Moonstruck ; Tomtord

Gone but Not Forgotten

The room was silent. A sort of silence that gnawed at Tom's fear, tearing his insides up into small shreds. He tried to push away the horrible thoughts plaguing his mind, but they wouldn't budge. He clenched his shaking hands into tight fists as if it would stop what was coming next. But of course it didn't. Like usual, his heart would start to race. Painful flashbacks of a certain man with flames entangling his arms and legs, crying out as he drew his last breath filled his mind. That man, as Tom soon figured out, was his former neighbour Edwardo. And the former leader of the green rebellion.

Tom could remember cowering in fear, clinging to Tord's arm as he sobbed. His tears stained the Norwegian's uniform as much as the memories had stained his mind. And even though Tom tried to repress it, he could remember Tord's voice, so nonchalant and sweet,

"This is what happens when you lie to me and disobey. Never again, do I make myself clear?"

Everything after that had been a blur of screaming and saying his last goodbyes to them. They had promised, but promises were made to be broken.

No... no. Tom tried to think about anything else. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something that would calm him down. Before he realized his mistake, his eyes ended up focusing on the devil himself, "Tom?" said male questioned, looking up at him with a curious gaze.

Of course Tom's only distraction from his horrible thoughts was the person who started them in the first place. He didn't respond. He didn't trust his own mouth to speak anything but incomprehensible whimpers or shouts. Tom stayed still, allowing the other to intertwine their hands with a gentle motion.

"What's wrong love?" Tord asked, though Tom was convinced he already knew. He looked down, focusing on the polished floorboards and wishing he could fall through them.

He felt Tord's eyes focus directly on him as if he was the centre of the universe. And to Tord, he was. But Tom had grown used to the antics of his leader. The displays of affection, the threats against his friends. There was no way to escape it. All he could do was just endure.

"It isn't about them, is it?" The tone of Tord's voice made Tom shudder. He was testing Tom, making sure the visor wearing male wasn't considering doing anything close to what the people he referred to had previously. Tom knew what Tord wanted to hear. So he delivered.

"Of course not sir. I'm merely just thinking about the army." That wasn't entirely a lie, at best. Tord looked up at Tom from his desk with piercing grey eyes, a sight that would usually make anyone back down. He obviously didn't buy Tom's bullshit.

"You know I hate it when you're dishonest, my dear." Tord mused, letting go of Tom's ice cold hand, "Tell me, do you really think about them that much? They're dead and gone, so what's the point of dwelling on the past?"

Tom's clenched fist tightened. He could feel his nails pressing painstakingly against the skin of his palm, yet he didn't care. 'You don't know that!' Tom wanted to yell, but had to physically force himself not to, "I try to forget but I can't. Everything just... reminds me of them." Tom didn't dare meet Tord's eyes as he spoke. His head was bowed as he observed the surprisingly detailed floorboards.

"You'll learn to forget eventually. It isn't an option." The sound of a chair be pushed back filled the tense silence. A pair of army boots blocked Tom's view of the ground while a hand aggressively grabbed his chin, "Look at me when I speak to you."

Tom finally looked up at Tord, instantly regretting ever speaking how he felt, "I-I will sir. I'm sorry for being so pathetic." He forced himself to say. That earned him a rough but brief kiss on the lips, which he couldn't help but savour.

Not because Tom was in love with the murderer. In fact, he would rather like to sock him in the face at all times for ruining his fucking life. But because that was one of the only traces of the old Tord he had. The one who would flirt with him and tease him to no end. Who always had some sort of snarky comment and occasionally a horrible dad joke. And although that Tord was an asshole, at least he wasn't a complete psychopath.

"You know how much I love you Thomas. Once we get rid of those rebellion scums, we can be happy forever. Nothing will be in our way." Tord spoke about murdering innocent people casually, almost as if he were describing the weather.

"I understand, sir." Tom no longer could muster the strength to refuse his ideals, instead being apathetic to Tord as much as he could. Tord started to say something else, but was quickly cut off by the door opening.

Pat stepped inside, causing the room to fall silent. It was the first time anyone had seen him in days. His eyes had circles darker than the midnight sky. Pat's skin wasn't glowing as it had before, instead being completely pale and dry like a decaying corpse. His usual trademark perfect hair had obviously not been brushed in months as it stuck up in matted clumps. Not a trace of the old, impeccably put together and kind Pat remained. Tom looked down again, no longer wanting to face the man in front of him whose dreadful appearance screamed 'You did this'.

Tom heard Tord and Pat converse in Norwegian, but didn't care enough to try and understand what they were saying. Eventually he felt a sudden tug on his arm, presumably from Pat. Tom's head involuntarily shot up at the contact. He hadn't been touched by anyone besides Tord in such a long time that, aside from the painful sting shooting up his arm, it was almost comforting. Pat gave him a sideways glance and started to drag Tom out the door. He allowed himself to be pulled around like a rag doll as he stared off into space. Tom knew where they were headed for. They'd recently caught some green army soldiers, who in red leader's words, "Deserved to be taught a lesson."