Chapter Text
Everything happens at college
Tom & Tord
The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to go to college.
Classes were long and tedious, mixed with hours of studying just to understand the material and pass, assignments piling up, and that constant feeling of wasting time on things he didn’t care about in the slightest.
Although, there were some advantages too; I could say I was studying a “serious” major, and people would stop asking questions.
But even so, he wouldn’t have gone for anything in the world.
“You have to be kidding me…” He looked at the list of available classes in front of him, throwing his hands up in despair. “This has to be a joke.” He slumped back, smashing the pillow in frustration.
“What’s going on now?” Matt’s voice came from the bathroom.
“Did you manage to get into all the classes?”
His roommate came out of the bathroom, opening a new tube of lotion.
“Of course. That’s what you get for being late.”
Tord clicked his tongue.
“I only missed out on one… but look at what’s left.” Tord spun around on the bed, scrolling through the college website. “Which one do you think is the worst of these?”
“Let’s see, tell me what they are.” The redhead sat down on the other bed, brushing his hair.
“Advanced French, music and media, social activism, and interior design for veterinary clinics—who—who takes these classes?”
“No one, that’s why there are still spots open.” After brushing his hair, he brought his hands to his chin. “Hmm… French doesn’t sound so bad. Do you know French?”
“Of course I don’t know fucking French—when have you ever seen me speak it?” He frowned, slightly annoyed by such a pointless question.
“Okay, okay, calm down, for God’s sake...” He paused for a moment to think. “Hmm... You could take music and audiovisuals.”
“What are you supposed to do in that class?”
“The name speaks for itself. I took a music and audiovisuals class in high school. Don’t you remember?”
Tord shook his head, causing Matt to sigh in response.
“Well, at least we just analyzed movies and played some instruments; maybe it’s still the same. Besides, maybe no one even goes.”
“I don’t think they’ll have us playing those damn maracas in college, and I don’t like analyzing movies. What if they ask me to write a paper on a movie by some Czech director nobody’s heard of?” Tord shook his head again, rejecting any of Matt’s ideas.
“Then why are you asking me if you’re just going to turn your nose up at whatever I say?”
Tord set his phone aside.
“I’ll look at it later.”
“You’ve been saying that for two days.”
“I have to pee.” He yawned as he brought his hand to his stomach to scratch it, slamming the door harder than necessary.
(...)
That night, the room was silent.
The light from the streetlamp seeped through the window, casting soft shadows on the ceiling. Matt was already asleep, but Tord wasn’t.
He was still on his phone under the covers.
He still hadn’t signed up for anything, and he dreaded having to go to the worst class imaginable. With a final sigh of resignation, he tapped the “More Info” button on one of the classes at random.
“Audiovisuals and Advanced Music. Classroom A.08. Professor Thomas.” He stared at the name for a few seconds, as if expecting it to say something to him.
Without giving it much more thought, he ended up signing up for that class, turning off his phone, and tossing it to the other side of the bed.
(...)
Three years of work went a long way… or just enough.
At least enough to move out of the house and not have to rely on your parents.
And, for some reason, it had also brought him to the same place as Matt.
When he told him the news, Matt was happy to be going with Tord and to be able to see each other more often.
“I’m so sleepy… My dark circles are getting worse and worse… And you, on the other hand, always seem to glow, literally.” The warm morning light was one of the things that bothered him most, and he rubbed his eyes.
“I sleep more than you do.” Matt smiled, as if he’d heard that a thousand times before. “It’s called taking care of yourself.”
“It’s called hiding something.”
“Here we go again…”
Tord narrowed his eyes.
“You must have some secret to staying like that—you’re definitely a vampire who sucks people’s blood!” He lunged at him, making gestures like the vampires in the movies, pretending he was going straight for his neck.
“Stop it! You know vampires don’t exist!”
“And while I was working all that time, what were you doing?”
“Stop it—you know I was taking general education courses!”
“Oh, really? And what about that third year when you vanished off the face of the earth?” Tord continued with his friendly teasing, giving him gentle nudges instead. “I bet you were at secret vampire meetings!... Even if you were a vampire, my blood would kill you—it’s so sour.”
Matt muttered something to himself, sighing. “Instead of asking me if I’m a vampire or not, you’d better ask yourself why you haven’t studied medicine or something else—you’re just a pain in the ass here.”
“Hmm, I don’t know. They have what I want to study here, even though I also have other classes that don’t even interest me. Besides, I wouldn’t go study in the United States if my life depended on it.”
Before continuing the conversation, Matt stopped short, giving him a few light pats on the back.
“My class is over here; I have Graphic Arts II.”
“Oh.” Tord went blank. “Well, bye.”
Abruptly, Matt went his separate way, leaving Tord alone for the moment. The only thing left for him to do was go to class, and thank goodness the universe had made his first class music.
Tord lingered a second longer than necessary where he was. Then he shifted his gaze to the building in front of him.
“Music.”
“Music.”
He snorted through his nose. He had no idea what he expected to find inside. Probably nothing that interested him, or worse, something that required effort.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking.
The campus was already bustling with people; there were groups chatting, others staring at their phones, some in a hurry—everyone seemed to know where they were going.
He entered the building, following the signs that were half-peeling off the walls. It was certainly a beautiful university, with natural light streaming in through the huge windows on the sides.
He walked for a while, getting lost in the long, wide hallways. After a while, he found his destination. He stopped in front of the door.
“Great,” he muttered.
He pushed the door open without knocking.
The classroom wasn’t full, but it wasn’t empty either. A few people were already seated, scattered about without much order. No one was talking too loudly. Some were looking at their phones, while others had their notebooks open, ready to take notes.
Tord slipped in quietly and closed the door behind him.
He plopped down in a chair at the back of the classroom, stretching his legs out under the table. He rested his arm on the back of the chair next to him.
The classroom was… normal; there weren’t any instruments lying around or anything like that, just a desk at the front, a computer, a projector, and a whiteboard.
He took out his phone again; there were still a couple of minutes left.
A guy two rows ahead was talking quietly to someone. He couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it sounded boring enough that he didn’t pay any attention.
Tord mindlessly swiped through apps, messages… Nothing new.
Then the door opened. Several heads turned, but Tord wasn’t one of them.
A sharp sound as something was set down on the table—and that was what made him look up; the teacher was already standing there.
He didn’t seem too keen on being there.
