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tr_fic2014-07-20 10:03 pm
tempered-rose.livejournal.com) wrote in tr_fic2014-07-20 10:03 pm
Nothing Left to Say Now -- Pausenclown finale
Title: Nothing Left To Say Now
Characters: Miroslav Klose/Thomas Muller, Thomas/Mario Gomez
Rating: R
Words: 3,147
A03: Link
Previous: The Pausenclown's Boyfriend and When You Said Your Last Goodbye
A/N: The final part. The song that inspired it is this beauty. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, even more so to those that commented. I really appreciate it because this is the first thing I’ve written in a while that I was actually proud of. :3 Your reading it has given me warm fuzzies and I truly appreciate them more than you can imagine. ♥ Now, for the final part… I hope I don’t disappoint. *crosses fingers*
He guessed he shouldn’t be really surprised when he sees the photos. Having missed the friendly in Düsseldorf against Argentina because Jogi had decided to go with Mario instead of himself for the match, Miro knew it would only be a matter of time before something surfaced. He was right and he should’ve known better. It was hard to forget what they were like when they had played together for Bayern.
Miro wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been awake and staring at his ceiling; not seeing the design embossed in it, but seeing the photos of Mario’s hand holding Thomas’ hip and celebrating a goal that the younger man had scored. Every time he closed his eyes, it replayed like a video in his mind despite him never having seen such a thing. He had refused to watch the highlights for that very reason.
He didn’t want to see them together.
He didn’t want to see Thomas happy with someone who wasn’t him. Miroslav was very well aware it was his own fault too.
The sounds of Rome were outside and it didn’t help that he couldn’t sleep. Sylwia was blissfully unaware of his problem next to him. Finally giving up, Miro slid out of bed and walked quietly to the bedroom door and left the room. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, heavy breath. He hadn’t slept properly in what felt like months, but was really just a few weeks. It wasn’t good for him, he knew, but regardless, sleep would not come. And he knew why.
Miro kept thinking back, over and over again, to that day in the hotel room in Munich. He kept remembering Thomas’ attempts to get him to look at him by using words that tugged, that pulled at Miro’s heart. So many times he had wanted to look up and reply to Thomas. So many chances he had to put aside his misgivings and just pull Thomas back into his arms and hold him, somehow promising that everything would be all right. So many instances to run after him and beg him to stay, to help him find a way to work it out. So many chances…wasted, all of them.
Miroslav walked into his living room downstairs away from his sleeping family. He sank down onto the sofa, overly plush with pillows that Sylwia had picked out. He looked at the moonlight illuminated room, cast in a silver glow despite the various colors he knew made up the room in the daylight. He had a comfortable home, a great family, and an exceptional career. He was a humble man and he had been rewarded beyond his wildest childhood dreams. And yet…
The guilty conscious that he knew so well lingered just under the surface and took the lapse in his attention to surge forward to flood his senses. He felt as if he was drowning in a sea of guilt and unhappiness. He loved his family, but he had loved Thomas too. He felt a bubble in his chest squeeze tight around his heart, his lungs and he found breathing difficult now. Was this heartache? Was this unhappiness to last forever? Did jealousy strangle its victims the way in the way he felt he was suffering now?
Miro thought he had known jealousy when he had watched Spain triumph over them to win the Euros. He thought he had known envy when he had watched them celebrate as die Mannschaft watched on in agony. He thought he had known heartache as he missed another match winner that could’ve saved them and won them another match to win a competition. He thought he knew what the greatest disappointments in life felt like. He thought he had known what he was doing with Thomas and by breaking up with him, saving him from those disappointments.
Miro thought he had known, but he was wrong.
And never had it been more obvious to him than it was now.
The faint ticking of the clock on the mantle lulled his thoughts into overdrive. Shadows moved slowly on the walls as time passed, but still Miro sat. Staring into empty space he watched in his mind’s eye as Thomas had leaned closer to Mario.
Football was just a game and they finally had their trophy so he could honestly say he was never a truly jealous or envious man. He didn’t find himself involved in such pursuits. But now, now that his boy, his Thomas, was with another man…Miroslav didn’t know how to handle his feelings.
