blood flowers

Evening hues dither behind Youngjae with a drawn-out softness, passers-by fading into the precarious ambience. The sunset crawls up his back as he stops in front of the closed flower shop, surveying the fading paint of the signboard.

Youngjae was supposed to work the night shift today, but Daehyun had suddenly texted him not to come. It was odd, so Youngjae asked Jiwon if anything had happened. Sure enough, he learnt Daehyun was sick and didn’t feel safe letting Youngjae take the night shift alone.

The bag of medication hangs loosely from his wrist. In his other hand is a bowl of congee he’d bought from a quaint restaurant down the road. Youngjae walks up the stairs to the third floor. He rings the bell and stands to the side to avoid being seen in the peephole. Knowing Daehyun, he’d refuse to open the door, insisting he’s alright or that he doesn’t want Youngjae to catch his flu.

A few minutes pass and there isn’t any answer. Youngjae presses the doorbell again and finally, the door creaks open. Daehyun ducks his head out with a confused frown and deadpans when he notices Youngjae in the corner.

“I knew it was you,” he sighs. Youngjae puts his foot between the door and the frame just in case Daehyun shuts the door on him.

“Wow, you look like death. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I always have to ask the kids nowadays to know if anything’s going on with you.” Youngjae holds up the medicine.

“Because I’m fine. It’s just the flu,” Daehyun heaves. He nudges Youngjae’s outstretched foot. “Go home. I’m really fine. You don’t want to catch this.”

“You say you’re fine and then you say I don’t want to catch whatever you have,” Youngjae returns.

Daehyun drops his head, evidently too lethargic to argue. “Just go home, Youngjae.”

“Have you taken medicine? I’ll leave after ten minutes, alright?” Youngjae nudges Daehyun away from the door and steps in. Daehyun rubs his forehead in annoyance as Youngjae briskly walks into the kitchen, boiling some hot water.

Daehyun sits behind him at the dining table, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. Youngjae glances behind and asks, “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.”

“You can only take your medicine after you’ve eaten. Have you eaten?” Youngjae repeats, knowing clearly Daehyun’s response.

Daehyun sighs and expectedly admits, “No.”

“Is it so hard to tell me the truth?” Youngjae uncaps the bowl of congee and turns around, handing it to Daehyun. He lowers his voice. “If you don’t have any appetite, just eat a little.”

Daehyun picks up the spoon and stirs the congee. “Yeah, it is hard to tell you the truth. Because you always overreact.”

Youngjae sullenly glares back. “Can you be a bit more grateful? I could be gaming right now but I chose to come here for you.”

“Then you should have stayed home and gamed,” Daehyun remarks, indifference dripping from his tone. It’s odd that he’s acting this way. Daehyun gets annoyed when Youngjae worries for him, yes, but it’s not like him to show such stark coldness.

Youngjae bats his lashes. Maybe he’d pushed too far and he should have just left Daehyun alone.

“You look like I punished you,” Daehyun heaves, reaching over to pat Youngjae’s head. “Thank for coming, alright? But you really don’t need to. I’m 3 years older than you. I can handle the flu.”

He churns out a smile and holds out a spoonful of congee. “Take a bite and tell me if it’s good. I can’t smell or taste anything.”

Youngjae obediently acquiesces, blowing on it. “It’s not bad. A bit bland, though,” Youngjae says after he chews. “Be careful, by the way, It’s hot.”

Daehyun nods and begins slurping on his congee. Youngjae glances around, noting the mess in the kitchen. Beyond the fact that Daehyun looks deathly haggard, it’s obvious he’s not doing well from how disorganised the place is since Daehyun’s a bit of a neat freak.

Youngjae gets up and gets a cup of water, placing the pills on the table. “Take them when you’re done eating.”

“How much did they cost?”

Youngjae ignores Daehyun as he paces to the sink. Daehyun makes a noise when Youngjae begins washing up the dirty plates.

“Hey, hey. Just leave them there. I’ll do them later.” Daehyun shifts back in his chair, about to stand. “Youngjae, I said I’ll wash them. Don’t touch them-”

“Stop acting like I’m giving you my liver or something. Just sit down and eat,” Youngjae mutters. He turns around, showing some frustration through his squint. At this point, Daehyun only gets it when you’re harsh to him. Youngjae would much rather avoid the whole fiasco of fighting over the dishes.

“Geez. I’m supposed to be mad at you for barging in, not the other way around.” Daehyun concedes and settles back down, watching Youngjae do the chores while he downs his dinner.

