the one in which Joe manages to drink himself forward in time. or, the one in which Rhys comes home to find his boyfriend making out with himself. Joe/Rhys, Joe/Rhys/Joe. (does that make sense?)
R, maybe NC-17, 13.2k. read on AO3 here.
So, the day it all starts is a pretty normal day. Normal, save for the absolutely terrible weather outside, pissing down and freezing cold, but then, this is London. Rhys has seen worse. Even considering the fact that it’s May.
Still, when he enters the flat with jingling keys and a heavy plastic bag filled with groceries in each hand, Rhys’ first instinct is to rip his sopping wet jacket off and wander into the bathroom in search of a towel. He dries himself off, as good as he can, while also cursing at himself under his breath for making an awful mess of the floorboards, and when he’s done with that, Rhys reaches for his bags and ventures into the kitchen.
Normally, by this point, Joe would have already shown up and offered to help with the groceries, or at least he would have made fun of Rhys for looking like a soggy poodle, his hair curly with how wet it has gotten. The same jokes he’s been making for ten years, which haven’t been funny for roughly the same amount of time, but that’s still preferable to being ignored.