Chapter Text
The smell of bleach is getting unbearable at this point. It burns the inside of his nose and makes him nauseous.
Now Tord’s not one to complain about anything; he’ll save the whining for Matt, but being at the grocery store for nearly three hours now is making him a little short-tempered— more than his usual amount, which borders on trigger-happy.
He and Edd would’ve been done getting the weekly groceries hours ago, but his roommate had seen an online article about Coca-Cola switching to using cane sugar and needed to find it on the shelves.
“Do you realize how much this changes things, Tord? It’s an entirely new ballpark!”
And being two very strong, independent, and stupid men, they’d forgone asking any employees for help and tried to do it themselves.
But with the aisles mostly unlabelled, the product not at the front or anywhere noticeable, and Edd having to read every can’s ingredients to see if it was the right one, it was a losing battle from the start.
“You know, you could always just add cane sugar,” Tord comments as his friend pops a squat to check the shelf’s lowest compartment. He’s not really sure what Edd’s trying to accomplish — surely if such a new, coveted item were in stock, it wouldn’t be so low — but he digresses. There are a lot of strange things he doesn’t understand.
“Then I’d just get a mouthful of both flavors, Tord,” Edd retorts, his fingers digging farther into the shelf like someone reaching between couch cushions. Tord watches as his arm wiggles about to reach the cans at the very back. The sight amuses him greatly.
“So what?” He comments, spotting an old woman giving them a confused look at the end of the aisle. Tord flashes her his best smile and hopes she won’t call security.
Nothing like sitting in grocery store jail to really round off their outing together.
When she leaves, seemingly content that they’re not up to anything nefarious, he continues. “Sometimes I eat expired bacon with the premium one, and I haven’t noticed a difference.”
Edd tuts. “Because it’s bacon! It’s always good, expired or not.” Tord watches as Edd slips his head under the shelf, his body disappearing more and more as the seconds pass. “Cola’s different though: it's delicate, made with grace. That’s what makes it so good.”
Tord hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He stands off to the side and pulls his phone from his pocket before thumbing through whatever notifications he’s missed from the past hours stuck inside this concrete box. He wouldn’t be surprised if it had already turned dark — there aren’t exactly any windows where he’s at.
There’s nothing too important or exciting happening: some spam in his email, likes on his stories, and a message from Tom. He opens the messaging app, an eyebrow raised in interest. Tom never messaged him privately for anything. He liked to voice whatever grievances he had for him either in person or in their group chat.
He must’ve missed Tord a lot. How sad.
Tom:
close ur door it smells like shit
What a great conversation starter, he thinks, stifling a laugh and being careful to keep his face still. After checking that Edd is still preoccupied with treasure hunting, he types back a response. He makes sure it’s as polite as Tom’s.
Tord:
suck my dick
He doesn’t expect an immediate response — or any at all — but he can’t deny the gray bubbles that appear at the bottom of their conversation. Looks like someone’s desperate to chat him up.
Tom:
r u coming back soon
He almost types back an answer but deletes it before sending. Tord could answer Tom’s question like a good roommate, tell him not to get takeout because they’ll be back before dinner, or he could obfuscate and make him upset. When he remembers it’s Tom’s turn to make dinner, he chooses the latter.
Tord:
i dont go home on the first date
what do u take me for?
He snickers at his immaturity, leaning against the shopping cart and balancing his phone in one hand. The heavy shopping cart barely rolls under his weight, but the gallon of milk sloshes back and forth before settling. He makes sure not to roll the wheels over Edd’s toes.
This time Tom’s text bubble flickers, appearing and disappearing rapidly, clearly unamused with Tord’s childish humor. His response time is significantly longer, and Tord can imagine the man vibrating in rage as he presses every key- frothing at the mouth as he twitches.
The grocery’s signal isn’t great, and neither is Tord’s cellular. Still, he’s intent on seeing this through, unlike earlier when he’d tried opening the store’s app to find the location of the cane sugar-laced cola and gave up before the logo disappeared. Priorities.
Tom:
ur the one who brought it up
so maybe ur the interested one
Tord:
*you’re
Tom:
die
(Tord has given this message a thumbs down)
(Tom has given this message a thumbs up)
when r u coming back tho srsly
Tord:
when edd gets the cola
so never
(Tom has covered up the last message with stickers of Ringo)
He hums, thinking about whether he should actually consider giving Tom a proper response. It is a good question. This entire trip is cutting into his private reading time, alongside his mess-with-Tom time. And missing either would truly be a travesty. When he hears his name being called, he shoots back an arbitrary time estimation.