“It’s because you’re always so stubborn when it comes to accepting help. You make me feel guilty for coming over,” Youngjae retorts. He puts away the plates and goes to the washing machine, overturning the laundry basket.

“Wait, oh my god, don’t wash my clothes. My underwear’s in there,” Daehyun blurts in some panic. 

Youngjae looks over in askance. “I have what you have. And you did my laundry too.”

“Yeah, but-” Daehyun throws his head back in surrender. “Look, I can really handle it on my own. I’m not dying.”

Youngjae fishes out a pair of black briefs from the pile, holding it out between his thumb and forefinger. Daehyun chokes, much to Youngjae’s amusement.

“What? Are you scared I’d find some stains?” Youngjae tosses it into the pile. He continues separating the whites from the coloured clothes.

“Hey. Don’t forget I’m your boss,” Daehyun warns in disgruntlement.

“Oh, another one!” Youngjae picks out a red pair this time and proudly holds it out. “Woah, so you do wear brighter colours. I just don’t get to see them.”

Daehyun glares at Youngjae. He melts into a smirk and hums, “At least I didn’t wear by accident.”

Youngjae halts. His shock quickly deteriorates into an embarrassed indignation. “Eat , Jung Daehyun! I’ve only ever told you that and you use it against me?! I already told you, they didn’t label them clearly!” 

He flings the red underwear at Daehyun’s face, the sick man yelping and just barely catching the offending item. 

“Right, and you only found out when you dug up the box after a year. Since you wore them for so long, they must have fit you well, huh? Guess you don’t have much in the front-”

Daehyun ducks when Youngjae sends a sock flying through the air. “Seriously, just die, Jung Daehyun,” Youngjae grits, cheeks flaring a beet red. Daehyun erupts with laughter, though it breaks off into a rough cough as he cups his mouth.

Youngjae stops his assault. They sink into a brief silence as Daehyun removes his hand, and despite how covert his gesture was, Youngjae notices he clasps something.

“You’re growing? But… I thought the next client can’t meet till next week.” Youngjae’s sentence lingers in the air, along with the stark bewilderment.

“I moved another client forward.” Daehyun scratches the back of his head. His voice falls to a resigned softness. “Sorry.”

“Hanbin and Jiwon would have told me,” Youngjae blurts. "It's not in the log book, either."

“I had the dates outside because she wanted to.” Daehyun shrugs. "Since it wasn't done in the flower shop, I didn't record it."

Youngjae remains staring. “You should have told me,” he says it in the same voice, some surprise and hurt underlying his words. “I was happy because I thought you could take a longer break.”

“I know. It slipped my mind. I’m sorry, okay?” There’s some desperation in Daehyun’s rasp. He looks so tired and weak that Youngjae’s heart breaks.

Youngjae wants to lash out at him. He wants to hit Daehyun and beg him to stop, to just listen for once in his life—but he doesn’t.

Instead, he goes back to sorting through the laundry. As he pulls out shirt by shirt, Daehyun shifts in his chair.

“Youngjae, I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay,” Youngjae murmurs. He loads the washing machine, searching around for the detergent. Clapping the lid shut, he rises from the floor.

Daehyun watches him with some caution, worry clear in his curled fingers. Youngjae glances at him.

“Do you have lemons?”

Daehyun points to the bottom compartment of the fridge. Youngjae picks them out and slices them up, grabbing the honey from the cupboard.

“Your throat must hurt a lot, huh? Having a flu and growing flowers at the same time,” Youngjae remarks.

“It’s not that bad.” Daehyun swallows down the pills. He gets up and walks over, meeting Youngjae’s gaze with a sorry look.

“Hey, I really am sorry. I didn’t tell you because I forgot.”

“I said it’s fine,” Youngjae heaves, squeezing some lemon juice into the honey water. He puts the mug in the freezer. “It’s not the first time you’ve hidden things from me. Or lied.”

“Are you mad?” Daehyun says after a while, genuinely unsure.

Youngjae looks up at Daehyun. “Yeah, that’s all you care about, isn’t it?” He sighs faintly.  “Instead of stopping, you just lie instead. So I won’t worry. Even today, you told me you just felt like closing the shop when you were actually sick.”

“Youngjae-”

“I’m not mad. Stop asking about it,” Youngjae grits, the signs of frustration finally materialising in his voice.

His shoulders slump and he averts his gaze to the floor. 

