(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?"

[makethem_notice]

Pushing away from the door, Tom wandered into the kitchen, just to give the two of them a little privacy, his thoughts whirring by faster than he could process them.

Pulling open the refrigerator, he stood staring into it, just to have some excuse to look busy while he tried to figure out what the fuck to do.

[since_1997]

The conversation seems to take forever and he's very conscious of telling Robin he loves her, because he does, but it's all so much more complicated now. He tells her he loves her and then he hangs up the phone and he walks up behind Tom at the fridge.

"This is fucking weird."

[makethem_notice]

"Yeah," Tom murmured, shutting the fridge and slipping away to stand at a distance, feeling something nervous and sick turning over in his gut.

"Do you think this is permanent?"

[since_1997]

The distance hurts more than anything. It's been months since there was anything like distance between them. Paul feels his jaw tighten. He forces himself to shakes his head.

"Island shit. Has to be." He looks down at the wire ring on his finger. "I...we have to go see Robin."

[makethem_notice]

"Yeah, you're right," Tom agreed, swallowing thickly and looking just about anywhere but Paul's face.

Already walking back toward the bathroom, he murmured, "I should, uh... I should get a shower."

God, what were they going to say to her?

[since_1997]

It's on the tip of his tongue to say that he'll go with him btu he stops, at the last minute, and holds his peace instead. He ends up sitting back on the couch, Blackberry in hand, staring into space while he listens to the water run.

[makethem_notice]

He couldn't explain why he was disappointed when Paul doesn't follow. It felt like an answer to a question he'd been afraid to ask. Things weren't the same, between them. Not there. Not in LA. And they were still in the same apartment, but the distance between them suddenly felt like oceans.

Leaning against the tile, water beating down on his back, he let out a shuddering sigh, thumb brushing against the flimsy wire ring around his finger, the nausea in his stomach settling into a deeper kind of emptiness.

He came out into the bedroom a towel, wordlessly moving to his dresser to grab some clothes, ignoring Paul visible there through the open door into the living room.

[since_1997]

Leaning in the doorway, Paul watches Tom get dressed, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. He looks down at the ring on his finger again.

"Tom," he says, quietly, but can't think what to follow it with.
What the fuck am I supposed to do here?

[makethem_notice]

"Yeah?" Tom said, his voice carefully level, turning to look at him as calmly as he could manage, but Tom Hansen had the world's worst poker face.

Things were definitely not okay.

"Do you really want me to go with you? I mean, it's just going to be awkward, right?"

[since_1997]

He never ever expected to have it hurt like that when Tom looked at him. He tilts his head and pushes his hari back from his face.

"Do you really want to stay here and wait for me to come back?"

[makethem_notice]

"I... Paul, I wasn't really expecting you to come back. You don't live here, man. You live there with her. Unless you're going to explain to her what's going on..."

And that, he was almost positive, wasn't going to happen.

[since_1997]

"Are we assuming that we're here for good?" he asks, tight pain clear in his face. He swallows and looks down at his hands.

"I'm not ready to be here, Tom."