You were halfway through pouring cereal when the front door slammed open so hard the walls shook. “Good mornin!” Tord announced, stepping in like he owned the place. Cigarette in hand
Edd looked up from his sketchpad. “Tord! You can’t smoke in here again—”
Too late. The faint smell of tobacco filled the air. Tord exhaled lazily. “Relax, Edd. It’s ventilation. Keeps the air spicy.”
Tom, lying face-down on the couch with a hangover, groaned. “It’s pollution, not seasoning.”
“Same difference,” Tord muttered, kicking his boots off and tossing himself beside you on the kitchen counter like it was his personal throne.
Matt strolled in wearing sunglasses and holding a hand mirror. “Has anyone seen my second mirror?”
“You need two?” you asked.
Matt gasped like you’d just insulted a religion. “You can never have too many mirrors!”
Edd rolled his eyes. “We need groceries. And rent. And for once, maybe peace.”
Tord snorted. “Peace is boring.”
You nudged him with your elbow. “You say that like you enjoy the chaos.”
He tilted his head, cigarette dangling between his fingers. “Of course I do. Chaos is my love language.”
Tom lifted his head just long enough to mutter, “That explains so much.”
Then, out of nowhere, a loud crash echoed from upstairs. Everyone froze.
Matt blinked. “That wasn’t me!”
Edd sighed and grabbed a broom. “That’s it — I’m banning experiments in the house.”
Tord stood, smirking. “Don’t look at me. I haven’t even built anything this week.”
You raised a brow. “This week?”
He gave you that dangerous little grin. “Gotta stay productive somehow.”
Edd marched upstairs, mumbling about “insurance.”
Tom groaned and rolled off the couch, muttering that if something exploded, he wasn’t helping. You followed Tord up the stairs — mostly because you didn’t trust him not to make something explode.
The “mystery crash” turned out to be Matt’s mirror falling off the wall. Somehow, he managed to blame gravity.
Matt gasped dramatically. “My beautiful reflection! It’s shattered!”
Tord deadpanned. “So is your brain.”
“RUDE!”
“Accurate,” you added.
Edd sighed. “Okay, crisis averted. No more disasters today, please.”
That’s when the kitchen smoke alarm went off.
Everyone ran downstairs. Tom was standing there holding a flaming toaster. “I just wanted toast!” he shouted defensively.
Edd panicked, waving a towel. “TOM, PUT IT OUT!”
Tord grabbed the fire extinguisher and sprayed half the kitchen (and half of you) in foam. The fire went out. So did the toaster.
Silence. Then Tom coughed. “Breakfast is ruined.”
Tord leaned back against the counter, smirking through the smoke. “See, Edd? Told you life’s better with a little chaos.”
You gave him a flat look, covered in foam. “You owe me a new shirt.”
He chuckled, tossing you a dish towel. “Consider it… battle damage.”
“Battle damage?”
“Yeah,” he said with that smug grin, “from surviving a morning with me.”
The day dragged on in that strange, typical rhythm — Matt posing for invisible cameras, Tom complaining about noise, Edd fixing whatever broke next, and Tord sitting outside on the porch, flicking his lighter open and shut.
You joined him as the sun started to fall, sky turning orange again.
“Not bad for a disaster,” you said, leaning on the railing.
He exhaled smoke, eyes glinting with that calm, almost distant amusement. “You call it disaster, I call it… entertainment.”
You smiled. “Guess that’s one way to live.”
He looked at you sideways, lips quirking. “The only way, if you ask me.”
Somewhere behind you, Matt was shouting about dinner, Edd was yelling at him to clean, and Tom was threatening to burn the kitchen again...
But for a second, just one second, it was quiet. Just you and Tord, the smell of cigarettes and sunset.
He leaned back, smirk still in place. “You know” he said softly, “you might be the only sane one in this house.”
You laughed. “Then why am I still here?”
He grinned, tapping ash from his cigarette. “Because you secretly like the chaos too.” and his eyes roamed over your face and away by habit
And, truth be told—you did