“I don’t want to fight with you today.” Even he is surprised by how hurt he sounds, so he musters up a small smile. 

“It’s painful, isn’t it? Go lie down. I should put a bottle of water in the freezer for you.”

Daehyun flutters his lashes, conflict scribbling into his eyes. He lowers his head. “Thanks,” is all he manages out. He parts his lips to find the right words but Youngjae cuts him off.

“Do you still want to eat?”

Daehyun shakes his head. Youngjae nudges him towards the room. “Go sleep. I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

When Daehyun leaves after some deliberation, Youngjae caps back Daehyun’s unfinished bowl of congee. His eyes sting a little so he breathes in deep, blinking hard. He fills up a bottle of water and shelves it in the freezer.

Tidying up the countertop, he does the same in the living room, putting away Daehyun’s belongings. He pauses in his ministrations to admire the stalk of daisy by the window.

Afterwards, Youngjae enters Daehyun’s room with a towel and a basin of water. He finds Daehyun still awake, sitting up. Youngjae says nothing as he kneels by Daehyun’s side.

“I thought I told you to sleep.” He dabs the towel with water and wrings it dry. Daehyun shifts and lies down

“Spend the afternoon sleeping, so.” He gazes up at Youngjae and exhales thinly. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

“For today? Or for not telling me you moved a client forward?” Youngjae brushes away Daehyun’s hair and places the towel on his forehead. “I know you didn’t forget,” he adds.

“For both,” Daehyun rasps softly. “I didn’t want to lie.”

“But you had to because I overreact, right? And I’m a bother,” Youngjae parrots Daehyun’s words from before.

“I was kidding when I said that.” Daehyun continues staring at Youngjae with half-lidded eyes, wheezing quietly. “Honestly, I’m really grateful that I have you to worry about me. It means a lot. Besides my parents, you’re the only one who does that.”

Youngjae softens at the mention of Daehyun’s late parents.

“Just…” Daehyun his lips. “I don’t like seeing you worried. It’s never been because I find you annoying. I just don’t like it when you’re upset.” Daehyun’s voice is unusually small. “It’s not because you bother me. It’s the other way round.”

“Yeah, whatever. You make me more upset when you pull this kind of .” Youngjae picks off the tiny petal in the corner of Daehyun’s lips. He inspects it, tilting his head.

“Primrose. First rose. Said to be a fairy’s favourite flower,” Daehyun fills in.

“What’s the client’s name?”

Daehyun pauses. “Chaerin.”

“Is she nice? She probably is, huh? Since you like nice girls the most.”

“Yeah.” Daehyun pulls his blanket up to his chin. “What did you do today? Hole yourself up in your room, playing Counterstrike?”

“You’re a mindreader.” Youngjae sits down on the floor and crosses his arms on Daehyun’s mattress, resting his chin there.

“You should go out more. You’re in your prime,” Daehyun hums. He turns over to face Youngjae. “Don’t spend your time playing computer games and taking care of your boss.”

“You talk like you’re fifty. And what can I do about it when you’re so irritating? I’ve got no choice but to act as a stand-in girlfriend.”

Daehyun laughs. “I don’t want you as my girlfriend. That’s a nightmare.”

Youngjae puckers his lips and scoots closer. Daehyun backs away slightly, pressing a hand roughly to Youngjae’s face.

“Ouch!” Youngjae nurses his nose. He deliberately teases Daehyun again, lunging forward.

“Holy ,” Daehyun breathes as he smacks Youngjae’s face. “Stop it, dumb . You’re the worst girlfriend any guy could have.”

Youngjae folds his lips, somehow feeling offended. “You’re the one that always says I look like a girl. Jackass.”

“Because you do. Doesn’t mean I’m into that sort of .” Daehyun smiles a little and ruffles Youngjae’s hair. “At least Jisook’s into guys that look like girls.”

“God giving you a voice was a mistake, Daehyun.” Youngjae sits back down as Daehyun coughs, several tiny primrose petals dripping from his lips.

“Does it hurt?” Youngjae’s voice drops to a more delicate tone.

“A little,” Daehyun admits.

Youngjae crosses his arms over the bed once again, resting his face against his arm. “I wish the Hanahaki disease didn’t exist.”

“Why? You don’t think it’s a good thing?” Daehyun hums with a chuckle. “You sound like a child.”

Youngjae clamps his jaw. “Why would I think it’s good when you’re in pain?”

