Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rain was softly ticking on the windows, the yellow light of lamp on his desk casting a faint glow around the drops as they slowly crawled their way down the glass. Thomas knew, because he had been starring at the window for the past half hour. He really should be working. There were essays to finish, exams to study and the list of required reading for the course on medieval social history was ever growing. Yet tonight he could not bring himself to do any of it, or anything really.

The aggressive red light of his alarm glared at him. Stating that it was only 17:30. He could call Aldo, who was probably getting ready for an evening of clubbing. But Thomas could not dance to save his live and having to deal with loud Eurodance music all night was not exactly his idea of fun. The other option was finally answering the open invitation to Ray’s weekly movie night. But that was something between Ray and Willi and he did not want to impose. Furthermore, it was well known among their friends that movie night was just another way for Ray and Willi to invite people to get high with them. And the last thing Thomas needed was munchies. No he’d just stick to his black coffee, thank you very much. Besides, he had way too much work and his grandfather did not pay for his tuition just for him to screw around had have fun all the time.

Another half hour went by without any progress and Thomas was growing frustrated. He could feel a migraine coming up, his back ached and the only semi-productive thing he had done was finding out professor Guillis had added yet another article to the syllabus. He looked at the sandwich that had been there since this morning. The bread had gone completely stale, and the cheese was all sweaty and wet. At this point, it had become uneatable. “See, this is why there is no point in doing groceries every week Ray. It’s just a waist of food and recourses.” The annoying little voice in his head whispered.

Thomas leaned back in his chair. Combing his fingers through his hair in frustration. He needed fresh air, he decided. Never mind the rain. He needed a walk. In this weather no one would go out anyway. The less people he saw the better.

Chapter Text

18:24 read the Casio watch that had, admittedly, seen better days. Six minutes, the church bells at yet to start ringing. He could still make it if he made a run for it.
Vincent hurried down the street, the pleasant autumn rain hitting his face. Tickling his nose with its earthy smell. No quite as nice as the perfume of summer rain, but close enough to be pleasant.

The streets were empty enough for Vincent to sprint the last two streets. His battered converse squelching with water as he came to a halt. Even he knew better than to run down the slippery blue stone stairs that led to the churchyard. He had tried, once, it had not ended well.

St Joseph’s church was a small parish. Mostly consisting of the elderly and a few families with children. The loyal flock of grannies had gathered up in the first three rows of pews. Quietly chatting among themselves. On days that he was early enough he loved to observe them from his preferred spot in de back of the church.
But now he was in a bit of rush, quickly crossing himself with holy water before heading to his usual spot, only to find another young man sitting there already.

‘a new friend!’

As quietly as possible Vincent moved himself down the bench until he was next to the stranger. The other looked startled for a moment but then nodded his head politely. “Good evening.” The man whispered in a soft baritone.
Vincent offered him a warm smile. “Good evening” he held out his hand, which was damp from the rain and maybe a bit clammy, “I’m Vincent.” The stranger hesitated but then closed his long slender fingers around the offered hand. “Thomas.”
For a moment their eyes met and then the church doors closed, and the priest entered through the backdoors. Mass had begun.

Try as he might, Vincent could not focus on Mass in the way he usually could. His eyes drifting to his new friend more than once. Thomas, he concluded, looked absolutely miserable. The man struggled to find the right page in the prayerbooks and turned red when Vincent helped him. He got even more red when his wet trousers had glued themselves to the kneeler. A struggle he seemed to currently share with Vincent.

“He really looks like he needs a friend.”

A warm fuzzy feeling began to bloom in his chess and looking at the altar Vincent let out a chuckle. God really worked in mysterious ways.

Chapter Text

He hadn’t stepped foot in a church for years, not since his grandmother had passed away. Still, something had drawn him to the little, tucked away church tonight.

The familiar routine of Mass, that had been absent in his life for so long, was easy to fall back into. Except for the prayerbook. Which was ironic. It was his struggle with praying that caused him to drift from faith in the first place. The thin paper refused to co-operate with his clammy fingers until the kind hand of the man next to him had taken over.
‘Vincent’ Thomas reminded himself. A beautiful stranger, yet there was something so familiar about this man. So comforting.

