Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Ding dong, you are wrong

"I live at Edd's house most of the time; all of my shit is there." Tord denied- he would probably be more convincing if he wasn't snickering, "Be glad I have anything that fits you at all."

"Oh, yeah- I'm so fucking grateful."

Grunting, Tom stretched the shirt of his torso, head popping out of the neck hole dramatically as it clung closely to his narrow shoulders. Feeling every inch defeated, he smoothed out the thin material, outwardly cringing as he touched the obnoxious bold font that practically screamed homosexuality.

NOT YOUR WAIFU

Obviously, from the uncomfortably tight fit, and the general design- Tord had owned it for a very long time, as the size was for someone significantly smaller, and it only just managed to cover his ribs in a sue-do tank top. Remembering a weedier Tord, without the hard earned muscles and with the wobbly pubescent voice was hilarious in such a lovely way- wearing an overly girly shirt underneath his long trench coat and edgy disposition was unbearably adorable.

That didn't mean Tom was enjoying his sloppy seconds.

Clutching at his stomach, Tord laughed, eyes squinted as a bright blush filled his cheeks, "Looking good, babe."

"I hate you," Tom muttered, not a drop of malicious in his voice- being called babe in that Norwegian accent had just added three years to his life.

"Oh!" Grinning widely, Tord could barely conceal the visible excitement on his features. Striding back over to his bedside cabinet, he slid open the bottom drawer, rooting around with a rushed hand.

Tom barely had the time to catch a flash of neon pink as another article of clothing was unceremoniously thrown in his direction. It smacked into his chest and flopped onto the floor, seemingly just as suicidal as he was.

Glancing down, he groaned.

"Are you serious." It came too deadpan for it to be heard as a question- the truth was, he was only questioning his existence.

Crumpled in a sad little pile at his feet was a pair of obnoxiously bright booty shorts, the cloth wrinkled and thin- it was clearly supposed to be worn like a second skin, tight and unyielding.

He was definitely too sober for this.

"I'm the future leader of the new world order; I'm always serious." Again, he probably would have pulled off the words a lot more if he wasn't wheezing uncontrollably, tears of laughter crinkling around the edges of his vision.

Sighing, he put the infernal thing on, slipping it up his thighs and secretly enjoying the way it hugged his curves, "I am a human garbage fire."

With another burst of laughter, Tord kissed his forehead lovingly, "Yes, yes you are."

"I'm your human garbage fire?" He grinned shyly.

"Very much." He smacked his lips, still grinning as he toed on his boots, forgoing socks, "It'll be something to look forward to seeing after I wake up." 

Pausing, Tom's facial expression regressed slightly, smile turning into a thin line. Brows furrowed he tested a quiet, concerned, "Nervous?"

"A little? But not really." Tord gave a careless shrug before his face twisted into slight annoyance, "It's more of a pain in the ass, to be honest. I have to learn how to use my body again."

Tom looked away, chewing at the inside of his cheek, a flair of guilt blossoming in his chest. Then finally, without really thinking about his choice of words, muttered, "You're a pain in my ass."

Ah, humour- the only true self-defence mechanism that had kept him alive for so long.

Is a cowardly existence better than a hero's death?

It probably wasn't best to get philosophical over the life choices he so heavily regretted, whilst wearing a cheap weeaboo crop top and bright pink booty shorts. He was pretty sure that could damage him psychologically- or, at the very least, make him cry until he died of dehydration. 

Tom was so sick of crying.

"Not yet I'm not," Tord smoothly replied, cocking a smirk, "And I thought you were a lady; you seem a bit easy to me."

"I'll show you easy." Tom threatened vaguely, "I'm not your waifu, bitch, I can do what I want."

"Do you always break the hand of the men you're attracted to, or am I special?" 

With a mock gasp, Tom placed an open palm on his chest, an offended glint in his dark eyes, "Do you see me clambering for Ivan's dick?" 

"Not when I'm around." Tord snorted confidently.

This time, Tom gasped genuinely, "I'm not when you aren't around too!" 

"Of course, I believe you."

He obviously did not. 

Shaking his head, Tom watched as Tord took his phone from the nightstand, unplugging it from its charger and flipping it on. Taking note of the displayed time, he hissed a bitter curse, bounding towards the front door. Longingly, he stared at the coffee maker for a few seconds, before huffing outwardly in irritation.

With a resounding click, he unlocked the door, swinging it open and nodding his head at the hallway, "C'mon, we need to go- we're ten minutes late."

Following behind, Tom gave one last look at the absolute chaos they were leaving unattended. 

Yikes. 

One day of living together had left the place in a shambles- almost as if a bomb had hit as they slept. If they were going to get married one day, someone had to pull their finger out and dedicate themselves to full-time wifey-mode.

Tom had a distinct feeling that someone would be him.

"Lame." 

—
A/N: Plot will happen soon, I promise. Enjoy domestic idiots before they become too damaged to enjoy being domestic.

Anyway, can I just say that I hate the last chapter? Because I really, really do. It made me feel like shit for the rest of the day, so I won't be writing more porn until I'm in the right place mentally.

It got good views though, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This chapters art is gifted by the user @maskedboredguy !

Thanks for sharing your beautiful art with us! <33