Chapter Text
Tom sighs as he sets sights on his newly decluttered room. Most of the old items that Tord had previously kept in the room were removed and replaced with items from Tom’s old room. He’d spent the last couple days repainting the room from red to blue with Edd and Matt, and so far they’d done a pretty good job, only having half a red wall left remaining to paint over. That unpainted spot still bothered him. He tears his eyes away from the red paint and, instead, looks over to Tord’s bed. Most of the items had ended up on Tord’s old bed in the process of cleaning out the remaining items that he had left behind, intentionally or not.
“There you are Tom!” Matt says cheerily. The man turns around to face him.
“What’s up Matt?”
“Well, Tord just called,” Tom cringes at the mention of the Norwegian, “He said that he’ll come back to get anything he left behind in a week or two, so he needs you to find all of his stuff.”
“He still wants that old junk?” he mutters to himself, staring back at the abundance of “trash” on Tord’s bed.
“Suppose so.” Matt shrugs. “Anyways, I’ll leave you to it. If you need any help with it, ask Edd. He knows where all the hiding spots in Tord’s room are.” the ginger shouts as he walks further away from the room.
He slowly and carefully walks over the various bags and boxes of stuff scattered across the floor to reach Tord’s bed. He picks up the first thing that catches his eye, a red metal scrap. Tom exhales a slight laugh through his nose. He brushes his thumb over the jagged ridges of the metal piece, small sharp pricks of metal poke at the bottom of his thumb. He was hanging out with Tord when he found this piece. God how many years ago was it? Tom squints his eyes at the metal scrap, as if it had the exact date written on it somewhere to help him remember. He doesn’t remember their exact age, but he does remember that he still had his braces. He remembers that Tord still had his black hoodie. Where was that thing anyways? Tom shakes his head from the thought of that musty old thing. He was pretty sure that small tear on the right sleeve of it was from that trip to the junkyard anyways. Now that he thinks about it, what were they doing at that abandoned old junkyard? He lights up when an idea hits him.
“Edd?” the black-eyed man calls out to his friend. The green hooded male responds almost immediately from downstairs.
“Yeah? What do you want?” he calls back.
“Do you think you know where Tord would’ve kept his journal? I know he had one, but I can’t find it.” Tom rummages through a few of the desk drawers in the hopes of finding it while waiting for Edd to make his way upstairs.
“Well, it wouldn’t be in his drawers that’s for sure. He knew you liked to snoop around in his room, so he never kept it there.” Edd comments when he sees Tom opening another desk drawer. Tom stops investigating immediately and closes it.
“That bastard.” he huffs in annoyance. The brunette standing by the doorframe chuckles. “How’d you even remember that he had a journal anyways? I completely forgot he had one up until now.”
“I-” Tom pauses momentarily. Why did he remember that Tord had a journal? “I kept seeing him write in it, but he never showed it to me. I guess I’ve always just been curious to know what was in it, so I haven’t really stopped thinking about it.” he shrugs slightly. Not a complete lie .
“Oh.” Edd replies, checking under a couple of the furniture in the room. “Hm,” he rubs his thumb and finger under his chin for a moment in thought. Suddenly, he jumps up, seemingly remembering something. “Oh! I know!”
“What?” Tom looks over at Edd with slight skepticism.
“Check that box in his closet! I think it should be in there.” Edd excitedly points to Tord’s, mostly, emptied out closet.
Tom walks over to the closet, sliding the right door to the side to see if the box is there. Alas, it is. His jaw drops.
“No fucking way. He kept this box? I gave this to him like,” Tom pauses, trying his hardest to remember, “sixteen years ago.” he says quietly, voice slightly shaky from the realization.
“Sixteen years ago huh? How old were you guys then?” Edd leans against the doorframe.
“About eight.” Tom replies almost immediately. He cautiously opens the box and there it is, that same dark brown leather journal Tord had carried around with him all throughout secondary school. How he managed to fit four years worth of school into one tiny journal is beyond Tom, but nonetheless he found what he was looking for. “Uh-thanks Edd.”
