#Tommy wakes up as Alfie and vice versa and the things they do to each other’s businesses and money (and brothers ) is obscene

[divinekangaroo]

Surprised actually there’s no body-swap fic in PB fandom.

[whentommymetalfie]

Be Where You Are

A/N: nothing, my brain is empty from editing! just please enjoy this huge chunk of mostly fluff and forgive me

Summary: Five times Alfie and Tommy talked about spending the rest of their lives together -with each other, with others, and sometimes without doing much talking at all. 

In which there's house-hunting, life changing decisions, and yet another failed (sort of) shovel talk from Arthur.

Notes/warnings: Heavy drinking and implied alcoholism, smut

Wordcount: 10 K (yes, yes it’s that long) 

It may be true that Alfie Solomons is not the most… patient man in the entire world. He’s well aware of that. But when it comes to the things that truly matters, he’d like to think that he can in fact dig deep and muster up some of it. Patience, that is. Like with everything that concerns Tommy, for example. That includes his at best mildly infuriating and at worst absolutely unbearable family. And the living situation on Watery Lane. He’s put up with that far longer than any sane (or… less sane) man should ever have to.

But it’s the lock on their door breaking that finally is the last fucking drop.  

Alfie has suffered through Arthur banging on their door at all hours, from early fucking morning to late in the evening (And yeah he’s entirely fucking sure that he does it just to disrupt any amorous activity that may or may not be going on in there, despite Tommy rolling his eyes at this and stating that not even Arthur could be that childish).

He’s quietly bitten his tongue whenever Ada’s passed by to ask irrelevant questions; like if Tommy has seen her missing dress. And no, why on earth would he have done that? Ada only gives Alfie a look when he grumbles this, which makes him wonder exactly what she thinks he and Tommy get up to in bed. When he brings this up with Tommy, Tommy is mostly annoyed that Alfie thinks Ada’s dress would even fit him. (He’s pretty sure that it would bu that’s not the point)

Then there’s John, who can’t seem to take a single step without checking with Tommy first whether it’s alright or not…. And all of these are just things that Alfie can come up with at the top of his head.

Well, the point is that he’s been very fucking patient with all of it. Because if the Shelbys all want to share the roof of that giant, rickety ancestral home, then that’s all well and good. And yeah he’s well aware that the whole lot -Tommy in particular, even though he’d deny it to his dying day- suffer some kind of collective abandonment issue. So, Tommy moving out before Finn is older is out of the question.

But when Arthur actually manages to break the fucking lock on their bedroom door by bursting in through it, Alfie’s had enough. On top of it all, he just got Tommy onto his back, making those noises that would make the best of men commit all sorts of atrocities if only to hear them again. Legs spread and cheeks flushed, and looking absolutely worthy to be devoured…

That’s when Arthur stumbles in, effectively putting a stop to the whole thing. And once he has rushed out again, red faced and shouting, Tommy is not in the mood anymore. In fact he’s so much not in the mood that he rolls over onto his side and hides his face under a pillow when Alfie suggests that now when they’ve scared Arthur off, they might as well get back to what they were doing.

And that’s when Alfie’s had enough.

“Tommy, my dove,” he says, very carefully keeping the frustration from his voice as he runs a hand up Tommy’s arm. “Has it, and I ask this with the best of intentions in mind, has it ever fucking crossed your mind that living somewhere where your relatives can’t burst through the door at all hours would bring you some peace of mind?”

A muffled noise comes from under the pillow.

“See, I know it might take some time getting used to the idea, but finding a good house, yeah, that’s also something that takes a bit of time, doesn’t it? So you might’s well start looking, should you decide later that this is an acceptable idea-“ It’s very hard to gauge Tommy’s reaction when he’s under the pillow like this, so Alfie pauses. But when no life signs come from the feathery depths, he goes on: “I’m not saying that I’m tired of these constant interruptions, no, who doesn’t want people running in and out of one’s bedroom at all hours, fucking brilliant thing, isn’t it? All I’m saying is that your family would most definitely survive making a phone call instead. Or just taking a little walk when they feel the need to ask you something.”

Tommy is quiet and Alfie has the good sense to stay quiet too, knowing this is the mandatory processing time that he needs to go through before giving some kind of response.

Finally he rolls over onto his back, pulling away the pillow to reveal a head full of messy curls and cheeks that are still a bit flushed.

Alfie waits expectantly.

Tommy reaches for a cigarette.

“Fine,” he says, raising an eyebrow when Alfie gives him an incredulous look.

“Fine?”

“Fine.” Tommy lights the cigarette.

And that’s that.

A week later, Alfie is coming along as certified ‘Haver of great taste’ on this house buying mission.

“Now this, Tommy, this is a proper bedroom,” he says, cane tapping over the wooden flooring as he inspects the spacious room with its fancy wallpaper. But it’s a bit of an overstatement, that. The room is in fact not very inviting. Something about it feels… inhospitable and cold. But that’s what you get with an empty house, innit? And it’s better than Tommy’s little nook back in his family home.

Tommy nods, decidedly unenthusiastic. Not that his face is giving it away, but Alfie can read most of his tiny little shifts in mood without any problem these days. There’s that slight slump to his shoulders, and the way he’s not quite looking properly at the room. The same it’s been with the other four fucking houses they’ve been to. Alfie is starting to feel all the staircases in his knees.

“Could put a bed over there, and fit in a huge wardrobe for all those expensive suits of yours-“ he says. “Could have two, even.”

Instead of looking, Tommy stands by the window and gazes listlessly out at the dreary street below, smoking his cigarette with the same air of indifference.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

The question sort of surprises Alfie, because although he’s realised long ago that Tommy does in fact care a great deal about his opinion, it’s unlike him to admit it out loud.

“Well, love, I do fancy myself a man of good taste in all matters, the present company clearly being proof of that. But for once, what I think isn’t what’s most important.”

Tommy very thoroughly avoids looking at him.

“Well, it’d… be your house too.” He says the words with a slight shrug and carefully constructed nonchalance. Swallows visibly -Alfie can see it all the way from across the room. “Ours.”

Ours.

