Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Has anyone noticed that the titles get progressively longer?

Waking up that morning was a slow, agonising process.

Being no stranger to insomnia and weird, abstract nightmares it was rare to have a few decent hours of sleep- in fact, he could confidently say that he had never actually experienced a full eight hours of healthy sleep. So, when his alarm clock suddenly screeched as it's typical six am wake up call, Tom had simply slapped it off, and rolled over, still largely half unconscious.

This routine repeated itself for about forty more minutes.

Nestled underneath the copious amount of blankets and too many pillows, Tom groaned throatily. The warmth that had enclosed him inside of his little cocoon had made him boneless, and limp. Sleep crusted his eyelashes, and he was pretty sure he had a trail of dry drool clinging to his chin.

He had stopped counting the number of times he had flopped over and forcefully smacked down the snooze button- it did definitely, however, exceed double digits. But when he had missed, accidentally hitting his nightstand too hard and causing his phone to slide off the surface, still blaring it's off tune chirping.

"Lame." He whined, desperately willing for any sort of inner strength in order to move, or perhaps begging to any available higher power for his phone to shut itself off.

When the latter didn't happen, he groaned again, rolling over the edge of his bed lazily, dragging a few of his blankets with him as he fell to the floor. Almost blinding, he rooted around with a feeble hand, head resting against the carpet at an odd angle. Grasping it loosely, he brought the screen closer to his face, eyes burning at the near blinding light.

> Wake up, you filthy degenerate <
6:57 AM

He couldn't remember the time he had set the alarm, or why he had decided to name them- but he probably found it really funny at the time.

God, Past Tom was such a dick.

Smacking his lips, he finally turned the infernal device off, raking his hands clumsily through his bird's nest of a hairdo as he struggled to sit up. Something in his neck cracked sharply at the action, and he winced at the loud, sudden noise. He got up lethargically, rolling and massaging his muscles as he lumbered to the bathroom.

Getting through his morning routine was much easier after his shower, he could practically feel the fuzzy, hazy cloud that hovered over his head wash away with the cold water. Tom stepped out, taking extra care not to slip over on the wet tile, and looked in the mirror.

The dark black bags that had rested under his eyes had lessened a little, his skin sporting a healthier peach colour, a stark contrast to the sickly, greenish off-white tone that it had been before. Quirking his mouth into a smirk, he wiggled his eyebrows, and shot a few finger guns at his mirror image, chuckling at his own antics.

He paused suddenly, expression vanishing.

Flashes of random memories shot through his mind, and he watched as a deep flush started to form across his face. He bit his lip, eyes wide as the blush spread down his neck, and down to his chest.

Did- did he dream that?

Had Tord actually kissed him?

Taking a step closer to the counter, he peered curiously at his reflection. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinising his appearance as if to see the branding mark of Tord's lips on his skin. Reaching up and gently rubbed the area with careful fingers; smiling softly to himself at the strange gooey, warm feeling that fluttered near his heart.