Tom was in an exceptionally foul mood. Bill knew why, of course he did. It was not like Tom could ever hide anything from him. The hints to his twin's mood lay in the little things, like the fine lines around his lips, the way the corners of his mouth turned down just a little even when he attempted a smile, the way Tom would knot up his fingers in his lap, clench them so hard around each other the knuckles popped and turned out white against the skin.

Every evening they would sit side by side silently, watching some inane made-for-TV movie, a cushion between them on the couch, each one of them in his assigned place, not talking, ignoring each other like an old couple. Eventually Bill would drag himself to bed and Tom would fall asleep on the couch sooner or later, where Bill would find him in the morning, cramped on the small sofa, a sour look etched on his face even while Tom was still fast asleep.

Tom was pissed off because he felt lonely. Not that he had ever explicitly told him. In the ten words they had exchanged within the last three days, there certainly wasn't enough space to voice that sentiment. It only showed in the way Tom would look at him sideways when he thought Bill was too immersed in the movie to notice and the way he would look away instantly when Bill met his gaze. Tom was angry – not at him, just angry in general – but he wanted to be coaxed, he needed to be shown that he was worth something, whatever Tom's fussy notion of 'something' was. Tom wanted to be wooed.

They were watching Tatort. The camera panned over the dreary and rainy cityscape of Berlin, the tip of radio tower vanishing under the smog that squatted down low over the city but Bill really wasn't all that interested in the movie.
Wiping his already sweaty hands on his track pants, Bill turned so he sat facing Tom directly, his legs tucked under him.

“Let's play a game,” he announced, his voice still cracking, scratchy at the edges and so strangely quiet.
Tom threw him a careless sideways glance, his brows puckering up in irritation, before he huffed quietly and returned his attention to the TV again.
“Come on...” Bill tugged at the billowing sleeve of Tom's hoodie, “this is important, okay?”
“It's a game, how can it be important?” Tom grumbled irritably, yanking his arm out of Bill's grip.

“Come on, Tomi...this is about you and me,” Bill wheedled, marching his fingers up Tom's shoulder to his neck, tugging at his twin's earlobe gently. Tom bit down a little squeak.
“Will you stop bugging me if I play this game with you now?” Tom asked, grabbing their dividing cushion and clutching it against his stomach.
Bill nodded eagerly, scooting closer to Tom's side of the sofa and seeing Tom lean back against the armrest, the pillow like a shield across his middle.

Too soon.

“So the game's called 'I love'” Bill explained, feeling his nervousness spike at the sceptical look setting on his brother's face. If this didn't work out, the game would serve as a prelude to a massive fight, he could already tell. Tom may have been equipped to fight but Bill certainly wasn't; not with his voice still scratchy and unstable and not with the general exhaustion that seemed to smother him like a thick blanket lately. He would have to bow out of the fight and flee to his room should things take a turn for the worst and that would make Tom even more furious. He would stew in his own juices for the rest of the evening and be even more waspish the next morning.

“I tell you something I love about you and then you tell me something you love about me, okay?”
Tom's eyes narrowed, his entire forehead wrinkling up beyond description and Bill could feel how his stomach fell down a few inches lower.

“Tomi, this is important, so just give it a try,” Bill pleaded quietly, tugging at the corner of the cushion Tom still pressed against his stomach.
Bill bit down a sigh, studying his brother's face for any kind of reaction, none of which came. Tom's face was a carefully composed blank, just the slightest hint of confusion and impatience in his eyes.

“Okay, so I'll start...” Bill wiped his hands against his pants' leg again, feeling the jitters begin to set in.
“I love that you always manage to cheer me up, even when I'm totally down and out,” Bill mumbled, feeling the heat rise into his cheeks.
Tom just stared at him, an incredulous expression on his face as if Bill had just spoken Japanese. Bill fiddled with the drawstrings on his pants, tying them into tiny knots, waiting for Tom to say something in return, praying that he had not just lain the foundation for a massive fight.

“I...uh...ummm, like that you're...” Tom stopped and groaned quietly, digging the heels of his hands into his temples, the typical gesture when he was irritated and forced to do something he'd rather not.
“...like that you always help me pack my stuff for trips. Because, you know...I'm kinda helpless with that.”

Like.

Trying not to show his aggravation too much, Bill let the like and the trivial packing thing slip by without a comment and continued, hoping that somehow, some time Tom would open up at least somehow.

“I love that you cuddle with me in my bunk when I'm homesick,” Bill admitted, watching Tom's face turn a lovely shade of pink before he ducked his head and a handful of matted dreads obscured his face. Tom cleared his throat.

“I like that you let me come into your bunk because I...ummm do get a little homesick too from time to time,” Tom mumbled hectically, his cheeks growing even pinker.

“I love falling asleep with you watching movies.” He poked Tom in the thigh, grinning when he saw somewhat akin to a reluctant smile spread in his twin's face.
“I like when you sleep in my bed after these movie nights.” Tom conceded after a moment, his face so bright red by now it was the colour of a steamed lobster.

“I love your sense of humour, even when you make fun of me.”
“I love the way you always get so excited about everything.”
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do! Have you ever seen yourself in any of the interviews?” Tom teased, securing himself an aimless slap from Bill's side of the couch. Bill squealed when Tom's cushion shield hit him in the face.

“I love that you still let me do your dreads even if you could have a hairdresser do that by now – that means a lot to me.”
“I love the smell of your skin.” Tom scooted closer, brushing some of Bill's hair behind his ear and reaching around, squeezing the nape of his neck. “Right there...it smells like caramel, somehow.”
Bill swallowed hard, feeling his brother's fingers flex around his neck, gently digging into the tense muscles there.

“I...I uh...” Bill started to stammer, every single one of his well prepared compliments losing themselves somewhere in the excited whirring of his brain. Tom's mouth stretched into a wide, sparkling smile, his eyes twinkling with barely suppressed satisfaction.

“I love how you still manage to make me nervous and make me start to babble like a little fangirl,” he eventually managed after a couple of moments. Tom's smile grew wider.

“Oh really?” Tom crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, a smug, triumphant little smile on his face.
“I actually love it when you get nervous.”
“Vain bastard!”
“Takes one to know one...” Tom shot back, his eyes sparkling in delight and Bill's stomach felt like it was floating, suspended in his middle and doing somersaults.

“Come here? Cuddles?” Tom unfolded his arms, winking at him and the flip flopping in Bill's middle grew worse.
With a throaty squeak Bill scrambled across the length of the sofa, slumping against his brother's chest, curling into a tiny ball immediately, tugging Tom's flapping hoodie around himself. Tom groaned at the sudden onslaught and shifted under Bill's weight.

“I love it when you do that, you know?” The sides of the hoodie were wrapped closer around Bill's back, followed by his brother's arms crossing over his back, trapping him and Bill practically purred in delight.
Rubbing his cheek in the worn out material of Tom's old sweatshirt Bill mumbled a barely understandable 'I love you' and Tom squeezed him more tightly, chuckling quietly.
“I know...”