“Well… Beyond getting a sore throat and Hanahaki flowers at the same time, I’d say it’s pretty useful. It’s like an alarm system to tell you you aren’t loved back. No need to waste money on confession gifts.”

Youngjae laughs, taking a moment to contemplate. “It’s humiliating,” he mentions. “Everyone will know you’re in love and aren’t loved back.”

“Do people look at you when you cough out flowers?” Youngjae asks.

“Yeah. Once I cough them out, everyone starts to look at me like I spat blood.”

Youngjae muffles a laugh and Daehyun smiles along. “You can smell their pity from miles away.”

“See? It’s embarrassing. The flowers tell everyone that you aren’t loved back.”

“Is it embarrassing?” Daehyun says. “Nothing wrong with not being loved back.”

Youngjae heaves. “It’s good that you think so, but most people don’t.” He thoughtfully continues, “I guess the humiliation is good. So people would want to go for the operation and get over their feelings.”

“That’s the only good thing about the disease,” Youngjae muses. “That anyone can heal from a broken heart.”

Daehyun scoffs. “If you’re truly crazy about someone, do you think just an operation would get rid of your feelings?” He sighs.

“You told me they did.” Youngjae flutters his lashes.

“Yeah, they do. I just think that it’s not as thorough as everyone thinks it is. It’s not a 100% solution.” Daehyun shifts and Youngjae catches the wash cloth before it drops.

“If you really love someone so much, it doesn’t make sense that you won’t fall in love with them again. Don’t you think so?” Daehyun smiles softly.

“Well, that’s why you have to stay away from them. So you don’t fall in love again.” Youngjae places the cloth back on Daehyun’s forehead, gently combing his hair aside. “That’s what happened with you and Sunhwa.”

“Yeah. It’s sad if you have to do that,” Daehyun breathes. “Stay away from someone you loved because you don’t want to love them again.”

“What’s so sad about that? It’s for your own good.”

“You’re staying away from someone you couldn’t help but love. It’s sad to give up ever meeting someone so special again.” Daehyun mulls over the prospect. “The memories, too. Thinking about the memories you’ve made with that person—won’t you fall in love with them again?”

Youngjae expels a breath. “You’re always so sentimental.”

Daehyun grins. “Isn’t it romantic? Falling in love with someone over and over again. Wouldn’t you be flattered if someone loved you like that?”

“No, what the hell. That’s so cruel. I’d never wish it on someone.” Youngjae furrows his brows crossly. “Don’t say these kind of things are romantic. Is that why you didn’t stay away from Sunhwa?” The concern climbs in his voice.

Daehyun laughs shortly. “You worry about me so much. Are you my girlfriend or something?” He snorts.

“I’m your friend. Of course I’m going to worry,” Youngjae snaps. They simmer into a quietness as Daehyun’s eyelids start to fall, eyes glazed over with fatigue.

“I think,” Daehyun wheezes, pausing as he bites back a cough, “it’s worse to give up someone you love than live with not having your feelings returned.”

Youngjae blinks slowly. “Maybe,” he replies. He’s much more practical than Daehyun—he’d go for the operation in a heartbeat, partially because he’s never taken emotional pain well. Sad movies leave him heartbroken from the next week and he tears up easily at ballad songs. 

He briefly thinks about Jisook breaking up with him. Will he miss Jisook? Will he cling on to his feelings? He’s not sure once he’s put a name to the hypothetical situation. He may conceptualise himself as proudly logical but even he knows he can be emotional at times.

A good example would be now, wouldn’t it? Youngjae gazes down at Daehyun who breathes flimsily. He’s here taking care of Daehyun like a nanny, even though by right Daehyun can handle things by himself.

Youngjae rests his cheek against his arm. “Your future girlfriend—or boyfriend—is a lucky person.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll take care of them well and love them a lot.” Youngjae takes away the wash cloth and soaks it once more in water. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better. Thanks. Shouldn’t you get going?” Daehynu glances to the clock.

“I’ll sleep on your couch. I’m lazy to walk home.”

“Alright.” Daehyun curls up under his blanket as Youngjae places the wash cloth back on his forehead. “Thanks a lot for coming. Really.”

“Wouldn’t life be easier if you were always like this?” Youngjae remarks loftily. “Instead of grumbling all the time and making things hard for me, you just thank me.”

Daehyun laughs faintly. “How’s Jisook?”

Youngjae rubs the nape of his neck. “She’s been busy lately. We don’t get to video call as much. It’s weird since finals are over, but I’m guessing it’s her attachment.”