Hopefully that’ll quell the man’s curiosity.
“Tord!” Edd yells again enthusiastically, and he looks down to see the man nearly 3/4 of the way inside the shelf. All that’s left of him is his shoes and a bit of his tan cargo pants. Tord can see the cat socks he’s wearing, custom-made with chibi icons of Ringo. “I found it! I found it!”
“That’s great!” Tord yells back as he slips his phone into the pocket of his jeans, only mildly upset at being disturbed while texting Tom. It looks like he’ll have to wait if he wants more from Tord, like so many others.
And it’s gonna be a long one too, if the amount of notifications he’s getting from his dating apps means anything.
“There’s just one problem though,” Edd’s sheepish voice trails off. Tord takes a deep breath, taking the opportunity to calm himself before he has to deal with more antics.
“What is it?” He swears if Edd talks about getting another sugary drink with cane sugar or anything else that’ll prolong their visit here, Tord will go ballistic and–
The shelf rumbles as Edd’s head hits it. Some cans at the very top wobble before falling, nearly pelting Tord in the head were a second late in dodging them. It rumbles again as Edd fidgets more.
“The thing is…” Edd’s voice wobbles, now extremely muffled from how far he is into the shelf. His legs kick wildly as if it were a beast with its own mind. The shelf roars again from the movement.
“I’m stuck.”
It seems Edd’s mishap doesn’t delay them that much, but Tord will still point some blame at it. As they stand in line with a grocery cart nearly filled to the brim with junk food and items to be purchased, befitting four young adult men living together, their faces fall when they see the entire store gathered in line.
“There’s no way the whole town decided to do their shopping today,” Tord remarks, his hands moving from pushing the grocery cart to pinching his nose bridge. “Faen.”
Edd voices a similar reaction, though with less vulgarity. Tord remembers him talking about tasting soap when he swore.
Waiting in line is an absolute bloodbath: a polite, slowly drawn-out one, but still just as messy. There’s a lot of pushing and shoving as other customers try to cut in with him and Edd fighting back to keep their spot in line. Tord can’t believe there’s only one checkout lane open and that none of the self-serve stations work. Truly unbelievable.
At one point, a man pushes Edd particularly hard, and the glass cola bottle nearly falls from his hand, eliciting a wail from him. It’s only because of Tord’s quick reflexes that he catches it right before it shatters on the ground — military reaction time and all. He can’t imagine the nightmare that would’ve happened if it’d broken. They would’ve had to buy bodybags on top of everything else.
But after many more minutes, they’re at the front of the line — bruised, sore, sick of each other and everyone else, but finally about to get out of the store. Tord can almost taste their dinner tonight. He’s sure Edd feels similarly.
They load the items onto the conveyor belt, an unending stream of miscellaneous items, including organic food (Matt), cooking ingredients (Tom), snacks (Tord), and cat food (Edd). The cashier’s face morphs into confusion seeing the last one. Tord hopes they’ll understand it’s not one of them being weird.
“Your total will be £208.40. And how will you be paying?” The cashier says, their voice tired and monotonous. From the looks of it, they’re some overworked teen being paid minimum wage.
He nudges Edd and whistles, looking innocent.
“I’ll do credit card,” the man glares at him before responding, his hand digging into the pocket of his pants, “but you’re giving me half, buddy.”
Tord rolls his eyes. Even though they all take turns doing the shopping, the bill is always split evenly. But he feels a tad argumentative right now. Call it stress relief.
“Please, half of this junk isn’t even mine.”
Edd shoots him a look. His face is smug, and his tone is lightly teasing. “What makes you think it’s mine then? I only bought one thing.”
Tord gestures to the packs of cola at the end of the line. The only other employee in the store is desperately trying to bag it all together without toppling it. The plastic bag bulges at the base, and Tord knows there’ll be a hole at the bottom before they even leave the store.
He makes a note to avoid being the one to haul it back home. The image of Edd chasing after cans rolling downhill almost makes him burst out in laughter.
Edd stiffens when he sees where Tord’s pointing. His mouth slackens open before he amends, “One… things?”
Tord doesn’t reply, opting instead to place the last bagged items into the shopping cart. It’s a tight squeeze, but he manages to keep it on one layer with minimal reordering. Meanwhile, Edd continues to dig into his pocket, stopping only briefly to pull out gum wrappers and loose receipts. Tord looks behind them and sees a line nearly the length of the entire store. The faces on the other customers are nothing short of irritated. He gives them a charming, cocky smile.