And just like that Mass was over and the elderly people in the front started to struggle out of the pews. Merrily chatting in a way that reminded Thomas of his childhood. And for a moment he felt incredibly old. The ever-present ache settling deep down in his bones. Watching the people slowly trickle out of the church, greeting Vincent on the way out. Thomas couldn’t help but let out a sigh. It had to be nice to be part of a community. To actually mean something to people.

As he started to walk away as well, Thomas noticed a pair of dark eyes looking at his profile.

“Would you like to get some coffee? You look like you could use some.” Vincent asked. His smile warm like a ray of watery sun on a winter day. Thomas felt his cheeks flare up in crimson red, hoping that the dim yellow light of the lanterns by the door would hide it. The annoying voice in his head told him to refuse. Why waste the precious Saturday night of a total stranger, who would probably regret it before the first sip op coffee? But on the other hand, it would be rude to turn down the kindness Vincent was offering him.

His mouth moved to quick for his brain to catch up, mumbling a silent “yes please” earning him another kind smile. Then, very spontaneously Vincent took his hand and started to pull him along. His feet stumbling through the growing puddles of the wet streets as the other as the shorter man guided him gently. His rough, clammy hand keeping a gentle tension on Thomas’ own.

The rain kept pouring steadily, soaking their clothes to the bone. But Thomas found he didn’t mind. Their walk lasted a little over 20 minutes before Vincent pulled him into a cozy little pub. His companion seemed familiar with the woman behind the bar, cheerily chatting her up while taking his dripping canvas jacket off.

The pub, as it turned out, only served hot beverages. But still, looking around Thomas was reminded that, if it wasn’t for the university, this place would probably have been a modest village. It did look like the local pub that you found in the countryside, nothing like the sleek, modern bars or artificially cozy coffeeshops around campus.

They settled in the front corner of the pub, throwing their wet jackets on the slightly dusty radiator in hopes the heat would take away some of the water. Thomas sat down on the bench, his trousers instantly latching themselves to the wood lacquer. Vincent, in the meantime had frolicked to the bar and back. Two mismatching cups and saucers in hand. The smaller man graciously put the cups on the table before he wiggled next to Thomas. Pushing a slightly wonky ceramic mug with sunflowers swirling around the ear towards him. “I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee, but Suze’s hazelnut lattes are absolutely lovely. Plus, she really loves to make them.

Thomas was lost for words once again. He preferred his coffee black. 'No need for milk and sugar. You just drink it to stay awake. It doesn’t need to taste pleasant.' But looking up at Vincent. With his lovely kind eyes. And his luscious dark hair, the curls framing his face like it was a painting. How sweet could one be, if one even considered which beverage a barista liked to maken. In de end he humbly took the cup and found the beverage delicious. 'Which you shouldn’t.' screamed the voice.
Vincent raised his own mug. A broad cup with little turtles painted all over. “So, tell me Thomas, what called you to St Joseph’s tonight?”

Chapter Text

“Aldo?”

“RAY?”

“Aldo do you know where Thomas is?

(Loud noise blaring through his phone)

“WAIT A SEC, IM HEADING OUTSIDE!”

(Noise lessens)

“Alright Ray, what did you say?”

“Is Thomas with you?”

(Aldo audibly snorts)

“Since when Thomas spends his nights covered in glitter singing along to Cascada?”

“…Fair enough… So you have no clue where he could be?”

“If he’s not at home and not with you, no.”

“Goffredo’s?”

“… pretty positive he’s not.”

“… okay… well, enjoy your nigh.”

“bye”

Ray put his phone on the nightstand and let himself fall next to Willi into a mountain of pillows and duvets. His partner fiddling with the remote of the dvd-player. Legs pedling through the air like a teenage girl reading a magazine. “So?”

Ray shook his head. “Nope, Aldo doesn’t know either but….”

Willi gave him a mischievous, curious look. Raising one eyebrow while looking up to Rays shit-eating grin. “…Our dear Didi seemed a little too sure that Thomas wasn’t at Goffredo’s.” Now Willi snickers as well. “Hm, Didi and Friedel… Let find out.” The german pushed himself up. Repositioning himself so his head lay next to Ray’s. “If we’re on to something, we definitely need to invite Agnes.” Willi continued. Ray smiled and, in an impulse, kissed the others hair. “Oh definitely” he whispered in his ear.

“But the mystery of Thomas still remains.”

