Thawed - ToMatt

9

"Oh - um..."

"Mom."

Tom now had the door in his hand, his bare chest against Matt's back. Matt withheld any quick movements or facial expression. Dear God, was he embarrassed. He slowly moved, going under Tom's arm to escape the heavy tension between the two. He watched as he leaned on the door. Two pairs of dark, squinted eyes staring each other like prey.

Snow fell behind his mother, chilled wind even crept its way into his warm comfort zone. She was dressed in a knitted sweater and a light fur coat. One hand holding the coat and he other to the side- holding something?

"Who is that?" His mother inquired, completely ignorant of his blunt greeting. "Why are you here?" Tom shot back without skipping a beat. "Well, I stopped by the coffee shop and decided since I was here - to drop off your check from us."

Tom's throat went a little tight. He never wanted Matt to know this, especially since the boy has always been working his ass off. His parents still paid for him. All his bills, expenses, gas, even insurances. They would mail him a considerable check every few months to take care of any financial worry he would ever have. They still cared, but grew impatient by every stamp. It seemed like the numbers above the signature got smaller and smaller.

Tom's mother held out her petite, fragile hand. A single envelope was neatly tucked between her fingers. He carefully took it. "Thank you." She only studied him, not even looking towards Matt. Her dark eyes stared deep into his. "Where's my boy that wanted to lead a normal life?" Tom only stared at her. This shouldn't be happening, now of all times.

"If you wanted it, why are you here now, in a desolate town with nothing but a few cheap beer joints, a lousy coffee shop, and a fast food chain? You stay inside all day and barely use your car, wasting the money that's for it on alcohol. Thomas, I raised you so much better than that."

All he could do was stare. She was half right. He was a lonely man and never did anything but drink and stare out the window, but she raised him awfully. Pushing him into a private school as soon as he could talk, isolating him from any type of friends that seemed "bad" for him. Waking up at seven on the dot every Sunday, not leaving until the hot afternoon, always being drug to "Brother so-and-so" for help, even for private meetings. All those years of being forced to clasp hands and say empty words at the table or even in a fancy chair in front of stained glass; nothing ever felt right and nothing ever helped. He just wished he had the strength to get out and talk to someone, to be someone, to have confidence in himself - but he was always so drained. Matt was the only one who ever stopped by, made sure he was okay. He was the only one who ever cared enough.

"And even though I've tried and tried picking out women for you, you still find a way to sin. You know what's right and what's wrong. You've learned everything about a man and a woman, but instead you're sleeping with him? Establishing a relationship with this guy?"

Tom's eyes went wide. A pit formed in his stomach and his heart pounded. He felt a knot form in his throat and forced hot tears back. He didn't know what to say, what do to. That wasn't the truth, and that wasn't going to happen ever. He took a chance and yelled in a raspy voice, "I am not sleeping with him and I am not gay! Go to hell!" He slammed the door in her face and immediately began to shake. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't hear. He couldn't see. He couldn't think. He couldn't feel anything except guilt. Tom watched his hands shake as he held them to his face.

Tom was pushed back against the door briskly. Arms wrapped around him, fluffy hair tickled his face, the warm scent he craved every day filled his nostrils, and the warmth... the warmth of another pressed against him. He still felt cold, even if the warmth confined him.

Matt had hugged him so hard he was thrown back against the door. Tom was now sobbing into his shoulder, unknowing of his current actions and everything around him. He only repeated a single phrase while the ginger did his best to comfort him:
I'm sorry.