Work Text:
Tom was famished.
He had got into the office extra early today to reply to the surplus of emails that had been building up over the past week, and spent the entire morning bent over his monitor, answering questions or fixing people’s accounts or doing whatever other tasks Newgrounds users needed from him. So when lunch had finally rolled around, he was practically bouncing into the breakroom.
Most of the Newgrounds office left at lunch, whether to go out to eat or to eat at their homes. Jeff, however, almost always ate at the office. Tom wasn’t exactly sure why, but he certainly wasn’t upset over it at all. In their early days, lunchtime was how Tom and Jeff got closer, as they would be the only ones in the breakroom, and eating in silence was just too awkward, even for Jeff, who cringes at the thought of small talk.
Jeff was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, as his food heated up. The room was filled with the hum of the microwave. He was zoned out, staring at the opposite wall with glazed eyes. He didn't even glance up as Tom entered.
Tom, who had only a salad, got his lunch out of the fridge and placed it on his and Jeff’s usual table, then sauntered casually over to Jeff’s side. He absentmindedly raised a hand to start rubbing Jeff’s upper back.
This was a somewhat newer ritual for them; Tom finding any chance to physically relax Jeff during the workday. It started when Tom noticed Jeff routinely getting frustrated at his desk: pressing his keys on his keyboard too hard when redoing a line, gripping his pen so tight the tips of his fingers were white with strain, occasionally even closing his software without saving his work (intentionally) and getting up to lock himself in the single-use bathrooms. He would come out ten, fifteen, sometimes twenty minutes later, the red in his face slowly fading, his hairline and hat wet from where he splashed his face with water.
After about two weeks of seeing Jeff like this, Tom started to walk by Jeff’s desk under the pretense of getting a cup of water or going to the bathroom, and lightly rubbing a hand on Jeff’s shoulder, or the back of his neck, or his shoulder blades. Jeff would half turn his head to Tom, already sucked out of his frustration just from embarrassment at the thought that Tom may have noticed, but would go back to his work when Tom didn’t stop to talk. Really, Tom considered himself somewhat of a genius for the idea. Jeff calmed down, and he never knew that Tom knew, which meant there was no reason for him to get all awkward around Tom.
Eventually, Tom’s newfound taste for physically touching Jeff started to seep into their lunch breaks together. Sometimes it started just as a light brush of Jeff’s arm or back, and sometimes it ended up with Jeff laying his head on his forearms, bent over the table, his lunch pushed aside, while Tom rubbed whatever body part he could reach. Once, he even got Jeff to take his hat off so he could lightly run his fingers through his (surprisingly soft) hair.
It wasn’t until a few weeks after they had started this new habit that Tom realized that there was no way Jeff didn’t know what he was doing at this point, and that Jeff was choosing not to mention it. The thought had made Tom grin and feel such a strong sense of appreciation for his fellow Newgrounder, he couldn’t help but hug Jeff as he was leaving that evening, leaving his friend stiff and confused and a little bit annoyed.
But now he stood beside Jeff, nails gently moving from between his shoulder blades to the nape of his neck, while Jeff shut his eyes and let Tom do his work. He tilted his head down, just the slightest, and Tom automatically jumped on the opportunity to reach his fingers up to the curls of hair falling from under his hat onto his neck. From there, they moved up to scratch where Jeff’s hairline was on his neck. Jeff grunted, realizing Tom’s intention, and tried to straighten his back, stiffen his posture, tilt his head back up, but then Tom’s fingers were gently pushing Jeff’s hat up from the back, so the rim fell over Jeff’s eyes, and he moved closer to ask, “You wanna take your hat off?” His voice was quiet, half a whisper, so as not to startle Jeff out of whatever mental-tranquility he was in.
Tom wasn’t exactly sure why Jeff had so many hang ups about taking his hat off, but he assumed it was some sort of vulnerability thing, like how Jeff has never worn a t-shirt in front of Tom while sober, and has never worn shorts no matter how drunk he was. Regardless, Jeff took it off once, and Tom had been waiting for the second time ever since.
Jeff rolled his shoulders, once again trying to pull his posture back, but suddenly gave up the fight, humming, his eyes still closed, and finally unfurled his crossed arms. He pulled his iconic hat off and held it by his side by its brim.
Tom’s face stretched into a huge smile, almost a grin, but he held his lips shut. His hand moved up further, messing with Jeff’s hat-hair, pushing it up where it stuck down flat to his head, and trying to flatten it wherever a cowlick may reside. Jeff relaxed into his hand even further, letting more of his weight be held by the counter behind him, practically sitting on it, and leaning his torso closer to Tom just slightly, enough for their shoulders to touch.
This time Tom did grin. The amount of trust that Jeff was practically handing him…
Tom moved his hand to reach around Jeff’s head on the opposite side and pulled it down to rest on his shoulder. Jeff had to stoop slightly, just slightly, as he was taller than Tom, but they both knew he wouldn’t complain about it.
Tom was just about to say something to Jeff, maybe ask how he was doing, or if he had been playing any cool games recently, or watched any new movies, or something , but then the microwave went off.
Before the first beep was over, Jeff had jumped so harshly, it scared Tom more than the beep had. Then Jeff was standing up straight just as the second beep was going off, his shoulders drawn up tight, his face pale from surprise. The hat was shoved back on as Jeff wheeled around to open the microwave and stop the horrid beeping. Tom hovered for a moment, watching Jeff pull his food out of the microwave and grab a fork from the drawer, but noticed how intently Jeff was looking anywhere at him as his face turned an almost shocking red, and he (Tom) quickly sat down at their table, his salad in front of him. There was no use embarrassing Jeff any more than he already was by staring or by trying to bring it up. All of the work he had done to destress his friend was destroyed, now. Tom couldn’t help how upset he felt over that stupid microwave ruining the moment.
But when Jeff sat down beside Tom, his face slightly less red than before, Tom could see how much more relaxed his posture was, how much calmer he seemed. As they started a conversation about Jeff’s latest Twitter space, Tom decided that, even if Jeff knew what he was doing now, he was still a fucking genius.