Maybe it’s ridiculous, how monumental that little word feels, but Alfie can’t help it -it does send him reeling for a bit. It’s not like they don’t already live together. They do, in most senses of the word. Wherever Tommy is, Alfie is too. And vice versa of course. But that’s been more of a gradual thing rather than a big decision -Tommy has just slowly crept into every crevice of Alfie’s townhouse back in London: an ashtray on the kitchen table, well pressed suits hanging between Alfie’s own in the wardrobe, extra blankets in the bed because Tommy always runs a few degrees colder than any other warm blooded creature… And the house is arguably just as much Tommy’s home as it is Alfie’s now. But Alfie has a feeling that although Tommy might view it as both of their home, it’s still Alfie’s house. Alfie isn’t entirely sure if there’s a distinction to be made, but it feels like there is.

Buying a fucking house together feels like officially stating out loud that this is a permanent kind of thing. And even though Alfie has known that particular fact for a while, even though they’ve talked about the prospect of doing it in the future, there’s still something about hearing Tommy say it out loud that fills his entire chest with warmth.

“Ours, eh?” he repeats and Tommy’s shoulders set into a rigid line. He walks up behind him and smooths a hand over them. “Well, in that case we should be looking at something with an actual, proper fucking kitchen.” He can feel the muscles relax under his palm. “Yeah? And with a more appealing view, if that is to be found in this shithole.”

“Maybe something outside of the city,” Tommy says quietly, still looking out the window.

Alfie says nothing. Barely dares to breathe

Tommy clears his throat. “You know… like we talked about. I’ve been thinking and- and it might be nice. We could always just drive into town for work.”

Alfie still says nothing, for fear that anything he might say will ruin this. But he lets the hand on Tommy’s shoulder slip down to his waist, tugging him a bit closer. Tommy willingly turns to face him, arms coming up to loosely encircle his neck. His eyes are still fastened on some undetermined spot on his chest.  

“Yeah, well, then we’ll have no trouble with the view,” Alfie says after careful consideration. “Whole countryside is full of it, innit? Granted that’s all it’s full of, but that’s the whole point of it, right?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Tommy’s mouth and he finally glances up at Alfie. Alfie rubs small circles on his back with his thumb.

“You sure about this? Don’t have to be doing anything you’re not ready for, love.”  

Tommy leans in that last little bit and kisses him. And then the smile finally widens into a real one -the kind that makes his eyes sparkle and manages to light up the entire, previously so cold room.”

“I’m sure.”

Two

Alfie wakes up from the book he’s been reading very falling down onto his face, and blinks to adjust his eyes to the darkness in the living room. The fire has died down to glowing embers, telling him that he must’ve somehow managed to sleep with the book in upright position for a while before it rudely decided to jam the edge of his glasses into his face. It also tells him that it’s late, and, combined with the silence in the house (and the fact that Tommy would no doubt have moved the book from his grasp) tells him that Tommy hasn’t come home yet and is working a whole lot later than usual. And he is just about to get off the sofa and call the office to tell Tommy to get himself home right this instance when the door creaks open. The annoyance is instantly replaced with relief, because fuck it, he can’t help it. Just the way he functions, innit?

He can hear Tommy moving about in the hallway, and it’s probably a sign of something significant, that he can hear just from his steps that there’s something wrong. Unwilling to explore that thought any further, he closes the book and listens.

“Tommy?”

There’s no answer, and that’s enough of an incentive for him to struggle his way off the sofa and out into the hallway. Tommy is stood by the large bureau, clutching the top in a white knuckled grip. A quick onceover tells Alfie that at least he’s not fucking bleeding from anywhere. But he’s so pale that his skin looks fucking luminous in the dark hallway.  

“Oi, Tommy?” He crosses the hallway in a few long strides, and that’s when he can smell the whiskey. Tommy glances up at him, bleary eyed and flushed, swaying on his feet.

“Fucks sake,” Alfie sighs and pitches forward to catch him when his legs inevitably give out. Tommy clings to him, shuddering breaths making his back heave. He uselessly tries to catch his gaze without much success. “Hey, are you gonna be sick?”

All he gets in response is a weak hum, but it’s enough. Wasting no time, he drags Tommy into the kitchen and to the sink -the closest appropriate place to be sick- and barely has time to deposit him there before Tommy is vomiting his guts out. Alfie pats his back and mulls over if he could’ve seen this coming earlier in the day.

“I take it you broke into my desk, hm? Or will I find one of the fucking stills empty tomorrow, eh, silly boy…”

His disapproving mutters go unnoticed. Not that Tommy is really capable of listening right then, because he barely has time to breathe between the horrid waves of retching. Alfie puts all other thoughts on halt and just focuses on damage control, continuing to rub Tommy’s back and steadying him against his hip when his knees want to buckle. Not much else to do right then. But Tommy just continues vomiting long after the most likely meager contents of his stomach are gone, and finally, the bile that splashes into the sink is red with blood. Fucking hell. Yeah, he’ll have to step in here…

He puts a hand on the back of Tommy’s neck.

“Alright, deep breaths now, love,” he says. “You ain’t got nothing left to vomit up so I’m gonna need you to just breathe for a bit. Go on-“ Tommy pants, still hunched low over the sink on shaking arms, and Alfie takes the opportunity to fill a glass of water. He manhandles Tommy into a somewhat upright position against his chest and holds it to his mouth. Tommy just whines and turns his head away. His skin feels cold and clammy when he pushes his forehead into the crook of Alfie’s neck.

“ ‘m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah it’s all fine,” he mutters and resists the urge to sigh. “Go on and drink this, or you’ll be even sorrier tomorrow.”

Tommy leans all his weight against him, and Alfie has to wrap an arm around his waist to keep him upright, all while continuing to fruitlessly push the glass of water against his lips. It takes a few more seconds, and then Tommy finally opens his mouth, grabs the glass and greedily swallows the entire thing down in three long gulps before Alfie can protest or remedy the situation-

Which of course has him hunching over the sink again, vomiting it all up within a second.

They end up on the floor after the whole ordeal, because Tommy just collapses where he stands and Alfie isn’t quite quick enough to do anything but break his fall. He’s still dry heaving somehow, and it’s right about then Alfie actually starts to worry.

“Tommy, hey, I’m gonna need you to focus for a moment here,” he says and holds his head up by his chin. Tommy’s eyes are still closed, his long lashes dark against his cheek. “Do you need me to get you to a hospital? Is it that kind of situation?”

Tommy shakes his head and curls into him, tearing his chin away from Alfie’s grip to bury his face in his shirt. And at least he’s stopped dry heaving for now, so Alfie will take his fucking word for it.

“ ‘m sorry,” Tommy repeats against his chest when Alfie pulls him into his lap. He’s finally opened his eyes a little, if only barely, and looks up at him, struggling to focus.

