Tribulation //RED QUEEN FANFICTION

5: Enkindled

The morning after is... problematic, to put it mildly.

When he wakes up, he's alone. Thomas blinks through the dim light.

He's curled up in an empty spot. Space is cold, but he remembers something else entirely. Something warm, molten in his veins. The memory hunts through his body, leaving a warm feeling in his guts and an uncertain quickening of his pulse. It's like he's dreamed it all along, dreamed about hands searching in the darkness, desperately holding onto something, and a mouth hot and demanding.

He's not really sure what to make of it, now that it has happened. There's no way to undo it. No way to get rid of the fever flowing through him when he thinks about the way they touched.

It's like he decided to jump off the plane and is still falling, not sure how to open the parachute.

Unwillingly he gets up, finding a tangled pile of clothes and just dresses lazy. His body hurts but there's also some weird satisfaction, something smooth and easy in the way his body moves.

He's almost shocked to find Maven in the kitchen.

He still looks deranged in the small space, just sitting on one of the chairs. Thomas takes a moment to study his frame, the hair curling around his neck, the sharp line of his cheek. He sits hunched over his phone and it reminds him of all the times he watched him study or read. But he also remembers the way his teeth dragged along that neck and his hands slipped over the smooth skin, feeling muscles tense.

There are pain and something guilty shooting through Thomas, and he's not sure how or what to say, and how to act.

He doesn't seem to be the only one, by the looks of it. Their eyes brush along each other before they look away.

The night has broken whatever they couldn't rebuild and pierced it together to something else.

It's not like he hadn't hoped there could be a time when they'd come around to nights like this. He hadn't anticipated it to happen now, and sure as hell not with all that damage and weight slumped over their shoulders.

He isn't even sure it has the same meaning for them.

"Morning, stranger," he jokes, half-hearted. It sounds weird and too loud.

Mavens lips are a thin line. "Good morning."

Is it really good, though? He can't say for sure.

Not yet.

He turns his back, avoiding any more words for now. His sister left a text, at least, so there's that reason to worry off the list. He's glad she's at home and his family isn't hurt. His hands slide over the screen to write back but he's not getting much out of his head.

He doesn't check the news or the feed of images. He doesn't care right now. It's selfish and stupid but he can't deal with a burning world when there's a boy kindling unkind flames in his soul.

For a while, Thomas rummages through the shelves, and that's the only sound filling the hollow emptiness. He isn't even that hungry. He still tries to function like a normal person, grabbing a bowl out of the mismatched mess of the dishes.

The silence is electric, rippling static and uncomfortable.

The poor box of cereal is not deserving to be slumped down and throwing on the sink like that.

"Is this what's it going to be?" He holds his spoon like a lance, ready to joust with the invisible contesters of his fears. "Like, we hooked up in regret and now we just wait for the other to leave?"

"Do you?" Maven asks, and to Thomas distaste, he's putting on his blank face. He thought they'd gotten over that. It pisses him off to no extent. But that's just how it is. "Regret?"