Not Tom longed for a sign, anything that would tell him that he would get out of here. That sign never came.
Maybe he could call up one of his friends and ask them to get him out of here. Did they even realize that he was gone? The Brit patted his pockets and his hoodie in search for his phone.
Unfortunately he didn't have his phone with him, so he wouldn't be calling anyone any time soon. He didn't have a watch either, so he couldn't even tell the time or date. His only hope of knowing how much time had passed in the room was by memorizing the schedule.
By the time he usually woke up the lights were on. He would have to wait a few hours to get food. It was always plain porridge, which was delivered by a man in an eyepatch, which he assumed was either Bing or Larry.
He climbed down into the room from a ladder, handed them the food and went back up, taking the ladder with him.
Thinking about it, all of them could easily gang up on the man, but no one ever tried.
Next it was dull hours again. They didn't eat again until a long while. It was always mashed potatoes with water.
Then it was long dull hours again, and then it was lights out.
This schedule had happened about 16 times, so he assumed they were there for about two weeks.
The brit hated the schedule. The most exciting thing that happened is when they would drop some board games or some crayons and paper into the room. No one ever tried to play board games with him, and he didn't really draw, so that was useless to him.
It was all so mundane compared to the things he used to do with his friends.
Were they even his friends if he was just a clone?
Wouldn't they come to rescue him if they were really his friends?
The more days passed by, the lonelier Not Tom became.
No one in the room really talked to him aside from Scribble or Realistic Matt, but it was on rare occasions that they ever talked to him, and he just found Scribble very annoying.
By the time the schedule was repeated 17 times, and the light turned off in the horrid white room, the brunette decided to face the facts.
He was never going to get out of here. No one would come looking for him. No one cared about him. He would have to spend the rest of his sad clone life hidden away behind white walls.
All because something in his mind prevented him from finding things funny.
Not Tom scolded himself for ever saying anything on that day. He should have kept his stupid trap shut, then he wouldn't be in this mess.
A wave of sadness washed over him, and he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He just broke down crying, trying his best to keep quiet before someone heard.
Suddenly, he heard someone call out in the darkness. His breathing hitched and he stopped crying.
Damn this room. It was so dark he couldn't even see who was calling him.
"Who's...who's crying..?" The voice asked.
This was a voice he hadn't heard before.  It didn't sound like Realistic Matt, or the harsh tone of Torm, or the annoying screech of Scribble.
Not Tom didn't answer the voice.
"It's o-okay...everyone's asleep...I-I won't tell anyone..." the voice said again.
It seemed to be getting closer, and upon listening again, he realized that the voice sounded sort of mixed. Like two people talking at the same time.
"I-I'm fine...I'm not crying.." Not Tom finally answered, wiping his tears. He knew that this person would know it was a lie, but he didn't really care.
Trying to convince them that he wasn't crying was better than admitting to crying.
"I-Its okay to cry.." the voice was right in front of him now, and he could sense the presence of another person.
In the darkness he could make out the shape of the silent man. (It was better to call him that than it was to call him 'Clusterfuck' all the time).
"Wh-why are you...crying..?" The silent man asked quietly. He sounded like he was struggling to talk.
"Why do you care?" Not Tom replied.
"I-I.." the other's voice faltered. "I c-couldnt just pretend i-it wasn't happening...y-you clearly need someone to t-talk to.."
Not Tom was silent. That was true. He longed for someone to talk to.
"So what's wrong?" The man asked again.
"I..I don't like it here.." Not Tom said.  "I hate it here, I hate being a reject, I just- I just miss my friends and I want to go home..." tears started to spill out of his eyes. "But I don't have a home. I never had one. Because I'm a stupid clone...!" He pulled at his hair.
The silent man frowned in the darkness.
"W-We know how you feel.."
"We?" Not Tom asked.
The silent man didn't adress the little question. "We...I know you f-feel alone, and like there's no h-hope of getting out of here...b-but you d-dont have to feel alone anymore...I'm here,"
Not Tom took what the man said to heart.
"You really mean it..?" He asked. "You're willing to be there for me..? To talk to me..?"
"Y-Yeah...! I mean, as long as we're t-trapped....trapped here, W-We might as well g-get along.."
"Thanks.." said Not Tom.
Much to his surprise, the man wrapped his arms around Not Tom.  He snuggled into the warmth of the much taller man and sighed softly.
"Hey, uh, I know this is sort of awkward, but what should I call you?" Not Tom asked suddenly.
There was silence for a bit, and then the other man answered.
"T-To-om...mm...matt..t-tor..edd"
"What..? Tomattoredd?" Asked Not Tom.
"Yeah, T-Tomattoredd...th-that sounds okay,"
"Alright.." Not Tom said. "Tomattoredd.." he repeated under his breath.