16

“ing hell, Mark!” Jackson screams as Mark shivers like a withered flower in the middle of a storm, pitiful and dying. “Who is it?”

“W-what?”

“Whom are you in love with?” Jackson clears up and Mark freezes, even the flowers inside stop moving, he just… breathes in, and out. “WHO IS IT, MARK?!" Jackson barks, stomping threateningly. “Who is your ing unrequited love that made you grow ing flowers inside?!”

Mark blinks once, twice… slowly, trying to understand. How does Jackson know? 

“For ’s sake, Mark, speak!”

Mark recoils, startled and scared, but that works to shake him from his stupor and stop gaping at Jackson.

“H-how do you…?” Mark begins to ask, but he chokes on another petal that only seems to make Jackson more infuriated.

“Who. Is. It?” Jackson pushes, looking more severe than Mark’s ever seen him.

The older boy has to look away, pulling the blanket around his shoulders to protect himself. This wasn’t the plan, Mark wasn’t going to confess until he was about to die, but he probably wasn’t going to do it even then because Jackson wouldn’t care if he was dying. The old Jackson would’ve come to say goodbye.

Mark still can’t understand why Jackson changed just with him.

“It’s…” Make begins, trembling and incapable of meeting Jackson’s eyes. “It’s... you.”

Mark shuts his eyes tighter, holding his breath, waiting for Jackson’s reaction, something Mark cannot predict. Old Jackson would’ve joked, saying obviously Mark is in love with him because who couldn’t he? And in his joking, he would’ve comforted Mark and asked him to please, save himself because he couldn’t love him like that. Mark has no clue how this Jackson will react.

Laughter. 

Jackson laughs, sardonically, still angry and it cuts Mark so deep he feels like he’ll bleed out right there. The sound is like daggers cutting through his flesh.

“That’s ing rich,” Jackson