“No problem.” Edd nods and leaves the room. Tom breathes a shaky sigh as he holds the leather journal in his hands. He hasn’t seen the thing in years. He feels almost guilty just by holding it. He wonders if Tord wrote more in it after secondary school. He can feel his heart beating profusely in his chest as he opens to the first page of the journal:
October 7th, 2xxx
Thomas said that he found an old abandoned junkyard a few blocks from our neighborhood, when he snuck out of his house last night. I hope that we find something cool. Lately I feel like we’ve been kind of distant but I guess that’s kind of my fault. I asked Edd what I should do about it but even he doesn’t know. Tom doesn’t seem to notice us growing apart. If he does, he doesn’t say anything about it. I wouldn’t either. I’ve been refusing to think about it recently.
Tom’s eyes widen when he finishes reading the journal entry. If only fifteen year old Tord knew what would happen to them and their relationship. He finds himself holding back tears as he flips to the next page.
October 8th, 2xxx
Tom and I hung out at the junkyard today. Just the two of us. Matt said he was going to be busy studying all day anyways, and Edd was busy working on a project for English or something. I’m kind of glad that it was just us. I’ve been meaning to get closer to him recently, and today was the perfect start to that. We just kind of messed around in the junkyard. I was trying to look for some cool metal scraps that I could use for future projects but I wasn’t having any luck so far. Until Tom picked one up and yelled, “Tord, catch.” and proceeded to chuck a red piece of metal at me. I’m surprised I caught it, and that I didn’t get scratched by it. It looks pretty jagged. Looks like it came from a machine of some sort. The metal is pretty thick and very sturdy, maybe I can use it for another machine or maybe even a robot of sorts. Tom looked proud of himself when he found it. He was smiling so wide I could tell what color his braces were. It made me laugh a little bit which made him smile even more. I have the metal scrap beside me right now. I can’t help but smile whenever I look at it. It’s the only metal scrap that I took home with me today. I didn’t want any of the other ones.
Tom can feel himself smiling subconsciously. He remembers that day vividly now, all thanks to this stupid fucking journal. He turns his attention back to said metal scrap with a smile. Maybe Tord was right about not being able to help but smile at the red scrap, because he can’t help but smile like an absolute idiot at it too. He picks up the metal scrap again. He remembers how proud of himself he felt when he found it.
He noticed a bright scrap of metal that was a little bit further from where he and Tord were standing, and quickly scrambled to grab it. He knew he hit the jackpot when he picked it up and immediately caught notice of its red color. He remembers smiling like an idiot as he raced back to tell the Norwegian what he had found. He remembers how much his heart pounded when Tord caught the scrap in his hand and looked at it in awe. And now he’s feeling that same heart pounding sensation once again as he continues to stare at the old metal piece. He tears his eyes away from the hunk of metal and gazes over to the next journal entry.
October 9th, 2xxx
Is it weird that I don’t want to use the metal piece for any of my projects? I have so many creations that I need chunks of red metal for, but I don’t want to use the one that Tom gave me. I never consider using it, even if I don’t have any other options. I want to keep it for myself. Just to have it. I never want to use it. Is that weird? I hope not. I don’t think it is. Actually, now that I think about it, it might be. I hate having hormones. Whatever. The point is, I want to keep this stupid piece of metal with me for the rest of my life. It makes me feel happy when I see it. If I have a shitty day at school, I can come home and see the scrap sitting untouched on my desk and smile. I don’t know why this hunk of metal is so important to me, but it is. It’s not weird is it? I mean, Tom still has the teddy bear that he’s had since primary school (Tommee Bear, I think he calls it). I don’t think the bear thing is weird, it was a gift from his dad after all. So why is it so weird to me that I have the same attachment to this metal scrap? Maybe because it’s a piece of metal and not anything that can be considered “significant” also because it was a gift from Tom.
Tom looks back at the red metal scrap once again. Interestingly enough, the thing doesn’t look like it’s aged. It looks the same as it did nine years ago. As if Tord had purposely kept it clean and religiously made sure that no speck of dust went anywhere near it. Tom chuckles at the thought. He imagines a fifteen year old Tord seeing dust fly towards the metal scrap and profusely swatting the particle away from it with frustration. It brings a warm smile to his face, and a warm feeling to his chest. He finds himself missing what they had. Once he realizes how far off the deep end he’s fallen, he panics and quickly tosses both the journal and metal scrap onto the bed. He can feel himself starting to shake. Tom carefully walks over the bags and boxes of Tord’s old belongings as he makes his way out of the room. He shuts the door behind him and takes a deep breath. He’ll finish cleaning out the room tomorrow.