“What are you sorry for, eh?”

“Just… fuck up all the time.”

Alfie sighs and tries to adjust his right leg to avoid a cramp.

“Feel like telling me why you suddenly decided to fucking drown yourself in whiskey on this fine day?” he mutters and pets Tommy’s hair. “Seemed alright when I left you at the office.”

Tommy shrugs and slurs, “ ‘s just bad. ‘vrything’s bad.”

Alfie hums. Tries to not feel disappointed because he really thought they’d gotten past this. But it’s a two steps forward, one step back kind of deal, isn’t it? It’s been… well now when he thinks about it it’s been months since Tommy last had a proper slump, so they’re probably due for one. And they’re fewer and farther between now. He tries to remind himself of that.

“Bad day eh? How about you just do what you normally do and tell me, instead of doing shit like this.”

Tommy pulls his knees up to his chest, turns himself into a ball as he buries his face in Alfie’s chest and just breathes. Alfie continues stroking his hair.  

“You’ll get sick of me,” he mutters suddenly, without emerging.

“Well, I do recall us having this conversation before. Multiple times, in fact, but I suppose I can remind you: since I haven’t gotten sick of you yet, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe- maybe not now, but in-  in five years. Or ten,” Tommy mumbles.  “Twenty.”

Despite the implication -that Tommy himself can’t see an end to these occasional burst of self-destructive behavior- Alfie can’t help smiling.

“Twenty years, eh? We’re in this for the long haul I hear.”

Tommy’s entire body freezes into a tightly coiled ball of muscles. But Alfie keeps stroking his hair.

“I won’t get sick of you, love. Not in ten years, or twenty, or fuckin’… fifty. Though I can’t promise that you won’t eventually get sick of me now, can I. That’s a long fucking time, fifty years.”

Under his fingers, Tommy’s back heaves in a shivering breath and he pushes his face further into the confines of Alfie’s wrinkled shirt. He wraps his arms around Alfie’s chest.

“I won’t. Not for… for as long as I live.”

Alfie has to clear his throat.

“Well, that’s good, innit? Because you’re sort of stuck with me now.”

“Good.”

And with that, Tommy has apparently fallen asleep in his lap.  

Three

”How many people have you slept with?” Alfie asks Tommy one night, as the beginning of what could quickly turn into the worst pillow talk in recorded history. But it’s one of those occasions when the question just pops straight from his mind and out of his mouth. Luckily, he’s spent the past hour or so doing a very good job of fucking Tommy in every position imaginable, and Tommy lies satiated and warm against his chest. So his question is only met with a quiet little laugh.

“Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“Nah, then I was just wondering if you’d slept with that tall, lanky…” Alfie gestures to help the words along, “Communist fellow.

“Freddie Thorne,” Tommy offers helpfully.

“Hm, yeah, that’s the one. But now I’m just thinking about the general number.”

Tommy shifts, lifting his head up and settling his chin on Alfie’s chest. His eyes are still soft, a glint of laughter in them.  

“Hm, what was it? Half of Birmingham or something, wasn’t that what you said at some point? So how many would that be?”

Alfie snorts, even though he probably deserved that.

“Why do you ask?” Tommy wonders then, genuinely curious it would seem. Alfie shrugs a little, a hard feat while lying down.

“It just feels a bit strange doesn’t it? The idea that you might not fuck anyone else for the rest of your life. That this is all you’ll be getting.”

“Oh, ifthisis all I’ll be getting, I’ll be more than satisfied,” Tommy whispers, and suddenly there’s a hand on his cock, fingers curling loosely around the shaft.

“Always knew you only wanted me for my cock,” Alfie says with mock offence, and Tommy smirks as he begins stroking him slowly.

“Well, in my defense, it’s a very nice cock. Best one I ever had in fact. And I should know, seeing as I’ve slept with… half of Birmingham.”

All blood is rapidly leaving his head, and Alfie sighs, feeling quite pleased with the turn the conversation has taken. Tommy rubs careful circles over the head of his cock, and he slips a hand down to grip his arse firmly, pulling him closer against his hip.

“Mhm, talk more about how much you like my cock.”

Tommy huffs out a laugh and kisses him, slow and soft as he rubs himself against Alfie’s thigh. Alfie is fully hard already, aching and leaking in Tommy’s grip, because fucking hell if he’s not ready to give it to him again whenever Tommy wants it…

“As if your ego needs it,” Tommy whispers against his lips, before sitting up and straddling him. Alfie’s hands immediately find his waist, palms flexing against the expanse of smooth skin and lean muscle. Tommy’s waist fits perfectly there, with Alfie’s fingers around it. Just as the rest of his body fits against Alfie’s: how his head lies perfectly against that spot on his chest, or how Alfie can tuck him under his chin… like a perfect puzzle piece- And then his thoughts are interrupted because Tommy rolls his hips, grinding down on his hard length and he bucks up against him, impatient. It seems to be one of those days when Tommy doesn’t need much convincing, because he just takes Alfie’s cock in hand again and sinks down slowly, moaning obscenely as it slides all the way in. He’s slick and open from before and something about that, fuck, that just makes Alfie so turned on that he gets fucking dizzy… That Tommy just so ready for him: wet and just barely open enough- Fucking hell this isn’t going to last long if he keeps this train of thought. He bites his tongue hard, hoping the pain will bring him back enough to keep himself from coming right then.

Tommy rides him slowly, just barely lifting his hips to begin with. Must be a bit too deep to really be doing it for him, but fuck it really does it for Alfie, is the thing, and Tommy appears pleased to just be giving him what he wants. He’s so fucking wet and warm and tight, and he must be feeling it because Alfie went none to gently on him before. Tommy curls his fingers loosely around his own cock and moves in tandem with his thrusts, eyes falling shut.

Alfie just keeps his hands on his waist for now, lightly, not trying to control anything. When Tommy gets on top like this, it’s usually because he wants to set the pace himself, and who is Alfie to deny him anything?

“Fucking hell, just look at you,” he breathes out. “Wish you could see yourself now, love- really is something else entirely, aren’t you?”

Tommy lets go of his cock and settles his hands on Alfie’s chest instead, lifting his hips higher and making Alfie slide almost all the way out before sinking back down. Moans each time, loud and unabashed and fucking desperate for it, as if it wasn’t just half an hour ago that Alfie pounded him into the mattress until he’d screamed himself hoarse.

