February 3rd, 2020

God, you need to stop staring, Thomas.

Thomas Penn scolded himself silently, tearing his eyes from the ridiculously attractive stranger currently perusing the organically grown eggplants at the local farmer's market. He glanced briefly at a crate of dirt-caked potatoes for the great length of three seconds before his eyes involuntarily flicked back up to the man who had, in that time, picked up an eggplant to inspect it for any imperfections. Cerulean eyes stared at the real-life counterpart of the phallic emoji, the vegetable rolling between large hands, and God, what Thomas would do to get those hands on his-

The man's hands suddenly paused their ministrations on the apparently blemish-less eggplant, his head whipping to the side towards Thomas, sensing a gaze on his back. Thomas's head snapped downwards, expression casual, as he stared at some bright red gourmet tomatoes. Thomas felt blue eyes track across his form, before dropping again, probably back towards the bulging eggplants which were getting more action from the stranger's hands than Thomas's aubergine would probably ever get.

Yes, 23 and a bit years old, and still very much a virgin.

For the most part, Thomas was fine with his current situation; on track to a stable career, a good group of friends by his side and non-dysfunctional family at his back. He had everything he needed and didn't want for anything, apart from a non-existent thing called romance.

But in this day and age, where people met on Tinder and romance was just a flick of a finger and a few water drop emojis next to an eggplant, romance was long dead. Real, true, organic love. That was what Thomas longed for, but knew he was never going to get it. While he enjoyed the dream of romance, he was by no means a romantic. In fact, the people around him would probably label him a realist. A cynic. A disenchanted pragmatist whose career was on the forefront of his mind, and not the ridiculously handsome man who had paid for the perfectly-shaped eggplant and moved on to the equally phallic bananas.

Oh, dear Lord, he's so fucking hot.

Tall, lean body draped in dark jeans and a white collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Dark brown hair was neatly brushed back from an angular face, a few wisps falling over bright blue eyes rimmed with dark lashes. A few wrinkles at the corner of his eyes told Thomas that the man was older, but probably no more than 30. Straight-edged nose, thin yet pink lips naturally curved upwards at the corners and a clean-shaven jaw. A little beauty mark above his upper lip that moved when he spoke. Elegant fingers stroking his bottom lip as he selected his bananas, a flash of an expensive watch. He was someone who was blessed with God-tier good-looks but didn't know it, not when he barely reacted when a group of women giggled as they walked past him, casting him furtive and shameless looks while nudging each other.

Thomas didn't realise that he was moving towards the man until he was standing in front of the crates of organic peaches next to the bananas. His body moved as if magnetised by the attractive pull of the man now beside him, drawn into his orbit despite his head floating without gravity.

The man glanced at Thomas, and Thomas looked away. The peaches were pink and yellow, soft and ripe, and their aroma sticky and sweet. Interesting. The man looked away at Thomas's apparent nonchalance, finding the bananas to be equally as interesting.

Thomas inhaled deeply, and floating above the smell of the peaches was the man's sharp aftershave, a clean and crisp smell, much like the man himself.

Thomas's fingers itched by his side, the boy fumbling to hold a ripe peach to stop him from trying to hold onto something - or someone - else. The peach skin was furry, soft in some places, hard in others. His thumb slot into the peach's indented ridge, moving up and down absently.

It was then that Thomas recalled something he had overheard a few weeks before. Something about melons and peaches and romance.

January 17th, 2020

Thomas nursed the cup of tea he had just made as he walked back down the hall to his bedroom. Passing his sister's room, its door slightly ajar, he winced at the high pitched laughter that trickled out of it.

"You just don't meet people organically any more," Thomas overheard his sister - Vanessa - say, her friends humming in agreement as they sipped their cheap wine. He rolled his eyes as they swirled their glasses, acting like they were 30 instead of 20, pretending like they had their shit together while they still lived off their parent's pocket money.

"The most organic thing that could happen is 'accidentally' throwing a melon in front of a hot guy at the supermarket and getting him to pick it up, and somehow managing to also pick him up as well," one of her friends snorted, followed by the clink of glasses. Thomas snorted at the ridiculous idea. There was no way a tactic like that could work in this universe, not with the advent of Tinder and online dating. Life wasn't a romantic comedy. Not at all.

"Out of all the fruits you could drop and roll, you'd go for a melon? They're fucking heavy," one of her other friends laughed. "Why not... an apple. Or orange. Or peach."

"Peaches are sensual," Vanessa offered, grinning slyly. "I mean, the peach from Call Me By Your Name was, you know..." Vanessa whistled, her friends giggling. 

'She's not wrong,' Thomas thought to himself, flashes of a very attractive Timothée Chalamet and a very ripe peach bright in his mind. 

Thomas's cheeks coloured as he tore himself away from his sister's door, sipping on his burning tea, part of him wishing he was tasting something else. Something riper, and sweeter. 

Peachier.

February 3rd, 2020

Thomas stared at the peach in his hands, fingers twitching as he felt the urge to just drop it. If he flicked his wrist slightly, it would roll towards the handsome stranger. It would roll and roll, maybe jump a little as it snagged on a bump in the ground, and then knock against the man's leather-covered foot. 

"Oops," Thomas silently murmured coyly, imaging bending down to reach for the peach and the stranger doing the same. A bump of fingers, maybe a spark. Time slowing down, the sound of the crowd dying down as he heard the man chuckle. His voice would be deep, husky, and whispered right by Thomas's ear. They'd both look up, fingers still wrapped around the tiny peach and each other's, and the man would smile. His beauty mark would move, pink lips parting, and then-

Drop.

Someone slammed into Thomas's back, pushing his body forward so his hip dug into the edge of the market table. The peach in Thomas's hand flew forwards, hitting the edge of the crates and rolling down to the ground. Thomas saw the skin of the peach break, juices dribbling out from the split. 

"Oops, sorry!" someone chirped from behind him, but Thomas paid them no attention. The peach rolled, leaving a trail of slick juice on the grey pavement. 

Rolling, rolling. Stop.

The peach rolled in front of the handsome stranger's leather shoes, missing his expensive footwear by a foot. Thomas's breath hitched as the man's head dropped down, eyes tracking the movement of the wayward peach. His mouth parted slightly in a silent 'Oh', before the man bent down and picked up the lost fruit. He then turned to Thomas, the left corner of his mouth curled upwards. Thomas was trapped in eyes that looked like oceans, and his breath left him like he was drowning in one.

"I think you dropped this."

The man's voice wasn't husky, and it wasn't as deep as Thomas thought. It was clear and light, soothing and gentle, and had the lilt of an accent. British? Irish? Something in between? Whatever it was, it sent Thomas's heart into a spasm and his stomach into a twist. His hands became clammy as his eyes ripped themselves from the man's blue oceans to the peach in his hands. 

"Here you go."

The man reached out, dropping the peach into Thomas's cupped hands. Though already damp, Thomas shivered as peach juice seeped onto his palm. The other corner of the man's lips lifted upwards gently, eyes sparkling.

"Thank yo-"

Thomas's words were cut short when the man suddenly lifted his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to lap at the juice that had coated his hand. Pink and wet, curling around the base of his thumb. A track of slick juice dribbled down the side of his hand, to his wrist, but the man didn't seem to care. His blue eyes stared at Thomas's, which widened as his mouth dropped open. 

"Mn. You should definitely buy some of those peaches. They're really very sweet." The man's smile widened, his eyes curving into half moons as the expression coloured his eyes. The man's seemingly stoic and chiselled appearance had softened completely, the man a complex mixture of sinfully hot yet angelically cute at the same time. Thomas swallowed loudly, cheeks aflame.

"O-Okay," Thomas choked out, the sound raspy and dry. The man's eyes crinkled a little as his smile deepened, a short chuckle leaving his sinful and heavenly mouth. He then turned, grabbed a peach and paid for it, tossing it in his hand before turning his head back to Thomas.

"See you later," the stranger said, biting deeply into the peach before walking away.  Thomas's eyes tracked the stranger's back as he waded through the market crowd, until he disappeared behind the horizon of tents and shoppers. 

When Thomas gathered his wits together, after a few motionless moments, he shovelled far too many peaches into a bag and threw his money at the shopkeeper before running to take the bus back home.

