto Vincent, trying to push their bodies' even closer together.

---------------------------

It was very late when they finally got around to watching the movie. Vincent had insisted again that he could stay up; he wanted to keep Thomas distracted for as long as possible. And he liked the idea of watching a romance movie with Thomas. It was just something you do with your boyfriend. 

He felt his face heat up at the thought. Of course they were boyfriends, they had declared their love for each a sickeningly sweet number of times, not that Vincent would change that. But it still felt a little surreal. Here they were, sitting together, Vincent leaning into Thomas’ chest and Thomas’ arm wrapped around him, simply watching a movie together. It was one of those little miracles that Vincent treasured so much.

Living in a country that wasn’t exactly accepting of queer people, Vincent had decided that romantic relationships just wouldn’t be in the cards for him for a while. It hadn’t been a big loss. Despite being a romantic at heart, he was always a little too shy when it came to love. Maybe it was that Catholic guilt that was so hard to escape. He knew Thomas struggled with that too. It’s hard when you’re raised to see your desire, gay or not, as inherently sinful and wrong. Though Vincent had many decades to accept his queerness, and he was certainly comfortable with his sexuality now, there were still many years where it had eaten away at him, and by the time he had accepted himself, he felt like he was years behind everyone else. The few relationships he had had never felt right. And besides, he was endlessly busy, and found plenty of fulfillment in his many platonic relationships and the important work that he did.

And so, for over a decade, Vincent had more or less accepted that he would never truly fall in love, and he certainly wouldn’t have the type of soulmate, destined relationship that he secretly wished for.

But now, there was Thomas. And it was more than a small miracle, it was everything.

---------------------------

“You see why he reminds me of you?”

They had gotten to the part of the movie when Elizabeth finds out that Mr Darcy paid for her sister’s wedding when Vincent turned to Thomas.

“It’s not just because he has a hard time opening up, but when he does allow himself to feel, he does it with such conviction. He loves so completely and dedicates his whole soul. You are the same. You put your whole heart into everything you do, you work, your friends, me. It's incredible the dedication with which you love.”

“You’re always saying these nice things to me. I fear I’m not as eloquent -”

“I don't need compliments, Tomás. I feel your love through your actions. And besides, I have no problem accepting praise when appropriate, whereas you are in desperate need of the practice.”

“You're so wise, my love,” Thomas said with only a hint of dry British wit.

Vincent let out a laugh. The feeling of it radiated through Thomas’ whole body, warm and bright and full of joy.

—----

By the time the credits rolled, Vincent had fallen asleep on Thomas’ shoulder. It was for the best, as Thomas imagined the other man would tease him for a week if he found out that Mr Darcy’s final confession had brought a tear to Thomas' eye. It was a very nice movie indeed.

Thomas slowly sat up to turn off the TV, careful not to wake Vincent as he lay him down on the couch. He looked so peaceful there, long hair tangled in every direction, eyes closed and face relaxed into a slight smile. Thomas gently brushed a few strands of hair out of Vincent’s face, delighting at the few silver strands shining through the black waves.

For a moment, Thomas considered picking him up and carrying him to bed. Vincent was at least a few inches shorter than him, maybe if he lifted with his knees… He’d always been naturally athletic, he even used to go on the occasional run around the city. 

But those days were far behind him. 

The realization stung. Thomas couldn’t do it, he could barely hold himself up. Old age, and (he hated to admit it, but it was true) years of restricting himself had taken their toll. He was left with a sharp and boney frame, a hollow face, and arms too weak to hold anyone.

It was a miracle Vincent was attracted to him at all.

Thomas stopped himself. He tried to focus on Vincent’s face, his warmth radiating through Thomas’ hand which was still caressing his face. But he could feel his thoughts beginning to spiral back down the familiar dark hole that was his insecurities about why someone as wonderful as Vincent would want him. God, it really is a pattern . Vincent had so easily recognized his tendency towards self deprecation. Perhaps the man was right, perhaps this had all gone too far. 

Maybe if he had done a better job maintaining this body, he would be able to lift him. 

Thomas felt a strange loss at the thought. A guilt that his own personal punishment would impact his ability to serve others, to care for those he loved. 

He got a blanket and pillow for Vincent, carefully lifting his head and arranging him so that he would be more comfortable on the couch. He tried to focus on the act of service before carefully placing a kiss on Vincent’s forehead.