His hair was dark brown with spiky ends, his skin was dark-skinned, accompanied by piercings in his eyebrow and both ears; the most striking feature of his face was his completely black eye sockets. A dark shirt, sleeves rolled up carelessly, with somewhat wrinkled pants. He wasn’t old, but he didn’t give the impression of being “young” in the typical sense of an approachable teacher either.
Who had hired a teacher like this? He looked around the classroom for a few seconds.
“Is this Advanced Audiovisuals and Music?” A couple of people nodded. “Good.”
He turned toward the computer, turning it on as if the answer didn’t matter to him at all. “I’m Thomas.”
Pause.
“Tom, if you’re too lazy.”
No one said anything. Tord rested his chin in his hand. Tom kept fiddling with the computer for a moment longer. The projector turned on with a soft hum.
“I’m not going to take attendance today.” A few heads looked up.
“If you’re here, great. If not, that’s fine too.”
He shrugged slightly, as if to downplay the importance of it.
Tord, for his part, was tearing his hair out in frustration at the thought that he could have slept an extra hour instead of getting up early to go to class.
“This isn’t a class to pad your credits without doing anything. Even though many of you are here for that reason.”
That did elicit a reaction. Quick glances exchanged among students, a very low chuckle somewhere—Tord smiled faintly.
Tom looked up from the computer for the first time in a more direct way; he wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, but he wasn’t avoiding eye contact either.
“You’re going to work here.” He leaned on the table. “I don’t care if you know music or not. That can be learned.” He nodded toward the screen. “What I’m not going to teach you is how to think from scratch. If you’re not interested enough to try, the door is right there.”
No one moved.
“Perfect.” He went back to the computer. “We’ll start easy.”
The screen changed. On it, a paused video played, with no visible title.
“Does anyone know what this is?” No one answered. Tord didn’t even try.
Tom waited a few seconds.
“Okay.”
He hit play, and the sound filled the classroom. It wasn’t exactly music, more like a strange mix of noise and rhythm, something that seemed chaotic, but not entirely.
Tord frowned slightly.
It wasn’t what he expected. He looked around; some seemed just as lost, others were trying to pretend they understood something.
He turned his gaze forward; Tom wasn’t looking at the screen, he was looking at the class.
Finally, the video ended.
“Okay,” said Tom. “What did you guys get out of that?” A girl raised her hand hesitantly.
“Um… That… it’s experimental?” Tom looked at her for a
second. “That doesn’t mean anything.” The girl lowered her hand.
Tord let out a small snort, a sound Tom could hear. He turned his head.
“Anything to add?” he asked. Tord didn’t change his posture.
“Sounds like someone didn’t know what they were doing.” After the comment, there were a couple of low chuckles, but Tom didn’t smile.
“Maybe.” He sat up slightly. “And yet you listened to the whole thing?” Tord raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t have much else to do.”
Tom looked at him for another second, then looked away.
“Then he must have done something right.” And he continued with the class as if nothing had happened.
Tord leaned back in his chair, staring straight ahead; now getting up early didn’t seem so pointless after all.
…
The class had been going on for quite a while.
On the screen was another slow-moving scene, this time from a movie Tord didn’t recognize. Something in black and white, with a guy walking down an empty street for longer than necessary.
Tom was leaning on the desk, arms crossed.
“I don’t care if you tell me whether you like it or not,” he said, without raising his voice too much.
“That’s useless. I want you to tell me why it’s constructed that way.” Someone turned the pages; another cleared their throat.
“No one?” he added, scanning the classroom.
Tord was half-reclined in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers.
“Maybe because nothing’s wrong,” he said, without raising his voice much.
Several heads turned. Tom looked at him again, while a small group a row in front of him whispered and giggled as they watched him.
“Define ‘nothing.’”
Tord shrugged, with a half-smile.
“Well, just a guy walking, no music, no dialogue, nothing that… matters or is interesting.”
Tom sat up a little, moving away from the table.
“And does that mean there’s no intention?”
“It means it’s boring.” Tord rested his elbow on the table, clearly comfortable. “I mean, if the idea is for us to focus on something, it might help if there were actually something to focus on.” This time there were even more reactions; glances, smiles slipping across their faces.
Deep down, Tord was expecting some kind of reprimand from the professor for his behavior, or like in the movies, where the professor gives a deep psychological speech, only for him to not care even less.
Tom did none of that; he just stared at him for a second.
“If you need constant guidance, that’s not the movie’s fault.” Tord didn’t change his posture, but the pen stopped spinning between his fingers.
“Well,” he added, without completely losing his tone, “or maybe it’s just not meant for just anyone to understand.” There were a couple of low “uhs” in the class.
Tom tilted his head slightly.
“Correct.”
That wasn’t what Tord had expected.
“… Correct?”
“Yes.” Tom turned back to the screen, as if the conversation had run its course. “Not everything is meant for everyone.” He tapped the keyboard and the video advanced a few more seconds. “If you need everything to be immediate, of course, or entertaining, this isn’t going to mean anything to you.” Pause. “And that’s okay.”
Tord frowned slightly.
“So, the idea is to just swallow it, even if it doesn’t mean anything to you?” Tom didn’t even look at him this time.
“The idea is that, if it doesn’t mean anything to you, you should try to figure out why. And if you don’t want to, don’t.” Now he turned slightly, leaning on the table again. “It’s not mandatory.”
The class was silent. To show that it didn’t affect him in the least, Tord let out a little snort of laughter.
“What motivation.”
Tom looked at him for a second.
“I’m not here to motivate you.” He turned back to the screen. “Keep watching.”
He hit play and the sound filled the classroom again; the whispers stopped immediately, and this time no one spoke—not even Tord.
He stared straight ahead, the pen still between his fingers. He wasn’t angry—not exactly.
He rested his head in his hand, staring at the screen with little apparent interest.
(…)
The bell had just rung just as the teacher finished writing notes on the digital whiteboard.
“I don’t know when we’ll have the next class, but remember to download the unit when I upload it to ClassPeak.”
Some students were already starting to get up to go to their next class. Others approached him to talk, asking quick questions before leaving the classroom.
But Tord, for his part, had chewed the very tip of his pen.
He didn’t understand why that class was bothering him so much. It wasn’t difficult, and that was exactly the problem.
He’d had subjects that were way more complicated without getting half as stressed out. Difficult calculations weren’t a big deal to him, nor was starting projects from scratch; he always found a way to figure things out.