December 31st, 2019

Thomas sipped on his bitter drink, body sinking back into the mysteriously damp booth chair in the club. Thomas watched on as his friends wobbled on their feet, somehow managing to stay upright despite the appalling amount of alcohol coursing through their system. Mason, one of Thomas's closest friends from primary school, stumbled over to him with a wide, goofy grin on his face. His eyes were only a little droopy and pupils slightly dazed, his breath smelling like the cheap tequila he had chugged like water. Collapsing onto the sofa beside Thomas, Mason slung his arm around his friend's neck, sticky with sweat.

Thomas groaned at the tacky feeling of Masons's skin on his, shoving himself out from underneath Mason's weight. The inebriated individual immediately lost his balance when his sober pillar of support pushed on his shoulder, the boy letting out an amused 'oof' as he dropped off the sofa and onto his buttocks. Mason blinked a few times, before snorting at himself.

"Tommy," Mason pouted, throwing his arms up like a toddler wanting to be carried by their mother. "I fell down."

"I can see that," Thomas said, eyes rolling.

"Help me up?" Mason asked, eye lashes blinking in a flurry. "Pwetty pwease?"

"Fine," Thomas said, downing the rest of his drink, relishing the burn that trailed down his throat, warmth pooling in his stomach. Stretching out his hand, Mason grinning as he took it, Thomas grunted and hoisted his friend back onto the couch. Mason laughed as he manoeuvred himself into Thomas's side, leaning his head on Thomas's shoulder.

When he was younger, Thomas would probably be working up a cold sweat, his hands clammy and heart rabbiting in his chest with this sort of intimacy. He was embarrassed - but not ashamed - to admit that he had harboured a little crush on his friend in his younger years. Mason was not conventionally attractive - tall but a little soft around the belly, nose a little too big but ridiculously straight and hair always overgrown to the point of making him look like a bubble labrador. It was probably the fact that he actually acted like an affectionate puppy that had made fourteen-year-old Thomas fall, though. 

Mason, always smiling and radiating pure sunshine, had made Thomas feel wanted. Adored. Loved. Sure, on Mason's end this had always been purely platonic, but the way Mason always smiled at him with his eyes made Thomas swoon. Mason was pure light, a lighthouse that Thomas was drawn to, like a lost boat full of holes in a gloomy sea.

Thomas clung to his crush for just over five years. Nothing quite snuffed out a one-sided love more than the object of one's love getting a girlfriend. Or two. Or three. Or maybe one every 4 months. Mason was, understandably, quite popular with the ladies - he was respectful, funny, considerate, and of course, quite talented in bed. At least, from what Thomas had heard from his string of ex-girlfriends. For some reason, the fact that Thomas was gay somehow made every girl open up to him, including all of Mason's ex-girlfriends. Thomas had heard enough about his crush's overactive sex-life from his rivals, and over the course of five years, that had killed any and all hope of ever being with Mason. 

Now, though he cared for Mason as a best-friend would, he could never see him in that way. 

"Tommy, whatcha thinking about?" Mason slurred, turning to Thomas with bleary eyes. Thomas smiled wryly, momentarily wondering how Mason would react if he just said 'you'. Mason would probably blink slowly, the word taking a long time to wade through the thick slurry of alcohol in his head, before smiling dopily and thanking Thomas, because everything between them was purely platonic.

"Nothing," Thomas answered finally, Mason nodding, slumping against Thomas's shoulder again. 

"You wanna know what I was thinking about?" Mason said, Thomas looking down at his friend, eyebrow raised curiously.

"What?" Thomas asked, Mason smiling, his dimples appearing in his rosy cheeks. 

"You."

"Really? I'm flattered," Thomas snorted, rolling his eyes. His heart warmed, but his stomach didn't toss and turn like it used to. 

"No," Mason said, shaking his head, looking away from Thomas's eyes as if he were trying to pluck words out of the air. "No, I mean, I was thinking about how you, you know, have never had aa boyfriend. I've had... I've had heaps of girlfriends. Like... like seven?" Mason counted on his fingers, eyebrows bunched together in confusion as numbers eluded him. "Or was it more. Does Lisa count? I mean, we slept together for a few weeks... Do you think that counts?"

"Don't know, don't care," Thomas said, exhaling heavily. 

"Nah, it doesn't count," Mason said, mainly to himself, before turning back to Thomas with determination. "But dude, you should get a boyfriend! I don't know why you don't have one yet. You're nice even though you don't smile a lot and look constipated all the time. And... And your family is rich. And you're smart, and not that ugly."

"Wow, thanks," Thomas said flatly.

"You're welcome," Mason said, too drunk to pick up on the heavy sarcasm. "But seriously. You... You should get a boyfriend. Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

Because for 5 years I was in love with you and avoided feelings like the plague, and now I don't even have any feelings.

"Dunno," Thomas said, shrugging. "Just haven't met anyone, I guess."

Mason frowned, before sitting up straighter, eyes scanning the club. 

"That dude is quite attractive," Mason said, gesturing to a guy that was gyrating on the dance floor a little too close to a busty girl who was trying to sashay away from said 'attractive' guy pressing against her back. Thomas was silent, Mason then waving his hands and muttering 'no homo'. That caused Thomas to laugh, Mason smiling with satisfaction at the reaction he had elicited. 

"Nah, Mase. He's too... sleazy," Thomas said, exaggeratedly grimacing. "And he's way too eager to rub against that girl's boobs."

"Ah, right," Mason said, nodding in agreement. His eyes skimmed across the throng of people jumping to the beat in front of him, before clicking his tongue. "What about him?"

"Who?"

"Um, that guy.  Kind of look like a budget Chris Hemsworth. Not 'Thor' Chris Hemsworth, but, like, 'Neighbours' Chris Hemsworth," Mason clarified, pointing to, quite accurately, a budget Chris Hemsworth. Light brown hair, chiselled body, but quite obviously trying to weasel his way into a girl's pants by panting over her as he offered to buy her a drink. 

"Um, no," Thomas said, grimacing genuinely this time. "He's literally drooling over that poor girl. I have standards, Mase."

"What if your standards are too high? Maybe that's why you're single?" Mason deadpanned, drunk honesty hitting Thomas straight in the gut.

Was I wanting too much? Was it too much to want a guy who was respectful, funny and considerate? For a guy who was like sunshine and light, who didn't mind getting close to my gloom and shadow? Who wanted to bathe in my darkness?

Was it too much to just want someone to love?

"You know what," Mason said, clamping his hands over Thomas's shoulders, fingers burning. "It's a new decade. I think... I think it's time to change things."

"New Year, new me?" Thomas snorted, sounding a lot like his younger sister.

"New Year, new you," Mason echoed, squeezing Thomas's shoulders once as there were cheers erupting from around them as the New Year struck.

Thomas looked around the room, at Mason whose attention had been effectively derailed by the commotion, to all the people with their arms wrapped around each other and mouths locked together tightly. Thomas felt Mason get up to join some of their other friends who were screaming and jumping around, the seat beside him now empty like his class.

New Year, same me.

February 4th, 2020

"We're going to pick up Vanessa now, Tom," Thomas's mum called from the hallway, Thomas grunting from in front of the TV in response. His mum said something about him needing to go to bed since it was late and he had work tomorrow, followed by the jostle of keys and a click of the door. 

Without his parents, the house settled into quietness, save for the drone of the TV. It was somewhat late into the evening, and Vanessa had gone out with her friends and, as parents who were overly protective with their precious youngest daughter, wanted to pick her up to save her from taking the train home alone.

As always, Thomas's stomach grumbled as the clock hands approached 11pm. Leaving the TV running, Thomas waltzed into the kitchen, tugging open the fridge to search for food. The bag of peaches he had bought yesterday sat there, untouched, and Thomas swallowed thickly. The vision of the stranger clouded his brain as he pulled out a ripe peach, the flesh soft and fuzzy under the pads of his fingertips.

Considering Thomas had only seen the man once, the image he conjured up in his mind was clear and detailed, unsurprising when one considered how long he had actually stared at the man for. He saw his dark hair, mesmerising eyes and large hands, and his mouth suddenly felt dry like sandpaper. Thomas quickly washed the peach he held and took a bite into it.

