sick of you (tomtord)

4.

Tord threw his backpack onto the lunch table and sighed as he sat down. "I hate school.."

Tom nodded. "Same. Buuut..." he smirked mischievously, "...we could leave."

"Leave?" Tord furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Get out early."

"It's not minimum day today."

"Bloody hell, i'm trying to say we could ditch!"

Tord gasped. "No! What if we get caught? My dads would kill me!"

"Relaaax, we won't get caught," Tom promised with a chuckle. "I swear."

"..okay..." he reluctantly agreed.

"Let's go to 'the bathroom'," the Brit winked and stood up, grabbing his backpack.

"This is a horrible idea."

--Time Skip--

"And this is my house!" Tom announced, stopping in front of a two story house.

"It's nice," Tord smiled.

"Yeah, sure. Anyways..." he fumbled with the keys and unlocked the door. "My parents aren't, uh... here."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"N-Nothing," Tom shook his head quickly.

Confused, Tord shrugged and stepped inside. The house was a bit messy, but overall how an ordinary house would look like. "Where can I put my backpack?" He asked.

"In my room. C'mon on, it's just up the stairs," Tom replied. He went up the stairs and walked inside a blue room.

Tord trailed after him and looked around. Some clothes were scattered on the floor, the bed wasn't made, and there was a couple Smirnoff bottles on the dresser.

"You can put it on the floor."

"O-Okay."

Tom sat down on the checkered bed, picking up a black and white bass guitar. He placed it in his lap, strumming a few chords as a warm up.

"Can you sing me something?" Tord asked as he sat down beside the Brit.

"Sing? I don't think so," he frowned. "I sound really bad."

"I doubt that! Your voice is smooth and low, which I think'll sound great," Tord smiled up at him, his silver eyes twinkling. "I can sing with you, if you want!"

"Er..." Tom couldn't look away from those pleading eyes. "Fine. What song?"

"Hm.. Do you know Shape of You? It's by Ed Sheeran."

"Mhm. I'll do that one, then."

Tom took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his fingers already knowing the chords because he had practiced it already. He soon began to play.

((Tom is in italics, Tord is in bold))

The club isn't the best place to find a lover
So the bar is where I go
Me and my friends at the table doing shots
Drinking fast and then we talk slow
And you come over and start up a conversation with just me
And trust me I'll give it a chance now
Take my hand, stop, put Van the Man on the jukebox
And then we start to dance, and i'm singin' like-

Tord tapped Tom's leg to indicate he would sing now.

Girl, you know I want your love
Your love was handmade for somebody like me
Come on now, follow my lead
I may be crazy, don't mind me
Say, boy, let's not talk too much
Grab on my waist and put that body on me
Come on now, follow my lead
Come, come on now, follow my lead

They sang the rest of the song, switching off on the lyrics. Tom ended it with one last strum.

Tord felt his face heat up with a blush. "You sing awesome."

"Heh, you too," Tom hunched his shoulders and bit his lip.

"I..." he began. "..have to tell you something."

The blue clad male looked up curiously. "Yeah?"

"Well..." Tord's breathing quickened. Just do it... say it! "I've been meaning to tell you... I..." This is too much. "Jeg elsker deg!"

"Huh?"

"N-Nothing! That was in Norwegian, uhhh... that means 'what was the English homework.' Yeah," he lied.

"Oh. It was to read chapter 24," Tom said.

"Okay. Thanks..." Idiot.