Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Greg, I have been thinking and I just realized, you know practically everything about me yet I don't know shit about you, how?" is the first thing Tom says as Greg opens the front door of their apartment.

"Uh, hello to you too?" Greg takes off his shoes, not bothering to undo the laces and kicking them somewhat vaguely in the direction he knows the shoe rack is. Mondale is at Greg's feet instantly and he can't help but smile as he scratches his ears and kisses his fluffy furry head.

Tom only rolls his eyes at him. He's sitting on their couch, his iPad with some PDF open on his lap and his reading glasses on. He looks old, which, well yeah, he is—fourteen years older than Greg, in fact, but it's not until moments like these that he really notices. His chest does a funny little flip and he hates it. "Yes, yes, hello Gregory. What, were you expecting me to come and take your coat? Cook you a warm meal? Fix your hair and thank you for putting the bread on the table with a blowie like some 50s housewife? Fuck off." 

"I didn't say anything, man. But I'm pretty sure I can see that you did indeed make dinner? So, like, the warm meal part might not be so, uh, far-fetched, I dare say."

The pillow that gets thrown his way is expected, really. He tries to dodge it but Greg ends up almost tripping on his shoes, the ones who very much didn't end up anywhere near the shoe rack. He sighs and puts them next to Tom's huge collection of footwear.

"Don't change the topic. See! That's what I'm talking about. Every time I want to pry open that ginormous misshapen noggin of yours you deflect it like your life depends on it. Why?" A beat. Tom's eyebrows knit together and Greg's pretty sure Tom is overthinking again. "...Is it me ? Are you not comfortable telling me—?"

Greg only shakes his head. There we go again, he doesn't understand how someone like Tom can be so…self-conscious. It doesn't make sense. It's been on his mind for a while but really, has Tom always been like that or is that just a result of being around the Roys for like, six years? He doesn't know and he's certainly not planning on asking either. "Dude, no, what? Don't be silly, you're like—I think you know me better than I know myself, sometimes?" And it is true. He's not lying to make Tom feel better like he has done one too many times in the past years. Greg has always considered himself average, most of his life spent trying to blend in and latch onto anyone who could become his safety net, there's not much else to say. 

That answer doesn't seem to satisfy Tom, though, because his frown only grows deeper. "And what the fuck does that mean?"

It's not worth explaining it. Greg knows he has no idea how to word it and Tom would probably only get more exasperated if he tried to do so. Instead, he says, "What do you want to know?"

"Well, everything, Greg. Isn't that obvious?"

"That's…pretty vague? It's not like I hold the secrets of the universe or anything like that, Tom."

"Jesus, you still can't take a joke, man." Greg doesn't know which part was supposed to be a joke, and he's not sure if Tom even meant it as a joke but he doesn't say so. "Okay, twenty questions, like we are middle schooler girls on a sleepover. What was your first job?"

That sounds more like a job interview question than a sleepover game question but Greg can't remember when was the last time he went to any of those, so he can't really judge. "I don't…think it had a proper name but I helped my mom at her job when I was like 16 or so."

"Huh. I didn't think your mom worked."

Greg has made an effort to make sure that his mom and his boss (ex-cousin-in-law? friend? boyfriend?) never cross paths, he's also sure he avoids mentioning her as much as possible, so, where did Tom get the idea that…? Ah, his cousins. He cringes at the thought of the jabs they must have made. "She doesn't, not anymore at least. But she used to be a librarian. I liked sorting the books on the right shelves." He also hated absolutely everything else about it, especially how quiet the place was and how much his mom got annoyed at him for messing up. "My first actual job was at a 7-Eleven, though?"

Tom is enjoying this more than he has any right to, Greg can tell he's a second away from making fun of him. "Did you, now? Greg the retail worker, who would have thought! That bright orange polo must have been a sight to behold."

"The polo was black, actually? I don't think I have ever seen a 7-Eleven with orange polos..."

