Chapter Text
In the aftermath, Thomas takes some time.
He plays video games (with decidedly no frogs, thank you.) He goes on walks in the Florida drizzle. He checks in with his friends- not just Joan and Tayln, but friends he hasn't spoken to in weeks, months, years.
He breathes.
And he does feel better for it, a little more each day. He gets out of bed without having to fight against the weight that had been settled on his chest. He thinks of projects yet to come, and instead of fear there's excitement. He'd forgotten what that felt like, heady anticipation instead of dull dread.
But still. There's something unsettled in him, a pinch just behind his belly button. A sense that while things are getting better, there's more work yet to do.
There's no revelation, no sudden epiphany. It comes to him gently one morning. He's supposed to be practicing self-love, right?
...so maybe it's time he starts loving himself.
'Phrasing,' he thinks, and giggles at his own stupid joke. And then he reaches out for Patton. A request, not a demand.
Patton rises up in the kitchen. He smiles- too wide, a showing of teeth more then a grin. There's a slump to his shoulders. He looks tired. Looks *burdened*, and Thomas is moving around the table before he can think better of it.
“What do you need, kid- oh!”
Has he ever hugged one of the sides before? Maybe, when they were younger and the line between imaginary and real had been more yielding. At first it's like hugging nothing at all, and Thomas' arms pass through Patton to close against his own chest.
Patton blinks at him, and Thomas gets to see the realization break over him. Those tired, tired eyes go wide, then scrunch shut as Patton draws a shuddering breath.
“Thank you,” he whispers, “But you can't...”
Bull(frog)shit.
Thomas squeezes his own eyes shut. He adjusts himself, widening his arms. Leaving space, and he imagines Patton in that space. He thinks of hugs and how the best ones feel. Arms around your shoulders, a hand rubbing circles on your back. Just the right amount of pressure.
He thinks of how they *feel*. Safety and warmth and acceptance and love given freely. He thinks of Patton, of Patton who tries so very hard for him. Who gets things wrong but keeps moving forward, who gets things wrong only because he so badly wants to get them right.
Thomas tucks his face down against Patton's (warm, solid, real) shoulder and breathes in the pastry smell of him. Warmer then cinnamon- nutmeg, maybe? He can feel Patton crying. Can feel him hugging back, just a little too tight, a little too desperate. Not quite perfect, and that's so much better.
They stand like that for a long time. Until Patton pulls back a little, and Thomas lets him, both of them sniffling and sniveling and giggling a little, too.
“Thank you,” Patton says again.
And then he boops Thomas' nose, and their giggles break into laughter that leaves them both a little weak in the knees.
“What did you need?” Patton asks, after they've both calmed down a little. Thomas shrugs.
“...nothing at all,” he says. Because it's always a disaster, a dilemma. It's always him needing and them giving, and that has to stop. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted to have breakfast with me?”
Patton smiles. A real smile that crinkles in the corners of his eyes. “Count-me-chocula in!”
Thomas groans and reaches for the bowls.
He makes it a habit after that. Patton doesn't really eat, of course, but Thomas always goes through the motions. Fork, plate, napkin. Even dishes him up a portion only to tuck it away in tupperware after- wasting food is wrong, after all.
They talk- of silly things, mostly. The next door neighbor's new puppy (just the fattest little biscuit), the final season of The Good Place (Thomas still hasn't seen the finale- he's just not ready to say goodbye.) They see who can make the most obscure pun. Patton wins, always, and how can Thomas' own mind outwit him?
But sometimes they talk about Patton's fears. Of finding that balance, that just-enough center between too much and too less. They talk about the things that Thomas was taught, and the parts he thinks are worth keeping. They remind each other that being good is an effort, not a goal.
And they hug. When they meet and when they part, and each time it gets a little easier.