Flowers

Chapter 1

Recently, Tord had been feeling like shit.

Absolute fucking shit.

What a great way to start a story right?
Well, in this case, its the only way to start a story like this one.

A story about love and hate.

A story about differences and acceptance.

So, locking himself in his room felt like his best option... for now at least.

He had been lying in his bed for the past few hours, nothing but the quiet ringing in his ears and soft hum of conversation downstairs to keep him company.

He didn't really mind it though, he just wanted to sleep, but alas, everytime he would make an attempt to do so, he would be violently awoken by coughs that would rake through his body like wildfire.

Tord was distracted by a knock on his door, the person on the other side not bothering to wait for a response as they flung it open.

"Tord, it's dinner time!"

Tord jolted slightly, throwing the covers off his bed, Matt stood in the doorway, his cheerful green eyes glistening in the dull light emmited from the hallway.

Tord let a relieved sigh escape his chapped lips.

Could have been worse.

"Yeah, I'm comming." He mumbled, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

It was funny, his voice sounded so foreign to his ears, so... dead.
It was scratchy and cracked, hoarse evrn.
.
Tord shrugged it off as misuse, or perhaps even a cold.
That would explain as to why he felt like shit.

Probably a cold...

"Okay!" Matt chirped, pulling the door closed.

Tord sighed once the ginger had made his exit. His eyes felt heavy and his head foggy. It was almost too hard to sit up, but he couldn't have his friends worry about him.

That would be bothersome.

"Are you okay Tord?"

"Do you need help Tord?"

"You should go to the doctor Tord."

"The commie bastard is just lying to get attention. Nobody gives a shit."

Tord coughed again, putting his hand over his mouth trars pricking at the corner of his eyes.

Slowly he pulled himself from his bed, nothing but a dark grey tank top and red boxers too cover him.
He didn't care, he didn't have the energy to care right now.

He pushed himself out of the room, stumbling down the hallway and in turn, the stairs.

The smell of some kind of pasta filled his nose, and almost instantly he wanted to vomit.

It wasn't that it smelt bad, to everyone else in the house, it smelt quite nice.
Of course it did, tonight Tom was cooking.

Tom was always the best when it came tk cooking, but Tord just felt... sick.

Tord made his way into the kitchen and slumped himself onto a chair, leaning his head against his hand.

Edd and Matt were absent, which was strange, but he was sure they would show up soon.

"Hey commie-- Jesus Christ you look like shit..." Tom said walking into the dining area, Two plates in hand.
He stopped to look at Tord for a moment before chuckling.

He moved over and placed the plates down, one in front of an empty chair and the other infront of Tord.

"Shut it 'Hova. I'm not in the mood." Tord growled, stabbing the pasta with a fork.