He finally moved on the sofa, elbows going to rest on his knees as his head went into his hands. He thought he had known what he was doing. Thomas was young, where he was not, and the boy should have every happiness that Miro couldn’t have given him. So, it seemed only natural that the boy move on and find someone who could make him happy. Wasn’t this exactly as Miro had told him to do? Wasn’t this exactly what he had wanted? Thomas happy with someone else?
Then why did it hurt so bad?
His fingers itched to send a message to Thomas like they had wanted to ever since Thomas left that room in Munich. He wanted to send his boy a message, asking if he was truly happy. But then Thomas’ own words echoed loudly in his mind. ’If it’s what you want then I’ll never bother you again like this.’
Miro chewed his lip as he thought about those words, and the ones that had followed shortly after. ‘I would do anything for you to change your mind.’
Miroslav had changed it. He missed Thomas more than he thought possible, more in the ways when they had had to separate before. More than when they had been apart for a few weeks at a time due to club commitments. More than when one of them was injured (mainly himself) and had had to miss a call up. He missed Thomas more than he could put into words, in any language.
But what was there left to say? Thomas had poured his heart out to him and all Miro had done was stare at a suitcase full of shirts. Why should he have stayed? Why should Thomas have continued to let himself feel that way? Miro didn’t blame him for moving on already.
Resigned to the mistake he made, Miro stretched out on the sofa and stared at another ceiling in his house, hoping sleep would come. He wasn’t surprised when it didn’t.
Were the promises that Thomas had made about loving him forever just pretty words that people said when they were nearing the end of a relationship that they didn’t want to be over? Were they spoken in kindness to soften the blow, or weapons of truth from a broken heart that refused to let go? If he had meant them, then why had Thomas already replaced him with another man?
Over and over, the questions danced in his mind as they had the same over the several weeks that had passed since Thomas walked out of his life. They waltzed into the night, keeping Miro trapped in the arms of exhaustion and culpability. Exhaustion finally won out and took the lead in the dance.
Miro fell into a restless sleep for a while.
— — — —
Thomas isn’t sure what it is about older men, but he’s always been attracted to them. He also isn’t sure, but that’s probably why he slept with Mario. Only slept, despite Mario wanting to do more. Thomas had needed the companionship and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t done it before; plenty of times they had done just that, and more, while they both played together at Bayern. Only now this time it wasn’t quite like the old times. There was no youthful urgency, horny groping, and desperate contact like the others times. Nor was this seduction’s art at work. If Thomas had to classify it, in all the ways there was to classify cuddling, he would definitely skip post-revenge sex, quickies, seduction, love, romance, and probably jump straight to what it was. Pity cuddling.
It was that bad. Thomas had no other words for it. It had been nice; being with Mario, it was impossible not to have been at least that. The pity hadn’t shown in Mario’s eyes or been felt in his touches, but Thomas was sure it had been there all the same. They hadn’t even given one another any sort of sexual gratification, that was his doing. Poor Mario. However, the other German didn’t seem to mind just holding him, for which he was grateful. It had been too long since a nice strong man had held him tightly. For a while he could almost forget and that had been what he was looking for.
Though he felt guilty because it just seemed to be entirely disrespectful. Disrespectful to Miro.
Thomas heard Mario sleeping next to him in the bed as he looked at the clock’s big green digital numbers as he had done for the past forty-seven minutes since he had woken up from a disturbed sleep.
He really wished he hadn’t promised Miro that he wouldn’t contact him. His phone was laying on the nightstand, he could see it, it was so close. It wouldn’t be hard to send a text: asking to talk, saying that Miro was missed, saying that he still loved him and would beg again to be together again. That was the biggest problem though and was the reason why he hadn’t picked up the phone yet. Thomas would end up begging again to change his mind. As if the scene from the hotel room in Munich hadn’t been woeful enough.
In approximately three hours and fourteen, now thirteen, minutes, the alarm would go off and Mario would wake up again. Thomas had tried to think of something to say that would permit this behavior, but he was failing. He didn’t want Mario to get the wrong idea; this had just been a one-night thing, a reminder of days’ past. Thomas was in no way looking for anyone to replace the person he loved, the one who he felt as if he had betrayed.
