Kismet - [Eddsworld]

--7--

For once, the home was quiet. Peaceful, and yet unusual. Whether it'd be Tom's drunk rambling or Tord's snickering, the place was almost never at complete silence for over five hours.

And as morning waved its obnoxious greeting through the blinds of the large windows, the house remained at ease. Not annoyed or disturbed.

The night before hadn't gone on much longer, after Tord had stated bluntly to Tom that he was going to stay over and crash on the couch, the night melted. And before they knew it, it was morning again.

Even with the early November morning light on his face, Tord didn't stir. He was halfway of the couch, his right leg slung over the arm of the couch, and his other fallen off the side. His jacket was slipping slowly from his shoulder, and his beanie was joining in the fall. To make clear, he was definitely snoring.

But Tom was snoring too, in a far more uncomfortable sleeping position. After Tord fell asleep on the couch, Tom had sought refuge in the kitchen, bringing out his drinks once more. The events that had unfolded the night before hurt him and his hopes in many ways; and the burning beverage had never let him down before in his times of need.

The black-eyed male lay slumped over the island counter in a dated wooden chair, snoring and drooling onto the counter with an empty glass bottle in his left hand. It was presumed that he had fallen asleep much later than Tord.

They'd been asleep for, as stated, over five hours, which was probably the most sleep they had gotten in two years. 

Sadly, it wouldn't last much longer. 

The obnoxious chime of Tom's phone cut like a blade in the silence, waking him up with a jolt. His phone vibrated continuously on the island counter until he slammed his hand down on it, his eyes half closed still. Of course when he slammed his hand down on his phone, that woke Tord up in the other room. 

Both boys groaned at being woken up so abruptly. Perhaps they'd been having dreams that outmatched the reality. 

Tom turned his cell phone over so he could see the screen, feeling a little lucky that the sunlight balanced with the brightness of the screen so it didn't hurt his eyes. 

On the screen was an alarm, as much as he hoped it was a call from Matt, like he had changed his mind; but, it wasn't. The alarm was one he had set himself the night before. Every thought he once had came flooding back when he looked at the name of the alarm.

[alarm]

8:40

LOOK FOR HIM

[X]

Tom blinked, running a sweaty hand through his hair before he slid the 'x' across the screen to cancel the alarm. He pushed the phone back face down on the counter, taking a deep inhale and holding his head. It was too early to be worrying about this; at least too early for Tom.

"Faen," came from the living room, "ikke ennå...." The rest of the words trailed off in a sleepy mumble as Tord rolled over on the couch, bringing his fallen leg up. It felt like he'd just rested it in a bed of needles, since it fell asleep over the five hours and waking it up was like a death sentence. The feeling pricked at his leg, making him groan and mutter more curses in his native language.

Tord sat up on the couch, his beanie sliding down from his head and onto the cushion. The grey jacket he wore was half-off his shoulder and he was practically freezing, even in his thick crimson sweater. The rings of fatigue around his eyes made him look like a raccoon, and it was obvious that he didn't sleep as soundly as Tom did.