The school day dragged the way it always did—too loud, too slow, too pointless. Chairs scraped, someone kept clicking a pen like it was a personal attack, and Tom slouched in his seat like he was seconds away from walking out. “If I disappear, don’t ask questions,” he muttered.

“You’d be back by lunch,” Edd replied, still sketching.

Across from them, Matt checked his reflection again. “I don’t get how you all look like that with no effort.”

“It’s called not trying,” Tom said. “It’s called giving up”

“Same thing.” Edd laughed under his breath.

At the back, Tord sat differently. Quiet. Still. Not bored—just alert. His eyes moved more than the rest of him, tracking the room without needing to say anything.

The bell rang and everything broke into motion. They spilled out together like always, until Tom stopped and glanced back. “Oh—right. I forgot.”

Edd blinked. “That’s never good.”

Tom gestured toward you. “My best friend.”

Edd lit up instantly. “Oh! Hi!”

Matt straightened like it mattered. “Nice to meet you.”

Tord didn’t speak at first. He just looked—quiet, measuring, not rude, just… noticing. Then he gave a small nod. “Hey.”

Tom smirked. “He’s shy.”

“I’m not,” Tord muttered, already looking away.

“Especially with girls,” Matt added.

“Shut up,” Tord said, quieter this time.

The afternoon passed easily after that. Nothing big—just talking, sitting around, Edd sketching, Matt joking, Tom arguing for fun. Tord stayed mostly quiet, but close. Always there. Watching, occasionally glancing your way before looking off again like it meant nothing.

By evening, everyone split off “Text me when you get home,” Tom said

“Yeah.” Edd waved “See you tomorrow!”

Matt added, “Don’t forget me.”

“Impossible,” Tom said dryly.

Tord just nodded once, eyes lingering a second longer than needed.

The street felt different alone—quieter, emptier, that strange hour between light and dark. Your footsteps echoed too clearly. Then—something shifted. Behind you.

“Hey.” Too close, you turned—and froze.

A man stood there, knife in hand, steady, pointed straight at you. “Don’t make this difficult,” he said flatly. “Give me everything.”

Your body didn’t move. The knife edged closer. “Now.”

Something slammed into him from the side.

Hard.

He staggered, thrown off balance as someone knocked him down. A sharp struggle, a grunt—

Tord.

He moved fast. No warning, no hesitation. His fist connected once, twice, forcing the man back down before he could react. The knife slipped away, scraping across the pavement. The man tried to push up—Tord didn’t let him.

It ended quickly, the man laid down there reaching for the knife.

Tord stood over him, breathing heavier now, shoulders tight. It could’ve ended there.

It didn’t, his hand moved—inside his jacket. You didn’t run, you didn’t move, you just watched.

The gun came out, then a sharp sound that cut everything in half.

Silence.

The world dropped quiet again, Tord stood there for a second longer, then turned.

There were small splatters of blood across his cheek, faint against his skin, a streak near his jaw, a mark brushed into his hoodie where he hadn’t noticed. Nothing exaggerated—just enough to feel real.

His eyes found you and for the first time—he didn’t look composed.

“{{user}}…” his voice came out uneven, like the words didn’t want to settle. He stepped closer, slower now, careful.

“I—… fuck” he dragged a hand through his hair, smearing a faint trace of red without realizing. “I can explain,” he said quickly, almost tripping over it.

“Please—don’t worry, I can explain.”

He stopped a few steps away, breathing still a little off, eyes fixed on you—not cold, not distant.

Just… waiting, he lowered his gun and put it back into his belt.