Crimson Red-A TomTord Fanfic

Short-Lived Comfort

Chapter: 7

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Tord's POV

My senses heighten when he pulls the sweatshirt over me. His sweatshirt.

He pulls me up off the ground and I bury my face deeper into the hood. It smells faintly of liquor, and musty, but at least it smells like him.

I wish this would just end, that we would both awake in our beds as the sun is rising. But it doesn't work that way. And me, of all people should know this better than anyone.

He wraps his frozen hand around my arm, and I glance to my side, spotting him with only a thin t-shirt on.

I study the asdf logo on it, rereading the iconic line, 'be safe,' over and over in my head. None of the words make sense. I can't help but study his form, underneath the cloth, the outline of his torso. The way it curves, the small but deft contours of his muscles and chest. But I look quickly away, staring at the ground when I sense him turn his head up to look up at me.

We make our way out of the alley, passing the monotonous brick patterns that make up the walls on either side of us, until we reach the end.

His grip is tight on me, making me very self-conscious, but I try to focus on moving the heavy legs underneath me.

As Tom passes the barrier between the outside world and the alley, small pieces of him, almost like pixels, break off from his pale body, and move away and out of the dark and into the outside world, which slowly lights up.

I watch him fade and disappear, and his heavy grip loosens on my shoulder.

I feel like I might lose him, and I begin to cry out as he dissipates before me, his face nonetheless peaceful; my screams intensify. I slip my arm from under his grip and adjust it, grabbing onto him more tightly, trying to pull him, but an invisible force pushes him forth and away from me. I feel that energy that moves between us and through my bones when we touch.

"Tom!" 

His face remains peaceful, and it seems to darken beside his moving into the light. Then my hand slips and he is ripped from me. 

"Nooooooo," I scream, but he's gone by then, leaving me alone in the alley, cold and sad. The absence of his presence causes fear to spread through my body. I sit along the wall and hug my legs, moving my head closer to my chest, and sniffing at the blue hoodie, the one thing of Tom's that hasn't left with him.

I know I can't go any further; I must wait until the dawn comes to find me. I won't just fade like Tom if I cross the border.

Good thing there aren't any monsters like last time, I think. And, as if in an answer to prove this wrong, I hear a growl coming from my left, and I snap my head in that direction, pulling off the blue hood and no longer attempting to hide my scarred face. As I stare into the faintly lit alleyway where I had found myself at the start of this mess, I catch sight of something shiny, crimson spread across the metal surface. It has a handle and is the shape of a knife, my knife.

I move to get up off the damp floor, noticing my pants have been soaked through from sitting. Ignoring the discomfort, I move to the place where the knife is laying, reach down to grab it, but as soon as my hand connects with the frozen handle, I hear the growl again, this time closer.

I grip the knife and swivel to face the creature. A flash of its purple fur overwhelms my vision, and I try not to look up, but the curiosity takes over me and I tilt my head just a bit.

He stares back with iridescent violet eyes, watching intently my each and every move.

He leans in closer, his mouth oozing with goop, thick and resembling a rabid hound's. A shiver runs down my spine.

I quickly try to hide the weapon I'm holding behind me, but we both know he's seen it already. I move back a few steps, but he again closes the distance I've created, growling more deeply now.

I never thought I'd have to face this, I think, debating whether I should hurt him or not. 

"Go away, you monster," I scream, my hand shaking behind my back. I think the knife might fall out of my grip if my hand keeps moving. But I can't control it. Just like I can't control the purple-furred beast that suddenly yells out and slashes his claws against my face, ripping the pattern of closed incisions that make up that side and tearing the skin to shreds.

I cry out in pain, the newly inflicted cuts bleeding down my face.

I can't feel that side anymore.

"Tom, stop it!"

He looks at me for a moment, considering my words, I bet. But then, a sort of mist clouds his vision and he seems to forget what I've just said. 

I rip the knife from its hiding spot and jump onto him.

He's much taller than me in this form, but I've always been pretty tall, so I hang onto him, digging the metal knife in my hand, into his shoulder blade.

He is unstable underneath me, and shakes me off, but the knife won't be discarded that easily. I spot it embedded deep into his shoulder. I'm on the ground, now, but the light is seeping through the alleyway, washing away the dark, so I huddle against the wall and whisper to myself.

"It's gonna be over soon, just wait a bit longer." I stare at Tom while he tries to move his big arms to rip the knife out of his bleeding limb. He seems to have forgotten me, so I put his hood back on, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him coming back at me.

I jump off the ground, holding my fists pathetically in front of me like a ninja wannabee.

But I remember the sweater, slide it off, and hold it steadily in front of his nose, beside my shaking hands. He sniffs, eyeing the sweatshirt.

"This is yours," I say, trying to buy time.

A growl.

"Do you recognize it?"

Growl.

"Do you do anything but growl?" I suppress a small laugh, but the Tomster doesn't seem convinced. He seems to wrinkle his nose at me.

His eyes are glazed over, but they slowly become more intent. He looks up from the sweater, which is slightly damp in my sweaty hands, and meets my eyes.

I blush, I don't know why.

His iridescent skin also becomes a deeper shade of purple. Did he just blush, too, I think.

But then, 'poof' he disappears, and I do, too.

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