Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Eat your feelings

Dripping wet, goosebumps rose up on his flushed flesh, once warm water chilling out into an almost numbing coldness that circled his skin. Brows furrowed, tiny droplets of condensation clung to the hairs, face lined with an uneasy mixture of exhaustion and sorrow, creating deep grooves of pathways that the trickling water followed. Moisture clung to his eyelashes, thick and shiny- and really, if they just so happened to look like tears, it wasn't any of his business.

Barraging his way back through the wooden door, he felt his feet sink into the carpet- a soft reminder that he had left his grinning, demonic image behind. Sighing loudly, he cleared his throat, keeping a white-knuckled grip on his towel as he spoke.

"Do you have any-" A mass of dark red fabric smacked into his face, slapping over his mouth as he huffed in annoyance, "-clothes I can borrow."

Peeling the offending cloth from his person, he held it out in front of him, inspecting the oversized, worn hoodie with a raised eyebrow. Glancing at Tord for some sort of explanation, or perhaps a nugget of other-worldly advice, all he got for his efforts was another item of clothing wrapping itself around his eyes.

Tearing it away, he discovered that it was, in fact, a pair of boxers.

Rubber duckies.

Nice.

"That'll do for now." Tord drawled, stumbling back to the couch to slouch miserably against the cushions, "It's just for sleep- unless you oppose to wearing any kind of male clothing now."

Squinting, Tom looked over at the other man, and frowned slightly, his sharp new canines sinking into the meat of his bottom lip as he worried it between his teeth.

Within the soft, almost dirty glow of a nearby lamp, it blanketed the room in a homey atmosphere. Shadows leaked out of the far corners, but they were faint- subdued in a way. It highlighted Tord's lethargic form, slumped and limp- breathing slow and measured. However, despite the guise of his relaxed posture, there was a certain tightness in his face, eyebrows downturned, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

Pulling up his new boxers (dragging them up strategically underneath his towel), he shrugged on his borrowed hoody, secretly loving the way it hugged his body- comfortingly loose, falling well below his thighs. Bits of moisture deeper into the thick fabric, dotting his shoulders in a deeper red- snorting, he uncaringly flipped up the hood, hiding his awful flat hair, thoroughly surrounding himself in Tord's musk.

"Why would I not wear masculine clothing anymore?" Tom inquired, shuffling awkwardly.

One shoulder rose and dropped in a halfhearted shrug, a heavy sigh accompanying the sluggish movement. Blank stare trained onto the wall, he muttered a quiet, "It'd be easier." 

Perplexed, Tom's frown deepened, sucking on his tongue in thought. Unsure of what that meant, he fidgetted with his too long sleeves, rubbing at the ends with his blunt nails. 

Something swarmed in his brain; the need to comfort, the want to sooth. Swirling viciously in his system, as though it was a desperate desire- perhaps it was the secret sense of kinship he felt towards other lost souls, the shared connection that despair provides, or perhaps it was something deeper, a protective demand from the monster in his mind. 

Licking his lips, he murmured a gentle, "Are you okay?"

Slowly, the dull grey stare flickered towards him, and Tom felt as though he had just asked something very, very stupid. Glancing away, he coughed, bending down to pick up his previously discarded blanket.