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They moved into Peter's house in London. Luckily, he always preferred to live in the big city, where it wasn't hard to buy an apartment and nobody knew anyone, which meant he wouldn't have to explain to too many people why Tom was moving in. Unluckily, the fact that he had his own place made it harder to justify Tom moving in if anyone did ever ask.
When he showed Tom the bedroom, the blonde man froze, probably trying to figure out what to make of the one double bed that was lying there. The truth was, ever since Peter was a child he always wanted a double bed all for himself, but he realized that this probably wasn't how this looked like to Tom.
Tom swallowed nervously. "Did you... Use to live with someone else here?" He gestured towards the bed. "Or do you still-"
"Nah," Peter cut him off. "I just like having lots of space." But then he realized the question that hasn't been asked. "You... You can sleep here too, there's enough space for the two of us."
Tom let out a nervous chuckle. "I mean, it's not like we haven't done more than sharing a bed already."
on the boat, before Meredith appeared, before... "indeed," he said out loud. Then, realizing Tom might get the wrong impression from this, added, "although I do think we might need some time before trying something like that... Again, if you get where I'm coming from."
Tom looked hurt, but swallowed and nodded.
Peter rest a hand on his shoulder. It felt desperate, like he had to do something to prove to Tom that he doesn't hate him. He knew that Dickie and Freddie were circumstantial, that Tom was not actually going to do something like this again here, but he couldn't calm down the part of his mind that was screaming non-stop that he was inviting a killer into his bed, and that getting to this point was the only natural outcome that could come out of the way he chose to live his life.
"It's gonna be alright, Tom. We're gonna be alright."
~~~~~
The next morning, Peter found himself shaken out of sleep by Tom.
Once he opened his eyes, Tom moved back. "I'm sorry. Just saw you turning in your sleep, and thought you might having a..."
nightmare. So that's why his heart was racing.
Peter tried to remember anything, bring up any detail from the dream he just woke out of, and all he could find was...
Tom is crushing me... Tom is crushing me... Tom, you're crushing-
(the stripe tightening around his neck, being able to breath less and less, the sound of Tom's sobbing behind him-)
He nodded. "I was. Thank you."
Tom looked down. He was probably able to put together what this was all about. "Can I... Would it help if I made you, like, a cup of tea, or-" he stopped mid-sentence, then restarted. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Peter closed his eyes, trying to get his thoughts in line. "...a cup of tea would be nice, thanks."
Tom quickly got up and went to the kitchen. Peter could hear him moving stuff around. After about two minutes later he came back, with a cup of milked-up, sweet-smelling green tea. Just like the one Peter ordered when they were at this tiny cafe...
Peter took the cup out of Tom's hand, and sipped it experimentally. It tasted perfect.
Tom was sitting on the side of the bed, not looking at his face, as Peter drank the tea and let the warm, sweet milk calm down a part of him.
Peter finished the drink, and placed the empty cup on his nightstand. Tom reached to pick it up, and Peter raised a hand. "You don't have to, I can do it later-"
Tom turned to look at him, and the pain in his eyes made Peter's stomach tie itself in knots. "You don't... You know you don't have to keep me here, right?"
Peter swallowed. "I know I don't have to. I want to."
Tom got up, a desperate look in his eyes. "But why? What reason in the world do you have, to keep me here, after everything I've-"
"Because it's either you or them, alright?"
The two of them froze, as the words echoed through the room.
Peter continued. "It's either you or Dickie and Freddie. I can either side with the one person I ever felt actually understood me, or with the two dipshits that argued in the kitchen for half an hour about whether or not they should put me in prison once they found out what I am." Even in this space, it felt oddly inappropriate to talk about it that openly. "It's not even a question. And I know you didn't want to do this, I know you only did this when you were pushed into a corner, I-" he rubbed his face in one hand. "If I have to choose, I choose you."
For a moment, they just sat there. Then Tom leaned forward. "Can I... Can I hug you? It's okay if you don't-"
Instead of answering, Peter wrapped his arms around Tom, pulling him closer, holding him tight.
They just stayed like that, for a minute or so.
They were in this together now.