Chapter Text

Last nights rain had turned into a light drizzle. Casting an unpleasant dampness on his threadbare woolen coat while his feet tried to avoid the puddles on the Sett pavement. It was cold, gray October mornings that made him miss Melfi, but Goffredo could bare it.

His bright red vape was working over hours on the short walk from the chapel of our lady of sorrow to St Josephs. Making sure he had enough nicotine in his system to survive another hour of Mass. While the smell of artificial strawberries filled his nostrils.  

Aldo loved to bully him for attending Mass in a chapel that could barely hold a hundred people. Even thinking about it made him scoff. “Dumb American, as if the size of the church matters, at least I get to celebrate a proper Tridentine Mass.” It was those little annoying jabs that made Goffredo’s blood boil. He had his reasons for getting up at 8:00 on a Sunday morning, reasons that that coke guzzling trust fund baby should keep his nose out of.

It wasn’t that he never attended the Novus Ordo, he just didn’t go to St. Benedict’s. Aldo could go cry about it in a corner for all he cared. 

Walking past the butcher shop he could already see his friend waiting for him on the little bench. His small frame curled into itself in a relaxed manner, one knee brought up to his chin. The other one dangling from the bench. His dark shoulder length hair dancing in the wind. There was someone sitting next to him, someone familiar, but he was not yet sure who, his face obscured by a scarf. 

“Goffredo!” the smaller man exclaimed running towards him launching himself into the Italians arms. Goffredo let out a deep warm laugh, the kind that was reserved for family gladly excepting the hug. “Morning Vincent.”

The amount of energy the Mexican had was admirable and reminded him of his sister. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much”

“Come, come, I made a new friend in church yesterday! His studies history to!” Vincent enthusiastically exclaimed. His slim, rough hand tugging at Goffredo’s broad wrist. Leading him towards the bench where the familiar stranger had gotten on his feet as well. With every step, the Italian could make out more details.  That tall, stick thin frame, that elegant grey coat…. The handknitted scarf! If only the man would turn around.

“Goffredo meet…” The tall man turned around in surprise when he heard the name. confirming the Italians suspicion, yet with that confirmation raising at least twenty more questions

“Goffredo?”

“Thomas?” 

Chapter Text

They make an odd pair.

Seeing them walk besides each other made for a comical view. The stout, broad chested Italian who did everything he did with a burning passion and the tall, elegant Englishman with his calm, pessimistic personality.

Observing them from his comfortable seat in Raymond’s lap, Wilhelm made a mental note to make sure Thomas would eat, the man was far to thin for his liking.

"would he eat germknödel?' 

“Eh frocio! Get out of bean stock’s lap. You two are disgusting!” The Italian PHD-student barked, approaching their table. Willi couldn’t help but roll his eye. “Morning Friedel. I take it your visa for Narnia has yet to expire?” Wiggling himself even more snugly into his partner’s lap.

Both Ray and Thomas chuckled at his remark. Goffredo either did not get the punchline or chose to ignore it. Instead, the Italian sat down at their little round table. Drinking coffee with an amount of aggression Willi did not think possible.  “Don’t call me Friedel! Not if you want me to make you Anginetti ever again.”  

“Really that’s what your hurt about?”

The German gave him a daring look. “Call me frocio one more time and you’ll never taste my prinzregententorte again!”

“Are the two of you seriously threatening each other with pastries?” Ray sight. Placing a light kiss behind Willi’s ear. Who in turn gave the Irishman a playful smile. “One day, I’ll make you understand the importance of Kaffee und Kuche, Maus.”

"People have no shame."  Goffredo moaned in irritation. Ray placed another kiss on his boyfriends cheek. "Ts, your like my nan." This caused the animated face of the Italian to morph into confusion. Raymond grinned. "You're a homophobic cunt, but your family so I let it slide." 

Goffredo's face turned angry with a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I said people stronzo! If Agnes was this cozy with the annoying Canadian, I would be disgusted as well." The vain in his temple becoming more pronounced as his emotions grew. "Fine, your not a boomer. Just a prude."  

True to his character Goffredo erupted into a tirade. Going of about anything an nothing at the same time. Wilhelm was not sure if he was amused or afraid.  

