Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Is that a weed?

Huddled down within the gloomy darkness, limps slowly grew numb, a distant ache settling over stiff bones, and flesh ice cold to the touch. Bumps spread across the pale expense like a raging disease, tinting a raw red from the biting temperature that seeped from the broken tiles. Frozen senseless, needles prickled into the solid meat of thighs, stretched thin fabric a pathetic barrier between the concrete cracks and soft skin. 

Whimpering, Tom closed his eyes, thick dark lines of exhaustion marring the delicate undersides. A chaotic, scrabbling mess filled his head, buzzing like static and scribbled black like messy ink, spilling through his consciousness in a wave of self-hatred. 

Seconds ticked by to the speed of his pulse, vibrating through his body in an overly aware paranoia, setting his teeth on edge as the passage of time sluggishly crawled by. Being as slow as it was, it seemed as though the universe was reluctant to loosen its death grip, purring in mocking contentment as it dragged on the moment. 

He was supposed to be paid for sucking dick, right?

The universe was obviously skimping on his payment. 

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he grunted, glaring heatedly at his nails as though he expected them to turn into massive, curved talons. Instead, he just found them to be ragged, bitten through roughly, dirt coating the insides.

Ew.

Bizarrely, it reminded him of the time where Matt would sit him down and paint his nails a solid matte, tutting out odd giggles as he squirmed to get away. Pretending he didn't like effeminate things, shying back from anything classified remotely girly, the other man rolling his eyes at his obvious false machoness.

In retrospect, Tom had come a long way- he distantly wondered how far he would change in the near future. 

"Hello? Hell...O?" 

A gruff voice grounded out, distant in the darkness, tone tilting in casual questioning. It was raspingly deep, croaking from the hollow of a dry throat.

Hairs standing on end, Tom violently snapped his head up, nerves set alight in a burning panic as his heartbeat doubled in his chest. A scared grimace settled heavily over his features, lips stretched into a wobbly frown, hands bracing at his sides as he leaned further into the counter. Straining his ears, he peered blindly into the gloom, watching as shapes swirled distractingly in front of his vision.

Sighing heavily, it was barely heard over the lapping plastic tarp that shuddered loudly down the hallway, footsteps creeping closer in a steady pace, military boots thumping evenly against the floor.

Tensing, Tom perked his head up, murky voids wide in fear. Halting all movement, he attempted to smother his breathing, teeth sinking into the bottom of his lip as he agonised over being caught in a place he really shouldn't be. Heart leaping into his throat, he silently prayed that he wouldn't be discovered, sweat circling his skin, trickling down his neck in a white, hot dread.

Could he protect himself? Should he hide just in case? It was too soon for him to transform- he wasn't- he wasn't ready to-

With a dull thud, the door to the bathroom swung open, Tom's accompanying yelp mixing with the various sounds of crackling electricity, thrashing wind and slamming wood. Clenching his eyes closed, he drew his knees up in a protective stance, scrunching up his nose as he forced a not so threatening snarl across his face. 

Waiting in impatience for an attack, for reaching, grappling hands and a bruising unknown force, to be dragged against the floor to the jeering sounds of hissed laughter-

"Oh." Came instead, sounding light and just as surprised as Tom felt, "It's you." 

It didn't sound like an accusation, lacking the rough intonation of disdain that usually lingered in the phrase. Rather, it was light and oddly empty, a whisper that came out a tad too loud.