Tom woke up late in the evening, 7 pm. His mom hadn't bothered waking him up for dinner which honestly, wasn't surprising to him. He slowly sat up and looked around the room, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the darkness. Although he had only eaten lunch that day, he didn't find himself to be that hungry and instead slowly got up and walked towards the bathroom. He returned to his room several minutes later after washing his hands and sat down on the mattress. He looked around his room for a moment before gazing at his bedside table and opened the drawer, finding the cigarettes that Tord had given him the day before. Hesitantly, he took the box in his hand and searched through his desk door before finding a lighter. He wasn't sure if he even had a lighter because he didn't smoke often, rarely ever having his own pack, but he found one from when he was still a freshman.
The boy opened his window slowly and stepped out onto the patio roof. The air was humid signaling that it was likely going to rain soon. This didn't deter the Brit, however, and instead, he sat down on the tiles and took out a cigarette, placing it between his fingers before lighting the end. The smoke was warm in his lungs in contrast to the cold air nipping at his skin. He enjoyed the sensation that washed over him as he inhaled more nicotine and gazed out at the night sky, no stars to be seen. He hadn't grown up looking at stars so he didn't miss them, but he wondered if there were stars back in Norway, if the Norsk missed them. The Brit smiled to himself, realizing he had slept all day and the first thing he did was go out to smoke a cigarette in the cold. He found his own behavior amusing. He hoped he'd be able to go back to sleep for the night considering he had school tomorrow, today being Wednesday.
Going back to sleep proved to be easier than he thought as he smoked the cigarette to its butt. The nicotine high made him shaky and his body felt heavy so as he wobbled back into his house through his window he felt drowsy all over again. The second he laid on his bed he was asleep again, but he didn't dream. He had simply closed his eyes and the next second it was morning, the alarm on his phone going off.
The smell of Tord in his room had faded, no trace of him having been there besides the dye that still stained the tub and his hands. The boy turned over in bed, letting out a loud groan. For someone who got around 15 hours of sleep, he was still tired. Nonetheless, he got out of bed while rubbing his eyes, letting out a soft yawn. He didn't feel well today, he couldn't describe it. Although he showered yesterday he felt disgusting and dirty so he gathered clothes from his closet and made his way to the bathroom, hoping a shower would help wash that feeling away.
He walked into the bathroom and put a towel down like he usually did to prevent getting water all over the floor before locking the door, turning on the water, and taking off his clothes, being careful to not snag any of his piercings as he took off his shirt.
He put his hand under the water, testing the temperature before stepping under the stream. He took a deep breath as the warm water hit his freckled skin, his black voids for eyes half-lidded as he stared into nothing, his eyes unfocused as he gazed forward. He ran his hands through his hair and over his skin but couldn't shake the feeling that he was greasy. Not just oily, but like he had been standing next to a deep fryer for hours, the popping of the fry grease causing droplets to get on his skin until he was thoroughly coated. It almost felt like the water wasn't even hitting his skin, like whatever layer of dirt he had on him was making him hydrophobic. This idea was absurd, however; there was nothing he had done to become so soiled. He picked up his bottle of body wash and squeezed some on his hand before rubbing his palms together and coating the gel over his body as it quickly turned into suds. This caused some relief as he felt the soap wash over his skin. He used more body wash than normal to accommodate his sudden need to be clean. Once he was sure his body was clean he went to his hair that still felt slick and greasy, one side of his head– the side he slept on– his hair had become slightly mattered creating the illusion of balding, or at the very least hair thinning, and no matter how much he ran his fingers through his hair he couldn't fluff it back up.
He dapped some 2-in-1 on his hand, repeating the process of rubbing his palms together and then rubbing his hands through his hair. As he coated his hair it felt like it wasn't helping, and even after washing the shampoo-conditioner mix out, it didn't feel different at all. Tom, getting sick of the sensation, squeezed more 2-in-1 on his hand. This time when he applied it to his hair it quickly sudded up, thoroughly coating his hair. As he scrubbed he got some of the cleaning agent in his eyes and winced, knowing it would be a bad day. Really, what kind of 15-year-old still gets soap in their eyes?
