Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

How do you know you're a third wheel?

Stumbling out of Ms Sinclair's office, Tom tripped, leaning against the wooden door haphazardly as he panted. Ragged breaths escaped his gaping mouth, chest shuddering up and down as he gulped in much needed air. Throat burning, he collapsed forward, catching himself at the last minute as he attempted to walk straight. A bright scarlet blush had sunk deeply into his cheeks, spreading down his neck and onto his chest like an infectious disease. The papers stuffed down his shirt crinkled unpleasantly against his skin, leaving fine scratches and irritated flesh as they rustled around.

Checking his phone for the time, he groaned silently.

Twenty minutes.

The conversation had lasted twenty minutes.

Tom felt as though he had ran a marathon.

It also meant that he only had about five minutes to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught of social chaos that would throw itself at him. He knew that the day was going to suck from the beginning, and he had a feeling that it would get worse the more it will drag on. Thinking back, he really should have skipped, and stayed in bed; he was starting to really hate being right about things.

Staggering back to the changing room, he grunted a passing greeting at Cherri as he shook the piles of documents out of his clothes and shoved them unceremoniously into his locker. Cherri hummed back, too busy concentrating on steadying her eyeliner. Meanwhile, he very reluctantly fought the urge to beat his own face against the wall.

"That bad, huh?" Cherri murmured, mouth popping at her reflection approvingly as she finished her routine.

"How did you guess?" Tom shot back sharply, grinding his teeth.

He really didn't want to talk about it.

Snorting, Cherri closed her makeup kit, spinning around and hopping on the messy counter, her legs dangling over the edge, "I told you she was pissed."

"Yeah, I got that."

It wasn't Cherri's fault, obviously. If anything, he should be apologising for being such a shitty friend, but he just couldn't help being a little short with her. Being pulled in so many directions at once made him irritable.

Still, he was being a huge dick.

Cherri quirked an eyebrow at him. Shooting a quick glance at her watch, she smiled at him patiently, "C'mon, Chief. We have three minutes- that's enough time to be your loving, lesbian therapist, right?"

Despite himself, he smirked. It really was nearly impossible to stay mad at her. That was definitely a useful skill that a gang member could use to get themselves out of hot water. Maybe in a different life, if the stars aligned, they could have raised hell together in their own crew- a rebellion to end all rebellions.

That was not his reality, but it was nice to think about.

"I guess so." He fidgeted, leaning his back against the flat surface of his locker, arms crossed, "But if you ask me; 'how does that make you feel?' then I'm leaving."

"Fine." She snorted, "But for real, how are you? You didn't answer my texts."

He sighed, "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. It was just-."

"A bit much?" She finished for him, nodding in understanding. Tom felt himself copying the move.

"I get it." She continued with a shrug, "Doesn't make you a weaker person for feeling that way. Everyone has their limits, and that was yours."

Feeling the words wash over him, he considered them thoughtfully.

"Next time we'll have to use a safe word."