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Summary
Tom froze in the doorway.
Francis had pushed the single beds together in the middle of the room.
Two large hands positioned themselves on Tom's shoulders, forcing his legs back to work, his heels digging into the ground against his will like an animal that refuses to enter the pen. Francis emerged from a bath, half-naked, dripping onto Tom as he closed the bedroom door.
"What...?" Tom gestured toward the beds, still standing in a corner as if he were lost in the bedroom.
Francis glanced at Tom and then at the beds, as if he had just noticed the change. Perhaps he thought Tom wouldn't ask, because he just shrugged while changing, without any prepared answer.
"It's lonely," he finally decided. "Sleeping alone every night."
It was touching, Tom had to admit. The idea that beneath the gruff, temperamental farmer's exterior, there was just a lonely man, desperate for connection. If only.
or
Francis push the twin beds together for the first time