Sweet juices burst from where his teeth tore the pliable flesh, coating his tongue and sliding down his throat, and he almost moaned. Almost. As he bit down into the fruit, he remembered how the other man looked, his own lips wrapped across the pink skin, red and slick. Thomas wondered if the sweet taste in his mouth was the same as the man's yesterday, and wondered if the taste was the same if he kissed him.

And God, he had wanted to kiss him.

Thomas felt heat pool in his belly, and he quickly finished off the fruit, tossing the meatless seed into the bin. He licked his fingers, a moan on the tip of his tongue, before quickly running upstairs and into his bedroom.

It didn't take long for him to shuck off his grey tracksuit pants and pulling down his black briefs, the fabric pooling around his ankles as he sat down on his bed. His cock was already half-hard, twitching as he rubbed the palm of his hand across his chest. His fingers tweaked a peaking nipple, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth to suppress a wanton moan, before sliding down the expanse of his stomach. 

Down, down, down.

His fingers of one hand brushed past the fine hair paving a path down from his belly to his groin, his fingers slitting to fit his now hard member between them. His other hand rested flat against his inner thigh, rubbing the skin there before squeezing as he finally wrapped his hand around his cock tightly.

"I think you dropped this," Thomas heard in his mind, the stranger's accented voice coaxing. Thomas hunched over as he panted, hand slowly sliding up and down his cock, which was leaking at the tip. Pre-cum dribbled beneath his palm, slick noises echoing around his bedroom. 

"Here you go."

Thomas groaned, the hand on his thigh reaching up to his reddened nipple, rubbing it in circles, pinching it roughly. His muscles were tightening as his hands began to move faster, his body chasing release and his mind chasing after the stranger from the market.

"They're really very sweet."

They are. They really, really are.

Thomas nibbled on his lip, sweet and sticky with peach juice, and he wished he knew the stranger's name so he could moan it as he came. And he would come, soon, not able to control himself as he imagined the stranger's lips wrapped around his cock, his hands roaming across his body and his own member filling him up.

"See you later."

Two more shaking pumps and Thomas came into his hand, his cum as sticky as the peach juice but far less sweet. Thomas let out a shaky breath, laughing at himself dryly, before cleaning everything up.

By the time his family came home, TV still playing downstairs, the light in Thomas's room was out and the boy lying under the covers, wishing for a nameless man to be there with him.

February 9th, 2020

He's here.

The ridiculously hot stranger was now perusing the melons; one hand held a rather robust rockmelon while the other picked at the scars on its rugged surface. His eyebrows bunched together, his lips pursing, before his tongue slid out in a little 'click'. The melon was soon discarded into the pile, soon forgotten as he side-stepped towards the watermelons.

Thomas swallowed nervously, edging closer to the fruit stand. The Asian stall-owner was yelling shrilly about strawberries, accent thick - "$3 a punnet! Very very sweet! Very very good deal! Strawberries $3 a punnet! The market was hardly a romantic backdrop, but Thomas's heart still slammed harshly against his ribcage, which rose and fell shallowly as he tried to calm his breaths. 

Act casual, Thomas.

Thomas shuffled until he was standing a metre away from the hot stranger, who was now smiling adorably at his chosen watermelon, which he knocked with his knuckles a few times, happy with the sound it made.

Thomas couldn't help but stare as the man's large fingers stroked the smooth surface of the watermelon, a content smile on his own face as he ogled at the handsome man. It was then, mid-stare, that the man's mouth popped open in startled 'O', the watermelon slipping from his hands.

"Oh, shit," Thomas yelped, instinctively reaching forwards to help catch the watermelon. Two sets of hands fumbled with the heavy fruit, which fell into Thomas's outstretched hands. Heat seared up his arm, and Thomas's cheeks blazed as he looked up, eyes meeting the stranger's blue ones. Somehow, in the scuffle, Thomas himself had fallen into the stranger's hands. The stranger blinked at him, recognition crossing his face. His thin lips curved and showed the flash of straight teeth, eyes crinkling into charming half moons. 

"Oh, hello, again," the stranger chuckled, the sound low and throaty. Thomas swallowed thickly, the stranger's hands seeming to tighten on his biceps, slipping down a little. "Thanks for saving my melon." The stranger's hands slid down until they cupped Thomas's, which were still cradling the watermelon. 

"No problem," Thomas whispered, barely able to find his voice as the stranger's fingers curled into his, pushed into his grasp by the weight of the watermelon. "I-I mean, you saved my peach last week..." Thomas's cheeks flushed at his words, and he kicked himself.

As if he'll remember something as insignificant as that... as yo-

The stranger laughed loudly then, his whole face lighting up, sunshine incarnate. 

"Ah, I hardly saved your peach. It did end up on the ground," the man said, his eye twitching. Was that a wink?! "Your reflexes were much faster." The man's fingers seemed to close in around Thomas's as they stood there holding the watermelon. The man's touch was suddenly far too hot, and Thomas pulled his hands out from between the melon and the man's fingers, the melon wobbling as the man grabbed it in surprise. 

"S-Sorry..." Thomas said, the man holding the melon a little tighter, his left hand coming to hold it around its top as he pressed it into his chest. 

"Thanks for your help," the stranger said, smile widening at Thomas's endearing stutter. The man's left hand started to absentmindedly stroke the melon again, Thomas's eyes dropping to the gentle movement. It was then that Thomas noticed a thin band of pale skin running around the stranger's ring finger - a tan line, from a ring.

A wedding ring.

'Oh fuck, he's married. Oh no, no, no. Abort, Thomas. ABORT,'  Thomas's mind screeched at him, his eyes widening into saucers. The man seemed to have continued talking, his head cocking to the side in confusion. 

"Hi? Sorry, did you hear what I..." the man started, Thomas shutting out his words as his mind reeled. 

"Sorry, I have to go," Thomas pushed out, turning on his heel and running out of the market without a backward glance.

July 23rd, 2016

I am so over him.

At least, that was what Thomas was telling himself. Being around Mason didn't make his heart tighten, and being touched by him didn't make him break out in goosebumps and make him sweat like he was a pig roasting in the oven. The fever had broken, and he had gotten over Mason Nichols like a bad virus. And since he had recovered from his lovesickness, he was feeling energised. Buzzed. Revived.

Since Thomas was so over his thing for Mason, he was currently in the middle of another thing with Cole. Cole was an upperclassman at uni, an international student from Canada and a nice guy. The 'dinner is on me', 'I'll drive you home', 'here, have my jacket since you're cold' kind of nice guy. 

That was the kind of guy Thomas wanted after giving up his feelings for Mason. After years of one-sided, unrequited love, it was nice to have someone who so blatantly cared. 

But don't get Thomas wrong - they weren't boyfriends. Not yet. No, right now, Thomas was happy snuggling with him on the couch as they watched TV reruns while feeding each other ice cream. Thomas did want more, to become official, but he was hesitant to make the first move. Thomas was good at keeping his cards close to his chest, not wanting to be vulnerable. He had held onto his feelings for Mason for years, waiting for Cole to confess first after they started their 'thing' two months ago was nothing.

Thomas leaned against the brick wall outside the lecture hall, cradling his books to his chest. The air in front of his mouth clouded as he exhaled, the air cold in the July air. The chill tickled at Thomas's skin, hidden under heavy layers that rounded his slight frame. His smile picked up when students started to spill out of the sliding doors, suddenly not as cold as he kept an eye out for fluffy blonde hair and an overly-worn denim jacket.

He spotted Cole - all fluffy hair and signature denim - with one of his friends, and lightly stepped over to him. Cole spotted him approaching, smile faltering. Cole said something to his friend, who shrugged, before quickly saying goodbye. Thomas soon reached Cole after wading against the current of students desperate to leave class

"Hi," Thomas said softly, pressing a brief kiss against Cole's mouth, smiling against it. Cole's mouth didn't move against his, but Thomas didn't dwell on it, not when the kiss itself was only a brief peck.

"Hey, Tom," Cole said, managing a small smile. "Uh, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I was just in the library, studying, and since your classes are done for the day I figured we could maybe grab dinner together?"

"Um, yeah, I don't think I can do that today, actually," Cole said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm... kind of busy."

"Oh," Thomas said, disappointment filling his belly. Forcing a stiff smile onto his face, Thomas hefted up his books, kissing Cole on his cheek. "That's ok. Maybe another day then."

"Yeah, next time. I'll text you."

