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When the sun sets and Shiv passes out on that luxurious bed, Tom sneaks out for either something to drink or something to smoke, he's not quite sure yet.
Artificial lighting casts shadows onto the pavement, cold light clashing with the warm hues of the setting sun.
He wishes he had a cigarette. Not a good habit, he knows, he quit a long time ago, but he still yearns for it.
Entering the main courtyard he really sees its beauty, without the crowd he can admire the architecture.
And then there's Greg.
He didn't see him at first, his figure leaning against the stone half-wall, dressed in a beige sweater Tom is sure he gave him. He's out of place, Tom decides, this lanky man (who obviously doesn't come from money) standing, surrounded by beautifully carved buildings, just doesn't fit. Perhaps he never will, Tom thinks he's glad Greg doesn't fit.
His first reaction is to ignore him and find a way inside the building because he's sure his mother-in-law has something stashed somewhere. But he sees Greg bringing a lighter to his face and realizes he has a cigarette or perhaps a joint — God knows he's praying for the latter.
Tom stares for a moment as the reds and oranges illuminate the planes of Greg's face. He looks warm, like something carved of stone.
Tom walks to him, thinking of a way to greet the man, "Gregory!" if anything it startles him.
Greg hides the cigarette (not a joint, damn) by his waist and positions himself awkwardly, "Tom...?"
Tom leans against the wall next to Greg, not breaking eye contact in this awkward silence he created, "give me one."
"What?"
"Give me a cigarette, or a fag, or whatever," he says the word with a slight British accent.
"Don't, uh, don't say that," Greg says awkwardly, moving to his previous position, putting the cigarette into his mouth, and pulling a stray one from his pocket, "here."
Tom takes it putting it between his own lips, watching Greg take out the lighter, "what are you doing out?" as Greg lights the cigarette he leans forward a little almost getting in Tom's space. Tom would berate him for it, he should berate him for it, but he stays quiet and enjoys how close Greg's hands are to his face.
Greg pulling away takes the warmth with him and Tom feels bare. He takes a deep breath and inhales the smoke, laughing as he does so, "man it's been a long time." he says it more to himself than to Greg.
Greg hums in acknowledgment and exhales a cloud of smoke, watching the final bits of the sun cut through it.
"Thought you'd be with Comfrey or the girl Roman snagged," Tom says, taking the cigarette from his mouth and watching the smoke chase it.
Greg shrugs, "Ken, work."
Tom bumps Greg's shoulder with his own, "think they're fucking?" he says it like a joke and even offers a chuckle to indicate such but Greg only shrugs.
"Maybe, I don't know," Greg drops the cigarette and smudges it into the pavement with his heel. He leans against the half wall and stares at the dark horizon.
“Lighten up!” Tom punches Greg's shoulder – admittedly harder than needed.
“Ow,” Greg lets out, cowering a little and covering his arm, “maybe I should just turn in.”
Do it, Tom thinks, leave, I don't need you, but the words translate differently, "I'm sorry." it's unlike him and he knows it.
Greg goes quiet again and Tom finishes the cigarette in silence.
"Do you really think Comfrey is out of my league?" Greg speaks softly, the outdoor lights dimming on their automatic timer.
Tom scoffs, it's his immediate response but he tries to form words, "no, you big oaf, I was just messing with you."
Greg hums and they both fall silent.
Tom isn't sure he quite meant Comfrey was too good for Greg. Maybe he meant Greg was too good for her. Or that he was too good for Tom
Tom shakes his head, his hand reaches down to pat his pocket, looking for the cigarette box, a movement he hasn't done in years.
"I should head back inside," Tom says, pushing off the edge, "hang tomorrow?"
Greg smiles, it's genuine, "sure." Tom wants to touch his dimples.
As they part, Tom forces himself not to look back, to see if Greg is looking, he’d feel stupid if he wasn't but he doesn't trust his body if he was.
He sighs when he stands in front of his room, opening the door to a sleeping Shiv and a cold atmosphere.