Then he tugs at Alfie’s shoulders and Alfie takes the hint immediately, sitting up and wrapping his arms tightly around that narrow waist.

“Why would I ever want anyone else, ever again?” Tommy leans in and whispers, voice husky and unsteady in a way that just shoots arousal down his spine. He rolls his hips, cock brushing against Alfie’s stomach. His legs are trembling now, so Alfie helps him along, holding his weight up with his arms. Fingers tangle into his hair and Tommy kisses him, wet and sloppy and panting loudly, frantically pulling in the too hot air between them. Alfie has no answer of course, because with Tommy like this on his lap, grinding down on his cock and looking like it really is the best fucking thing he’s ever had, no, he can’t come up with a reason why.

“Fuck, it’s so good- so fucking good Alfie I-“ Tommy buries his face in the crook of his neck, clinging properly to his shoulders now. “No one else could ever come close.”

Alfie’s hips are moving on their own accord now, while he virtually takes Tommy’s entire weight and lifts him up and down on his cock, because Tommy’s legs have apparently decided to give up. And he doesn’t fucking mind in the least, does he? Because Tommy makes these desperate little noises, rutting and grinding against him as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Won’t ever have to worry about that now, do you?” Alfie mutters into his ear. “Because you’re all mine and I’m going to take care of you. Fucking hell, if I had my way, you wouldn’t ever have to leave the bed. Would just keep you there. Make sure you’re fucked real good every single day… several times a day, because that’s what you want isn’t it?”

Tommy whimpers, and Alfie releases his waist to wind his fingers into his hair and pull his head back. And Tommy is just there, unable to move properly and just desperately grinding on Alfie’s cock. And it’s a fucking sight alright. His eyes are blown wide, filled with that raw, open vulnerability. It makes Alfie growl and tug harder at his hair.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Tommy whispers. “Always.”

Then his hands are back on Alfie’s shoulders and he pushes himself up, despite his shaking legs and clenches around Alfie and that’s it, Alfie fucking goneand he fucks up and into Tommy, arms clenched tight around his waist again. Tommy lets out an almost pained sound, shaking and twitching in his grip as he comes all over his stomach.

He collapses completely against him afterwards. Alfie can’t be bothered to stay upright and slumps down onto the mattress, but manages to at least be considerate enough to keep Tommy from hitting his head on the bedframe.

It takes several minutes before Alfie comes back enough to himself to manoeuvre Tommy off him, which is necessary, because God knows Tommy will just stay right where he is for the rest of the night otherwise, with Alfie’s cock still buried in his arse. Always needy and clingy after sex, Tommy of course whimpers out various complaints, until Alfie has got him settled against his chest again. And that, well that’s somehow just as great as the actual sex isn’t it? Alfie hushes him. Strokes his back until he’s calmed down again and seems at peace. Tommy drapes one leg across Alfie’s hip and noses against that spot on his chest that’s become his designated head rest, right below his left collarbone.

Alfie runs a finger down his spine, grabs the blanket and pulls it up over them both. Because although he still feels overheated, he knows for a fact that Tommy will start shivering in a minute. That’s just how it works.

“So, I take it you’re not going to miss fucking anyone else? Hm? Is that what I should take away from this?” He smirks to himself when he sees the exasperated wrinkle between Tommy’s eyebrows. “See, because I might need more convincing. Not straight away, mind you, but in half an hour or so…”

Tommy slaps his arm with the conviction of a sleepy cat swatting for a fly that’s buzzing around it’s ears.  

“Fuck off. You’ve gotten yours tonight. Twice.”

“Oh, it’s more than that if you count the times I very selflessly made you come, love, How about you add that to the list of my fine qualities? What other man has done that for you?”

“If you continue to be this infuriating, I might find someone else who will,” Tommy mutters and shuffles a bit closer still.

Alfie continues, undeterred because he’s feeling quite pleased with himself right now thank you very much.“See, love, there’s only one thing that’s better than knowing you’re a generous and considerate lover,” he says and ignores Tommy’s annoyed groan. “Who can make their partner come their brains out several times in a single evening, and that’s knowing that you’re better than all the previous ones…”

“You’re fucking impossible” Tommy mutters into his chest, keeping his head firmly pressed against it while clinging to him. “Now shut up and let me sleep, or I will banish you to the sofa.”

Alfie scoffs, “Empty threats, love. You know better than to play cards like that.”

Tommy opens one eye and gives him a glare. Going against one of those would definitely be pushing his luck, so the best route now would be to stay quiet. But he does press a kiss against Tommy’s forehead. Which is met with another little huff.

Tommy is still smiling against his chest. He can tell.

Four

There are plenty of things about Tommy’s older brother that Alfie finds infuriating. Were he to make a list, it would most likely be impossible to complete: Arthur would find new ways to bother him while he was writing said list and constantly add to it. But somewhere at the top of that hypothetical list, he’d put the fact that Arthur Shelby has the worst possible timing for absolutely everything. From barging into Tommy’s office with some question just when Alfie has persuaded Tommy to take a little break from working to sit on his lap for just a tiny bit, to calling them at home in London (God knows how he got the fucking number) demanding to speak with Tommy about all sorts of irrelevant matters, usually once they’ve finally settled in for the evening.

So really, it should be no surprise that when Alfie steps into the Shelby household much later than he’d anticipated and passes the kitchen, he hears a familiar voice.

“Oi, Solomons, a word.”

Alfie stops in his tracks and groans because fuck, has Arthur just set up permanent shop in the fucking kitchen? Ready at any time to call people in and have various ‘chats’ with them about questions that are none of his business and yet somehow crucial for him to put his nose in.

And furthermore it’s fucking late and he’s had a hellish evening dealing with incompetent employees and a broken still, so all he wants to do now is go upstairs to Tommy. Pull him close and bury his nose in soft hair that smells faintly of soap and smoke...

“Unless you hadn’t noticed, I was actually on my way to something more important. Namely to a bed that has your brother in it,” he tells Arthur and can’t keep himself from adding: “See if he’s up for getting a bit of cock on this fine evening.“

Arthur chokes on his whiskey. And really he should’ve fucking expected an answer like that. But he still waves for him to sit down and bloody hell, Alfie figures that it’s better to just have it fucking over with. So he ambles over to the kitchen table, slumps down on a chair and leans back in it, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright, as I’m sure you can see, I’m here,” he says when Arthur just stares at him. “So fucking talk.”