“Not to rush you, but we do have a line.”
“I know! I brought my wallet; just hang on–” Edd mumbles as he turns his pockets inside out. But instead of pulling a cute green wallet, a small line of lint appears instead, falling to the floor while the two of them stare in complete silence. It flutters and lands on top of all the other things Edd’s pulled out.
Tord swears the entire universe must be laughing at them.
He gives him a deadpan stare, and Edd doesn’t return his look, the tips of his ears red in embarrassment.
Sighing, he fishes for his own wallet. Never trust anyone in this life besides yourself. “If you really wanted me to pay so badly, you could’ve just said so–” his hand grabs at empty air.
Eh?
Reenacting Edd’s frantic searching, he too digs further into his pockets to find something that clearly isn’t there. He’s sure he grabbed it before heading out the door, out of the ridiculous bowl Matt had insisted they used for keys and other things. But no matter how hard he searches around, he doesn’t feel a familiar leather texture, only the soft cotton material of his pocket lining.
His hoodie pocket yields nothing else either, despite its weight.
“Don’t tell me you forgot your wallet too?” Edd bemoans, his hands coming up to rub his eyebrows while his legs pace around in a circle.
“Here, you stay with the groceries, and I’ll run back and get my wallet.”
“But the store’s a fifteen-minute walk away! I’m not waiting here for nearly half an hour,” Tord argues. He’s quick to point to the perishables in their cart: frozen goods and other perishables that won’t last much longer.
Putting it all back now would be more trouble than it's worth.
But leaving without anything to show for their trip sounds miserable.
Edd throws his hands up in exasperation. “Then what do you think we should do? Matt and Tom will kill us if we come back empty-handed after so long.”
It’s supposed to be an exaggeration, but Tord shivers. Between the two of them, he’s not sure who has the worse temper.
Suddenly, the weight in his hoodie pocket becomes known, and a wicked idea forms in his mind. It wouldn’t be his smartest and definitely not a moral one, but with such high stakes, there was little room for conscience. Their lives were on the line, after all. Drastic measures call for drastic time, or however the saying goes. Giving the confused cashier his most charming smile, he ushers Edd aside under the pretense of figuring out payment and lets the line move past them.
Pushing him into a dark corner, Tord pulls out the small gadget he’s been working on. He hadn’t had the chance to leave it at home before being pulled to the grocery store, but that mistake is what’s going to save them now. Edd looks at the weapon with silent amazement, studying the intricate digits before looking down the barrel of the gun.
“You’re going to barter for our groceries?” Edd guesses, tapping his knuckles against the hard red metal. “I don’t think they’ll take it, but we can always try.”
Tord shakes his head before looping his finger over the trigger. “This is a memory erasure gun. It’s not permanent, but it’ll give us enough time to make off with the groceries if we shoot the cashier.”
Edd startles, looking around frantically to see if anyone overheard them. When he sees it's just them, he starts.
“Are you crazy!?” He whispers, but his voice is as loud as a gunshot. “You can’t just shoot someone with a memory-erasing gun, especially not in the open!”
Tord waves him off, pocketing it into his hoodie. He’s glad he made it so compact. Big, clunky gadgets were never his style. “It doesn’t erase their memories, don’t worry. I configured it so it just erases their relationships. They’ll still know who they are and everything about them, but they won’t remember us.”
Edd’s quick to pick up what he’s implying. “So they won’t remember we didn’t pay and let us off…”
Tord nods. “It’s the best choice we’ve got.”
His friend fidgets, clearly fighting morality with convenience. Tord knows none of them are saints– they’ve all done evil deeds, but Edd tends to be a peacemaker. Not quite enough to be a goody two-shoes but still maintaining basic empathy.
But when he looks back and sees the tip of his glass bottle of Coca-Cola poking out, Tord knows he’s won him over. There was no greater motivator than his beloved.
The chance that he won’t be able to taste the cane sugar is stronger than any morality he might have.
“Alright, I’ll distract them. Just… try not to make this a habit?”
Tord laughs. “No promises.”
Striding up to the register, he sees the other employee has moved to opening their own lane and has taken most of the customers with them. Took them long enough.
In fact, it seems most of the store’s patrons have checked out, leaving only a few people left. Perfect.
He waits a couple of minutes and watches Edd strike up a conversation with the cashier, who is chatting back with sunken eyes. From the looks of it, it seems Edd’s complimenting them about their pins on their uniform.