A scoff. Why exactly, he's not sure. Probably because Tom doesn't like being wrong, even when it comes to 7-Eleven's uniform policy? It feels like a stupid thing to get upset about, but Tom is looking at him like he is the one who doesn't know shit, and now he's not too sure if the polos are actually black. It's been a while since he has dropped by a 7-Eleven, to be fair. "Whatever. How about your dream job? What would you rather be doing than jerking off Mattson's Scandinavian dickie?" That's a mental image Greg very much doesn't want to have and it must show on his face because Tom quickly adds, "Don't give me that look, you do have a record of giving handies to your bosses, Gregory."

Now it's Greg's turn to roll his eyes. Tom is obsessed with trying to twist the narrative of their relationship just to fuck with Greg, always in third person too, it's annoying and not even funny. "Uh-huh, whatever Tom. Dream job…I dunno." 

Greg's lack of goals and aspirations has always been the main reason why his relationships don't last long. A deal-breaker, one might say. People want things to be serious, they want him to be serious too, they want a five-year plan that Greg can't give them and end up getting frustrated when Greg says that he's fine just doing whatever. A job is a job, years later and he still doesn't understand why it matters whether he's passionate about it or not. Get your shit together, they had said. You really don't plan to finish your degree? they would ask. Moving together, shared incomes, a future. Greg doesn't think he was ever meant for those things. He's not scared of what Tom might say, because even if Tom decides to get up and leave, Greg knows he will survive. But Tom won't do that, because Tom needs Greg more than anything else. And yeah, maybe it's a bit twisted that Greg feels relieved that no matter what, Tom can't leave, but he deserves nice things too, doesn't he? Taking advantage of Tom's codependency is probably arguably more morally upstanding than asking for an open relationship on your wedding night. 

"Really? Is there nothing you like enough to want to make a career out of? You seem like an art school dropout, Greg. Smoking your semesters away, accidentally dropping a gallon of paint on a canvas and calling it a day."

Greg scrunches his nose. Art? He's sure Tom did not get that idea from his cousins because they don't care enough to wonder about his short-lived community college days.  Does Tom think he's…artsy? Well, realistically speaking he was probably just trying to make fun of him and his occasional partaking of the good ol' weed but…Tom is always thinking about him. So it wouldn't be surprising if it also holds some truth of what he theorizes Greg used to do. "No, man, art? I can't even draw a stick figure. I honestly never thought too much about it, I guess."

"Oh, c'mon, there has to be something. Chipotle manager? Stress toy collector? Dog walker? Succulent trimmer? Professional hoarder? Owner of a vegan sandwich place?"

"Dog walking doesn't sound too bad?"

"You don't sound very enthusiastic about it, Greg."

He sighs. Tom might not leave, but he's like, infuriatingly stubborn about Greg's personal issues. Tom is very likely to not be so keen on taking 'nothing' as an answer.

When Greg finished high school, he did lots of research on which jobs had the best salaries. Lots of research being: Googling for a whole afternoon in a cyber café. At the end of the day, he had found out that he wasn't smart enough for most of the jobs mentioned. He ended up settling for something in the IT field, dropping out half a semester in. That was ages ago now, but he did remember the one time he had actually been excited for a job interview. He never told anyone because it was silly and it certainly would convince everyone he really was an immature kid in grown-up clothes but…it would be an answer better than nothing. Greg could give Tom that, he guessed. "LEGOLAND, maybe."

Tom's eyebrows shoot up high, looking at Greg as if he has grown a second head. Maybe he should have stuck with nothing. "What?" 

"Maybe not as a, uh, career, but in like—2013? They opened a LEGO theme park in Toronto. I always liked LEGOs as a kid, well, not like I had any, because—" He's rambling, he knows, and it's probably barely coherent but Tom is looking at him with such intensity that Greg can't really stop. "—they were pretty expensive and Gramps isn't a big fan of, y'know, plastic but uh, I went there when it opened up and it seemed really cool. I would have liked to work there."

Greg wishes he had had LEGOs as a kid, they always seemed pretty fun. When he used to go to Leah's house he would always sort them by color and hand her the pieces she needed for her numerous Leah-certified builds. Even that one time when his mom had gotten a pretty nice bonus with her pay-check, he hadn't had the courage to ask for one of his own.

