Betrayal. [TomTord]

Cocktails

.・゜゜・ chapter 6 ・゜゜・．

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Tom tiptoed through the silent house, his heart racing as he searched for any sign of Edd and Matt. For any sign of life.
As he made his way to the kitchen, his footsteps echoed against the walls, amplifying the sense of isolation that seemed to cling to him like a suffocating shroud, which usually isn't anything untypical for the loner.
The kitchen yielded no trace of Edd or Matt, the usual clatter of pans and the aroma of cooking breakfast absent, leaving Tom to his mounting worry.
His search continued into the bathroom.
It was when he reached his dear friends' room, his heart drumming against his ribs like a trapped bird.

A sharp creak sounded behind him, making Tom spin around, his nerves drawn raunt as bowstrings, only to find the room still empty. But the unsettling sensation of being watched persisted, prickling at the tape of his neck.

Slowly turning back around, Tord appeared next to him, his smirk slicing through the gloom like a dagger. Tom's pulse quickened, a jolt of fear coursing through him at the sight od the one person he least wanted to encounter.

— "Tord," Tom spat his name like a curse, his voice a low growl laced with bitterness and resentment, knowing what his rival is capable of.
But Tord's demeanor seemed oddly contrite, his usual mocking facade softened by a veneer of disgustingly obvious false sincerity.  "Tom," he began, his tone almost placating "apologies for startling you. Just thought I'd come and check on you. You seem on... edge."

His black eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering like a guttering flame within him, remembering all too well the bruises that bloomed across skin after their last encounter.
— "Save your apologies," he snapped, his voice brittle with anger. "I know your games, Tord."
He felt Tord's gaze bearing down upon him like an oppressive shadow,
The norsk's lips curled into a sly grin, a knowing glint in his eyes as he surveyed Tom's guarded stance.
"I understand that you're still wary of me. And I don't blame you. I don't know what came over me if I'm being honest. Maybe bad experiences with people snooping through my stuff."

The alcoholic's jaw clenched. He couldn't afford to let his guard down, not when Tord's behavior grows increasingly more odd.

For a few seconds, silence fell over the room, both deciding whether to speak or not.

"Remember that time when we skipped class to practice skateboarding?" Tord chuckled "Or when we rigged Mr. Johnson's chair to collapse during his lecture?"
A faint flicker of nostalgia dances in the recesses of Tom's mind as the stories are being told, the corners of his lips twitching slightly upwards despite his best efforts to remain stoic. "Yeah, he nearly jumped out of his skin."
With each shared laugh and fond recollection, Tom felt the walls he had built up around his heart begin to soften.

As the night wore on, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths and hidden agendas, Tom couldn't help but wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, Tord's gestures of goodwill were not merely a strategy to make things easier for the asshole, but a genuine attempt to mend the fractured bonds of their fractured friendship.

He couldn't blame Tord too much as he used to lash out on the norsk a lot himself. Maybe more often than he'd like to admit.

But little did Tom know, as he succumbed to the intoxicating allure of Tord's charismatic facade, that beneath the surface lurked a far more sinister motive, playing right into Tord's hands.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As time passes, Tom found himself immersed in a haze of mixed emotions, the lingering discord inside of his mind twirling back and forth. Yet, amidst the ebb and flow of his turbulent thoughts, there was solace to be found in the amber depths of his favorite elixir. At least one of them.

Cocktails, meticulously crafted and artfully blended, became the soothing balm that tempered the sharp edges of resentment, their intoxicating allure weaving a seductive web of tranquility around his troubled mind, with each sip, the tension that had once gripped him like a vise began to loosen its grip, replaced by a comforting sense of languid ease that washed over him like a gentle tide.

Seated across from him, Tom mirrored his enemy's relaxed demeanor, a companionable silence settling between them like a comfortable old blanket.

— "Where have Edd and Matt been all day?" The alcoholic blurted out, tinged with a hint of curiosity.
The other's response was casual, almost nonchalant. "I thought they could use a break," he explained, his tone light and airy as he toyed with the rim of his glass. "So, I offered to treat them to a few days in Portugal. On me, of course."

Tom's brows furrowed in surprise, a faint ripple of confusion coursing through him at the unexpected generosity of Tord's gesture.
How the.. where the fuck did he get the money for all of that bs?
A question that lingered on the tip of his tongue. But in the end, he chose silence, opting to drown himself in more of his liquor.

And so, the rest of the night unfolded in a haze of mindless chatter, the passage of time measured in the clink of glasses and the soft murmur of voices. But as the hour grew late, jehova's witness felt the inexorable pull of exhausting tugging at his weary limbs, still sore from their fight as well.

With a weary sigh, he rose from his seat, the comforting weight of alcohol clouding his senses as he lazily whispers "g'night..", trudging towards his bedroom. Stripping away the trappings of the day; he slipped into the familiar embrace of a worn, threadbare shirt, the fabric soft against his skin as he settled into the cocoon of his bed.

And there, in the stillness of the night, the silence occasionally broken only by the sounds of Tord cleaning up the kitchen, he lays there, his gaze fixed upon the blank expanse of the wall before him, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts and memories that stretched out before him like an endless horizon, recollecting and processing everything that just happened today. Trying to make sense of it.