ryuutsu:

It occurred to me that I haven’t drawn Flinthamilton yet and that had to be fixed. Dedicated to Sophia ( @thomashamiltcn / @knownoshamc ) for being the Thomas to my James in writing and for taking the brunt of my asjklfjdsfs-ing about pirates. 

It was a panicked, an instinctive move almost, the way his fingers reached out towards the sleeping figure next to him. With the haze of the dream still thick upon his mind, his surroundings all felt so very distant. Was he still real? Still here, same as yesterday? Or was this a cruel trick of sorts, an illusion of a mind finally caving in under pressure and holding him prisoner?

His fingertips touched the curve of Thomas’ shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping through the fabric, and James felt his breath ease somewhat. His hand traveled down the other’s arm, gently as if not wanting to shatter what was there.

It still felt surreal, that the man that turned his world upside down all those years ago, the man he loved and lost and waged wars against the world for — that this man was somehow here, lying next to him. Alive. And staying.