Not for the first time, Thomas wondered what Miro was doing. Was he happily asleep with his family in Rome? Was he having trouble sleeping? Was he up having a late night snack that he didn’t think anyone knew about? Would Miro even care if Thomas admitted to having problems sleeping and missed him desperately? Did Miro even care about him at all? Had he ever?
Thomas bit his lip hard at that. He felt the pain register as soon as he had done it and told himself that that pain was real. The iron taste of blood now on his tongue was a reminder that he needed to get a grip of things. There was nothing left that he could say. There was nothing else he could do to convince Miroslav that they were supposed to be together. It was over. Done. Finished. He had to remember that. He had to remember what was real and what wasn’t. These feelings of longing for Miro were based on something that was no longer real, a fictitious hope that had to die so he could get peace.
Resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to get any more sleep for the time being, Thomas got out of bed and put some sweatpants on. He had every intention of going to the gym to run off this energy until he could sleep. Although, it wasn’t a surplus of energy that was keeping him awake. After he put on a shirt and some decent running shoes, Thomas grabbed his room key, his iPod, and his phone and started out of the hotel room quietly.
He was halfway down the corridor that led to the gym before he realized what he had done.
With horror, Thomas stared at his phone and the message that was in the process of sending. He hoped for a network error that wouldn’t send it, he thought quickly and then swallowed with dread when that didn’t happen. The confirmation tone played that said it had, in fact, been sent.
He thought he had only checked through some messages, never mind actually sent one. He knew he had been toying with the idea but he had told himself a million times not to do it. Yet, he had. Scheiße.
Thomas stared at his phone. The urge to go run off any energy he had dissipated instantly and he sank to the floor, back against the wall. The energy completely left him. Please don’t answer, please don’t read that. He begged to Miro from hundreds of miles of distance between them. I didn’t mean to send it. I’m sorry. I promised, I promised I wouldn’t and I did. I’m sorry. He thought about sending those apologies in a text but he stopped himself. One message, a mistake, could be ignored. It would be hard to disregard fifty apologies and promises to leave alone, making it all the more obvious that the first message was truer than the rest.
“I miss you.”
He read the words to himself and aloud several times, staring at them as they were on his phone. Sent to the one person he promised never to bother with that again. Thomas closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. He felt like beating it against the plaster. How could he have been so stupid? What was a simple message like that going to do when words upon pleading words in Munich hadn’t done anything? Now he looked even more pathetic. Fuck.
Thomas felt his phone vibrate in his hand and a new message tone. Dreadfully, his eyes opened slowly and he glanced down to his phone. He thought it was someone else, there was no way that Miroslav was even awake now or going to reply to it even if he was. There was no way he would get that lucky. Right?
“Likewise.”
Thomas almost cried in relief. Then he scrambled up faster than he ever moved for a football match. He had places to be that wasn’t sitting in a hotel hallway.
— — — —
Miro’s eyes were like a sea swirling from a storm and they were looking only at him. Thomas shifted in bed and pulled him closer, eager to be as close as possible again. He smiled when he felt Miro’s arms slide around his body, holding them against one another. Rain splashed on the balcony outside the hotel room’s window but neither cared. They were warm, safe and happy inside with one another. The first time in weeks they had both smiled properly.
Miroslav had apologized for his silence with soft kisses and gentle words whispered along Thomas’ skin. Thomas would have forgiven him instantly regardless, but nevertheless he saw the look of reproach in the older man’s eyes. He looked exhausted when Thomas had first arrived but then he had smiled in relief, albeit surprise when seeing Thomas on his doorstep at seven in the morning. Miro hadn’t asked any questions. He simply had taken his hand and driven them to a hotel where they talked properly… for a moment before frantically reaching for one another.
Thomas knew that the proper conversation would come later. They would share one another’s side, listen, maybe argue a little. But ultimately, Thomas knew that they would be all right.
“I missed you, Pausenclown.” Miro spoke softly into his hair, lips kissing the crown of his head. “I have not smiled these few weeks.”
Thomas shifted in his arms, leaning up to kiss him again. “Smile again. I am here now.”
Miro did as he asked, light coming into his eyes and the storm seemed to calm.