But the open-ended interpretation was gnawing at his brain like a parasite, and it didn’t help at all that he might—or might not—be taking the teacher’s indifference to his comments personally, just to get a reaction out of him.
The neutral expression, the flat tone, that way of responding as if nothing affected him enough to bother him—he didn’t even seem to enjoy correcting people.
Tord rested his elbow on the table, watching him from a distance as he put things away in his laptop; Tom still had that monotonous, emotionless expression.
A few girls waved goodbye to him before leaving; Tom barely looked up.
“See you later.” The door finally closed behind them.
There was almost no one left in the classroom, so he took that as his chance to approach him.
Tord stood up slowly, tucking the pen into his pocket as he made his way to the front of the classroom.
Tom kept staring at his laptop; he didn’t even seem to have noticed him approaching—or maybe he had, and simply didn’t care.
When Tord reached the desk, Tom finally looked up.
“What do you need?”
Tord paused a second longer than he should have before answering.
“…I didn’t understand today’s analysis.”
Tom waited, but that was it; he didn’t ask “which part” or show any particular interest.
Tord kept talking out of sheer awkwardness. “I don’t really know what this has to do with music.”
Tom rested a hand on the table.
“The class is called ‘Music and Audiovisuals.’ I think the name makes it pretty clear what it’s about, unless someone signed up without knowing anything about the subject.”
Tord let out a little snort of laughter.
“Yeah, well. I was just expecting something less pretentious.”
“Then you signed up for the wrong class.”
Tord felt a slight, uncomfortable pressure in his jaw.
“Do you always talk to your students like that?”
“Like what?”
That irritated him even more, because he didn’t even seem to be defending himself. Tom closed something on his laptop.
“Look, I’m not going to explain the whole class to you again just because you’re not interested in the subject.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.”
“Then read the unit when I upload it.”
He crossed his arms, coming face to face with Tord. That’s when he realized something.
Up close, Tom was shorter than he’d seemed from the back of the classroom—not by much, just a few centimeters, but enough to notice now that they were face to face.
And there was something else, too.
Under his dark T-shirt, barely visible through the way the fabric clung to him, there were two small metallic protrusions in the chest area.
‘… Does he have piercings? What teacher went to college with piercings in that area?’ he thought to himself.
The idea struck him as absurdly out of place.
His mind wandered for just a moment, long enough to lose track of what Tom was saying.
“…and honestly, I don’t really care whether you decide to stay in the class or not.”
Tord looked at him again.
“Excuse me?”
Tom sighed very lightly.
“I mean, no one’s forcing you to be here.” Tord frowned slightly.
“You have a pretty motivating way of teaching.” Tom finally closed his laptop.
“And you have a pretty annoying way of talking to someone when you need help.” He slung the laptop strap over his shoulder before looking at him again. “The unit will be uploaded tonight.”
And then he added, completely flatly:
“Try reading the whole thing before you say something doesn’t make sense.”
Tord opened his mouth, but didn’t get a chance to say anything because Tom was already walking toward the door.
The door closed behind him, and Tord stood there motionless.
(…)
“I’m telling you, he had piercings there, on his nipples! It was impossible not to see!” Tord waved his hands exaggeratedly as he spoke, making absurd gestures in the air.
Matt didn’t even look up from his notebook.
“You still sound like you’ve uncovered some super-secret conspiracy.”
“He’s a teacher!”
“And he’s still a person.”
“You can’t walk around campus wearing that.” Matt let out a short laugh.
“‘That’? What’s the matter, are you suddenly having a problem with piercings?” Tord opened his mouth for a second. Then he closed it again.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
Matt calmly turned the page before continuing to write something.
“Are you sure you were just angry at the time and imagined things? Besides, what does it matter? We’re not in high school. No one here cares how a teacher dresses as long as they do their job.” Matt rolled his eyes, underlining something in his notebook.
“Well, that one clearly isn’t putting much effort into it either.”
“Oh, okay. So now we’ve gotten to the part where you’re actually mad because you don’t like him.”
“W— I mean— W— Even if I don’t like him, who lets that show if he’s a teacher?” Tord couldn’t stop stuttering and letting out incredulous laughs. “Can you imagine a priest with piercings there?”
“Tord, I think you’re overthinking this whole thing.” Matt turned finally, somewhat annoyed. “It’s not like you to get so worked up over such a trivial matter.” “Don’t try to act like my mom, Matt. You know you would’ve reacted just like me.”
“Yeah, maybe when I first saw it, but I wouldn’t go around telling everyone about it like a madman.”
Tord let out a frustrated grunt, throwing the tennis ball against the wall, catching it, and throwing it again.
“It’s a fucking edge.”
“Mhm.”
“And he talks like he doesn’t give a damn about anything.”
“Mhm.”
“And on top of that, he thinks he’s interesting.” Matt looked up this time.
“You made that last part up.”
Tord frowned slightly, because yeah, probably, but it still bothered him. He threw the ball again.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him when it comes to me.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him when it comes to you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I think you know what you mean and you’re trying to get me to figure it out.”
Tord let out a frustrated grunt.
“Damn it, Matt.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” He caught the ball again. “Normal people react when you talk to them.” “Tom reacted.”
“He didn’t react normally.”
“What did you expect? That he’d start yelling at you in front of the whole class?” The idea made Tord snort with laughter. “That would’ve been more entertaining.”
“Sure. Because then you would have ‘won.’” The ball stopped bouncing off the wall for a few seconds. Matt looked back at his notes. “I think it just bugs you that you can’t get a reaction out of him.”
Tord didn’t answer right away, because, much to his chagrin, that sounded all too accurate.
He flopped back onto the bed.
“I think I’m just going to drop that class.”
“After all the drama you’ve been causing since you got back?”
“That’s exactly why.” Matt let out a small laugh.
“You can’t hate a subject in a class that much—you don’t even know if the rest of the semester will be the same.”
“I’m not going to put up with a depressed teacher talking about weird movies for months.”
“Then switch to French.”
“I’d rather die. It won’t even help me with whatever I want to do in the future.”
“Would you rather go to another weird and strange class than that one?” “Yes.”
“If you say so.”
Matt shook his head as he kept writing.
Tord mumbled for a moment, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, but before giving the matter any more thought, he took a quick look out the window.
“Huh.”
Matt didn’t answer.
“Hey.”
“What?”
Tord sat up suddenly.
“Look.”
He got up so fast he almost knocked something off the bed. Matt let out a long sigh before getting up too.
