Cat Eyes || Tomtord

Comfort

Tord had brought the Jehovah's witness some clothes and, after he had changed, left for the communist's quarters. Tom had gotten cozy on the couch while the other made eggs for both of them.

Tom strongly smelt the eggs that Tord was baking. Strange, Tom thought, I didn't remember having that great of a sense of smell when I was a person before. He shrugged it off and staggered over to the table. Walking was more difficult on two legs.

"You being a cat explains a lot, now that I think about it," Tord said. "Your smartness. Your ability to know what I was saying. Your hatred of cat food."

Tom chuckled, "I remember thinking that you should try it. See how you liked it." Tord laughed and set the eggs down on plates.

"So what's the first thing you want to do, now that you're human?" Tord asked.

Tom almost choked, "Fucking get drunk!"

Tord looked at him with wide eyes. He had misheard Tom. "W-What? Tom, that's so incredibly gay."

"What?" Tom asked puzzled.

"I heard you say, "Fuck and get drunk," Thomas."

Tom blushed furiously, "No! Oh my Jehovah, no! I said fucking get drunk. Oh, Jehovah." A part of him, a strange part that wasn't acknowledged, liked the idea.

"Yeah, that makes a lot more sense. Sorry, I have vodka in here. You want it now?" Tord asks, rubbing the back of his next in embarrassment.

"Yes!" Tom exclaims.

Tord goes into a separate room and grabs two bottles. "Don't have Smirnoff but I think this'll do?" Tom nods and takes the bottle, opening with his teeth. "Woah, for breakfast? Are you that desperate, Jehovah?"

"Psh, of course! I haven't had this beautiful drink in months! Bottoms up!" Tom cheered, taking a blissful chug of his alcoholic beverage. The burning liquid flew down his throat so fast as to make the average person choke, but Tom didn't. "Oh, Jehovah!" he cried out in glee.

"Damn, Thomas! You took half the bottle in two fucking seconds!" Tord exclaimed, popping open the bottle on the countertop and sipping, watching Tom through half lidded eyes gulp down each drop in the bottle.

He sighed loudly, "That's the good shit. Tord, you have any more?"

He handed over his bottle to Tom, who tipped his head back. "Don't overdose on me. We just got you back," Tord chuckled. Although he tried to joke, it backfired.

Tom stopped abruptly and set the bottle back on the table, "Oh yeah." His eyes immediately glossed over with stinging tears, remembering the pain he caused his friends. He looked at the bottle of death-juice fearfully, as if it would grow claws and jump at him.

"Tom, I was just joking. You can drink- Tom!" Tord was cut off when Tom pushed the bottle away from himself. It toppled over, spilling it's contents over the counter before rolling onto the floor. The shattering sound was beautiful and deadly, like a Siren in Greek mythology, though it sounded louder than usual.

"I don't want any more. I-I'm done," Tom said, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He just stared at the pool of alcohol and listened to the drip, drip of it falling slowly to the floor. He breathed slowly, calming himself from the panic. He shut his eyes tight, slightly recovering from the small panic attack. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Tord sighed and wrapped his robot arm around the Brit. Tom spilt like the vodka, "Oh, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so selfish! I died, Tord! I fucking died!" He ran his fingers threw his hair, pulling a bit. "Did you see Edd!? He looked so terrible! He thought it was his fault!

"Tom, you know he's better now," Tord tried to calm him down.

"Now! He's better now, but when I just died, think of that! They would've..." Tom shook his head after thinking, been so happy without me.

Although he felt awkward doing so, Tord hugged him. Tom broke, feeling safe to cry in Tord's arms. He gripped at the Norwegian's hoodie as if it was the only thing keeping him from being sucked into the vacuum of lonely sorrow. Tord was astounded at the eyeless person. The Tom he remembered was tougher than this. Why was he acting this way?

"Tord..." Tom murmured into the commie's tear stained shoulder. Tord hummed in response. "I'm an asshole."

He laughed, "Yes, Tom. Yes you are. But not right now." Tord pulled Tom away, hands on his shoulders, "Right now... you're broken, and that's good." Tord did not know what he was doing. He wasn't the greatest at comforting others; he wasn't supposed to comfort others. He was the big bad leader of an army.

He continued, "You died. You died and then you came back to life as a cat, which I don't think normal people are supposed to do. Then, I reversed you back into a person. That's incredibly confusing. To make things worse, you had to be adopted by your arch-nemesis."

"That didn't make it worse," Tom said. Tord looked at him, shocked and uncertain. "You were a dick before but you literally cried about how you hated being a leader to me," Tom chuckled. "You're not as ruthless as you make yourself out to be."

Tord felt warm. A flash of something stirred in him, unfamiliar. His face felt warm and he grew antsy, yet he didn't want to move. He just wanted to stare into Tom's pitch black eyes forever, but he also felt like running away and crying.

Tom wanted to lean in and kiss the commie but a hug would have to do. Tord would never like me anyways, Tom thought to himself, his heart plummeting. He then realized that "like" meant more than friends.