Archive of Our Own ^beta

Then he turns, lethargically realizes he’s facing somebody’s chest, and promptly falls backward off the bed. The sheets go with him in a flurry of fabric, and he hits his head on the floor, automatically lifting a hand to touch the bruised spot. 

Another hand gets there first.

He looks up from the floor at the tired face above him, rubbing his eyes to make sure he isn’t seeing things. Thoma blinks down at him, arm outstretched. His hair is disheveled and stabbing into the air, there are pillow creases on his cheek, and it’s probably the most unkempt Ayato’s ever seen him. But he’s focusing more on the fact that Thoma’s shirtless. 

He’s beginning to worry about what happened last night. 

✣ ✣ ✣

Thoma wakes up to quiet, steady breathing and is lulled back to sleep.

He’s rudely awakened by a loud thump and cold air when the blankets are yanked off less than fifteen minutes later. 

There’s a faint groan from the side of the bed and he rolls onto his side, sleepily reaching out to touch the back of Ayato’s head to check for blood. Ayato looks worlds beyond dazed, clearly disoriented as he swipes at his eyes. Thoma inhales a short breath when Ayato looks at him.

It takes another few seconds for Thoma’s brain to catch up to his body, but he ends up kneed in the gut when it clicks and he loses his balance then topples off the side. 

He freezes. Ayato looks equally startled, eyes wide and locked with Thoma’s own. When his muscles finally unlock he scrambles back, quickly helping Ayato untangle from the mess of fabric. 

“I’m terribly sorry, that was extremely improper of me even if it was an accident-“ Thoma realizes he’s shirtless and he swears his heart’s rhythm stops like he tripped over a log and off a cliff. “I was overheating so I removed my shirt, I sincerely apologize-“

“Thoma?” Ayato interrupts with a furrow between his brows.  

To be specific, he was overheating because Ayato wouldn’t let go of him or the blankets, and his pyro vision doesn’t behave when he’s flustered. This is him consoling himself, by the way. 

“I understand if you’re angry and you might as well leave me behind here-“

“Thoma.” 

He pauses. “Yes?”

“What exactly did I do last night?” 

“Um. You asked for me and…” Thoma decides not to mention the particulars of the couch situation. “I brought you back here so you could sleep. You wouldn’t let me go,” he chuckles awkwardly. “You didn’t want me to go to the other bed so I slept beside you.” 

“Ah.” There’s an empty silence before he continues. “And how much did I drink?” 

“More than one bottle’s worth.” He scratches his arm nervously. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself, I didn’t have the heart to stop you.” For whatever reason, Ayato looks significantly more relaxed. 

Then he collapses when he tries to stand up, and it’s safe to say Thoma is significantly more stressed out. “My lor-er-Ayato! Are you alright?” 

“A bit dizzy.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “And my head aches. It’s been a while since I drank so much.” 

“Please-just lay back down and rest for longer,” Thoma urges, moving to crouch beside him before slinging an arm around his shoulders. He hauls him to his feet, catching him when he sways and his knees buckle. “I’ll bring you something to drink.” 

“Thoma, I’ll be fine,” Ayato says as he’s pushed to lay back down, waving off Thoma’s attempt at fixing the pillows. “You should enjoy Mondstadt before we have to leave.” 

“No. I’m staying here and assisting you,” Thoma says firmly. He closes the curtains decisively and pours a cup of water from the pitcher sitting on the side table. 

Apparently Ayato accepts his fate, sinking down in the pillows. Thoma staunchly avoids thinking about anything related to his feelings. Be still, frantically beating heart. 

He goes about his morning fixing the room and repacking their belongings, getting ready to leave the next day. Ayato gets up only once to use the bathroom then unwillingly sits and watches him flit about the room. Thoma busies himself by doing unnecessary dusting and cleaning everything down to the corners of the windowsills, a gaze following his motions like a dancer’s critique. Eventually he decides breakfast from Good Hunter is in order, and leaves with a call of “I won’t be long!” 

When he opens the door to the room he almost drops the food. 

