Paul hummed, happily pulling Tord down the dark halls, walking backwards, keeping his eyes on the leader. Tord just stayed quiet, staring at the ground as if it was the most interesting thing in the base. Paul scoffed to himself, rolling his eyes. 'As if.' He thought, gripping Tord's wrists tighter, making Tord flinch, glancing at him slightly. Blankly. Indifferently. He looked like he couldn't care less. Or he was just used to it by now. God, I'd be so perfect if he was just used to it and didn't care what Paul would do anymore. That would just be-- "What do you want?" Tord asked simply, backing up a half step, moving his head backwards. Paul had noticed he had started leaning closer, and quickly pulled himself back to where he was, still holding the leader's wrists. "Oh. Nothing. Just making sure you're..." Paul trailed off, glancing over at a wall for a second, before looking back at Tord. "Oh, nevermind that." He chirped, smiling sweetly. "Just keep on walking with me." He said, backing up a few more steps, until he felt his back hit something. /Or someone./ Instantly, his smile vanished, turning his head behind him, staring. "Patryk." He grumbled, saying the name as if it were a slur, noticing how Tord's tense body slightly relaxed as he looked at the soldier, narrowing his eyes slightly, gripping Tord's wrists tighter. "You're going to hurt him doing that, sir." Patryk muttered quietly in return. Paul looked around, ignoring the fact. "Where's Tom?" He asked. "I took him outside and ordered him to do training after showing him how to do it." Patryk answered. "I told him I'd be back in a bit, so I could do other work I have to get to." He said, before moving quickly, grabbing Paul's arms and pulling him away from Tord. "Also, I /just/ said you were going to hurt him doing that." He said, holding Paul's arms up for a minute, before letting them go, crossing his arms over his chest. Paul wiped his arms, glaring at the soldier, rolling his eyes. Patryk lowered his head, still staring at Paul, though. "...You're so immature, I'm surprised why Tord hasn't kicked you out or made you a normal soldier and made someone more fit for the role of the second in command." He muttered quietly. Paul heard it, instantly snapping a cold look at Patryk. "Excuse me?" He growled, his voice lowering into a threat. Patryk's been pointing this out, well, he has before. But not around Tord. /Never/ around Tord. Patryk stared at him, refusing to be imitated by the second in command. "You heard me." He spat. "You're pathetic! You're forty-six, and you act as if you're /six/ sometimes! And that's being nice about it." He said. "Guys--..." Tord muttered quietly. Paul ignored him, continuing to stare at Patryk, seething quietly. "Say one more thing about how "immature" I am. I /dare/ you." He warned. "Gladly." Patryk said, taking a step forward, pointing an accusing finger at Paul's chest. "You're always so distracted with what you actually have to do when you're around Tord. It's almost like you--" Paul didn't let Patryk finish. He punched him right across the face, making him go quiet. The physical blow rings through the dark hallway, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in its wake. Patryk's head snaps to the side, his hand instantly flying up to cup his jaw. He glanced back at Paul, except... His gaze didn't hold anger. It didn't hold much pain. It held horror and realization. Paul stood there for a moment, before his heart sunk. He didn't let it show on his expression, though. He cleared his throat nervously, glancing over at Tord, forcing a grin. "So.." Tord was staring at his second in command, his eye twitching slightly, before he took a shaky breath. "Paul-- what the hell?" He muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Paul just shrugged. "Well, control your second-best soldier." "Control my--" Tord choked on the rest of the sentence, glaring at Paul. "Excuse you?" He took a step forward. "He wasn't the one who punched. You threw a hit." "So? He's digging his nose in things he shouldn't be." "And what shouldn't I be looking for here?" Patryk's voice cut in between the two of them, taking a step closer to Paul, glaring at him. Paul just smirked slightly, chuckling humorlessly. "Whatever's not your job." "Is it not my job to make sure the leader is /safe/?" Patryk growled, taking another step closer to Paul, his hands curling into fists. Tord put his hand on Patryk's shoulder to stop him before this escalated, the two of them exchanging a look, before Tord stared at Paul. Paul crossed his arms over his chest, returning the look indifferently. Patryk didn't want to just walk away. He wasn't going to, despite knowing he had work to do. Despite knowing he had to get back to Tom. He didn't trust Paul. Knowing why he suddenly got defensive before he could even finish the sentence? "How long?" Patryk managed to choke out. Paul's eyes instantly went over to the soldier, his eye twitching.
