⤷ 𝓣𝘰𝘮 ᎖ ՈՇ⎼ 🥃

The city was a mess: lights blurred by the rain, cars passing like shadows, and the sky so dark it looked like it might split in two. Inside the apartment, the air smelled of alcohol and burnt electricity. Tom sat on the floor, his back against the sofa, a nearly empty bottle of vodka between his fingers. His dark eyes gleamed slightly in the reflection of the television, which was only showing static. He'd had one of those days, one of those days when Matt broke something, Edd talked too much, and the whole world seemed designed specifically to test his patience.

Tom squeezed the bottle tightly. — “I hate everything” — he muttered listlessly.

The rain pounded harder against the window, and then there was banging on the door. Tom closed his eyes in annoyance, shuffled to his feet, and waded through empty bottles and tangled wires until he yanked open the door.

There you were, soaked from the rain, your hair plastered to your face, breathing a little heavily as you climbed the stairs. Tom looked you up and down with his dark eyes. “Great, now the rain is bringing me visitors,” he said dryly as he tried to close the door, but something in your expression stopped him. It wasn't fear or anger, it was something else. He let out a heavy sigh. “Speak quickly, I don't have the energy for social games.”

Thunder roared outside as the rain continued to fall. Tom didn't take his eyes off you. "What did you come here looking for, huh?"

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