He washed out the shampoo from his hair and eyes, blinking under the water to try and wash away the burning sensation. For a moment he felt satisfied with the results until he realized how dry it was because of the cheap product. He had no conditioner to attempt to fix it, he was never one to put in effort to maintain appearance besides the occasional chapstick for face moisturizer when his skin gets dry and peels, especially around his nose and eyebrows. He let out a sound of agitation as he looked around in the shower, trying to find something that may help with the dryness of his hair. At least he knew it was clean now.
On the corner of the tub, he saw a rectangular packet with a brown and white design– the hair dye conditioner. The conditioner Tord had used and apparently left in the tub. The aluminum packet practically stared him down before the Brit reached for it and squeezed some on his hand. Perhaps this was the universe's way of telling the boy he did the right thing; after all, he wouldn't have had the conditioner to help with the bad day he was having if he hadn't dyed Tord's hair. He ran the product through his hair, the texture improving dramatically as he massaged his scalp. He smiled to himself, content. For the first time, he didn't regret the reminisce of the butterfly effect, perhaps because it directly benefited him.
When he got out of the shower he felt genuinely refreshed, whatever filth he convinced himself he had was gone and he got dressed. He examined his piercings in the mirror for a moment before turning away, all of them seeming to be happy. He went downstairs to get a cup of coffee and poured himself a mug, walking upstairs rather chipper. He wasn't sure why his mood was suddenly better, his eye still faintly stung from the soap and he was still convinced it was an omen that the day wouldn't go well, but he couldn't shake a feeling of contentment. He'd never felt so back and forth before but decided it was just his natural response to being clean now. Something in him also compelled him to clean his room, or rather yelled at him for not cleaning his room yesterday instead of sleeping but he tried not to pay attention to it as he took another sip of his coffee, just trying to enjoy the moment.
The sky outside was gloomy, the atmosphere hazy and humid. After a moment it started sprinkling, the water hitting the pavement in small droplets. Tom had always been a fan of the ran, something about it felt homely. Not just the idea of sitting by the window with hot chocolate while listening to the soft pitter-patter, but also an overwhelming urge to change into nothing but a tank top and basketball shorts to run through it and enjoy nature's shower. Maybe he just liked being connected to the world. He found similar bliss by walking through forests or lying on the grass, but there was no sensation that compared to letting the sky cry on you while lying on cold, rough pavement. This wasn't an activity he actually engaged in, let alone tell someone about, but the desire always laid there in hibernation at the back of his mind, waiting for the day to act out and fill that hunger for it.
After the Brit finished his coffee he slipped on socks and shoes before picking up his backpack and walking downstairs, putting his mug in his sink. That may have been the first time that school year when he was ready and downstairs before his mom called for him. Even yesterday he was sitting tired and restless on his bed instead of waiting in the living room. His mom opened the door slowly, rubbing her face with her brown hair up in a messy bun. She looked tired and a bit taken aback.
"You're all ready?" He asked, almost confused. Her son nodded in response. "Alright, let's go." She said it almost as if it was a chore, as if Tom's school wasn't on the way to her work; or perhaps she found work bothersome as well today.
The pair got in the car and drove silently to the school. Tom's mom had a flat expression on her face as she looked forward at the wet road, droplets hitting the windshield faster than the windshield wipers could push them away. Tom was slouched in the car seat staring forward at the road. He didn't go on his phone often while in the car unless he was trying to completely avoid his mother or numb his thoughts. Maybe it was because of anxiety, or a general nervousness from being in close proximity with someone but not conversing. The car ride to school always had a strange tension to it, even when the Brit was just a child. When the boy was in elementary school– before his parents divorced– his mother would sometimes cry on the drive, having been screamed at just minutes prior. The child that was once in a booster seat didn't understand, but maybe somewhere deep in their bones the pair knew those memories lived inside them and they'd never be comfortable in the car together because of it.
