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“Look, man, it’s been what, 25 years now? And you still haven’t got laid? I’m starting to think you’re sabotaging the dates I’ve set up for you on purpose now.”
From Tom’s place on the couch, he can hear Edd’s complaining from the kitchen. Apparently, the task of doing the dishes wasn’t entertaining enough that he felt the need to bring up Tom’s love life. Or the lack of it, to be precise.
Sighing, Tom sinks further into the soft cushions of their three-seater.
So much for a lazy Saturday morning.
It’s not like he’s trying to stay single. He almost feels a little insulted that Edd thinks that. Not everyone can meet their soulmate so easily in secondary school and live happily ever after. And frankly, he doesn’t want to if it’ll mean he’s going to become as lovesick and insufferable as Matt and Edd are together.
If he sees another love letter from Matt hung on the fridge or drawing tucked away in Edd’s sketchbook, he’ll actually throw up.
He’s startled when Edd shakes him, his hands on each side of Tom’s shoulders, having traversed the distance between their kitchen and living room in the midst of Tom’s monologue. He swats away the wet hands with a discontent grumble.
“Come on, how are we going to run double dates if you’re flying solo?” Edd whines.
Like, I haven’t been third-wheeling you guys for a decade now. He thinks dismissively.
Tom’s glad they haven’t left him behind; really, he is, but awkwardly posing for photos with them and sitting alone at the movies while they share popcorn is getting tiring. He feels more like their adult chaperone tasked with making sure they aren’t doing anything too wild than a friend invited on a group outing.
It’s definitely the reason Edd’s so hellbent on trying to get Tom to meet someone. And disguising it under a pretense of worrying about his love life.
Tom doesn’t even bother looking at him, keeping his eyes glued on the television instead. He flips through channels absentmindedly before settling on one. It’s a horror show, not his usual taste, but he doesn’t care enough to change it. He just really needs a distraction from their conversation.
“You keep match-making me with crazy people; that’s why,” he grumbles out. “Worst cupid ever.”
Edd’s quick to defend his recommendations. He’s so passionate about it that an outsider would think that Tom said something negative about him.
“Some of them were nice! What about that one girl who did card tricks? That was cool, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, until she read my horoscope and told me how I’m gonna die. I’m never going scuba diving now.”
He’d been afraid to be near any body of water for an entire month, even the bathtub. Tom had had to wash his hair in the sink. It was an entire ordeal. He’d only come out of it when Matt had staged an intervention about him taking too much time in there.
I can’t do my beauty routine if you’re hogging the bathroom all the time!
“What about that guy that knew some party tricks? Why didn’t that one work out?”
“He tried doing a keg stand in the middle of the restaurant. I don’t even know where he got the keg from.”
They had gotten kicked out pretty fast after that. Tom’s never going back to that diner again. A big shame too, since they’d served the best tacos in town.
“But what about the–”
“Edd, you have to stop recommending me people you meet at conventions; they’re all insane.” Tom stops him in his tracks.
He’s not even going to mention the date he had where the person had shown up in an animal suit. Edd hadn’t even locked the front door before Tom came sprinting back to the house.
From Edd’s expression, it’s clear he isn’t giving up so easily. He’s stubborn like that, a trait that makes his and Tom’s friendship work despite the latter’s dry wit, but also causes him many more problems. See above for examples.
“Fine, fine. Give me one more chance, though. This guy I know you’ll like.”
He’s never been that excited about any of the others. For a moment, Tom finds himself a little intrigued, but plays it off. Keep your expectations low so you’ll never be disappointed. But he might as well get something out of this ordeal.
“Are you willing to bet on it?”
“Yes,” Edd answers immediately. The guy must be really good if he’s willing to gamble on it. His friend is notorious for having bad luck– the night they’d spent in the casino had ended in tears and booze, with a trip to the hospital to round it all out. “Two weeks, I’ll do all the chores if you guys don’t hit it off.”
“Make it three, and we have a deal.”
“Fine, just for you.”
They shake on it.
