Betrayal. [TomTord]

Night out

.・゜゜・ chapter 2 ・゜゜・．

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

It was a difficult morning for both. Their argument the previous night still hovered between them like a cloud, dark and malevolent. They tried to stay away from each other as they moved through their small, cramped room, each avoiding the other's gaze and feeling the weight of the tension in the air like a physical burden.
But that wasn't the only burden he carried.
As soon as his eyes flickered open, his alcoholism did him no favor, and he yearned for the comfort that a drink would provide.
In the midst of their respective struggles, Edd burst into the room. The young man had always had a talent for sensing tension and discord, and he was determined to diffuse it before it exploded into something worse.
— "Enough," he said firmly, his voice cracking like a whip in the small room.
"We're going out," he continued, his tone brooking no argument. "You two need to spend some time together, to sort out your issues."
Both Tom and Tord stared at him, disbelief etched on their faces. "Seriously?" The alcoholic asked, his voice thick with incredulity.
"Yes," Edd replied. "I think times exactly what you need. A day out of the room, you've been locking yourself in your room the past years anyways, Tom.
Just you two, talking and getting to know each other again. Trust me, it'll do you both some good."

And so it was decided. Edd forced them to face one another head-on, forcing them to hash out their differences and confront the wounds they had both caused.
As the two of them stepped out of the house, the silence felt like a heavy blanket around them. After what felt like an eternity, Tom finally broke the silence. "I want to go grab a drink." He informed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Tord raised an eyebrow, surprised by the statement of the other. "A drink? Do you still have drinking problems?" He scoffed, a hint of amusement behind his voice.
The brit turned his head to avoid any eye contact, "I just need to take the edge off."
Finally, the younger man nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
— "Alright. Better than aimlessly walking."

They walked in silence for a while longer, the tension slowly starting to dissipate. It was an uncomfortable silence, filled with unspoken words and unspoken feelings, but it was a start.
The day was cold and empty, and the short man felt its chill sinking deep within his bones.

They sat down as Tom greeted the bartender who he already knew, ordering a shot of vodka, smirnoff to be exact.
As he took a sip from his glass, he felt the warm, comforting sensation of alcohol cursing through his body, washing away the worries and guilt that had been haunting him. But it wasn't enough. He took another sip, and then another, feeling the darkness closing in around him as he slipped into a state of drunken forgetfulness.

After what felt like an eternity, Tom was sprawled on the floor, his head spinning with the weight of the alcohol. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there, but he knew that he needed more.
With a struggle, he pushed himself up. With shaking hands, he reached for his wallet and pulled out his last few dollars, knowing that it would buy him some relief, if only for a little while.
Stumbling out of the bar, his vision faded in and out as he made his way onto the pathway, not even consciously knowing if Tord is still with him and trying to hold himself up by supporting his balance with the walls of the houses.
It was now night, it was dark and quiet, and he felt like the only living creature in the world.
He knew that he was on the edge of a precipice, and that he had to be careful not to fall, until he felt an arm hold him up, but he didn't bother to look to his side. At that moment, the call of the bottle was too strong, and he knew that he couldn't resist, holding the bottle onto his lips. The bottle suddenly wouldn't move, as he looked to the right, to the source of the resistance.
Tord was smirking at him in a teasing way, "I think that's enough for today, Thomas." He laughed.
Tom groaned as his alcohol got snatched away, but he was too wasted to even do anything against it. He staggered from side to side, he knew that he was on a dark and lonely path, but the feeling of oblivion, of forgetting, was too much to resist, and he kept walking, searching for that one thing that could make the pain go away.
He leaned heavily on the other for support, feeling almost ashamed and embarrassed by the state he'd allowed himself to get into.

He glanced over to the communist, his voice unsteady as he spoke, his words slurred by the alcohol "I've been miserable for so long, Tord," he said, his eyes downcast "I don't know how it got this bad."
He felt a hand now delicately rubbing his back in comfort "It's okay, buddy." He heard.
He looked away, he probably won't remember this the next day anyways. He couldn't control the words coming out of his mouth.
— "I... I've been drinking." He said, the words heavy on his tongue "A lot. I isolated myself, pushed everyone away. Worried Edd."
Tord nodded, probably understanding the toll that addiction could take.
It was somewhat a relief to finally unburden himself, to let go of the walls he'd built around himself and speak the truth of his struggle. The words spilled out of him like tears, heavy and painful, but also necessary. Like it was all natural, the atmosphere between the two now got more relaxed.

As they stumbled through the front door, Tom felt Tord's steadying presence at his side, guiding him to their shared bedroom. He felt unsteady on his own feet, his movements clumsy and exaggerated, but the touch of someone helping him was like a beacon of calm, providing a sense of support in the midst of his drunken haze. He tried to get his clothes off, his hoodie showing clear memories of the night.
— "Need a helping hand?" Tord chuckled as he approached the brit, entertained by the struggle of the drunk.

He felt hands on his body, undressing him, but even in his state of intoxication, he was acutely aware of the warmth of the norsk's hands, the steady thrum of his heartbeat resonating through his veins. As Tord helped him out of his clothes and into some old asdf shirt, Tom's mind drifted, lost in a mix of emotions. He felt a sense of gratitude towards his rival, but there was also a twinge of embarrassment, feeling too vulnerable in front of his enemy.
His hands were light and gentle as he helped the void-eyed man get into bed. "Just.. rest, alright?" He whispered, his voice soft and soothing, like the sound of waves crashing against the shore.

Tom's voice was a strained rasp as he spoke with a bated breath, his eyes fixated with an almost maniac intensity on Tord's form, as he demanded an answer to the question that had been burning in his mind ever since he arrived. "Why did you leave, Tord?" He asked, his words barely more than a whisper that was drowned out by the sound of his own heavy breathing.

Tord sighed audibly, "I had to." He said sternly "It was beyond my control."
Tom's eyes narrowed again, his voice grew sharp with anger.
— "Bullshit," he snarled, his voice shaking with emotion.
"You don't care about me. Or Matt. Or Edd. You never did."
The sober stood up, shaking his head and moving to the other side of the room with his temporary mattress on the ground.
Tom sank into his pillow, feeling the tension grow thick again as he allowed himself to drift to sleep in order to escape the situation.