Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Knock knock, here comes my cock

Unease coiled sluggishly, twisting with the poisonous, bubbling remains of sincere guilt and profound confusion. Splintering across his expression, uncertainty shattered his skin, mouth fracturing into a deep, heavy frown, brows splitting his face into a frail look of hesitant worry.

Cracks were starting to leak out of his life and spill out onto others, shattering any sense of stability within the walls of the compound. Emotions were running high, everyone seemingly drained from being in the constant presence of others- the tightly knitted community fraying the longer it was forced to live together.

Something had to give.

Pau had been doing so well- he hadn't knowingly touched a packet of cigarettes since their bromantic heart-to-heart in the abandoned bathroom, riding the cold sweating and muscle spasming withdrawal period with a determined grimance and a few well-placed dad jokes. To throw all of the progress out of the window so suddenly- it must have been eating at his subconscious for a while, slowly wriggling into the soft meat of his skull as his patience wore thin.

A pang of sympathy ebbed up in his chest, and Tom clutched at it as though it had been a physical pain.

Had it been his fault?

His presence had obviously rattled quite a few people in the army- each of them lashing out in different ways as he gradually settled in like an unwelcome pest.

Pat being one of the most vocal, and transparent with his blatant distaste, it was causing a strain on their relationship, tearing their bond apart as their ideologies clashed. Being the reason Tord's pseudo parents broke up would weigh ever heavily on his conscious; more names etched onto the long list of lives he had unwittingly managed to fuck up.

Swallowing roughly, Tom's flickering gaze watched the other man leave, a hazy look clouding in his murky eyes. A coarse frothing of turbulent emotions rolled sharply in his gut, a flair of anxiety spiking in his throat.

Should he follow? Had that been an open invitation for Sad Boi Hours™ part two, an unneeded, and yet necessary sequel? Was that a social cue that expected him to right his wrongs, to support his friend like a good person, and that preached the wise words of the brotherhood- bros before hoes? Shackled by the societal norms, and constrained by the ancient scripture that had been blessed by the mightiest of dudes, was Tom bound by the principles passed down by the holy sanctity of the Broble™️?

How do you do, fellow heteros.

Inwardly snorting, he smacked his lips harshly, running a quick hand through his hair, musing up the tangled locks in a feverish fit of frustration. Exhaling deeply, he closed his eyes, shaking his roughly as he considered his options.

Something had to give.

Misery was comfortable.

When push came to shove, a lot of people would avoid striding towards a positive change in their lives; to be modelled into something entirely new. Instead of going through the motions of self-realisation, and the need to do better- to be better- it was so much easier to sit in a gaping hole of self-pity, being mollycoddled and hushed until the inevitable pathetic end to their equally pathetic sad lives. 

"Cut the problem off at the source." 

Shivering at the memory, Tom made his decision, internally wilting somewhat at the prospect of helping the people that kept him caged, cornered and constantly swimming in his own self-doubt. But deep down, he knew that he had to do this; to prove himself to the others that he was worth keeping around- to be the lover that he wasn't and the fighter he never got the chance to be.