The day Johnny leaves, Taeyong’s flowers change to winter heath. This one he has to look up, and he snorts when he sees it represents solitude.

“Can we be a little more creative?” he asks his lungs as he closes out of the window. “This is supposed to be the most beautiful way to die.”

Quickly, life goes back to how it was before Johnny came home. Taeyong goes to Kun’s cafe once a week, visits Jaehyun once a week, has lunch with Mark and Yuta once a week, hangs out with Doyoung whenever he can spare the time. He works at the flower shop, and spends his free time reading or practicing his magic. He likes to take walks when the sun is setting, when it’s cooled down a little so he doesn’t feel gross by the time he gets home.

He cooks with his mom at night, spends time with his dad in the garden, and generally pretends like he’s gearing up for a long, happy life. It’s easy to pretend, most days, to fall into a rhythm and think it’s going to last for years to come. The days bleed into each other, orange sunrises and pink sunsets, and soon it’s been a week and a half.

Johnny texts him almost every day, usually early afternoon, because that’s nighttime for him. It’s small, quick updates right before he goes to bed, and Taeyong tries not to cherish them that much. Today, though, the text comes in the morning, and it makes Taeyong’s stomach drop.

I’m going out on a date tonight! Help me pick out what to wear.

Taeyong goes through the options numbly, sat crosslegged on the floor, back against the side of his bed. It’s not like he could get mad. Still, there’s some special brand of self-destruction to this, telling Johnny to wear the black button up he knows makes his arms and chest look good, asking who the date is with like he really is just Johnny’s best friend, and that’s all he wants to be.

His name’s Ten. I think you’d like him! I’ll send a pic later if it goes well.

Taeyong really hopes he doesn’t get a picture.

But he does, a couple hours later, when he’s taking a break in the back room of the shop. He scowls at the picture. This guy is cute, terribly so. He’s got the perfect button nose and big, pretty eyes, and a knockout smile. Johnny makes everybody look short, but Ten looks tiny , just adorable, and it just makes Taeyong feel worse. He tells Johnny to have fun and clicks his phone off, sliding it back into his pocket.

He tells himself he’s not envious. He tells himself he doesn’t care. He tells himself that he knew this was going to happen, that eventually Johnny would fall in love with somebody else and he would watch. And of course he would—he always pictured himself as Johnny’s best man, never as the person he was marrying. And when he’d had boyfriends and girlfriends in the past, it had never felt like this. And honestly, he’d kind of assumed that Johnny’s next relationship would happen after he died. Not now. Not when he had to see someone take the very place in Johnny’s life that would save him.

Taeyong doesn’t throw up any flowers that night. It’s weird; it’s almost like his body knows how much he’s hurting, and is trying to give him a break. Regardless, he’s grateful for the reprieve. Sleep doesn’t come easily; he watches the moon as it makes its slow journey across the sky through his skylight.

The next morning, he wakes to a text that Johnny’s secured a second date, and then his body finally catches up with his mind. He’s gasping for air, desperately trying to be quiet because he knows his parents are still downstairs. It’s different this time, though—he genuinely feels like he’s going to be sick, so he bolts to the bathroom and collapses to his knees in front of the toilet. It’s a good instinct, because vomit does come up, alongside wilted yellow petals. One gets stuck to his tongue, and he peels it off gingerly, holding it up to the light. It’s a rose petal, yellow for jealousy. He throws it in the toilet and flushes it all away.

After brushing his teeth, he makes his way downstairs, knowing full well his parents heard him.

“Are you feeling okay?” His mom crosses the room to him the instant he enters the kitchen, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I heard you throwing up.”

“I’m okay,” he mutters.

“You’re not relapsing, are you?” she frets. “We can always call a doctor.”

“I’m not bulimic again, Mom,” he says softly, going to pour himself a cup of tea. “I’m just… I don’t know. I must’ve eaten something weird last night. Woke up feeling nauseous.” He takes a sip of the tea. “I’ll be okay.”

“Well, why don’t you stay home for the morning?” his father suggests. “We’ll be okay at the shop. If you feel better after lunch, you can come in.”

Taeyong doesn’t love the idea of being alone at home, especially now, but he doesn’t push it. “Okay,” he agrees. “If you’re sure.”

“The only day we would need help is Valentine’s Day,” his mom says. “It’s okay.”

Once they leave, Taeyong wanders over to the piano. It’s been a while since anyone’s played it, and a layer of dust has settled over the cover. He lifts it carefully, and presses down on the middle C. The sound rings out in the empty house, reverberating against the walls. It’s a little off-key, but not too much, so he starts to play. 

When he was younger, he used to try and compose songs. His parents would’ve let him pursue music, too, if he wanted, but he never got very far with it. Still, it was nice now to be able to play, notes memorized long ago. It’s soothing, and the fresh horror of this morning slowly fades into the background.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and his heart hammers in his chest, worried it’s from Johnny again.

It’s not. It’s from Doyoung, and he’s asking if he wants to come over this afternoon. Taeyong says yes, puts his phone away, and makes some lunch for his parents.

His mom stops by around one. “Feel any better?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, lies. “But, um. Doyoung’s gonna come pick me up in about an hour. I hope that’s okay?”

“That’s just fine,” she says with a kind smile, packing the sandwiches Taeyong had made in a little bag. “Your father and I will manage.”

Doyoung appears in the driveway a little while after Taeyong’s mom leaves, and Taeyong hops into the passenger seat.

“Any particular occasion? Or you just miss me?” Taeyong asks cheekily.

