Chapter Text
The constant channel switching on the TV turned the sound into a cacophony of white noise, serving only to avoid the discomfort of interacting with one another. None of them wanted to be there, but they also didn’t want to be alone or do anything even remotely productive to kill time—or at least to keep themselves from thinking, which would probably lead them to do something stupid they’d later regret.
Tom was reading—or at least trying to. It was hard to focus on the lines of text when his attention kept jumping from the same paragraph he’d read for the seventh time, to the TV, to cursing at Tord for something he didn’t even remember anymore. He just wanted to stay angry for the simple reason that Tord existed in his space, and out of sheer habit of hating him.
Tord wasn’t in a very different situation. He could feel Tom’s eyes on him and responded with a mocking smile every time their eyes met, flipping him off each time, disguising the gesture within idle hand movements. Edd, though he noticed, preferred to pretend he didn’t, just to avoid ending up in the middle of a ridiculous argument or having to separate them like a pair of animals. Even his pet wasn’t that problematic. If he had the choice, he would’ve preferred the cat on his lap instead of letting Tord use him as a personal pillow, though he had to admit he was a decent substitute. But the cat’s whereabouts were unknown— “cat business,” he called its disappearances. It would be back demanding food when it got hungry.
No one reacted when the front door slammed shut so hard it rattled the windows. There was only one person who would arrive like that, and for a moment, Edd considered yelling at Matt: What the hell’s wrong with you, slamming the damn door like you’re fleeing a zombie horde? But he dropped the idea. If Matt had come in like that, he was probably carrying something “important,” and Edd didn’t want to get dragged into it. His week at work had been crap, and all he wanted was a quiet, boring weekend.
“You’re gonna break the damn door!” Tom shouted.
But there was no response. Just a silence that made them exchange glances, searching for a possible explanation for such an unusual muteness from Matt.
The hurried steps going up the stairs, followed by the frantic commotion coming from Matt’s room, piqued the group’s curiosity. Not enough to get up and check what was going on, but enough to mute the television.
“What’s he up to?”
Edd shrugged at Tord’s question, who sat up on the couch and looked up at the ceiling with mild curiosity.
“Probably brought home another load of junk again.”
Tom’s answer made sense, but Edd shook his head.
“No. He would've come in bragging about it, like last time.”
“Whose turn is it to take care of the new ‘pet’?” Tord asked mockingly.
“Better not be another damn ‘fur coat,’” Tom grumbled, remembering the last time Matt had come home with a so-called “authentic fur coat.” So authentic and real that the damn thing had tried to eat them while they slept. They’d gotten rid of it by setting it on fire, but they all suspected that a scrap of that abomination still lingered in some dark corner of the house, biding its time to return—and this time, have its feast.
Matt appeared in the doorway to the living room, beaming like a kid who’d just been promised their first puppy. Everyone got a bad feeling.
“Guess wh—”
“No,” Tom interrupted.
Matt frowned and turned to look at him. Tom flinched, recognizing that same look that had once given him chills back in high school—cold, sharp, and filled with a fury that promised to ruin his life unless he shut up right that instant and went along with whatever it was Matt was so excited about.
Tom sank back into the couch, crossed his arms, and put on an annoyed expression to hide how a single warning glance had been enough to intimidate him. Neither Edd nor Tord seemed to notice—perhaps because neither of them saw Matt as a threat. To them, he was just a clown. But they hadn’t spent as much time with him during their youth to know Matt the way Tom did. And maybe, that was for the best.
“So, what do you want?” Tord snapped. He didn’t care what Matt had to say, but Matt was standing in front of the TV, and he wanted him to move.
Matt’s face lit up, thrilled that at least someone seemed interested.
“VIP passes! Tonight! Crossroad Club! Exclusive event!” His voice rose in volume with each word, nearly turning into a shout by the end.
Everyone knew about the Crossroad Club, even if none of them had ever been there. And, aside from Matt, none of them ever expected to get a chance.
The place had history.
It had been built on what were once the outskirts of the city (now, the urban sprawl had long swallowed the area). The owner had bought up the surrounding land to maintain a sense of exclusivity, but what really gave the club its fame was its location: a literal crossroads, long rumored to be the site of pacts with the devil and other supernatural encounters.
Far from scaring off customers, those legends had made it one of the most popular clubs of its time. A popularity that never seemed to wane—only grow—and many claimed it was because the club’s owner had sold his soul in exchange for success. It was nonsense, of course, but the myth endured, and the place had become so famous there were months-long waiting lists just to get in.
Unless, of course, you had some level of fame—or looked the part.
Otherwise, getting in was just a dream. And sneaking in? Forget it—some of the bouncers guarding the entrances would throw your ass out before you even took a single step inside.
Everyone understood why Matt was so excited. He hadn’t just managed to get in— he’d gotten access to the most exclusive area of the club, reserved for those with a certain social status.
And yet, no one showed the slightest interest.
“So?”
“So?” Matt repeated, incredulous at what Tord had just said. “So, you’re going to get your damn ass up and go!”
“Are you serious?” Edd asked, rolling his eyes at what he saw as nothing more than a tantrum.
Matt closed his eyes and sighed, trying not to explode. He had gone through hell and back for those passes and had no idea how many favors he now owed because of it. This was an exclusive party—one he had hoped to share with those ungrateful idiots he called his best friends, and he wasn’t about to take no for an answer.
