[ Guilt churns Ed's stomach at the pained expression Stede gives him, knowing completely that he's the cause. It's not like Ed to deny Stede a little friendly physical contact. Hell, most of the time, Ed's the one initiating it. But he's just coughed up a chunk of a lung, looks like, and what if Stede catches it? Stede doesn't deserve to go out like that. Ed'd never forgive himself.

As Stede steps in again, Ed takes a step further back, hands raised but curled closed, eyes blown wide. ] No, I— I'm done. [ In seconds, Ed's schooled his expression back to calm interest. He sets the glass on the desk behind him, rather than the table where Stede still stands, abandoned. Ed backs up again, begins to turn. ]

Gotta piss like a fucking waterfall. Sorry, man. [ He walks without waiting, deaf to any further objections Stede might've made. ] Land by morning, yeah? Catch up with you later.

[ He storms out, and at a sharp pace, he turns the corner, down the hall, and closes himself in Stede's wash room with his back against the door. Only then does he open his right hand. In his palm, there's a flash of red, still, but not like any blood he's seen. It's a flower. A small red rose, half crushed by his gloved grip. Ed stares at in in disbelief, and mumbles to himself. ]

The fuck?