Chapter Text
christopher ebeid was fourth to learn of thomas sakharov’s strength. here is how, in four anecdotes -
experience, part a:
chris had met thomas, like kol, at hockey at fifteen. like kol, chris noticed that thomas was tiny, scrawny, even for a fourteen year old refugee. again, like kol, chris had noticed that thomas was certainly… well, weird: unlike kol however, chris had joined in messing about with thomas - it’s simply something the team did with new and younger members of the team. his own form of fuckery was purely verbal wit, jests and japes at thomas’ expense that would get laughs from the other boys and thomas had never really retaliated, except for a time that chris had decided to up-the-ante and grab thomas in a chokehold to give him a noogie after a brilliant save in an intense match that gave their team the win; it was a form of brotherly affection among the team for a job well-done so chris never thought much of it.
he’d noticed thomas’ flinch when his arm reached up but ignored it in assumption that he knew what to expect. what chris didn’t expect though was for his arm to wrap around the younger boy and pull him close against his pec, but for thomas to almost simultaneously attempt to wiggle away which chris misinterpreted as playful wiggling as he continued with the noogie until he felt thomas’ wiggling become far more desperate than playful opposition. he pulled away to check but that small movement was enough for thomas to shove him away and skate off the rink as fast humanly possible. the older boy watched him go with confusion before he had joined his team to celebrate their win. that was chris’ first experience with thomas’ touch aversion.
explained:
a few weeks after the ‘noogie incident’, chris was dragged away to one side of the rink by kol - his dearest, closest, bestest friend and maybe-crush kol - who seemed uncharacteristically hesitant to say something before he exhales and uses the band-aid method to just say it, “tommy doesn’t like touch.”
chris… was not expecting that of all things but tries to school his expression to not betray his absolute bewilderment as he instead says, “right. since when were you on nickname basis with him? actually more importantly - when did he open his mouth to tell you?”
kol huffs and rolls his eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he glances over at thomas - tommy? - over in the goalposts practicing defense. he responds, calm as ever, “he’s never spoken to me, dude, but it’s really obvious if you watch with your eyes and see his response to some things. i do think if he is like, not-touchy it’s weird because hockey is touchy but maybe it’s why he’s a goalie. outta the way. i’m just telling you because i don’t want you to get in trouble if he reacts badly y’know.”
kol skated away after that and chris felt rather confused, but found himself watching thomas’ when the other boys were roughhousing or being touchy: the typical things with slaps and hugs and wrestling. thomas was one of the few boys that always shied away from that contact with them all. the only other of the boys that avoided contact like thomas was archie, who everyone knew was being bruised up at home and was living on-and-off the streets. archie and thomas bonded, grew really close outside of hockey. it was kind of sweet but it gave chris a new theory that maybe thomas was being bruised up at home, too. his japes and jests at his expense stopped after that heavy realisation.
observation:
chris’ observations had led to him realising many things about thomas, many things leading to some hard evidence that maybe things weren’t too well at home - he learnt that thomas flinched when someone raised a hand or there was a loud, sudden noise; he hated physical closeness and cramped spaces; he rarely said a word (actually he barely ever made a sound); he had strict routines that, if disturbed, he became greatly upset; he was very withdrawn and barely ever interacted with the rest of the team unless it was archie or kol when he thought about it… oh and he stared into space and made strange repetitive movements very often; never still, thomas was. most of those chris could pin-point to symptoms of ptsd which is often seen in victims of abuse though chris never said anything to anyone but kol in a private moment. the conversation was unpleasant and chris realised he was being creepy trying to diagnose thomas on a few quirks so he kept quiet.
then there was an outburst.
chris hadn’t heard or seen exactly what had caused it, he’d been in the gym off the side of the rink with some of the other boys, but when he hears commotion outside then someone crying out in what seemed to be pain he runs out of the gym to see a small crowd of people around a singular point with one of the newest team-players being led away by two older members with a bleeding hand. one of them mutters something that rhymes with ‘ducking few’ and chris knows immediately who to punch in the jaw as well as who’s being crowded. his prediction of thomas was correct - said younger boy curled was curled up sort of like a shrimp being boiled; one bloodied hand gripping his curly hair (news to chris, the kid only wore his helmet at practice), the other’s fingers clammed in his mouth being chewed to filth undoubtedly, rocking back and forth and trembling with very erratic breathing on the ice.
