Chapter Text
It was a good, normal day.
The fridge was stocked with the group's preferred drinks: Cola, Smirnoff, and ethically sourced blood.
And for a London summer, it was cool enough that they decided to prop up in the backyard. Matt, of course, sat under a large beach umbrella while Tom lounged in a lawn chair and Edd played with Ringo.
It was great, and it would've stayed great if their neighbors weren't, well...
"WHAT'D YOU JUST SAY!?" Edd shouted after he carefully set down his freshly procured Cola next to Ringo.
Across the fence, Eduardo leaned forward with a sharp grin.
"DON'T TELL ME YOUR HEARING'S ALREADY FAILING YOU, EDDY?!"
Tom groaned and took another drink.
"Ignore him."
"I can't ignore him," Edd hissed. "He's talking."
"That's usually how conversations work," Matt agreed easily from his shaded spot.
"I SAID," Eduardo continued, clearly delighted by the attention, "THAT INSTEAD OF INHALING THAT CAN OF DIABETES YOU CALL SODA AND SITTING AROUND ALL DAY, YOU SHOULD BE FINISHING THAT PITIFUL SCRIBBLE YOU CALL ART!”
A pause.
Awkward for everyone but Eduardo.
Because he was right, and honestly, that's what Edd wanted to be doing, but that wasn't possible right now because his stylus was broken. Snapped clean in two. It had been an accident. Edd knew that, but he still couldn't help but cast a sideways glance at Tom.
Tom immediately noticed and rolled his head to make up for the fact that the action would go unnoticed in his eyes.
"Don't even."
"Tom-"
"Edd."
"You broke my stylus."
A scoff. "I did not."
"You absolutely did.”
Three days ago, Tom had come home drunker than usual, which was saying something all things considered, and had relentlessly pestered Matt while he was trying to prepare for his beauty sleep. One thing led to another, and the pair were arguing back and forth in Edd's room as he worked on his newest art project. In retrospect, he probably should have called it quits or gotten the two of them to leave, but he continued to work as their bickering slowly began to irritate him.
It wasn't until his stylus snapped in two with a jolt of his oh so sporadic power that he realized that, one, Tom's hands had taken on a pitch black hue, two, Matt's fangs had descended, and three, the most unfortunate of all, he had crushed a perfectly good can of Cola.
And suddenly, three grown men were staring at each other in horrified silence until Edd had promptly used that surge of power to kick them out of his room
"That was your fault," Edd said.
Tom started to point at him with, ironically, the hand that was holding his flask. He swiftly switched hands.
"Your weird electricity exploded."
"After you aggravated me."
"You're aggravated by everything."
"I am not.”
Tom raised an unimpressed eyebrow and glanced at a still leering Eduardo.
“Right. Of course.”
Edd whipped around and pointed at Eduardo.
“He doesn't count! He aggravates everyone, it's his thing.”
“It is his thing,” Matt repeated before letting out a small wince. He had been trying to reach for Ringo, but she moved away from his hold into the sunlight. “Ugh, when is it going to rain again?”
Edd and Tom shared a sympathetic glance in Matt's direction.
“Not for another two days, I think,” Edd answered as he scooped up Ringo and brought her to him. Matt gratefully accepted.
“The real question is, when is summer going to end? It seems like everyone and their mother is visiting, and they all happen to be at every bar I go to these days.” Tom griped as he finished what was left in his flask.
“That might be for the best if your recent performance is anything to go by.” Edd sighed as he sat back down. At some point between pointing and sitting, Eduardo had left, small mercies.
Tom didn't respond with anything other than a sigh of his own.
____
They waited to go back inside until the sun set just to be safe, even though Matt had grown tired of being confined to his umbrella after he realized he couldn't get a good angle for a photo of the others, and remembered that he could no longer take a selfie.
It was these frustrations and many others that led to him furiously scratching at where he remembers his bite mark being as he joined Tom in the living room.
“Uhh, Matt, buddy, you're, uh, doing the thing again.” Tom awkwardly pointed out.
Edd, who had just returned from feeding Ringo, gave Matt a concerned once-over, “You didn't get hit with any sunlight, did you?”
“Hah, no. No sunlight here! Hell, sometimes I can't even take moonlight because, go figure, the moon is not only not made of cheese nor is it a man trapped in the sky, but instead of producing its own light, it has to reflect the sun's!” Matt ranted, his words getting slightly slurred due to his fangs descending.