Cole did text him, a week after that day. What was supposed to be an invite to dinner, to maybe become more than friends who sometimes wore each other's clothes and snuggled in bed with their mouths attached, was instead a break-up message. Or at least, what a break up message would have sounded like, if they had actually been together.

It turned out that Cole was together with someone, but that someone was not Thomas. It was news to Thomas that Cole had a girlfriend back in Vancouver, whom he had been with since he was in high school. So, long-term, long-distance. Committed, apparently.

It had been a blow to Thomas's gut and heart. His first taste of supposedly requited love ended like that, with a text about how the person who had been his almost-boyfriend had a girlfriend everyone expected him to marry. Thomas was the supposed 'other woman', the adulterer, the home-wrecker, the side-hoe. The second option.

So, like with Mason, Thomas slowly killed the feelings he had for Cole, burying them deep down inside to a place that he couldn't reach again.

February 13th, 2020

The cafe down the road from Thomas's work was busy as usual. There was a constant buzz of chatter, clinking of cups, screech of the steam from the milk frother. Thomas peered into the class counter at the gourmet sandwiches stacked there, while Matthew - his co-worker and friend - waited in line. Making his selection, Thomas returned to his friend, who raised his brow expectantly.

"You decided?" Matthew asked, pulling out his card from his designer wallet. "I can order while you try to find us a table. I think I saw a lady just leave with her pram."

"On it,"  Thomas said, relaying his order to Matthew before patting him on the shoulder, leaving the queue to find a seat. Matthew was right - a lady did just leave with her pram - and he snagged the table before someone else could take it. It was tucked away in the back corner, behind a patterned glass divider, and Thomas peeled off his suit jacket, throwing it on the chair beside him. He loosened his collar slightly and rolled up his sleeve, sighing in relief in the warmth of the cafe.

Matthew soon returned with a number, and their food arrived soon after. They ate and chatted, conversation flowing from work, to weekend plans, to Matthew's relationship with someone he didn't want to name, and then to Thomas's apparently single-ness. Thomas wanted to steer the conversation away from himself, but was rendered speechless when he saw a familiar but nameless person saunter into the cafe.

Dark hair, cerulean eyes, thin-yet-pink lips.

Peaches.

Married.

Thomas swallowed, watching the man shamelessly as he dropped himself into a seat by the door. He was as handsome as ever, maybe even more so with the fitted suit he was wearing. Thomas's eyes naturally drifted to the man's wrist, expensive watch glinting, and then down to his ring finger. There was no ring, but Thomas could picture the distinct line of white etched across it.

It was as he was staring that he noticed someone lowering themselves into the seat in front of the stranger. A woman, pretty and graceful, pink lips curled with a gentle smile as she looked at the man. Her finger had no ring but a matching line of white, which rested on stranger's hand as she caressed it hesitantly, and Thomas felt his lunch churn in his stomach.

Married.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Thomas said abruptly, standing up with his back hunched and head down, avoiding being seen by the stranger, even though the stranger had no reason to look his way. He was gone so fast he didn't even see Matthew nod, slightly confused, before locking himself in the bathroom. He splashed his flushed face with cold water, slapping his cheeks as he scolded himself.

"Get yourself together, damn it," Thomas huffed, running his fingers through his hair. "You don't even know him, and he's married. You need to calm down."

Thomas didn't leave the bathroom for a few more minutes, not until his cheeks returned to their neutral colour and he didn't look so pathetic.

Walking out of the bathroom, back basically pressed against the wall to avoid being seen (again, as if the stranger would even be looking at him in the first place), Thomas quickly grabbed his coat from his chair and tugged at Matthew's arm to leave.

"Thomas?" Matthew said, face twisting in confusion though his body complied to Thomas's directions, hands grabbing for his jacket after chugging down the rest of his coffee. Thomas glanced at the stranger, whose gaze was trained on his phone, his wife flicking through a newspaper.

"It's nothing. I was just thinking about our presentation for the new project, and we really need to get back to work on it," Thomas said, Matthew snorting.

"I was enjoying my lunch break, you know," Matthew said, rolling his eyes. "But you're right, this project is going to be a pain in the ass if we leave it til the last minute."

Gathering the rest of their things, the two of them made their way to the door, Thomas making the effort to walk beside Matthew in such a way that shielded him from the vision of the stranger. 

Don't look, don't look, don't look.

Thomas's heart began to relax as they reached the door, the stranger still looking at his phone.  Thomas spared one final glance, seemingly unable to help himself, and as he turned his eyes to the side something slammed into the side of his face, making him curse and stumble back.

"Oh shit, sorry!" Matthew said, having opened the door into Thomas's face. "Crap, Tom, are you okay?"

Having started a small commotion, a few cafe patrons glanced at them, including the stranger. Cupping his tender face, Thomas's eyes met the stranger's, whose widened in recognition. Pink lips moved to say something, Thomas's heart thundering as the blood rushed to his face. 

"I'm fine, let's just go," Thomas said quickly, tearing his eyes away from the man and grabbing Matthew's forearm, dragging him out of the coffee shop.

Thomas walked briskly, not looking back. Part of him imagined the man staring after him, and he laughed silently at his idiotic fantasy.

As if he would be looking at you.

February 15th, 2020

Thomas was sprawled across the couch, legs dangling off the sides as he chewed on canned peaches. While they were soaked in syrup, they didn't seem as sweet as the peaches from the market, and left Thomas feeling empty and unsatisfied.

It was at this time that Thomas would have gone to the market, but something stopped him. Or, well, someone.

Thomas wanted to give in to his useless, pathetic obsession with the handsome man, who was clearly off limits. He was married, which already ruled him out as a potential boyfriend, and to top it off it was to a woman, so he probably wasn't even into men.

Despite this, Thomas still couldn't help but be attracted to the man. To want him. To want him to hold him.

Thomas groaned at his carnal stupidity, wondering when he had been reduced to a horny, desperate teenager despite having left that era a long time ago. He can't be lusting over a married (and probably straight) man that he barely even knew, it was ridiculous and stupid and so fucking wrong.

So, Thomas forced himself to stay home, forcing down canned peaches and pretending to enjoy the taste.

February 22nd, 2020

"You need to get out more, Tom," Mason said, legs dangling off the edge of my couch. A lollypop hung from his partially opened mouth, his eyes looking at Thomas with concern. "You're starting to grow mould on you."

"I am not growing mould," Thomas grumbled, shoving a chip into his mouth, chewing lethargically.

"Well, with how you've been shut in your house all day, you're starting to smell a bit stale," Mason said, scrunching his nose up. Thomas cursed and threw a chip at Mason, who snickered as he caught it, popping out his lollypop to eat it.

"Shut up," Thomas sighed, trying to shake off his thoughts and mood. What grated his nerves was the fact that Mason was right - he wasn't growing mould, but he was definitely shutting himself in. He felt so pathetic and stupid, feeling so down over a man who he hadn't even dated. Hell, he didn't even know the guy's name. Somehow, the hot stranger had crept his way into Thomas's mind, poking holes in his heart. That man stirred up feelings inside of Thomas that he had long since squashed down, down, down. Heartbreak, unrequited love, hope. 

And hopelessness.

"Oh no, you're looking depressed again, what's up?" Mason said, sitting up abruptly and nudging Thomas's side. "Dude, talk to me, please?"

"It's-" Thomas started, trying to find words. I'm kind of into this ridiculously hot man who happens to be married. "Complicated."

"That's code for 'relationship issues' right?" Mason said, suddenly bouncing up and down on the couch with giddy glee. "Oh my God, are you seeing someone? How dare you not tell me, fucking traitor! Who is he? Who's the lucky-ish guy?"

"I'm not seeing anyone," Thomas said, shaking his head adamantly. "I mean, that'll never happen."

Mason raised a brow, a gesture that was urging Thomas to keep talking. Rolling his eyes, Thomas sunk into the fabric of the couch, now becoming mould.

"There was this guy... at the market," Thomas said, memories flashing behind his eyes. "He was, you know, really hot. He picked up my peach." Thomas's face heated as Mason let out an excited squeal, which made the blushing boy shoot him a withering look. "That wasn't a euphemism, Mase. Anyway, he was cute, we talked - barely - and then I found out he's married. So there."

"Oh, damn," Mason said, whistling. "You just had to choose the married guy, didn't you."

