Jumping on the Train (Thomas Sangster fanfic)

Italian Style

When you wake up the next morning your head feels fuzzy and confused. You feel a cold coming on. Great.

You groan as you roll out of bed, literally, landing on your hands and knees. You crawl over to your dresser and grab some jeans and a Wicked, the musical, T-shirt. You slide both on, not want to stand up, and lean your head against the wall.

Goodness.

You need to take some medicine. And drink that nasty lemon tea. And orange juice. Always orange juice.

You force yourself to your feet. You have a headache so bad, you have a feeling that it would be similar to someone banging on your head with a twenty pound sledge hammer.

You pace yourself as you walk out of your bedroom and into the living room. To your surprise, Thomas has already woken up. He sits comfortably on the couch, reading a Percy Jackson book. When he sees you he smiles, "Hey."

You give him a slightly pained smile, "Morning."

He frowns and stands up, following you towards the kitchen, "What's the matter, flower?"

You grunt, "Oh, nothing. I just kinda feel like I was hit by a bouble decker bus and then the driver decided to back up and hit me again. Multiple times, actually."

His eyebrows furrow together, "I'm sorry. Do you need me to do anything?"

You shake your head, "Nah. I'm going to take some meds, drink some tea, and then take a nap. But I will let you play with my hair while I'm drinking my tea."

Thomas nods and kisses your forehead, "I'll be waiting in the living room."

"Thanks." You mutter.

You quickly pour some honey in your tea and make your way to the living room. Thomas sits, criss cross apple sauce, on the couch. You sigh as you take your place next to him, "How'd you sleep last night?"

"Like a baby." Thomas says, smiling softly, and readjusting himself so he can play with your hair.

"That's good." You hum.

"Why don't you feel well?" Thomas asks.

You take a deep breath, "Because I feel like someone shoved pebbles up my nose and then hit me in the head with a hammer."

"Lovely." Thomas says, sarcastically.

"Yeah." You sigh.

You close your eyes and relax as Thomas fiddles with your hair. His fingers carefully create little braids down your back. The silence is perfect. Your head almost becomes clear. Somewhere along the way, Thomas begins humming his usual song. Just like at the beginning of filming, he hums the same tune, pleasantly.

Your mind begins to wander and finally, you ask, "Do you do any sort of exercise, Thomas?"

He starts braiding more slowly and cranes his neck to look at you, "Does dancing count?"

"Sure." You shrug.

"Then yeah. I dance."

"Hmmmm."

"Do you excecise?"

"Yeah, I do yoga."

"Really?" Thomas asks, surprised.

"Yeah. Haven't you ever noticed that pink yoga mat in the coat closet?" You mumble.

"No."