Once he’s sure they’re fully immersed and distracted, he discreetly pulls out the gun and tilts it upward so the beam will hit them on their side. There’s a chance the gun might still be lethal.
Just as he pulls the trigger, though, the cashier suddenly jerks and the beam hits their nametag instead- it bounces off the cheap plastic covering and redirects right towards him. He watches as it speeds towards him like an actual bullet.
And despite his attempt to lunge out of the way, it connects.
Fuck.
Suddenly, he’s overcome with a ringing sensation as he processes just being shot in the head. His vision goes white, and he feels his head being split open. A searing pain spreads throughout his entire body, enough to knock the wind out of him.
The gun clatters to the floor, and the last thing he hears is Edd’s frantic shout before his memories are wiped.
-☆-
Tom should really know better than to leave his room. Something stupid always happens when he does. It’s like the universe is waiting for him to feel motivated before shitting on his day.
He’d received a very frantic message from Edd to meet him at the front door. Normally he’d be moving as slow as a snail to come, but something about the amount of typos piqued his interest. Edd rarely ever made errors like that.
It must’ve been something bad. Or at least something major.
Tom hopes it isn’t art canvases being on sale again. They still have all the other ones Edd had impulsively bought and never used. There’s barely any space left in Matt’s room anymore.
When he finds no one in the living room and sees no one approaching the front of the house, he’s about to call it quits. Tord probably took Edd’s phone and decided to prank Tom by making it seem like the sun was about to explode. But before he can whip out his phone and chew Tord out, he hears the doorbell ringing. It repeats immediately before finishing its jingle. And again, just in case Tom missed it.
Staring through the peephole, he sees two familiar faces and opens the door in mild confusion.
“What happened?” He asks upon seeing them. He looks at their empty hands, devoid of any plastic bags containing food, and continues. “And where are the groceries?”
Edd looks a little frazzled, his normally clean-combed hair sticking up. His hoodie is a little ruffled as well, stained with a bit of sweat. It pairs perfectly with the quick breaths he’s taking. Beside him, Tord remains silent, his eyes staring ahead into nothingness.
“There… there was an issue,” Edd gets out before sucking in a deep breath. His hand grasps the door’s frame while the other falls to his knee. Tom taps his foot patiently as he waits for the other man to continue. When it's clear he won’t, Tom turns to look at Tord for his answer, confused at his unnatural silence.
They immediately lock eyes.
Upon closer look, it seems his initial assumption was wrong. The Norsk wasn’t staring into nothingness as he’d previously thought. No, he was directly looking at him. And he doesn’t break eye contact upon being discovered.
Feeling a little shy under such an intense gaze, he opts to ignore it. Those silver eyes had always fascinated him, but he’d rarely ever been on the receiving end of them.
“What’s wrong with you?” Tom grunts out defensively before leading Edd to sit down on their couch. He’s quick to remember to close and lock the door before joining his friend and enemy. Looking at the pair, he adds. “What’s wrong with both of you?”
Edd practically faints on one side of the three-seater while Tord carefully sits down on the edge. Tom follows suit and leans against the armrest, positioned as far away from the man as possible.
For a moment, no one speaks. The atmosphere is stiff as the three roommates remain silent, only interrupted by Edd’s sharp breaths.
Tom’s certain he ran all the way back home in a frenzy. Tord… maybe not so much.
“Are you alright, Edd?” Tord asks, finally breaking both his silence and his eye contact with Tom to glance at their roommate sprawled on the couch. When the man heaves a half-answer out, clearly still out of breath, Tom runs to grab him a glass of water.
He doesn’t miss the way Tord’s eyes narrow as Edd’s hand brushes against his to accept it.
The shiver he feels under Tord’s scrutiny is something he’ll unpack later.
He chooses to bury the emotion underneath a layer of anger. A bubble of annoyance forms in his chest when neither of them tells him what’s going on. Though in Edd’s case he can excuse it– Tord, on the other hand, is just being a dick, like usual.
He jabs an accusing finger against Tord’s chest. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”
When he doesn’t get a response, he does it again, poking him to get a reaction. Tom asks the question again, his tone mocking in a way he knows upsets Tord. He’s sure the man is at his limit now, about to explode in anger and—
“Are you my husband?”
The world stills. The birds pause mid-wing flap. Tom’s mouth hangs open.
“W-what?” He chokes out, unable to register the sound coming from his own voice. His eye sockets widen at the absurd question, sure he’d misheard.