“I love you.” Miroslav spoke quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Thomas shook his head and kissed the older man harder, lips lingering together before he spoke against them. “I’m sorry I pushed it.”
Miroslav’s hand ran down Thomas’ back gently. Keeping him close, Miro shifted so that he could look down into Thomas’ eyes. Weeks’ worth of guilt, exhaustion, anxiety, and self-induced torment reflected on his face, just not as badly as when Thomas first knocked on his door.
“It is I that am sorry. I should have listened to you. I should have said something.” Miro’s eyes closed as he grimaced. Then he whispered, eyes opening hesitantly. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Thomas half-wanted to reply with a cheesy line from one of the films, something great like ‘I already have’ or ‘It was nothing’ and then they would smile at one another and kiss and it would all end happily ever after. The curtain would come down and they would live as if the past month and a half never happened.
Only this wasn’t the films. There was no curtain and the last six weeks did happen. It did hurt. It hadn’t been pleasant. Thomas had felt broken hearted, lonely, guilty. Miro probably had the same feelings.
Thomas simply nodded. “We’ll work on it, together.” The last word was added more gently than the few that preceded it. It was only then that he smiled and pulled Miroslav closer to kiss him again. When Miro kissed him back, desperately like a man needing water after spending weeks in the desert, Thomas felt truly relieved.
Together.
There was a future with Miro in it with him. Together. They would work on it. Maybe it wouldn’t work out, maybe they would fight and it would end over something stupid in three years, something like Miro wearing socks to bed. Maybe it would end in three weeks when they were still feeling rocky about the past few weeks and being separated. Maybe it would last forever until they were both old and gray and could hardly remember one another’s names, let alone their own. Maybe it would never end. Thomas hoped for the last.
Holding one another closer than ever before, Miro rested his head on Thomas’ and listened to the rain. Slowly the rain mixed with the sounds of their breathing, the city of Rome faded away. There was no clock to tick on a mantle to distract him. There was no chill in the air to keep him awake. There wasn’t children around to excitedly bounce on his bed waking him up. There was only Thomas, gently stroking his arm, lost in absent thought as they breathed in unison together.
For the first time in who only knew how long, Miro let himself fall asleep without guilt, without remorse.
And for the first time in weeks, Thomas went to sleep with a smile on his face.
Characters: Miroslav Klose/Thomas Muller, Thomas/Mario Gomez
Rating: R
Words: 3,147
A03: Link
Previous: The Pausenclown's Boyfriend and When You Said Your Last Goodbye
A/N: The final part. The song that inspired it is this beauty. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, even more so to those that commented. I really appreciate it because this is the first thing I’ve written in a while that I was actually proud of. :3 Your reading it has given me warm fuzzies and I truly appreciate them more than you can imagine. ♥ Now, for the final part… I hope I don’t disappoint. *crosses fingers*
He guessed he shouldn’t be really surprised when he sees the photos. Having missed the friendly in Düsseldorf against Argentina because Jogi had decided to go with Mario instead of himself for the match, Miro knew it would only be a matter of time before something surfaced. He was right and he should’ve known better. It was hard to forget what they were like when they had played together for Bayern.
Miro wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been awake and staring at his ceiling; not seeing the design embossed in it, but seeing the photos of Mario’s hand holding Thomas’ hip and celebrating a goal that the younger man had scored. Every time he closed his eyes, it replayed like a video in his mind despite him never having seen such a thing. He had refused to watch the highlights for that very reason.
He didn’t want to see them together.
He didn’t want to see Thomas happy with someone who wasn’t him. Miroslav was very well aware it was his own fault too.
The sounds of Rome were outside and it didn’t help that he couldn’t sleep. Sylwia was blissfully unaware of his problem next to him. Finally giving up, Miro slid out of bed and walked quietly to the bedroom door and left the room. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, heavy breath. He hadn’t slept properly in what felt like months, but was really just a few weeks. It wasn’t good for him, he knew, but regardless, sleep would not come. And he knew why.
Miro kept thinking back, over and over again, to that day in the hotel room in Munich. He kept remembering Thomas’ attempts to get him to look at him by using words that tugged, that pulled at Miro’s heart. So many times he had wanted to look up and reply to Thomas. So many chances he had to put aside his misgivings and just pull Thomas back into his arms and hold him, somehow promising that everything would be all right. So many instances to run after him and beg him to stay, to help him find a way to work it out. So many chances…wasted, all of them.