“Well, med students are busy people. You should check in on her every once in a while.”

“Mm, I will. Things must be stressful for her.” Youngjae lifts a finger and traces the vein down Daehyun’s arm like a curious kid.

“It tickles,” Daehyun mentions. He raises his arm and catches Youngjae’s stray finger. “Your hands are really so small.”

“Jisook’s palm is bigger than mine,” Youngjae shares absentmindedly. His skin seems to fizzle as Daehyun continues feeling his hand.

“Not surprising. It’s like a baby’s hand.”

“It’s not that bad.” Youngjae squeezes his hand back and eventually intertwines their fingers. It’s a little too intimate, Youngjae belatedly thinks, or is it, really?

Daehyun slips his hand away, answering his question. “You really don’t want to go home? I can send you back by car.”

“Your brain must be fried. I can reach my place in 15 minutes from your house.”

“That’s still pretty long.”

“I want to stay,” Youngjae states clearly.

“Why?” Daehyun asks after a moment. “I’m sick. You’d be better off playing your games at home.”

“What do you mean by ‘why’?” Youngjae flares his nostrils. “Is it that weird? You’ve stayed with me while I was sick too. Stop trying to chase me out.”

Daehyun laughs. “Okay,” he breathes, gently pulling on Youngjae’s cheek. 

He gazes up at the ceiling in reminiscence. “It’s been a long time since I had someone stay by my side while I was sick. Besides you, I think the last person was my mother.”

Youngjae lowers his gaze. “Do you miss her?” He asks faintly.

Daehyun smiles. “Yeah. Sometimes.” He sighs and brushes Youngjae’s hair. “How was visiting your family yesterday?”

“My parents asked me to study hard. The usual. They ask more about Jisook than me.” He rolls his eyes.

“It’s a pretty big deal to have a doctor as your daughter-in-law, you know,” Daehyun teases. He continues Youngjae’s head and Youngjae leans into the touch, indulging in Daehyun’s rough palm and his warmth.

“You’re just like my Omma, bothering me about marriage. I’m 23.”

“It’s good to think about settling down early. Haven’t you and Jisook ever thought about it?”

Youngjae squirms. “She’s never brought it up and no, I’ve never thought about it. I don’t know… I guess if things goes well?” His words taper off unsurely. 

He flushes. “I mean, we haven’t even gotten to… you know.” Youngjae gestures vaguely while Daehyun attempts to decipher him.

“We’ve only kissed,” Youngjae softly mutters.

“Oh, that.”

“Anyway, marriage is a really big thing,” Youngjae murmurs. “I really don’t want to think about it now.”

“Then think about it when you’re ready,” Daehyun advises like a father would. Youngjae wonders if their three-year is the reason he automatically feels smaller than Daehyun, more inexperienced and naive about the world. Perhaps Daehyun truly does act older than his age.

“What about you? Do you want to get married?”

“If I can, yeah.” Daehyun shrugs. “But like I’ve told you, it’s not easy for blood florists to be in a relationship.”

“You can,” Youngjae firmly states, coming closer to underscore his words. “You’ll find a nice girl—or guy—who doesn’t mind your history of blood flowering.”

“Hopefully.” Daehyun melts into a tiny smile, much to Youngjae’s confusion. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” He exhales lengthily. “I’m excited for our trip.”

Youngjae lights up with mirth. “Me too. I can’t wait to trek with you. The last time I tried trekking was at Taejongdae. It was raining so heavily. My friends and I tried but we couldn’t even walk because the wind was so strong.”

“You would try, even when the weather’s bad,” Daehyun deadpans. “You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself.”

“I want to hear the accents. I don’t think i’ve ever met someone from Jeju.” Youngjae plays with his fingers, a habit of his while he mulls. “What hotel should we stay at? We should get a room with a nice view.”

“We could stay at a guesthouse. Get in touch with the locals’ culture.”

“Mm, that’s a great idea.”

The hour winds by as Youngjae rambles about his hopes for the trip, excitedly punctuating the conversation and sometimes interrupting Daehyun in his fervour. Warmth brews in Youngjae’s stomach, a comfortable sensation like chicken soup in the wilting winter. Daehyun feels like home—of a comforting security like no other, of thick blankets and fireplaces, of rough hands and guttural laughs.

Youngjae missed talking to Daehyun like this. Into the night without a care, just two good friends rambling about everything under the sun.

“Oh, Hanbin introduced his girlfriend to me yesterday, while you were out,” Youngjae avidly shares. “Hayi. She’s really pretty.”

