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The door creaked open, and there he was.
Tord stood at the entrance of Edd’s flat, just as he had shown up at his door years ago—but this was different. Seeing him sent a cold shock through Edd’s body, freezing him in place. He unconsciously held his breath as his eyes locked onto the figure before him. No scars, no signs of age. The caramel tufts of hair, the familiar grey eyes, the red hoodie—it was as though no time had passed at all. It felt like he was opening the door for a friend he'd seen just yesterday.
But that wasn't true.
Blurry memories crowded Edd’s mind, a jumble of confusion, half-forgotten moments, and that familiar ache. He couldn’t string together a clear recollection, but deep in his bones, he remembered the feeling clearly. Pain.
Edd had always imagined this moment, running through countless scenarios in his head. He’d told himself that if he ever saw Tord again, he’d punch him, curse him, voice that he’d never forgive him. But now, standing face to face with the man who was once his closest friend, the words he had rehearsed vanished. All that came out was a whisper, nearly trembling. “Tord… you shouldn’t be here.”
His voice cracked as he spoke, head turning to look for Tom, as if hoping for some kind of reinforcement, some backup for this battle he wasn’t ready to fight. This should hurt him too, right? Tord was his friend too. But everything felt so blurred—dreamlike, distant. And Tom stayed silent, standing by what looked like his coffee table with his hands in his hoodie pockets. His presence blurred at the edges of Edd’s consciousness. No help would come.
Edd’s hands began to shake. His whole body felt like it was betraying him. Before he could say anything else, warmth cut through his running thoughts—Tord’s hands, gently wrapping around his own. The touch was so familiar, and yet, it burned.
“Edd, I need to—”
“No,” Edd’s voice was firm, sharp.
“I have to tell you—”
“ Don’t, ” he cut him off again, weakly shaking his head. Edd didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t. Not now. Not ever.
They stood in silence for a long moment, frustration and unresolved feelings hanging on both sides. Edd could feel it, building between them, like a dam ready to break. His lip twitched into a frown as he stared at Tord, eyes hardening. Was this going to be it? Would he leave? For a second, Edd let himself hope that Tord would give up, walk away, and disappear from his life forever.
But he knew better than to expect that.
Tord wasn’t giving up. Instead of retreating, his hands slid up from Edd’s own and cupped his face, his touch soft yet unyielding. Edd’s hazel eyes widened in shock, his breath catching as his heart pounded in his chest. He was too focused on the intensity in Tord’s eyes to notice what came next.
In an instant, Tord leaned in. Their lips met, and Edd felt himself crumple.
He hated how easily he caved, how his frame lost tension, how his eyes flicked shut despite the turmoil raging inside him. He hated how naturally his hands found their way to Tord’s hair, fingers threading through caramel-colored strands. And most of all, he hated how the pain came rushing back, the same ache that had lingered for so long and was never truly gone.
It made Edd sick, how easily the kiss brought everything flooding back—every buried feeling, every unresolved thought. It was wrong, it was painful, and yet it was so, so familiar.
Edd woke abruptly, his body tensing as his heart raced. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the familiar sight of his room—the green wallpaper, the sentimental knickknacks, the posters lining the walls. Slowly, his breath steadied, a shaky sigh escaping his lips, which turned into a chuckle. Relief washed over him as reality set in.
It was only a dream.
He rubbed his temple with his fingertips, pressing over stray stands of messy brown hair.
Near his side, Ringo stirred, her green eyes wide and curious as she watched him with a soft twitch of her ears. Sensing his unease, she padded her way over and pawed gently at his chest. Edd gave her a warm smile, his hand meeting her forehead as she leaned into his touch while purring softly.
“I’m okay, Ringo,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the grey fur at the top of her head. “Just a bad dream.”
But even as he said it, fragments of the dream were still fresh in his mind. He didn’t think Tord would ever show his face again—not after everything he’d done to him, to Tom, to Matt. Not after what he’d done to their shared home. Tord wasn’t at his door. He wasn’t in their lives anymore.
Tord was gone.
His mind flickered back to a different time—a moment from the past when everything seemed fine. When he
trusted
Tord. The memory surfaced, triggered by the fading image of his fingers in the other man's hair, a gesture he recognized, something Edd had done once in reality, not just in his dream.
There was a time when it had been real. Edd couldn't quite recall how they had ended up like that all those years ago; he only remembered the two of them in the house, absorbed in a random zombie shooter game on the console while Tom and Matt were out for groceries. At some point, the game had faded into the background, and set aside.
The room was cold, and Tord was tired. They had found themselves lying together on the couch, Tord's head resting against Edd’s chest, fingers knitting through his fork-shaped tufts of hair, and their limbs entangled in a way that felt natural. Neither of them took the time to question the intimacy or give it a deeper thought. Everything had felt so simple then, so uncomplicated.
That was when Tord had broken the silence.
“Edd… I want to move out,” he had said, his voice quiet but firm. He had looked up at Edd with a strange mixture of sincerity and guilt, eyes searching for understanding. But Edd knew—nothing could have changed his mind. Not even him.
The words felt like a bullet, a sudden and sharp wound. At first, Edd hadn’t taken him seriously, he couldn’t believe it. Why would Tord want to leave? Things were fine, weren’t they? Sure, he and Tom occasionally argued, but why now? He had tried to laugh it off, make light of it, but the conversation quickly shifted. After living with the three throughout their late teen years, Tord explained how he wanted to find his footing. He wanted to make it in the big city and try new things. It didn't help how vague his reasoning was. The more the Norwegian insisted, the more irritated Edd became, until his feelings slipped out, raw and unfiltered.
“What about us?” Edd exclaimed, his normally soft-spoken voice rising in distress. He wouldn’t admit it to himself at that moment, but his concern wasn’t about how Tom or Matt would feel—it was about how hurt he would be losing his best friend.
By then, they weren’t lying together anymore. They had shifted to opposite ends of the sofa, a cold distance settling between them. Edd’s hands were balled into fists at his sides, his chest tight with frustration and hurt. The silence that followed was crushing, each second dragging on as Tord seemed to wrestle with his own thoughts, searching for the right words.
Edd had seen it then—the flicker of regret in Tord’s eyes, just for a moment, before he spoke.
“We’re friends. Distance won’t change that.”