Tom silently got out of the cat with his backpack, no goodbye or parting smiles, just a mother and a boy trying to make it through another day. Although they weren't close, sometimes it felt like they were sinking together, like the two were tied in a way scissors couldn't break. Neither of them acknowledged it, but there was a silent understanding that the two were drawing together, and neither of them could swim.
Tom made it to his homeroom class, sitting in his usual seat. Tord was already in the classroom scrolling on his phone idly. He rested his head on his palm with his elbow propped on the desk as he looked down at the series of posts and reels on the screen. He didn't pay mind to the Brit when he sat next to him, leaving Tom unsure whether Tord was ignoring him or just lost in thought. The sound of the rain hitting the roof was faintly audible over the small chattering on the other end of the room, coming from the trio that sat by the door. The emo glanced over at Tord who continued to pay no mind and bit his lip, unsure as to why the silence between them felt so uncomfortable to him. After a moment Tord smiled with a soft snicker.
"You're like a cat, you know that?" The Norsk teased, Tom raised his brow confused but the taller boy spoke up again before he could respond. "You hate attention but the second you're ignored you try to get it back," he laughed.
Tom grew a bit embarrassed, unaware of how his silent gaze had been practically pawing at the horn-haired boy minutes before. "No, I'm not like a cat! I couldn't care less about your attention," the blonde said and crossed his arms.
Tord only laughed, amused by his defensive behavior. He was about to say something else before their other two friends walked in, Edd loudly complaining about the weather. Both boys held closed umbrellas, wrapped in their plastic wrap bags to avoid getting water on the floor. Matt was dry and fluffing his hair while Edd seemed to have had more trouble in the rain; he was fairly soaked with his dark brown hair slicked over his face. Although his hair always covered his eyes, it began to cover his nose as well, the water weighing his waved hair down.
"Damn Edd, you look like you got caught in a hurricane," Tom teased with a small smile.
"Matt stole my umbrella for like, half the walk!" He exclaimed, his tone mixed between playful and pitiful.
Tom and Tord smiled, rather amused. "Hey! I needed it! The wind made the rain front in multiple directions! It was a surrounded attack!" He explained his excuse, prompting Tom to shake his head.
"Typical Matt," the Brit rubbed his forehead with a smile, "Poor Edd is soaked!"
The tallest boy in a green hoodie crossed his arms, "Yeah! Poor me!" The damp fabric dripped on the floor as he began walking to his desk behind the blonde Emo, "I'm sure you wouldn't care, Tom, don't you like the rain or something?"
"Getting wet? No way," the boy defended himself.
The green-hoodied boy only rolled his eyes, "Yeah right, I'm pretty sure you don't even own an umbrella," he teased.
This was true, Tom didn't own an umbrella and instead, when it rained he just let himself fall victim to the wrath of the sky, succumbing to the droplets that hit his skin and dampened his hair and clothes; he didn't mind it one bit.
"Hey I'm sure I have an umbrella…" there's a short-lived pause, "Somewhere, I don't know."
The four continued to bicker until the bell rang and class started. Edd seemed fairly irritated the whole period, the moist feeling on his skin turning itchy over time as his hoodie practically refused to dry in the cool fall air. Matt seemed to have no remorse for what he did, and although he was the reason why the taller boy was cold, Edd didn't seem upset and instead smiled at the ginger when they caught glances. Although the three Brits have been friends since primary school, Edd and Matt have always been closer. There was a brief period in junior high where Tom could have sworn Edd was his best friend, but looking back it may have been something similar to pity. Those worries didn't change their good memories, however; the three being 12 and stupid, stealing their parent's makeup and Tom emo-ifying them. The three never went out in public like that but instead sat and laughed together in their houses, teasing each other. It wasn't until a few months before Tom turned 13 that he decided to start wearing the alternative makeup at school, just wanting to see how it'd feel.
