̊. ᵎᵎ Tom.

You were the first person Tom told about his relationship. he looked happier, and she seemed nice. sweet, pretty, good taste in music. a few things about her that Tom seemed to really pay attention to. he would stay in his room for hours, whether he was talking to her on the phone or writing another song for her on his bass. she was truly the one girl he really loved that wasn't a bass guitar named Susan.

But everything fell apart impossibly fast when she started "getting comfortable" is what she'd excuse it as. she became irritable, bitchy, and just started treating Tom like shit. sure, he was an irritable guy as well, cynical and quite blunt, but the way he looked at her, talked about her and to her, it wasn't the same shallow Tom you usually talked to. he was head over heels. so in love, that when she did start showing her true colors, Tom did nothing. he endured it all. talked to her like she was some sweetheart angel while she put out her cigarettes on his hoodie sleeve. you admittedly hated her. but when you tried bringing it up to him, he only made up excuses. and as much as it pained you to see, you just let it happen. there was no changing his mind.

Then the usual noise that came from his room filled the house with an eerie silence. you let a couple hours pass to see if maybe he just slept in for a while, but at around 4pm, you decided to check on him. it was scaring you a little.

You gently knocked on his door, opening it when he answered with a grunt. you peeked in, then widened the gap when you noticed the ripped up paper that littered his bed and floor. he had Susan next to him, scribbling aggressively in the notebook he used specifically for writing songs. his cheeks were stained with tears, the page in front of him soaked with tear puddles while the ink bled unevenly. he looked up at you, visibly distressed.

You asked him what happened. he showed you the half assed text she had sent him, something about them not working out anymore, and that she hated him for a reason she didn't specify. he grumbled that he didn't care, that he was better off without her. while he was actively wiping tears and sniffling. so you stayed with him. you wanted to just take a sigh of relief and tell him 'she was a bitch, good riddance! im sure it won't take you long to get over her!' but he didn't look well. and that was probably the worst thing to say to him in that moment. you stayed silent, sitting a comfortable distance away on his bed, watching his sporadic movements.

"It's a shame I'm sad about a bitch like that," He murmured, almost like he wanted it to sound like a lyric.