Thomas stayed out of the whole ordeal, sipping coffee from his plain grey thermos mug. Except, much to Willi’s surprise, the thermos was no longer plain.

“Nice sticker Thomas, where did you get that cute turtle. I want one with a dainty pink bow in its hair.”

His classmate turned red in seconds. Goffredo turning his face, eyebrows raised in surprise, towards the Englishman. “Vincenzo?’  Not saying anything avoiding everyones gaze, Thomas nodded quickly. As if he hoped they would not see it.

Willi turned his head towards Ray quick enough to get a whiplash. Meeting an equally excited face. “Gossip time!”

“Vincenzo?!” they said in sync with just a little too much enthusiasm.

Thomas looked like he wanted to sink through the floor. His hands holding on to the mug for dear life. The Englishman opened his mouth in hesitation.

“Could we please talk about professor Guillis’ articles?”

Chapter Text

It made an awful sound. His nail scraping the bushed metal of his mug. Circling the cartoon style turtle Vincent had stuck on it. The glossy paper gave a nice break to the disgusting texture of the thermos. He hated how the mug felt. “Don’t be such a child. No one thinks a mug feels wrong” Thomas removed his hands from the mug. Flexing the fingers repeatedly. Pulling his thumb to lay flat to his wrist. It ached a little. “Stop it you freak!”

Usually, pushing his fingers to the limits of their joint, helped him stay grounded. The dull pain would help him focus. Yet now, all he could see was his new friend. His kind smile, his shiny black hair and his lovely fingers. Long, slim fingers. The pads rough from work “Unlike you, you useless pig.” His nails clipped short; each painted a different color. The colorful nails complimented Vincent’s warm skin. They matched the lively personality that the man demonstrated towards Thomas. He had wanted to ask about them. But was too afraid to. Not wishing bring Vincent discomfort. Thomas had, embarrassingly, wondered if his nails would look as nice painted. “of course you would only paint them for attention! And for what? To prove once more what a useless imbecile you are?”

Had he not pulled his pinky finger past the comfortable pain point, he would not have noticed the furious glare of professor Dominicus standing before him. “Mister Lawrence, are you paying attention?”  Thomas could feel his cheeks flush to a crimson red in mere seconds. “No professor. Sorry.” The whitehaired teacher grimaced. The little crumbs in his moustache dangling above his lip as it morphed into a displeased line. “And now? What are we going to do about that?” With all the strength and courage, he could muster, Thomas struggled to meet the old man’s eyes. “I’ll pay attention sir. It won’t happen again.” He stammered.

And he did, really, try to pay attention after that. He hated to disappoint his favorite professor. A man so passionately about his craft that he sometimes forgot to speak English during lectures. And a man so quotable that Ray and Willi had an entire notebook full. Professor Dominicus’ lectures where the highlight of the week. Whether it was his general antiquity courses, or his optional courses in early Christian and papal history. The man had a way with words.

Which is why it frustrated Thomas to no end that he could not force his brain to focus. Everything was too loud. His head was already building up a migraine again. His back ached like each vertebra in his spine had rusted itself into the wrong position and nausea and hunger battled it out in his stomach.

“So, remember people, don’t end your life. But if you do it, do it like Dido! Professor Dominicus concluded. “You idiot! The Aeneid is thirty percent of the exam, and you missed the lecture, for what? A bit of pain? A stranger that was willing to waste time on you?  Grow up and be a real man you weak minded poof!” He balled his hands into fists. Forcing his nails into the soft flesh of his palms. From the corner of his eye, he could see Ray and Wilhelm passionately write down yet another quote in their book. Giggling underneath their breath.

A big, heavy hand grabbed his shoulder. Goffredo's strong, thick fingers lightly pressing into the fabric of his jumper. Grounding him into the present.

“Come along, ragazzi, let’s go to my place.”

Chapter Text

It was frustrating.

It frustrated Goffredo to no end, watching Tomaso pushing his food around on his plate. His fork annoyingly scraping the glazed ceramic plate, producing a hair-raising sound.

The rational part of his mind knew that his English friend didn’t mean to offend. It became more obvious by the day that Tomaso had food issues. So, this was probably harder for his friend than for Goffredo himself, but still. Something in him was hurt by the way his friend refused to eat the food he made.