Having it on made him feel prideful like he was himself, and then the second he was on school grounds he found himself regretting that decision in its entirety, too embarrassed to go to class without washing it off. At some point, some switch in his head flipped and he started wearing the eyeliner to school, no shame, no embarrassment, and honestly– he didn't have the energy to care. Although the 2 Brits teased him, they also expressed how it suited him. Tom flourished after that, up until a couple of months ago where he just didn't have it in him anymore.
Maybe something in Tom was envious of how close Matt and Edd were, but at the same time, he was sure desperation had been brewing in him so long that if anyone got too close he'd claw them to scraps and pieces while trying to hold onto them. He wanted to be better than that but he couldn't help but bare his teeth when he smiled. Maybe that's why besides his subtle niceties he hasn't let Tord grow too close. They went through the motions of a friendship but rarely let his guard down enough to let himself act freely. Even when he let Tord stay the night he had to justify it to himself, saying that it was just common courtesy— that it'd work out better that way.
Tom bit his tongue and stared down at his desk. Is this what he was cursed to do? If he were to try and kiss someone he'd bite them, if he were to hug someone he'd suffocate them, if he were to even stand too close to someone he was sure he'd give them radiation poisoning. Did he really think himself to be so terrible? Perhaps he would but recently he hasn't been thinking much at all.
Unknowingly, Tord was sinking in the same boat, trying to grasp at whatever he could hold onto to try and save himself from the flood of bottled-up feelings that washed over him. The waves crashed and threw him around. How was he ever supposed to know how he felt went it all blended together like this?
He glanced at Tom who seemed to be pensive, completely unaware of his surroundings. He thought back to what his father asked him and tried to sort through what he could; his efforts proved futile as he couldn't form a single cohesive thought related to the topic he was trying to submerge himself in. The sound of the rain helped keep him grounded, reminding the Norsk of where he was. The Brit next to him didn't seem to have the same response as he stared into nothingness. Something urged him to bring the blonde back to attention but decided against it and went back to school work.
During break the four stayed inside the library to escape the rain. Tord enthusiastically engaged in conversations with Edd and Matt while Tom gazed out the window, watching the raindrops race to the bottom before being washed away. Although Tom loved the rain, it always made him more apathetic and dispassionate.
"Tom," Matt finally spoke up, "Are you with us?"
Edd turned his attention towards the emo as well, "Yeah you've been kind of out of it?" He tried to explain the emotion he observed from the boy
"No, Yeah, I'm fine guys, I don't know. Probably just tired," he said, glancing at his friends before back out the window, his voice at first genuine before going flat. His expressions resembled something similar to a sea saw; going back and forth frequently when he was engaged at then defaulting to the heavier side when he zoned back out.
The three– two Brits and a norsk– exchanged glances before going back to their conservation that was loosely related to overused plots in shows and what they thought of characters from different media.
For Tom, it felt like the day was playing out before his eyes as he traveled on autopilot. He felt like he was barely there and wasn't sure why, or what even triggered it. He had small bursts of activity like in 3rd-period band or 5th-period robotics, but otherwise, nothing. Tord didn't try to pry anything out of him; he had his own internal battle but while Tom felt absent like he wasn't fully controlling himself, the horn-haired boy made sure to plan out every move meticulously. It felt like he had an angry bull lassoed and he had to hold on with all his might to make sure I wouldn't get out of control. Everything was thought through, every action chosen specifically to lead to another. The micromanage was something of a coping mechanism; a means for control when he felt powerless in other areas of his life. He wanted to prove he still had power over something, even if it was just himself.
As the day went on he found himself fighting the urge to tell Tom things in Norwegian, just to watch his face turn into a bitter expression of confusion. He got a thrill out of saying things like "Du er så søt når du soner ut slik." "Du vet at du elsker meg." "Jeg ser hvordan du ser på meg."
Tord became aware it was a small display of power. Something about it made him feel like he knew something Tom didn't, that he was ahead of the game and the Brit was simply unsuspecting.
