V- Mayflower

It hurts to see, to stand there and witness it, unable to help, unable to make it stop. He sighs, defeated, and watches silently how Jinwoo wipes the edges of his lips, soft petals escaping between grinned teeth: white and soft purple mayflowers are growing inside his heart, beating through his blood, taking away the breath that he holds until the corollas are flooding his chest and he coughs them, puking them beautifully, gracefully as if it didn’t mean anything – but it does, he knows it; it hurts.

It is fascinating in a way he can't describe but it's also painful, sad, harrowing; it breaks him as much as it is shattering Jinwoo. It's the meaning it carries behind, the significant bits that are missing and that flowers take over, filling these spaces with roots and leaves and petals that will climb his throat and reach his mouth; it’s how much Jinwoo is suffering, how little he can do to lift the weight of an unrequited love he wasn't aware of until he has seen him throwing up flowers in the sink softly, staying still and contemplating them falling, swirling in slow motion until landing on his feet.

There is something pleasant about seeing his hyung coughing petals. He should be scared of the implications it has but, instead, he feels captivated; maybe it's because Jinwoo looks so vulnerable and melancholic, the embodiment of a lonely autumn morning; there is a layer of palling golden hues covering his features when he bends over the sink, eyes casting sparkles that ignites exploding fireworks, flowers that felt from his eyes like tears, wetting his cheeks and tasting like salt, his lips parted and spilling tasteless flowers that bath the room, painting it with smooth colours of an early spring that contrasts with the fall that grows from his orbs, the start of a new season that will swing sunshine and the perfume of flowers he doesn't know. It's kind of aesthetic, inspiring. It is the solitude with which he does so, dancing around, skittering to the bathroom all alone, closing the door gently but not enough to cover the sounds that wake him at night.

He writes a song about it. He writes thousand, each one more beautiful than the other, like the passing days and the flowers that come though Jinwoo and that bloom inside his chest – and cover the floor, spreading its aroma to all the rooms, impregnating his sense with a powerful fragrance that keeps him motivated (and he feels ruthless  from taking inspiration from Jinwoo’s sickness, for turning his wounds and pain into something he can sing, something that matches his fingers on the guitar’s strings; it feels wrong but he can’t stop his hands from composing sheets of music, his brain from converting each petal evading the cage of teeth into another meaningful song, deep and soulful able to swat his heart, but the bugging feeling at the end of his mind doesn’t budge, doesn’t go away).

Mayflowers have ingrained inside his ribs, its kernels splaying all around, blooming into his heart and lungs and settling their roots from his kidneys, extended all over the place, entangled with veins and bones, crushing and obtruding but Jinwoo lives another day and Seungyoon beams at him, delighted to see him, because the thought of losing him over a loveless illness is way too hard, is too much to handle and he doesn’t want to face a day without him by his side – as egoistic as it might be, he wants Jinwoo to endure this pain, whatever it takes he is ready to give it up.

Only a fool wouldn’t love Jinwoo, he thinks, whilst spying on him, seeing the way his flesh is so pale, just the same shade as the petals that he pukes and that swarm around like butterflies breaking free from a cage of bleeding tissues and beating veins containing their intoxicating aroma. Only a fool wouldn’t fall for him, Seungyoon finds himself believing, bemused; Jinwoo is lovely, sweet and caring and thoughtful. He might appear naïve and innocent – and there is that part of him that is it – but he can be so focused, so concentrated, working hard to reach all of his goals – and, until now, he has accomplished them all, never giving up, fulfilling his dreams and ambitions. It turns up that Kim Jinhwan is a fool, the one shattering Jinwoo’s heart, seeding his blood with anemones; white and pink and purple.  

He should do something to help him, to lift the weight of a love that can’t be reciprocated but, instead, he observes him further, deeper, following wordlessly all his moves. In Jinwoo there is nothing new but how abysmal is his love for Jinhwan, for how long he has loved him – since these past days that feel like memories, dreams made up of stress and tears and infinite hours in practise rooms without a name.  He is surprised by the fathomlessness of Jinwoo’s feelings, he has never been aware of this part of him, of a heart that is growing bigger in front of his mesmerized eyes, wonderful, filled with warmth and wonder and a name that is what makes it trembles, shake with the force of it significant (and his cheeks tint red).

Seungyoon stars noticing all these small things that he does and he has never truly appreciated – he is always the first to be ready, he takes his time to check on them regularly even when he conceals his worried with jokes and other excuses that now Seungyoon can see through, how soft his skin is, his eyes gleaming with a smile parting his lips, the way he hides the fact that he is dying, covering coughs and pretending to be ok for them not to suffer, for them not to know. Jinwoo has a gentle soul, always caring for others more than about himself and he should appreciate him more (and he does, a little more every passing day, every morning that Jinwoo appears in front of him, messy hair and smooth flesh, whitening under the light that slides from the window, when he catches a glimpse of flowers trapped inside pockets that smell like spring; he does it too, falling for him, little by little).

