What Are We?

Confront

Tord had been in his room as well. He sat on his desk rather than his bed, his flesh arm holding him his head with his cheek in palm, while the mechanical arm held a pencil. He wasn't sure where the others were, but likely the same as he was.

He was thinking back to last night. What happened that night that made it so... awkward? The dinner was delicious, the atmosphere was good... until it wasn't. Likely, and most definitely, Edd and Tom discussed something in the bathroom that ruined it.

But... what the hell can you do in a bathroom? Did they accidentally see each others dicks and get weirded out?

...Did they?

He positioned the pencil between his thumb and his pointer, and flicked it, where it ricochet off the wall and hit him directly on the forehead.

It caught him off guard, sure, but he was far too focused on what may have happened last night rather than worry about some red mark now forming on his head.

He let out a deep sigh and took his cheek off his hand. He leaned back against his chair, now both arms drooping on either side of him as he looked up at his ceiling. Why was he so focused on it? Was he obsessed? ...possibly.

Should he confront Tom about it? Or would that be too sudden? Tord believed that they were in fact getting closer, perhaps closer than they were prior the end. So, it wouldn't be weird if he asked him what was wrong, right?

Yeah. He should ask him. As he mustered up the courage, he lifted himself off his chair, immediately going straight to his door. But before his hand reached the knob, he stopped.

Fuck, what if it is weird? Sure they were close, but how close enough can you be so it won't be considered strange to check up on a friend?

He groaned silently and ran a hand through his short bangs. Why was this so hard to do?

...Fuck it. He was able to build an entire robot that had the potential to take over the planet as we knew it, and nearly got burnt to a crisp. Obviously, not his proudest moment... but he's gone through worse possible things than this.

He reached his arm out and quickly turned the knob, nearly ripping open his bedroom door, any slower he feared he'll find the right moment to back out.

As soon as he was in the hallway, he collided with something. Nothing harsh, but enough to draw him to stumble. He was shocked, he hadn't even realized he ran into something until he regained his focus.

There, standing just a foot or so away from him, was Tom.

While it took Tord a moment to regain focus, it took him even longer to realize the expression written on the others face. Shock, bothered... anything negative that the Norwegian didn't want to see.

They stared at each other for a moment; just a moment. Cases like this, where they were silent and the only thing they'd be able to focus on was their eyes was always something Tord favorited. If he could do it so much everyday that it would be considered a hobby; he'd do it.

But... this time, it wasn't like that. Moments like before when they were silent, words passing each others mind as if they could read them. But currently, no words were read.

At least, not any words Tord would want to read in Tom's mind.

Now was his chance. "...Tom. You, uh... you alright?"

The other simply stared while his expression shifted, as well as his gaze. He hummed in response. "Uhuh... yeah."

Tom took his voids-for-eyes off the other and put them on something else, the nearby wall being his victim for his awkward glare.

The Norwegian looked at the Brit up and down, turning his head to the side slightly, though keeping his eyes on him as he squinted. "...you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Just gonna get something to eat," as Tom spoke, his voice hadn't been its usual confident tone. Rather, it was quiet and low, and if you were listening closely, you could tell he wanted to leave quickly.

"Oh, alright. Am I in your way?" Tord let out a dry chuckle at his last sentence, a poor attempt to start their daily bickering.

"No, it's alright." Tom then slipped past Tord, none of his body even grazing the other. Not even a simple shoulder check.

What? What the hell?

Not anything? Not even a "yeah, you are," or a "yes and get the fuck out of my way," Nothing?

Tord was left there in the hallway, almost speechless. He whipped around so quickly that his hair had a moment to catch up with the rest of his head. He wanted to reach out to him and grab him. If he couldn't have something more than friendship, then he could at least have what they had now.

He wanted to call out to him, catch him on a lasso, Tom's name being the rope.

But he couldn't. Why? He didn't know. But something held him back— something had always held him back. Maybe it was fear. Fear of being ignored; or fear of being heard.

He watched as Tom went into the kitchen and open their fridge, but he couldn't focus on anything else after that. His eyes watched him move, but he wasn't really mentally there.

Maybe he's just overthinking it. Likely, Tom just woke up from his sleep and didn't want to start an argument this time of day. That just had to be it, right? There couldn't be no other explanation.

Still... why did Tord have this bitter, gripping feeling in his stomach?