Jeffmads Headcanon: Thomas literally will let James do anything to his hair if it makes James feel better
James is sick again. Not the kind of sick that means he can’t move, can’t breathe; the kind that lands him in hospital, the kind that has Thomas worrying for days on end.
No, it’s the kind of sickness that turns James into a miserable, sniffling blanket burrito of a man that doesn’t leave his bed for a week, hopped up on Nyquil and binging House of Cards on Netflix (while simultaneously pointing out all of its political inaccuracies). The kind of sickness that means he won’t feed himself or sleep, so Thomas has to force him to eat something and at least take his meds.
Thomas can’t stand to see him like this - James’s immune system has never been kind to him, and he has never been able to stop worrying about his Jemmy when he’s ill. He’s seen how bad it can get after a particularly bad flu strain five years ago that had landed him on a ventilator in the hospital, and he just can’t go back to feeling that helpless so he does what he has to – which normally involves camping out in Jemmy’s living room until the worst has passed.
Other people would probably say that Thomas is too much of a mother hen to James when he’s unwell, but Thomas will staunchly deny the fact. The truth is that he’ll let Jemmy get away with almost anything if it makes him feel better. He knows that Jemmy likes to keep busy, and tends to get fidgety when he has nothing to do. He’d found this out the hard way after falling asleep on the sofa one day and waking up four hours later with his hair plaited together in tiny little braids all over his head. It had been a pain to take out all the braids and get his hair back to normal, but James seemed so relaxed afterwards that he almost didn’t mind at all.
So now Thomas indulges James, lets him do whatever he wants to his hair when he’s sick. He’s content to sit for hours on end while Jemmy twists and turns and braids his hair, running the ringlets between his fingers. Today he’s sitting on the floor in front of the sofa while James fiddles with his wild locks; he knows this makes him calm, takes his mind off the fact he feels miserable and his immune system has royally fucked him over.
He’s always gentle, Thomas thinks as his friend carefully styles his hair back into french braids, and he’ll never tell anyone this but he actually doesn’t hate the way he’s the one person Jemmy leans on when he’s ill. He’ll never tell anyone that he shivers, warmth bubbling up inside him as James’s fingers graze the nape of his neck or the tender spot just behind his right ear. He’ll never tell how he just wants to scoop Jemmy up in his arms and cuddle the shit out of him - blanket burrito and all - when he’s feeling unwell; and he’ll never share that in the darkness he imagines how he might kiss; would their lips slotting together be like a fire lit from within, or like coming home at the end of a long day?
No, Thomas thinks. He’ll never tell. He’s content to stay in this moment for now, with his best friends’ fingers meticulously combing through his curls, smoothing out the tangles. He’d gladly sit here for hours more. He’d gladly sit here forever.
OOPS I’M SORRY THIS WAS GOING TO BE CUTE AND TURNED INTO THE MOST OBVIOUS LONGING FROM THOMAS I APOLOGISE.