Tord looks down at the finger digging into his chest. Carefully, he takes it with his own, and Tom feels ice. It’s to be expected from a Norwegian, but it’d been so long since they’d touched that Tom had forgotten. He’s too stunned to do anything as he watches Tord flip their hands over, clearly looking for something.
Tord lets out a sniffle.
“Not married yet,” he traces Tom’s ring finger, and the soft touch shoots electricity through his veins. He shivers.
Tord draws a small circle on Tom’s empty finger as though he’s imagining what should be there. Tom can feel the calluses on his hand, rough bumps from years of machine work and physical labor. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.
“So we must be boyfriends.”
Huh?
“No!” He pulls his hand suddenly from Tord’s grip, and the other man startles. A look of sadness spreads across his face, but Tom quickly dismisses it. His body feels both cold and hot simultaneously. He must be coming down with something.
“We’re not either of those!”
Tord purses his lip, and Tom hates himself for noticing how pink it is. Beside them, Edd is doing his best impression of a statue.
“Then…” Tord trails off, seemingly unable to find the words. He opens and closes his mouth, and a raspy sound comes out before he gives up, unable to find the correct word. Tom watches as he makes a small ‘o’ with his thumb and pointer finger before bringing his other hand through the gap in repeated motions. Tom’s face immediately reddens when he realizes what Tord is implying.
“We’re not that either!”
This time Tord’s face really falls. Tom has to bite down the instinct to go and comfort him. It’s an ingrained habit from when they were kids. They used to be much closer then.
Tord would probably see it now as Tom pitying him. Tom certainly would.
He whips around to where Edd is staring and is less than polite when he asks what the hell is happening. His sharp tongue is met with tired eyes, and a pang of worry settles in his chest upon seeing his friend’s somber expression. For someone like Edd to be concerned, it must’ve been really bad.
“We forgot our wallets, you see,” Edd begins, gesturing for Tom to sit down beside them, leaving just a small enough space for a third.
He settles uncomfortably on the couch, neither wanting to press too close to where Edd is and especially not to Tord. It doesn’t help that the latter is taking up most of the space anyway with how disgustingly he sits. It seems, despite his weird behavior and questions, the guy still knows how to manspread.
“So Tord decided to shoot the cashier so we could lie and pretend we’d paid. Except the memory-erasing gun hit him instead.”
You guys brought a gun to a store? And you shot it at a pedestrian?
Of course they did. Of course Tord did. The guy loves nothing else but violence and chaos. He practically thrives on it. It’s one of Tom’s many grievances about him.
But despite his feelings, he still finds himself devastated. And when he looks at Tord with the new knowledge Edd has given him, he almost feels pity. His demeanour is a bit different, nothing like the usual carefree way of his Tord. The one next to him looks softer, innocent in a way that Tom never thought he’d see again.
“So he forgot everything?” He finds himself asking.
The idea makes his stomach churn. A bitter taste fills his mouth as he thinks more about it. It’s accentuated by sharp needles prickling his skin, making him uneasy all over. The weird look Tord gives him doesn’t help.
He and Tord are far from being friends. And anyone would be hard-pressed to call them acquaintances, but they’ve been living together for the majority of their twenties and have known each other for far longer– since the day they met in primary school and sat next to each other. There’s history between them. Whether either of them will admit it depends on the day.
Edd places a soft hand on his shoulder, and for once, he leans into the touch.
“Pre-memory erasure Tord didn’t say very much about how this works.” Edd’s other hand places a gun into his lap. Everything about it reeks of Tord— anyone would be able to tell it's one of his inventions. “But it doesn’t erase all memories, just relationships.”
“Relationships?” He parrots.
Edd nods and shows Tom his phone. The lock screen is a photo of the four of them wrapped around each other. It’s from when they first moved in together, right after they’d all finished college. Edd and Matt are on the sides, their arms wrapped around everyone, smiling brightly, leaving him and Tord squeezed in the middle.
Tom remembers the day it was taken, how they’d all crammed together to fit in the frame– each afraid of being cut off. Edd had mentioned wanting to get it professionally printed and hung, but with the photo being shot on a crappy 2000s phone, it wasn’t worth it. Even now he can see the grainy texture and can barely make out Tord’s mole and his own piercings.
Looking at it, he smiles. It’s one of the few photos where he and Tord, as adults, are together and happy.
He almost misses Edd’s reply, being so lost in thought. “Yeah, like he didn’t know who I was, but after showing him this photo, he said he remembered the feeling I gave him. He said he knew we had to be… friends.”
