Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
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Tom pov
Have you ever wondered what someone would say if they knew everything about you? Your story, your pain, everything that sticks in your brain like a piece of glass stabbing your skin? Tom does. Every. single. day. He wonders what that stupid, red clad, gun loving, hentai obsessed asshole would think if he knew how fucking pathetic he was. Sitting on his floor at two in the morning after stumbling in wasted from some bar he can’t remember the name of.
Drinks that don’t even fix the urge to watch himself bleed. The only reason he isn’t cutting is because he’s too tired and can’t hold the goddamn razor properly. Tom reaches up to rest his head on his hand. It feels wet. “Damn it, stop crying” he said to no one in particular, as if expecting the air to respond. No one should have been up. But a certain stupid, red clad, gun loving, hentai obsessed asshole on the other side of a too-thin wall may or may not be unable to sleep.
Tord pov
Tord felt like shit. His insomnia had been relentless recently. Of course, as he always gaslit himself to think, it wasn’t that bad. Probably not as bad as whatever that infuriatingly pretty guy on the other side of the thin wall was crying about. Wait- crying? That’s not something he normally hears from that wall. A bass guitar? All the time. Bottles clinking? Yeah, every other day. Jorking it? Yeah, on occasion. I mean- not that he was listening, nope, definitely not. Moving on-
This is a new sound. Sure, Tom was capable of crying like any other human being, but it’s different. Because it’s Tom. Tom, who refused to cry even when that army dude- I think his name was Hillary?- shaved his head. Tom doesn’t cry, at least, not loudly.
Whatever- he doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.
Something he said in his head over and over while he grabbed some hangover meds and started walking towards Tom’s room. Not at all, he thought as he knocked. Not at all, he thought as the door opened. Not at all, he continued to think while he comforted a drunk, crying, incoherent mess that was named Tom. As he let the void eyed man fall asleep on him. As he carefully picked up that man, laid him on the bed, tucked him in and left. Hoping this was the kind of drunk moment to remain forgotten, lost in time. And right in the middle of this thought, Tord realized, in the haze of a feeling he refused to label, he forgot the meds.
Tom pov
Tom woke up with an unbearable hangover. He was sweaty, had a huge headache, and felt incredibly nauseous. He looked to the side, hoping drunk him was at least smart enough to leave his water on the nightstand. Oh, look at that, hangover meds.
Guess he got lucky.