Fishing in Fishbowls
Fishing in Fishbowls ewan mcgregor stories
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A work by dodds adapted for commaful. watch the rest: https://archiveofourown.o...

Fishing in Fishbowls

Bare feet padded slowly on the tile floor in the kitchen.

The sunlight falling in through the large window that led to the garden made the floor just warm enough to walk on – normally both of them hated to walk on tiles.

But all was fine without socks now and Tom wandered around looking for the sugar whilst hoping his toast wouldn’t get burned in the rather shitty toast maker they owned.

Two sugar cubes were quickly added to the tea and he snatched out the toast just in time. Buttering it, he could feel Chris’ eyes pierce in his back.

If he wasn’t that grown up he would have thought Chris was trying to burn his soul out with his, Tom had to admit, rather dashy blue eyes.

The radio on his left blared out the latest hits at a very low volume so he turned it up a bit. Half dancing towards the table, he had too much fun watching the butter seep into his toast.

He sat down as opposite of Chris as he could with the muscular in the sofa and he at the table. Chris was radiating that he was everything but awake or in a good mood.

Tom sighed but understood, waking up was never easy. Especially not for Chris, who kept managing to walk around like a sleepy but angry rhino in the morning.

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