"Am I really so malicious?" Tord thought to himself for a moment. His expression didn't falter at the thought, his mouth fixed in a straight line. He didn't want to think that was true. If the dark-haired just wanted to feel like he had power over something, what stopped him from choosing anyone? Why wouldn't it be only Tom? He shook his head, shaking the thoughts away, and went back to his work. It was final period and although he enjoyed the somewhat of a distraction school caused, it would be nice to relax at home for a moment before walking to Tom's house; he wanted to try and clear some things in his head with him. Not that he'd share his thoughts, he just thought It may be easier with him around.
7th period felt drawn out as it typically did. As the bell rang, Edd and Matt teasingly pushed each other as they bantered over their umbrellas once more, the taller Brit accusing the ginger of wanting to steal his again, the shorter by not necessarily denying it as they laughed and walked off. The blonde walked out front to the school, leaving Tord in the classroom as he took longer to pack up. He let out a sigh. He glanced at the rain pouring under the dark grey sky, the trees rustling in the wind as it pushed them with force. He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the building, the rain taking no time to fall onto him, making his face a bit wet. His shoes squeaked from the water as he walked to the pick-up area and saw the shorter blond standing there, staring aimlessly into the distance. The norsk made his presence known by gently tapping Tom's shoulder which made him jump from surprise.
"Oh, hey," he said plainly.
"Waiting for your ride?" The brunette asked softly, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets.
Tom nodded his head as he shifted his stance, "Yeah, of all the days to be late, right?" He wore a half smile which the taller boy returned.
"Yeah…" There was a pause as Tord fidgeted with his phone, "Can I get a ride from you?" He asked, not engaging in proper eye contact but not looking away either.
"Yeah, sure, that's if my mom ever gets here," he smiles as his own joke which allowed Tord to calm down a bit, although he didn't even realise he was tense until he felt his shoulder relax.
"Thanks," the horn-haired boy looks down at the raindrops hitting puddles on the ground as the blonde next to him holds out his hands, palm up to feel the rain on his skin. "Edd was right, you do like the rain," he Norsk observed.
Tom shrugged, "I guess. The water is nice, it feels refreshing," he explained as he dried his hands against his hoodie, though it did no good because his clothes were already wet. "How do you like the rain?" The black-eyed boy asked.
The grey-eyed boy looked at the soaked asphalt, "It's nice seeing all the grass and trees become bright green after, but I like it when it's sunny out and rains," the norsk explained.
"When it's sunny and raining?" The Brit raised a brow, "You really don't pick sides huh?" The boy smiled as Tord grew a bit embarrassed, feeling called out on his indecisiveness. He never thought a preference like that could expose him.
"I like it when it's warm and cloudy," Tom confessed, "So I get what you're saying." The Brit couldn't find the words, but the Brit was trying to say something along the lines of; maybe things are more enjoyable when they're rare, and just because it's rare doesn't mean you love it any less.
Whatever that was supposed to mean.
Ik the moment Tom's ride pulled up and the Norsk quickly texted his Dad, Paul, to not pick him up. The message was seen but not replied to as the boys got in the car.
"Tord's coming over?" Tom's mother said distantly.
"Yeah, is that okay?" He asked, growing a bit quieter.
The brunette woman nodded and paused before speaking up, "Yes.. Yes, company is good." she sounded distant, similar to how distant her son was. The blonde ignored her behavior and they drove to the Brit's home.
On the drive there, it was quiet which filled the Norsk with apprehension, and fidgeted with the seam of his pants in response. The grey-eyed boy looked out the window, his clothes still damp from the rain. When they arrived and the boys got out of the car, Tom seemed to bask in the rain for a moment before actually going up the steps and entering the house.
The house was cold, chilling this Brit to his bones as he entered, Tord however, seemed less bothered by the temperature. Without a word Tom turned on the heater in the living room and went upstairs, stopping on the second step before glancing at the taller boy and jerking his head, gesturing for him to follow. The boy was used to being in Tom's house, however, this time he felt a trembling in his chest– anxiety, a feeling he wasn't completely accustomed to but had been feeling more of lately.