“Yeah, do I look like I’m joking?”
“Did you have to suck someone off for those tickets or something?” Tord sneered.
“No, Tord. I’m not some whore who’d give head in an alley for a month’s rent—that’s the difference between us. I have class.”
Tord bolted upright, face flushed, stunned by what Matt had just thrown at him. He could feel the others’ eyes on him, especially Tom’s, whose expression was impossible to read, though deep down Tord knew he was trying not to burst out laughing. What the hell did that idiot Matt even know?
“You’re lying!”
“I never accused you of anything. Didn’t even mention you... or did I? But if the shoe fits... Who am I to judge?” Matt replied with a shameless grin. “Anyway! It’s a themed night and... I need clothes!” He shouted.
Matt’s face turned pale at the idea of not having the right outfit. It was unthinkable to even imagine showing up in any old rags from his closet. He needed something appropriate for the occasion, and time was running out. He didn’t just need clothes; he needed to get ready.
He glanced at the others. Tord looked like he was about to lunge at him. Matt rolled his eyes and huffed. Maybe, at any other time, he would’ve let him take a swing and then pretended to cry a little so Edd and Tom would take his side. But right now? He’d probably kill him before letting him throw the first punch. He wasn’t about to let Tord’s pathetic wounded pride ruin his night.
Edd was holding him back, gripping his wrist like he was a misbehaving toddler. He didn’t look angry, just annoyed by the whole scene. And Tom... Tom was rolling on the couch like a damn hyena, choking with laughter, barely managing not to piss himself.
“Don’t you have other friends to go with or something?” Edd asked, clearly exasperated. The mere thought of spending his night at some loud club was already giving him a headache.
“If he had other friends, you think he’d be here acting like a bitch?” Tord shot back with a sneer.
Matt just sighed. He deserved that one for trying to be nice to a bunch of idiots.
“Fine. I’ll go with the neighbors. At least Eduardo’s car doesn’t make me want to die of embarrassment.”
“What? You’d rather go with that moron?”
“Yeah. At least he knows how to say thank you when I show up,” Matt said with a shrug, brushing it off.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Mark often invited him to hang out with his friends, and—if Matt was being honest—without Edd around picking fights with Eduardo, they were actually decent company.
Edd looked frustrated. He really didn’t want to go out—he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. But the thought of Eduardo taking his place at an apparently exclusive event, and no doubt finding some smug way to brag about it later, was something he just couldn’t allow.
“Okay. We’ll go to the stupid party.”
“He’s manipulating you!” Tord shouted, unable to believe how easily Matt seemed to be getting his way.
“I know,” Edd muttered through gritted teeth.
“Tom,” Matt called sweetly, using that melodic tone he always pulled out when he needed a favor. “Come on, I need clothes—and so do you.”
Tom’s laughter, which until that moment had been a constant background noise, stopped abruptly. Matt just rolled his eyes.
“I need to go shopping, and you’re driving,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t trust that you have anything decent to wear—or that you’d even try.”
He wasn’t about to push his luck. One warning glance had been enough for Tom to understand that it was better to just go along with whatever Matt had planned. Besides, he was in a good mood; it wasn’t every day he got to see Tord completely humiliated and unable to fight back. He had enough energy to survive a few hours of torture at some store watching Matt try on clothes.
“Fine, but you owe me for this.”
“VIP passes. Unlimited drinks.”
“You’re joking.”
“It’s a special event for a reason.”
That was all Tom needed to hear for Matt’s idea to go from incredibly stupid to something he definitely wanted to—and was going to—be part of. He didn’t even think twice: he rushed past Matt with a grin from ear to ear, heading straight for the door.
“What the hell was that?” Tord muttered, irritated, watching Tom vanish like he was floating on air. He looked at Matt like he wanted to kill him.
“You said it was themed,” Edd cut in, stopping Matt before he could leave the room.
“Oh, right. Eighties clothes. It’s for the anniversary.”
“And where the hell are we supposed to get that?” Edd asked.
“How should I know, Tord? Steal something from your dead grandpa, I don’t care. Just put on something eighties,” Matt snapped before disappearing and, for the second time that day, slamming the door behind him.
In the living room, with the TV still on mute, Edd and Tord stared blankly at the screen, their expressions empty as they processed what had just happened—and how easily Matt had outplayed and manipulated them.
“Who the hell does that bastard think he is?!” Tord exploded, breaking the silence.
“This has to be a joke.”
A heavy silence settled between them until Tord, dropping onto the couch, accidentally pressed the remote with his hand, causing the volume to spike and flood the room with sound again.
“Did you really suck someone off for rent?” Edd asked with a wicked grin.
“Dra til helvete, Edward!”
“Not before you do,” he replied, baring his teeth in a mocking smirk.
“Faen ta deg. Anyway, what the hell are we even supposed to wear?”
Edd frowned. What exactly was eighties fashion? He knew he had references somewhere from past illustration projects, but right now his mind was blank.
“The Lost Boys.”
“What?”
“What we wore on Halloween. That movie’s from the eighties, right?”
Tord considered it for a second. That worked for him; the last thing he was going to do was put in effort just to please that idiot Matt.