Tomtord Oneshots

Angst.

The night air was brisk. Trees swayed with the wind, the moon providing a bright glow. The grass, now painted red. As he layed there, motionless, the other male layed next to him. The boy, who was now soaked in his own blood, the boy who's skin glistened with the red liquid pouring out of his lifeless body, the boy who's eyes where once full of shimmer now dull and faded. The boy, Tord Jones, stabbed in the heart, by the only person he trusted. Thomas Nightwolf, the Brit who ended his lovers life, the Brit who was crazy. He looked at his lovers limp body and just stared. He stared at those eyes that use to stare back with so much admiration. The bloodied lips that used to wake him up with soft kisses. The nose that used to scrunch up when Tord was grossed out.
Love drove him to murder.
Love did things to him.
Love made him a jealous hostile person
Love made him obsessive over the only good thing in his life.
Love made him sick of the boy.
Love.
Made.
Him.
Hate.
Tord.
Hate? He hated tord? No. Then why was he so upset? He thought he did everything right. He was supposed to be happier after this. So why did it ache to see his boyfriend of god knows how long dead?
Dead.
Dead?
No no, he had to just be sleeping. Right? This had to just be a long nightmare. He'd wake up and Tord would be there to greet him. Tord would comfort the taller male, right?
.
.
.
.