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Tamsy took pride in his hair, keeping a strict routine to maintain it. And making sure that grubby hands (see: Enjin) stay away from it. So, it made him wonder as to how exactly you had not only gotten into his room—his personal space, but also gotten his head in your lap.
How long had it been since someone other than himself had run a brush through his hair? Gently undoing each and every knot and tangle? Who hummed a tune that pulled at something nestled deep within his memories?
He felt like a child.
He had never felt like a child…or at least, he couldn’t remember feeling like a child.
Honestly, he didn't like what feelings that dredged up, but he couldn’t be bothered to remove himself from such bliss.
What could he say? He was selfish.
Pale eyes fluttered open to find your own closed, a soft smile gracing your features with the sunlight from his window.
You were beautiful.
Objectively, of course, but…this felt…different. It wasn’t just your physical self that caught his attention, but you yourself. It was a concept that he wasn’t truly ready to delve into. To toy with thoughts and scenarios that went beyond the song and dance the two of you played. A game of cat and mouse that never strayed further than that. Never crossed the line into some less playful, and more serious. Something with an actual label attached to it.
"Sounds like my angel is thinking pretty hard." Your voice cut through his thoughts.
He was glad that your hands were in his hair and not on his face because he couldn't keep himself from flushing. He rolled his eyes at his own lameness.
Sighing, he answered. “Not it all. I’m just enjoying the moment.”
"Sure, sure..." You paused, then asked. "You thinkin’ bout what to call us?"
He froze, then smirked. You were entirely too perceptive for your own good. And, unfortunately, he had already confirmed your suspicions by freezing up like a damn idiot.
What was wrong with him today? He was better than this.
He pulled himself up, showing you his back (needing to put up some kind of wall between the two of you). Your hand was there immediately, however, completely disregarding his weak attempt at closing you off.
“We don’t have to name it if you don’t want to.” you began, “but I’m sure you know exactly how I feel about you.”
His eyes slid close as his body leaned forward. Elbows on his knees and head in his hands. You followed.
“And that’s exactly what confuses me—how easily you lay yourself bare to me. Someone who you know is nothing more than an actor.” More threatened to spill from his lips, but he snapped his jaw shut tight.
He had already said enough, anymore, and he wouldn’t have any control of what floated to the surface.
You and him.
You as a concept.
Him as a child.
And a warmth he hasn’t felt since he was a babe.
“Tamsy.” Then suddenly, a warmth did envelop him. Your warmth. “Thank you for letting me in like this…even if it’s just a little”
"I love you."
He could hear it, those unspoken worse echoed thought his head, consuming his entire being. Such a soft feeling. It was like the sun. Something that was so constant that it was boring, but when you stopped to bask in its rays, it was rejuvenating.
He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. “Well, of course, I trust you with this.”
"I love you too."
He couldn’t say it aloud, but if he could also convey that feeling back to you, then he would.