Maybe it was because Goffredo was not free from his own food issues. Maybe the memory of not always have the food that you wanted or needed available, caused it. Never really starving, but never completely comfortable either.

He hated eating in public, on campus. Despite of how discreet some of his fellow students thought they were, he knew people judged the way he ate. Even among friends, it could be uncomfortable. He knew Rai wouldn’t judge, the Irishman understood the struggle of too many siblings and too little money for food. Compared to Rai, Goffredo counted himself somewhat lucky. At least he grew up on fresh, homecooked meals. Something the Irishman couldn’t say.

Elmo, usually enjoying his food too much to be aware of his surroundings, but still, there was no way of knowing what that man really thought.  And Tomaso, Tomaso was simply too polite to show his disgust.

~

“Friedel,… If I was not allowed to ever touch a potato again, I count on you to provide me with all your recipes.”  Wilhelm said swallowing the last bite of his pasta Mollicata with a content face. The residue of the breadcrumb sauce sticking to the corner of his mouth. It brought Goffredo joy, watching his friends enjoying the simple dishes of his childhood. Not that he had the funds for complicated recipes anyways. But still. In fake nonchalance he snored. “It’s not that complicated you know…” he answered the German with a smirk. Leaning back in his chair. Balancing on its hindlegs, while his hand rested behind his head. To his surprise, Wilhelm was quick to response, leaving almost no air to breath. “I know, neither is most Hausmannskost, doesn’t take away from the taste though!”

For Wilhelm it was a throwaway remark. Genuine, but not holding any weight. Yet it sends Goffredo spiraling like nobody’s business.

“It doesn’t take away from the taste though... Why couldn’t Aldo say something like that?”

He shifted his weight. Moving the front legs of the chair back into the floor as he pushed himself up into a standing position. “Scuzi, I’ll be back in a moment.”  He spoke, walking away from the table towards the bathroom. Quickly locking the door behind him.

Hoping it would slow down his racing mind he splashed running water in his face. Focusing on the path the fresh droplets walked down his face. He forced himself to raise his face to the mirror. Meeting his own frustrated eyes. Asking himself once again; “Mio Dio, why did I have to fall in love with that American Stronzo?”

He knew why.

 And maybe it was because of that knowledge, that Elmo’s words had cut so deep. Because his friends, Elmo, Rai, Vincenzo, maybe even Thomas, in some way,understood. And Aldo did not.

The first time he had cooked for Aldo, the American had not been impressed. Stating that he wished he would have known it was a casual dinner, so he would have brought a more casual wine and commenting on how the Italian shouldn't shovel his food into his mouth, How he should learn to savor his meals.

It had left Goffredo feeling small and stupid.

The second time he had cooked for the two of them, Goffredo had made a slightly nicer dish. he had tried to explain to Aldo what these dishes were. Not the fancy Italian cuisine Aldo ate with his Milanese lapdog in some fancy restaurant. But the food of his childhood.

Instead of understanding, the way Wilhelm seemed to do. Aldo had gone off on an oration about how Cucina Povera was all the rage in the States, for reducing food waste and being so inclusive for vegetarians and vegans. Even thinking back on it made Goffredo want to slap the American so hard.

‘marmocchio viziato!’

He kept staring into his own, defeated, eyes for a while, not sure how much time had passed. His knuckles had turned white from the strength of his hands clenching the sink with all their strength. His grandfathers wedding ring digging into the flesh where the metal was trapped between the finger and the ceramic.

A polite knock on the door pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Goffredo… Would you like to join me for a fag?” Rai spoke in a calm voice.

Chapter Text

The clock on the oven read 22:17 when Vincent entered his flat. Leaving his worn leather satchel by the door, he headed straight for the tiny kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. Putting on the kettle for some well needed chamomile tea. He let out a deep sigh as he leaned against the counter.

He didn’t really mind late shifts usually but tonight had been a less than pleasant experience. Poor Flora didn't seem to respond to the antibiotics. He had been forced to leave Malisa in the desperate state of distress and because of all of that barely had the chance to give the other the attention they deserved. It allowed for a exhausting guilt to settle in his stomach and his hearth. Vincent flexed his feet. Putting the nose of one shoe to the heel of the other in an attempt to get rid of his well-worn red converse. He needed to mend the little hole where his pinky toe had worn out the fabric.

