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Up above is the best example image for how much Tom shifts (to his full form) If you have any questions ask.
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It was a wintry night, the freezing air wanted to bite at anything or anyone that decided to bask in its silent wrath. It was freezing, yes but it wasn't snowing, the sky was clear and open and full of stars. Stars were Tords favourite thing to look at, they scattered the sky along with the milkyway that fully covered the dark sky. They truly made you wonder, what was further from there and would you ever explore it? Why couldn't people explore further than the moon without using a type of robot?
Tord lifted the cancerous drug to his mouth and took a puff of it, letting it fill his lungs before exhaling. Tord always questioned himself, after the incident the trauma finally caught up to him and drowned him in it, thoughts constantly clawing at his mind to grab his attention for a short amount of time to break him. After the robot crash, since his army turned their backs on him for failing his mission, and he had nowhere to go. He eventually went back to his old friends and asked for forgiveness, not starting great but ending on understandable conditions.
Tord often let himself out in the middle of the night for long walks with a smoke along the way, as he explained it to let himself recollect his thoughts so he could drown out the nightma-, no Night terrors, he constantly got. Tom always thought he didn't care for Tord, not one bit, but there was always a deep thought that questioned if he was okay. Tom wouldn't have let him near them ever again, but seeing the condition he left Tord in was unbearable. For god sake half of Tords face was scarred off while his arm was as well, which was removed later since its nerves were destroyed, and once nerves were gone, they were irreplaceable.
Tom was waiting for Tord to come back from his late-night walk, he always waited for him with a blanket and hot cocoa. The last couple times he came back and had a horrible cold the next day, thanks to him not warming himself up from the bite the cold gave. He always wondered why he did that to himself, yes Tom constantly drank and didn't care about himself often but allowing yourself to freeze was something he couldn't handle.
Hours slowly went by, the spiky haired man drumming his fingers against the table in annoyance as he chewed on his piercing a little. Where the fuck was he? Tord was always home by now. Toms mind started to flood with worries as he thought of the possible reasons why he wasn't back. As once again worry clawed at his mind, he decided that he should go find him and bring him home.
The tall man stood and went to the door, pulling on his snow boots and blue hoodie, along with his snow jacket, some gloves, his beanie. His lack of eyes wondered to the rack as he checked if forgot anything. Soon enough, he realised that Tords snow jacket was there along with his read hoodie. With loud angry curses, he grabbed it and through his phone in his pocket, jogging out to search for the Norwegian communist.
Toms eyes scanned the front house area for any signs of Tord. Once figuring out that there was no one in their front yard (They already got a new house) he walked himself down the street, heading towards the park that was nearby. He shuddered at the icy wrath, keeping the stuff close to him to keep it warm so when he found Tord he wouldn't get colder. The snow crunched as he halted at the entrance of the park, looking around.