~~~~~
They had a piano in the house.
Tom knew, without Peter having to say anything, that going outside on his own was suboptimal, so he spent most of his time indoors either working out (you cannot maintain a body like that on music and wits, can you?) or playing the piano.
Sometimes Peter would just go about his day, with Tom's music in the background. Sometimes he would listen. The melodies often sounded sad, hunted even. When Peter was outside, he could often hear Tom playing jazz, but usually switching to classical once Peter came in. He chose not to tell Tom he can hear him playing from outside the house.
He really was talented on the piano.
~~~~~
The first time when Tom went outside on his own, it was about a month after the two moved in, and Peter freaked out.
He almost ran to an unspecified outside in panic when he noticed the note Tom left on the table- we were out of milk, so I went out to get some more. He then ran to the grocery store in slightly more measured panic.
When he arrived, Tom was in the process of collecting a shopping bag, which had in it, Peter noticed, very much not only milk. He couldn't see everything in there, but he could see coffee, a pack of toilet paper and an extra bottle of dish soap.
Peter approached Tom when he was already at the counter, paying for his stuff. Tom seemed to be engaged in some intense conversation with the woman going over the products one by one, and seemingly dazzling her.
Peter tapped Tom on the shoulder. "Tom?"
Tom turned to him, and panic flashed over his face for a moment. "Hi, Peter."
Peter turned towards the woman. "Sorry, this is my friend Tom, he's new here, so I went to check on him-"
The woman raised both of her eyebrows. "Thought your name was Jeremy?" she asked Tom.
Tom turned his eyes towards Peter, expression completely blank.
Peter gave him the deadliest look he could conjure.
Eventually, Tom coughed and turned back towards the woman. "Nah, it's- it's Tom. I just like telling people it's Jeremy sometimes."
On the way back home, Peter didn't say anything, and Tom seemed to understand what that meant and didn't either. Only as the two started unpacking the groceries, Peter suddenly broke the silence.
"Why did you do this?" He asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
Tom flinched. "I- I just wanted to- I just wanted to feel the rush of it. I'm sorry."
"Are you? Or are you just sorry that I caught you?" This came out a bit more sharply than Peter intended, and Tom flinched again.
"... I'm sorry that you're upset now, and I'm sorry that I caused it," he said, after a long moment. "Does that amount to anything?"
Peter turned that in his mind back and forth for a few seconds.
"It does," he answered eventually. "Just- can you promise to never do this again?"
Tom nodded. "I can, and- and I will, but- was that really all that-"
"No," Peter cut him off. "It wasn't all that bad, on its own. But getting used to that sort of thing is what put you in webs of lies that you had to literally kill to get out of, so just-" he exhaled. "Can you please stop doing that sort of thing? If not for any other reason, then for me."
Tom nodded quickly. "Of course. I'll do anything for you."
And oddly enough, Peter believed him.
~~~~~
The two of them often went to play the piano for money.
Peter invited Tom to a bunch of concerts where he played classical, and Tom did seem genuinely enchanted by this, smiling one of those smiles that made Peter fall in love with him all over again.
Tom, on the other hand, went to clubs to play jazz. He agreed to let Peter join, but did seem ashamed of it, as if this was some kind of unfortunate character flaw of his. When Peter confronted him about this, he shrugged it off and said that people who like classical usually aren't into jazz. Peter didn't know what to answer to that. Tom's music was beautiful in every genre, but it was deeper than that.
"Are you trying to perfect your image in my eyes about that?" Peter asked him. "Are you trying to just... Lock it all in the basement?"
Tom swallowed. "I... I suppose?"
The crooked smile on his face made Peter want to kiss him. But then he remembered why Tom was caring so much about perfecting his image in Peter's eyes and it was this tiny bit too much, so he just pulled him into a hug instead.
"You play amazing. Don't forget that."
~~~~~
A few weeks later, Tom brought home a bottle of wine.
Peter turned towards him, his eyebrows raised. "You want to get drunk together?"
Tom shrugged. "Or you can get drunk on your own. I just... Wanted to give you something, I suppose."
Peter considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "Grab yourself a glass, then."