His dad had never been in the picture, gone long before Greg was born, but his mom did tell him that if he ever wanted to talk to him, she could give him his phone number. Greg knew it was a test, a bait she was waiting for him to take so she could have a reason to be mad at him—but Greg never took it. He didn't know his dad, all he had ever heard were awful things, he wouldn't risk losing his mom for a phone call with a guy he might not even like. Sometimes, he wanted to call—out of spite more than anything else, maybe ask him to buy Greg the most expensive LEGO set there was to compensate for everything else.

Greg never called, but he always wonders what would have happened if he had done it. 

"Why didn't you? I can't imagine they're too strict in who they hire. It's LEGOLAND, for fuck's sake."

"I did do like, an interview? But I might have Godzilla'ed it a bit and fallen on top of a whole city made of LEGO." Tom grimaces. He doesn't want Tom to pity him, he was fully expecting Tom to make fun of him, he's going off-script and Greg doesn't know what to do with that. "It's fine though, I'm not sure how long I would have lasted." He won't say that he used to read blogs of people who did work at LEGOLAND, or that he used to be subscribed to YouTube channels that did build timelapses and unboxing videos. But that was ages ago, Greg is a C-suite executive now, he's got no time to fantasize about LEGOLAND. And Tom should be making fun of him for it, he should! But he isn't, and Greg thinks that's somehow worse.

Tom squints at him, as if he’s trying to get those very secrets of the universe (the ones Greg told him before he very much didn't have) out of Greg's eyes. He only gulps in response. "Hm. I see. Okay, next question—"

And that's it, really. He should be glad the conversation didn't take the turn at Break-up Street but also he feels like shit. He feels seen. It's not a good feeling. Can I trust you? To a point, yes. To say Greg is passionate about LEGO would be too generous. Maybe if he had asked his dad to buy him a set he would have found out that he didn't like LEGO at all after all.

Weeks pass by and Greg's interest in LEGO that was pretty much dormant since before coming to New York starts getting out of control. Well, not really. He's just—allowing himself to revisit old interests. He has no reason to feel ashamed, LEGOs are pretty cool. But still he feels…childish. Like he should have a subscription to the New York Times instead of watching TikToks about LEGO. He talks to Tom about it, every now and then when Tom gets tired of talking to himself since Greg's attention is elsewhere. Tom's pretty normal about it. All things considered. Greg told him once they even had a Star Wars' collection and he only just scoffed, "What, a square Yoda made of blocks?" When Greg rolled his eyes and showed him the actual builds, he could tell Tom had been more impressed than he let on.

But it was fine, it's a harmless interest. It's not like he's blowing his pay-checks in LEGOs, he is a responsible adult and he can look but he shall not touch—or own. Honestly, even with his salary he still thinks LEGOs are ridiculously expensive.

So yeah, he's normal about it too. Greg Normal Hirsch. 

Or that is the plan, at least, but when he comes back home on Friday, he's received with a huge Amazon box on the dinner table. "Uh, Tom?"

"In the kitchen, Greggster."

He turns on his heel and heads towards the kitchen. Tom is cutting some vegetables on the counter, he's got his sleeves rolled up and Greg hates that he smiles at the sight. "Hey, Tommy—" Tom turns around and places a kiss on his cheek. "—Oh, thanks." His face is all warm and he really shouldn’t be blushing because of a kiss at 30. "What's up with the box?"

Tom frowns. A beat. And then he smiles all smugly. He really is so expressive, even Greg, who struggles understanding body language, can read him like a book—right now? Tom is thrilled for Greg to see whatever it is he bought. They're a good match, really. "It's not a box, Greg. There's goodies inside."

Well, it technically is still a box even if there's something inside, but arguing with Tom about it feels useless. "Yeah, I figured as much. Why—What exactly are the goodies inside, if I—may be so bold to, uh, ask?"

"Where's the fun in me telling you that? Go open it and see for yourself, buddy."

Getting confirmation is nice, but he still has a role to play. So, he blinks, slowly. "It's…for me?" 

"That babe in the woods thing may have been cute at first, Greg, but you're laying it on a bit too thick now. Are you an idiot? I'd ask if you have ever received a gift but I know you have because I bought you those sneakers you wanted just last week."

