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Summary
The helix piercings had been Tord’s idea.
Tom could blame him for a lot of things.
Most of them, fairly.
But he had still said yes.
They had been seventeen, and Tord had held up the photo on his phone like he was presenting evidence. Tom had said no three separate times across twenty minutes, right up until they were already walking toward the place, already through the door, and already in the chairs.
He hadn’t argued very hard after the first no.
He was well aware of this.
He just simply had decided not to do anything about it, the way you decide not to think about a loose thread if you don’t want to unravel your whole jumper.
The parlor had smelled like antiseptic and the particular silence that came with doing something so permanent.
Tom had gone first because Tord had been pretending he wasn’t nervous: vibrating leg, too-casual lean, and eyes tracking carefully to the side. And Tom understood that Tord needed someone to have already done it so that he could.
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a new version of how i wanted to write this fic muahahaha