Vincent closed his eyes, letting his fingers run over the painful shoulder muscles. Focusing on his breath only, or at least he tried. For the last two days, his mind had been clouded with visions of shy blue eyes, thing elegant hands and uncertain smiles. ‘Thomas’ 

The Mexican loved making friends. He did it all the time. Once you opened your heart for others it was difficult not to. Yet seldom did a friend leave such a lasting impression in such a short time.

'Could it be?’

The whistling of the kettle brutally ended the train of thought. And for some reason Vincent found he no longer craved tea. Leaving the teabag abandoned to hang against the walls of the mug until morning.

If he had turned around he would have found the handcrafted turtle on the mug give him a wonky, knowing, smile.

Dispite his adventures spirit, Vincent found a certain comfort in his nightly routine. With only one step to go before he could lay down the young man sank to his knees and wrapped his hand around his rosary in a well-practiced manner.

‘Dios te salve Maria, Ilena eres de gracia….’ Thumb passing every bead as he repeated the prayer for another 52 times. Only interrupted by the Pater Noster and the Gloria Patri.

‘Dear father, I want to thank you for hearing my prayers. For the food you provided, for the friends you gave me on the way. Thank you for looking into my hearth and seeing my deepest lonings. May it be granted by your wish.

Dear god, would you please look out for Flora, aid her in her illness or make sure she her suffering is a short one. Would you look out for Malisa, easing her doubt? I pray for my friends. For Goffredo, that he may find clarity in the matter of love. For Janusz, that he might find the strength to continue this new path in his life. And for my new friend Thomas. That he may be freed for the burden that hangs heavy on his shoulder.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, bless the bed that I lie on. Four corners to my bed, four angels round my head. One to watch, and one to pray, and two to bear my soul away. Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

The moon casted a feigned light into the small chamber. Creating a soft halo of pale blue around his black curls as Vincent lifted his head reassured moving his eyes in calmed to face his glowing companion in the sky. A gentle smile appeared on his lips.

‘Amen’

Chapter Text

By Wednesday the endless rain had finally given way to a weak October sun that no longer gave any substantial warmth. Thomas buried himself further into his scarf in an attempt to keep warm. It was the last gift his nan had made him. A colorful lifeline in his muted and drab wardrobe.

His fingers tried to grab his phone from his pocket, but they felt numb. Shoving them further into his pockets, Thomas let out a frustrated sigh. His body had once again betrayed him, and he would have to trust his mind to remember the correct rendezvous point. “Stop wallowing in self-pity you idiot, if you would walk a bit quicker you would walk your hands warm, and we would not have this problem.”

Why he listened to the voice in his head, Thomas did not know for sure. But when he finally reached Saint John’s fountain his body felt miserable for doing so. The dull, tiring ache that always accompanied him had made way for a warm fiery pain in his left hip and sharp stabs in his lower back and knee. Judging from the looks he got, he had to be limping again. But try as he might, he could not bring his body to hide it. ‘You pathetic accuse of a boy. Man up and walk straight!’

The small square was quiet, only a few elderly women crossing it, their little shopping trolleys trailing behind them like little children as the small wheels rattled subtly on the sett pavement. But the sound yelled in his ears. The faint smell of the women’s parfume burned his nose and prickled in his eyes. His lungs burned and his vision clouded.

To his great relieve the bench facing the fountain was empty. And his whole body let out a sigh of relieve as he sat down on the damp wood.

It took Thomas a few moments to bring himself back into the here and now. Grounding himself with a deep breaths as the panic that the pain had offset slowly seeped from his mind. His fingers where still numb between gloves of wool and leather. His hip and knee still protested, and his spine was still twisted. But the burn in his lungs calmed down. There were no longer tears prickling between his eyes and everything seemed to quiet down if he closed his eyes.

When calmed and clarity had finally returned to his head Thomas opened his eyes and looked up to the statue in the same way the statue looked up to the sky. Despite being carved from blue stone, the statue radiated a certain kind warmth.

It was beautiful. Not just the craftmanship with which it was carved. But St. John himself. Thomas was captivated, and the longer he looked to livelier the saints’ features became. Long curls “dark and glossy like…” cascading over a subtly exposed shoulder. Soft and round. Elegant hands “like Vincent’s…” both gently and firm, curving around a book.