“Aw, hey, Matt, it's ok-”
“NO. It's not okay, Edd. I can't go to the beach. I can't wake up to the sun streaming through the windows. I can't eat garlic knots. I had to get used to the taste of blood! And worst of all, I have to rely on you two to tell me if I look good or not because I can't see my own reflection!” Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, and his arms wrapped around his body like he was holding himself together.
“…I've been drinking more to suppress it.” Tom, who had leaned forward but slid on his hood, admitted under the weight of Matt's confession.
Matt glanced at him, clearly grateful and relieved to not be the only one struggling.
Tom fiddles with his drawstrings, anxious at having admitted something vulnerable and fighting the urge to joke, puke, and/or drink.
Edd rubbed a hand down his face and sat down on the opposite side of the couch. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes following a thin crack in the plaster. Had that always been there?
Matt, having done the silent breath work to calm himself down, took his spot between the two and glanced from his invisible reflection in the TV to the same unnoticed crack. Tom, not to be left out, also stared up at the now glaringly obvious crack.
Another beat of silence. The crack was probably about four feet long. They should probably get it fixed.
“I-I don't like how touch-and-go my powers are.” Edd started.
Neither of them interrupted.
"I never know when they're going to work."
He swallowed.
"Or when they're not." He chuckled. Nothing was funny, not really.
"Or if they're going to do something useful." Because they come in handy sometimes.
"Or break something.” His stylus and the Cola were the most recent victims, but they weren't the first.
“A-And I worry that I might hurt you guys, or Ringo, or someone else, and if I did that, I-”
Edd is the first to look away from the crack. His head drops down, his shoulders raise, and he squeezes his eyes shut. His hands grip his knees.
“You won't,” Matt answers, becoming the second to look away from the crack, “You won't.” His voice is gentle but firm.
Edd returns the gentleness with a wobbly smile, trusting his friend's words but not quite believing them.
Tom let out a sigh. The deep kind that deflates your whole body.
"So now that group therapy is done, any bright ideas?"
“I think there might be someone who won't think we're crazy and might be able to help.” Matt answered after a moment of thought, voice regaining it's usually chipper tone.
“Who?” Tom asked with a raised eyebrow. Had Matt been looking into this? For how long?
“Tord,” Mat answered as he pulled out his phone.
“Tord!?” Tom and Edd said at the same time. Both sat up and faced a smiling Matt.
“Tord? Edgy, emo, disaster, Tord? My favorite things in the world are hentia, guns, Norway, and cigars, Tord?” Tom asked incredulously.
“We haven't spoken to Tord in years! What makes you think he can help us?”
“You guys haven't talked to him in years. We're friends on all his socials,” Matt scrolled through his DMs, “I know he can at least point us in the right direction because he has a master's in biology and wrote his dissertation on the interplay between gene expression and environment.”
Tom's jaw was on the floor.
Edd was too busy watching as Matt pulled up Tord's Instagram to pick it up for him.
"He has a master's?"
"And a doctorate."
"He has a doctorate?"
"Two, actually."
Tom looked personally betrayed.
“I mean, he was a straight-A student despite moving back and forth between here and Norway,” Edd mumbled as Matt showed them posts of Tord accepting awards.
While Matt continued to gush, Edd and Tom exchanged silent but meaningful glances. Not because of the degrees. Not because of the awards.
Because that was Tord. Their Tord. The Tord they taught English to in a sandbox.
And somehow,…. somehow, Tord looked completely different and the same simultaneously. The same odd hair tuffs and crooked grin, and yet, Tom and Edd felt like they were looking at a stranger.
Tord had gotten taller and broader. He had dyed his hair for its dark brown to a dirty blonde. Not to mention his style seemingly did a one-eighty. Gone were the long black trench coats and matching combat boots. He now wears white lab coats and sneakers. Tom wasn't sure if that was a downgrade or a sign that therapy did wonders.
“So… you guys want to give it a shot?” Matt asked, showing off Tord's accomplishments.
“I mean, if you don't think he'll mind, then it's worth a shot, right?” Edd asked the group, but was looking at Tom.
“Y-Yeah, like you said, a master's and two doctorates.”
“Okay, great, I'll call him in the morning.” Matt was positively beaming.