Miroslav walked into his living room downstairs away from his sleeping family. He sank down onto the sofa, overly plush with pillows that Sylwia had picked out. He looked at the moonlight illuminated room, cast in a silver glow despite the various colors he knew made up the room in the daylight. He had a comfortable home, a great family, and an exceptional career. He was a humble man and he had been rewarded beyond his wildest childhood dreams. And yet…
The guilty conscious that he knew so well lingered just under the surface and took the lapse in his attention to surge forward to flood his senses. He felt as if he was drowning in a sea of guilt and unhappiness. He loved his family, but he had loved Thomas too. He felt a bubble in his chest squeeze tight around his heart, his lungs and he found breathing difficult now. Was this heartache? Was this unhappiness to last forever? Did jealousy strangle its victims the way in the way he felt he was suffering now?
Miro thought he had known jealousy when he had watched Spain triumph over them to win the Euros. He thought he had known envy when he had watched them celebrate as die Mannschaft watched on in agony. He thought he had known heartache as he missed another match winner that could’ve saved them and won them another match to win a competition. He thought he knew what the greatest disappointments in life felt like. He thought he had known what he was doing with Thomas and by breaking up with him, saving him from those disappointments.
Miro thought he had known, but he was wrong.
And never had it been more obvious to him than it was now.
The faint ticking of the clock on the mantle lulled his thoughts into overdrive. Shadows moved slowly on the walls as time passed, but still Miro sat. Staring into empty space he watched in his mind’s eye as Thomas had leaned closer to Mario.
Football was just a game and they finally had their trophy so he could honestly say he was never a truly jealous or envious man. He didn’t find himself involved in such pursuits. But now, now that his boy, his Thomas, was with another man…Miroslav didn’t know how to handle his feelings.
He finally moved on the sofa, elbows going to rest on his knees as his head went into his hands. He thought he had known what he was doing. Thomas was young, where he was not, and the boy should have every happiness that Miro couldn’t have given him. So, it seemed only natural that the boy move on and find someone who could make him happy. Wasn’t this exactly as Miro had told him to do? Wasn’t this exactly what he had wanted? Thomas happy with someone else?
Then why did it hurt so bad?
His fingers itched to send a message to Thomas like they had wanted to ever since Thomas left that room in Munich. He wanted to send his boy a message, asking if he was truly happy. But then Thomas’ own words echoed loudly in his mind. ’If it’s what you want then I’ll never bother you again like this.’
Miro chewed his lip as he thought about those words, and the ones that had followed shortly after. ‘I would do anything for you to change your mind.’
Miroslav had changed it. He missed Thomas more than he thought possible, more in the ways when they had had to separate before. More than when they had been apart for a few weeks at a time due to club commitments. More than when one of them was injured (mainly himself) and had had to miss a call up. He missed Thomas more than he could put into words, in any language.
But what was there left to say? Thomas had poured his heart out to him and all Miro had done was stare at a suitcase full of shirts. Why should he have stayed? Why should Thomas have continued to let himself feel that way? Miro didn’t blame him for moving on already.
Resigned to the mistake he made, Miro stretched out on the sofa and stared at another ceiling in his house, hoping sleep would come. He wasn’t surprised when it didn’t.
Were the promises that Thomas had made about loving him forever just pretty words that people said when they were nearing the end of a relationship that they didn’t want to be over? Were they spoken in kindness to soften the blow, or weapons of truth from a broken heart that refused to let go? If he had meant them, then why had Thomas already replaced him with another man?
Over and over, the questions danced in his mind as they had the same over the several weeks that had passed since Thomas walked out of his life. They waltzed into the night, keeping Miro trapped in the arms of exhaustion and culpability. Exhaustion finally won out and took the lead in the dance.
Miro fell into a restless sleep for a while.
