Tord Larsson is in love. Of course it had to be with that damned alcoholic. He had forgotten about this affection all until he arrived back at the house he once inhabited. So to counter these unwanted feelings of affection, he decides to be as big of a douchebag as possible towards him.
They’re off for another “adventure”, raring to go and do whatever. Tord looks about himself, at the surroundings, at the ground, at the sky. Currently, the four of them are just milling about outside at some park. Dandelions are blooming everywhere, due to Spring rolling in. Glancing around, he kneels down, plucking a bunch of taller dandelions out of the ground and grouping them in his hands. For a mere moment, he considers offering the pathetic bouquet to Tom, perhaps punching him afterwards to prove he holds absolutely no feelings for him. Frowning, he crumples up the yellow weeds into a ball and tosses them behind him, letting the crushed plants fall to the ground, small bits of yellow petals fluttering away in the breeze.
“What are you doing, commie, reminiscing about a certain song while picking pretty little flowers?” Oh, Tom. Always being a pest, as usual, even picking up a horribly pulled off high-pitched voice to taunt Tord with.
“Why do you care, Jehova?” Tord retorts, brushing stray bits of yellow off of his hands and onto his pants as he stands up. With a scoff, he shoves the blue hoodie-wearing alcoholic out of his way and walks off, but gets stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
“Tord,” Tom starts, frowning and using a serious tone of voice, “what’s with you? You weren’t as much of an asshole even when you still lived with us. Before, I mean.”
He wants to say why, but mentally insists that no, that’d just make him get made fun of. Oh, no, he’s a commie AND gay! A heavy sigh slips out from between grit teeth, anxious fidgeting hidden by the burial of his hands in his pockets. “...have you ever wanted to act a certain way, but you’re so insecure about what people think about you that you act completely opposite of that?”
“I lost you at insecure. You? Insecure?” Tom raises his eyebrows.
Deciding to take a more blunt approach, Tord says his next series of words in a completely serious tone of voice. “I have no idea why, but I think I might be in love with you. Or something. Either that, or I am deathly ill, or possibly losing my mind. Who knows.”
“Are you serious? This is-- I’m-- pff--” The other bursts out laughing, almost to the point of having to hunch over and hold his stomach. Upon looking back at Tord, he sees that his face is still the same neutral expression. “...you’re serious.”