As he sat down on Tom's swivel chair, Tord's mind traveled back to what his Dad said, and thought about what his mindless behaviors mean. Before he could try and follow that train of thought a controller was thrown at him, the black-eyed boy giving him a small smirk.
"What are we gonna play?" He asked as he navigated the home page of his PS4.
The Norsk could tell Tom was in the mood for a competitive game and thought it strange how all day he'd been rather back and forth. The brunette didn't have nearly enough energy to keep up with the attention a game like Street Fighter or Smash would require. He swallowed, pushing away his passive impulse to pick a game he knew Tom wanted to play, and instead spoke for himself.
"Let's play Minecraft," he said plainly, the shorter boy shrugging and pulling up the application.
"What? Scared I'd beat you?" He sneered.
Tord shook his head with a small half-smile; "No, I just wanted to play something calmer, maybe it's the weather." He ran a hand through his half-damp hair as leaned back on his bed to stretch as the world loaded in, the hem of his shirt riding up a bit to reveal the lower part of his stomach. The Norsk couldn't help but catch a glance and he wasn't sure why he blushed. He looked back at the TV and once the world was loaded, he pushed the controls to activate the split screen so they both could play together.
Tom stretched for a moment longer before sitting up and taking the other controller in his hands. They both spawned near a village they had found the night Tord's hair was dyed that was not yet looted. The boys immediately started breaking hay bales and checking the chests in the village. While Tom was writing the coordinates he glanced up at the Norsks screen to see what they were as he wrote them.
"Why are you killing the golem?" He asked as he labeled the string of code "oak village 1"
"To get iron?" The brunette said plainly as he killed the mob with one final swing.
"That's so mean, we have plenty of iron," the Brit said, side-eyeing the taller boy who returned the side-eye with a playful smirk.
"Mean? And here I thought you were heartless," he teased.
"Hey I may be nonchalant but that doesn't mean I don't care!" The blonde exclaimed in return, raising his hands in a defensive manner.
"I think that may be the definition of nonchalant," Tord teased, going back to the game, enjoying how riled up the other became.
"That's not what it means! It- you know what, never mind," he cut himself off as he realized he was growing too passionate and instead looked back at the screen, checking villager trades.
There was a silence shared between them, although that seemed typical. Sometimes Tom wondered why Tord came around when they rarely had moments of meaningful conversations; after all, he wasn't all that great. The Brit had a habit of believing he was boring and didn't have much to offer, so while he never spoke out on it, he often grew confused as to why the taller boy always came back, like a dog.
Tord became uncomfortable as the silence went on and felt the need to fill it. "Why'd you stop dressing all… Mørk stil..?" He bit his lip nervously, trying to find the word, "What end called you? Your clothes? Faen, what's the word."
"My clothes?" Tom looked down at his shirt for a moment, trying to connect the dots.
"Yes, yes the black and all the. Fokking helvete.. the jewelry in your skin. The.. the style?" although he had become fairly fluent in basic conversation, he obviously is still struggling with less common words and phrases.
The struggle causes Tom to snicker a bit, fairly amused, "My piercings? You mean emo?" He had a snide smile, "Is that what you're talking about with my style?"
"Yes! Yes 'emo'," Tord sounded almost relieved when he could put a word to his thought. "Why did you stop dressing like before? You were very... Emo.. but now you're just dark," the Norsk tried to fight off the embarrassment of his English skills and awaited an answer.
Tom paused for a moment and bit at his snake bite as he thought.
"Edd said you were being bullied?" He tried to piece together his silence.
Tom tensed, "That's not why I stopped." Tom spoke plainly and stared off in the distance and bit at his snake bite. It'ss.. complicated.." he paused, "Well.. maybe it isn't.."
Tom took a deep breath and fidgeted with the controller in his hands.
