Work Text:
“Joy to the world, the Lord is come,” Thomas sang, hoping his tone conveyed that he wished the world the very opposite of joy.
Although he usually quite enjoyed Downton’s Christmas party, this year he happened to be positioned next to William for the carols, and the proximity made his voice obnoxiously clear above the rest of the chorus.
Thomas wasn’t sure if it would irritate him more or less if he wasn’t so bloody good.
William sang far more confidently than he ever spoke, and the fact that it was perfectly justified was maddening. His singing voice was deep and rich and warm, perfectly suited to the style of music. Thomas, much as it vexed him to concede that William of all people was better at something than him, could not imagine how it could be improved.
Objectively, of course.
Subjectively, it would be a thousand times improved if it stopped altogether.
He looked over to O’Brien for sympathy, but she only smirked in amusement at his frustration.
One day, Thomas swore to himself, he would burn this damn house down.
After the song ended, Thomas leaned towards William and murmured,
“Your singing’s horrible, you should work on it.”