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Youngjae's stomach turns uncomfortably and shivers shoot up his spine when Jaebum’s harsh gaze is trained to him, eyes piercing as if it were burning right through him. He seems to scowl at first but his features soften, the only thing that remains cold and harsh are his eyes.His heartbeat picks up when Jaebum turns back around to talk to Jinyoung, hands laced together lightly under the table. Their fingers dance as they find a comfortable position, flitting over each other with the barest of touches.Youngjae almost coughs right then and there, doubling over in pain, his chest feeling compressed. Petals jump in his throat, threatening to spill if he opens his mouth so he keeps it shut, the petals tickling his tongue.The pressure builds in his stomach and he comes so close to letting the petals spill so he runs out of the class, ignoring the harsh voice of his teacher. He races down the halls to the closest washroom, barely able to lock it before he collapses on his knees, coughing up dozens of tiny petals, letting them scatter all over the bathroom floor.He lets out a small sob, face hidden in his arms. He hates it. He hates how much it hurts to cough up flower petals, hates how it's just another blunt way of saying he's not loved back. He hates how it’s there whenever he even thinks about Jaebum but he doesn't want them gone, because having them gone would mean he'd stop loving Jaebum and to him that was worse.He'd rather endure the pain that followed seeing Jaebum hold hands or kiss with Jinyoung than he would feel empty, a vast abyss as if someone had ripped out a part of him.He picks up one of the petals with a shaky hand, bringing it closer. The mocking purple petal of an anemone stares him in the face and he can't help but shudder. He looks around and sees the petals of two-toned carnations and yarrows joining the anemone on the floor and he quickly moves to sweep them up, flushing them down the toilet.He walks back into class, head bowed, ears red and he can feel the gaze of all seventeen students trained on him as well as the teacher boring holes through him.As he walks up to his seat he brushes past Jaebum’s arm, almost coughing again but he forces it down and pulls a slightly sour face.He stumbles back to his seat and sits back down weakly and Jackson rubs his back, casting a dirty look at Jaebum who just turns to give Jinyoung a kiss. “I’m going to cut his dick off.” He whispers.Youngjae just shakes his head and sighs knowing there's no point in trying to talk sense into Jackson, opening his notebook (admittedly more of a sketchbook) and clicks his pen, doodling again to keep his focus off of Jaebum.These flowers always had a horrible way of rooting themselves in Youngjae and never going away. The first time was in the sixth grade when he'd fallen fast and hard for an eighth grader, he'd had purple crocus’ pop up then. The second time was in elementary when he'd started to admire Mark. Back then he'd had morning glories coughed up. Rhe third time was near the end of high school and lavender had made an appearance along with forget-me-nots when he'd fallen hard for Jinyoung.Now it was Jaebum and the flowers this time seemed scathing, each representing something that seemed to mock him. The anemone ment ‘forsaken’ as Youngjae had come to learn, the yarrows were for love and the two-toned carnations ment ‘I can't be with you’.There was something about these flowers that were taunting, the flowers meanings were upsetting but Youngjae knew there was only two real ways out of this and he would rather die than break Jinyoung’s heart. He still found a small part of him caring for the older boy. But every small, mocking touch between them as they casted short glances back at Youngjae made him want to throw up more than just bile and flower petals, like maybe his insides.His chest starts to feel taunt again but he pushes it down and looks over at Jackson, who's still staring daggers through Jaebum’s head. He rolls his eyes and goes back to his notebook.Youngjae barely makes it out of the class alive and he walks slowly down the halls, feet dragging. His head hurts and he just wants to lie down.As much as he wants Jaebum to love him he knows he won't, not when he has someone as amazing as Jinyoung. because who would give up Jinyoung for him. He's just simple old Choi Youngjae, the soft-hearted idiot who falls in love too fast, too hard, too often.Youngjae doesn't even make it to his bed, collapsing onto his knees in front of it, sobbing and coughing up petals. Just like last night. And the night before and the night before. Honestly, it's