“Look, that’s him! That one right there!”
Even if you wanted to be right, the redhead’s curiosity was stronger.
The two of them went over to the window. The room overlooked the faculty parking lot, and from there you could see quite a bit of the building’s back entrance; Tord pulled the blind aside just a little with two fingers.
Tom was standing next to another teacher, a brown-haired man with a backpack slung over his shoulder and several folders under his arm.
…
“I can’t think of anything to do that doesn’t involve lying on the couch all afternoon.”
“Because you never want to do anything,” Edd replied as they walked toward the parking lot. “Come with us tonight.”
Tom pulled something out of his jacket pocket.
“‘Us’ who?” “Me, Mark, and Bing.” “Count me out.”
“I haven’t even finished the sentence.” “I don’t need you to finish it.” Edd let out a laugh.
“You’re a fucking old man.”
“I’m only thirty.” Tom finally found his car keys. “Maybe I’ll think about whether or not I’m going.”
“You always say that…” Edd shook his head, smiling. “How were classes today?” Tom unlocked the car.
“Normal.”
“Bullshit. That face says ‘a student has given me a headache.’” Tom rested a hand on the car’s roof.
“There’s one who’s particularly annoying.”
“Is he at least good-looking?”
Tom looked at him with a completely serious expression.
“Edd.”
“What? Good-looking people can be unbearable too.”
“Trust me. I know.”
…
“Move! I can’t see a thing!”
“Shut up for a second!”
“Which one is it?” Matt ended up pushing him aside slightly so he could peek out too.
“The one in black.”
“And the other one?… Wait, that’s my art teacher!” Matt watched for a few more seconds. “They look like friends.”
“Or something more.”
“Or two coworkers talking, psycho.”
Tord kept watching. Tom was leaning against the car while the other guy talked almost to himself, gesturing constantly; they seemed completely different, like they didn’t belong together at all.
“Do you think they’re dating?” Tord asked. “I have no idea. Why are you so interested?” “I’m not
‘that’ interested.”
Matt slowly turned his head toward him, which made Tord click his tongue.
“I’m just saying they look like they do.”
Downstairs, Edd burst out laughing at something Tom had said; the car started up shortly afterward and disappeared down the street.
Matt closed the shutter again.
“What a letdown. They weren’t even kissing or anything.”
“You’re an idiot.” Tord let out a laugh.
“I’m not the one who’s been talking about his teacher for two hours.”
“Because he’s weird.”
“Mhm.” Matt slumped back into the chair again. “Although he’s not ugly.”
The comment came out so casually that it took Tord a second to react.
“What?”
“He’s not ugly.”
“…”
“What? You’ve thought it too.”
Tord opened his mouth automatically, but didn’t answer right away, because the worst part was that he had. Objectively speaking, Tom was attractive.
“He’s not bad, I guess.”
Matt smiled slightly at his discomfort.
“Aha.” “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you’re thinking it really loud.”
Matt let out a laugh as Tord threw the pillow at his face.
“And then I’m the weird one!”
“It’s not weird to admit someone’s attractive!”
“It is when it’s your teacher!”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
Tord was about to say something else when his phone vibrated in his pocket; it was a message about a party that night. He got out of bed, grabbing his jacket.
“Where are you going?”
“To a party—it’s at a friend of Gabriel’s house. Come with me.” Matt let out an immediate sigh.
“Tord.”
“What?”
“I’m not going. It never ends well when you say that.”
“It will this time.”
“You always say that.”
Tord smiled as he opened the door.
“Well, I’m bound to get it right once in a while—too bad for you.”
(…)
He didn’t have to drive to the party. One of the guys in his class had managed to borrow a car, and the six of them ended up cramming inside as best they could.
They were crammed in among backpacks, jackets, and empty cans rolling around on the car floor. The music was so loud that the doors vibrated with the bass, and the driver had been yelling for half an hour that he knew exactly where he was going, even though he clearly had no idea.
Tord was pressed up against the back door, drinking straight from a cheap bottle while shouting at the boy sitting next to him—or rather, trying to talk, because between the music and the winding uphill road, you could barely make out a word.
The party was being held at the house on the hill in a wealthy neighborhood belonging to the driver’s friend, and unlike the parties they usually went to, this one wasn’t a college party.
The houses began to change as they drove up the hill—first larger gardens, then enormous black gates, and then outright mansions with huge windows, warm lights glowing behind white curtains, and absurdly expensive cars parked in driveways bigger than his entire apartment.
“Holy shit…” someone muttered up front. “Batman or something lives here.”
Tord let out a laugh, and then he saw the house. It was white, gigantic, and full of colored lights spilling out the open windows. You could hear the music even from outside.
There were people sitting on the outer walls with drinks in their hands, others smoking near the entrance, and several cars parked haphazardly, taking up half the street, without anyone seeming to care.
They parked wherever they could, practically trapping another car between two black SUVs.
“It’ll be the rich guy’s problem,” one of them said as they got out.
They made their way through groups of people talking too loudly, laughing, or bumping into one another; the air smelled of expensive perfume, spilled alcohol, and weed.
Inside, it was immediately hot—that kind of humid, stifling heat where it felt like the air had been circulating among bodies, music, and smoke for hours. There were glasses everywhere, and someone had left a jacket hanging from a dining room lamp.
Tord barely greeted the host when he walked in; he wasn’t even sure he knew him. Within minutes, the group split up right away.
He ended up in the kitchen almost by instinct. The kitchen island was covered with open bottles, melted ice, and half-empty plastic cups; he poured himself a drink without paying much attention to what he was mixing—vodka, rum, mixed with something blue.
Leaning against the counter, he let the muffled music from the living room vibrate in his chest as he looked around. Several girls were practically dressed for a nightclub, while others wore oversized T-shirts and smudged makeup.
Some returned his gaze, though others didn’t even bother.
Tord smiled anyway; he didn’t need to try too hard at parties like this.
“Do angels like you have names, or do I have to keep calling you a miracle?” He used the most common and cliché line on most of them; it wasn’t like he was looking for a deep emotional connection with them.
The girl in front of him burst out laughing.
“That was terrible.”
“And yet you’re still talking to me.” “Maybe I feel sorry for you.”
“I’ll take that, too.”
The conversations came and went quickly, nothing deep, nothing important—just the way he liked it.
One ended with her kissing him against the kitchen counter while someone walked by behind them asking for ice.
Tord grabbed her by the waist, pulling her a little closer.