"Apparently," Thomas snorted, dry smile on his lips. "But whatever. Nothing even started, so there were no losses."

"But you're clearly cut up about it," Mason said, patting Thomas's shoulder comfortingly. "Which means you need a pick me up."

"Nooo no, no, no, no," Thomas groaned, already knowing where Mason was going with this. He saw the playful gleam in his eyes, the goading grin.

"Yes, we're going out, my friend," Mason said, pulling Thomas up. "We're going to dress nice, go to a club, drink a shit ton and maybe we'll get to take people home."

"You," Thomas said flatly, reluctantly getting dragged to his room by his best friend. "You're going to take someone home."

"Probably," Mason chuckled, wiggling his brow as Thomas made a gagging noise. "But this night is about you, and not me. We're going to find you a boy that's even hotter than market McHottie, okay?"

"Not okay, but that's not going to stop you from dragging me out, is it," Thomas said tiredly, Mason snickering.

"You know me too well."

~~~

The club was a sea of flashing colours and rumbling music. Bodies pulsed all around him, and Thomas felt wetness seep down his arm as someone bumped into him, his umpteenth drink that night dribbling into the sleeve of his tight black shirt. His vision was blurred, but he could make out enough to avoid crashing into people completely.

His tongue tasted like acid, and there was a burning in his stomach from having far too much alcohol and far too little food. He had lost Mason in the crowd sometime ago - whether that was 5 minutes ago or 50, Thomas couldn't tell. Thomas swayed to the heavy thump of the music as he chugged down the remainder of his drink, groaning in satisfaction as it burned its way down his throat, warming him from the inside.

It didn't take long for the effects of what seemed to be his millionth drink to manifest; Thomas's bleary vision grew dimmer and dimmer, his limbs feeling like they were floating while his body tripped and stumbled amongst the crowd. Thomas's food inevitably caught on someone's ankle, but before he could fall a pair of strong arms caught him around the waist, pulling him against their chest. 

"Oops, hello," Thomas giggled, hands pressed against a muscled pec. Blinking upwards at his saviour, Thomas smiled. "Oh, you're cute. Your hair is cool. It's blue. Like... like Anthony from the Wiggles or... or the blue Teletubby. Teletubbies are creepy though."

His saviour chuckled, running fingers through his steel-blue hair.

"Thanks," he said, fingers digging into Thomas's hip, hurting a little. Thomas wobbily shifted in the man's arms, trying to find purchase against his shoulders to stop himself from falling. "Woah, calm down, baby. You're gonna fall. Come on, let's get you out of this crowd, huh?"

"Oh, you're smart," Thomas slurred, giggling as the man's smile grew, teeth fluorescent in the dark. Thomas was guided - or carried - off the dancefloor, his eyes flickering around him but not quite registering what was going on. He did recognise the smell of piss and generic hand soap, waving his hand sloppily in front of his face to ward away the bad smell. 

The blue-haired stranger jerkily pulled Thomas into a vacant bathroom stall, Thomas stumbling and planting his butt on the closed toilet seat, hands pressed against the sides of the cubicle to stabilise himself. Thomas blinked a few times, vision beginning to clear, before looking up at the man in the stall with him.

Out of the darkness of the club and illusion of lights, Thomas could see the man's face with more clarity, and he wasn't impressed with what he saw. While his hair was quite fabulous, everything else was... mediocre. He wasn't ugly... he was just... normal.

Market McHottie is hotter.

"You looked better in the dark," Thomas blurted out, the stranger freezing for a moment, before his glow-in-the-dark smile returned, shark-like and hungry, but definitely not amused.

"Right," the man said, stepping forwards, legs nudging Thomas's open. He hunched over, pressed against the wall behind Thomas's head, trapping him in place. Thomas shrunk, back hitting the toilet, his fingers scrabbling to push the man away and make some space to just breathe. But with two grown men in a tiny, piss-painted cubicle, there wasn't much space to be made, even if Thomas had the strength and coordination to overpower him.

"You're too close," Thomas whined, uselessly slapping the man's chest, which rumbled as he laughed, a chafing,  uncomfortable sound.

"You were the one clinging to me earlier, baby," the man cooed, breath sour and face too, too close.

"No, stop," Thomas mumbled, trying to push the man away, only managing to make the guy growl and grab his wrists harshly, pushing them back. The man's knee crept forwards on the toilet seat, edging closer towards Thomas's groin. Thomas felt sick, nausea bubbling up inside him, the man's hands and alcohol mixing around his body.

"Aw, don't say that, baby," the man said, kissing Thomas's neck, his tongue slimy and hot. "You want this."

"N-No, I... I..." Thomas stammered, throat clenching and relaxing, his stomach churning. "I... I... I'm going to throw up!"

Thomas was barely able to get his warning out before his mouth parted for the tsunami, clear fluid spewing from his mouth and onto the blue-haired man's shirt and crotch. The man yelled, body stumbling back and out the door of the poorly-locked cubicle, face red with anger.

"What the fuck?!" the man raged, gesturing to the dampness on his chest. "I'm going to kill yo-"

"No, you're not," another voice said icily from just outside the cubicle, hidden from Thomas's view by the open door. Thomas moaned in torment as his stomach lurched again, and he tumbled off the toilet seat, hastily flipping open the lid and thrusting his head over it. Stomach acids burned along his throat and mouth, some spraying across the toilet seat, with the rest miraculously making it into the bowl. Thomas couldn't hear the noises behind him over the ringing in his head.

He could barely feel the gentle fingers that carded through his hair, or hear the soothing voice that told him that he would be fine. He couldn't see his real saviour's face when they turned him into their arms after he had finished vomiting through the haze of the alcohol, but he smiled at their scent clean and crisp, with the sweetness of peaches.

Voices spoke to him but he couldn't comprehend nor respond. Thomas could only smile sleepily as he nuzzled into the nice-smelling chest, revelling in the warmth the arms that wrapped around him provided. Soon, Thomas was floating, legs drifting off the ground as strong, safe arms lifted him up.

It turns out that Mason was right about what would transpire that night - Thomas didn't end up going home alone. 

February 23rd, 2020

Thomas felt like death.

Knives twisted around in his skull while his stomach knotted and burned. The light shining through a slither of open curtain seared his reddened eyes, and he whimpered to himself as he rolled over to bury his head in his pillow, his whole body aching. 

Suddenly, his door slammed open, hinges creaking and his bookcase rattling. Thomas groaned at the harsh noise, and swatted pathetically around his head when a weight landed on the side of his bed. 

"Tom, I'm hungry. Let's go get lunch," Vanessa chirped, bouncing on the side of Thomas's bed, her hands pulling at his arms that shielded his face. 

"Fuck off, I don't wanna," Thomas groaned, the movement and sounds around him making him wince. 

"Come oooonnn," Vanessa whined, pulling the pillow out from under her brother's head, much to his annoyance. Thomas swore under his breath, burrowing down into his blanket. "There's this new cafe I wanna try, apparently their baked eggs are amazing."

"Go yourself then," Thomas grumbled, weak muscles straining to hold the blanket over him as Vanessa began gathering it in her hands, preparing to throw it across the room.

"It's so lame going to brunch by yourself, and I need you to drive," Vanessa snorted, winning the blanket tug-of-war, Thomas glaring at her as the sunlight seared his irises. Finally seeing her brother's hung-over face clearly, Vanessa's mouth curled upwards in amusement. "Wow, you look like shit."

"Thanks," Thomas huffed, running his fingers through his hair before rubbing his eyes, flopping back into his mattress in defeat.

"You must've gotten smashed last night, damn," Vanessa continued, staring at the dark, hollow bags under her brother's eyes and sweat-matted hair. "How the hell did you make it home in one piece?"

"I-" Thomas started, mouth parted as his brain sputtered. How did I get home?  Thomas could remember hazy flashes; dancing, blue hair, a bathroom, a whole lot of vomit, the smell of peaches. "I... have no idea."

Knowing that they were both going to drink, neither Thomas nor Mason had driven. Thomas couldn't imagine that he would have been able to call for an Uber in his inebriated state, or that one would have willing let his spew-covered self in their car even if he had managed to get that far.

"Well, whatever. You're home in one piece so who cares," Vanessa laughed, swatting her brother's head with his own pillow before jumping off the bed. "Anyway, we're going to go get food, so get your stinky ass out of bed and go shower." Vanessa shot her brother a sharp look when he opened his mouth to retort.

"Fine," Thomas sighed, waving his sister away as he pulled himself up. "You're paying though."

"Fine," Vanessa replied, smirking since she knew that she would just be spending their parents's money anyway. Vanessa left the bedroom with a satisfied sway in her step, Thomas groggily pulling himself off the bed. He found his phone on the far side of his room, probably thrown there haphazardly when he stumbled in the night before, and sighed when he saw that his phone only had 12% charge.

Thomas quickly flicked through his messages as he plugged his phone into its charger, but when he saw a message from Mason, the cord slipped through his fingers and clattered on the ground.

Sir DumbASS 🍑- 11:34am
Dude you alive?
You really went hard yesterday I'm so proud
But also worried bc you spewed all over that guy's car
That guy meaning Market McHottie
Bc that's what you called him when he basically carried you to his car and drove us home
(He really is a Market McHottie tho, no homo)

Thomas's heart thumped, and he felt like spewing all over again, his empty stomach twisting. With shaky fingers, he pleadingly texted Mason back, mentally urging his friend to have his phone on hand to reply to him straight away.