his ass must be frozen, is what chris had thought, before he’d become his dad for a few minutes to usher the other boys away and sit with thomas. he’d tapped his skate rather than his shoulder or something to get his attention which hadn’t worked so he tried to keep his voice gentle as he kind of just… talked at the kid; told him about his little sister and about his mom, spoke to him about his life attachment to his faith as a muslim, even sang a little song in french for fun. it seemed to work a bit because thomas had slowed rocking after some time and his jaw had loosened on his fingers. a good fifteen or twenty minutes later he had slumped in exhaustion, his bloody-saliva’d fingers falling onto the ice in front of him and head lolling forward against his knees. the position looked awfully uncomfortable so chris huffed a small chuckle to loosen the mood slightly, nudged thomas’ foot.
“thomas? buddy, are you back from la-la land?” he’d asked, voice gentle still as to not scare him into another, what chris presumed, was a panic attack or something. “can you uh… i dunno. can you tap the ice with y’foot for me, bud? just to make sur–there you go, good man. i won’t ask you what this was about but can i grab your jersey to help you up? your fingers are fucked.”
chris had gotten a small tap of skate-on-ice and hoisted himself up with a grimace, cracked his back to clear its stiffness, then grabbed and yanked a very unbalanced thomas up by his jersey sleeves. funnily enough, the younger boy had mirrored the elder’s actions of cracking his back with a very small groan of pain. chris locked that nugget of information away, on top of his newest experience.
he could touch thomas through clothes.
experienced, part b:
those trials and tribulations of a complicated past had been worked with over a course of two years and getting together to reach a point of comfortability. casual touches with tom became more common as he veered away from his trauma to begin to trust again - baby-steps at first and then they were able to hug for fifteen minute stints at a time. tom learned that chris is a furnace, and chris learnt tom is a freezer.
sleeping together had taken an additional year and a half of being together to be manageable in small increments of resting with eyes closed on a comfy surface like a couch; nothing more. no beds and no proper naps, for tom at least. his medically diagnosed phobia of sleep was a life-long issue, according to tom, and he’d only managed to wrestle it in small doses with jess when a few years prior and kol had been the only other person beside jess he had ever managed to sleep with even for a nap. it was very bad still and they had some work to do to figure out a solution. chris learnt things again: about his boyfriend
he cannot sleep with blankets at all. again, another medically diagnosed phobia plus trauma;
he is very cat-like, often laying his head down for small exposure-therapy-like rests in the sun;
he loves having his hair being played with (and re: cat-like tendencies - he sometimes purrs);
chris couldn’t be entirely sure how it had happened but he was not complaining. he and tom had been doing homework but tom had started feeling really nauseous from dizziness after reading some documents for his english assignment, so chris had offered - seeing as he was also getting a pretty bad headache from dizziness and strain, himself - that they sit on the couch and get ‘fucking horizontal’. it seemed to be a good offer though it had been a bit of a struggle to get up onto the couch due to the aforementioned dizziness but the two managed as best they could.
chris laid on the couch on his back first with a pillow under his neck and under his lower back to lift his hips up slightly; tom had laid on top somewhat nervously but had relaxed with his head against chris’ chest after chris had begun to card his fingers through tom’s hair gently in that way that made tom melt. there had been a small ray of sunlight peeking through the blinds hitting chris’ hand rubbing tom’s back gently, warm and cozy, no blankets surrounding either of them and yet chris was startled to realise tom had fallen asleep with him. he will admit he had to hold back some tears of pride but had then been hit with a train of ‘go sleepy aaa go cozy’ and had drifted off himself, arms loose around his boy, protective of this pure moment of trust.
they had perfected the formula well enough a year later that tom was able to nap with kora, as well, who had her own battles with giving and receiving intimacy; it had been a good day for them both and chris had grinned so wide his jaw ached for an hour or two afterwards. sleeping together was and still is a constant battle and tom still can’t sleep with more than one partner or with blankets but that’s later. in the now?
it was a really good fucking nap.