The clothes of stone draped precise and graceful across the body suggesting an androgynous, almost feminine figure underneath it. “He looks so comfortable, So beautiful, so free...”  Thomas mind couldn’t help but wander into unexplored territory. Imagining well-worn linens and lightweight, soothing wool against his skin. Billowing around him. Enveloping him in safety and warmth and beauty. Must feel wonderful. A nicely draped safety blanket of pastels that I could wrap myself in.

‘You would look ridiculous! Beautiful? You? You would look every bit as ridiculous as you are ugly. And everyone would see it. Just a desperate, pathetic attention-seeking boy in a dress!  Stop fantasizing about something that will never happen!’

The war in his mind made his hearth ache. As if a wreath of thorns twisted around it. Yet he could not bring himself to look away. There was something in the delicacy of the face. The smooth jawline. The kind down turned eyes. Lashes full and dark underneath a friendly brow. The softness of the lips. A beauty so overwhelming Thomas felt like he could drown in it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered the echoing thuds of running feet through the square but his thoughts where to focused on St John to notice the panting figure approaching him with a sympathetic smile on his face.

‘It’s not difficult to see why he would be the beloved, is it?’ Thomas heard as the pressure of a gentle hand guided him from his train of thoughts. The vision of St John merging with the person before him. Stone gray hands making way for warm earthy flesh. Cascading curls now bound by an elastic. Billowing robes morphed into a threadbare jacket over a fluffy yellow jumper. Yet the almost angelic face, reassuring Thomas, stayed the same.

For a moment Thomas would have sworn he saw the eyes of a saint mirrored in the almost black orbs framed by the same long lashes. Eyes still so new, yet already so beloved.

‘No I suppose not. Hello Vincent.’

Chapter Text

The shy rays of sunshine gently warmed his face, like a motherly stoke on the cheek. The wind quietly played with the loose strands of hair framing his face and Vincent could not help but smile. After all the rain of the last week, they had been blest with a beautiful sunny day.

He would love to say that being religious did not make him superstitious. But sneaking a quick look at the gorgeous man walking next to him on such a beautiful day, Vincent couldn’t help but wonder if God was trying to tell him something.

‘Thank you for inviting me dear Vicent.’ The Englishman said so quietly it could almost be mistaken for a gush of wind. His head low, eyes focused on his feet.

“Look up, look at the wonders around you!”

Every fiber in his body wanted to reach out to the other man. His wished to lock is arm into Tomás, but something stopped him. Now was not the right moment. Instead, he walked closer to the other man. Close enough that their arms and shoulders occasionally brushed each other while moving.

Tomás sniffled and buried his face deeper into the gorgeous scarf he was wearing. “You look good in colour.”  Vincent said in words he never spoke. The crisp air had coloured both of their faces a light dusty pink and the stillness of the cool autumn morning reassured Vincent’s nervous heart.

‘Tomás? Would you like a cup of tea?’

The Englishman finally looked up towards the Mexican’s face. Eyebrows raised in a startled unsureness. “adorable” It made Vincent giggle a bit. Burying his own face in the soft well-worn fabric of his favorite scarf to hide his smile.

“I mean… My flat is only a few streets from here. I’ve more tea than I could ever hope to finish on my own.”

His dark eyes casted a hopeful glance towards Tomás. Who tried to hide behind the scarf. Yet he could still see glimpses of crimson spreading across the pale, hallow cheeks. The Englishman slowly removed a leather clad hand from his coatpocket and gestured somewhere vaguely in front of them.

“Then please, Lead the way”

Vincent couldn’t hold back anymore and grabbed the gloved hand. Leading Tomás towards his little flat in the Capernaum complex. Which, in the golden light of the cool sun, looked as run down and shabby as ever.

As they entered the stoop they bumped into Mrs. Mai, who greeted Vincent with an annoyed scoff. Th elderly widow had the unique talent of always being in a sour mood. Yet she never once complained about noise or visitors, so Vincent felt sorry for her, more than anything else. She mumbled something about men these days and while Vincent paid it no mind, he felt Tomás’ hand try pulling away from his. But against his own instinct, Vincent didn’t let go. Pulling his new friend through the safety of his flat’s yellow door. Choosing to ignore the shattered flowerpot. Leaving the trampled crushed leaves of his corn daisies to be mourned another moment.