Chapter Text
Greg’s dreaming. What is he dreaming about? Fuck if he knows. When he wakes up, he knows that all he’ll remember is various shapes, colours, and a familiar smell that he can’t put his finger on, but he knows he’s smelled it somewhere. Where? When he wakes up, he will feel a lingering, foreign sensation from his mystery dream that will last until he moves to get out of bed, but one he wonders about for the rest of the day. That doesn't matter, because right now, Greg's dreaming.
Upon finally waking, Greg realizes he woke for a reason. Why is it so fucking warm? He shifts a bit and-
Oh fuck
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
Tom.
Tom?
Why is Tom here?
Oh fuck.
Greg can't remember why Tom’s here. How Tom’s here. What’s the last thing he does remember? Greg pauses momentarily from his remembering. His heart is going so fucking fast. What the hell is going on!? He spares a glance at his phone for the time- 6:12 am. Jesus. Okay. He blinks back up at the ceiling, then takes another look at his phone- 6:13 am. Wait, it’s Tuesday? Shit. Fuck! They have work. His first alarm is due to go off in a few minutes, so he switches it off before it wakes up Tom- Greg needs his bearings first before an unpredictable Tom is added to the mix. He slinks out of bed, and makes his way towards the adjacent bathroom, right when he trips over a huge pile of… what is that? Why is it so warm? And fluffy? And…
Oh my god, it’s Mondale.
That’s okay, it’s okay, Greg’s okay. It’s just his boss (?), his cousin’s husband (?), his best friend (?) in his bed, and his dog is also there. That’s cool. That’s chill. It’s all good. Easy breezy.
Finally slipping into the bathroom, Greg looks at himself in the mirror. His boxers are still on, which is always a good sign. He takes a breath. What the hell happened last night? Last he remembered… oh! Tom called him, out of breath, asking if he (and Mondale, presumably) could crash. That’s it! Nothing happened! Nothing to worry about! Just two cousin-in-laws hanging, super normal, super casual. They must have had a few drinks, smoked a couple bowls (judging from the lingering smell in the apartment), and crashed in the same bed. Then why the fuck is Greg so nervous? Tom has crashed here a couple of times, and he never woke up this anxious. Maybe it was bad weed? Must be. Now that he thinks about it, its a bit more fragrant than usual. A bit… skunkier? Yes. It was the weed.
Greg takes advantage of his already being out of bed as the opportunity for an early start on his day. He hops in the shower, hoping to scrub the nerves off of him, and maybe rub a quick one out. You know, to help his day start off on the right foot! Not any other reason. He jumps into a particularly expensive robe Tom gifted him a few months ago after he slept over and complained about Greg not having soft enough post-shower wear, and goes off to make coffee. Two cups, apparently. Tom’s still sleeping, and Greg wonders if he should wake him up. It’s not as if he has a boss to report to, right? Plus, it’s always nice to wake up to fresh coffee. He can sleep.
Greg makes the coffee. Then scrambles a few eggs. Sizzles some bacon. Brews some more coffee. Then finally. Finally! Tom shuffles out into the kitchen, clad only in boxers and the other robe Tom bought for Greg (it was a set of two). He looks bleary and confused. “Uhh morning Tom!” Greg quickly pours some coffee into the mug Tom designated for himself after his first time sleeping over. He pulls some milk out of the fridge and spoons three teaspoons of sugar into it. Normal things.
Tom freezes halfway between the bedroom door and the kitchen, staring at Greg. He looks a thousand times more awake, and perhaps a bit flushed? It’s hard to tell. Maybe Greg should get his vision checked. “Uhm, are you okay Tom?” Greg goes over to hand the coffee to him. What was this expression on Tom’s face? Does Waystar’s insurance policy cover eyecare?
“Thanks Greg.” Tom takes the coffee from Greg’s hands. Their knuckles bump.
What.
A genuine thank you? From Tom? He’s not going to question it, but what the fuck?
“Uhhh.”
Tom smiles softly and walks past him to see the breakfast he made.
The only thing going through Greg’s mind is question marks.
“Bacon and eggs too, Greg? Really outdid yourself. A bit of a breakfast for the plebes, but I won’t complain.”
HUH? Did Greg’s Tom get body snatched? Not that Greg would call Tom his Tom, per say, but, in this situation, Greg wasn’t exactly sure that this was his Tom. If this is a body snatcher situation, is it best to say something? Or maybe he should stay quiet, lest he becomes the next victim.
“Fuck, Greg, we’re going to be late! Why didn’t you wake me up earlier, you dumb fucking Dildo Baggins?”
Oh, there’s his Tom.
He rushed off to, presumably, shower. Greg gave the microwave clock a look- 8:43. Oh shit! He ran to his room to get changed into something work appropriate, rather than his plush, fancy robe that probably cost more than his outfit for the day.
Tom walked out of the bathroom, smelling fresh, buttoning up his shirt- light blue for today, a few shades lighter than Greg’s own shirt.
“Greg, please, what are you wearing around your neck?” Tom chastised. Greg’s hand defensively went to cover his tie. Sure, it’s not his most expensive one, but he thought it looked pretty nice. Tom removes Greg’s hand and untied the tie. “Wear one of mine. But just this once! We’ll get you some nicer ones later.” Greg watches as Tom grabs a nicely rolled, expensive-looking tie from his bag. He loops it around Greg’s neck and ties it. Greg watches him the whole time. Something is different about him, but he doesn’t know what. Tom steps back to admire his handiwork. “Much better!”
Tom finishes getting ready and walks out the door after giving Mondale some much-needed attention. Greg stays behind for a bit, and takes another look at Tom's bag. His bags would be the better term, actually. Two suitcases, one larger, and the other was carry-on appropriate.
How long was Tom planning on staying here?