One bottle later, the two of them were giggling like morons over word association. Neither of them was very good at handling alcohol.
"So, beans...." Tom said, his speech clumsy, "are like bringing something, they sound the same. And if you bring the beans..." He chuckled. "Then it sounds funny."
Peter laughed, whole-heartedly. "Why yes- it- is!" He exclaimed, then placed his hand on Tom's knee. "You know, I'm sorry I was so... Cold, to you. It must have been really weird, and... Hurtful, I suppose."
Tom tilted his head, then leaned over and put his hand on Peter's, keeping it on his knee. "Apology accepted," he whispered conspiratorially, then leaned back in his seat, still trying to hold Peter's hand in place. "Besides, if I was gonna get mad at you for getting mad at me, or not forgiving me, or, I donno, hating me and just feeling too bad to leave me alone," he giggled as if the very idea of it was funny, "I wouldn't have told you I killed them in the first place, would I? I'd just..." He pantomimed with his free hand a tiny man walking, then jumping off something really high. "...Weeeeeee! Off the ship."
That flickered through Peter's mental fog. "You... You'd kill yourself?"
Tom chuckled again, the side of his mouth curling up in a disturbing way. "If you would have rejected me? Of course." His eyes then widened, and he pulled his hand off Peter as if burned and shot back in his chair. "Please don't scare- don't let this scare you, okay? I'm sorry. I didn't mean this. I'm not gonna do creepy stuff if you don't want me to, okay?"
Peter petted his head, and Tom sunk into the chair. He then studied Peter in his eyes for a few seconds, then leaned back forward and planted a kiss right on Peter's lips.
He then quickly pulled back. "Oh God. I'm sorry. I forgot to ask if you're alright with-"
Peter laughed. "C'mon, Tom. Of course I'm alright with this." He tried to pull Tom in again, but Tom pulled away and got up from his seat, and started making his way to the bedroom. "Sorry, no way," he said as he was walking. "If we did anything, you'd wake up together, and I'd- I'd lose points. You wouldn't love me anymore."
~~~~~
The next morning, Peter's head was a mess.
Tom accepted that Peter only barely tolerates him. Tom would've killed himself if not for being at peace with this very idea. Tom didn't want to get too close because his fear that Peter would blame him for that was stronger than the alcohol.
This made Peter feel a mixture of so many things, the realization that Tom is now working on the assumption that giving Peter everything he has, forever, is the price to pay for his crimes, the only thing left to do, because Peter couldn't love him, and had so much to lose.
But Peter did love him, and had nothing left to lose anymore.
Peter found himself making his way towards the bedroom, where Tom seemed to be turning around in his sleep, probably having a nightmare. Peter grabbed him by the shoulder, and gently shook Tom until he woke up- this became something of a tradition between the two of them.
Tom woke up, rubbing his eyes. "Thanks," he said, and then yawned. "It was pretty bad-"
And before Peter could think about this too much, he took Tom's face in his hands and kissed him. After a moment, Tom was kissing him back.
Screw the past. Screw fear. Tom cared about him now, and Peter has already made his choices.
~~~~~
They were closer to each other after that. Tom started going outside more, and as far as Peter could tell, he wasn't giving people false identities anymore. He was playing more jazz indoors. He actually seemed excited to invite Peter to some of his shows.
He would cuddle up to him at night, often humming some melody that Peter recognized to make him smile. And Peter often wondered, was all that just to make him happy? Because Tom still had nightmares, still looked haunted when he thought Peter can't see, still seemed utterly obsessed with things Peter couldn't even tell apart- sitting and writing pages worth of things Peter didn't dare look at only to throw them into the fire once he finishes, still spending hours a day exercising even though Peter was the only person left who could see his body, sometimes hitting his hand against walls or tables while murmuring things to himself that Peter couldn't comprehend.
But Tom seemed happy when he was with him. And Peter felt surprisingly happy in that too- waking each other out of nightmares, listening to each other's music, giving each other whichever comfort they had to give in the eye of the storm, all that somehow felt like more than anything he ever had. Like, for the very first time, he wasn't alone anymore. Because Tom was here for him.
They were in this together. Forever.