Thomas went back to the bedroom, but looking at it now, the thought of sleeping there alone was too much and so he turned back to the living room and stood in the empty darkness.

He might have cried if he had any tears left in him. Instead his hands shook and he had to fight to keep from hyperventilating. The guilt of the afternoon washed over him. Now with no more Vincent to distract his mind, he could feel the shame poor out of him like crude oil coating his skin, filling his mouth and dripping down his lungs, suffocating him. It was a familiar, dirty sensation, and suddenly, Thomas felt the overwhelming urge to wash it away with a hot shower. This caused another wave of shame, and he stood there, paralyzed. 

What was wrong with him?

He wanted to scream. But that would wake Vincent. He wanted to go back in time, or maybe break down again, or burn himself, or - No he couldn't think about that. Not when Vincent was here. And Aldo, and Ray, and all his students and the other professors. He just had to escape for a bit. Run away.

Thomas, opened the door to his apartment, practically ran down the stairs and exited into the warm evening air. He walked without hesitation, in no particular direction and didn't look back. The cobblestone streets of Trastevere were uncharacteristically vacant. The late hour was too much even for the bohemian residents of the lively neighborhood. It was almost unrecognizable in the dark and the few street lights that served as a contrast only made the darkness feel even deeper.

Like ink, like oil, like sin seeping out and spreading across everything he sees.

Thomas was crying out internally. There were so many things he had to tell Vincent, that he had to make him understand. He rehearsed the speech in his mind, repeating it over and over, letting it hurt him more each time.

I am annoying and imperfect and unnatural. How dare you see anything else? How dare I lie to you that I am not those things? There is nothing worthwhile about me, and so there is nothing reasonable about you caring for me. And I have wasted your time and your love and your service because I am selfish and greedy. I’m a grown man for God’s sake and I can’t even take care of myself. And you pity me. And all my friends’ pity me. How long have you all been watching me? How long have I been taking up your energy and time? I won’t let you worry about me anymore, I swear. As long as you don’t look too close, please. Don’t pay attention. Don’t notice that I’ve been lying to you, I’m not a good person. I’m not good.

He walked around in circles before eventually stumbling back to his apartment, his thoughts running far ahead of him. 

He felt like an idiot. Like stupid Mr. Darcy, wandering around his fields in the early morning. He had to pull himself together. Control whatever the hell was wrong with him. In the meantime, he couldn’t let Vincent worry anymore, so he couldn’t let the other man know that he had spent the night wandering around the few blocks near his house, whispering to himself like a madman.

By the time he returned, the sun was threatening to rise and there was no way he could sleep now, so instead, he sat down on his armchair. He watched Vincent’s slow, peaceful breathing, trying to match it to his own. He relaxed into the feeling and drifted into an almost-sleep, eyes never closing, never looking away.

---------------------------

Vincent woke up and panicked for a moment before remembering that he was on Thomas’ couch. He turned to see Thomas staring at him.

Thomas turned away, embarrassed to have been caught and Vincent laughed at the way his whole face turned red so easily. Thomas had such a beautifully expressive face, and Vincent loved that he could see his thoughts, his feelings, his desires. Vincent wondered for a moment how he got this lucky, to have someone so wonderful who loves him so much. 

“Good morning, my dear Vincent”

“Did you sleep okay Tomás?”

Thomas stopped himself from lying, the least he could do was be honest with Vincent. Everything else, that was going to be a lot harder.

“No.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes. Thomas responded before he could say anything.

“It’s fine, I slept all day. I’ll make coffee.”

“Let me. You always do it.”

“I like to.”

“So do I,” Vincent got up as he spoke. He yawned and pulled his arms up to stretch. “Let me do it for you, just this once.”

Thomas didn’t feel like protesting. “Okay. But only because I love you.”

Vincent tossed his head back in an honest laugh, his long hair falling down his back. He leaned over and kissed Thomas.

“I love you more,” he whispered.

Before Thomas could respond, Vincent, by some incredible force of will, turned away to leave the living room. Thomas watched him move around the kitchen, grabbing the coffee beans, filling the machine with water, wearing the borrowed plaid pajama pants that had to be rolled up at the ankles and a white tank top that contrasted beautifully against his skin. The early morning sun streamed in through the open window and the sound of birds signified that the city was just beginning to wake up. 