“The feeling?” He’s like a broken record at this point. He can’t believe this is happening to him– that this isn’t some elaborate prank spun up by the two of them.
This time Tord is the one to answer him. It’s a direct response too— nothing like the usual half-answers he gives. Tom’s sure he does it just to piss him off. “He just looks like someone I’d room with.”
Tom notices the slight flush on his cheek, and before he can stop himself, a question slips from his mouth before he has a chance to think about its implications. He really needs to vet his thoughts before blurting out the first thing that comes to his mind.
Losing his guard around Tord because of the metaphorical shoe in his mouth isn’t ideal.
“And I look like someone you’d marry?”
“Yeah,” Tord replies.
Tom wasn’t sure what the hell he was expecting as an answer. Certainly not that. His cheeks flush. He prays that Tord doesn’t notice.
It seems he’s too preoccupied with Edd’s phone to see anything, though. Tord taps at Edd’s phone again, the dark screen lighting up once more. He studies the picture of them before pulling out his own. Tom hadn’t realized they had matching lock screens. It appears that Tord had taken some creative liberties, though, and drawn on their faces with a digital pen.
He almost scoffs when he sees the crown Tord drew on himself.
His head turns back and forth as he cross-examines their lock screens. After a minute, he gives up with a huff, his eyes opting to scan around the room for anything interesting.
“But we’re… roommates,” Tord’s voice trails off. The way he pronounces the last word makes it seem like he doesn’t believe it, but Edd gives him a nod of approval.
“That’s right,” he moves his hand to gesture at himself and Tom. “We all live together in this house with Matt. Our rooms are all next to each other, except Matt’s, who lives upstairs.”
When he points to their ginger-haired roommate on the lock screen, Tom swears there’s a look of recognition in his eye. They aren’t extremely close, but they’ve had their moments.
Surely now would be the time to jog his memory. Remember all the good times they’ve had with each other. The laughs they’ve shared late into the night before wishing each other good night right before the sun comes up.
His hopes are quickly snuffed out, though, when he hears Tord’s snarky comment. “He looks loud.”
It seems Tord still retained his shining, award-winning personality despite the memory wipe. Truly, they would’ve all been lost without it.
Edd gives a half-answer as Tom stifles a laugh. A sound of agreement comes from him, but nothing incriminating that could be used against him should Matt learn they were gossiping. It’s halfhearted, a little vague. But Tord isn’t paying attention as he suddenly moves from the couch to a small table with framed photos.
He picks one up, tilting it around to get a clear look. Tom’s so busy watching him that when Edd places a hand on his shoulder and tells him he’s going to inform Matt about what happened, he startles.
“Keep him busy. Show him his room or something. We’ll try to reverse this,” Edd whispers before getting up to leave. He shoots Tom one last look in the stairwell before disappearing. The emotion on his face is indescribable.
He snorts. Easier said than done.
Looking back to where Tord is, he sees him in a crouch, with an outstretched hand beckoning Ringo. The black cat gives him a few wary sniffs before nuzzling against his pant leg and emitting a low, soft purr. It’s a sign that she still accepts Tord, memory or not.
Tom’s heart quickens as he takes in the domestic scene. It beats faster when he hears Tord let out a small chuckle, reluctantly giving the top of her a couple of scratches and pets. She trills at the attention.
His chuckle becomes a laugh now, a soft sound mimicking windchimes riding a soft breeze in the early morning. When they were teenagers, Tom would secretly press the keys on Susan to try and imitate it.
Nothing ever came close to the real deal. It had been many years now since he gave up trying.
The sound only haunted him now, a reminder of what they could’ve had.
Blinking back to the present, Ringo jumps into Tord’s arms, with him spinning her around in slow circles. Her excited sounds make it clear she likes the princess treatment. Edd’s spoiled her too many times to count. They all have— if her shiny, smooth fur and array of toys mean anything.
She’s seemingly content being spun around for a while like a ragdoll before wiggling her way out of his grasp and maneuvering onto his shoulders and around to his back. And when she playfully nuzzles her face against the back of his mullet, Tord laughs again, his face soft in a way it hasn’t been for many years. He looks carefree, entertaining her as she continues crawling all around him.
Tord used to look just like that when he would talk to Tom.
Tom used to look just like that when he would talk to Tord.
He takes one last look at the scene before diverting his eyes and picking up Edd’s forgotten glass, his feet finding their way into the kitchen mindlessly.
Tom should really stop leaving his room.