Edd breaks away to slide Tom his phone. The casing is worn and a bit scuffed up, but the screen is still intact. “Here, this is a photo of him. He’s got a big personality, but so do you, so I know you’ll get along.”
It’s a photo of Edd with another man, and from the looks of it, it was taken sometime when they were in college– if the giant university plaque behind them is any indication. Their arms are wrapped around each other as they loosely hug, Edd’s hand resting on the other’s shoulder while the stranger politely puts a hand on Edd’s back.
Seems like he’s not all too fond of physical touch either.
“Cmon, what do you think?” Edd prods, snapping Tom out of his analytic studying.
Taking a closer look at the man’s appearance, he finds himself a little impressed, a little interested too, though he would never admit it.
The man’s got a strong jawline and many beauty marks, with a notable mole right under his eye. Tom notes his distinct hairstyle– two cowlicks sticking upwards resembling horns, accompanied by a lopsided, irritating smile. And despite the red, loose hoodie he’s wearing alongside his horrible posture, he can tell the man’s insanely jacked. His mouth waters at the last observation.
“Not bad. He’s better looking than the others, I suppose,” Tom comments.
Edd nudges him, looking like a cat who just ate the canary. He practically radiates smugness. “What a surprise. He said the same thing about you.”
Tom scoffs, folding his arms and hiding the small blush on his face– no need to give Edd a power trip. “You’ve been setting him up on dates too?”
“It’s mostly been Matt, but I’ve helped here or there.”
From Edd’s demeanor, it’s clear that it’s been a lot more than a couple of times. No doubt the man has also been receiving terrible blind dates too. Tom’s starting to feel a kinship with this stranger.
They’re unlikely allies in a world of horrendous bad dates and overbearing but well-meaning friends.
“Have his dates been as horrible as mine?”
“He’s still single, no?” Edd deflects.
At that, Tom laughs and receives a punch in the shoulder for his rudeness. Despite it, though, he doesn’t stop clenching his sides as Edd rolls his eyes.
“We’ll make sure to talk about how horrible of friends you both are during it then,” he wheezes out.
Edd punches him again. His shoulder is starting to sting from the repeated blows, but it’s so worth it.
“Fuck off, I’m doing you a favor!” He chastises, but from the way he’s laughing, Tom knows he’s not at all angry.
Tom waves him off, kicking him playfully with his foot. His aim is less than great, but he doesn’t relent until he hits Edd square in the stomach. “Oh, of course, you’re the sole reason for half of my blocked contacts now.”
Rolling his eyes again, Edd turns to the TV where the killer has just been revealed. They’ve been so engrossed in their conversation that neither of them had been paying any attention to the plot and need to rewind.
“Whatever, just be ready for it. I’ll make you guys a reservation and everything, ‘cus I’m such a good friend.”
Tom rolls his eyes in return, though Edd doesn’t see it. He blows a raspberry that he knows doesn’t go unnoticed.
“You just want me to do your laundry, but sure.”
-☆-
Tom’s never felt this anxious for a date before.
Usually, he strides in wearing whatever formal clothing he first pulls from his closet with a cologne recommended by Matt and lets fate decide. But this time around he’s actually going to try. The reward from his bet with Edd won’t feel as sweet if he half-asses it.
So now he stands in front of his closet pulling out shirt after shirt and pant after pant, desperate to try and look above average. He’d even gotten out the razor and cleaned up his facial hair; he was that dedicated.
“It’s not somewhere too formal, but you should still dress nicely.” Edd had told him.
“I always dress nicely. It’s when they don’t match me that it becomes awkward."
Over the coming days, Edd had given him some hints about his blind date, nothing too descriptive but general information about the man’s preferences. Apparently he was a massive fan of horror shows (hard disagree), a bioengineer (no opinion), and extremely competitive (better than being boring).
Perhaps Edd had been worried they’d have nothing to talk about and would awkwardly eat in silence, like the 2nd time. That specific date still makes Tom wake up in a cold sweat at night, cringing.
But more importantly, it had set an expectation. Not only was Edd’s friend getting hyped up by Edd and Matt, but he was also an interesting (and good-looking) guy.
