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It’s when Micro’s laughing at one of his jokes that Thomas comes to a realization.
He wants to hit him.
Not hard enough to do any lasting damage, obviously, but hard enough for it to hurt. Hard enough for Micro to react to it. Hard enough for Micro to want to hit him back.
Micro.
Micro, Micro, Micro, Micro.
Thomas can’t explain it—can’t explain the squirming, ugly monster that rears its head whenever he’s near the other man. It’s the kind that makes him want to grab Micro by the face and force the other to look his way again. To mess up Micro’s life a bit just to see what he would do.
Don’t get Thomas wrong here. He doesn’t want to ruin anything between the two of them. Despite how…violent his thoughts are, Micro’s important to him.
Thomas likes him.
He looks at Micro and something warm and sweet unfurls in his chest and his heart feels like it lodged itself in his throat. He looks at Micro and he wants.
And therein lies the issue.
Because Thomas—Thomas isn’t used to wanting. At least, not in the way that he wants Micro. He’s wanted a multitude of things in his life; better food; nicer clothes; higher positions for those close to him. Of course he has, he’s only human at the end of the day.
But this? This-this want that he feels towards Micro? It’s entirely alien to him. He’s never wanted another person like this—never wanted someone to be his and for him to be theirs in return.
Thomas wants, wants, and wants everything that Micro can give him and more. He wants Micro to lay his heart at Thomas’ feet and he wants to do the same in return.
He wants so much that he thinks he’s going to explode.
“Thomas?”
Thomas doesn’t give himself time to think before his fist collides with Micro’s face. The skin on his knuckles burn from the friction. The sound that echoes throughout the room upon impact is like some strange combination of a crunch and something wet and soft.
It’s grotesque. It’s awful. It’s violent. It’s exhilarating.
Micro falls back landing flat on his ass. His hand cups the side of his face, eyes wide and watering as he looks at Thomas in a mixture of shock and anger.
His heartbeat is like jackhammer as it thrums and beats beneath his skin, the blood being pumped directly to his head and giving him a rush that he wasn’t aware existed before.
“Get up,” he wants to say, “Hit me back, Micro. I know you can.”
His heart beats faster at the mere thought. He’s starting to think that there’s something wrong with him.
“Dude—!” Micro yells out once he recovers from the shock, shooting up and walking forwards until he’s directly in Thomas’ space. “What the fuck was that for?”
“Just felt like it,” Thomas answered truthfully. He doesn’t see a point in sugarcoating things with Micro. He’s already gone this far, why not put his heart out in the open while he’s at it? And because he just can’t stop himself from adding more fuel to the fire, he adds, “You look nice like this. It’s a good look on you.”
His words stun Micro into silence, the other dumbfounded at Thomas’ sheer audacity. Micro clenches his fist. His expression twists into a snarl, lips drawn back to reveal bloodied teeth and his eyes narrow into slits. He looks just about ready to explode and Thomas is well within the blast radius.
It’s the most expressive the other’s ever been and some sort of sick thrill runs up Thomas’ spine at the sight.
(In the back of his mind, Thomas…worries over Micro. Just a little. Because he hadn’t hit the other hard enough to do something drastic, like break a tooth, he’s sure of that. He knows how to pull his punches when the time calls for it. Plus, he knows for a fact that Micro is nowhere near as delicate as his lanky figure would have you believe. What he lacks in fighting ability, he makes up for in sheer stupid survivability. For Micro’s sake, Thomas hopes that the punch just made the other’s teeth cut the inside of his mouth.)
Despite the apathetic mask that the other likes to don, Thomas has seen Micro make all kinds of expressions. He smiles when he wants to, laughs at the smallest of things, uses a dorky smirk that he swears looks cool when he’s feeling particularly smug. Micro shares his emotions with the world so easily—as if it doesn’t matter, as if Thomas isn’t making himself sick with the emotions that Micro’s openness makes him feel.
But this? The expression that Micro’s making right now? It’s something that Thomas has never seen before. It’s new and unique and it’s just for him. The knowledge that he’s the reason that it exists is like a dose of pure adrenaline being shot into his skull.
He’d take a picture of it for safekeeping if it weren’t for the fact that that’s an insane thing to do. Plus, it might actually push Micro over the edge and get him to call the cops or something. It should concern him that he’s still tempted to do it despite knowing that fact.
Thomas is barely given any sort of warning before Micro’s fist is slamming into his nose. Pain blooms behind his eyelids like flowering lights and he’s certain that he hears a creaking noise upon impact. He doesn’t fall back like Micro did. Instead, he stumbles slightly as his vision swims in circles and he takes a few deep breaths to try and reorient himself.
The punch hurts—of course it does.
It’s like the deepest parts of his sinuses are bruised and aching. There’s an unbearable pressure behind his eyes that’s turning even blinking into an act of labor. He’s taking heavy breaths through his mouth, unable to breathe through his nose at the moment due to the sheer amount of pain that throbs within his head whenever he tries.
It hurts like hell and that’s what makes the exhilaration he’s feeling all the more shameful.
Because he’s injured and barely keeping himself conscious through the pain and all he can think about is the fact that it’s Micro who hit him. Micro felt something so strong towards Thomas for a moment that he had no other choice but to react. He reacted to Thomas’ emotions in kind, and that’s as good as a confession in Thomas’ eyes.
