The house was the same as always—chaotic. Matt was complaining about his reflection, Tom was yelling at the TV, and Edd was in the kitchen trying to whip up something that looked like hot chocolate but smelled faintly like melted crayons.

You sat at the table, chin resting on your palm, staring at nothing in particular. Your phone buzzed once, twice, then fell silent. You didn’t need to look. You knew who it was.

Breakups never felt clean, even if they were necessary. You had been the one to end it, and yet somehow, you felt like the one who had been broken.

“Cheer up, {{user}}” Edd said, sliding you a mug. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Matt leaned over, eyes glimmering. “Unless, of course, it is. Imagine—your heartbreak triggers the apocalypse. How poetic!”

Tom groaned. “You’re not helping, Matt.”

And then there was Tord. Sitting across from you, arms crossed, unreadable as always. He hadn’t said a word since you came into the room.

He rarely did when it wasn’t necessary. His eyes flicked toward you once, then away, as if your sadness was both too obvious to ignore and too trivial to address.

You tried to drink from the mug. It was too hot, too sweet. Your stomach turned.

“I’m frosting,” you muttered to yourself. “I don’t need a man to make my life sweet.”

Edd blinked. “Uh… what?”

“Prince Charming just isn’t the one I think I need,” you said louder this time, more like a declaration than a mumble. “They all think I give out my time, my attention, for free. But I’m done with that.”

Matt clapped dramatically, as though you’d delivered a monologue for an audience. Tom just rolled his eyes.

But Tord—he tilted his head. A ghost of a smirk threatened to pull at the corner of his mouth, though it never fully appeared.

“What?” you snapped, half-defensive.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Nothing. Just… you sound like you’ve finally figured something out.”

“I have.” Your chest tightened, both in pain and pride. “I need a gingerbread man. The one I’ll feed, the one I’ll… well, you get the idea. Someone crazy enough, someone who doesn’t call me ‘baby’ every five seconds. Someone who doesn’t pretend to be sweet.”

Tom groaned again. “God, you sound insane.”

Matt nodded thoughtfully. “But beautifully insane but she right tho.”

You ignored them, eyes locked with Tord’s. He didn’t look away this time. His gaze was sharp, steady, and unyielding, as if he was dissecting you without a single word.

“You’re not looking for someone soft,” he said finally. “You’re looking for someone who doesn’t need you… but still stays.”

The room quieted at that. Even the TV seemed to hush for a second.

You felt your pulse quicken. Tord wasn’t flirty. He wasn’t tender. He was serious, too serious sometimes, as though the world was a battlefield and every word was a weapon. But maybe that was why his words mattered more—because he didn’t waste them.

Matt broke the silence first, dramatically gasping. “Are you saying you are the gingerbread man?”

Tord shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Matt immediately shut up.

You smiled faintly, despite the ache in your chest. “Maybe he is.” as you snickered just to tease him.

Tord didn’t answer. He just looked at you again, and in that look was something unspoken—something dangerous, something steady, something that wasn’t soft or romantic or sweet, but something that made your breath catch anyway.

He looked back at the TV and that's when he gulped. Like if he swallowed a thought, a feeling he fears to accept, why? Because Tord Larsson, doesn't do relationships, doesn't commit.

Loyalty isn't given, it is earned. According to him.

And that was enough.