TeratoPhilia

Erythrophobia

Tom woke up in the backyard. This was not the first time this had happened, but he refused to acknowledge the Barbecue Hangover incident.

The weight on him was... a lot. He couldn't move to get up without disturbing whatever was on top of him, so he was forced to resort to waiting it out.

"Mye kjærlighet til deg, mitt kjære vitne..."

Of course.

It was Tord.

Oh, well, Tom didn't really mind the way Tord clung to his blue hoodie as he woke up, or the way his tired silvery eyes looked into his own.

"Tomas?"

Or the way he said his name in his cute accent-

"Morning, Tord."

Tord smirked and pulled Tom up to his feet.

"Been waiting like, what, 30 minutes? Took you a while, sleepyhead."

Tom shook the sleep from his head and followed Tord into the house.

"Question, vitne."

"What?"

"Do you remember, say... some sort of impulse, last night?"

"No, not that... oh..."

The kiss.

...

"NOPE!"

Tom ran to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

He had completely forgotten about that. He wished he hadn't remembered either.

Tom didn't want to think about last night.

It was too much.

So why couldn't he stop thinking about how surprised Tord had looked when they pulled away!?

"I... I-I lost my... my f-first kiss... to that goddamn commie. I-I cannot believe... How am I so stupid?"

Tom was just ranting to himself, not caring if anyone heard. He just needed to get all the pain and regret out.

God he was a mess if he let that happen. He probably drank too much Smirnoff that afternoon and it got to him or something. No way in hell he'd kiss the bastard sober!

He tried to calm himself down. Didn't need to bring out the demon this early in the da-

"Tomas?"

"FOR CHRIST'S SAKE COMMIE WHAT THE FUUUUUCK-"

"Hva fanen, vitne!?"

Tom opened the door.

"Alright, what the hell is it now you dumb fuuuu..."

What was Tord doing outside the door to the bathroom shirtless!?

"I lost my shirt."

"No fucking shit, commie. What the fuck am I supposed to do about?"

"I don't know, help?"

"Why would I help you?"

"Aw, bare denne ene gangen?"

"What?"

"Forgive me, I forgot. Just this once?"

Tom glared with the rage of a thousand suns, but begrudgingly obliged.

"Where'd you last have it?"

"In my room, I thought."

"Do you have to wear that specific shirt today?"

"Oh, well, yes. I forgot to buy new clothes and only brought three shirts and hoodies."

Tom rolled his nonexistent eyes, trying not to stare at the scars littering the commie's right side. As much as he wanted to touch them, he feared it would be too soon and very awkward, considering he was the indirect cause of the scars.

The two looked all over Tord's room – Tom more thoroughly than Tord, he was certain of that – but couldn't find the missing shirt.

"I left it right here!" Tord pointed at his nightstand, with an inconspicuous blank spot on it.

Tom shrugged. It was there, and now it wasn't.

"Check behind the nightstand? Shit falls."

"I did."

"Then I have no fucking clue."

"You looked everywhere?"

"Oh, of course I didn't. No shit I looked everywhere!" Tom was absolutely certain that Tord had planned this to tease him and was just going to make a fool out of him any second now.

Tord looked genuinely confused.

"Well fuck then. Where the helvete is it?"

Wait...

Was Tord serious?

"Wait, you can't actually find it?"

"What do you mean, 'can't actually'?"

"Uhhhhhhh-"

"Did you think I was teasing you about last night and being shirtless?"

"MAYBE!?"

"So you do lik-"

"No!"

He hadn't meant to yell.

Still, seeing the smug look Tord was giving him instantly fade away was satisfying as all hell.

"Oh."

"Look, you moving back in officially has been hard as hell on me and I have a lot of stupid feelings I need to sort out before I can say whether or not I actually like or dislike you."

"Fair."

The two were silent for a moment, before Tom noticed something on top of one of Tord's shelves.

"How the fuck did your shirt get there?"

Tord looked up, also confused as hell, at the plain as day shirt on top of a shelf.

"Great question."

Tom attempted to reach the shirt, but was proved too short. As always.

"Hold the shelf steady, would ya, commie?"

"Why?"

Tom glared, "I'm gonna climb it, idiot."

Tord looked confused, but kept the shelf from wiggling while Tom climbed to grab the shirt.

"Gotcha bitch!"

"No need to swear so much."

"Shut it and take your shirt, buddy." Tom dropped the shirt onto Tord's face, much like one would drop a slice of cheese onto a cat's.

God, he loved messing with him.