“Mhm… you’re dangerously hot…”
She let out a little laugh against his mouth before pulling away.
“I think my friends are looking for me.” And she disappeared into the crowd before he could say anything else.
Tord was left feeling a bit frustrated with the erection in his pants, but he had plenty of other opportunities that night; that girl wasn’t all that pretty anyway, he told himself.
Tord snorted a laugh through his nose as he went back to the alcohol.
He was looking for another bottle when someone took the space next to him—a lot of space.
Tord looked up automatically. The guy was huge; broad-shouldered, tall, with slightly tousled brown hair and a dark green sweatshirt that looked immediately familiar to him.
It took his brain barely a second to make the connection—it was the parking lot attendant, Tom’s friend.
Tord quickly looked away toward the bottles, pretending to be nonchalant. He grabbed a random bottle and spoke before thinking too much.
“Want some? It’s got vodka, rum, and… honestly, I don’t know what else.”
The man looked at the glass, then at him, and smiled slightly.
“That sounds really dangerous.”
“Then it’s good.”
He accepted the glass without hesitation and raised his hand slightly in a toast before drinking. All in one gulp.
Tord raised his eyebrows slightly.
“Damn.”
“What?”
“Nothing, I was just hoping you’d at least pretend to suffer a little.”
The other guy let out a laugh; he was much more expressive than Tom, that was for sure.
“Trust me, I’ll suffer enough tomorrow.”
Tord rested his elbows on the counter, trying to sound casual.
“You sound familiar.”
“Really?”
“I think I’ve seen you around campus.” Shit, that was way too direct, but the other guy didn’t seem to suspect a thing.
“Probably. I work there.”
Tord tried not to react too much.
“Oh, really?”
“Visual arts.”
That made perfect sense.
“Cool…”
There was a brief silence.
The kitchen was still bustling with noise all around, but there seemed to be a strange pause between the two of them.
Edd looked around for a moment.
“Do you go to school there too?”
Tord hesitated for just a second, because saying “yes” opened up too many possibilities, especially if Tom was at the party too.
“Something like that.”
It was a terrible answer—even he knew it—yet Edd let out a small laugh.
“That doesn’t answer anything at all.”
“Engineering.”
Well, technically it wasn’t a lie—he was studying engineering—it’s just that he wasn’t the professor.
“Ahh. Now I get the pained look.”
“Do you hate your students too, or is that just a thing some teachers do?”
The words came out too quickly; Edd raised just one eyebrow. Tord took a drink immediately afterward to cover it up, but then Edd laughed again.
“It depends on the student.”
Before Tord could answer, a different sound began to mingle with the music in the room.
It didn’t seem to be from a playlist; it was a bass, played live, and several people began moving toward the other room almost instantly.
“Ah. It’s started.” Edd turned his head.
“What?”
Edd smiled slightly as he set the glass down on the counter.
“Come on.”
The sound of the bass was already vibrating through the air even before they fully entered the living room.
It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was enough to partially drown out the background music. People were still talking, laughing, and moving around the house, but in that specific area, a completely different atmosphere seemed to have formed.
Edd passed first among several people sitting on the floor with glasses in their hands. “Excuse me—watch out—I almost stepped on you.”
Tord followed behind him, dodging legs, bottles, and people leaning wherever they could, and that’s when he saw it.
“…Ah.”
Tom was sprawled out on one of the huge sofas in the sunken living room, with a black bass guitar resting on his legs.
The dim blue light in the living room made his metal piercings glint faintly every time he moved; now they were impossible to ignore.
Tord looked away, then looked back almost immediately, because honestly, the whole scene seemed too ridiculous to be true.
There were people sitting around the couch, others leaning against the back, and a girl practically hanging off the backrest, absentmindedly playing with dark strands of Tom’s hair while he kept playing as if he didn’t notice.
Another guy was sitting too close to his leg, and someone else had left a drink on the arm of the sofa.
And Tom still had exactly the same expressionless face as always—that was the worst part. He looked just as tired teaching class as he did half-naked at a party surrounded by people.
"That’s one."
Edd spoke so calmly that it took Tord a second to react. “What?”
Edd gave a slight nod toward Tom.
“One I came with.”
Tord nearly choked on his own drink. “Oh.”
Tom looked up from the bass for a moment. His eyes swept first over Edd, then over Tord, and lingered there for just a second longer.
Tord expected some kind of reaction, but Tom simply looked back down at his instrument as if running into a student at a party while half-naked were just another Tuesday.
“Tom, stop playing depressing songs or I’m going to throw myself out the window.” A girl sitting on the floor spoke as she swirled the ice in her glass.
"I wouldn’t stop you."
"How kind."
“I told you not to bring the bass.” Edd let out a laugh as he flopped down into a nearby armchair.
Tom played a few more notes before answering. “And I told you this party was going to suck.”
"Well, look at you now."
Tom raised an eyebrow slightly; several people around them let out little laughs.
Tom was still standing; in class, he looked like someone who slept three hours a day and hated breathing the same air as his students, but here he still looked tired, yes, but different.
A girl sitting next to the sofa rested her head on Tom’s bare shoulder. “Play something fun.”
"No."
"You always say no."
That made Tord let out a small, unintentional snort this time.
Tom looked up immediately, and for the first time since he’d known him, Tom’s expression barely changed.
Not much, just enough to look genuinely surprised to see him still there. “Haven’t you left yet?”
Tord raised an eyebrow.
“How cozy.”
"I didn’t expect to see you here." “I didn’t expect to see you like this either.” One of the girls looked between them. “Wait—do you two know each other?”
Tom strummed a string absentmindedly again.
"He’s my student." That immediately caught the others’ attention.
"Ohhhhh."
"That explains a lot."
"What things?" Tord asked automatically. "Nothing."
"You literally haven’t explained anything."
“Wait, he’s your student?” Edd asked, scratching his head.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before that Tom was your teacher?”
“How was I supposed to know that you two knew each other?” Tord replied, trying to hide the fact that he was lying.
Tom completely ignored the conversation. Tord ended up leaning against the nearby wall, still watching the bass in Tom’s hands, his fingers moving effortlessly across the strings.
“So you do know how to do something other than torture students.” Tom didn’t even look up.
“And you sure know how to show up in places you shouldn’t.” “It’s a party.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re the one who works at my university.”
“Technically, you’re the one who studies where I work.”
“Technically, you’re still a bitter person.”
