#◤ ♚. ❝ heaven knows i ain't getting over you — proofwhisky / tommy. ◢

[joshosis]

i wish you had come to me sooner.

【 CSI PROMPTS 】 //  open !

❛ yeah, well... can't always get what ya want, ❜ josh slurs, swiftly tugging the sheets up to his chin. he fails to conceal a shiver, feverishly sweaty despite the chills running through his body. under the blanket, his legs jerk, squirm briefly, but it does nothing to ease his discomfort. it seems nothing will.

in a brief flutter, his gaze rises to meet tommy's. the circles under his eyes betray his lack of sleep. still, josh musters a faint smirk, comforted merely by the sight of him. he wrestles a hand out of the tangle of sheets and grasps at tommy's sleeve. firm contact; a reminder of their existence. it grounds him. ❛ 'm here now, aren't i? ❜

[joshosis]

he's caught by unprecedented force, hands that ring familiar in their warmth, yet not in their strength. josh is struck by the sheer, solid power of thomas's hold, so surprised he almost forgets to fight back. it's a tantalizing refusal, clear desire that josh has only dreamt of, pathetically, for years. in his obsessive fantasies.

his breath catches in his throat and he automatically grasps at tommy's arms, jaw tensing, eyes sharp. it's difficult to get his words out.

the cynic in josh is collapsing in on himself, partly convinced he's yet again lost himself to delirium, the other part of him otherwise willing, eager, to fall back into that insanity. perhaps it's okay, if it means he can be with tommy again. his desperation is pathetic. he knows this, is repulsed by it. but he's long resigned himself to that kind of life.

he's never been good at making responsible decisions.

with a deep intake of breath, josh falls into those pale eyes. ❛ or what? ❜ he utters lowly, leaning in. looking for trouble, like always. but--- regardless of the thrill he feels, he can't help but be perplexed. what is this the result of--- a change of heart? a prank? did someone put him up to this?

or has thomas merely become bored?

❛ why shouldn't i go? ❜

josh's eyes trail down thomas's face, lingering on his lips. his stare betrays itself. even as his words are meant to cut and slice, the thought of losing tommy again is agony. just being in front of him again is addictive, his mere presence filling josh with turbulent emotions but, more than anything, a sense of life.

❛ you didn't seem too keen on sticking around, yourself, if i'm remembering correctly... ❜ he pulls an arm free and reaches to prod at tommy's forehead, words slurred in a quiet drawl. ❛ what... didja hit your head again? ❜

THOMAS HAS ALWAYS BEEN SO QUICK to let himself forget the feeling of having another human being in his arms that he is able to fool himself into thinking he can live without it. Perhaps this is because it would be far too painful to let himself remember the way Josh's chest feels against his own; the way their hearts beat in time with each other; the warmth of Josh's hands against the strong muscles of Tommy's back; the scent of him. To let himself remember is to let himself wither and die like a flower without the sun.

When the other man melts into his arms, Tommy lets his grip grow tighter, turning his head to bury his face into the crook of Josh's neck & finally allowing himself to bask in all of the sensations the other man's body has to offer: its warmth; its scent; the softness of his clothes; the familiar shape of his torso; the way the two of them seem to fit together so seamlessly, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

When Joshua begins to withdraw from him again it takes all of his willpower & strength not to tighten his grip and force him to stay there forever, until both of them run out of strength & collapse onto the polished hardwood floor. He just drops his arms from around Josh's ribcage, letting them slip downwards, lazily resting on his waist instead.

Looking at Josh's face again for the first time in three years, Tommy finds himself completely unable ( & unwilling ) to look away.

"Josh," he whispers, the sound nearly lost in the exhale of breath that comes along with it. "It's Birmingham. I live here. This is my pub."

As he speaks & falls back into the routine of conversation with the love of his life the one person he's ever been able to trust, he realizes that he is not going to spend another moment apart from him. It must be fate, that's led Josh to this country, this city, this pub. Tommy is not a religious man, but he does believe in fate & luck; he does not believe in coincidence.

This time, when Josh tries to withdraw from his embrace, he refuses to let him go.

"No."

Tommy realizes that he now possesses an amount of strength that Josh had not ever known him to possess before. The man that he'd met in the hospital had been thin, haggard, aged with pain. Weak. The man that stands before him now is everything but. He'd gained back his muscle mass. The color had returned to his face. Thomas no longer looks like a dead man walking; instead, he looks completely & utterly alive.

"Don't you dare," he says lowly.

[joshosis]

【 PLOTTED 】 // @proofwhisky

❛ guess they can't exactly have you doing goat yoga in that, ❜ josh nods callously at the man's wheelchair, his gaze wandering from the wheels to his face. josh doesn't know where his rage comes from. most of the time, he feels empty. he doesn't have anything to fill the gaping hole left by his sisters.

the facility itself is pleasant; it's meant as a place of luxury, a place for people to obtain the finest treatment. the kind of place where they push all manner of frilly activities, like painting and spa sessions.

he hates it.