Tom really couldn’t mess up his chances with him by being poorly prepared.
And so he rifles through his dress shirts, from the ones he had worn when he was young and still attending church to the ones he’d bought for job interviews to the ones specifically meant for dates. None of them fit the bill. They were either too small, too worn out, or too extreme for a quiet date at a restaurant.
“Can you stop stressing out for one second? Your bad energy is giving me early wrinkles,” Matt’s voice startles him from the doorway.
“Holy cheeseburgers on a trampoline, don’t do that,” Tom sneers as he adds another dress shirt to his ever-growing collection. He seriously needs to throw some of them out; it’s starting to look like a hoarding collection.
Unphased, Matt enters the room and delicately picks up a stained t-shirt. He considers it briefly before turning it over and seeing the stain, wrinkling his nose and tossing it underneath Tom’s bed.
“I’m here to see if the princess needs a ride tonight. Or if she’ll be relying on the prince to get her home,” Matt accentuates with a wink, clearly implying something inappropriate.
Tom shrugs him off. “I’ll just use a taxi if needed, but thanks for the offer.”
When he pulls another article of clothing from his closet, he hears Matt’s very loud sigh. “I’m being serious, you look fine.”
Tom eyes him warily.
“I’m not wearing a shirt right now.”
Matt chuckles, the edge of his lip quirking up in amusement. He eyes Tom up and down. “Don’t worry, he’ll like that.”
Tom doesn’t even want to think what that implies. He seriously hopes Edd and Matt aren’t setting him up with a psychopath. He makes a note to update his will before he leaves. “Whatever. Just come help me pick out something already.”
“As my prince so demands, and he does demand.” Matt sighs like he wasn’t the one who willingly walked into Tom’s room and started up their conversation. How Edd puts up with his pompous attitude he’ll never understand. There must be some other desirable qualities hidden underneath all that vanity, or Edd is just a masochist.
From how the man dedicated his life to 20 FPS smooth animations, it could swing either way.
“Look, just wear some nice jeans, a nicer dress shirt, and a casual jacket,” Matt advises him, pulling the pieces from the piles on the floor. He holds them up to Tom. “See? Not so hard now, is it?”
It’s not half bad, not his usual clean style, but he could make it work. If he wore a belt with it, then it would be an appropriate outfit for the junior prom. He carefully takes it from Matt’s grip, careful not to wrinkle it any further. He should really learn how to iron clothes instead of relying on his mum.
“Is that what you wore when you first started seeing Edd?” He asks curiously.
Tom couldn’t imagine that their first date had been too formal, since they’d both been young secondary school students at the time. But knowing both of them, they’d at least have worn a tie and maybe some slacks. The mental image of them as teenagers bumbling through an awkward first date with their parents outside the building greatly amuses him.
Tom may as well have asked Matt if he used 3-in-1 shampoo. “God no! This would’ve made him run for the hills. But you’ll look nice in it, I’m sure.”
At least he’s honest– in the worst way possible. The man knows nothing about subtlety. Tom’s pretty sure he would rather die than tell a small white lie to save someone’s feelings.
“Thanks, man…” Tom awkwardly says, a wobbly smile on his face.
Matt returns it with the brightness of the sun. “You’re welcome. Now go get ‘em, tiger!”
“The moment you leave my room so I can change, I will.”
Matt laughs at that but makes no effort to head towards the door he entered from. Instead, he keeps talking. “Just make sure to take a while with him, alright? We’re gonna have a date night while you’re busy wine and dining him.”
The last part is up for debate. Tom had never even gone home with any of their setups; the wining had been that bad. “We’ll see about the dining part,” he answers wryly.
Matt doesn’t catch his hesitancy. Or if he does, he completely blows past it.
“I’m sure he’ll be excited to dine you at least. He was practically drooling when we showed him a photo of you. He was quite impressed with your beer pong.”
What an amazing first impression he must’ve given the guy. “You couldn’t have shown him a nicer photo of me? I look like a drunkard in that one.”