“And technically, you’re still coming to my class.”
That shut him up for a second.
"That was a good one."
"Thanks, Edward."
"Don’t call me Edward when you’re trying to be funny."
As they kept talking, someone ended up practically sitting on Tom’s arm on the couch, another took the glass from his hand to drink, and he kept letting people completely invade his space without really pushing them away.
He didn’t seem particularly sociable, but he was clearly used to having people around him.
Tord didn’t know why he kept staring so much. Maybe because it all clashed too much with the mental image he had of him, or maybe because the alcohol was starting to go to his head a bit too much.
Tom stopped playing for a moment to reposition the bass on his legs, which caused the light to briefly reflect off his piercings again; Tord looked away almost immediately. Terrible idea.
“Is something wrong?” Tom’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts so quickly that he almost frowned.
“What?”
“You’ve been staring at me weirdly for the last ten minutes.” Several heads automatically turned toward him. Tord let out an incredulous laugh.
“Uh—Ah—Sorry for being surprised that my teacher shows up to parties half-naked.”
“I’m fully dressed by the standards of this house.” “That doesn’t make it any better.”
"Then stop staring at me."
Tord opened his mouth to say something, and absolutely nothing useful came out, because the worst part was that Tom didn’t even seem to be trying to flirt—he was just winning the conversation without even trying, again.
The conversation died on its own after that.
Someone just changed the music, several people started arguing about which song to play, and a girl ended up practically throwing herself on top of Tom to try to grab the bass.
"Let me play." "No."
"Just one song."
"No." Tom didn’t even look up as he moved the instrument slightly out of her reach.
Even though Tom seemed permanently fed up with the world, people kept gathering around him like cats seeking a source of heat. Tord didn’t understand how that worked, and the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to keep thinking about it, so he did the smartest thing possible at a party full of alcohol: stop thinking.
He ended up with another drink in his hand without remembering exactly when he’d picked it up, then another, and another.
Someone started dragging him into another room because they were playing beer pong, then he ended up talking to a blue-haired girl about something related to motorcycles, then someone accidentally pushed him onto a couch.
Then there was music again, lots of it.
The heat inside the house was getting worse as the night went on. The air smelled of spilled alcohol, cologne, and chlorine wafting in from the backyard where the pool was.
Tord didn’t even know where half his friends were anymore, nor did he care much; every time he tried to stay still for more than thirty seconds, he’d think back to the scene in the living room.
He emptied his glass again. No, he wasn’t going to think about that; it was stupid. He was just drunk.
And Tom was objectively hot—that didn’t mean a thing.
Anyone could admit if another guy was attractive—literally normal. Completely straight.
"Are you okay?" Tord looked up. A blonde girl was leaning against the wall, staring at him.
"Yeah."
“You look like you’re about to throw up.”
"I am."
She let out a little laugh.
The conversation went on for a few more minutes, but Tord was barely paying attention anymore.
His head was starting to feel strangely light; the garden was full of people when he stepped outside, and the cold air hit his face immediately. Much better.
There were people sitting around the pool with their feet in the water; others were smoking near the huge plants in the garden, while someone had set up a speaker outside and the music kept booming even out there.
Tord ended up sitting on the edge of the pool with a bottle in his hand; he didn’t know whose it was, or when he’d picked it up, but it didn’t matter anymore.
Everything felt slightly slow, distant, then he saw him again. Inside the house, through the huge windows of the living room.
Tom was still there.
Tord let out a little drunken laugh through his nose.
“What an idiot…” He took another swig from the bottle. Until someone next to him said, “I bet you won’t jump.”
Tord turned his head slowly. “What?”
"Into the water."
He looked at the pool, then at the guy, then back at the pool, and honestly, not many of his thoughts were working properly anymore.
"Sure I’ll jump."
"With my clothes on and all." "Sure."
The group around him started laughing and cheering him on. It was a bad idea, a very bad idea, because Tord never turned down that kind of nonsense, and even less so when he was drunk.
He stood up too quickly; the world went blurry for a second. Someone whistled; another started recording with his phone.
"Come on!"
"Do it!"
Tord raised both arms dramatically and jumped in.
The icy impact of the water knocked the wind out of him, and the laughter around him erupted immediately as he surfaced, coughing.
"FUCK!" The cold pierced right through his clothes.
Now several people were filming him directly. "Again!"
"He's crazy!"
"I love you, man!"
Tord tried to get out by grabbing the edge of the pool and managed to do so—sort of— because his wet hands slipped immediately, and he fell back in.
More laughter, so much more.
"Okay—okay—wait—"
He tried to sit up again, and this time someone grabbed his arm before he could fall back, a firm, cold hand.
Tord looked up, still half-soaked. "...Ah."
It was Tom, of course.
Tom was still shirtless, though now he had the hem hanging down his back for some reason. He was holding it as if it were a wet cat found on the side of the road.
"You have a troubling habit of making bad decisions."
Tord burst out laughing right away, way more than he should have. "Are you stalking me or something?"
"No." Tom gave him a gentle tug to help him out. "You’re just making enough noise to alert the whole neighborhood."
Tord finally climbed out of the pool, dripping water everywhere. The combination of alcohol and the cold was making his head spin.
"I think I'm drowning."
"You’re not drowning; you’re out of the pool."
Tom let go of him as soon as he was standing, or at least tried to, because Tord immediately lost his balance and stumbled to one side.
"Shit—"
Tom grabbed him again before he slammed into the wet floor. The piercings were still glinting faintly in the light from outside; it was impossible not to look at them.
Tord looked away instantly.
"Okay," Tom said flatly. "Yeah, you’re pretty drunk." Edd appeared from behind carrying two glasses.
"...Why is he soaking wet?"
"Because apparently listening to people he doesn’t know while he’s drunk seems like a great idea to him."
“They’d encouraged me to jump in…” Tord mumbled.
The whole garden started cheering again as soon as Tord climbed out of the pool, soaking wet, shivering, and way more drunk than he realized.
“AGAIN!”
"Jump in again!" "Do a somersault!"
"Take off your shirt first!"
Tord was still bent over, trying to regain his balance, while water dripped from his clothes and left marks all over the floor.
He ran a wet hand across his face. "I can't feel my legs."
"THAT MEANS YOU'RE DOING GREAT!"
"Again!"
Tom was still holding him by the arm because it was clear that as soon as he let go, he’d fall to the ground.