— — — —
Thomas isn’t sure what it is about older men, but he’s always been attracted to them. He also isn’t sure, but that’s probably why he slept with Mario. Only slept, despite Mario wanting to do more. Thomas had needed the companionship and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t done it before; plenty of times they had done just that, and more, while they both played together at Bayern. Only now this time it wasn’t quite like the old times. There was no youthful urgency, horny groping, and desperate contact like the others times. Nor was this seduction’s art at work. If Thomas had to classify it, in all the ways there was to classify cuddling, he would definitely skip post-revenge sex, quickies, seduction, love, romance, and probably jump straight to what it was. Pity cuddling.
It was that bad. Thomas had no other words for it. It had been nice; being with Mario, it was impossible not to have been at least that. The pity hadn’t shown in Mario’s eyes or been felt in his touches, but Thomas was sure it had been there all the same. They hadn’t even given one another any sort of sexual gratification, that was his doing. Poor Mario. However, the other German didn’t seem to mind just holding him, for which he was grateful. It had been too long since a nice strong man had held him tightly. For a while he could almost forget and that had been what he was looking for.
Though he felt guilty because it just seemed to be entirely disrespectful. Disrespectful to Miro.
Thomas heard Mario sleeping next to him in the bed as he looked at the clock’s big green digital numbers as he had done for the past forty-seven minutes since he had woken up from a disturbed sleep.
He really wished he hadn’t promised Miro that he wouldn’t contact him. His phone was laying on the nightstand, he could see it, it was so close. It wouldn’t be hard to send a text: asking to talk, saying that Miro was missed, saying that he still loved him and would beg again to be together again. That was the biggest problem though and was the reason why he hadn’t picked up the phone yet. Thomas would end up begging again to change his mind. As if the scene from the hotel room in Munich hadn’t been woeful enough.
In approximately three hours and fourteen, now thirteen, minutes, the alarm would go off and Mario would wake up again. Thomas had tried to think of something to say that would permit this behavior, but he was failing. He didn’t want Mario to get the wrong idea; this had just been a one-night thing, a reminder of days’ past. Thomas was in no way looking for anyone to replace the person he loved, the one who he felt as if he had betrayed.
Not for the first time, Thomas wondered what Miro was doing. Was he happily asleep with his family in Rome? Was he having trouble sleeping? Was he up having a late night snack that he didn’t think anyone knew about? Would Miro even care if Thomas admitted to having problems sleeping and missed him desperately? Did Miro even care about him at all? Had he ever?
Thomas bit his lip hard at that. He felt the pain register as soon as he had done it and told himself that that pain was real. The iron taste of blood now on his tongue was a reminder that he needed to get a grip of things. There was nothing left that he could say. There was nothing else he could do to convince Miroslav that they were supposed to be together. It was over. Done. Finished. He had to remember that. He had to remember what was real and what wasn’t. These feelings of longing for Miro were based on something that was no longer real, a fictitious hope that had to die so he could get peace.
Resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to get any more sleep for the time being, Thomas got out of bed and put some sweatpants on. He had every intention of going to the gym to run off this energy until he could sleep. Although, it wasn’t a surplus of energy that was keeping him awake. After he put on a shirt and some decent running shoes, Thomas grabbed his room key, his iPod, and his phone and started out of the hotel room quietly.
He was halfway down the corridor that led to the gym before he realized what he had done.
With horror, Thomas stared at his phone and the message that was in the process of sending. He hoped for a network error that wouldn’t send it, he thought quickly and then swallowed with dread when that didn’t happen. The confirmation tone played that said it had, in fact, been sent.
He thought he had only checked through some messages, never mind actually sent one. He knew he had been toying with the idea but he had told himself a million times not to do it. Yet, he had. Scheiße.
Thomas stared at his phone. The urge to go run off any energy he had dissipated instantly and he sank to the floor, back against the wall. The energy completely left him. Please don’t answer, please don’t read that. He begged to Miro from hundreds of miles of distance between them. I didn’t mean to send it. I’m sorry. I promised, I promised I wouldn’t and I did. I’m sorry. He thought about sending those apologies in a text but he stopped himself. One message, a mistake, could be ignored. It would be hard to disregard fifty apologies and promises to leave alone, making it all the more obvious that the first message was truer than the rest.
“I miss you.”