“Probably because you are one,” Matt replies before tussling his hair so it looks windswept. “And no, we couldn’t ‘cus that would’ve been deceitful.”
He slaps Matt’s hand away and fixes the mess. “Big word there, Matt. Take it easy.”
“I’ll show you another one of him to make up for it, alright? I’m sure Edd showed you a tame version of him to get you hooked, but trust me, he’s crazy.”
When Matt’s phone is handed to him, Tom immediately takes to the screen. It’s a grainy photo, one taken inside an arcade if the flashing neon colors and digital machines in the background mean anything. There are multiple people captured within, but at the center is the man he’ll be meeting later tonight, a plastic gun in his hand.
From the looks of it, he’s concentrated, with one of his eyes closed as his finger rests on the trigger. A small bit of his tongue pokes out, and Tom’s ashamed to find it somewhat endearing. In front of him is the game he’s playing and the final score. Tom’s eyes widen upon seeing it. He’d never known someone could get the max score in Zombie Shootout.
“I’m still not sure where Edd picked him up, but he’s a crazy good sharpshooter,” Matt informs, his tone a little teasing as Tom continues gawking at the photo.
His mind only comes back to life when Matt snatches his phone back, an amused glint in his eyes. Whatever. “Even if you guys aren’t compatible, we should all try to play some games together, yeah?”
He’s starting to like the man more and more. Something tells Tom he’ll be more interesting than all his past romantic prospects by far.
“As long as he’s not insane, I’m down.”
Matt takes that as his cue to leave, lingering in the doorway for one last moment as he says his final words.
“Perfect, now best of luck, young Thomas.”
He flips him off. “You’re older than me, Matthew.”
-☆-
Stepping into the diner, Tom’s a bit surprised to see it’s not a familiar place. Usually Edd would suit him up at his favorite restaurants and cycle through them, but this place is uncharted territory. He sends Matt a little text to signal he’s alright to drive off before taking another step in.
The place is well-lit, with low ceilings and shelves adorned with trinkets and glasses of various sizes. It’s more of a mom and pop shop than an actual establishment owned by many corporations, but he doesn’t mind it. It’s homey, if not a little small.
He notices a man sitting at the end of a row looking at him. The silver of his eyes is drawn in question, as though he’s discerning if he recognizes Tom anywhere. When he gets closer to his table, the man catches his attention.
“Tom, right?” His accent is present when he speaks. Is it Russian? He doesn’t remember what nationality Edd said he was.
“Yep, and you’re… Tord?” He answers, pulling out his chair and taking a seat.
At that, the man chuckles, sharp canines biting into his gums. Tom’s embarrassed to find the feature attractive.
“That’s what it says on my birth certificate,” Tord jokes before giving him a not-so-subtle look down. The gaze is nothing but intense and passionate. “You look different than your photo.”
A bead of sweat forms on his forehead. Is that a good thing? He isn’t sure what to make of his tone. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve aged since mine was taken.”
Tord chuckles again as Tom starts to shake his leg underneath the table. At least one of them is having a good time.
“Funny guy here. Didn’t take you as a comedian.”
“Musician, actually,” Tom corrects. “But I could do a stand-up here and there.”
He’s paid good money to perform his gigs. It isn’t the most conventional career, but he’s happy with it. Tord isn’t as impressed as Tom would’ve hoped; his face is amused more than anything, almost pitying– typical STEM people.
“I’ll let you know when my siblings need a clown for their parties.”
At that, Tom bristles. “You would be a better fit, I think. You’ve already got the hairstyle on point.”
What am I doing riling up Tord? Am I trying to make this night end badly?
He’s about to backtrack and apologize for his words– though Tord definitely deserved it for the clown comment– when he’s interrupted by said man.
“Please, like you’re not using the same hair gel I am.”
Ah. It looks like they’re on the same page: both trying to piss each other off. What a shame too, with such a nice face like that. Too bad it can’t mask a horrible personality.
There’s a bite to his words as Tom retorts. “So what if I am? At least my hair color is natural.”