Thomas couldn’t help but smile.

Chapter Text

Their schedules rarely lined up throughout the day, as it was best if their duties were split to cover more ground, especially during the early days of Vincent’s presidency. This meant that they barely saw each other after their initial walk to campus, and spent the day apart until the evenings when they were both finally done with work. Even their mornings were busy, and they often ate breakfast separately at the university cafeteria, grabbing something to go before running off to some meeting, or summer class, or academic talk. 

This Monday, it seemed Vincent had other plans.

“It's early, we should stop at a cafe.”

He said it causally, but there was a steadiness in his voice that made it clear that this was not a suggestion.

Thomas felt immediately defensive. He wasn’t planning on skipping breakfast, he had promised himself he would go to the cafeteria today. But when he looked at Vincent, he saw no judgement and only care in his eyes. He reminded himself that Vincent was doing this for him.

Thomas found that he enjoyed being seen in public together. He loved walking arm in arm with Vincent, or when he rested his head on Thomas’ shoulder while lounging on a bench. And here, sitting at the cafe patio and holding hands over the table, they definitely looked like a couple. He wondered if Vincent ever felt anxious about that, having lived so long in places where it would not be safe to be seen together. 

Thomas couldn’t help but smile as he watched Vincent’s deep brown eyes scan over the menu. They sparkled in the morning sun, as Vincent, ever the sweet tooth, ordered a crostatta, and a plate of biscotti to go with his coffee. 

“What would you like?” Vincent looked up to Thomas, who was startled by the sudden eye contact. He would never get used to the way those brown eyes looked at him as if they could see every part of his soul.

“An egg?” Thomas’ go to.

“He’ll have the frittata.”

As soon as they got to the University, Vincent was swept away into a meeting, but not before planting a kiss on Thomas' cheek. Thomas wished they could see more of each other throughout the day, they did have office's directly across from each other after all, but ever since his election, Vincent had rarely been in his own office, preferring to move around as much as possible, getting to know the many professors and students who he was now technically meant to be leading. He was a man of the people after all, and Thomas got the feeling that he wasn't really used to sitting still.

After Thomas had started to walk away, Vincent turned back and rushed over to him. He hugged him deeply, and when he finally pulled away, he looked at Thomas with tears in his eyes. Thomas wanted to ask what was wrong, but Vincent just smiled and shook his head gently before quickly rushing off to his meeting. Vincent hoped Thomas would understand what the hug had meant: Take care of yourself.

"Aldo, how have you been?"

Thomas had made a purposeful decision to stop by Aldo's office. He had barely spoken to the man in several weeks. Despite constantly passing by each other, sending emails, and attending meetings together, he couldn't remember the last time they had both been seated across from each other, with no work talk to fill the space between them.

"Good, good. Our new president is certainly keeping me busy, but it's good work."

"Yes, I think his changes will be exactly what we needed."

Aldo nodded and stared blankly at the wall. Thomas fidgeted awkwardly in his seat, neither of them speaking. Aldo cleared his throat before turning back to his computer and pretending to type something. Finally, Thomas spoke up.

"I know you spoke to Vincent."

Aldo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, still not looking at the other man.

"Thomas, I'm sorry about that. I knew I shouldn't have gotten involved."

"No, No. It was a good thing."

"Oh. Then I'm glad."

"Aldo, when did we become like this?"

Aldo looked back to him, surprised by his straightforwardness.

"What do you mean?"

"We used to be - well we used to be honest with each other."

Aldo sighed and readjusted his glasses, a nervous habit that he had first developed back in his seminary days. A dead giveaway that he was deciding whether to say something difficult.

"During the election, I did many things I regret. Maybe I broke something. I know that and I sincerely -"

"Stop" Thomas shook his head urgently, they'd been over this. "You've apologized more than enough already. I think we had been slowly drifting a apart before then. If we truly knew each other as we used to, then the election may have gone differently. At least, between us."

Aldo was listening intently now. Thomas was filled with an uncharacteristic confidence, not unlike what he had felt when delivering his speech two months ago. He knew he had to say this before it was too late.

"We're friends, Aldo. You'll always be one of my dearest friends, but maybe it was easier when we were younger. We used to be unafraid to tell the other anything, share everything. And now, there's a certain - I don't know - a certain uncertainty? As if we are both afraid to offend the other so we dance around issues. We never used to be that way."