He rushes by his side and sneaks a hand around his shoulders, pressing him closer, walking with him next to his side, smiling with the sun caressing his face, turning his eyes into golden ashes and Seungyoon captures the image right into his heart, memorizing all the details of his profile – his perfect nose, his round, expressive, alive, eyes, his heart-shaped lips tinted in blemish, the form of the dimples that a smile creates and the way shadows are cast under his eyelids, large and batting eyelashes like wings of an insect. He is flawless, alluring, captivating – he can’t understand how Kim Jinhwan isn’t in love with him the way he is when Jinwoo isn’t even trying to, he isn’t displaying his affection or preference toward Seungyoon, much to his dismay but, still, he has become smitten, enamoured.

“It must be love” he mutters when he is fully aware of the way his heart swings, “it is love and nothing else”. He misses Jinwoo in a way that makes him shatters, in a way that breaks his expectations and resistance, all his defences – he gives them away, falling deeply, unbothered.

He touches him gently, smoothly, reassuringly. He wants to reach his dreams, to promise him all his tomorrows, that he will be ok – only if he forgets the pieces of his heart that belongs to someone else and that are watering all the flowers he will puke later on –, Seungyoon wants to be the one but he is wary, he has seen it, the way that petals felt like autumn leaves, harmonically but painfully. It makes his chest dull, inwardly aching, itching to run into him but worried about the consequences of revealing the truth – which is that Seungyoon is in love with him, that Jinwoo carries his heart with him and always will; there is no other way for him to be.

He is so passionate about Jinwoo that he feels sick, but when he coughs – forcing it down his throat – nothing comes up and he is so disappointed; he loves him enough and he is utterly sure that his sentiments aren’t corresponded, that Jinwoo is still in love with someone else so, why isn’t he suffering from the same illness as him? Why isn’t the Hanahaki disease affecting him? He wonders but he finds no answer to his claims – he looks it up on the internet but Naver only provides him more questions.

It has been more than a year since the first time he has caught Jinwoo throwing up soft petals, more than a year since he has been trapped into Kim Jinwoo – and he still has to figure it up how to let go before it is too late for him too.

The sweet essence of flowers barely impregnate now a single room, but he still notices the little pieces, bits of broken anemones, painted in creamy colours, so soft, so beautiful – his heart skips a beat and he misses it deathly, how enthralled he was whenever he stalked Jinwoo in the bathroom, how the flowers felt, swirling, coated in light, their hues contrasting under the ceiling and the ground where they laid, forgotten. He misses the way he felt then, free of chains that laced him to Jinwoo in an irrevocable fashion. He misses seeing him without a tumbling heart.

Jinwoo stares at him, smiling. Seungyoon wants to die; he is irremissibly under his spell, enchanted, dazzled – like in a dream and he doesn’t want to wake up. Instead, Jinwoo’s lips brush his and, like an old story, he springs, surprised, captivated. It tastes like something wonderful, like miracles and spring. Seungyoon blinks, confused, stiffen, aware. Jinwoo chuckles while admiring him, candidly; it’s more than precious, it’s more than songs or poems can express; it’s only Jinwoo and his magic, the way he makes him feel, turning his world outside down, making it shake.

“Seungyoon-ah, I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking” he explains, simple, direct. “I like you. And you like me.” The sky is blue and Seungyoon’s mind flies away, miles per hour, spinning and drooling, trying to understand this simple stamen.

“What?” he stutters, more confused than before; in his lips dwells the flavour of his kiss – it doesn’t taste like mayflowers, there isn’t a single trace of them, not a lonely remembrance; it’s only Jinwoo, clear and open and sincere. “What about Jinhwan?” he wonders, still in awe.

“He is someone I loved deeply, but not anymore – not more than I love Minho or Seunghoon,” he clarifies, smirking, avoiding his name and he thinks he knows what is coming next “I like you, a lot. Since you started becoming closer, my heart changed. Your constant presence helped me to forget. In a way, you saved me. The flowers blooming into me have long dried and died”.

He holds his hands, pressing their palms together, tracing circles into Seungyoon’s wrist, reassuringly slow, carefully, his eyes locked and he can read all the love condensed in his simmering orbs, a love that he wasn’t able to see before, too caught up into pitying himself, into envying someone else; he loves him, too, just the same as he loves him; intently, deeply, forever.

When he kisses him again he makes sure to take away any remaining bit of mayflowers that might be still lingering on his lips, until they taste like him, like Seungyoon.