Really, if Tord wanted to pretend to be a natural blond, he could’ve at least chosen a less obvious shade– and done a better bleaching job.
“You can just tell me you’re jealous. I’ll be nice, don’t worry,” Tord sneers, grabbing a bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket and applying it. When he offers some to Tom, the latter accepts under the pretense of wasting it.
He makes sure to apply as much as possible to piss the man off further. The look Tord gives him makes it clear he knows exactly what Tom’s doing, and he snatches the bottle back quickly.
“I was expecting you to be anyway, unless they don’t teach foreigners to be respectful anymore?” Tom questions.
“They could extend some lessons to homeborn citizens, seeing as I had to pull out my own chair here.”
The audacity of this jerk. Tom can’t believe Edd and Matt thought they’d be a good match. How low do his friends think of him? He gets wasted a couple of times and flirts with a couple of trees, and suddenly everyone thinks he doesn’t have any standards.
Spoiler alert: he doesn’t. That’s why he’s going on these awful blind dates in the first place.
He takes Tord’s wooden chopsticks and breaks them in half, rubbing away the potential splinters before setting them next to him. He does the same with his own a minute after.
“You’re the one who came early. Plus, we’re both men; customs like those don’t apply here,” he spits out.
Tord takes to delicately unwrapping his napkin and setting the table. With a small flourish, he places the flowers he brought into a vase onto the table. Tom begrudgingly adds his own flowers into the mix. It’s a beautiful, small bouquet of pink carnations and red tulips– first love.
“Better than being late. And that’s the attitude that’s keeping you single, Tomas.”
The way Tord says his name makes him both flustered and upset. He chooses to focus on the second and tucks away the first for later.
“I was on time. And your face is the reason you’re also alone, Tord.”
Before the man can dish out a reply, a waiter approaches their table. From the look on her face, she’s slightly confused at the tense atmosphere but is trying to stay professional. Tom makes a mental note to leave a good review.
“Welcome in. Are we ready to order tonight or do we still need a moment?”
“We’re ready,” Tord replies at the same moment Tom says, “I still need a moment.”
They both look at each other dumbly as the waiter bounces between their feet. After a moment of awkward silence, with Tom frantically looking through the menu and Tord impatiently waiting, he cuts in with a snicker.
“Really? You’re so slow at deciding.”
Underneath the table, Tom kicks him in the shin. He makes sure to aim exactly where the bone is so it’ll bruise. “I’m getting distracted looking at your ugly mug.”
Tord only smiles back, a toothy grin that shows he really enjoyed the pain he’d received. Freak.
“Ooo, that’s the second time you’ve commented on my face.” This guy and his childish taunts. No wonder he’s still single. “Let’s hope your songs are more original than your insults.”
Screw politeness; his mum will forgive him if he goes to jail for murder. “Seeing as I’ll be bashing your head in with my guitar soon, you won’t get to find out.”
He turns from where he’s glaring at Tord to give the waiter a kind smile. She looks moridified. “Can I have the number four here?” He asks.
“Make that two, with a bottle of red wine, please,” Tord adds in.
The waiter dutifully scribbles down their orders before politely running away from their table as fast as possible. Tom can see the literal smoke cloud of dust as she runs off into the kitchen. He tries not to feel ashamed at causing her so many problems.
He turns back to Tord, watching as he too looks at the retreating figure of their server. From this angle, without knowing anything else about him, he’s not half bad. Almost handsome.
“Didn’t you drive here?” Tom asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. From the way he’s dressed, Tom wouldn’t be surprised if he drove a motorcycle or something.
He gets a snort in response, and whatever’s left of Tom’s politeness really leaves now, along with his intrigue about the stranger. Screw this guy.
“Some of us can afford a cab instead of mooching off our friends,” Tord answers, pouring some ice water into Tom’s cup. He stops when it reaches the top and does the same with his own. Quietly, Tom helps him– removing the paper casing of their plastic straws and balling the waste to be shoved into his pocket.
“Name three people who like having you around,” Tom huffs. “If you really wanted to get drunk too, you should’ve let me decide the beverage.”