Doesn't mean I'm used to it, he almost says but that's not really true. Most often than not he gets disappointed when there are packages in the apartment and they aren’t for him. As soon as he opened the door and saw the box he had assumed it was for him. Greg only gives Tom a nod and grabs a knife from one of the kitchen's drawers before going back to the dining room. The box really is big, he's half expecting a smaller Mondale inside, but the lack of holes makes him think that's unlikely. He cuts his finger a bit (nothing a band aid can’t fix) but other than that the unboxing is a success. Although it's wrapped in bubble wrap it's clear as day that the goodies were none other than the LEGO model of the Millennium Falcon™ (2017 Edition, not to be confused with the 2004 Edition) "You like it?" comes Tom's voice from behind him and it's so unexpected that Greg drops the box altogether. "Gregory! That thing costed me almost $900, what the fuck?"

Greg turns around just to glare at him. "Dude, you should have, like, tapped my shoulder or something, Jesus." The box is okay, probably, it's still covered in bubble wrap and it's LEGO, a little fall can't break LEGO that's probably inside another ten boxes and baggies. "What's the occasion, though? Not that I mind, I certainly don't but that's—a lot of money."

"Greg, I have bought you things that are way more expensive than a measly LEGO set, my bank account will survive."

He wants to point out that Tom was the one to bring out the price in the first place but he only nods instead. "This thing has like, seven thousand pieces. Did you know the record time for building it is around, ten hours?"

"Ten hours for seven thousand pieces?” A scoff. “The Waystar Two can do better. You have been moaning non-stop about your LEGOs, I thought it was high time we indulge ourselves in, ah, a little weekend project. What do you think?"

Tom's a pretty weird guy. He has always thought as much, but sometimes he can be so…Greg's sure there must be a word to describe whatever Tom is but he doesn't know what it is. When Tom does things like this for Greg, he wants to grab him by the tie and kiss him stupid. But Tom is not wearing a tie, and Greg is still holding the rather heavy LEGO box, so he only gives him a tiny smile. "Yeah, sounds cool."

The following weekend, they spend the entire Saturday morning working on the ship with French pastries (that Tom pronounces horribly) and fresh coffee. The instruction book is as thick as his arm and it’s intimidating as hell. When he realizes a good 40 pages are just notes from the designers he feels a little relieved—such relief doesn’t last long because Tom quickly points out that that just means there are other 450 pages that are indeed instructions. He skims through them and when he notices there are over a thousand steps, he decides it’s better if he organizes the pieces by color and number instead. Tom complains the entire time, “Really, Greg? You bat your eyelashes at me for weeks just so I buy this ridiculously big toy puzzle for you and then you throw the towel five minutes in? That’s low, even for you, asshole.”

He raises both hands in an attempt of self-defense. “Hey, buying this was totally your decision. I like, literally told you I had never had my own set? Wasn’t planning on changing that either. Also I think this is way above our level. The way I see it, um, perhaps we shouldn’t have started our LEGO journey with one of the builds with the largest amount of pieces.”

And here comes Tom’s awful Greg impression, hands and all. “Above our level, fuck off. How hard can this be?”

Greg shakes his head and continues with his task: color sorting pieces into the bowls he stole from the kitchen.

It turns out, you really should just keep the pieces inside the baggies, that the numbers are there for a reason and color sorting is, really, not the way you should organize them if you want efficiency. Greg realizes this as Tom fights with the instructions for the tenth time, an array of gray pieces on the table and none that look remotely like the one Tom needs. It also turns out, LEGO builds are harder than the 16+ sign on the box indicates, and ten hours for this monstrosity is pretty fast.

By the time the food they ordered for dinner arrives, their Millennium Falcon is one eight done and it doesn’t look anything like the one in the instructions.

“It looks like a rectangle, why the fuck does it look like a rectangle, Greg.”

Greg looks down at the instruction manual on his hands and then looks back up at the skeleton of the Millennium Falcon that looks more like the Waystar-GoJo floor plan than an iconic spaceship. “I…don’t know. We followed all the steps, I don’t think it’s even possible for it to end up like a rectangle with the pieces we have.”

“But it looks like one! I’m not crazy, that’s not Millennium Falcon shaped. Han Solo would kill us if he saw what we did to his ship. Give me that,” Tom practically yells as he snatches the manual from Greg’s hands. “Greg. Where are these glass panel thingies? We very much did not use any glass panel thingies. Why on earth does it look like a rectangle?”

