The doctors rushed in before he could finish. He and Matt were ushered out without explanation, but they both knew it was time. Matt took a seat next to Edd, who had already sat down. Tord stood silently next to them, leaning against the wall, closing his eyes. For now, all they could do was wait.

Tom's coughing fits were getting worse, and he knew why, but had refused to tell anyone; the doctors, Edd, Matt. His lungs were beginning to fill with flowers. It was kind of like pneumonia, but instead of fluids, the space was taken up by petals. This time, the flowers were blue, a new kind of flower.

As the doctors hovered over him, Tom looked over to the window, his eyes catching sight of Tord, though he could only see part of him. His eyes filled with tears again. The figures above were speaking to him, but the voices were distant, muffled. He knew he was still coughing, but he couldn't feel it anymore. He was acutely aware that his lack of pain was a bad sign.

He kept his eyes on Tord, unable to, unwilling to let himself look away. He had to stop swallowing the petals. His body's natural defenses were kicking in, and he was losing consciousness. But he kept his eyes on Tord, even as his vision faded to black.

Only minutes after the little group had left the hospital room, one of the doctors stepped out into the hall. She didn't look at them at first, but when she did, they all understood. She had no need to speak.

Edd and Matt went first. He could hear Edd crying. Tord remained outside, not opening his eyes. He waited, stuck between silent, emotionless solemnity and a complete meltdown.

Eventually, the two left the room. Edd gently put his hand on Tord's shoulder, and the Norski finally opened his eyes. He nodded, not daring to speak, lest his voice break or his tears leak.

The doctors silently filed out of the room when he walked in, though he was not sure why they had not left before. Tord paused for a moment, gathering his courage. He looked to see something similar to what he had expected. Tom almost looked to be asleep, he seemed so peaceful. But his chest was littered with petals, even a few flowers.

Tord stepped forward and gently took Tom's hand. It was already growing cold. His other hand reached up to cup the side of the Brit's face. There was still a tiny bit of warmth left there.

"I'm so sorry," Tord murmured," You didn't have to do this."

It was basically suicide. He didn't seek help, he didn't even get rid of the petals. He had been trying to kill himself with it. But it was obvious that he would rather be dead than emotionless.

"You really loved me, didn't you? And you didn't even know me." he felt his eyes tearing up.

"If only you had told me..." he paused, swallowing a sob, "Because I would have said yes..."

It was true. His feelings for Steph felt fake, fabricated, now, compared to his almost odd attachment to this boy. They didn't really know each other. And now they never would.

He picked up one of the flowers from Tom's chest, tucking it into his hair. A forget-me-not.

"I won't forget, min kjære." he whispered.

He never wore any other kind of flower in his hair again.