❛ i dunno... ❜ he picks restlessly at his overly-cushioned wicker chair. ❛ guess you wouldn't be much good at balancing, anyway. ❜ gaze lifting, josh raises a hand and taps at his own forehead.

[joshosis]

the din surrounding them -- all the shock and outrage -- is nothing more than a distant buzz to josh, an incomprehensible murmur lurking beneath his tipsy, delirious cognizance. zeroed in on thomas, his surroundings warp and blur. all he sees is that damned face. but as tears suddenly well in the man's eyes, josh feels himself go numb. his anger wavers, like a match flame. the others tear him away with ease, in his state of shock, but the physical act of grabbing him lurches him into yet another rage-induced frenzy. ❛ don't TOUCH me -- !! ❜ angry though josh may be, he's currently too uncoordinated to escape their hold, left to squirm and shout in vain, snapping at any fingers that go too close to his mouth.

it would be shame - inducing, if only he gave a damn about what anyone else thought of him.

hastily deposited into privacy, josh, shaken, slumps against the wood-paneling. he can hear the door lock. the click jumpstarts his heart, igniting his imagination. his eyes remain pinned on thomas like a cornered animal, and as the man approaches, he visibly bristles, hands raising to bat him away. ❛ the fuck you think you're--- ❜

but the embrace is unavoidable and hits him like a punch. josh slumps rigidly against him, hastily reaching, before he can even realize, to clutch back at him after a half-hearted thump against his back. desperate. ❛ fuck--- tommy-- ... ❜ already, his voice is reduced to a croak, cheek pressed into the crook of thomas's neck. it comes too naturally to him.

with a great, wavering inhale, he tugs at the back of thomas's jacket. he's locked in, unable to let go. if he does, he might never see tommy again. for a long moment, josh merely clings to him, struck by how warm and solid he is. how real he feels. then, gradually, he allows himself to pull back--- just enough to look at his face. those familiar contours. he looks good. ❛ what're you doing here..? i didn't... ❜

didn't think i'd ever see you again.

with a sharp sniff, josh abruptly, half - heartedly tries to pull back, ❛ i'll get outta your hair. ❜ i'm not wanted here, his thoughts cry, self - piteously. nothing more than a miserable last attempt to jab back at him, not to remove himself, really, but to wallow in his grief.

THE SHARDS OF GLASS CRUNCH beneath Josh's furious strides. Tommy holds up his hands in a gesture of peace, as if that will change any of the ( valid ) reasons there are for the white hot anger that burns through the self-control of the other.

When Josh lurches forward to grab Thomas, several patrons in the bar leap to their feet with the intention of stopping him, or they raise their voices to shout some version of, you stay away from him ! Or, look out, Mr. Shelby !

Tommy has to placate them as Josh all but throws him to the ground, screaming in a voice so broken that Tommy wants to take the nearest weapon & use it to end his own life. Hearing that sound again is bad enough on its own; knowing that he himself is the cause of it is absolutely unbearable.

" Josh, " he cuts in when he can. " Josh, please- "

I needed you !

The eyes of dozens of people are all trained on the two of them, standing in the middle of the crowded pub & causing a scene. Everyone there knows who Thomas Shelby is; they know what he does, know exactly why it is that a handful of perfect strangers are willing to potentially risk their lives for him. They do not hold the same level of respect for Joshua.

Which, of course, means that they are all far too focused on the stranger in the pub than they are on Thomas when his heart, which had previously been held together with the weak glue of artificial happiness, shatters back into the hundreds of sharp pieces it had been in when he'd arrived home from the hospital all those years ago. They're too focused on Josh and his outrage to see the agony on Tommy's face, or the tears that spill down his cheeks.

He's grateful for it, able to quickly wipe his face with the back of his hand before he nods to two tall, sturdy-looking men waiting nearby with concerned expressions.

" Lovelock. Scudboat. Get him in the snug. "

The two men nod and make their way over to Joshua, gripping him tight by the biceps & nearly lifting him off the ground. They struggle to get him into the little closed-off alcove of the pub while Tommy opens the door & kicks his brothers out.

The only noise in the pub is that of the struggle between the two thugs & their unfortunate victim. Soon enough they have him past the threshold & shove him inside. Tommy follows & shuts & locks the door behind them.

Almost immediately, the lively din of the pub fades back into earshot, their little episode of drama now out of sight.

Tommy reaches out for Josh like he's going to fucking strangle him, then pulls him in for a tight, desperate embrace; clinging to him like the rest of the world may fall away were he ever to let go.

