Tiny - Tomatt

Subterranean

Apologies for the unannounced hiatus. My spring break has ended and I'm experiencing a slight case of writer's block as well as doing my best to balance all my current responsibilities. Hopefully I'll be cured soon and Tiny will be back in business.

Tom and Matt were hanging out in Tom's apartment like usual. The weather was beautiful out. The sun was beaming down warmly, with sparse light clouds painting the bright blue pre-noon sky. The only sound was the gentle white noise of a cool breeze drifting in through the half open window. Spring was coming, and birds could be heard chirping in the budding trees. All was tranquil.

The black eyed man was at the kitchen counter, feeling the breeze blow through the open window on his face, using a rag to polish Susan, his bass. The shiny black and white surface had become smudged from Tom's fingers the past few days. He hadn't played the bass for some weeks, even before the incident with the kidnapping.

The tips of Tom's fingers hadn't been burned so he didn't have much problem strumming the instrument. However, stretching his left hand to reach the frets was a different story. Sometimes the strings would require his hand to reach farther, which would hurt his palm terribly and sometimes cause it to bleed.

So Tom had stopped playing it for a few days while his hands healed. He had eventually been able to unwrap the bandages for good. The skin of his palms were scarred from the burns and less flexible, but they worked.

But Tom's palms still had no feeling in them, and a visit to the doctor told him he wasn't ever going to get that feeling back. Sometimes he would press his fingers onto the healed scars just to try to feel something. But nothing would work. This caused him much distress, but he eventually accepted the fact that he'd never have feeling in his palms again.

Tom's other injuries, like his heavily bruised side, also healed slowly. The horrible bruises were fading slowly from dark black and people to a lighter green and yellow.

As Tom polished his bass, he thought about his injuries. His fist angrily clenched around the rag which he used tightly. This is all his fault. He wished he could get revenge on their Norwegian captor. Revenge more than destroying his little base. Revenge more than shooting a harpoon right into his giant robot.

Tom snapped out of his trance when the small voice of Matt asked from in front of him, "Hey, Tom?" Matt was sitting on the neck of his bass, legs hanging down and swinging back and forth. "We've been cooped up in your apartment for days. Do you think we could go out on an adventure?" He grinned up at him eagerly. "Like we used to?"

Tom thought for a bit, and was about to say he didn't want to, when he changed his mind. Maybe, he thought, it'll take my mind off this Tord thing. He smiled faintly despite himself. The weather's beautiful anyway.

"Sure," Tom agreed. Matt jumped down to the counter, now excited. "When I'm done with this, I'll go get Edd and he'll find something to do. He always does."

"Yay!" Matt cheered. "I was getting a little tired of exploring your apartment anyway."

The two were closer than they'd ever been before. For a little bit after the night Tom had gotten drunk, they of course were awkward around one another, which was to be expected. But soon enough, they went back to talking and laughing like normal friends, and everything was right in the world of Tom and Matt again.

Soon enough, because of Tom's effort Susan was polished and squeaky clean. He picked it up and brought it out to the living room and then set it in his bass stand. He went back to the kitchen and extended a hand for Matt to stand on.

Feeling euphoric, Matt climbed onto Tom's hand, now being able to sit on his palm once again because of the scar. Tom moved his thumb protectively over Matt. The ginger was startled for a moment before he wrapped his arms around the digit. He smiled to himself and turned his head downward so Tom couldn't see his face.