Arthur promptly empties his whiskey glass and then refills it.

“I’ve been thinking-“

Alfie huffs out a laugh. “Oh watch out, you might hurt yourself.”

Arthur glares, clears his throat and leans back in his chair, mimicking Alfie’s pose. Puts on what is most likely supposed to be a serious face, takes a breath… and fuck, Alfie is seconds away from just getting up and leaving when he finally gets to the point and says, “What are your intentions with Tommy?”

It takes a while for Alfie to take this in, even though the buildup should’ve adequately prepared him for something this stupid.

“What?”

“What are your intentions with my little brother?” Arthur repeats, over annunciating every single word, as if that will clarify anything. My little brother… Arthur always adds that when he’s feeling particularly over protective. As if to further hammer home the point -mostly to himself probably- that he is indeed the older and wiser out of the two of them. That Tommy is his responsibility.

Alfie blinks. “Yeah, well if you really want to know, right now I intend to go upstairs and see if he’s still awake. And then possibly make him come his brains out a few times-“

Arthur’s face turns a darker shade of red and his moustache twitches in that absolutely hilarious way. His right hand clenches into a fist where it’s placed on the table. But he doesn’t lose it. Surprising, that.

“Which I really should prioritize right now so if we’re done here…” Alfie puts both palms on the table and makes a half-hearted effort to stand up but of-fucking- course Arthur won’t have that

“You know what I fucking mean,” he snaps.

“Well, dear Arthur, as it so happens I don’t actually know what you fucking mean so if you could fucking clarify…”

Arthur glares down at his whiskey. Moves the glass a bit to the right. Moves it back again… Alfie sinks deeper into his chair and sighs demonstratively.

“He loves you,” Arthur says, suddenly, still studying the glass. “Really… fucking loves you.”

Alfie decides to be quiet.

“Fucking hell I never thought that it- that it would actually go this far,” Arthur continues. “But he fucking loves you, more than- than I think he’s ever loved anyone or anything.”

Yeah and what on earth is happening now? It’s getting bloody uncomfortable, that’s what. So Alfie opens his mouth to fucking say something, but Arthur waves a hand dismissively and keeps talking.

“And the thing, the fucking thing is that now… Well, he wouldn’t fucking survive you leaving, alright? Almost fucking fell apart completely when you had that fight. And if you- if this isn’t fucking permanent in your eyes, then I…“ Arthur allows himself a moment of silence, probably because he discovers that Alfie won’t interrupt him. “It would fucking kill him,” he then finally says, without the tiniest bit of smile. Dead fucking serious.

And something about the tone… Alfie can’t bring himself to say something snide or sharp, but he doesn’t exactly have any other options either, so he just continues being silent.

“And, yeah I don’t know what to do with that fucking realization. Sure I can do the whole ‘If you ever hurt my brother I’ll hunt you down and fucking beat you to death with your own cane-spiel, but-” Arthur pauses again to breathe. “But that doesn’t really matter does it?”

Alfie sighs. “Fucking hell I’m not in the mood for this-“

He rubs his temples and realizes that a bit of sincerity is the only thing that will work here, even though he really is in no mood to be having conversations like this with Arthur.

He shoots a glare at the man in question. “What’s all this, eh, Arthur? Trying to catch up on 30 years of big-brother duties all of a sudden.”

Arthur ignores the remark and takes a swig of whiskey. Stares into the liquid again. “We just got him back, you know? We finally fucking got him back, and now I’m terrified that without you, he’d…”

He trails off and silence fills the kitchen.

“Nah, give your brother some credit,” Alfie says. “As much as I’d like to think that I have a magical cock that just… miraculously heals broken heads, Tommy’s done plenty of work to pull himself out of that pit he’s been in.”

Arthur sways forward and sets both forearms down on the table with a bang.

“Just give me a straight answer here,” he slurs, going a bit cross eyed as he watches Alfie. “Be honest with me here, between... two people, who just really fucking care about him alright?”

“You know that Tommy would fucking kill you if he found out you were having this conversation with me, right”

Arthur just keeps gazing at him with dim eyes, as if he didn’t even hear it.

Alfie sighs again. Fuck it.

“Alright, you want to hear what my fucking intentions are, do you?” He rests his forearms on the table and hunches forward, trying to catch Arthur’s eyes. “Even though you really have no fucking business knowing them. But I’ll fucking indulge you, alright? So here it goes, and you better fucking listen because I’ll only be saying this once: If we had lived in a world that was just a bit different… Or perhaps if Tommy had been a woman  and I hadn’t just been an old sodomite, yeah? Well, then I’d have asked to marry him long ago.” He stops staring at Arthur’s face- stares past his shoulder instead, at a wall. “Would’ve done it all… fancy and the like. Taken him to some nice place. Bought an ungodly expensive ring. The whole deal-” he clears his throat, suddenly realizing he’s said far too much. But surprisingly, Arthur doesn’t take the chance to laugh in his face or something of the sort. Instead he just sits there, staring down at the tabletop.  “That enough of an answer for you, eh, Arthur?” Alfie grunts when he finally can’t take the silence anymore. “Think you can get some peace of mind?”

Arthur opens his mouth, looks up, and his eyes drift to the doorway.

“Well, would you look at that. You’re talking, and the house is still standing. And no one is bleeding, from what I can see.”

The statement is finished off with a yawn and Alfie turns in his chair to see Tommy standing there in the doorway. He’s clad in only Alfie’s shirt and underwear, hair mussed from the pillow and with this soft, sleepy expression on his face that just makes Alfie’s heart skip a beat… But fuck how is it possible for him to walk so quietly? Alfie tries not to panic when he realizes that Tommy might’ve stood there for a very long time.

“Yeah, we’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” he says, feeling like his tongue is too big for his mouth. Tommy smiles and comes up to stand by his side. Alfie wraps an arm around his hips. Pulls him close

“Are you coming to bed soon?” he asks and leans into him a bit, soft and relaxed. Looks down at him through a fan of long, long, dark lashes. The way he is sometimes in the mornings after a good night’s sleep (and, if Alfie might add, a good and proper fuck before that).

“Yeah sure, if your crazy brother is quite finished with me, I’d very much like to go to bed.” Alfie tears his eyes away from Tommy long enough to look questioningly at Arthur. “Arthur here was just telling me about his secret dream of moving out into a hut in the forest to raise sheep for the rest of his days, and I told him to just go for it-“

Arthur sighs, as if the entire weight of the world was just dropped down onto his shoulders and gives Tommy a look.