[joshosis]

thomas shelby no longer exists in josh's mind.

at least, that's what he tells himself, insists, desperately, in vain. no--- the man has morphed into a ghost, a wretched specter lingering at the edge of josh's vision, no matter where he looks or what he takes. he's a figment that haunts his dreams without any right.

josh has never been good at getting over things, people. his mind simply doesn't let him, and his coping habits seal the deal. he just can't remember the last time anyone made him as happy as tommy had. the mere thought of it has become sickening, with time. so he numbs himself out with his meds, and when that isn't enough, which it often isn't, he turns to other substances. other distractions.

it's becoming a bit of a habit.

when he was sent to yet another facility shortly after the prank, josh, deeply deluded, kept looking out, scanning, wondering if he might see that face again. at first it was out of genuine, misguided hope, fueled entirely by instability. he didn't have it in him to cut off his feelings. tommy was the only person who really understood him. all of his rage--- and the sorrow that came with it. then, as josh painstakingly began to stabilize, he came to realize how stupid it was of him.

but it hadn't made that feeling go away. the false anticipation. not hope anymore; he's given up on that. no, it's worse: an ache, chronic pain. like his sisters.

what haunts him most of all is the eternal question -- why? why did he leave? why didn't he say goodbye? did josh disgust him that much? he hadn't seen any signs. nothing to indicate growing disinterest. but, these days, josh has had most ties severed against his will. so maybe he deserved it.

he goes back to the uk in an act of self-hatred, like another nail in the coffin; go, be reminded of him, and leave empty-handed and aching. it's almost funny. the alcohol and drugs help blast his thoughts away, and money helps get him most of what he wants, but the company is never quite right, and those thoughts always come back when he's at his most vulnerable.

still, josh puts on a show. he's always been good at faking it.

british pub culture proves to be the perfect recipe for keeping the edge off. josh finds himself in the garrison with no awareness of its ownership, only a vague idea of its popularity. it's the sharp shattering of glass that jerks him rudely from his conversation, gaze turning with the intention of only briefly gawking. what he finds makes his stomach turn.

he's convinced he's hallucinating. it's him. the impossibility.

at a standstill, josh gazes dumbly at him, hand frozen around his drink. he can feel the sensation leaving his limbs. thomas looks better than ever, healthy, but he isn't given time to process the thought. his feet carry him forward, and before josh can realize what he's doing, he's already launched himself at thomas, hands grasping at his jacket partly to shake him, partly just to see how it feels.

this isn't happening.

❛ fuck off--- ❜ all too swiftly, josh's breath has run short, eyes wide, nearly panicked, if it weren't for his pure rage he's emanating. he can't make sense of his emotions, left instead to grapple with tommy, as if doing so might make up for the years he's spent reaching out for him. ❛ you left me-- ❜ you're not real. ❛ i-- i NEEDED you, and you fucking LEFT me !! ❜

@joshosis gets a starter they didn't ask for.

ENOUGH COCAINE AND WHISKY to bring down a racehorse has only proven to be about 80% effective when it comes to erasing the memories of Joshua Washington from Thomas's mind. On good days he's able to go multiple hours, even an entire afternoon, without encountering something that inevitably calls the delicate lines of Josh's face to the surface of the murky waters that cover the majority of Tommy's psyche; without stumbling across some small, completely benign scent or sight or sound that sends him straight back to London three years ago.

Most of the time, though, Thomas wakes from his never ending nightmares with a gasp & a jolt & has to wait for reality to drape itself over him like a lace canopy dropped from a great height. Then his thoughts inevitably drift to those same memories he so desperately tries to ignore, to erase, to blot out or burn through with drugs & alcohol & sex.

His heart racing, his head pounding, fear coursing through his veins; he remembers a delicate hand resting against the curve of his jaw, fine lips brushed against his with the whispered promise, I'm here.

Then he bolts out of bed & reaches for his flask to remind himself that he had surgically removed that reality from his future, for better or for worse. Dwelling on all of it does nothing but make his heart ache so terribly that he genuinely fears he may die if he allows himself to feel it for too long.

Days & nights blur together, weeks & months floating by in an alcohol-&-sex-infused haze. The touch of others does nothing to help him forget the one he wants; they only serve to remind him of exactly what it is that he yearns for, exactly what it is he had left behind.

Mornings turn to afternoons, breakfast to business. Associates pass in front of him & leave once more. Money comes in. Money goes out. The work day ends. The Garrison opens. Tommy tries to drown himself in distraction & denial yet again, because, this time, maybe it will work. This time, maybe, just maybe, God will be merciful.

That'll be the bloody day.

Perhaps it's the routine itself that offers Tommy some strange sense of comfort. The same people in the same place every evening, the promise of the same empty conversations & drunken passion. The potential for lighthearted laugher with his brothers in the snug. The respect that other patrons afford him without him having to lift a finger. It's all familiar enough to be comfortable. A safe place to hide away from the bleak reality of his life.

That is, of course, until he finds himself staring at the bleak reality itself, standing at the bar with every ounce of charm & sorrow that he remembers from that stranger on a wicker chair in a London hospital three years ago.

Thomas stops short & drops his empty glass of whisky. It shatters on the floor, causing the low din of conversation to ebb & heads to turn in his direction. He doesn't care. He has to make sure that he isn't hallucinating, that this isn't just yet another dream where he reaches for Josh only to wake up just as he begins to curl his fingers around the other man's hand.

When Josh turns around & doesn't dissapear, when others seem to acknowledge his presence, when those deep, dark eyes widen in recognition of him, only then does Tommy finally speak.

"... Joshua ? " he says.