Monsters start at coffee

Trust me, or not.

Yesterday was... interesting. Tom ponders about anything and everything, thoughts sharing space with the ever consistent headache, a reminder of what he's become. Of what's Tord done to him. But it's ending soon, if the norwegian didn't lie about that too. There's voices in the kitchen. It's earlier than his usual waking time. Edd eventually stopped calling him for breakfast, since he'd ignore the attempts, only coming when the trio - pair, mostly, because Tord was normally in his room too - talked peacefully in the couch, exchanging words mindlessly, not even acknowledging the other's presence. The look in Matt's eyes, always silent and pointed towards him, made his teeth and fists clench with rage, and Edd's words of pity, even worse - the brunnete acted as if Tom was a hungry, parentless, cold child who needed to be taken care of, because he didn't know how to. And the hybrid for sure knew how to. That's not what the imprinted slashs in his walls showed though, neither how his late night outings to the fridge manifested in his body, or even what the dark circles, visibe to anyone who glanced, told them, no words needed. but Tom wouldn't admit anyway. He rolled to face the wall again. He hated pity.

Tom hears someone coming. Light, almost imperceptible, steps slowly approach his room. Tord.

Tord opens the door with little to no sound, delicate like his touch yesterday. Tom stills.

Some seconds pass, and Tom loses track of where the other is. Probably sat though. "You know I can tell you're awake." Tord says teasingly, earning nothing but a huff from Tom. It didn't anger him, surprisingly.

"I brung water. And food. Not letting you starve to death." He didn't want them. He wasn't hungry. The empty stomach of his said otherwise, but Tom didn't really feel like getting up, processing the light hitting his eyes, or starting his day in general. It's too much work, honestly. He'd much rather Tord just leave the plate there and leave him to be - but Tord's brought it for him, it wouldn't be fair to just leave it there after all the norwegian has come through for him. Even though Tord's the one guilty, he seems to regret it, doesn't he? And Tom didn't have dinner yesterday. Maybe he'd eat. Just a bit.

His internal debate went on for some seconds, before rolling over to see Tord's hoodie just besides the bed. Much closer than he had thought. The norwegian held two sandwiches that looked absolutely delectable: golden buns - integral, because those were the only ones Matt eats - filling almost spilling from the edges, that perfect crispy buttered top that came from toasting it in a pan. He had also brung a cup of coffee.

"It's basic human decency, ain't it?" Avoiding eye contact, Tord placed the plate in the bedside table.

Tom slowly sat up, his knee screaming under the sheets, not as much as before though, and his brain still processed being awake. He felt kinda... embarassed? That's the closest word Tom could use to describe it. The hybrid always, well, not always but mostly, took the time too tend for himself, at least put a shirt on and wash his face before getting out of his room. He was stressed, but still had dignity.

"I'm v'ry much able to fend for m'self.."

"Obviously, it really shows." Tord's gray eyes scanned his face, and the slight blush that covered his cheeks definetly didn't go unnoticed by the other, as it went for Tom. He clutched the sheets harder. Grabbing one of the sandwiches Tord sat in the chair Tom would always be on to strum Susan and get some peace. The two entered a confortable silence, the only sound being the munching of both and the eventual sip from the cups - the coffee pods Tord used weren't the good ones, but it still tasted suprisingly good. Suddenly, shoulders were tensed as the norwegian apparently choked in the food, and, by reflex, Tom got up, walking in his direction, in a half-panic mode. After a bit of struggle, the pair calmed down, and Tord now looked up at the other, who stood just before him, mug still in hands.