Old Habbits Die Hard

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Song- Comfort Crowd by: Conan Gray

The door clicks behind Tom as he leaves to go up the hall back to his own apartment. Tord sighs and sits down on a grey cushion on the floor. He grabs his phone out from his pocket as he pulls his face into a grimace. Twenty eight texts all from different unknown numbers. All saying various things along the lines of 'Your presents is requested in front of The Council.'  Some were, more, demanding then others, but it all boiled down to that basic idea.

Tord's finger hovered over the 'Message' button under Adam's contact, shaking slightly. He heaved a sigh and shut off his phone. Tord let his head fall into his lap. He didn't know what he was going to do if this kept up. Trying to ignore it hadn't worked, the messages blatantly increased in volume. He may not have the best of ideas sometimes, but Tord knew better then to respond, or even just open the messages anymore. He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand before blocking all the numbers.

He half assed thought about changing his number, but it probably wasn't worth the whole ass to actually do it. They'd just get ahold of his new number somehow just like his old one. Tord ran the pad of his thumb over the power button and stared at the dark screen of his phone. His reflection stared back.

The Adam's apple in Tord's throat bobbed as he swallowed the spit in his mouth. With a few taps his phone was completely powered down, couldn't think about the army texts if he stopped seeing them. For now all he can do is ignore the texts and try to move on. Starting with unpacking some of his things into his new apartment.

_
Once a few weeks pass by and Tord gets settled into his new apartment, he falls into a steady rat race. He'll go to work, or hangout with his friends, maybe hit the town if someone else is going or he needs something. Most notably; majority of his time Tord keeps his phone off, unless he's expecting a call or he is out of his gourde bored. So it stays off when he's at work or hanging out with Tom, Matt, Edd or a combo of the three.

Today however was not one of these 'no phone days'. Tord was laying on his stomach with his limbs fully extended so they fell over the edge of his new beige couch. He was lazily scrolling through bananstagram
when he got another text from a Red Army account. As he was about to block the number he released they had sent not just a vague message but a photo as well.

It read 'Stop ignoring our offers Red. You aren't in the position for it.'  Tord threw his phone onto the floor using the force of his sitting up. He clenched his hand close to his chest, staring down at the device with disbelief. Carefully using his index finger and thumb he picked his phone off the floor by the corners. The image still crowding the screen.

Tord's phone displayed a picture of Tom. Which would only be slightly bad, if it wasn't a picture of him smiling to himself as he cooked. He was wearing an apron and mixing something in a bowl. With a clock on the wall time stamping it from a few minutes ago. If that wasn't the worst it meant something or someone was in his kitchen, as the only window is in his bedroom and that was usually locked. That thought made his skin crawl.

His couch made a small creak as Tord stood up. He crammed his phone in his jean's pocket as he practically sprinted down the hallway to Tom's apartment.

Wood from the door to Tom's apartment made a light clunking noise as Tord rapt his knuckles against it. Tord leaned on the door frame as he tried to calm his breath.

Tom opened the door holding a metal bowl and wearing an apron. He looked at Tord quizzically,
"Tord? What are you doing here, don't you have work early tomorrow?" Tom asked more nicely then he usually did when asking why Tord showed up unexpectedly.
"Yeah. But, I was wondering if like maybe," Tord stammered, waving his hands around, "I could hangout with you for a while?" He finished, trying to seem casual. Tom looked at him and could see how tense Tord was, he pursed his lips. "Please, Tom, just humour me?"

With a concerned sigh from Tom, and a clank of the spoon from the metal bowl, Tom stepped back some. He pulled open the door some more and led Tord gently by the arm to his couch.
"Wait here, I just need to finish cooking this." Tom raises the bowl a bit.
"Okay. That's, yeah."  Tord mutters at his shoes.

There were a few second glances at Tord before Tom made his way back into the kitchen. Tord lets go of a shaky breath, as he eyes the corners and shadows of Tom's apartment. Using the heels of his feet Tord kicked off his shoes before bringing his feet up on the couch with him, sitting with his legs crossed. He watches in the reflection of the telly as Tom crosses the kitchen. Tord's phone goes off in his pocket.

Using one quick motion he pulls the phone out of his jean's pocket.

A new photo from an unknown number fills the screen. It shows Tom digging around in the fridge, hints of worry still visible in his features. In the background Tord can be seen sitting on the
Couch. Tord twists around to look into the kitchen. The fridge door is open as Tom puts something in the oven.

Blood pools shallowly around where Tord bites his cracked lips. He quickly types a message and hits send, sliding his phone back into his pocket as Tom walks into the room. Tord wipes his lip with the back of his hand, then wipes his hand with his pants. Tom drops himself on the couch sitting right next to Tord.

"So, what are you cooking?" Tord asks as the message on his phone goes through. 'Adam, I need your help -Tord.'

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