“Because I’m sure the cheap beer you ingest at those parties makes you a connoisseur.”
Tom lets out an exaggerated scoff. “You’ve just told me now that no one likes having you around and that you're no fun. What next? The story of how you got dropped on your head as a child?”
Beneath the table, Tord continues their little game of kicking each other. Tom’s only slightly embarrassed at how childish they’re being– sitting in nice clothing at a table waiting for their food but acting like children in primary school during break. He pins everything on Tord’s immaturity.
“At least my hairline isn’t receding,” Tord shoots back. “Who told you to cover your bald spots by making your hair taller?”
A bait. He’s made sure to follow a strict hair routine since he was young.
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my hair; who’s unoriginal now?” Tom throws back. “And who told you to hide your small dick behind a terrible personality?”
Tord waves him off dismissively. “I say things as I see it. You’re getting so worked up over this. Frankly, it’s a bit embarrassing.”
“Says the guy rubbing his foot against me like a pathetic dog.”
He smirks when he feels Tord’s foot pulling away suddenly, only missing the touch for half a second before it comes back. Of course Tord’s ego couldn’t be bruised that easily.
“If a tree being cut by a lumberjack likes it, then that says more about the former than the latter.”
A weird comparison, but seeing as Tord’s first language isn’t English, he’ll give him a pass. Tom makes a small note to help correct his pronunciation so he won’t get made fun of by less sympathetic people. He’s also a bit sure now that he’d gotten Tord’s name wrong initially and vows to ask him later to say it again.
He doesn’t want to seem like an idiot yelling out the wrong name as they beat each other up behind the diner after this.
“Round about way to defend yourself for being a freak,” he replies the moment their food arrives. He doesn’t miss the way the waiter’s face contorts into extreme confusion before deciding it isn’t worth questioning and running off again.
He really needs to read the room more before saying things like that.
Their meal is a simple noodle dish in a big preheated bowl of broth with various toppings in small dishes. Tom can’t begin to name half of what’s in front of him, but reluctantly begins adding what he’s sure is some lettuce, mushroom, and shrimp. In front of him, Tord’s doing the same, except he’s left out some ingredients Tom likes and put in some Tom’s sure he doesn’t.
Watching him, he’s confident that they’re ones Tord would prefer not to eat but will if he must. An idea forms in Tom’s head as he looks at his own dish.
Silently, he gets Tord’s attention and swaps some of their toppings, only adding in Tord’s ingredients to his clay bowl when he’s sure they’ve both accepted the trade.
At the end, they’ve somehow managed to reach a compromise where each of them is satisfied. Not a single small dish lies amongst them untouched.
But that doesn’t stop Tord from being a dickhead.
“I never said I was defending myself. I’m just saying the label also fits on you,” he rehashes their argument.
And so their argument begins anew. The silent truce between them only stopped temporarily as each of them finishes chewing, long enough to take another jab at each other before taking another bite of their meal.
Tom’s the first to go. “Where did Edd even find you? He’s way too good for you.”
“Same trashcan he picked you up from apparently– there must’ve been a 2-for-1 deal.”
“So it’s not too late to return you?”
At that, Tord laughs, spitting out some broth as Tom hurries to hand him a napkin. He attempts to fill Tord’s cup some more, but the other man gestures for him to sit down and continue eating. There are tears in Tord’s eyes as Tom holds onto his chopsticks and makes sure he’s still breathing, a lingering hand ready to hit his back if so needed.
“Your flimsy little arms couldn’t even begin to try and pick me up,” Tord gets out in between gasps for air, the spice of his food doing nothing to alleviate the pain in his throat.
It’s more bait that Tom unfortunately falls for.
“Is that a challenge?” He prompts.
“Just an observation. I’m more than happy to be proven wrong.”
He’ll show him. “Matt lied: you’re not at all competitive. But he was right when he said you were crazy.”
“Takes one to know one. He also lied when he said you were good-looking.”