"You realize that if you jump in again, you’ll probably crack your head open." Tord pointed at him awkwardly with a finger.
"You..." he began, completely serious for half a second. "You're so negative." "You're the one who just jumped fully clothed into a pool."
"NO!" someone shouted from behind. "LET HIM JUMP AGAIN!"
Several people immediately began chanting. “JUMP.”
"JUMP."
Tord raised both his soaking wet arms as if he were being welcomed into a stadium.
"See? People love me!"
"People want to watch you die live; they don’t know you at all," Tom said, finally letting go of him.
Terrible idea. Tord took two steps before tripping over himself. "Shit—"
He crashed into someone sitting at the edge of the pool, and the drink that person was holding flew out of their hand.
"HEY!"
"I'm sorry—"
And then the vodka, the chlorine, the heat, and probably all the terrible decisions of the night came together in his stomach at the same time. Tord froze completely. Tom looked at him.
"...No."
And a second later, Tord threw up on a poor guy who hadn’t even had time to get up. After emptying his stomach through his mouth, the guy slowly looked down at his vomit-covered shirt.
"...I’m going to kill him."
"OKAY." Edd appeared immediately, grabbing Tord by the shoulders. "Let’s go." Tord was still bent over, trying to process what had just happened.
"I think I'm going to die."
"I hope so," said the vomit-covered boy, completely defeated. Tom ran a hand over his face.
"Shit."
"IT WASN'T ON PURPOSE," Tord shouted as loud as he could, the taste of vomit mixing in his mouth with the alcohol.
And he threw up again, this time on the ground.
Between Edd and Tom, they managed to pull him away from the pool while several people continued to laugh or film from a distance.
"Where are your friends?" Edd asked as they tried to get Tord back inside the house.
"What friends?"
The inside of the house felt even hotter now. The lights bothered him, the music throbbed directly inside his skull, and that made it impossible for him to distinguish colors or where he was. He slumped heavily onto an empty sofa, breathing heavily.
Tom was still standing in front of him, looking exhausted. The gray-eyed boy slowly raised his head.
"You..." he pointed vaguely. "You're weird." "Okay."
"No, listen." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Because in class you’re like..." He waved a hand awkwardly. "...like you hate humanity."
"I probably do." "But not here."
Tom was silent for two seconds.
"You’re too drunk for this conversation." Edd appeared again with a bottle of water. "Here."
Tord grabbed it carefully, but accidentally dropped it while trying to open it.
"Perfect," Tom muttered, rubbing his temples.
Tord started laughing to himself, uncontrollably and for no apparent reason. “Okay—okay—wait—”
He doubled over laughing, and almost immediately turned pale again. “Oh no.”
Tom instinctively stepped back.
“DON’T YOU DARE—”
Tord managed to turn around just before he threw up again, this time on the carpet.
Edd let out an “ugh,” fighting the urge to vomit himself. The people in the room immediately started screaming in disgust, most of them running off to other parts of the house.
Tord let his head fall back against the sofa.
Edd pulled the cell phone out of Tord’s pants pocket, which was sticking out as if about to fall out. “I’m going to call one of his friends, if this thing still works.”
Tord grunted something unintelligible.
Edd unlocked the phone using Tord’s fingerprint and wiped it down with his sweatshirt. He looked at the screen and his expression shifted to one of confusion. "...Huh."
Tom barely looked up. “What?”
"The messages."
Edd turned the phone slightly.
"We're leaving."
“Do you guys know where Tord is?” “Tord hasn’t shown up.”
"Someone text him."
"He’ll show up in an Uber or something; I’m not going to look for him."
Tord opened one eye slightly. "Did you guys leave without me?"
"Yeah," Tom said immediately.
Tord stared into space for a few seconds, and against all odds, that seemed to affect him more than throwing up on someone.
"Damn..." His voice sounded much more subdued now. "You're not going to make it home on your own
like this."
"I can..." He started trying to get up, but he couldn’t even stand properly; he immediately fell back down into a sitting position. Tom exhaled through his nose. “No. You can’t do anything.”
Edd looked back and forth between them. Then at Tord, soaked through. Then at Tom, shirtless. Then back at Tord.
"I’m going to say something, and I need you both not to make a big deal out of it." "What?" Tom asked.
"We have to take him home." Tom looked toward the door.
"...I hate having a car." "You’re the only one who’s sober."
"We shouldn’t have to pay for someone else’s mistakes."
“I want to make it clear…” he muttered. “…that I love you guys a lot.” Tord slowly raised a hand from the couch.
Tom looked at him with a completely serious expression. "I don’t."
It took another twenty minutes to get him off the couch, because every time Edd managed to convince him to get up, Tord found a new reason to stay exactly where he was.
Edd kept trying to put his soaked jacket on him while Tord moved like a possessed corpse.
"I don’t want to leave yet..." "You’ve thrown up three times."
“And once was on top of a person,” Tom added.
“He was at the party too.”
Tom reluctantly grabbed the car keys. “Let’s go before he does it again.”
Tord slowly lifted his head from the back of the sofa. "...Again?"
"Yeah, again."
"Okay... wait, what again?"
Edd started laughing to himself as the two of them finally managed to get him up. Tord wasn’t much help; he was more or less hanging between them while dragging his feet along the floor.
The house was still full of people, music, and bright lights; several people watched them pass as they left with Tord practically dead in the middle.
Someone shouted:
"THE ONE FROM THE POOL!"
Tord raised a hand weakly. "I'M STILL
ALIVE!"
The cold air outside immediately hit the three of them as they left the house, causing Tord’s whole body to shiver.
"Damn..."
"Now you really notice you're soaked, huh?" said Edd.
Tom opened the black car while looking at him, completely exhausted. Getting him into the car was a whole different struggle.
Because Tord kept insisting:
"I don’t need help."
Even though he clearly needed help with absolutely everything. He ended up falling heavily into the back seat, half-folded over himself. Edd closed the door and Tom started the car while Edd settled in up front; for a few seconds, all you could hear was the engine and the distant music from the party fading into the distance.
Tord was still sprawled in the back, breathing heavily, completely wiped out.
"...Tom."
"I’ve never regretted telling someone my name so much." "Do your piercings hurt?"
Edd turned so fast he almost broke his neck. Tom slammed on the brakes. "...What did you say?"
Tord kept staring at the car’s ceiling as if he’d asked a completely normal question.
"The piercings."
"No—I can't believe you just said that—" Edd instantly started choking on his laughter.
