Crimson Red-A TomTord Fanfic

Chasing After You

Chapter: 12

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Tom's POV

It's been a day or two since Tord's left, and I have stayed in my room the whole time for some reason.

First, I refused Matt's invitation to indulge cherry pie at his house, which by the way is my favourite flavour of pie.

And when Edd came home from his long trip to America, I didn't even bother to greet him outside the flat, "Welcome Back" signs in hand.

I just sat on the bed all day with the door locked, running my fingers over the cloud charm I'd received from Tord. Then, when it got dark, I came out to get a snack from the kitchen and was soon back in my room, thinking.

I never bothered to take off the purple sweater, the whole time, either.

It kind of reminded me of him, and I didn't know why I even wanted to be reminded of him.

The monster who'd haunted my dreams for so long, the violent traitor that had torn apart my life just a few months ago. And yet, I didn't let any of this stop me from enjoying his short time back.

Now I think I miss him.

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Tord's POV

I'm being shaken awake by Paul, who seems annoyed when I crack my eyes open to get a glimpse of his tired face.

"Please, Sir, get up. We are on a tight schedule." He lets go of me when I send him a look.

Then, as he stands back, I lift my back off the mattress and sit up, running my eyes.

"Been sleeping like a stone, Sir." He takes a seat on a chair not five centimetres away.

"How long have I been out," I ask, trying to still my blurry vision. I realise my arms are both aching as I keep them raised to my face.

"Out of the closet, two days. Sleeping, a day." He chuckles a bit.

I ignore that first part, not even thinking before I say, "Really, I've been asleep a whole day?"

I see Paul nod in response.

I look down at myself, around the room, too.

This is what I see:

I'm clad in the purple hoodie, one arm sleeve ripped at the top, exposing my arm, the other, pulled down over my limb.

The hood is up.

The bed I'm sitting on is soft, almost like memory foam, and I sink slowly into it as I adjust my position on the mattress.

The covers are a plain, milky white. I'm surrounded by cream-coloured walls. I notice the room is smaller than mine back in England.

The cloud charm is loose against my neck, hanging far below the neckline of my hoodie.

My left arm is exposed, but no longer are the cuts visible, I notice. A clean and crisp bandage is pulled tightly over the inflicted area. I pull up my other sleeve, finding the same type of bandage covering that limb.

Paul catches me looking at my newly wrapped arms.

"Uh, Pat noticed the scars and thought he might help them heal a bit." When he says the name Pat, he blushes a bit. I can feel it.

I blush, too, out of embarrassment for my arms.

"Oh," I say, pathetically. Then I add, "Thank him for me." He nods, understanding.

I get out of bed, wearing only my boxers and hoodie, and scurry past Paul to the bathroom to get changed.

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The uniform is alien on my body, as I haven't worn it in so long. The tag with my name carved into it is still shiny and new in the stream of sunlight that passes through my room.

I smooth it down, the red and blue material crisp and clean.

I haven't taken off the hoodie, though. It pokes out, purple, underneath the tidy attire.

The charm is tucked protectively into the sweater, only the silver chain visible against the skin of my neck.

"Sir," Paul calls from downstairs.

I stop admiring myself in front of the mirror, which brings me to think of Matt for a second, and lug my body down the stairs.

The smell of sausage attacks my nose, and I inhale deeply. Pat's leaned over the stove, adding salt and pepper onto the eggs cooking beside the meat.

"Hope your hungry," he says, plating the food.

Paul takes the plates from Pat with a shy smile, and motions for me to sit at the counter overlooking the kitchen. Then, he sets a steaming plate in front of me with a small thud. I hadn't even noticed how hungry I was.

Paul sits down next to me with his own plate, and Pat sits next to him, the space before him empty.

"Your not eating?" It comes out quick, before I go back to devouring the food.

"Ate already."

"Oh," I say, spooning the eggs into my mouth with such force.

Both Pat and Paul stare at me as if they've never seen anyone so hungry.

Then Pat says, "You look good today, Sir. Ready for battle." He gives a chuckle.

I ignore the compliment and keep eating.

I look at the analogue clock on the counter, which reads 8:00.

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Tom's POV

It's eight in the morning, and I keep staring at my watch as I stand in the midst of tons of travellers who wait to board the plane with me.

I'm wearing ripped black jeans underneath my purple hoodie. Underneath that is the cloud charm I got from Tord as a goodbye present.

I smile at the chain, the only visible piece of the necklace.

All boarding flight 106 to Norway, please make a line. Group one first, followed by two and three.

The speaker blares over the continuous noises of yeh airport, and I look down at my ticket.

Then, I get in line behind an elderly lady, waiting to board with group two. She turns around, a smile on her face.

Then she asks, "Are you going to visit anyone special?" She waits patiently for my answer, her eyes never leaving mine.

I think about this question. Is Tord someone special to me? Why am I even going to see him?

"Girlfriend?"

I blink, surprised. It takes me a moment to review realise what she's asked me. No, not a girlfriend. I tell her this.

She raises her eyebrows at me, then says, "Wife?"

I shake my head. "Boyfriend," I say, barely a whisper.

She looks at me, seriousness covering her expression. "Boyfriend, huh?" I nod.

She scowls at me. "I hope you're ashamed of yourself for indulging in the desires of such a relationship." Then she turns away abruptly, moving a ways away from me.

I blink again, think What? Desires? Confusion overwhelms me. Did I just call Tord my boyfriend? How silly.

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