(3rd Person)

Edd lay in bed, sheets messy and hair tangled, a complete contrast to his usual neat hairstyle. He stares up at the ceiling, still repeating the strange behavior of Tom in his head. What happened to the cheerful and optimistic guy? He turned so sour and temperamental in a few days. He was snapping at everyone, he never left his room. And damn, did it make Edd worried.

Was it his fault? Is it because he bothered Tom so much to the point of snapping? That he got so annoying, and Tom just couldn't take it anymore?

Short knocking came on the door, followed by the voice of Edgy McEdgeboi, Matt.
"Edd, wake up. You gotta eat something, its 11:00am." Matt calls from beyond the door. He was always the one to get Edd and the rest up in the morning, making sure that Edd's depression wouldn't get the best of him.
"Mhm...coming," Edd mumbles, tossing over in bed. He throws off the sheets, swinging his legs off the bed.

He slowly stands, a bit dazed from the temporary dizzy blindness. He trudges out of the door, still donned in his pajamas. With a yawn, he walks down the hallway, the cold floor shocking his feet. He sits at the dining table, grabbing an apple and taking a bite out with a loud crunch. As he eats the apple, Tord arrives not long after, seeming tired as well.
"Morning, Tord..." Edd mumbles, taking another bite.

"Ah- m-morning!" Tord stutters with a small smile, burying into his sweater. He sits across from Edd, just looking at the table surface shyly. Matt eventually arrives as well, but with no Tom in sight. He scratches the back of his neck.
"Tom hasn't been answering for a while now..." Matt mumbles, glancing at the other two.
"H-he's probably o-okay...h-he might just b-be sleeping again..." Tord responds. Edd sighs, placing the apple down and resting his head on his hand.

—————

(Last night)

"Thomas! Welcome home! It's been too long." One of his relatives exclaim, bringing him in for a large hug. He had a large smile plastered on his face, a bit too wide to be real.
"Heh- yeahh...good to see you too, zio." Tom replies, trying to pull away a bit. "Can I just- put away my things? Quickly?" Tom asks, finally freeing himself.

"Of course, of course. You know where your room is." His uncle- who was strangling him with a hug, says. Tom nods, walking away and rolling his items up the grand staircase with a bit of a struggle. Rolling his luggage along the carpeted floor, he glances up at familiar paintings and photos that he hasn't seen in 5 years. He finally makes it and swiftly walks to his old room.

The door creaking open, Tom steps in with slight hesitance. He glances around, getting slammed with waves of nostalgia. His eggshell white walls were covered in old drawings and paintings that he had worked so hard on in the past. Mildly surprised that his family didn't tear them down as soon as he had left the home, Tom walks around his room, picking out small yet extremely memory-filled things.

Oh, look, his first and only colored pencil set of his childhood. He vaguely wonders how he made a small pack of cheap colored pencils last for so long. He had it for around 6 years, since he was 13. Before he left, of course. Glancing, he notices his worn-out desk. The paint on top of the wood was chipped and cracking. God, he spent so many nights either writing stories he wished were true in his journal or crying at that desk. Oh- and there's his first switchblade. He used to carve symbols into the bark of tree trunks with it. Got it when he was around...9? Yeah, 9 years old. Ah, the memories.

Tom sighs, leaving his suitcase and Susanne on the floor of the old room. He leaves the room, raucous shouting from down in the living room reaching his ears. He quickly hops downstairs to meet the scene of a whole family barking arguments at each other. Tom notices Tim and Scribs were standing off to the side, those ever-present eye sockets watching the scene lay out in front of them. Getting the slightest bit fed up with the ruckus, Tom takes a breath.
"EVERYBODY, CALM DOWN!" He shouts into the crossfire, the noise immediately ceasing. With a huff, he crosses his arms.

"Ah- Thomas, you're back, I see." One of his uncles comments formally after clearing up his throat. Tom nods, letting out a soft yawn.
"Why are you guys fighting so late at night..?" He asks, looking at the rest of them with a raised eyebrow.
"I don't know, why are you still so...girly?" One of his aunts huffs, disapproving.

"..." Tom opens his mouth for a moment, leaving it hanging. He turns on his heel, facing away from everyone else. "Yeah- I'm going to sleep. Nighty-night." He mumbles, walking back up the stairs and into his room. As soon as he enters his domain, he shuts his door behind him and goes to change into pajamas. Pacing over to his suitcase, he zips it open and picks out a short sleeved shirt and shorts. The shorts were blue and patterned with pineapples while the shirt's sleeves were the same blue, the middle being white. It had a pineapple on the front.

He quickly strips off his sweater and suspenders, catching a glimpse of his scars in the mirror. Swiftly slipping his pajamas on to cover those up, he grabs Tomee bear, holding him tight. Tom slides into bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

~Timeskip~

"t00M!!" A squeaky and garbled voice screeches. "w4K3 uP!" Scribs yells before jumping on top of the sleeping blueberry muffin. Knocking the air out of the, now fully awake, Tom, said man coughs before responding. He glances forward at his younger brother, the strange misshapen proportions of the boy glaring straight in his face.
"Wowza- you got bigger.." Tom mumbles to himself, looking at the brother that was sitting on his stomach. "What do you want, Scribsie?" He asks, flopping back on his bed.

"p0p5 c4LL3d f0R 4 m33T1nG! h3 sP3c1F1c4LLy 45K3d f0R y0U!" The smaller Tom grumbles, smacking Tom on the head.
"g3T uP! 0R 1'M g0NN4 fUck1Ng mUrd3R y0U!!" Scribs growls angrily, borderline punching Tom.
"Watch your language! I'm up!" Tom exclaims, sitting straight up, causing Scribs to fall over.

"Oop- sorry, Scribs!" He apologizes immediately, looking down at the fallen brother.