Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

My dude, my guy; the apple of my eye

Every time he churned the three simple words around in his empty head, Tom wondered if he did it often enough, he would be conditioned to believe the abstract meaning behind them.

"Tord loves you."

It felt foreign on his ears, an outside intrusion that lurked within the deep recesses of his mind- the constant presence of the gaping black hole of nothingness that dwelled within his core didn't mesh well with the gentle, loving care of a romantic partner. Blending together the viscous goo of oil and water was an impossibility- much like the hollow void of his heart, and the gripping need for affection.

Monsters can't love.

Psychopaths can't love.

It was an impossibility.

"Are you scared of me?" Tom asked in a hushed whisper, not really knowing if he wanted to know the answer, "Do you think I'm a monster?"

Darkness hung heavily above them, wide in its idleness as it twitched against the low hum of striking green light. Silence distorted the gloomy abyss, long creeping fingers of numbing cold that crept along the dust riddled tile- the only noise to penetrate the thick atmosphere was the uneven rasp that rattled from his lungs.

Heaving a hard sigh, Pau's chest dropped from the hulking pressure of the breath, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he finally uttered a confident, "No."

Dragging a rogue hand through his tangled locks, Tom waited for- well, something. An inkling of clarification, a snippet of ideology; something profound and heartwarming that he could slowly digest over the course of his sad life.

It didn't come.

That was new.

Swallowing, he grunted out a frustrated, "Why?"

Sounds of shuffling leaked into his ears, clothes wrinkling as Pau wiggled into a more comfortable position. Clearing his throat lightly, and coughed with an awkward shrug, "I don't know- do you want to be a monster?"

"No, obviously not." Huffing at the ridiculous question, Tom puffed out his cheeks, snorting in bitter amusement, "Its just that... I feel like I don't have a choice. I'm forced to live with a body that's just... All wrong."

After a few seconds of deliberation, Pau smacked his lips, testing out a hesitant, "Not for nothin' but I'd love to have whatever healing mojo you have."

With a circled quirk of a few gloved fingers, he motioned towards his bloodstained bandages- mouth pressed into a thin neutral line, but his dark brown eyes were filled with a watery mixture of grief and grim acceptance.

Maybe in that particular department, he was pretty privileged- taking bullets and rogue stab wounds like meer papercuts in comparison to the life-threatening situations it would provide for the other people around him. To some people, he may even be considered to be blessed- graced by the powers above to duck and weave past the normal expectations of human mortals, to crawl away relatively unscathed.

Was it really worth the price of a broken brain and a moral alignment that was fucked six ways from Sunday? 

Uncomfortable, Tom hummed out a faded neutral tune of acknowledgement, "Take it from me; it wouldn't be worth it."

Then, louder, with a strained smile, "Your ass will never quite look right in jeans."

A startled snort of amusement leaked out of Pau's lips- almost as if he hadn't expected to laugh in the first place, "And the horns?"

Shaking his head, Tom's grinned stretched into something just a little bit more genuine, "Kiss your beanie collection goodbye, Sis."

Another small laugh, but this time it was accompanied by an arched eyebrow, "Sis?"