His heartbeat is thunderous in his ears and for a moment he wonders if Micro can hear it as well. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he could. The grin that splits his face is so wide that his cheeks are starting to hurt.
Thomas isn’t sure if the woozy feeling in his head is from the dopamine rush or a concussion. He kind of hopes it’s a concussion.
When Micro catches sight of the grin on Thomas’ face, the anger on his face breaks, confusion seeping in through the cracks before transforming into a flustered realization. “You—are you enjoying this?” he asks, sounding equal parts embarrassed and bewildered.
Through the fog of pain and adrenaline, Thomas can hear a distant voice in his mind talking about how cute Micro looks right now. He’s inclined to agree with it. He’s also starting to wonder if he’s begun having auditory hallucinations but the comment on Micro feels more pressing at the moment.
He lets the silence in the air linger, knowing full well that Micro was waiting for an answer. And Thomas would give him one. Soon. He’s just holding out for a bit because Micro’s confused expression makes something horribly fond well up in Thomas’ chest.
Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, Thomas stares at the blood that’s smeared on it when he pulls it away, his cheeks starting to burn the longer he looks at it.
It’s a clear sign of injury and he should probably get it checked out as soon as possible, yes, but in an odd way it’s…nice. Another reminder that Micro’s the one who left a mark on him.
Thomas has never felt more attracted to someone in his life.
“Maybe I am a freak,” he thinks, wiping the blood on the side of his shirt in a hurry.
“Yeah,” he mutters, voice rough as he powers on through the pain. “I guess I am.”
Micro remains silent after Thomas’ response, his brows furrow in what can only be utter bafflement as he visibly tries to process Thomas’ words. A few minutes go by like that, quiet save for his panting breaths and the occasional sharp inhale on Micro’s part. Eventually, Micro comes to his own conclusion after stewing on the situation for a bit.
“Was this—was this your weird way of flirting with me, man?” The question is asked with the most sincere mixture of distress and confusion that Thomas has ever heard. “Is that what this entire fever dream was!?”
Thomas gives a few slow, measured blinks in Micro’s direction. “…yeah. I guess it was flirting, huh.”
“You sound unsure of yourself.” Micro’s voice sounds incredulous and more than a little hysteric. He hasn’t backed away from Thomas’ personal space in the slightest, he notices. If anything he’s gotten closer. “Did you seriously not realize that it was flirting!?”
Thomas feels very stupid all of the sudden. “I knew I was—that I’m attracted to you, obviously, but this was more of an impulse than anything else.”
Neither of them say anything for a while, taking time to process the conversation.
“Wanna kiss?” Micros blurts out without thinking, shocking the both of them. The blush on his face is making his entire head turn scarlet. “I—I didn’t mean to say that.”
And it’s here that Thomas comes to another realization.
Thomas might be weird for the whole punching thing but Micro’s even weirder for liking him back in spite of it.
They really are perfect for each other.
“Sure—yeah, I mean, of course I do,” he answers, wanting to kill himself more with every stammer that leaves his mouth. His brain feels like it’s turning into goo with how fast everything’s been going. Although, the goo part might be because of the potential head injury, who knows. Again, he should really get himself checked out by a healer after this.
Micro’s awkward in his movements, hands switching from Thomas’ sides to his back to behind his neck in quick succession, fingers tapping against his skin in an unsteady staccato that speaks volumes to how nervous the other is.
It’s disgustingly endearing.
“Need a moment?” Thomas can’t help but tease, grin widening when Micro rolls his eyes in exasperation.
“Dude, shut up.” Micro says the words like they’re an insult but the way the corners of his mouth were twitching betrayed how he really felt. “Not everyone flirts through mutual violence like you do, y’know.”
“I’ve never done this with anyone else, though.”
Micro laughs at that. “What, am I special or something, Thomas? Am I your special little guy?”
“Yes, Micro, you are,” Thomas answers in full seriousness. He relishes in the flustered expression that crosses Micro’s face. He doesn’t regret a thing, not even when Micro shoves a hand against his face while muttering, “Shut up, man.”
Micro goes quiet again, hand slipping from Thomas’ face and settling back on the side of his neck. He leans in until their lips are practically touching, breaths intermingling into one for a moment until Micro closes the gap.
In all honesty, it’s not that pleasant.
Thomas’ nose feels too messed up for him to properly enjoy the experience and there’s a distinct metallic tang that he can now taste in his mouth, but he ignores all of that in favor of pulling Micro closer to him. If he fucks up his first kiss with Micro because of something as minor as a head injury he’s going to fling himself onto Seraphim’s sword without a moment’s hesitation.
They pull apart soon after due to Thomas needing some air. They stare at each other, not saying anything for a short period of time. The moment feels like it should be treated with more seriousness by the both of them, but Thomas has never been one for being conventional.
“You know,” he starts, “most people go on a date first before they share a kiss.”
This forces a laugh out of Micro’s throat, the other’s expression lighting up in a way that has Thomas smitten all over again. “So, how do you rate it?” Micro asks jokingly, a wry grin tugging at his lips.
Thomas chuckles. “Not bad. Could be better, though. Tasted pretty bloody, don’t you think?”
“And whose fault is that, Thomas?”
“Not mine, that’s for sure.”
“Oh shut up, man! You’re so full of shit!”