“Really, Tommy, out of all the men you could’ve fucking picked, you just had to go with the most infuriating one?”

“Oh absolutely,” Tommy says solemnly. “It was very high up on my list of demands for possible partners-“

Alfie smirks. “Number one of course being that they must be above average both in stamina and in how well-endowed they are-“

“Number two: must be absolutely unbearable to be around,” Tommy fills him in.

“Fucks sake, you two. Absolutely fucking impossible,” Arthur mutters and looks almost pleadingly at Tommy when he adds, “Doesn’t it scare you that you’re gonna have to put up with this for the rest of your life?”

Alfie isn’t sure if Arthur fucking realizes how stupid it is, asking Tommy a question like that. But Tommy just keeps smiling.

“Not really, no,” he says, giving Alfie another look. “So… bedroom?”  The quirked eyebrow gets Alfie up and moving.

“Well, it’s been a nice little talk, this, Arthur. All around fucking brilliant and enlightening, just as all talks with you are, mate,” he says as he stands, his arm sliding up around Tommy’s waist to pull him closer. “But I think it’s time for me and Tommy to go upstairs and-“

Arthur’s frame seems to draw together into what can only be described as a full body cringe

“Don’t want to hear it!” And the fucker actually slams is hands over his ears. Tommy snorts and walks out of the kitchen with Alfie close behind.

In the hallway, he takes Alfie’s arm in a sudden uncharacteristic move for closeness. And Alfie wonders just how much of the conversation he heard. Can’t have been much, if the good mood is anything to go by. Only reaction Tommy could reasonably have to listening in on a conversation like that is either being pissed off or absolutely freaking out. And he’s doing neither. Could of course ask. Get it out in the open. But it feels unnecessary to start poking around in it, because Tommy looks so… at peace. Happy. And Alfie would be a fool to start asking questions that might ruin that. So he leaves it be. Over all, Alfie tries to not dwell on the whole conversation; not on his own words and not on whether Tommy was there to hear them or not. Just like he tries to not… lose himself in that fantasy. Because, well, saying it out loud just turned it all the more visceral and it’s sort of hard to ignore it now. As if just saying the words out loud made him realize it on a whole different level.

Realize that if things had been different, he would’ve---

But they’re not. So there’s no point in dwelling on it.

Then again, who’s to fucking decide what sort of questions he can and can’t ask Tommy, even if it would just be a symbolic kind of thing? Not like either of them pay much attention to what is right and proper in the eyes of the law in any other aspect. Why should this be any different?

“What are you thinking about?”

He realizes he’s been standing with his shirt unbuttoned halfway, just staring into the distance. Tommy is already in bed, all bundled up in the blankets and watching him with sleepy eyes.  

“Oh, nothing, love. Just the usual, eh?” Alfie mutters and finishes unbuttoning the shirt. “The weather, state of the English pound… things like that.”

Tommy yawns and sinks a bit deeper into the pillows.

“Well, if you want to do something besides sleeping tonight, you better think less and get undressed more. I’m already half asleep.”

“Oh would you look at that, love, a pig just fluttered by outside the window,” Alfie chuckles but puts some extra focus into getting his clothes off. Tommy lets out a snort that is most likely supposed to sound indignant, but when Alfie is finally down to his underwear and crawls into bed next to him, he’s all soft eyes and smiles again. And Alfie is tempted to ask what’s put him in such a good mood, but that is guaranteed to ruin it. So instead he just kisses him. And decides that all the thoughts the conversation with Arthur stirred up can wait till tomorrow.

Five

Arrow House -or whatever the fuck it’s called- is an enormous block of bricks. Question is if it could even be deemed a house, what with the size and everything. No, it’s not just a house, of course. It’s a whole fucking estate.

Alfie walks through yet another room that could possibly be a bedroom -guest or otherwise, and wonders who the fuck needs this many room.

But apparently, this is the kind of house people of their ‘stature’ should have. It’s what everyone keeps saying. Tommy too. So of course when the opportunity presented itself to buy the estate of one Lord Whatever-The-Fuck-His-Name-Was -who apparently fucked off permanently to one of the colonies for whatever reason- they at least had to take a look.

So now they’re here, wandering around this castle like structure and getting lost. Alfie hasn’t seen Tommy for several minutes, it’s quite possible that he’ll never find the exit again and he’s pretty sure he’s heard a minimum of five restless spirits.

It’s all around, not a great experience.

Alfie opens the door to the next room, finding it just as empty as the last one. It feels like the sheer size of the building is about to swallow him whole. He gazes out over the giant lawn that stretches before the house. And the vastness of that isn’t helping either.

He moves on to the next room, trying to ignore the way the echoes of his cane bounces off the walls.

That room is empty too, and now he’s seriously beginning to wonder where Tommy has gone.

“Tommy?” He stands stock still, straining his ears to hear a response.

“Alfie?” Ah, there it is. Seems like he’s far away though.

“Where are you?” he calls out again, moving in the supposed direction where Tommy’s voice came from. It takes him out into yet another corridor, with far too many doors. That doesn’t bode well.

“I’m not sure,” Tommy calls back and Alfie lets out a chuckle. “In… a room.”

“What can you see outside the window?” He starts opening doors, feeling increasingly like he’s part of a giant joke.

“Grass,” Tommy calls back, and despite the unhelpful nature of the response it still makes Alfie laugh. It sounds like he’s at the far end of the corridor somewhere, so he sets off in that direction. And of course he still has to try three different rooms that all look exactly the same before he finds Tommy, stood in what appears to have been the master bedroom, judging by the canopy bed that has been left there.

“There you are!”

Tommy turns away from the window and gives Alfie a faint smile.

“We’re gonna have to install… fucking phone lines or something between all these rooms if we’re gonna find each other,” Alfie states and walks up to him, standing to inspect the view. And yeah, granted it’s better than the dreary houses in Birmingham, but again, there’s something oddly… eerie over the giant fields of grass. Feels as empty and lifeless as the house. “But I suppose we’ll get used to it, eh? Having to spend a few minutes just looking for each other every time we’re separated. And we’ll have to plan things in advance too, seeing as it takes at least ten fucking minutes to walk from one end of the house to the other.”

Tommy hums and turns to face the interior of the room, inspecting the ceiling that sits high above them.

