you were sat in the living room reading your book on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket. tommy was knelt down in front of your son, charles, who was being particularly defiant this evening, stomping his foot. tommy was droning on about getting ready for bed, doing his best to take on various stern, parent-y tones and you couldn’t help but stifle a quiet chuckle from behind your book. he flicked his eyes to you upon hearing the small snort and levelled you a warning look, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, before resuming his fatherly look back at charles. after a while, and a lot of finger wagging, charles ran off to get ready for bed. tommy stood up to his full height, hands loosely resting on his hips as he watched charles go, before slowly turning to you, a brow raised.

“thanks for your help,” he spoke pointedly, tongue-in-cheek in playful warning.