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “I was bored, figured I’d ask if you also felt like some company.”

“I’m flattered,” Taeyong replies. “How’s work?”

“Annoying as always,” Doyoung says. “I didn’t think being an editor would be so strenuous, but here we are.”

“Well, we can destress any way you want. I’m game.”

“Will you fix my plants?” Doyoung asks.

“Do you only value me for my botanical skills?”

“No, . The plants are part of my stress. They’re dying, and I don’t know how to save them. You do. And in return, you don’t have to mope around your house all day.”

“Who said I was moping?”

“Anybody would mope if their best friend was gone,” Doyoung reasons. “And as I’m your next best bet, it’s my job to cheer you up.”

“Did my mom call you?”

“No, why would she call me? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Taeyong says quickly. “She just worries sometimes, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Doyoung says skeptically as they pull into his driveway. “Just proves my point about moping.”

“I’m not moping,” Taeyong argues, getting out of the car and following Doyoung up to his front door.

Doyoung shows him to his plants, and Taeyong clicks his tongue at them, quickly setting to work while Doyoung heats up some leftovers or something on the stove. Doyoung chats as they work. He talks about his job, and how his boss won’t listen to half of his ideas. “I guess it’s what I get for being only, like, one step above an intern. They just assume I don’t know what I’m doing.” He shrugs. “And maybe I don’t, but I can’t learn if all they tell me is ‘no’, full stop, you know?”

Taeyong nods along, offering noises of sympathy as he moves his way through the row of suffering plants on Doyoung’s windowsill. He finishes the very last one as Doyoung slides some food onto the table. 

“Oh wow!” Doyoung exclaims, going over to examine them. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”

“It’s just magic,” Taeyong says, a little embarrassed. “I’ve only been doing it my whole life. Is this for me?” He points to one of the plates, smiling as the spicy smell of the sauce hits his nostrils.

“Yeah,” Doyoung says happily. “Do you wanna eat outside? We can have a picnic in the backyard.”

“Sure.” Taeyong plucks up the plates as Doyoung hurries down the hall to get a blanket for them to sit on so they don’t get itchy. He lays it out and leaves Taeyong to smooth the edges, going back inside for drinks.

He comes out with two bottles of rosé, exteriors a little frosty from being in the fridge. “Let’s be crazy and just drink from the bottles,” he says when Taeyong opens his mouth quizzically. “Don’t wanna bother with glasses.”

“I don’t think you understand how much of a lightweight I am,” Taeyong says warily.

“I do understand,” Doyoung says, handing him a bottle and setting to work on opening his. “I’m just equipped to handle it.”

They finish their dinner quickly, and then sit back, taking sips of the wine, enjoying the pretty golden light of the early evening and the drop in temperature it brings. They get increasingly tipsy (or, in Taeyong’s case, drunk), laughing boisterously for no one to hear except the fireflies.

Taeyong’s phone buzzes in rapid succession from where he threw it at the edge of the blanket. He glances over at it hazily, but it’s out of reach, and he knows it’s from Johnny… and he’s just having such a good time. Why ruin it?

“Are you gonna get that?” Doyoung asks, squinting as the phone vibrates again. 

“It’s probably just Johnny,” Taeyong says, shrugging and taking another sip of his wine.

“‘Just Johnny’?” Doyoung repeats. “ Just ? Just your best friend who’s an ocean away?”

“Sorry, let me rephrase.” Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Just Johnny talking about the guy he’s seeing. He’s probably asking what to wear again. It’s like your boss—it’s not like he listens to my suggestions anyway. He’ll figure it out. I don’t want to drop everything every time I get a text from him. I’m here with you, so I’ll be here with you, you know?”

Doyoung gives him a dubious look. “Okay,” he says slowly. “But that was, like, seven texts.” 

“He probably made a typo.” Taeyong looks off at the trees. “If he really needs something, he’ll call.” 

He knows he’s being weird; it’s not like him to be aloof and uncaring, but Doyoung doesn’t press, and Taeyong’s phone doesn’t ring again. 

The sun is really setting now, dipping behind the tree line, and the bugs have come out, so they gather themselves up, unsteady on their feet, and head inside. Doyoung puts on some god-awful chick flick for them to watch as they finish their wine. Taeyong can barely focus his eyes as they stumble down the hall to Doyoung’s bedroom, empty bottles left on the coffee table for their future selves to worry about.

His shower sobers him a little, and he settles back onto the futon Doyoung had set up, remembering his phone suddenly now that he was alone, with Doyoung in the shower. He clicks it on and taps on his messages. They’re from Johnny, and they’re mostly about his next date with Ten.

You busy? I need some advice.

Is it too early to invite ten back to my place? We’re gonna do a movie 

and like I don’t have any expectations about it but you never know

Also what if he does

So should I do it

Yong?

I’m gonna invite him to mine, it.

Taeyong sighs and types back a quick reply.

Sorry, I’m at Doyoung’s. We were outside, didn’t have my phone. Good luck tonight! 

It raises a lump in his throat—the tears kind, luckily, not the flower kind, and Taeyong swallows it back down, setting his phone aside. The water turns off and Taeyong squeezes his eyes shut immediately. He doesn’t want to talk to anybody anymore tonight, so he pretends to be asleep when Doyoung comes back into the room. The room spins a little beneath him, and now the lump has become more the insistent pulse of nausea, but sleep finds Taeyong easily anyway. He doesn’t even remember Doyoung turning off the nightlight.