Goodnight, Thomas - A Metias/Thomas Legend fanfiction (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 5

This chapter is mostly just shameless fluff. You're welcome.
Just a heads up, though: there's some dark!Metias later on that I didn't mean to write. It just kinda happened. I'm sorry. It gets better after that, I promise. Don't get angsty.

(Thomas' POV)

I wake up happy. The sun streams in through the blinds and paints my room gold, bathing the walls in a brilliant light. Slowly I open my eyes, feeling warm and calm.

Wait.

Where's Metias?

The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. I scramble into a sitting position and scan the room once, twice, three times, but Metias is nowhere to be found. I lean to look over the side of the bed -- his clothes are gone, too.

There must be a logical explanation for this. There's no way Metias would just... Leave. He's too considerate to do something like that, especially to his best friend/boyfriend/whatever. Why would he leave? There has to be a reason. What if --

"Mornin', Thomas."

My eyes dart to the door, where Metias stands, shirtless and drinking something from a mug (it must be coffee), wearing a pair of faded black skinny jeans that he wasn't wearing last night. He leans against the door frame and gives me a goofy smile. My tense muscles relax, and I smile softly back.

"Good morning."

Metias takes a sip from the mug. His hair, still a messy bedhead, falls into his eyes, and he reaches up with one hand to tuck it behind his ear. "How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty well, actually." I hesitate. "I thought you left."

Metias raises an eyebrow. "I wouldn't leave, Thomas. Not after something like that."

"That's what I thought."

Metias sighs and takes another sip. "Well, get out of bed, then. We've still got an hour before we have to be at work. I made breakfast." And with that, he turns and walks away.

* * *

(Metias' POV)

When Thomas strolls into the kitchen several minutes later, it's in the most adorable way possible. His dark brown hair, usually so neat, is endearingly messy, and he's wearing only a white t-shirt and his gray boxer shorts, plus a dark blue bathrobe which he's left hanging open. He grins at me lazily before slumping into a chair at the kitchen table, yawning and rubbing his eyes like a little kid. I've always thought Thomas was cute, very cute, but sometimes he does things that I can't help but smile at.

I walk over to the table and put the plate of buttered toast I've made close enough to Thomas that he doesn't have to move too much to reach it. Thomas smiles at me and takes a piece, biting into it and humming happily at the taste.

He swallows, then says, "Thanks."

I sit in the chair next to his. "No problem," I say. "But we need to talk."

Thomas, who had been raising the toast to his mouth for another bite, freezes, his muscles visibly tensing, and turns to me. "What about?" he asks, aiming for nonchalance, but I can tell I've made him nervous.

"Hey, hey, don't worry, it's nothing bad," I assure him, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. He glances at me warily. "I'm just concerned about the lack of nutritional food in this kitchen."

He blinks. "What?"

I laugh and pull my hand back. "Thomas, you probably have more microwave noodles in your cupboards than most grocery stores." I gesture to the plate of toast. "This is the last of your bread, and the butter's about to expire. Do you even know what a grocery store is?"