Ayato’s fresh out from a bath, water dripping from the ends of his hair to porcelain shoulders and down the back of his neck, leaving the material of his shirt darkened with droplets. The neckline is lopsided and low, starting below his collarbone and loose enough to hang when he bends to roll up the hem of his oversized pants. Speaking of-

“Are those my pants?” Thoma croaks out, sounding half strangled and missing his vocal chords. 

“And your shirt. They’re more comfortable.” Ayato straightens and looks at him curiously. Thoma prays to both the Anemo and Electro Archons that his face isn’t tomato red. “Is something wrong?” 

“N-no, of course not.” Thoma flicks his eyes up to his face and down to the tiny mole on his collarbone. 

(He wants to put his mouth there.)

Thoma feels ready to combust, brain overloading like a lake full of fish being exploded. He internally sweeps up his thoughts and disposes of them with practiced efficiency. They come rushing swiftly back when, in his haze, he registers something. 

Oh. I’m taller than him. That’s why my clothes are so loose. His brain is officially fried, thank you. 

He clears his throat, busying himself by unpacking the food and putting them out on a small table. “I got pancakes.” 

“I’ll be there in just a second,” Ayato responds, sitting on the edge of the second, unused bed, drying his hair with a towel. Thoma almost hyperventilates when he stretches his arms above his head and a forbidden sliver of skin is exposed at the bottom of the shirt. 

They sit down to eat, Ayato perking up the moment he takes a bite. Thoma’s Mondstadt roots are hit with how domestic it feels and are immediately shoved into a mental closet. His way of coping is avoidance. 

Ayato climbs back in bed after he’s finished, hair splayed on the pillow as he closes his eyes. Thoma follows a few minutes later, getting in the other side with his back against the headboard. Ayato shifts sideways to put his head on his lap, brows scrunched from headache and legs folded up. 

Thoma slides his fingers through damp hair, combing out the tangles gently. “Want me to braid your hair?” 

“Please.” 

Content noises settle in his chest as he crisscrosses the strands, Ayato tapping out a rhythm on his knee while his other hand rests under Thoma’s leg. The plait forms gradually, deft hands lightly tugging more hair into it as they go. He undoes it once, just to see the delicate waves fan out, then starts to carefully redo it. 

Thoma debates with himself the entire time. 

“Hey, Ayato?” His voice cracks. Thoma feels like there’s something stuck in his throat-maybe it’s his heart. “Yesterday, when you were drunk, you said something about-um.” The tapping on his knee stops and his hands fumble with the braid. “Thinking I wouldn’t care if you left me.”

“…It’s nothing.” 

“You aren’t sure.” 

Thoma waits patiently, weaving the rest of the braid and tying it off. He traces the zigzag down the center instead of Ayato’s tense shoulders, tucks stray strands away from his own face instead of Ayato’s. 

“You’re bright,” Ayato begins softly. “And friendly and fun and talkative and welcoming. I’m called intimidating and serious and quiet and cold.” He starts to trace circles on Thoma’s knee, still facing away. “Do you think you’ll ever tire of me?” 

“Never.” 

“Never?” Ayato turns on his side to look at Thoma’s face. “Forever is a long time to be with me, Thoma.” 

Thoma laughs softly, blowing away the response “I wouldn’t mind growing old with you” like a leaf swept by the wind. “You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit.” 

“Really now-“

“You accepted responsibility of the Yashiro Commission to take care of your family and the people. You hold power and earned every bit of it, but you’re still modest. You’re protective of those you love, crafty enough to do what you please, work to support others instead of for personal gain. Who wouldn’t want to stay by you for eternity?” 

They’re in their own personal world by then. The birds chirping outside, the footsteps outside the room, the bards singing in the distance all turn to background noise. Ayato blinks at him, pink spreading across his face like paint on a canvas. His mouth is partially open in surprise and he sits up suddenly, scratching the side of his face and facing away. The blush reaches his ears.

“Thank you. You always know what to say.” 

Thoma feels like there’s something hanging in the air between them, forbidden and charged with uncertainty. 

It’s over before he can speak. Not that he would have. What if he was misinterpreting things? Ayato could have been having a honest moment of vulnerability, and he wasn’t going to ruin it by opening his mouth and uncorking the bottled up feelings. 

Whatever was suspended in the silence before can wait.