Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Yikes

Fingers ghosting over his cheek, a small dopey smile graced his face. A gooey, warm feeling filled his chest, spreading through his body in a giddy rush. His heart stuttered in its rhythm, and a slightly flushed pink dusted his happy features.

Tom stumbled the rest of the way to work in a bubbly haze, grinning stupidly at nothing in particular. Little tingles of warmth ebbing from the place Tord had kissed him, pulsing with promises and unspoken affection.

Deep down, he knew that it was so much more than that.

It was a reminder, a confession, a pledge, a vow, a token, a nudge in the right direction. A chance to remember that he is loved, needed; wanted. That despite the near-constant niggling background noise of his acidic, pessimistic thoughts, he had a support system that connected him to the real world. It was a bridge to reality, a gentle grounding force that kept him here in the now, instead of the foggy, miserable blur of the past.

The weight of the action sunk down deep into his core and Tom hated himself for feeling the need squeal loudly like an excited teenage girl. Fighting down the urge to skip was hard, a newfound burst of energy buzzing in his veins. Ironically, he found it quite hard to walk straight when he felt like the gayest thing alive.

Tord's presence and influence reverberated throughout his body. Feeling as though he was right there by his side, holding his hand, standing together as they charge ahead into the battle. He felt that whatever happened that day, good or bad; Tom had that strength to lean on.

He wasn't alone anymore.     

Something had been lifted from his shoulders, an underlining sadness that stemmed from a lifetime of being ostracized by peers that he shouldn't have cared about, and sick sense of detachment that lurched him towards the sweet, open embrace of apathetic alcoholism. Being different simply didn't matter anymore; he didn't need his birth parents acknowledgement or their pride. He had his own standing in the world- it was small, almost definitely insignificant to the rest of the gargantuan universe that enveloped his existence.

But it was his.

And that was enough.

Much preferring a father figure that came in the form of a lifelong friend, instead of the glorified sperm donor that he had been naively idolising for so long. Past girlfriends that came and went; put off by his innate despair- disappearing when they grew bored of his dull act. Who needed them when he had a person that matched his dry wit and disdain for the status quo? Someone that didn't care about his strange quirks.

Someone that wouldn't leave.       

--

Tom slipped through the back entrance of the cafe, feeling every inch as stable and collected as he appeared. In fact, it was possibly the first time he had entered the joint without an overall sense of sadness, or nausea from extreme paranoia.

Really, at this point, he wasn't wholly unconvinced that Tord's lips were somehow magic.

With the amount of evidence stacked up against him, he wasn't quite sure how he never thought he was gay either- but he supposed that some mysteries weren't ever supposed to be solved.

Clicking his tongue, he briefly considered his options before ultimately deciding to head to the laundry room. His usual outfit had probably been washed by now- or so he hoped. Really, if he had to wear any of Connie's dresses again in his lifetime, he would consider it to be far too soon. 

Barging open the dull grey door with a careless shoulder, he forced his way into the cramped room- narrowly dodging a large pile of heavy clothing that leant unceremoniously against the entry. He stumbled past and shoved it closed, wincing at the loud whirring of the machines that shook violently in use.