TomTord Drabbles

💙•"Don't Leave Me."

enjoy the fluffiness. <33 -<3

Tom swore he would be okay. But he couldn't help but think about .. Tord. The Norwegian has recently returned back to the house after being gone for such a long time.

His emotions are conflicted. One day he hates Tord so much. Next thing - he wants to hold the norsk and never let him go.

Staring at the ceiling, – Tom felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead. He lifted his hand. Wiping it with the back of his hand as he shakes his head.

He needs a drink.

Forcing himself up, he grunted softly. His back muscles popping at the moment that he has done. He haven't moved or left his bed in a total of three
days.

A large exhale escaped out of Tom's lips as he left his bedroom entirely. He began walking down the stairs. His hand lightly grazing the stairwell as he approached down the stairs.

The scent of cigar smoke entering the blue hooded wearing Brits nostrils. It is strong and fresh.

He entered down the stairs. To see Tord leant against the living room window. It is opened.

A cigar between his fingertips as he brought it back to his lips. He placed it there, taking a deep inhale of the toxicity into his lungs before he exhaled it out.

He felt, a presence.

Tord turned his head. The once relaxed state he was in was now suddenly heightened with tension.

"Hva du helvete?" Tord sneered in Norwegian at the sight of Tom. Whom is now holding the bottle of Smirnoff.

"Why are you awake?" Tom asked in reply. Sitting on the bright red couch. Tord was taken back by such question. In fact.... Not even annoyed of a tone.

"Why are you wondering?" Tord asked in reply. Flicking the cigar out the window. He used both of his hands and pulled the window shut. It makes a small thud when it hits the window sill.

Tom gripped the handle of the bottle in a much firmer grasp. He avoid eye contact. A flat line is across his face as he remained quiet now.

"Thomas, why are you wondering and, why are you being nice suddenly.." Tord repeated, getting closer to the Brit. He slightly tilted his head to the side with clueless and oblivion.

"Commie, shut the fuck up." Tom insulted, bringing the bottle to his lips and takes a swig.

Tord sighed. He sits on the couch right next to Tom. "Back to your mean self now, aye?" He teased. Scratching the little white bandage that is on his face.

"..No." Tom mumbled as he sets the bottle on the coffee table. His head slumped down. Hands holding his head as he kept his black voided gaze at the ground.

"C'mon, Thomas. What's up?" Tord asked as he scooted closer. A faint blush beginning to rise up to his face.

Tom slowly lifted his face, his head turning over to look at Tord now. Visible bags underneath the Brits eyes as the corners of them glistened with tears.

Tord widened his eyes at the sight of Tom tearing up. "Why are you–" He squeaked out but was silenced when Tom grasps onto Tord's arms.