An obvious fib. Tord has been hungrily looking at him all evening. Not to say Tom hasn’t been doing the same. It’s been a long time since he’s had a positive experience going out like this; the last time this happened was never.
He’s a bit pent up.
“With the company he keeps around, I would say I’m not so bad,” Tord mumbles out, his voice more shy than it’s been all night.
Tom hates that he finds it sweet and endearing.
What he does next can only be blamed on the red wine. Something about it and Tord’s sly smiles and his own enjoyment about the fact that they’re both having a good time has made his brain turn into mush and lose all its reason.
Against all his better judgment, against all rationale, Tom chooses love.
Gamblers gamble and all. “Wanna bet?”
-☆-
Tord hurries to blink away the sleep from his eyes as his phone rings yet again. It’s been doing that for the past hour, and he can’t ignore it anymore.
Groggily, he reaches for it in the pile of his clothes on the floor, finding it in the pocket of his jeans. The sun’s barely just risen above the horizon, and it takes all his energy not to put it on silent and go back to bed.
It’s way too damn early for Matt, or anyone for that matter, to be ringing him.
“Tord! Tord! I’ve been calling you all night!” Matt’s loud voice comes from the other end, and Tord quickly goes to turn down the volume, lest he wake anyone else up.
Taking a moment to stretch and crack his back before responding, he heads into the bathroom, flipping on the switch and taking a moment to observe himself in front of the mirror. He looks absolutely wrecked, bug-eyed with his hair in disarray.
“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” he grumbles out, turning on the water and grabbing a toothbrush. He methodically spreads some toothpaste as Matt starts to ramble.
“Clearly! Now tell me how it went. I didn’t see Tom come home last night, so it must’ve gone well, yeah?”
“It was fine.”
Matt’s not one to give up so easily. Tord knows better than anyone how nosy the other man can be. That’s not to say he isn’t also a gossip, though. It’s why they’re both friends.
“Don’t skip the details! Spill! Spill!”
He scratches his back and looks himself over for any markings. There’s not any part of him that isn’t red or sore or both. There’s no way he’ll be going into work tomorrow without wearing makeup, especially on his neck.
“I’m at a hotel right now, maybe later.”
He spits out the toothpaste and does an above-average job at rinsing his mouth. He’s just about finished wiping off his chin when Matt responds.
“A hotel!” His voice rises an octave, and even with a screen separating them, Tord knows there are stars in his eyes. Matt could at least pretend not to sound too shocked. The guy’s acting like it’s his first ever time.
It is.
“You’re with him, aren’t you? God, you guys work fast.”
Understatement of the year. “Yeah, yeah. Now listen, you mind giving me his number? Need to split costs with him.”
The hotel they’d book hadn’t been cheap– on Tom’s insistence about maintaining cleanliness. Tord would’ve made a snide comment about him throwing that out the window the moment they’d kissed if he weren’t worried the other man would’ve ended it right then and there.
He’s sure Tom would be petty enough to do something like that.
For a moment, Matt doesn’t say anything. It’s a long enough stretch that Tord thinks the guy hung up on him, but eventually he pushes out an unsure question.
“Aren’t you right next to him? Like right now?”
“Yeah, but I’m not interested enough to beg for it. That’s totally lame.”
In their little back-and-forth game, Tord will not be the one forfeiting. He likes Tom and all, but not enough to bruise his ego and ask him out. Though he won’t say anything if Tom asks him for his number– he is quite a catch; anyone would be miffed to let him go.
Matt’s still confused, clearly not understanding their relationship. Tord’s not sure if he does either, to be honest.
“So it didn’t go well?”
“He’s crazy, Matt. Of course it didn’t.”
A new voice cuts in from the other side, and Tord hears some rustling as Matt’s phone gets handed off to the newcomer.
“Crazy? That doesn’t sound like Tom— speaking of which, where is he?” Edd inquires.
“They were busy canoodling. But I guess he must’ve scared him off or something,” Matt tries to whisper, but it's loud enough that Tord can hear it clearly from the other side.
He’s about to defend himself when a new voice joins the call, except this time it’s from Tord’s side. An equally dressed Tom shuffles into the bathroom and snatches Tord’s phone, clicking a button to bring it into speaker mode.
