We Need To Find A Better Way To Communicate With Each Other

Seventy Times Seven

Still trembling, he knew he had to accept the inevitable. He can't change what's going to happen and he can't change the past, despite that he would give everything to do that. He was tense but his chest felt warm as he felt his heart rate slowly drop back to something relevantly normal. His stomach was turning but it felt numb at the same time, in comparison to being punched in the gut. What a wonderful collage of feelings. "Calm down Tom, we're just following orders." grumbled Paul as he untied the rope completely now. "Red Leader says that he's granting you permission to walk around in the room, but don't, and I mean don't, attack him, got it?". Still catching up with his own racing condition, Tom nodded apprehensively.

Red Leader

He chewed the name in his mind and spit it out. No, Tord didn't deserve that kind of respect from him. If anything, he deserved to be called a few things that Tom would bite his tongue before saying in front of his two pilots.

Patryk patted Tom's back in an attempt to comfort him before the two of them left, locking three different locks on the door from the other side after they closed it. It took him a second to process but yes, he actually was able to walk now. Shakily, Tom lifted himself from the chair. His knees were incredibly weak and he immediately stumbled before regaining his posture. Everything past his waist ached in pain, wanting to lay down again because oh god, standing was far too difficult now, but he ruled that out of his mind quickly, wanting to have the ability to pace again.

A thought crossed his mind. He knew what sounded like the best option right now, which was to actually be able to sleep in a laying position. So wearily, the brunet crouched to the cold floor carefully and felt the material around him with both hands, drawing half circles on both sides of him, before falling to one side. It wasn't comfortable no, but it was better than being tied to a chair with barely any circulation to his hands. His head already grew sore from the flat, hard ground but he ignored the forming headache and closed his eyes, only now realizing just how heavy they were.

His eyes shot open upon hearing each individual lock be unlocked. The corners of Tom's mouth formed a smile thinking of Paul and Patryk. With each click of the lock, a new thought crossed his mind.

First one, click. How long had he been asleep for?

Second one, click. Was it even time for a meal? What time was it anyways?

Third one, click. What if that isn't Paul and Patyrk?

The door opens. Well that answers that question.

Tom's heart dropped because, no, it wasn't Paul and Patryk, and no, it wasn't Ava and Cameron, because no, it was Tord. It was Tord fucking Larsson. All at once, Tom's prior anger returned and his eyes narrowed. Tord must have recognized the expression because he quickly took a step back and grabbed his bandaged arm as if it was a last ditch attempt to protect it despite that it already looked ruined beyond repair, kind of like his friends. And with that state of mind, Tom was standing up now, gritting his teeth together like a dog about to pounce on a rabbit, except that the rabbit was a backstabbing son of a bitch that deserved what was coming to him. With a single motion, Tord's head slammed into the floor. Tom was on top of him now and his hands were grasping at anything they could. One hand had been grabbing a tuft of Tord's caramel colored hair and the other had been rested on the side of his face.

Okay, so maybe this position seemed more romantic than threatening but it was something.

"Who the hell do you think you are?!"

"Tom, get off! Please!"

"Answer my question!"

"I'm sorry! Please don't kill me!"

Tom froze. Tord was shaking and had his eyes closed tight. "Please don't kill me" played through his head like a broken record player. It was annoying and disturbing to hear over and over because it didn't sound right. The scratched record was being played over and over at his least favorite part of the song and he longed for it to stop. For months, Tom lived with the weight of believing he murdered someone, and here was this same person begging for Tom not to kill him. Was he scared too? "W--What do you want with me?!" He barked unsteadily, his mind still clinging to the words he had said merely less than a minute ago. "Why am--... Why am I here?!"

Tord kept his eyes closed tight and looked away so that Tom could only see the side of his face. "Because I--" his expression changed to that of a focused one, almost as if he had rehearsed this in his head a thousand times and was trying to remember the exact words he planned on saying. "Because the saying, 'seventy times seven' is a load of shit." He stuttered nervously but wore a slightly more confident expression. "Surely being kidnapped doesn't meet the equivalent of being scarred and nearly killed."
Tom, not wanting to believe what he was hearing, tore off Tord's eye-patch but he closed his eyes and reached out to palm Tom in the face as a response. "Let me see." He growled. He messed up his arm, he could obviously see that, and that already made his stomach float around uneasily, but that was the worst of it right?

No.

Tord slowly opened his eye, revealing one perfectly normal, if not worried, eye and one pale one, outlined and bolded with black.

Blind.

Tom's grip on Tord was beginning to falter and he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't keep this up. He let go completely and collapsed onto the man under him, laying his head on his chest. It wasn't appropriate and he would very easily regret doing this later but he wasn't now and that's all that mattered at the moment.
There was no words being exchanged between the two as they lay quietly together. Tord was tense, probably expecting to be surprised-choked or something to that effect while Tom began to give in to the faltering of his senses. Already, his hearing was faded into what sounded like a riff and his vision was blurry. He was gladly about to accept the loss of feeling for a moment. That was, before Tord wrapped his arms around Tom's waist.

"How much do you all hate me?"

"A lot." Tom sniffled in reply "God, we hate you so fucking much."

Tord nodded a bit and looked away. "Me too."