If you wanted to [TordTom]

I

They fell apart--all three of them, and it was the worst fall Tom had felt. Friendships weren't meant to last; they eventually realized that they outgrew each other. Edd was hopeful that they would reconcile, but after several weeks, he stopped typing essays and blocked his number. Matt disappeared and started working on his projects.

Driving three hours never felt more rewarding upon seeing the familiar colors of the houses he used to walk past. Although some houses had changed and more buildings surrounded the neighborhood, it still felt welcoming. At his old address, he could see his mother watering the grass; as he got closer she quickly dropped the hose and ran toward him.

His mother was more than happy to let him stay, even though he was irrationally angry for a few days and mopey. It made him feel better that there was someone to comfort him. During his stay, his mother left him a shoebox filled to the brim with letters that Tord left at their mailbox--seems like he wasn't familiar with the new address.

"I don't understand?" Tom asked, carefully using a cutter to open the box. Time had made it difficult for the lid to pry off; he used his nails to scratch some of the stapes--it ended up breaking the box instead.

"Your old friend, when he realized you don't live here anymore, handed some of the letters to me personally and told me not to open 'em."

Tom pursed his lips and skimmed through the letters. Blatantly, ignoring his mother ebbing him to open some of it.

"I didn't read anything, but I'm assuming the first bunch was mean because he left them angrily," Tom grabbed the most recent one and hesitated opening it.

"Time passed, he came back and looked sorry, so I invited him for some tea inside," His mother chuckled softly, "It's funny how he would parrot some of the words I say--I don't remember you spending a lot of time with either?"

"That's because we weren't--when was this?" Tom asked eagerly; he stood up and helped his mother sit down on the couch before sitting back down on the floor.

"I first saw him pass when you were 17, then I invited him inside around your 27th birthday," His mother hummed while thinking; Tom frowned. Within a decade, Tord had been periodically sending him letters--he didn't even bother calling or finding out his new address; he just left it here.

"Well, haven't you talked to him? He told me a lot about you whenever he visited," Tom's mother began combing through his hair; Tom sighed unable to find a coherent sentence to summarize what he wanted to say.

It's been years since Tom has seen Tord in person; it gave him the time to assess himself, and it helped make him realize that his anger towards Tord was mere annoyance--he could care less now. Knowing that he's been writing letters behind his back and sending it to his mother; made him feel a bit different. He hasn't even started reading a letter yet.

"Can I read these upstairs alone?" Tom scooped the letters and used his hoodie as a basket. His mother sighed, "Not that I would care if you read them here, but it would have made more sense if you just opened it in your old room."

"I'm sorry."

His mother stood up from the couch and hugged him instead; she looked like she wanted to say something else but fought against it. Whatever she wants to say looks like it's something he has to find out on his own.

The earliest ones composed of death threats written with the sloppiest handwriting he had seen; some were attempts at an edgy joke that bordered on being insensitive; the worst one was the slew of messages that described in detail how much he hated his guts.

"I'm surprised you haven't killed yourself yet," the next word was just slurs, followed by more slurs and degrading words. It became a common theme of how much Tord wanted to kill him or how much Tord wanted him to commit suicide while he watched.

Some of the letters had keychains with checkered patterns; the writing had bled through the paper Tord used, rendering some of it intangible, and the metal part of the keychains rusted off.

"I'm not looking forward to you responding; I like sending them here because it gives me a sense of closure? There are some keychains that you might like. I bought them for you because you look like the guy to waste shit on these."

Tom smiled at the sentiment before piling the keychains Tord gave him beside the letters. He moved to his bed and continued skimming through the letters--updates about life, random stories, and more magazine clippings. His hand then touched something that looked new; it was a letter from Tord wrapped in an envelope with a wax seal on it--he blinked multiple times to make sure it was real before deciding to open it with his nails.

" I'm sorry for what I said before--I didn't know why I let myself get carried away with that type of emotion--and this has given me the time to think that I don't know you at all. Maybe I just like the idea of being friends with you or something. I don't want to be forgiven or understood--not like you would read this--I guess it's one way to take some load off my chest."

He was apologizing and he wanted to be friends. Big whoop--it's like he's being told against his will to write this letter. Tom opened the folded section of the letter and paled.

"I think I still like you after all this time."