Tom waits in the bathroom, edgy, letting his face dry as he tries to act calm and hope that when the door opens it's Robert and not someone that he'll have to pretend he's okay around. But, thankfully, it's Robert who steps through the door and Tom's gaze slides away from the mirror, though there's a moment where he looks at the floor, looks at his hands and then he's leaning with one hip against the edge of the sink.
There's a look on his face like there are things that he wants to say, admit to, but still out of it as he is, it's hard to find the words. Especially to Robert. Even with his skin damp from the water, he's still a little flushed, he's still glassy-eyed, his pupils blown, his slender hands fidgeting. The color on his face deepens a little when Robert mentions middle of a scene, but he nods quietly in acceptance.
That Robert knows. That Tom knows that he knows. That he's right.
At the following question he shakes his head. "No. Uhm. He had a six o'clock flight to Beijing. He's gone for the next two weeks," he admits softly, and there's a shake in his shoulders. Two weeks was going to be hard on him anyway, as Tom was the sort that needed that feeling, it helped keep him focused, helped keep him as that charming darling that the cameras and his fans adored. He wasn't the same without it.
"We were in the middle of some intense impact play when I got the call. I still don't feel... nothing feels right," he admitted softly, looking across the distance at Robert. Tom had inches on inches on the man, but it didn't feel like it. Not right now. There's something in the way that Tom looks at him, something that says that with the right twist of his fingers Tom would be on his knees.
He needs so strongly, his thin, lean frame all but shaking with it. He doesn't say the words, I don't want to be alone right now, but he thinks that Robert can here it in the spaces between his words. In how he closes the distance between them on small, uncertain steps. His eyes wide as he moves in until he's standing just inside of arm's reach, just close enough to touch. He needs the contact, that visceral feeling of connection, a guiding hand that could take control when Tom was so far from it.
no subject
There's a look on his face like there are things that he wants to say, admit to, but still out of it as he is, it's hard to find the words. Especially to Robert. Even with his skin damp from the water, he's still a little flushed, he's still glassy-eyed, his pupils blown, his slender hands fidgeting. The color on his face deepens a little when Robert mentions middle of a scene, but he nods quietly in acceptance.
That Robert knows. That Tom knows that he knows. That he's right.
At the following question he shakes his head. "No. Uhm. He had a six o'clock flight to Beijing. He's gone for the next two weeks," he admits softly, and there's a shake in his shoulders. Two weeks was going to be hard on him anyway, as Tom was the sort that needed that feeling, it helped keep him focused, helped keep him as that charming darling that the cameras and his fans adored. He wasn't the same without it.
"We were in the middle of some intense impact play when I got the call. I still don't feel... nothing feels right," he admitted softly, looking across the distance at Robert. Tom had inches on inches on the man, but it didn't feel like it. Not right now. There's something in the way that Tom looks at him, something that says that with the right twist of his fingers Tom would be on his knees.
He needs so strongly, his thin, lean frame all but shaking with it. He doesn't say the words, I don't want to be alone right now, but he thinks that Robert can here it in the spaces between his words. In how he closes the distance between them on small, uncertain steps. His eyes wide as he moves in until he's standing just inside of arm's reach, just close enough to touch. He needs the contact, that visceral feeling of connection, a guiding hand that could take control when Tom was so far from it.