"Over the summer break, I was going to a bunch of local gigs, trying to get my foot in the door, you know? Get used to the crowd, and maybe get some connections to eventually get my own gigs, maybe get recruited to some small garage band to play Susan– my bass with them," Tom shook his head with a somber smile. Tord's gaze was fixated on him listening intently. "Well, I was at this one gig, I was right in front of the stage, and everyone was yelling and pushing each other, I mean, the band was bloody good. The lead guitarist had this beautiful fender that- nevermind. The vocalist was this girl. She had long, straight ginger hair and it was cut at an angle," the Brit had an amused smile, "I've never seen a haircut like that before, you know? Like it was literally at an angle, one side longer than the other. Metal as hell. And she had these micro bangs and the ends were longer to frame her face. And God her face, her make-up, her piercings I- sorry sorry," he looked away, embarrassed for getting so sidetracked.
"Her name was Rose, and she winked at me during the performance so I looked for her after the show. I thought we hit it off and whatnot so I ran around with her for a bit. I performed with her a couple of times but said my style took away attention from her so I had to stop dressing up all crazy, and I guess I just never got back into it after I stopped," the boy grew silent. Tord wasn't sure what to say, or how to express condolences. He hesitantly reached his hand out to pat his shoulder in a comforting manner, "Why did you-"
He couldn't even finish the sentence as Tom pushed his hand away, his expression darkening into a scowl as he looked down at the comforter on his bed. "She would hit me," the boy said plainly. "I know, stupid what kind of guy-"
"No," he was quickly cut off, "The hell you mean 'what kind of guy' whatever. She was hitting you. That's a good enough reason if any."
There was silence between them, neither of them willing to break the silence. It was tense; so thick you could cut it with a knife. Tom didn't dare catch his friend's gaze, though he could feel his grey eyes staring through him. Eventually, the Brit grew so uncomfortable he had to break the silence.
"It's whatever. Just, don't tell Edd or Matt. They don't know, they'd think it's stupid." Tord nodded in acknowledgment and looked down for a moment before looking back at the short boy.
"You should start dressing like that again," the brunette said plainly.
"What?"
"Start dressing like that again. You looked really good like that," the norsk explained.
Tom looked away running his hands through his hair, "Nah... I don't know… it just, reminds me I guess. I don't know. That was just a phase, so-"
"I saw your pictures. You looked happy," the taller boy said plainly, his gaze unchanging as he looked into Tom's hollow black eyes. "You used to do Edd and Matt's make-up? You can do mine." He insisted, trying to convince the emo to express himself how he used to.
"No, I don't think I can just go all in again," he said with a faint nervous laugh.
"Let's paint our nails then, start small," the Norsk suggested. When the black-eyed boy looked at his friend's face he realized he was serious and softly agreed, getting up to rummage through his desk drawer, eventually finding a small bottle of black nail polish, then sitting back down on his bed.
Tom unscrewed the cap and wiped the brush along the inside of the top to get rid of any extra nail polish and prevent it from dripping on his bed, then glanced up at the horn-haired boy before gently taking his hand. With shakey movements he began to paint Tords nails, getting some on his skin considering it's been a while and he's not used to painting other people's nails like he's his own. When he was done with the boy's right hand, he moved onto his left and then went to paint his own but the nail polish was quickly taken from him. The emo was confused and caught his gaze, finding that the boy in front of him was wearing a determined yet caring gaze that made his stomach churn. Tord then took the other boy's hand and began painting his nails, albeit, worse than Tom had done for him, his hands shaking and less agile. Tom watched as his nails were being painted, the dye from the other night still faintly visible on his hands and couldn't stop himself from speaking: "Why are you nice to me? Like, I'm a bitch to you more than half the time and our conversations are never interesting. I just don't get why you keep coming back," he said, his brows furrowed a bit.
Tord doesn't look up from his work; "Yeah you are a fitte. Du er en kjerring og gjør meg forbanna hele tiden. Det er så mange ord for å beskrive deg, drittsekk, dum, en jævla og mesteparten av tiden skulle jeg ønske du holdt kjeft. Men jeg vil også lett Kalle deg min kjære," his voice was kind yet straight forward.
The boy raised a brow, "The hell did you just spit at me?"
