Tom was laying on his bed in his room. He had his headphones on blasting music, the bass vibrating through his chest. It's been a week since Tord committed suicide. Tom hasn't gotten over Tord's death, the memory sharp as broken glass whenever he closes his eyes. The smell of gunpowder still lingers in his nostrils some days. Tom couldn't get Tord's image out of his mind. Just seeing Tord hanging by a rope was definitely traumatizing. Tom felt sick just thinking about it, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Tom held his phone in his hands. They were shaking, the screen displaying a blank text message he'd been trying to compose for twenty minutes. Tom felt like a bad friend. Why didn't he see the signs? The late-night texts that stopped abruptly, the way Tord's laughter had sounded forced at their last meeting, the empty bottles he'd noticed in Tord's apartment. Why couldn't he be there for Tord? Why did Tord have to do it? Tom eventually sighed and shook his head lightly, the movement sending a sharp pain through his temples. Tom didn't want to dwell on the past. Tord was dead and gone, that was a fact.

Tom closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms against them until he saw stars. He remembered high school when him and Tord dated, the way sunlight had caught Tord's hair during lunch breaks, the sound of his whispered confessions under the bleachers. Tom missed that dearly, he missed Tord dearly. Tom missed seeing Tord's sly smirk when he was planning something mischievous or his confident laugh that could fill a room. But Tom had broken up with Tord in high school, too scared to admit his true feelings. Tom wished he was confident enough to ask Tord out after high school, but he didn't. And now, he regretted it more than anything.

Tord was gone forever and Tom wasn't. The unfairness of it burned in his chest like acid. Tom sighed and opened his eyes, blinking away the moisture that had gathered at the corners. The room felt suddenly colder, the music from his headphones now distant as if隔着 a wall. Tom then froze and paused his music, his thumb hovering over the button. Tom sat up on his bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. Tom blinked a few times, wondering if the grief was finally making him hallucinate. This wasn't real...but it was. Tom wasn't dreaming, he knew that he wasn't dreaming. Standing in front of Tom's bed was Tord, looking just like he had before everything went wrong. But that was impossible...right?