Lord Fartface 💨- 12:04pm
What the fuck??!?!
Who drove us home?
Mase WHAT THE FUCK
What happened last ngiht
I canr remember shit fuk
MASE

Sir DumbASS 🍑- 12:05pm
You want the run down?
It was a whole saga but long story short
The guy you've been wanking over drove you home last night
And you projectile vomited all over his front seat 🤮🤮🤮
But he's a fkn nice dude so he didn't even mind, even pulled over
to let you spew on some random's nature strip
Anyway
he drove u home and then drove me home
I asked him for his details so you can, you know, get some 😏
But also so you can at least pay to clean his car because dude
You literally Jackson Pollock'd his dash with corn bits 🤢

Lord Fartface 💨- 12:06pm
YOURE JOKING
MASE NO
I'm gonna throw myself off the bolte bridge
Drown myself in the yarra
What the fuck do I do
😭😭😭

Sir DumbASS 🍑- 12:06pm
Well what youre gonna do is call Market McHottie
Who has a name actually
His name makes him sound like a dick but hes anything but
Im sure youd like his dick anyway 😏🍆👅💦

Lord Fartface 💨- 12:06pm
MASE 😑

Sir DumbASS 🍑- 12:07pm
And when you call him you're gonna apologise for ruining his porsche
Because he has a P O R S C H E 🚗🚗🚗
And then ask him on a date so u can enjoy his dick 🍆🍆👅💦

Thomas internally screamed, mind blanking out as he processed everything Mason was saying. His mind was a cacophony of voices, some cursing Mason out for his idiocy, some waxing lyrical about the hot stranger's dick, and others just wailing about the cost of cleaning out vomit from a Porsche. In the midst of his meltdown, Mason had continued typing.

His name's Maverick
And here's his number 😘

Thomas stared at the string of digits blinking from his phone, mouth agape. 

Maverick.

November 6th, 2018

Thomas rolled up the sleeve of his white shirt, which was becoming a little stifling under the spring sun. He rolled his eyes as he sipped on his beer, half sitting on a metal rail as Vanessa posed in front of a board of flowers, 'Melbourne Cup 2018' strung up behind her head. Their mother half squatted, eyes squinting into the screen of Vanessa's phone as she attempted to take photos of the teenager. 

Thomas sighed as Vanessa flicked through the pictures, frown on her face, clearly unhappy with what she was seeing. Thomas, even unhappier with what he was seeing, turned away to take a stroll

Everything was awash with colour, the day impossibly bright. Crowds laughed, dressed in their cup gear, excited hands holding papers with their hopes and dreams printed on them. Everyone was dressed to impress, the day as much about the fashion as it is about the horses. 

Thomas's eyes slid across the figures standing at a bar, skipping over the girls in their spring dresses and fancy headwear, lingering a little longer on men in tailored suits and slicked back hair. Thomas's gaze stopped completely when his eyes met a tall, built man with light blonde hair and warm brown eyes. He was handsome, and the way his body stood and mouth curled screamed confidence, borderline cocky. He had every reason to be, though, with the way his waistcoat and tight white shirt moulded itself to his muscles.

Sensing Thomas's eyes on him, the boy turned, brown eyes curious. His friend beside him nudged him in the side, tilting his head towards Thomas's direction, thin lips pulled upwards in amusement. Thomas, startled, whipped his head around to avoid the knowing look. His cheeks flamed, and his feet dug into the dirt beneath them absentmindedly.

Jeez, Thomas. Just stare at the guy, why don't you?

"Hey."

Thomas jumped, stumbling backwards into the railing, eyes drawn upwards to follow the sound of the deep, gravelly voice. The blonde-haired, brown-eyed Adonis peered down at him, easy smile on his mouth that showed off his straight, bleached teeth. 

"Um, hi?" Thomas said, voice squeaking upwards questioningly. The guy's smile widened, and he turned back to glance at his friends, who were leaning against the bar and sipping on their drinks, chuckling to each other. The hairs on the back of Thomas's neck prickled at all the eyes trained on him, seemingly picking up on his every twitch, every nervous breath, every dropped gaze. 

Prey.

Thomas knew something was off, every cell in his body screaming at him to run, run, run. The railing behind him dug into his back, his frame shrinking against it as the blonde stepped closer to him. He was huge, and towered over Thomas with ease. Thomas could smell his aftershave mixed with the sticky scent of his hair gel and he wanted to puke.

 "U-Um, sorry, I really have to-" Thomas started, chuckling awkwardly as he attempted to side step along the railing and away from the scarily handsome stranger.

"Uh-uh," the man said following the click of his tongue, his hand shooting out to slam against the railing by Thomas's left ear. Thomas squeaked, jumping as the man's other hand boxed him in by gripping onto the railing by his right ear. Thomas hunched, shrinking smaller and smaller until he was nothing but a body bubbling with fear.

"What do you want?" Thomas asked, wincing at the slight tremble in his voice. 

"What I want is concerned about what you want," the guy said, grinning widely but devoid of any mirth. His smile was cold, calculating and dripping with menace.

"W-What I want?" Thomas stammered, swallowing thickly.

"I saw you staring at me," the guy said, smile dropping as he spat by Thomas's feet. "Like a fucking fag."

"I-I..."

"What is it that you want? To fuck me? No, looking at you, you probably want to be fucked by me," the man said, snorting at his own words with disgust. His eyes ripped into Thomas's prone form, tore into his skin with the hatred that bled from them. 

"That's not what I-"

"Shut the fuck up," the man hissed, moving his hands to shove Thomas into the railing, his palms bruising Thomas's chest. Thomas yelped, the sound lost in the sound of clanging metal. Tears pricked his eyes, everything going blurry. 

"Oh, is the little homo crying?" a new voice snickered. Thomas blinked against the tears that dribbled down his pale cheeks, noticing that the stranger's friends had begun drifting towards them, mouths grinning like sharks, bodies moving like a pack of wolves on the prowl.

The blonde stranger grinned as his friends approached, seeming to revel in the fear that was radiating off Thomas in thick waves.

"Are you surprised, Daniel?" the blonde man said, laughing. "This fag isn't even a real man. A fucking pussy."

"You got that right," Daniel said, looking Thomas over with revulsion. "I think we should teach him a lesson."

The pack of wolves all grinned simultaneously, before turning to Thomas. Thomas's cries were muffled by hands as others dragged him behind a secluded tent. Thomas's body hugged the ground, dirt choking his screams as everything began to hurt.

And he was left there, crying, hurt and alone, wondering why he deserved this.

Is it too much to ask?

To be loved?

February 27th, 2020

Thomas had completely ditched Matthew at work, letting his friend get buried under mountains of paper work in favour of coffee and a sandwich. 

And maybe a chance run-in with Market McHottie. With Maverick.

When Thomas entered the cafe he did a quick sweep of the room, but there was no handsome blue-eyed stranger in sight. Thomas pushed the disappointment from his chest as he ordered his coffee and chicken sandwich, grabbing his number and receipt before drifting towards the table by the door.

Thomas usually disliked tables near entrances; always too many people walking past, and the cold draft every time the door opened made him shiver unpleasantly. But this table was one that Maverick would have to walk past if he came, and it was the table he had seen him sit at last time.

You're pathetic,' Thomas thought to himself, ripping the receipt as if it were a Mintie wrapper.

Thomas knew he was just getting his hopes up; getting Maverick's number was nothing more than him being ridiculously nice. Maverick helping him and Mason home after binge drinking was nothing more than an angel watching out for a walking disaster. 

But what if it meant something more?

There was that constant niggle at the back of Thomas's mind, the ridiculous, naive, hopeful, idealistic, romantic voice that Thomas knew oozed lies.

Thomas had finished ripping two thirds around the circumference of his receipt when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, Thomas's eyes met Maverick's, and his heart flipped and heated like it were being roasted on a spit.

"Hi there, agai-"

"I am so sorry about your Porsche," Thomas blurted out, Maverick blinking in surprise, mouth clicking shut. Maverick's lips quirked up in amusement, Thomas's cheeks flushing. "I... I'm really sorry."

"It's really alright," Maverick said, eyes crinkling as he smiled. "I just hope that you were alright afterwards? You were quite..."

"Yes, yes, I was fine. I am fine," Thomas said, waving away Maverick's words, before shakily gesturing towards the empty seat across from him. The same seat his wife sat on last time. "If you want, this seat's free. I'd like to at least pay for your lunch, after doing... all that, the other night. A-And if you give me your details I'll happily pay for the cleaning for your car. Because I, you know... made a... mess?"

Maverick scoffed at Thomas's words, rolling his captivating eyes as he lowered himself down into the chair in front of Thomas. Tugging off his jacket and slinging it behind him, Maverick gave Thomas another one of his warm, sunny smiles.

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not going to ask you to pay for the cleaning, Thomas," Maverick said. Thomas shivered at  the way his name rolled off Maverick's tongue, his mouth suddenly very dry. As Thomas opened his mouth to clearly rebut Maverick's generosity, the man shushed him with a raised hand. "But, I won't say no to you buying me lunch."

"Oh," Thomas said, blushing slightly before nodding emphatically. "Yes! I mean, yes, of course. Um, what did you want?"

The two of them slipped into easy conversation then; they talked about things on the menu, ordered Maverick's food, and chatted aimlessly yet comfortably about anything and  everything. Thomas found out that Maverick was a lawyer and worked ridiculous hours, often staying at the office over night. He discovered that Maverick is allergic to peanuts, and that he likes far too much sugar in his coffee and that lactose also doesn't agree with him nine times out of ten. 

