It started out as a simple cold. His sinuses acting up as the seasons began to change, the temperature dropping from tepid to freezing, chilling him to the bones like it always did – he was born with a horribly weak immune system anyway so he ignored it. Ignored the slight itch he began to experience at the back of his throat, never really disappearing no matter how much honey water his annoying best friends forced down his oesophagus.

He still kept silent about it, about the small coughs he would force out even though his cold was gone and the surrounding temperature started to warm up again.

It was just a bad cough, maybe an infection but it didn’t seem like it. He never enjoyed the unnerving visits to the clinic anyway so he ignored it. He would rather chug down the honey water.

*****

Months went by and the itch was still there, ever lingering, it felt like he had sandpaper lining his trachea. He’d tried everything, pills, tonics, herbal medication even those weird throat sprays that guaranteed instant relief – liars – because he felt no relief, not in the slightest. Not as he watched his best friends cuddle together while he silently suffered. Not while he felt like the third wheel whenever they were together and that seemingly became all the time since they practically live  under the same roof.

He’d kept quiet most of the time since it felt like he would throw up if he did open his mouth.

Everything was fine, he could live with his best friends liking each other, as long as neither knew the deep, dark feelings he kept locked up inside himself. He could live with the constant itch at the back of his throat, he thought he could until one day he found he was coughing so bad his throat roared in agony and not even honey water could satiate it. It was burning like he’d swallowed molten lava.

The burn started when he saw her place a kiss on his cheek, a light peck but it snapped a heartstring in his already fragile heart. Why was she doing this to him? Why were they doing this to him?

Why? Why? Why?

He asked himself as he fled to the bathroom, leaving behind them both as they cuddled on the couch, seemingly oblivious towards him as he locked the door and emptied the contents of his stomach, gripping the edges of the bowl for support. The rush of fluids and chunks leaving a horrid aftertaste which he realised had a hint of a metallic taste to it.

It was to his horror as he stared into the porcelain bowl, as the crimson colour was stark against the white bowl.

Blood

His hand went up to clasp his mouth, unable to believe the contents he spewed out as he noticed the chunks were not actual food chunks but solid matter, almost paper thin and in the shape of petals. His legs seemed to betray him as they lost their strength, causing him to slump onto the cool marble floor, knocking his knees on the door which emitted a dull thud. The pain in his knees were barely registered by his brain not as he stared in disbelief. He hoped they hadn’t heard the noise or him as he let out a strangled sob behind the frail fingers around his blood-stained lips.

Warm tears streaked down his face as he bit hard into his hand in attempts muffle the horrifying sounds that threatened to escape his battered throat.

The taste of iron was still strong on his lips even as someone knocked on the door gently before a soft, feminine voice spoke out.

“Taekwoon, are you alright?”

He inhaled deeply, trying to ease his heart rate which palpitated at an irregularly fast tempo. Willed his throat to swallow back the petals that silently begged to be release out.

“Taekwoon, you feeling alright in there? Open the door. We heard a noise.”

This voice was deeper, but still sweet to the ears.

Hakyeon.

 He held back another sob.

No. They couldn’t know about this. If they saw him this way – a bloody mess – his secret would be out in the open and he wanted his secret to remain just as it was – a secret.

“I’m alright,”

He rasped, voice hoarse and sounded painful. It was painful as tears rolled down his cheeks, replacing the streaks of dried ones.