Tord just shrugs as he finishes painting the blonde's nails, "Just cursing you out," he was straightforward, with a gentle expression as he told the half truth.
The pierced boy nodded in understanding, "Which one was the worst?"
The norsk let out a hum, knowing what game the boy in front of him was playing, "Min kjære," he said with a smirk.
"Well you're min kjære too," the Brit said with a smile as he waved his hand to dry them.
The athlete let out an amused hum and a smile before his hand was taken again.
"Is the first coat dry?" Tom said mostly to himself as he took the nail polish and began to apply the second and last coat.
They didn't say anything more as they continued painting each other's nails. The two basked in the quiet, the only thing breaking the silence was the rain outside, although this time it felt more comfortable. As the polish was drying Tord got a call from his father Paul. He barely got a chance to greet him before his father harped at him.
"I need you to come home, we're going shopping," he said plainly.
"Alright, I'm on my way," he barely got to get the sentence out before he was hung up on and let out a sigh.
"I gotta head home, I'll see you at school tomorrow," he said as he got up and picked up his backpack, mindful of his nails.
"Alright, yeah I'll see you," the Brit sounded indifferent.
The Norsk waved as he left the room and walked down the stairs to the door. He hesitated on the front porch, watching the rain fall before stepping into it, allowing the rain to soak him as he walked home.
Once Tord left, Tom realized they next logged off of Minecraft and logged out; it was a miracle they were still alive. He smiled to himself softly and looked at his nails; they were still a bit tacky. He laid back on his bed and rested his hands palm down on his torso. "Maybe it would be good for me to dress like that again," he thought, knowing that Tord was right– he was happier when he was dressing like that. Usually, after the taller boy left he felt empty or devoid, but today he felt rather fulfilled.
It didn't take long for the Norsk to get home, his atherosclerosis waiting for him on the couch. As the boy entered his dad made a "tch" sound. "It's about time," he said as he got up from the couch, "Go put your bag down, we're going to Tesco."
The boy does what he says and follows him out the door to their red SUV. The radio faintly played music that was similar to bad rock. Tord looked out the window, enjoying the feeling of the heater against his face as he watched the rain run down the window. His father glanced at her several times, perhaps hoping to start a conversation before noticing his son's nails.
"Ah helvete," his dad exclaimed, "Your nails. The hell you doing this for? Did you do that with your 'friend'?" He asked using air quotes.
The boy on the cusp of being emo shifted, "Uh, yeah, we both painted our nails."
"Shove it, I'm sure that boy will chew you up and spit you out," he hissed, gripping the wheel.
The boy didn't know how to explain to his father that's not what was happening, this was different, so he said nothing. His silence seemed to satisfy the older man and the rest of the drive was silent.
The two entered the store and the teen rolled his eyes, "Why did I have to come with you?" He groaned.
Paul raised a brow, "What? This store sells clothes, yes? I thought you'd want something, darker, considering most of your clothes are colored. That is the style you're going for, ja?" His tone was passive-aggressive but the sentiment was there. Honestly, Tord hadn't thought about whether he wanted to start wearing darker colors and commit to this whole emo thing everyone thought he was going for, but he took the offer anyway, browsing through the plain clothes provided by the store. Most of them didn't have a design but were made with high-quality hearty fabrics. As he browsed he found several different articles of clothing he rather enjoyed; black cargo pants, black plaid pajama pants, a few black shirts with graphic designs, and a black hoodie.
He ran his hand over the fabric, before deciding to buy two hoodies, considering the fact he wore a hoodie every day.
He found his father who didn't bat an eye as he put the clothes in the cart. Although he could be mean, his actions did show he cared from time to time perhaps that's why he and Patryck weren't divorced yet.
As they checked out at the cash register Tord found himself smiling. He was glad that he could be there for Tom through his journey of re-self-discovery. For a moment he wondered if he even wanted to dress like this, but he never thought of himself as a follower so he assured himself that if he didn't want to do this, he wouldn't be doing it.
Although in reality, he was doing this for Tom, only for Tom; but he'd never admit that.