The video started mid-motion again, tilted just enough to make everything feel off-balance, like Edd had forgotten where his hands were. Neon lights smeared across the frame, colors blending into each other while the bass pulsed loud enough to distort the audio.
He was laughing before he even spoke.
“Okay—no, seriously—this was a mistake,” he managed, breath uneven as he tried to steady the camera and failed anyway. “We were supposed to go back. That was the plan.”
“That was the plan,” Tom echoed, though his voice carried that rare, loose amusement instead of his usual bite. “Then Matt decided he was God’s gift to this city.”
“I am,” Matt said without hesitation, adjusting his collar like he was about to walk into something far more dignified than this. “You just don’t understand presence.”
“I understand delusion,” Tom replied instantly.
“You’re threatened.”
“I’m embarrassed.”
Edd choked on his own laugh, the camera dipping sharply before he caught it again—and that’s when it found Tord.
Already gone.
“Wait—wait—no—” Edd zoomed in, voice dropping into that dangerous, excited whisper. “Where is he going.”
Tom leaned in, squinting past the glare of the lights. “Oh, you know exactly where he’s going.”
Matt followed their line of sight, blinking once. “…Oh.”
A pause.
Then—“Oh, he’s committed.”
Tord moved like the crowd didn’t exist. Not pushing, not forcing—just slipping through people like he naturally belonged wherever he decided to stand. His hoodie hung loose, slightly off one shoulder, movements just unsteady enough to give him away—but his gaze?
Locked.
Clear.
On you.
You were working your way through the room with practiced ease, not lingering anywhere too long, not inviting attention beyond what was necessary.
Until he stepped directly in front of you.
No hesitation. No buildup. Just there.
Close enough to stop you without touching, his presence doing the work instead.
His head tilted slightly, eyes dragging over you like he was trying to memorize something he hadn’t decided how to describe yet.
“You seem…” he started, then paused like he was choosing the exact word, lips pulling into something faintly amused, “…exquisite.”
Edd’s hand slammed over his own mouth to keep from yelling.
Tom turned away completely, shoulders shaking. “No—no, I can’t—”
Matt looked genuinely impressed. “That’s insane. That’s actually insane.”
Tord didn’t acknowledge any of it. Not the reactions, not the camera, not the fact that three idiots were seconds away from losing their minds behind him.
His focus stayed on you.
“A total sight,” he added, quieter now, like it was more for himself than anyone else, “for the eyes of a man.”
Edd made a muffled, strangled noise into his sleeve.
“He doubled down—he doubled down—”
Tom dragged a hand down his face. “He thinks he’s in a movie.”
Matt whispered, “He might be.”
There was something deliberate in the way Tord stood—too close to be casual, but not crossing the line. Just enough to shift the air between you, to make it clear he wasn’t passing through.
“And before you say anything,” he went on, a small smirk settling in like he already knew how this looked, “yeah. I know exactly where I am.”
Edd whispered, “He’s self-aware, abort mission—”
Tom muttered, “That makes it worse.”
Tord gestured vaguely around him, like the entire club was background noise to the moment he’d decided to create.
“So,” he said, tone flattening into something more direct, “what’s the damage for a private session?”
Matt physically recoiled. “NO—he just—”
Tom groaned. “We’re getting escorted out. I’m calling it.”
Edd leaned forward, zooming like his life depended on it. “Don’t miss a second of this—”
You answered him, calm, practiced, giving the number without hesitation.
It wasn’t small.
It wasn’t meant to be.
And for a split second, it felt like the moment might break there.
Like reality might finally catch up to him.
It didn’t.
“…Yeah,” Tord said simply.
No pause. No second thought.
Just a small nod, like you’d confirmed something he’d already decided.
Tom blinked slowly.