so i finally wrote something
I’M TRYING TO GET MY GROOVE BACK
It’s too cold to be outside. Snow fills the streets, a thick, icy sludge tainted with the black ink of leftover rubber from car tyres and dirt from the shoes of those who cross it. Guy fills his chest with air and holds it, standing outside of Thomas’ house, shivering, teeth chattering, eyebrows knitting closer together with every passing moment and every exhale of dense vapour. It takes what feels like eons for Thomas to open the door but it was really only thirty seconds. Guy still glares at him anyway, before he shakes melted snow from his jacket and crosses the threshold into Thomas’ home. It’s been a long while since they’ve seen one another; Guy left France for two years, visiting far away family members in far away places. It was painful, to say the least, to be away from one another for so long - especially after so many years of living within close proximity to one another, but now that Guy is home it doesn’t feel that different at all.
Thomas watches the back of Guy’s head as he wriggles out of his layers, trying not to be jealous of his hair. Guy’s remains thick, lush even, where Thomas’ is thinning, falling out and leaving a circle of shiny scalp. Their age is creeping in, slowly, slowly, but fast enough for Thomas to stand in front of his bathroom mirror, pulling at the laugh lines in his face with ginger touches. Guy turns around and flicks his hair out of his face. He still looks as though he’s holding a grudge against Thomas for failing to open the door immediately but a tiny smile creeps across his features as he opens his arms, inviting Thomas to hug him.
They embrace and they fit together like magnets, impossibly close and impossibly flush with one another. Thomas sighs into Guy’s hair and Guy breathes in Thomas’ scent from the slope of his neck.
“I’ve missed you so,” Thomas whispers, a long, bony hand coming up to cradle the back of Guy’s skull, holding him close like a child. Guy’s fingers flex at Thomas’ back, in the wool of his sweater, and he breathes deep and slow, murmuring his agreement quietly into Thomas’ throat.
They stand there for three minutes before Guy disentangles himself from the lanky grip of his other half, the silver robot that stands by him through thick and thin, mouth always slack and eyelashes always lowered with concentration.
“What’s for dinner?” he asks, and Thomas can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes. Guy is often thinking about food, and when he’s not thinking about food, he’s thinking about cigarettes. If neither of those things are at the forefront of his mind then it is highly likely that he’s considering doing something productive, or piecing together fragments of a song inside his busy mind.
“I have cheese, and bread, and wine for now. I was thinking, though, that we could order in? Like when we were young, in the studio. I thought that’d be nice.”
Guy can see the way Thomas’ shoulders are beginning to hunch and the way he’s fidgeting with his hands and he comes close, taking Thomas by the wrists and leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Sounds perfect,” he smiles, and Thomas releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He kisses Guy gently and they both smile against one another’s mouths. It doesn’t last long, because Guy’s hungry and somewhat tired from his travels. Still holding Thomas by one of his wrists, he pokes around the house for a moment before he finds the kitchen - this house is relatively new to Thomas’ collection and Guy has not visited it before.
He releases Thomas in favour of snatching something long in a brown paper bag on the bench. He already knows what it is by the time he’s got it in his hands - a baguette, a proper one, Thomas informs him as he pulls it out of the brown paper. “I bought it from the bakery in town,” Thomas smiles. Guy grins and, rather than bothering with a knife, he rips off the end piece. He finds the cheese on a platter and smears a chunk of it across the bread, pushing it messily into his mouth. Thomas doesn’t favour bread like Guy does and it was always something of a joke between them - or, really, a joke between everyone they’ve ever met. Thomas pours two glasses of wine and Guy delicately sips at his between devouring mouthfuls of cheese and baguette. They move into the lounge room, eventually, and Guy sits tucked into Thomas’ side, watching the TV flicker with some old animated film from Thomas’ vast collection.
They talk and laugh well into the night, until Guy is hungry again and then they order their food - a simple cheese pizza, large with a thick base, to share. Thomas stands outside, arms around Guy to protect him from the shrill, icy wind that’s blossomed during the evening, while Guy stands, huddled, cigarette clenched between his teeth.
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- quezsam said: This is so, so, cute. You’re a wonderful writter, and this story is pretty good, so sweet and descriptive, with a tip of nostalgia plus a touch of adorableness. Thank you for writing it, there’re never enough Daft Punk fics.
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- rivoire said: Aw this is adorable! ;u;
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