Tord was in his room while Tom and the rest of their friends/roommates ate dinner. The faint smell of pasta drifted down the hallway from the kitchen, but it might as well have been a world away from where he sat on his bed, clutching a knife in his trembling hand.

He doesn't deserve his friends. Slash. The sharp blade bit into his skin, leaving a thin red line that quickly welled with blood. He doesn't deserve this room. Slash. Another cut, slightly deeper than the last. His arm stung, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the emptiness inside him.

He doesn't deserve their kindness. Slash. He's so stupid. Slash. No one cares about him. Slash. Each cut was deeper than the last, blood oozing down his arm to his shaking hand. Tord let out a shaky sigh, his vision blurring at the edges. Maybe he should just give up. He slowly, almost hesitantly brought the knife up to his neck - when a knock at his door made him jump violently.