He sighs and not even sushi can help make the headache he’s getting disappear. Greg shakes his head and looks through the bags and bowls. Step 5…Step 5. Oh fuck. All the bags labelled 15 are open while all the ones labelled 5 are not. If Tom notices he might literally kill Greg right here, in their dining room for the world and Mondale to see. Instead, he decides to do what he does best, playing dumb: “I don’t know, Tom, but I’m beat. We should just call it a night.”

Tom’s not happy about it, he can tell, but he agrees anyway and helps him put all the pieces back in their respective baggies. They watch the original Star Wars trilogy that night before bed, and Tom ends up getting too invested in noticing all the details of the movie version of the Millennium Falcon. It’s cute. Tom is cute, and that’s a concerning thought to have. Tom Wambsgans, bottle pelter — human furniture user, is very cute.

He falls asleep and dreams of walking on a floor made of LEGOs and a man he doesn’t know praising him for it, his grandpa killing them both before they can properly talk.

Greg always wakes up later than Tom, it’s practically routine at this point, but it's also an essential part of their routine to sleep in together until noon on the weekends. He wakes up at eight in the morning, and when he attempts to curl up next to Tom for a few more hours he finds the other half of the bed empty and cold. Reluctantly, he gets up and groggily pads towards the dining room where he finds Tom, reading glasses on, working on the LEGO spaceship. It actually does look more like the Millennium Falcon now, or well, more like the Millennium Falcon if it was sliced horizontally. Tom is connecting the pieces with ease, eyebrows knitted together and the tip of his tongue sticking out. He has only seen him like this at work, and it’s always whenever he doesn’t think Greg is around. A Tom reserved exclusively for the four walls of his office. It’s a good look on him, maybe Greg should put up cameras in there. It takes him a little too long to realize how creepy that sounded, God, that sounded like something that Tom would do. He actually wouldn’t be surprised if after the blackmailing incident he did set up surveillance devices on Greg at all times. 

Too sleepy to actually talk, he drapes himself behind Tom, arms around his neck and Tom’s head under his chin. “Oh. Hi. Did I wake you up?” Greg shakes his head, and Tom can’t see him but well, he can feel it so, it’s whatever. “Wanna know something funny, sleeping beauty? I was checking the bags and bowls and it seems like someone mixed up two of the steps.”

Greg startles and removes his arms from around Tom as if he’s scathing hot. “Oh, um, that—”

“You’re on building duty with me now, Greg. No more sorting, it seems that’s not your forte.” He pouts but it doesn’t have the desired effect, Tom only chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, come help me out with step 128.”

He drops the pieces one too many times, and puts them in the wrong spots more often than not, but it’s fun. It really is. But he also wonders if it’s really the LEGO or if it’s Tom. Would Greg really be able to build this all by himself? Probably not, he would have put it all back in the box and let it be future-Greg’s problem. But by Sunday evening, the Millennium Falcon is done. Tom looks way too proud for something that he claimed was a 'ridiculously big toy puzzle' twenty four hours before. Greg is still in awe, it’s so detailed and cool, he keeps looking at it from different angles and changing the place where little Han Solo and Princess Leia are.

Greg likes LEGOs, but he would have likely been a pretty shitty LEGOLAND employee. If he had actually asked his dad whom he had never met to buy him a set, he’s not sure he would have enjoyed it as much. “We should like, definitely try to build another one.”

But Tom isn’t looking at the ship anymore, he’s looking at Greg and there’s such adoration in his eyes that Greg starts to wonder if he would ever be able to look at someone like that. He liked LEGOs even before he actually had a set, and he liked Tom even before he actually realized he liked Tom. And maybe he will never be able to reach Tom’s level of devotion, maybe he will never be actually able to build a LEGO set all by himself. But he’s got Tom, and he’s willing to try.

They end up buying a glass case for the Millennium Falcon, they set it up right next to the TV in the living room. He snaps a picture of Tom next to their joint project and one of the ship by itself. Greg scrolls through his contacts and sends the latter to his mom.