“Hardly. If anything, he couldn’t handle me,” Tom butts in. “Edd, give me his number right now so I can yell at him more.”
“No way! Matt, tell Tom here he’s out of his mind and has morning breath.” Tord spits out while attempting to grab his phone again, only being stopped in his tracks as Tom wraps an arm around him and holds the phone up high with the other.
Being men of similar height, it does nothing to deter him. He pushes his hand into Tom’s face and steps on his toes, continuing to reach for his cell.
“Edd, go ahead and tell Tord that he drools on the pillow and snores,” Tom mumbles out beneath Tord’s hand. His voice is completely inaudible, and he knows it, making a reckless choice to push Tord’s hand off by licking it.
He gets the desired result immediately as the Norwegian pulls his hand away like he’s been burned.
Tord gives him a nasty glare, but Tom looks nothing but pleased with himself and his actions. Deciding he can’t guilt Tom into feeling ashamed, he opts to shout to Matt instead.
“Tell Tom that he takes up all the bed and hogs all the blanket.”
“Tell Tord that he doesn’t even need the blanket anyway because he chooses to sleep in absolutely nothing, so it’s really his own damn fault.”
This time, when Tord reaches for his phone, he knocks them both onto the tiled floor. Instinctively, his arm shoots out to protect Tom’s head from hitting the ground, cushioning the blow with his muscles.
Unfortunately, it seems Tom had a similar idea as he cradles Tord’s head against his chest, leaving the two of them in a rather intimate position with their best friends on call with them mere meters away.
He’s sure that both of them can hear each other’s rapid heartbeats right now. And despite their rather explicit activities the night prior, they both find themselves blushing, looking anywhere but at each other.
Desperate to find an out, Tord continues arguing. It’s a good fallback for confronting unwanted feelings.
“Tell Tom that–”
But he’s barely a third into whatever unintelligent insult he’s about to say when Edd fiercely cuts them off.
“Okay, that’s enough! If you guys are having relationship issues already, then I’ll book a couple’s therapy. Otherwise, we’ll see you next week for a group date.”
From the other end, Matt voices his agreement. Tord tries not to feel betrayed by both of them– left to rot by his two closest friends in such a vulnerable moment. It stings.
“We’re not dating,” they say at the same time before unwrapping themselves from their compromising position on the floor. This time they both place a hand on Tord’s phone and hold it between themselves, unwilling to risk something like before happening again.
Edd’s having none of their excuses. He’s most certainly regretting his decision to introduce them to each other, but it’s far too late for regrets now.
“You guys better find hot dates soon then or show up alone. See you there.” Click.
They spend the rest of the morning in an awkward silence. Taking turns in the shower and changing in opposite rooms, though they’ve definitely already seen everything. The atmosphere is thick with tension, something Tord doesn’t know how to break without chasing Tom away forever.
He tries something out anyway, something he hopes won’t escalate into an actual argument.
“You mentioned your house having an extra room?”
He’s sure Tom is ignoring him as he puts on his shirt and begins to button it. When he gets to the last one at the top, it’s clear he missed one and needs to start again. Tom lets out a long sigh.
“Yep. Matt practically suggested you move in already,” he confirms before resetting all his work and starting over.
The action resembles their relationship– one step back and two steps forward. Undoing and redoing all progress but always coming out of each exchange farther than when they started. Sure, they fight, and perhaps one day it’ll be too much, but they’ll always try again.
And for Tord, that’s enough to keep going.
He hesitantly walks up to him, swatting his hand away to take on the task himself. They’re both silent as his fingers crawl closer to where Tom’s heart lies, closer to the source of all his love.
When Tord loops the final button back on, he gives him a lopsided smile that he knows the other finds a bit charming, if not annoying.
He’s rewarded with a small kiss on his head for the gesture, a small show of intimacy that encourages him to let down some walls.
“Come back to my place and help me pack?”
“Only if you split the chores I promised Edd with me.”
-fin. ☆