"So what were you doing at the club the other night, anyway?" Thomas asked, taking a sip of his long-forgotten coffee that had grown cold. Thomas had been so thoroughly engrossed in his conversation with Maverick that his sandwich sat on his plate, barely touched and becoming stale under the cafe's overpowered air-conditioning.

"It was a work thing, actually," Maverick sighed, shrugging. "And some of my co-workers - well, friends I guess - thought that it would be good for me to try and get my mind off..."

Oh.

"Get your mind off..." Thomas said slowly, pressing but not pushing.

Maverick sighed again, eyes dropping to the table while pushing around some lettuce leaves with his force.

"My wife, Eva, and I have been... having trouble lately," Maverick said, face downcast. "We've talked about separating, but we've been together for almost 8 years now. I'm just... feeling lost."

"Oh, sorry to hear that," Thomas mumbled, Maverick giving him a gentle look, a small smile appearing on his face. 

"It's my fault, really," Maverick said, frowning. "Ever since I was promoted, I've been getting stuck at work so much more. And then Eva's always nagging, saying that all I do is work and that I don't care about her. But, I do care, you know? Our house won't pay for itself, and we've got to start saving in case we have kids in the future... but I guess that won't happen now."

Maverick's usually sunny complexion dulled as he spoke, and he seemed so distant from the vibrant man Thomas had seen at the market.

"And, did it work?" Thomas asked, running his index finger along the rim of his coffee cup, trying to piece together his thoughts and words. "Did it help 'distract' you?" Maverick laughed a little at Thomas's question, his smile a little ray of sun that began to break through the grey clouds.

"I think it did," Maverick said, leaning across the table slightly as he leaned on his elbow. "At least, there was this very intoxicated boy I took home who was very entertaining."

"Oh God," Thomas groaned sheepishly, face bright red. "I'm just going to be known as the 'super-drunk-guy-who-spewed-all-over-the-Porsche' now, aren't I."

"No, you're more than that," Maverick said, Thomas freezing. Maverick, seeing his reaction, cleared his throat. "I mean, that's not all you are. I've known since I saw you at the market."

Thomas's head rang with static as he tried to process what Maverick said.

Could he...

"What do you  mean by that?" Thomas asked quietly, not wanting to give anything away.  Not wanting to get his hopes up, only to get them crushed and stomped on and torn to pieces.

"I just mean that you... It hasn't just been that one night that you've helped me," Maverick said, Thomas's face furrowing with confusion and hesitance. "I'm not explaining this well, am I?"

"Not at all," Thomas said, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt.

"You're... You're very attractive," Maverick admitted, making Thomas blush. Thomas felt a little pride at the colour that spread across Maverick's own cheeks. "And for the first time, I maybe thought that things could be okay. That... That maybe I can try to move on from Eva."

Oh my God.

Is this real?

Can I hope?

Is it too much to ask?

"Then why don't we, you know, try?" Thomas offered, swallowing back his nerves. Thomas forced his hand to stay steady as he gently placed it over Maverick's, testing and cautious. Maverick's breath caught in his throat, his eyes snapping to Thomas's.

"Try...?" Maverick echoed, uncertain. Thomas licked his lips, Maverick's gaze dropping there. His eyes lingered, and Thomas bit on his bottom lip nervously. 

Am I asking for too much?

"A test run," Thomas said, throat pinched. "To see if you... feel anything." Maverick's eyes left Thomas's mouth then, returning to his eyes with a silent question.

Are you sure?

Thomas just nodded, lids heavy as his eyes fluttered shut. Thomas loosed a tense breath, mouth barely parted. His heart thumped erratically as he waited for the feeling of warmth to spread across his waiting lips.

And he waited.

And waited.

Then, he felt the lightest, most fleeting brush of lips against his. Warmth blossomed, but disappeared as quickly as it came, coldness settling. Thomas pried open his eyes to see Maverick sitting back, face pained and confused.

Ah.

"You still love her, don't you?" Thomas murmured, Maverick's mouth popping open. A myriad of emotions seemed to flicker across his face, before settling on realisation mixed with regret.

"I... I do," Maverick said, shame colouring his face. "I'm sorry, I never should have- I thought that maybe, with you, I could-"

"Don't apologise," Thomas said quickly, managing to give Maverick a small smile. "Really. I think you should apologise to your wife, though. And... And take some time off work. Take her out to dinner, buy her flowers, take the time to be with her. To show that you care, and that you love her, because you clearly do."

She just wants to be loved. Like me.

It's not too much, to want to be loved.

Never.

Thomas's heart clenched as Maverick seemed to struggle with his words, suddenly overcome.

"Thank you," Maverick said, glancing at the door. "I..."

"Go," Thomas said, laughing lightly, the sound light but a little empty. He could already feel his heart shedding off its layers, peeling off these feelings that suffocated it.

"Thanks," Maverick said again, rising clumsily from his chair. 

Thank you.

Thomas watched Maverick leave, his form turning left around the corner, body and heart numb. He didn't move for a few moments, and simply stared out the window. It was when the door opened again that he gathered his things, slinging his coat over his arm and pulling out his phone. He dialled Mason's number quickly as he left the cafe, turning right and walking far away from everything.

"Hey, Mase. I need a pick me up. You free tonight?"

February 29th, 2020

Demon spawn 🦹‍♀️🖕- 2:34pm
Remember to get the bbq shapes bitch
And the light n tangy chips
And coke
Ooohhohh and cake I want cake

Limp noodlez 🌮🙅‍♀️🍆🙋‍♀️- 2:35pm
Vanessa I'm not your slave ffs 🙄

Demon spawn 🦹‍♀️🖕- 2:35pm

No but you're at coles
So get me my damn snacks

Limp noodlez 🌮🙅‍♀️🍆🙋‍♀️- 2:35pmYou better pay me back you filthy leech

Thomas sighed and pocketed his phone, grabbing a basket and making a beeline towards the snack section. He shovelled his sister's cravings into it, the basket soon weighing down his body and digging into the flesh of his forearms. 

It was when he was walking to the self check-out that he felt a tap on his shoulder, his body turning. Cerulean eyes, dark brown hair, toothy smile. Market McHottie.

Maverick.

And his wife. 

Thomas's mouth popped open, his eyes flicking from the pretty blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, down the slope of his jaw, his pale neck, the muscles in his arms and strong fingers that held another slender, feminine set. Matching wedding bands glimmered under the fluorescent lighting of the supermarket, and Thomas had to avert his eyes from the gaze that left him feeling terribly lonely.

"Hi, Thomas. What a nice surprise to run into you here," Maverick said, smile a little awkward, but as blinding as his wedding ring. 

"Yeah, it's good to see you too," Thomas mumbled, glancing at the man's wife, who had a gentle smile etched onto her face as she looked at Thomas fondly, even though they had never met before.

She probably wouldn't be looking at me like that if she knew that I jerked off over her husband. Or that we kissed... if you could call that bump of mouths a real kiss.

Clearing his throat, Thomas gestured vaguely to the pair, before awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

"Um, it looks like you worked things out," Thomas continued lamely, throat scratchy despite the widening smiles working at the corners of the couple's faces. They turned to each other, momentarily lost in their own little golden bubble, and smiled at each other. If Thomas had stared, he probably would have been blinded by the third time in the past minute by the combined force of the couple's sunny complexions, which threatened to completely wipe Thomas's gloomy self off the face of the earth.

"Yes, we did," Maverick said, turning back to Thomas, expression softening. "And it was thanks to you, thanks to what you told me the other day. So, thank you. Truly."

Thomas felt a strange mix of emotions stir inside of him, sweet and sour flavours swirling, making him unsure whether the words made him happy or sad. Maybe a bit of both.

"That's... good to hear," Thomas said, managing a small smile, deciding that it was fine. Happiness was a good look on Maverick, and the fact that it was partially due to Thomas made his heart warm.

It's fine. I never had a chance with him anyway.

"I know what happened, at the coffee shop," Eva said, Thomas stiffening. "Oh! But it's fine, I understand. I - we - just want to thank you properly for what you did, Thomas," Eva said, stepping from around her husband to better face Thomas. Her movements were graceful, gentle and serene, and the smile on her face made her so difficult to hate. He could see how Maverick would have fallen for her - they were both sunshine incarnate, neither would get lost in the other's glow, not when they shone so brightly themselves. "Come to our place for dinner tonight, we'll treat you to a great meal to show our thanks."

"Oh, um, you really don't need to," Thomas said, chuckling stiffly, scratching his neck again. "It's really fine."

"Oh, it's hardly fine," Eva huffed, crossing her arms. "You basically single handedly saved our marriage, because this coward couldn't man up himself to just ask me out to dinner."

"Hey!" Maverick exclaimed, raising his brow at his wife, who giggled at his faux offence. 

"It's true, don't you even deny it, you workaholic" Eva said, rolling her eyes before turning back to Thomas. "Please, Thomas. It wouldn't be right for us to just do nothing. What you've done, it really means so much to me. To both of us."

Eva's large eyes stared into Thomas's, a gentle yet unyielding gaze that gave him little room to budge. Thomas soon found himself nodding, Eva happily sending him a message through Maverick's phone detailing their address.

"Good! We'll see you later then, Thomas," Eva said, giving Thomas another smile before looping her arm around her husband's, pulling him towards the meat aisle. As they walked off, Thomas couldn't help but smile as he heard Eva gasp, tugging on her husband's arm.

"I didn't ask if Thomas has any allergies!"