"I guess that's what happens when you get old." Aldo chuckled, though his eyes betrayed him.

"But I don't want that. I miss you, Aldo."

Aldo's eyes sparkled. He took a deep breath. It wasn't a good time to cry.

"I miss you too."

"Then what are we doing?"

"It's complicated. You where - we're both busy people, and well, you're not always the best at balancing work and life. Not that I blame you, of course."

"Ha, you're probably right."

"I want us to be close Thomas. I want you to feel like you can be open with me. To trust me."

"I do."

Aldo stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

"There are many things you never told me."

"That's not fair, I told you about Vincent almost immediately."

"That's not what I meant."

Thomas considered this. He had an idea about what Aldo was alluding to.

"What did Vincent say? When you spoke."

Aldo spun his chair slowly so he was no longer looking directly at Thomas.

"He said that you weren't taking care of yourself, weren't eating. The same things I had been telling you for years. He said he was going to do something about it."

"Right."

"Did he?"

Aldo was facing the window now. They really where so much alike, Thomas thought, always hiding their face when they knew it would betray too much.

"Yes."

Aldo sighed. "I never could get you to listen."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm just glad he finally got through to you. I'm assuming he did?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Aldo felt a tear slide down his cheek. It was bittersweet, to know that his friend was accepting the help he needed. But Aldo had been trying for years to break through the barriers that Thomas had built, and now Vincent had seemingly walked right through them.

"Aldo," Thomas interrupted his thoughts. "Aldo, I never thanked you for everything you did for me.

The other man didn't respond, so Thomas continued. He knew Aldo well enough to know when he was feeling insecure, and he also knew that he was the reason for his friend feeling this way.

"I noticed it. The quiet support, when you would ask if I'd slept, or arrange to meet me for meals, or hand me your water bottle without saying anything. I was grateful, even if I never said anything."

Aldo hoped Thomas wouldn't notice that he was stifling a sob. If he did, it didn't stop him.

"I know I wasn't always very nice to you, Aldo. You tried so hard to get me to acknowledge that I was -" Thomas didn't know how to finish that thought, "Well, what I mean to say is that I know I pushed you away."

"You didn't speak to me for a week that one time." Aldo finally spoke, his voice shaking.

"Yes. I remember. That was childish of me."

"You can be so stubborn."

"I'm trying not to be."

"Wow, what did Vincent say to you? Are you sure you're the same Thomas?" Aldo tried to break the tension that was building up inside him. He shouldn't be jealous, he knew that.

Thomas understood what he really meant.

"Aldo, I would never have listened to Vincent if it wasn't for years of you slowly chipping away at that wall. I don’t know if I ever would have be-friended Vincent if it weren't for you. If I would have -"

If I would have lived to meet him.  Thomas had to take a few breaths to stabilize himself. That was a scary thought, but he was beginning to realise that perhaps it was not far off. He wasn't quite ready to acknowledge just how - bad (was that the right word?) things had been. He would have to confront that fact eventually. For now, he would at least be honest about how important Aldo was to him, and how ungrateful he had been in return.

"You took care of me for so many years, even when I was fighting you every step of the way. This whole time, I've been trying to figure out why there was this gap between us. And now I see that it was my fault. I'm so sorry Aldo."

"You apologize too much Thomas. I only wanted you to be happy."

You have many people that want you to be happy.

"We both apologize too much, but I feel this time it is for good reason. What was it you said? To be so old and not know oneself? I refused to recognize how much I had broken myself, and your worry was a constant reminder of it, so I shut you out. In my desire not to be a burden, I became a terrible friend. I wanted to be strong, or at least to appear that way, and in doing so I ignored what you needed: a friend who could be open and honest with you."

"You're going to make me cry, Thomas."

"Then cry, God knows we both need it."

That was the last straw for Aldo. He let out a sob and dropped his head into his hands. He didn't even know why or what he was feeling. Release maybe? Suddenly he felt Thomas' arms around him. The man's knees must be screaming, he thought as Thomas kneeled down beside the chair to hold Aldo's shaking body, gently rubbing circles on his back.

"I love you, Aldo. You're a dear friend to me."

"Love you too," Aldo choked out between tears. He tried his best to steady his breath. "Maybe we could get lunch?"

Thomas became still for a moment, and Aldo waited nervously for his response.

"Yes, I'd like that."