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Jimmy realises, with a wide-awake kind of surprise, during a particularly dull breakfast, that he wouldn’t really mind if Thomas touched him, as long as no one can see. He thinks of Thomas’ long, nimble fingers tracing over his body, and he feels warmth, burning from deep within him. He thinks about holding Thomas’ hand alone in his room, about drawing patterns on his palm, about running his fingers through perfectly set hair, mussing it up. It’s peaceful, in a way, to accept how the feeling washes over him. He gets lost in these thoughts, almost misses the bells going off, and it’s only a kick to his shin from Thomas that saves him from Carson’s wrath. He manages the breakfast service, stuck on the mental image of Thomas embracing him, a dream already so well worn it is almost a memory.
It’s strange, he thinks, as he watches Thomas over the heads of the Crawleys at dinner, that these thoughts are so persistent. They’ve been with him all day, clinging to him like the awful dust in the attics clings to their uniforms, unshakable no matter what he has tried to get his mind off them. They are so stubbornly stuck in his mind that he can barely look at Thomas when they are back in the servants hall, the urge to touch and hold and not let go spreading like a cancer through every part of his body. There’s nothing for it, he decides, when they are playing a final set of cards in the deserted servants hall. He stretches, draping himself over the chair like a lazy cat, and makes sure his leg comes to rest firmly against Thomas’. There’s a look that Thomas gives him, just for a moment, that seems almost puzzled, but when Jimmy pretends not to notice, it passes.
It goes on.
The table in the servants hall is too narrow to really escape all physical contact, but Jimmy makes a conscious effort to move his leg to brush against Thomas’ at least once every morning and every night. He isn’t quite sure why he does it, but he knows when he doesn’t, just for a morning, he can’t think of anything else all day. He has to be careful too. Not just for the others, he is fairly certain none of them would ever notice, unobservant as they are, but for himself and Thomas. He’s given Thomas the wrong idea once, and it wouldn’t be fair to do it again. He will never be in love with Thomas, will never be able to give him what he truly wants and as much as Jimmy knows himself too well to claim that he is not a cruel man on occasion, he doesn’t want to be cruel to Thomas.
It’s easy to reach out and steady Thomas’ hand when he lights Jimmy’s cigarette, almost automatic. It’s not much, barely a brush of their fingers, but Thomas has been away in London for 6 nights, and Jimmy is half mad with the lack of their usual routine. Thomas has come back with stories and a new magazine for Jimmy, the kind from America that you can only get in London, so Jimmy can almost forgive him, once he manages to shuffle close to him when they are reading it together in the evening. In the end, it’s Thomas’ lingering smell in his bedroom, of soap, sleep, and smoke that ultimately allows him to settle and get the first proper night’s sleep all week.
Their half days always line up now because Thomas has made sure that they do, and Jimmy finds that it is much more fun to see a movie or visit a new pub if it is with Thomas. He catches himself earmarking features he thinks Thomas will like, and when someone mentions a new bookstore in York, he makes a note to drag Thomas there the next time they have the opportunity, which turns out to only be 2 weeks away. It is peaceful, and it is easy to lean into Thomas when they are walking home from the pub, pressing his whole body against him under the guise of alcohol. Thomas accepts it, with nary a questioning look at this point, and Jimmy is grateful for it because he doesn’t know what he would do if Thomas asked him to stop. He is not sure he can stop, he thinks, one evening as he finds himself running his fingers along Thomas’ bare hand, gently massaging the scarring that stretches all over it.
Jimmy thinks of spending the rest of his life with Thomas, getting a cottage by the seaside because he knows Thomas likes the sound of the waves, or a flat above a little shop, where they could sell books or clocks. He rests his body against Thomas’ when they’re drinking together in the evenings, cheats at cards but lets Thomas win sometimes nonetheless because otherwise he might say no one day when Jimmy asks, plays him Chopin on the piano. He finds he doesn’t like the idea of Thomas finding someone else to love. There’s a man at the pub one time, and Jimmy drags Thomas out of there before they can do more than exchange looks. It’s much too dangerous a situation for Thomas to be in; it has Jimmy’s heart beating fast enough to choke the air out of him, and he stays close to Thomas, an arm around him, all the way home, just so no one gets the wrong idea.