Tom kept staring at the road with a completely blank expression. "Edd."
"I can't breathe."
"Edward."
"It was legitimate curiosity." Tord frowned slightly from the back seat.
"No one wants to hear your legitimate curiosities," Tom replied immediately. "I do," Edd said, still laughing.
"You’re part of the problem."
Tord let out a weak laugh from behind, then fell silent again for a few seconds. "...you’re still hot, though."
There was total and complete silence; Edd stopped laughing.
Tom kept driving exactly the same, though now he was gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.
"...Okay," Edd said slowly. "I think it’s best to let you rest in the back." "Did I say something weird?" Tord opened one eye.
"Nothing," Tom replied immediately. "Absolutely nothing." "Great." He closed his eyes again.
Five seconds passed.
"...Are you guys hooking up?"
Edd completely lost his composure again. Tom let out a not-so-subtle “Fuck.”
"You didn’t answer me."
"We’re not going to answer you." "That sounds like a yes."
"That’s not what it means."
"Then why are you getting nervous?" "I'M NOT nervous."
"Tom is nervous," Edd said, enjoying the moment. "Edd, that’s enough."
Tord started laughing again from the back seat.
The car grew quieter for a moment.
The nighttime city passed by outside the wet windows as Tord drifted in and out of little drunken micro-sleeps.
Until suddenly he lifted his head again. "...I'm gonna puke."
"NO WAY." Edd turned around instantly. "Seriously?" "I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don’t know?"
"My body’s sending me mixed signals."
Tom let out a low curse as he looked for a place to pull over. He managed to stop the car next to the curb just in time before Tord practically fell out of the back seat.
The door flew open and Tord ended up kneeling in the street, throwing up again. Edd got out behind him, trying to hold his hair back, though it clearly wasn’t necessary since his hair was short.
Tom remained seated inside the car, both hands on the steering wheel, his mind seemingly elsewhere. Tom closed his eyes for a second.
"...I hate him so much."
The rest of the ride was a mix of silence, empty threats from Tom, and Tord speaking only when he shouldn’t have.
Most of the time he was half-asleep in the back seat, pressed against the car door with his damp clothes still clinging to his body, and every so often he’d lift his head just to say something stupid.
"I think the car is moving."
"Because we're driving," Tom replied for the fifth time. "Or maybe we're standing still and the lights are moving."
"That doesn’t make any sense."
The city was already much emptier at that hour. There were hardly any cars left on some avenues, and most of the buildings had their lights turned off.
After a few more minutes of silence, Edd turned back around. "Okay.
Important question."
"...Mhm." Tord opened one eye just a little. "Where do you live?"
"Damn."
"Yeah, holy shit," said Tom. "Important details."
It took Tord a few seconds to react; he seemed to be trying to remember the answer himself.
"The dorm..." "Which one?"
"...The one with..." he frowned. "...walls." Tom rested his forehead against the steering wheel for a second.
After several absurd attempts, they managed to get the name of the residence out of him amid mispronounced addresses and completely useless explanations like:
'It’s near a kebab place.' or
'There’s a tree outside.'
Miraculously, Edd finally recognized the place. "Ah. I know which one it is."
Tom turned onto a narrower street as he let out a long sigh.
The dorm appeared at the end of the avenue, lit only by a few windows still glowing and the white light of the main entrance.
“Okay,” Edd said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Let’s walk him up.”
“No.”
The two of them looked at him. Tom kept his hands on the steering wheel.
“Edd, it’s almost three in the morning. I’m not going into a dorm carrying a drunk, soakingwet student.”
Edd looked back. “Tord. Can you walk?” “…I think so.”
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
Tom opened the car door.
“Great.”
Between the two of them, they managed to get him out of the back seat again, but Tord could barely stand up straight.
The night air kept clinging to his wet clothes, and now the alcohol was starting to make him feel that awful tiredness where your whole body feels twice as heavy.
"Listen. You just have to get inside and go up to your room, okay?" Edd held him by the shoulders for a moment.
“Mhm.”
"Do you know which room is yours?"
"...Mhm."
“I don’t believe him.” Tom looked him straight in the eye.
"Me neither. Okay, come on. Before you freeze out here."
Tord started walking toward the entrance—or rather, shuffling—but turned around for a moment halfway down the sidewalk. Tom was still standing by the car, clearly wanting to get out of there as soon as possible, while Edd raised a hand in farewell. And before going inside, Tord pointed at Tom again. "...You’re still hot."
"GET IN NOW," Tom replied immediately.
…
The dorm was almost silent.
All that could be heard was the distant hum of vending machines and a television playing in some common room. The lights in the hallway seemed too bright to him.
Tord moved forward, leaning against the wall occasionally as he tried to remember which way the hell he was going.
Everything was still spinning slightly.
He climbed the stairs, holding tightly to the railing because the elevator seemed too much of a challenge for his current state.
On the second floor, he took the wrong hallway, and on the third floor, he did the same.
By the time he finally found his, his legs felt completely shot. It took forever to get the keys into the lock.
He opened the door, bumping slightly against it. The room was dark except for the faint orange light from the streetlamps coming in through the window.
Matt was still asleep, or so it seemed.
Tord accidentally dropped the keys on the floor, then his jacket, then himself against the wall. "...shit."
Everything was spinning again.
He pulled off his wet T-shirt with great difficulty, nearly falling over in the process. His pants ended up sprawled in the middle of the floor next to a sneaker he didn’t even remember taking off.
He needed water, urgently.
He made his way to the small sink in the room and drank straight from the faucet like a dying animal.
Then he looked at himself in the mirror.
Dark circles under his eyes, his hair a mess, the smell of chlorine, and fragmented memories of the night coming and going in his head. Tom holding him up out of the pool. Tom watching him from the couch. Tom in the car.
He stood leaning against the sink for a few seconds.
Trying not to think too much. Because every time he did, he felt a horrible physical shame rising through his body. "I want to die..."
"...so you came back alive, then." Matt barely stirred from the other bed. "...I guess." Tord turned his head slowly.
"Was the party okay?"
Silence.
"...I threw up on someone." Matt opened one eye.
"...again?"
"I don't know if I can go to class
anymore." "Mhm."
"You always say that." Matt covered his face with the pillow again.
Tord finally flopped down on the still-damp bed, too tired even to get properly under the sheets.
The ceiling was still moving slightly. He closed his eyes.
And the last thing he thought before falling asleep was:
“Shit.”