He read the words to himself and aloud several times, staring at them as they were on his phone. Sent to the one person he promised never to bother with that again. Thomas closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. He felt like beating it against the plaster. How could he have been so stupid? What was a simple message like that going to do when words upon pleading words in Munich hadn’t done anything? Now he looked even more pathetic. Fuck.
Thomas felt his phone vibrate in his hand and a new message tone. Dreadfully, his eyes opened slowly and he glanced down to his phone. He thought it was someone else, there was no way that Miroslav was even awake now or going to reply to it even if he was. There was no way he would get that lucky. Right?
“Likewise.”
Thomas almost cried in relief. Then he scrambled up faster than he ever moved for a football match. He had places to be that wasn’t sitting in a hotel hallway.
— — — —
Miro’s eyes were like a sea swirling from a storm and they were looking only at him. Thomas shifted in bed and pulled him closer, eager to be as close as possible again. He smiled when he felt Miro’s arms slide around his body, holding them against one another. Rain splashed on the balcony outside the hotel room’s window but neither cared. They were warm, safe and happy inside with one another. The first time in weeks they had both smiled properly.
Miroslav had apologized for his silence with soft kisses and gentle words whispered along Thomas’ skin. Thomas would have forgiven him instantly regardless, but nevertheless he saw the look of reproach in the older man’s eyes. He looked exhausted when Thomas had first arrived but then he had smiled in relief, albeit surprise when seeing Thomas on his doorstep at seven in the morning. Miro hadn’t asked any questions. He simply had taken his hand and driven them to a hotel where they talked properly… for a moment before frantically reaching for one another.
Thomas knew that the proper conversation would come later. They would share one another’s side, listen, maybe argue a little. But ultimately, Thomas knew that they would be all right.
“I missed you, Pausenclown.” Miro spoke softly into his hair, lips kissing the crown of his head. “I have not smiled these few weeks.”
Thomas shifted in his arms, leaning up to kiss him again. “Smile again. I am here now.”
Miro did as he asked, light coming into his eyes and the storm seemed to calm.
“I love you.” Miroslav spoke quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Thomas shook his head and kissed the older man harder, lips lingering together before he spoke against them. “I’m sorry I pushed it.”
Miroslav’s hand ran down Thomas’ back gently. Keeping him close, Miro shifted so that he could look down into Thomas’ eyes. Weeks’ worth of guilt, exhaustion, anxiety, and self-induced torment reflected on his face, just not as badly as when Thomas first knocked on his door.
“It is I that am sorry. I should have listened to you. I should have said something.” Miro’s eyes closed as he grimaced. Then he whispered, eyes opening hesitantly. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Thomas half-wanted to reply with a cheesy line from one of the films, something great like ‘I already have’ or ‘It was nothing’ and then they would smile at one another and kiss and it would all end happily ever after. The curtain would come down and they would live as if the past month and a half never happened.
Only this wasn’t the films. There was no curtain and the last six weeks did happen. It did hurt. It hadn’t been pleasant. Thomas had felt broken hearted, lonely, guilty. Miro probably had the same feelings.
Thomas simply nodded. “We’ll work on it, together.” The last word was added more gently than the few that preceded it. It was only then that he smiled and pulled Miroslav closer to kiss him again. When Miro kissed him back, desperately like a man needing water after spending weeks in the desert, Thomas felt truly relieved.
Together.
There was a future with Miro in it with him. Together. They would work on it. Maybe it wouldn’t work out, maybe they would fight and it would end over something stupid in three years, something like Miro wearing socks to bed. Maybe it would end in three weeks when they were still feeling rocky about the past few weeks and being separated. Maybe it would last forever until they were both old and gray and could hardly remember one another’s names, let alone their own. Maybe it would never end. Thomas hoped for the last.
Holding one another closer than ever before, Miro rested his head on Thomas’ and listened to the rain. Slowly the rain mixed with the sounds of their breathing, the city of Rome faded away. There was no clock to tick on a mantle to distract him. There was no chill in the air to keep him awake. There wasn’t children around to excitedly bounce on his bed waking him up. There was only Thomas, gently stroking his arm, lost in absent thought as they breathed in unison together.
For the first time in who only knew how long, Miro let himself fall asleep without guilt, without remorse.
And for the first time in weeks, Thomas went to sleep with a smile on his face.