Work Text:
Ｃｅｒｅａｌ ；
ＴｏｍＴｏｒｄ
𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘦, 𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘹 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴!
Night had taken over the neighborhood. Lights were out in surrounding houses. The living room was abandoned. Edd and Matt were fast asleep, peaceful and happy, as they deserved to be.
Happiness had never been for Tord. He was too twisted of a person to be granted the comfort of such emotions.
Joy seemed to pass over Tom as well, since he had left before the summer sun had fully set. He didn't need to say where he was going. It was obvious to them all it was a bar. Well, at least it was obvious to himself and Edd.
Matt had always been hard to read.
Silence was loud and buzzing in his ears, unsettling and making him feel uneasy.
The stark difference in this house between the day and night was, well -- like day and night.
It was full of laughter and loud shouting in the waking hours, full of twisted faces and crude jokes. The rolling background noise of a news channel. Physical contact and distractions from the overall shadow that was constantly cast over the foreigner.
But without the everpresent brightness that shone through his housemates, the quiet would always be more suffocating.
He knew the house well enough to navigate in pitch blackness. Socked feet muffled the sound of his movement as he shuffled forward.
Opening the fridge cast the kitchen in a dull, depressing light. He ignored the way his eyes burned as he grabbed the gallon of milk.
Hunger had hit him like a bullet. His mind was so far away, he hadn't remembered to eat in two days. Three? Two. Four?
He didn't remember. He wasn't even hungry, but he knew he had to get something into his system lest he face feeling even worse.
A cabinet opened, and he pulled out a box of half eaten cereal. Numbly, his mind supplied that it belonged to Edd. The sugar content would probably be enough to kill him. The artificial food dye would put him in an early grave as well, but he didn't really care about that right now.
The sound of the cereal falling into the bowl was too loud to him. So was the swish of the milk as he added it.
He didn't bother to put the gallon back, or close the top of the cereal box. The fridge door was left open for the light alone.
The table even seemed like too much effort, so the man hopped up onto the kitchen counter, legs crossed Indian style, bowl settled on his lap .
He had only taken three bites before the front door opened.
From Tom's perspective, Tord was beyond creepy in that moment. Perched in the dark, the silhouette of the other man oddly lit by the dim light from the fridge.
God, he looked like something out of a horror movie.
The drunk didn't have the mental capacity to think too hard about it. He could barely walk, legs seemingly acting seperate from his brain. Clumsy and uncoordinated.
The only thought in his mind was how he was going to tackle the challenge of climbing the stairs.
It was quickly ruled out.
There was no way he could go about it without splitting his head open.
The man's gaze was intense on the steps, and he was only dragged out of his frustration by the sound of that God awful accent.
"You smell like shit."
Oh, and he was well aware. The smell of vodka must be overwhelming, especially if Tord could smell it half a room away.
"Stop staring. You look like a petulant child. Come and sit."
"Fuck you."
The response was instant, slurred and missing his usual bite.
Unimpressed, Tord tried once more.
"Sit, Thomas. I'll make coffee."
Oh. Coffee did sound good. Maybe it'd help him get to the point where he could actually make it up the stairs without dying.
Maybe.
Tord took it as a silent victory as Tom crossed his way into the kitchen. He had half a mind to climb onto the counter to stay on the same level as Tord, but eating shit on the linoleum floor would knock him a lot of cool points.
So instead, he pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, and plopped himself down.
"What's got you so upset tonight, dear Thomas?"
"Don't pretend like you care."
A hum came from the Norwegian.
Fair enough.
He hopped down from his perch and idly prepared their coffee pot, flicking it on to watch the slow drip of the dark liquid.
Tom was utterly pathetic like this. He ignored the way it tugged at his heart strings.
Tom was the glue that held them together. The calming water to douse Tord's fires.
The voice of reason to Edd's flaky nature.
The person who kept Matt from burning himself on the stove.
It was a little disquieting. To see him like this. He was glad he always bounced back, because he was sure that without him, everything would crumble.
The silence was comfortable now. Tom's company made it feel less surreal.
No words were exchanged, even as Tord poured a mug of coffee for the man.
One part cream, two parts sugar. He didn't put too much thought into why he knew how Tom liked his coffee.
He walked it over to the table, occupying the chair across from Tom.
The drunkard in question lifted the mug, and took an experimental sip of the hot liquid. It was palatable. So he took another sip.
"Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?" Tord spoke up, albeit hesitantly as he looked the other over with a morbid curiosity. Like he were some experiment to be completely and utterly documented.
Tom scoffed around the cup in his hand, glancing to the side.
So that was a no. Tord was expecting as much. It was probably for the best.
Thinking about Tom was like going down a rabbit hole. It opened a flood gate of odd longing.
He was thankful for the lack of input.
They didn't need to think about it farther…
So they sat in a comfort silence, Tord watching closely to be sure the coffee was helping. Tom seemed a bit more present. Which meant his good deed for the night was done.
The confusing emotions and unspoken truths sat between them, but like always, neither knew how to take it to the next level.
If they even wanted to.
For now, this was palatable. A silent understanding. A helping hand.
Tord could tell Tom didn't want to focus on it, so he wouldn't focus on it either.
It could be put off for another night. It's not like these feelings would vanish. They were too hot, too fresh.
As soon as Tord could spot the shift in Tom's eyes that showed he was coming down, he stood.
"Well, my good deed for the year is done. Do try not to die tonight, Thomas."
The only response he got was a grunt in reply.
Tom ended up sleeping on the couch that night, and Tord fell asleep imagining what if scenarios if either of them had the nerve to speak up and admit there was something more between them.
Maybe next time.
Or maybe they'd dance around the obvious for the rest of their lives.