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Edd wasn’t supposed to come home today. The worst part is the fact that he shouldn’t have known, really. He shouldn’t have had to see any of Tord’s suffering— let alone this.
The flat was quiet, almost stale as the blade made contact with Tord’s sweat-drenched skin. He had no idea how long he’d been at it, painting his body like a canvas before he finally decided to act.
It was stupid. He was drunk, running off of only fumes and deciding to make a choice based off of the negativistic voice that often rattled around in the back of his head.
What he didn’t realize, though, was that he’d fuck up even this.
With metal against his skin, swiping again and again, he just barely missed the angle that would kill him.
Barely. Just barely made a calculation that cost him— or paid him back with, rather— his own life.
Edd was unaware of his boyfriend’s suffering. Of course he loved the Norwegian dearly, spent time with him as often as was humanly possible, but he had very little framing for Tord’s horrible suffering. He hadn’t noticed Tord’s decline or any of the signs he was showing.
Everything changed when he opened Tord’s bedroom door.
The trip to the shops had gone smoothly, he’d picked up lots of things they needed (and quite a few that they didn’t)— he had even brought home a few plushies of Tord’s favorite “waifus”. Whatever that meant. The fact of the matter is, this wasn’t what he was expecting.
He had no idea how reality became this dim the second he stepped into the darkness of Tord’s room.
Sprawled across his gun-pattered sheets, Tord lay pale. His chest rose and fell just barely enough for Edd to register he was alive, but the signal in his brain seemed to flicker every 2 seconds.
Edd had no idea why he’d do something like this.
Time moved in slow motion as he rushed over to the Norski, his voice somehow both loud and shallow all at the same time.
“TORD! Tord— no, no. Don’t do this to me. Not yet. It’s about to be our anniversary you— you can’t!” He stuttered, his voice uncharacteristically drowned in worry as his heart dropped into his chest.
Tord stirred almost instantly.
“M’ sorry.. I couldn’t.” Tord muttered, his voice so quiet it was lost under the sound of his buzzing ceiling fan.
“It’s— it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you, ok? Just scared.” Edd affirmed, grabbing Tord’s face with both of his hands as he forced himself to be calm. He’d always been surprisingly good at that.
“I’m going to get you some bandages,” he added, the bed creaking under the weight of him getting up as he prayed to any God that might listen that A) they had any bandages at all and B) That was enough to stop the bleeding happening here.
It was only seconds before he burst back into the room, his arms overflowing with medical supplies he hoped would help even the smallest bit.
He coaxed Tord into his lap, pulling the kit closer to them as a gentle hand carted through Tord’s hair.
“Just.. relax, baby. It’s not your fault. I’m not mad. It’s just a mistake.” He whispered, hoping his words would have some sort of positive effect on Tord that might keep him pushing for just a little longer.
And of course, Tord was terribly weak for him.
Bandages and medical tape made quick work of Tord’s wounds, Edd’s hands trembling as they made sure that everything was of reasonable tightness. Tord couldn’t even keep track of how many “I’m sorry” and “Is that too tight”s he’d already heard from Edd— if he hadn’t been so fucked up, he would have called him annoying.
His wrists felt bound as Edd finally finished off the roll of medical tape, relenting with a concerned look on his face that Tord clocked immediately.
“Look, Edd. You did ok. I’ve wrapped the same thing worse and came out without even a single infection.” He commented, his fist clutching into Edd’s hoodie as a means of grounding.
If Edd noticed Tord’s touch, he didn’t say anything at all. He was too caught up in worry for his boyfriend.
“Are you su—“ Edd started, worry and fear getting the best of him as concern buzzed behind his eyes like static taking over your favorite TV show.
Edd’s words never had the chance to finish before Tord was kissing him more passionately than his blood loss should even allow.
Usually when they kissed, it was heated. A “can I”, bated breathing into each others mouths as they got ready for a night so vulgar they’d never live it down if Tom and Matt found out. As if they weren’t worse.
The important part was that this was different. It was the kind of kiss that says “You’re still here”, the type that says “Please don’t leave.” When Tord pulls back, his forehead rests against Edd’s.
Tord exhales, uneven. “I know.”
Edd’s thumbs brush carefully along Tord’s jaw, then down to his shoulders — deliberately avoiding the fresh bandages. Every movement is cautious now. Intentional.
“Does anything feel too tight?” Edd asks again, quieter this time.
Tord almost rolls his eyes. “You’ve asked me that like ten times.”
“And I’ll ask eleven.”
Despite everything, that earns the faintest huff of a laugh from Tord. It’s weak, but it’s real. Edd clings to it like proof of life.
“Okay,” Tord murmurs. “It’s fine. You did fine.”
Edd swallows hard, nodding, but he doesn’t look convinced. His hands hover again like they don’t know where to land.
So Tord makes the decision for him.
Edd stumbles forward and Tord leans into his chest, careful of the wrappings but insistent about the closeness. Edd immediately folds around him like it’s instinct.
They sit like that for a long time.
Edd’s chin resting on top of Tord’s head. One arm firm around his back. The other hand threading slowly through his hair in repetitive, grounding strokes.
“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Tord mutters into the fabric of Edd’s hoodie.
“I wasn’t going to,” Edd says softly.
…
“…Okay, maybe I was.”
Tord’s grip tightens slightly. The room is quiet except for their breathing.
Edd eventually shifts, carefully guiding Tord back against the pillows. He moves like he’s handling something fragile. He acts like if he isn’t slow enough, the world might crack again.
“Lie down,” Edd murmurs. “I’m not leaving.”
Tord watches him for a second, searching his face like he’s trying to confirm that promise.
“You better not,” he says, voice rough but steadier now.
Edd doesn’t answer with words this time.
He climbs onto the bed beside him, careful of space and bandages, and pulls the blanket up around them both. Then he lies on his side facing Tord, one arm draped gently over his waist.
His thumb rubs small circles against Tord’s hip through the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m staying, okay?” Edd whispers.