~~~

"Oh, you didn't have to, Thomas!" Eva gasped, giving Thomas a hug before taking the bottle of wine he had brought from his hands. "This dinner was to thank you for what you've done, you didn't have to bring anything!"

"It didn't feel right," Thomas replied, laughing a little at Eva's worried expression. "If it makes you feel better, I'll happily help finish off the bottle."

"Oh, you better," Eva grinned, pulling him into the house. Like the couple, the house was warm; there were no sharp angles or cold stones, but was instead awash with warm wood and classic furniture. Family photos lined the shelves, some of just the couple, and others with their parents and what looked to be some siblings. Thomas didn't dwell too long on the photos as he was quickly dragged into the dining room by Eva, where Maverick was busying himself by setting the table.

"Hey, Thomas. I hope you like steak," Maverick said, giving Thomas a hopeful look.

"I do," Thomas said, Maverick's shoulders seeming to loosen up at his words. Thomas's lips curled up into a teasing smile as Maverick laid the last plate down. "And I don't have any allergies, in case you were worried."

"Oh, thank God," Eva exclaimed, looking up to the sky gratefully. Maverick and Thomas laughed at her reaction and shared an amused glance. Thomas's cheeks flushed, but his heart didn't flutter or his stomach contract. 

Thank God, I'm finally immune.

Thomas soon settled down in his seat at the table, neither Maverick nor Eva allowing him to lift a finger to help them. With the open plan of the house, Thomas and the couple chatted as the meals were being finished up, the atmosphere light and comfortable. During a lull in the conversation, Thomas noticed that there were four plates set out, and wondered if someone else was going to join them. 

As the question popped into his head, the doorbell rang, Eva and Maverick perking up. 

"Oh, he's here, he's here," Eva said, wiping her hands on her apron before making her way to the door. 

"Is someone else coming?" Thomas asked, suddenly a little nervous. Maverick's eyes widened, before embarrassment filled his face. 

"Oh, crap, I totally forgot to tell you," Maverick said, eyes nervously flitting around the room. "We had invited my younger brother to dinner a while back since he's just moved back from interstate. I was totally meant to text you to see if you were okay with it, but I guess I got side tracked, like always... I hope it's alright that-"

"Oh, it's fine, don't worry about it," Thomas said hurriedly, waving away the concern despite the unsettled feeling in his belly. 

"Oh, okay. Good," Maverick said, exhaling deeply. "I think I'm making it sound like my brother is some kind of menace or something. He's really not. At least, he hasn't been since  he was 15 or so," Maverick said, chuckling slightly.

"And how old is he now...?" Thomas asked curiously, Maverick thinking for a moment.

"22, I think," Maverick said sheepishly, Thomas laughing at his apprehension. "Honestly, we have a bit of an age gap so he's always just been the 'kid who's a lot younger than me'."

"Fair enough," Thomas said, head turning towards the entrance to the dining room and kitchen as Eva's voice grew louder. 

"And Mitch, this is Thomas," Eva said as she re-entered the dining room. "And Thomas, this is Mitch."

Thomas's face grew slack as Maverick's younger brother - Mitch - walked in. 

Sweet, merciful angels in heaven.

Wavy dark hair tied low at his neck, piercing cerulean eyes that were somehow brighter than his older brother's. Clean shaven with youthful features, a nose that was a little crooked and lips that were curled upwards sensually. Lean, athletic build clothed in tight black jeans and a loose-fitting hoodie with a small pink, yellow and blue pin to the left of his heart. 

Is he... Just maybe...

Blue eyes widened a little as they landed on Thomas, before they followed the shell-shocked boy's gaze to the pin on his hoodie. Mitch's mouth twitched, a movement Thomas couldn't help but stare at, and soon Mitch moved to stand right in front of Thomas with his hand outstretched.

"Hey, I'm Mitchell, but just call me Mitch," the boy said, his voice lacking the same lilt of an accent that his older brother had, but richer in timbre and deeper in pitch. Thomas gulped, slipping his hand into the beautiful boy's. 

"Thomas," Thomas choked out, before coughing. "I'm Thomas."

"Mhmm. It's nice to meet you, Thomas," Mitch said, hand squeezing Thomas's once, but not letting go. Thomas's heart thumped and his words caught in his throat as he thought:

This is it.

See, in this day and age, where people met on Tinder and romance was just a flick of a finger and a few water drop emojis next to an eggplant, romance was long dead. Real, true, organic love. That was what Thomas longed for, and what he didn't think he would ever get.

But he thought wrong. Sometimes it just takes a while for the fruit to ripen.

-Fin-