Tiny - Tomatt

Release

Tom's eyes fluttered open, lethargically coming to... His head hurt. His stomach churned a bit. It took a moment for his sluggish mind to process his situation. He was staring with half lidded eyes at the ceiling above him. The bright... morning...? light filtered through the windows and reflected off the ceiling, stinging the back of his eyes.

Wait, what was he lying on...? Not his bed... If it were his bed, he'd have a pillow... Oh, right, the couch. He was on the couch. That's where he'd fallen asleep. One arm was hanging over the edge of the couch and the other one was draped over his stomach.

Wait.

His hand was over something. Something small and warm. It took Tom's sleepy and somewhat hungover brain a while to figure out what it was without looking. Oh. It must be Matt. He spent the night here, didn't he. But why is he on me? He felt the delicate, intermittent rising and falling movements of the tiny form under his hand.

Peeking down at the sleeping form his hand was covering. Yup. It was Matt, alright. And he was using Tom's thumb as a head rest, hugging Tom's finger like a stuffed animal. Tom smiled slightly. It's just like him to do that.

Tom turned his head to the side on the couch, feeling his spiky hair give way to the arm of the sofa. The large windows, with their curtains drawn widely open, let in enough morning sunlight to cause him to squint. But then his eyes landed on the table in front of him.

There lay three empty Smirnoff bottles.

Crap.

I got drunk, didn't I.

He looked down at Matt with refreshed eyes, growing increasingly horrified as he struggled to recall the events of the previous night, to remember if he'd done anything stupid or creepy.

Matt looked fine to him. He assumed the ginger probably wouldn't be so comfortable there if Tom had done anything bad to him. Oh, Drunk Tom, he thought anxiously, what did you do last night? It better not be anything stupid.

He turned his head and stared straight up again, not ready to get up. He occupied his eyes with finding shapes in the patterns of paint on the ceiling. So let's see what I can remember.

Okay. First of all, we went back to my place. I had a key... Somehow, I forget how I had it, but I did. We went in... I put Matt on the table. He nodded to himself in assurance. Then I got some Smirnoff. He looked over at the bottles. Three of them, apparently. And then, I... What did I do? He squinted his eyes as he strained his mind to reach into that moment of the night. But it wasn't happening.

Eh. I'll remember later. I probably have a bit of a hangover. From experience, he knew as he progressively woke up the night after getting drunk, he would eventually remember most of what happened, if not everything.

From his headache and only lightly churning stomach, he could tell his hangover wasn't very bad, so he knew that he didn't get horribly drunk. But it was still enough to irritate him.

He needed some pills for his headache, but he hated the idea of disturbing Matt. He now understood when Edd would ask Tom to bring him a cola when Ringo was on his lap.

Tom took a breath. "Hey, Matt," he whispered toward the tiny guy. His voice was raspy, his throat stung a bit from last night's alcohol. He cleared his throat. "Matt."

The form didn't make any movements besides his regular breathing pattern.

Tom sighed in slight annoyance and removed his hand from Matt, causing his head to fall and bounce off Tom's stomach. "Matt," he whispered once again. "Wake up, buddy."