The hallway was quiet. Too quiet.

You hadn’t meant to be here this late—just grabbing something you forgot—but then you heard it.

A harsh, choking sound.

Like someone struggling to breathe.

Your heart jumped as you followed it, each step quicker than the last until you reached the living room doorway.

“Tord…?”

He was on the floor.

Collapsed.

One hand clawed at his chest, the other gripping the carpet like he was trying to ground himself. His shoulders shook violently as he coughed—no, gagged—and then you saw it.

Petals.

Soft, red petals spilling from his lips, stained darker at the edges.

For a second, your brain refused to process it.

“Tord—what the hell?!”

You rushed to his side, dropping to your knees. His hair was messy, sticking to his damp forehead, his usual confident expression completely shattered. His eyes flicked up to you—wide, panicked.

And something else.

Fear.

Not of dying.

Of you seeing him like this.

“Don’t—” he rasped, voice breaking as another cough wracked his body, more petals falling into his shaking hand. “Don’t look at me like that…”

He tried to turn away, but he was too weak.

The petals trembled in his grip.

“…you weren’t supposed to find out.”

His breath hitched again, quieter this time, like he was trying to suppress it—but it only made it worse.

“…I had it handled.”

Another lie.

Another cough.

Another handful of flowers.

His fingers tightened, crushing them slightly.

“…just go.”

But he didn’t sound like he meant it