Page 20 of College Town

Belatedly – too late, after looking too long – Lawson glanced down at his notes. “So, if we’re talking about verbs–”

“Law.” Tommy was right in front of him, suddenly, standing at the side of the bed where Lawson sat cross-legged. When he tipped his head back, helpless but to do otherwise, Tommy gazed at him seriously and said, “You have to do it.”

Lawson felt breathless. He wanted…oh, he wanted. But he swallowed it down and choked out, “No, I – it’s expensive.”

Tommy still held the flier, and lifted it without breaking eye contact. “It says they offer funding for qualified individuals.”

“But I probably wouldn’t – I mean, I’m not–”

“Law, you’re amazing. I’ve read your stuff,” he started, when Lawson began to protest, expression twisting into something almost pained. “It’s – jeez, man, it’s incredible. It’s…” He bit his lip, and his cheeks colored. Quietly, sincerely in a way that broke Lawson’s heart, he said, “You’re a really good writer. Youhaveto apply to this.”

Lawson wanted to have a cool response, but all he could do was gasp a little. “You…you think I’m…good?”

Tommy’s lips were parted, breath rattling through them, and his pupils were huge, big black holes sucking up half of his face. “Yeah. Yeah, Law, I think…I think you’re…good.”

What happened next was incredibly important to Lawson because he didn’t initiate it. He’d spent years aching, longing, yearning…too terrified to look too long, or touch too familiarly. But in the end, it was Tommy who was brave enough to bridge the gap. Tommy who dropped the flier to drift down to the floor like a fallen leaf; Tommy who stepped forward, and straddled Lawson’s knees, and cupped his face. It was Tommy, breath hitching audibly, who swooped in to kiss him.

It was off-center, and too hard, and awful, really. But it was perfect.

Lawson gasped, and his hands flew up of their own accord to grip Tommy’s shoulders. His skin was warm through the fabric of his shirt, and that was Lawson’s first thought, followed by the shocking knowledge that he was touching him, that Tommy waskissinghim, that–

“God,” Lawson gasped out.

Tommy pulled back a fraction, half-terrified, half-thrilled. “Is this…are you okay?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, Tommy touched Lawson’s face, and his fingertips were shiny and wet afterward.

“Law–” Tommy started, swaying forward, and Lawson caught him by the jaw, reeled him in, and kissed him again. Kissed him better.

9

The Hindenburg. That was the blimp explosion, right?

Right?

~*~

An hour later, it becomes apparent that Tommy isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. The woman he’s with – ring flashing in the sunlight through the window,fiancée, fiancéeLawson’s brain supplies unhelpfully – plays on her phone, speaking rarely, and looks bored and aloof. Tommy sips his coffee and shoots far too many looks toward the counter.

Lawson smiles, and takes cash, and makes change, and swipes cards, and paints little fern leaves on the tops of lattes, and wants to scream.

They don’t look like a proper couple, he can’t help but notice. No touches, no lingering looks, no smiles, no hand-holds over the table. The more disinterested she looks, the more frantic he looks, foot bouncing under the table, small, neat hands fiddling with his watch, his cufflinks. They don’t interact.

It's weird.

Lawson tries not to get his hopes up, because he’s mad as fuck at Tommy –Tom– and he can hear Dana’s voice in his head telling him to be strong, to have some self-respect.

When his break arrives, finally, he digs a crumpled pack of smokes and a lighter from the back of his cubby, and goes out back to light one up. He’s two drags deep, and just starting to get his breath back, when a neat, slender figure rounds the corner and says, “What the fuck, man?”

Lawson jumps. He drops his cigarette and it hisses out in an inconvenient puddle. “Shit,” he mutters, and then scowls, and straightens, pissed at himself for startling so badly. He should have expected this; Tommy was always the fearless one of the two of them, despite his size. The first to initiate, the one to reach out, always the pusher, and Lawson just thrilled to be pushed.

Now, though,hepushes: pushes his shoulders back, pushes his height advantage to loom a little, until Tommy pulls up short two feet away. “What the fuck back at ya,man?” he retorts, not cleverly, but oh well.

Tommy tips his head back so he can maintain eye contact, and Lawson takes petty satisfaction in just how dramatic their height difference is, even more so than when they were kids. Tommy’s hands are balled into white-knuckled fists, and the stubborn set of his jaw is starkly angular, now, without any of the baby fat padding out his cheeks in the old photos Lawson still keeps at the bottom of a drawer.

“Lawson, can you act like an adult for five goddamn minutes so that we can talk?”

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