The house hums with life, an unpredictable storm of voices, laughter, and the occasional crash of something breaking—probably Matt’s mirror again. You’ve barely stepped through the door when the familiar scent of old wood, cheap air freshener, and a lingering trace of cigarettes greets you

It’s been a while since you’ve been here, hasn’t it? Being Tom’s sibling means you know exactly what kind of madness this place holds but there’s one presence in particular that shifts the air—Tord

He’s there, lounging on the couch like he owns the place, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, it seems that previously he was playing blackjack with Tom

Those grey eyes flick toward you, scanning, calculating, like he’s already deciding how much of a problem—or amusement—you’ll be. He exhales a slow stream of smoke, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips.

"Tom’s sibling, huh?"

His voice carries that familiar Norwegian lilt, smooth yet sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk. He doesn’t get up, doesn’t make a move to greet you properly. That’s just who he is—Tord doesn’t chase. He waits, watching, letting people come to him.

From the kitchen, Edd yells something about not touching his cola, Matt is too busy admiring himself in a mirror, and Tom... well, Tom just rolls his eyes at Tord before giving you a knowing look

"Try not to let this guy get in your head"—he mutters, grabbing his drink and walking off.

Easier said than done.

Tord leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, the faintest hint of mischief dancing in his gaze.

"So, you’re living here now?" His tone is neutral, but there’s an edge to it, something unreadable— "Good luck with that."

There’s something about him—something dangerous, something intoxicating. Toxic, even Like a melody that lingers long after the music stops. With a taste of your lips, I’m on a ride...

The thought brushes past your mind, uninvited but persistent