“Have you looked at the rest of the rooms on this end?” Alfie asks when the silences stretches on. Tommy shakes his head, which prompts him to put a hand on the small of his back.

“Well, how about we do that, then? And then, might I suggest we go out into the sunshine? Fucking freezing in here, innit?”

Tommy is quiet as they inspect the four remaining rooms in this wing, so Alfie fills the silence by talking about the amount of people they’ll need to hire just to keep this house in order. And making little suggestions on what could be done to the rooms to make them slightly less… ghostly. A word he doesn’t use of course, because saying things like that is bound to make the whole house feel even more eerie.

Tommy’s got a wrinkle between his eyebrows the entire time, and his jaw is clenched oddly tight. It’s not until they get back to the main entrance, and are stood on the staircase overlooking the grand hallway and front door, that he finally speaks.

“I don’t… like it.”

Alfie cuts himself off mid-ramble.

Tommy sounds incredulous. As if he can’t quite believe his own words.

“No?”

Tommy shakes his head and looks around; At the intricate wood panelling, the heavy oak floors and the thick velvet curtains that hang in front of the windows.

“Well, it’s hard to imagine living in it now, I suppose,” Alfie says to help him along. “Bet with some furnitures it’ll feel a bit more homely.”

A fucking lie if there ever was one.

Tommy shakes his head and sets off down the stairs, leaving Alfie to follow. Once they’re down in the hallway, Tommy looks around the room again.

“You do realise of course, sweetheart, that this is hardly the kind of house I’d want to live in either?”

“It’s not?”

“Now, love, when have I ever expressed that I’d like to live in a giant fucking ghost house that feels about as homely as an abandoned sanatorium?”

Tommy sighs and the tension finally creeps from his shoulders.

“Suppose it just… seemed like the next natural step.”

“Yeah, yeah because this is the kind of fucking house people with money live in, innit?” Alfie scoffs and taps his cane against an ornate fixture by a door. “Big gaudy things that require a whole squad of helpers and… cooks and fucking gardeners. And it’s still just as fucking lonely and miserable- I mean fucking look at it! Who needs all this fucking space? And it’s so fucking dark everywhere, even with all the windows”

He cuts himself off because Tommy’s got a sort of haunted look in his eyes.

“That about sums up why you’re not feeling it?” he asks, softer this time and Tommy shrugs a little.

“Maybe.”

Alfie walks up to the front door, resolute, and opens it. The sun streams into the hallway and a gust of wind blows in and ruffles Tommy’s hair. There, looks a whole lot better already. Alfie takes him by the hand and leads him out.

“I say fuck this house and whoever built it. Let’s go home

Tommy follows to the car without a word of protest.

Tommy isn’t too keen on looking at houses after that incident. So Alfie decides to hit pause on the whole thing for just a little while -sometimes he just needs a bit more time than other people to process things like this. But they do eventually look at another one, and that turns out -if possible- even worse. First off, it’s too far away from Birmingham. Then the estate agent tells them it was built by a Lord ‘What’s his name’(Alfie can’t be bothered to remember) who held a high position in the cavalry.

Tommy takes one look at the giant stone lions flanking the front door and then promptly gets back in the car.

Suffice to say, he’s not in a very good mood on the drive back towards Birmingham, quietly staring out the window and smoking one cigarette after the other. But the weather is nice, so when Alfie sees a fence bordering a large field that could possibly contain a horse or two -which could potentially cheer Tommy up- he pulls over and turns to his sulking companion.

“How about we take a walk, eh, love? We did make the drive out here after all.”

Surprisingly, Tommy isn’t hard to convince.

So they walk, taking a small gravel road that leads between two large meadows. And the sun is shining, a warm breeze rustles through the leaves, and although Tommy continues to quietly chain-smoke, the wrinkle between his eyebrow has smoothed out a bit.  

And sure enough, after walking for a bit they even pass a pasture where several horses are grazing. Predictably, Tommy lights up when one of them comes towards the fence, eager at the sight of two people who might just be there to give it a treat. The horse hangs its head over the fence and Tommy scratches it behind the ears. Were it someone else Alfie would suggest to stay far away from a strange horse, but he has yet to meet a single horse -known or unknown- that doesn’t like Tommy. And he’s quite pleased that this horse has decided to turn up.

The horse is disappointed when Tommy leaves (Alfie is the one who initiates it because otherwise they might be stuck here until nightfall). It neighs a complaint before realising that petting time is over, and turning to re-join the rest of the flock a little ways away.

Alfie meanwhile offers his arm to Tommy, who actually takes it as they continue the walk. And this time, Tommy even refrains from lighting another cigarette. It could of course just be that he’s finally run out.

The sun is beginning to set in the horizon, which Alfie only realises when he glances over at Tommy and is struck by how extraordinarily beautiful he is in this light. He’s just about to suggest that they turn back when he sees the sign. Or… calling it a sign is perhaps to use the word too liberally: it’s really just a wooden plank with painted on letters, speered into the ground by the edge of an moss covered stone wall.

‘For sale’ it just says. And then a telephone number. Alfie frowns.

“Is this how they fucking do it in the countryside? Just hang a homemade bloody sign up in the middle of nowhere advertising a sale of… whatever. How is anyone supposed to find it here?”  

But Tommy doesn’t appear to be listening. He’s let go of Alfie’s arm and walked up to the gate that is situated a bit further down on the wall, and is now standing there looking at something. Naturally Alfie has to see what is so interesting. And only a few steps along the road later, he sees the house, previously obscured by bushes.

He understands why Tommy is completely entranced by it, because it sure is something to look at. It’s large, but nothing compared to the last two monstrosities, just two stories and then what appears to be a large attic. Vines are growing up along the brick facade, and clinging around the green front door.

Alfie looks at it too. And then opens the gate and walks towards it.

“Alfie! Where are you going?”

“Just want to take a look, love.”

“That’s not how it works!”

“It is now!”

He gives the door three sharp knocks, just for good measure. As expected, there’s no answer. The door is locked however, and once it’s become clear no one is home, he begins inspecting the surroundings. There are no flowerpots or anything on the front steps, but by a barrel full of rainwater, there’s a watering can that somehow looks… suspicious.

Tommy’s steps are coming up the gravel path towards the house. “Alfie, let’s just leave before someone sees us.”

The key is, as expected, under the watering can.

Tommy looks absolutely mortified when he shows it to him

“Alfie, we can’t just go in,” he says with what honest to God sounds like a whine.  

