The First Punch [t.h.]

Chapter 8 - Gasoline Meets Matches (18+)

He's warm, so warm he's like walking into a heated home after walking a few blocks in the peak of winter. Tom's safe like a radiator, keeping SJ from getting frostbite. His arms engulf her and her head is pressed against his chest allowing her to hear his heartbeat. Her eyes closed and the two stood in Tom's doorway. His hand came up and rubbed her back with a gentle grace, careful not to put too much pressure on her. She's so delicate against him.

It's an odd sensation for him, to think she's delicate. SJ shows that she's anything but. She lays out guys twice the size of her without even blinking. But, right now, in the moment with only the sound of rain echoing through the apartment, she's fragile like fine lace and Tom would do anything to preserve her. To protect her in every way, from anything he could. He's crazy about her and he doesn't even know why.

SJ picks her up, looking up to him before pressing her forehead against his chest. "C'mon," Tom starts. "Why don't we talk?" Tom asks and SJ looks back to him, nodding just once.

Tom finds a sense of security in the lack of gloss in her eyes and the singular nod. He'd guessed she's willing to talk and maybe that's all she needs, an outsider to listen to her. Sometimes, it's easier to tell people who aren't close to someone things rather than people one is close to. The fear of being judged isn't as present, the fear of being rejected can be better ignored, outsiders tend to have an unbiased opinion. Sometimes, it's just easier to speak and Tom hopes that this is the case.

SJ unwraps her arms from Tom and his soon follow, allowing her to start her walk into his bedroom. Tom's room is tidy, not even an article of clothing on the floor. Just like the kitchen and living room, windows, floor to ceiling, go across the furthest part of his room. Raindrops cascade down the windows reflecting from the city lights outside. A desk sits against the wall beside the windows, a nice place for good light. A decent sized closest is beside the black desk and his bed sits right in the middle and a black dresser matching the desk stands against the wall opposite the windows. His room is just...pleasing.

SJ takes a few steps inside, standing in front of the windows and beside the desk. "Do you normally sleep with your curtains open?" She asks, not looking behind her while Tom shuts the door.

"No," He scoffs with a gentle laugh. "Couldn't sleep." Tom walks up to the side of her, following her gaze. "So..." Tom takes a breath and glances to her. "Are you-"

"I don't wanna talk 'bout it." SJ cuts him off, shaking her head.

He feels safe but safe can be dangerous and SJ already knows she's messing with fire when it comes to him. She knows more of what he's involved with than he does. But, she does find the feeling eating at her, eating at her to just say something and based on the look on his face earlier that day when she called him out about Arthur, Tom is good at keeping secrets. He's good at keeping the ones that matter so SJ could talk to him and deep down she knows that but her walls are set fifteen feet in the air and a mote with raging crocodiles surrounds it. It's safe to stay quiet. The quieter she is, the less likely she'll get hurt, even if it's someone she feels safe with.