Jimmy has never been in love, but from the way Thomas looks at him, it must be a world of pain. And Jimmy is so sorry for it because when he looks at Thomas, thinks of Thomas, he feels joy and happiness and hope. And here is Thomas, burdened by such an awful feeling.
Sometimes he looks so despairing that Jimmy has to reach out for him, even if they are in the servants hall, and a few times when they’d been upstairs. He’s going to get them in trouble, has done his share of polishing silver for pretending to trip and holding onto Thomas for a bit too long, but he doesn’t mind.
Thomas doesn’t seem to mind either, other than the way he gets sad sometimes. Jimmy knows the others can tell though, from the way Anna’s eyes follow him across the room when he goes to take his seat next to Thomas, always next to Thomas. Mrs Hughes is less obvious about it, but he catches her a few times when they play cards in the evenings, and Jimmy lets his hand linger for a moment when passing over a hand of cards. Worst of all, though, is Alfred, Jimmy realises one evening, when Thomas has made them both some tea and Jimmy has managed to charm some biscuits off Ivy. He knows he is not meant to overhear, but he can make out Alfred muttering his name and tunes in before he can help it.
“I’m not sure why he’s bothering with Ivy at all, it seems he’s well happy taking it up the arse-”
Jimmy can’t remember the rest of the sentence, can just about remember himself barely landing a punch on Alfred’s stunned face before Thomas is dragging him away, swearing the whole way. It’s a disaster, it truly is and Jimmy is half expecting to be dismissed the next day, to be told to pack his bags and go off to never see Thomas or hear from him again, because Jimmy writes lousy letters and Thomas needs a friend right here, not one shunned however far away Jimmy will have to go if Carson doesn’t give him a reference. He doesn’t sleep, half surprised that Thomas doesn’t come to see him, to admonish him or offer comfort, but by the time 4 am comes around, he almost considers packing his bags now to save himself the shame of doing it while the others are awake. He resists, just barely and gets up when the hall boys knock at 6 am. It feels ridiculous to put on his uniform when he knows he’ll be returning it so soon, but he thinks he would feel worse facing Carson without it. Thomas waits outside his door and before Jimmy can say a word, or indeed have a proper thought he says ‘It’s all settled’ and Jimmy doesn’t know how he’s managed it, doesn’t dare to question it, but no one has said a word, not Alfred with the bruise on his cheek, not the hall boy that Jimmy remembers the sentiment being uttered to, nor Ivy, who he knows saw him dragged off. It’s a miracle, it truly is, but when he presses his leg against Thomas’ and tries to communicate his gratitude silently, Thomas moves away and won’t meet his eye.
It lasts all of a week before Jimmy breaks, makes his way to Thomas’ room uninvited, and starts sobbing into his arms when words fail him. And so the last line is crossed, and the dam breaks.
Thomas touches him now, gently and never when people can see, but he does, lets his hand linger on Jimmy’s back, runs his fingers down his arm until they come to rest at his hand, never quite grasping it, just resting, palm up, almost like an afterthought until Jimmy grabs for it and interlinks their fingers. Thomas likes it when he does it, Jimmy knows, but he doesn’t ask for it, just leaves his hand there, an open invitation that Jimmy accepts every single time because he enjoys it and it makes Thomas smile.
Late one evening when they are laying on Thomas' bed, Thomas with his back to the wall, feet hanging off the side and Jimmy with his head in his lap while Thomas runs his fingers through the golden curls, Thomas gets the same look on his face again that he sometimes has, far away and sad.
“One day,” Jimmy says, more to get Thomas' attention than anything else, “when we have our own flat, you won’t get to send me off to some other bed anymore. I’ll make you pet my hair like this all night.” It is, of course, impractical, Thomas is still mostly sitting and Jimmy knows his own feet are set at an uncomfortable angle for lack of space. He turns to look up at Thomas, to see his face as he tells Jimmy off for his ridiculous notion of sleeping like this, but instead finds a wholly different expression on Thomas’ face. He looks almost in awe, as if Jimmy had said something much more profound than his simple, childish demand. Before he can ask though, Thomas nods gently, as if deep in thought, eyes shining with something that Jimmy can’t quite understand, a soft smile on his lips. His hands resume their gentle motions in Jimmy’s hair and despite himself, and Thomas insistence that he return to his room, just minutes earlier, neither of them mention leaving as Jimmy drifts off to sleep, feeling happy and indescribably loved.