Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Getting acquainted

It had taken him a while to pull himself up from his position in the bathroom, face feeling oddly warm and constricted against the refreshing coolness of the tiles. He had sat there for a good twenty minutes afterwards, eyes clenched shut, his skull pounding as a vicious onslaught of thoughts drilled through his brain. Uncertainty rolled in his gut, making him feel off balance and queasy.

Something had changed.

His relationship with Tord had always been filled with unrestrained snark and moderate violence. But recently, it had taken a more personal, flirtatious tone that always seemed to put him on edge.

They had deviated from their natural flow of scathing insults and were pushing the boundaries of what their relationship could have the potential to turn into. It was difficult, unmarked territory; a new game that he didn't know the rules to.

Puzzlingly enough, nothing had happened in order to cause this. Trauma could break bonds and forge new connections; quality time spent with other people strengthens their views of one another.

But no.

Deep, into the core of things; they were still the same people, but now they had this ache between; something that was too big to name.

A weak sigh escaped him, it sounded watery and exhausted. Kind of disgusting, actually.

Perhaps there had always been an underlining sexual side to their arguments that he had not seen before? Hidden underneath snarling lips and bitter words; the promises lurking, waiting to be discovered.

He shivered, either at the cold, or the very real threat of the unknown, he wasn't sure.

It could be a product of what he was about to do. Cross-dressing in frilly little outfits and smiling at perverted weeaboos for money- maybe the sudden avalanche of femininity in his life had caused him to push his feelings and emotions onto other people? To make him start questioning his sexuality?

That had to be it.

It was the only truth that made sense.

He had always thought that he was relatively comfortable with his sexuality- who cares if he kissed boys for jokes, and thought that the occasional thigh-highs were adorable? At least he knew that it didn't matter, that despite everything, he still liked women.

Apparently not.

—

Two days later, with a moderately unhealthy amount of denial under his belt, Tom snuck around the back entrance of the cafe.

It wasn't raining, like last time, instead, the air was thick with humidity, the concrete scorching beneath his converse clad feet. Sweat circled his face and neck, face flushed with colour. He was deciding between whether this was due to the heat, his nervous, or the mad dash that he had stumbled into as he struggled to get there on time.

If he was ready, to be honest with himself, he would say all three. However, since he obviously was not prepared to delve deep into the touchy, feely soul searching mess that he had stubbornly buried days ago; he vehemently persuaded himself that it was, in fact, just the heat.

Hovering near the back entrance was getting old, and besides, he felt fairly creepy just loitering around an odd building in the middle of the day. Absentmindedly kicking a rogue can by his feet, he fidgeted for a few solid seconds before mentally steeling himself. Feeling as though he was doing something very, very wrong, Tom jiggled open the old, rusted door, and silently slipped inside.

The back of the building was a near stark contrast to what he experienced at the front, a couple of days ago. Whilst the front had a cutesy, retro homey vibe to it, the place he had just staggered into was a lot more grey and industrial. Peeling paint and scuff marked floors greeted him dimly, and he absentmindedly fought the shiver that crawled down his spine.