Blue Rose

They are coloured in the same way as his tattoo and he contemplates them,  heaped gently in his palm, beautifully. He is mesmerized, staring at it, wondering why, wondering if, asking himself how his feelings have overwhelmed to the point to take away the air of his chest, replacing the empty hollow bits with the blooming hues of an impossible blue that is coming through his throat, swirling in between his tongue and the tip of his lips.

It’s not as if he has ever held many expectations, he knows well enough that his affection towards him, as flooding as it is, isn’t reciprocated. He has seen the way he looks at him, how only friendship, brotherhood, bright them up like a flame in the dark pitch of the night, burning, scorching his skin, the place that holds all his unrequired love, infinite and unstoppable; he has drawn it under his flesh in cerulean shades that have taken the form of a rose, blue like the sky, blue like the meaning of the petals that are falling from his mouth to the ground, blue like the sad song that lulls him to sleep when he is thinking about him.

Minho forces a smile and fakes it happily, pretending that everything is alright – Jinwoo doesn’t ask but hugs him tight late that night, the soft essence of blue roses surrounding him, his hands are gentle and reassuring and he speaks his heart out, telling him that he will be always by his side, whatever path he wants to walk. He can’t be more thankful for having him. He cries, sleeping next to him, his head on his shoulder and petals floating around, falling like shooting stars.

Seungyoon looks at him, curious, reading the lyrics he is working on. If he can’t get rid of the root of his problem, the one that is entangled between his ribs, making it hard to breathe, then he will take it away in any other way – he has written five songs about him already but hasn’t found the courage to tell him, to put the words into a melody that can make justice to his undying sentiments towards him.

“You should stop reading those mangas” he jokes, his finger following the character displayed, smirking. “Fans will get the wrong idea; been in love doesn’t hurt.” He wants to punch him. He wants to loathe him so much.

How could he know? Loving him is what will kill him because erasing his feelings feels impossible, unbearable. That what he told Jinwoo many moons ago when the petals were fresh and smooth, tasteless. Now they are bathed in red, tattering between his teeth, petals and thorns and rots and leaves, the whole thing is coming up in painful waves of coughs and blood. The first cut didn’t hurt enough but his love is steadfast, constant, looking for what has left behind, for any crump of affection, even if it’s not what he needs; this time he doesn’t have a happy second chance, it’s all or nothing and, if he is going to die he will dive into him as much as possible without hurting him as he is hurting him; he is not going to give up yet, not while air is still gathering inside his lungs, not while he is sinking more and more, deeper and deeper into Kang Seungyoon.

He can’t rap anymore. He stays in and lets Jinwoo take care of him, pity filling his infinite eyes and he hopes that he could fall for him, Jinwoo is easy to love – and he is sure he would love him back and then he wouldn’t be growing roses that are scratching from inside, gashing the walls of his chest when he takes the air in. It was so simple before when all he had inside was fluttering butterflies, now they have nestled their seeds, planting them in his blood, nourished with his pain, with all the times that Seungyoon hasn’t looked at him quite in the way he wants his look to be. They have been watered with uncountable tears, crushed hard until they have settled rots deep inside his organs and now it’s too late to remove them all, too dangerous. Now all that is left for him is to die in a cloud of fluff roses the same colour of the one he has engraved on his skin.

He hates the way he smiles, with all his might, eyes wrinkling beautifully, all the joy in the universe. He hates hearing him laugh, the sound makes him sick, twisting what it means. He hates the way he speaks, soft and tender, a voice that is as smooth as his favourite coffee, warm and caring, reassuring in his own serenity; it’s clear, it’s clean, it’s something he has been forced to abhor. He hates hating it, he loathes him for having to but he is trying, he is obligating himself to perish his feelings, replacing love with hate and it’s hard, it’s pushing what it is his dearest out and he can’t, he can’t do it, he can’t stop loving him, he can’t stop wanting to hear him, all the worlds and songs he gives away so easily, leaving him breathless, heartbroken, awestruck in the magic that is Seungyoon.

It has come to a halt, eventually moving on, eventually settling into something else, he thinks, breathing in calmly, Jinwoo smiling at him, encouragingly. He breaths again and the aftertaste comes as nothing. He smiles too. He has been enclosed in his room, covered in blue and red for more weeks than he can remember, Jinwoo the only one allowed in, the only one allowed to care, to stay up all night counting all the petals he had thrown – up to a hundred and back to the start again.

His heart trembles, awaiting, shacked; after so long he is visiting him – the alibi stings in his lips but it’s necessary to keep his feelings afloat. Seungyoon runs to him, hugging him tight and, under his embrace, he falls again, all the affection blooming once more, all the love he thought has gone, coming back. He is helpless, kept tight inside Seungyoon’s arms.

“I missed you too much, Minho” he whispers, his heart on his sleeve, he can touch his sincerity, the honesty that paints his words. He smiles the way he hates the most, in that way that makes he think things that are improbable, uncertain, things that are not real – only in his dreams where he permits all his flickering feelings to come true.  He will never let this go even if he is unable to tell him, but this Seungyoon, the one holding him, it’s a bit different, he speaks as if he cares more than what he should – more than a friend, a leader and Minho remembers all the messages he has sent him during his convalescence, all the hopes flaming due to it, all the dreams about kissing him only because he has told him something (something that made him reach the stars). “I missed you like crazy. Minho, please, don’t do ever do this to me again” now his voice is trembling and there is something wetting his skin, his hands are on his back, but his fists are grabbing his shirt desperately. He weeps and Minho wants to believe. He wants to believe that his life is about to turn around, that he is about to cough and to prove to him what he has been trying to hide. He doesn’t. Instead, Seungyoon kisses him, hard and passionate and with glossy, salty lips. He kisses him back, fingers roaming over Seungyoon’s neck; his skin is as smooth there as he has always pictured.

“I nearly die for you” he confesses, later on, hours that feels like nothing, hours of kissing and touching and holding hands and stares. Seungyoon only nods at it.

“I know, Jinwoo hyung told me”.