(continued) Patryk wasn't supposed to piece the puzzle together. He wasn't supposed to get the picture. He was supposed to stay out of the way. He was supposed to mind his own business. He wasn't supposed to care about what happened to Tord. Paul narrowed his eyes, glaring at the soldier across from him, barely any room between them. He clutched his arms tightly, trying to control his anger. "Unimportant questions don't deserve to be answered." He growled. Patryk took another step closer, not even bothering to hide his protectiveness and concern, raw panic in his expression. "Don't dodge the question!" He snapped. Tord gripped the soldier's shoulder a tad bit tighter, staring at Paul quietly, his grip tightening even more. Now he's figuring it out. Paul wouldn't dare just bow down and submit to it. He wouldn't dare confess. The risk of-- Paul smirked slightly, looking between Tord and Patryk. "I'm not avoiding anything." He purred, slowly moving his hands behind his back. "I think I should go." Tord muttered, running a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "I think I have to go, too." Paul hummed, turning around and walking off. Patryk watched him, his mind racing. This was sickening. Disgusting. For Paul to-- Patryk couldn't even finish the thought. Tord's a broken man already. After everything that happened, he'd think it wasn't that bad. Maybe something easy? Maybe something simple? No. No, this is wrong. He felt Tord's hand leave his shoulder, instantly looking over towards him. "Sir--" "Are you okay?" Tord's voice sounded distant. He didn't even look at the soldier. Patryk's chest tightened, but he didn't dare say anything. Not at first. After a while, he forced himself to nod. "Y-Yes sir, I'm fine." He said. "Good." Tord said, not even a few seconds after Patryk spoke. "Get back to work." He said, walking off. Patryk wanted to follow after him, make sure Paul didn't walk around him. Wanted to do something. Anything. But he wasn't disobeying his leader for something like that. ...But Tord's not just a leader. He's Patryk's friend. What are friends for? Sit on the side, watch everything bad happen to someone? Patryk looked at the ground, walking off, staring at the ground, his mind still racing. He had to do something. Something... Tord walked back into his office, kicking the door shut, listening to the soft click, staring at the ground. Everything felt...worse now. Horrible. He felt physically sick. He felt like he was going to throw up. He felt like he was going to pass out. He hated this. He just walked away from everyone. For some reason, it felt better. But the tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe didn't go away. It just felt worse. It always felt worse. Pressuring. Always putting pressure on the same old, same old. ...Horrible....bad...this is bad. This was always bad. It was his fault this entire thing happened. He felt bad. This was just going to get worse no matter what happened, wasn't it? "Oh god.." Tord choked out, leaning over his desk, his vision blurring. This was bad. He hated this. He hated himself. Why's he like this? Why can't he just keep himself together? Why can't he be the power hungry, scary Red Leader everybody's looking for? He can't do anything right. He can't do this. He can't... /Thud./ .... Tord lifted his head with a gasp, his hand over his chest, before he instantly tensed. He's on his bed. He ran a hand through his hair, sitting up slowly, staring at his hands. He heard the door open, and instantly looked up. "Hey." Paul purred, walking over. His shirt slipped over his shoulder as if it wasn't on correctly. Tord clutched the blanket tightly, his knuckles whitening. "What--" "Nothing happened. You just blacked out. I came in, just put you on the bed so you didn't wake up on the cold floor." Tord clutched the blanket tighter. "I-- thanks.." "Why are you so jittery? There's no need to be." Paul glanced over at him, taking a small sip of coffee. "I--don't like this--" Tord choked out. "I've--" He stopped himself. `Quit talking so loud. Think your thoughts, don't say them if they're this dumb.' "...no, you're right. Never mind. It's stupid." He finished, looking away. Paul stared at him quietly, not looking away from him. Eyes boring into Tord. Tord closed his eyes for a second, trying to keep back panic. Stupid. Pathetic. Paul exhaled slowly, indifferently, still staring at Tord. "You got sleep, though. That's something, right?" He smiled, his voice going cheerful. "I feel sore." Tord mumbled quietly, rubbing his robotic arm. "Sore?" Paul hummed, looking up from his cup, mid-sip. He put the cup down on the table beside him, walking over to Tord. "Well, if you'd like, sir." He purred, smiling suggestively. "I can fix it for you~...." He leaned down closer to Tord. Tord slightly shifted to move away, but Paul grabbed his arm softly, but hard enough to stop him. He's done hiding it. He's done with it. Tord /will/ learn to love.