“She is. She looks like a doll. Reminds me of a Amaryllis.”

“It’s funny. She and Jiwon get along well, from what I saw, but she and Hanbin seem so awkward,” Youngjae laughs gently.

“It’s a cute relationship,” Daehyun remarks. His eyelids cascade like the vines of a wisteria tree, but he adamantly keeps his eyes open.

“Go to sleep,” Youngjae coaxes. He tries to stand but Daehyun loosely grasps his wrist.

“I’m not tired,” Daehyun wheezes. “We can talk some more.”

“You need to rest if you want to get better. Recover quickly so you can come back to the flower shop.”

Debating on his options, Daehyun eventually relents, letting go of Youngjae’s wrist. He sits up and the cloth drops from his forehead.

“Take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Stop being stupid and go to bed,” Youngjae firmly spouts. He wipes the sweat from Daehyun’s face and nudges him down.

Daehyun chuckles. “Wake me up if you want to go home. I’ll send you back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Youngjae’s voice softens to a delicate tone. “Don’t worry about me and go to sleep.”

In less than half a minute, Daehyun falls into a slumber, testifying to how tired he’d been. Youngjae feels bad for talking to him for so long; he’d been so enthusiastic that he didn’t consider that Daehyun was sick.

Youngjae watches as Daehyun’s breathing evens out, the sight somewhat serene and placating. Youngjae rests his head closer to Daehyun and examines his features. His usual tanned skin is gnawed away by a hollow paleness.

Youngjae lifts his thumb and brushes it over Daehyun’s cheek. He’s always thought that Daehyun was blessed with good looks, but he seems a lot more handsome than Youngjae remembers. 

Strong nose, puffy eyes, thick lips, sharp jawline. He has features Youngjae envies; his own features lack definition and he’s constantly called a baby face. 

Youngjae remains staring. He Daehyun’s cheek carefully, his throat oddly coiling. 

“Sweet dreams.” He leans down and chastely pecks Daehyun’s forehead.

Leaning back, Youngjae flutters his lashes, quite surprised by what he’d done. He shrugs it off and heads out to the living room. Grabbing a spare blanket, he curls up on the couch and falls asleep.

--

With a heavy breath, Daehyun pries open his eyes, blearily gazing around his room. Heat trickles down his skin as he sits up, wincing at the soreness of his back. Immediately, his head spins, pain pulsing in the back of his skull.

Daehyun grunts, wanting nothing more than to go back to bed. Still, he rises, skulking out his room. He finds Youngjae curled up on the couch, bundled up like a small child afraid of the thunder.

Daehyun paces over and kneels by Youngjae’s side, gazing at the sleeping boy. He cautiously raises his hand and hesitantly, he combs back Youngjae’s hair. He clicks his tongue at the perspiration he draws.

Daehyun pulls over the stand fan and gets a wet wipe, dabbing Youngjae’s face gingerly. He remains by Youngjae’s side and quietly observes the boy.

Daehyun lets out a ragged sigh, accustomed to the struggle of breathing. He inhales thinly so the flowers in his lungs don’t flutter, exhales faintly so the petals can’t utter the words he always want to say. With gentle fingers, he threads through Youngjae’s hair, counting to the pulse of his breaths instead.

He bites back a cough. A primrose petal spills from his lips and Daehyun picks it off.

Love is always likened to the peak of spring where the ambience brims with lightheartedness. The blooming pink characterises the shyness on a first date. The background green, so calm and assuring, is the unspoken gestures of love we miss everyday. 

Daehyun’s fingers trickle to Youngjae’s cheek. He feels, caresses, and eventually lets go.

Bruises like the colour of honeyworts, deepening as the winter worsens. The vibrant melancholic purple of pansies that thrives in the cold. He once told Youngjae that hellebores are known as christmas roses; they bloom in the darkest months of the year, so cold that most flowers struggle to stay alive. Youngjae mentioned that it was romantic for a rose to grow in such suffering.

He withdraws his hands fully and stands. Yet, the flowers continue stirring in his lungs, begging to be close. Daehyun fights back his cough, pressing his hand to his mouth like suffocating himself.

The primrose flowers spill like a broken faucet in place of his words. He kneels by Youngjae’s side once again. Gently, he presses their foreheads together. 

With heavy breaths, he nestles his nose against Youngjae’s cheeks. The petals fall onto Youngjae’s cheek and he picks them off with a sorry smile. 

“Sweet dreams.”