“Oh, calm down, love. Very uncharacteristic for you, this behaviour.” Alfie unlocks the door and it swings open easily. “You’re usually quite unbothered by… well everything. Where’s your sense of adventure, eh?”

“I’m just sick of looking at houses,” Tommy grumbles.

Alfie goes inside.

“Hello?” he calls out, lest they scare someone to death. But it quickly becomes apparent that the house is indeed empty.

Tommy is still outside on the steps.

“Aren’t you coming in, love?” Alfie wonders with a grin as he pops his head out the door. Tommy demonstratively lights a cigarette and turns his back against him. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back in a moment,” he says and kisses his temple just for good measure, before venturing back into the house.  

Alife knows that no matter how hard he tries to deny it himself, heisprone to be a sentimental fool -Tommy’s words- so granted he might not be the best judge, but fuck if there’s not just something…about this house. Granted, the golden light of the sunset that cascades in through the large windows is of course showing it from its best side, but still…

The light spills across the hardwood floor and bounces off the walls with their white wallpaper, washing everything in golden tones. It becomes quite clear that no one has have lived there for a while, because a fine coating of dust covers everything. And still the house doesn’t feel eerie. More as if it’s sleeping, as odd as it might be to describe a house that way. The hallway takes him to a large living room with a fireplace, and huge windows that open up into the garden. He completely forgets to inspect the view though because he passed a staircase on his way in there and has to take a look at the upstairs quarters. Only a quick one, he promises himself -Tommy is bound to have become restless by now.

One look at the master bedroom though, and  Alfie decides that Tommy has to see this for himself. And if he’s not going to do it willingly, well then Alfie will just have to carry him.

But once he’s back downstairs and out the door again, he finds the front steps empty.

“Tommy?”

“I’m here.” The answer comes immediately, thank fuck (will Alfie ever stop being anxious the moment Tommy is out of his sight?) “In the kitchen.”

Alfie follows the voice to the back of the house, and does indeed find Tommy in a big, bright kitchen with pale green panelling on all the cupboards. He’s stood by an open back door, with coloured glass in its windowpane. The sun is shining through it, casting light in red and blue that dances across his face.

Alfie only then realises he’s been too engulfed by the interiors of the house to look at the garden at the back of it. Because that’s where the door leads, out into a big garden with a lawn, and a giant oak tree.

“There are roses,” Tommy says quietly.

Alfie can only hum. The evening air is thick with the scent of them as it wafts towards him in gentle gusts. For a while they just stand there in silence.

He thinks about it, wonders what the fucking odds are of stumbling on a house like this. Just because you decide to take a walk. Then again, sometimes things do just line up perfectly, don’t they? It does happen, as rare as it might be. You take a walk and find a house, your new business partner turns out to be the love of your life… Things like that.

“Think we better get going. It’s about to get dark.”

Alfie snaps out of his thoughts and blinks. Tommy takes his arm and pulls him back into the kitchen.

Once the door is locked and the key is safe back under the watering can, they begin making their way towards the car.

When they pass the sign, Alfie grabs it and tugs it straight out of the ground. Then continues walking. Tommy looks uncharacteristically appalled.  

“Alfie! You can’t just-“

“I’m just holding onto this for… safe keeping.”

Tommy shakes his head, but the lack of any more protests is approval enough for Alfie to carry the sign all the way back to the car and put it in the trunk.

And he’s fairly certain he catches Tommy smiling when he gets into the driver’s seat.

….

Alfie doesn’t call the number right away -granted he shouldn’t be calling at all until he’s hashed the whole thing out with Tommy- and that is yet to be done. The sign is now in the wardrobe (for safe keeping). On top of that, Alfie’s got the number written down in the only place he knows he won’t lose it (on the back of a photograph of Tommy that he keeps in his wallet. Which Tommy doesn’t have to know about)

But he sort of has another question at the forefront of his mind right now. One which has steadily become more and more obtrusive and that’s distracting him from the whole house business… It’s in fact taking up so much of the space in his brain that he finds himself unable to function. Back and forth it goes. Should he ask? Shouldn’t he?

It would be absolutely insane to ask.

But he desperately wants to, is the thing.

And it doesn’t hurt to just… see if he still has that box somewhere in the attic.  

He’s been keeping it there for years -unable to throw it out, but it’s too painful of a thing to have where he has to see it all the time. And one day when Tommy is out, he makes the rather uncomfortable climb up to the attic to search. Lo and behold, it seems like whoever is in charge of it all is working in his favour on this matter, because it’s the first fucking thing he finds. He carefully avoids the photos and other keepsakes, unwilling to face all of that right now. And he does find what he’s looking for -at the very bottom, carefully wrapped in thin, sheer paper. As it’s been for twenty-five odd years, ever since his uncle gave it to him.

“This was your mothers, She asked me to keep it safe. I know she wanted you to have it. So now it’s yours to keep safe.”

He’d asked what he was supposed to do with it. Because that’s the kind of questions kids ask. And his uncle told him that, well, at some point -if you’re lucky- you’ll meet someone who you want to give it to. Someone special.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

And sure enough, he did understand when he got older. But all that really led him to was the realisation that the ‘someone special’ his uncle had been referring to, well, Alfie wasn’t the kind of person who was meant to find one of those. Realised that quite quickly in fact. So what was the point of keeping the bloody thing? Just a reminder of all the things he’d never have, wasn’t it?

Still, couldn’t fucking throw it away, could he? What sort of son would he be if he’d done that? No, that was out of the question. So he’d put it in this box. And now he’s holding it in his hands again and it feels oddly small… Small and delicate and somehow still so incredibly heavy.

He’s sort of forgotten to breathe, so he tries to do that as he folds away paper and looks down at the contents.

Then he has to wipe his eyes because there’s a lot of fucking dust up here and it’s making them fucking water. Has to blink, just to get his vision clear enough to actually seethe thing properly.

It’d need some adjustments of course. But that’s easy enough to accomplish.

It wouldn’t hurt to just… bring it downstairs. Keep it there for a while. It doesn’t mean that he has to ask… It’s not like it’s a huge commitment to just bring it downstairs.

When he descends the ladder on unsteady legs, it’s in his inner pocket.

For safekeeping.

And if he should want to ask, well it’s easier to have it down here isn’t it?

Not that he’s planning to. Because it’d be an absolutely ridiculous thing to do.

But-

Well it can’t fucking hurt to have it close by, is the point.

If he would like to ask…