getting almost ridiculous at this point.The next day he barely manages to drag himself out of bed, feeling empty and worthless. The class seems to drag by and he feels like he's drowning in petals as they claw their way up his throat.Jackson is by his side the whole day, classes or not. He cleans up after Youngjae, throwing out all the flowers that Youngjae coughed up, which is a lot because he hasn't stopped hacking them up.Eventually Jackson has to leave, having promised to meet Mark, and Youngjae lies in his bed alone, crying and coughing into a garbage bag. He gets up weakly and wanders to the kitchen, opening a drawer.Thoughts fly through his mind, too fast to focus on one as he draws a knife from the drawer. He ends up kneeled in front of his bed, hands on his thighs as he looks at the small knife in front of him. He doesn't know how he got there.‘This is it,’ he thinks, ‘the only way to make it stop. Jaebum would never love me. I tried to stick it out but it hurts too much.’He takes a deep breath and slowly wraps his hand around the hilt, fingers holding on tight. His fingers wiggle around a bit, getting a feel for the knife. Eventually he closes his eyes and brings the blade to his mouth, placing a soft kiss to the flat side. A whispered "goodbye" leaves his lips.Slowly, he brings it down, edge pressing lightly into his wrist. He takes a deep breath, steadying his shaky hand. He counts to three before closing his eyes and dragging the blade up his forearm as fast as he can. The knife flatters to the floor and he gasps, grabbing at his wrist. He's cut so deep he can swear he sees bone and he's losing blood fast.He hears a knock on the door and panics, hard swaying and unfocused. He says "come in” as loud as he can before he falls to the ground, shaking. Immediately, he regrets it. Nothing good will come of this but he's stuck, the edges of his vision blurring.Only a few small petals fall out, much less than expected but he fails to notice. The door opens and the last thing he sees is Jaebum and Jinyoung’s horrified faces before everything goes black."Oh my god," Jinyoung runs in and falls to his knees immediately, taking off his scarf and wrapping it around Youngjae’s neck, trying in vain to stop the blood.Jaebum stands, shaking. His lips are quivering and his knees are weak. He takes a step back, breathing heavy. He’d come with Jinyoung, the younger having had convinced him to talk to Youngjae but here the boy was, dead at his feet and bleeding all over his wooden floor."Wait. are those…..hyacinth petals?” Jaebum takes a careful step forward. “Blue and yellow."
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Jaebum stands staring at the tombstone in front of him, Jinyoung crying into his shirt. The male is barely visible, only his hair peeks out in weird places. Jinyoung's hair is unkempt and ruffled. His own hair is soaked from the previous onslaught of rain and so are his clothes but he's donned his jacket to the shaking form of the younger, worried he'll catch a cold. His arms bring Jinyoung closer, hand patting and smoothing down his hair. He doesn't really know what else to do. His lips are pulled taunt and his hands fist around his jacket that hangs from Jinyoung's shoulders. One or two tears make it's way down his face. Jinyoung had confided in him the day Youngjae had died. He had said he liked the other boy too. Said Youngjae used to have petals escaping him for him. Jinyoung was sure the petals they'd seen that day were because he'd fallen for another boy. He just didn't know that boy was standing with him in the room, holding onto his hand so tight it seemed like a lifeline. He didnt know that same boy had pushed Youngjae away and ripped up his confession letter in front of the sobbing younger, who had fallen to the floor, and thrown it out. But jaebum did. And it was eating him up inside. And maybe it was because of him, no, it was definitely because of him, that the youngest of them had had to go by his own hands to stop the pain. The pain he had caused him without a second thought.It had only clicked for Jaebum a few days after, but he hadn't had the heart to tell Jinyoung that the boy he loved had made the other boy he loved leave so fast, so suddenly, so terribly. So instead he greaves in silence with him. Youngjae's tombstone sat prettily on top of a hill in the cemetary, a single orchid tree alongside it. The scene was almost serene. It mocked Youngjae's cruel death. The few days after Youngjae's death had been long but blurry, not a single memory sticking to him for longer than a few moments. The only things he remembered vividly were Youngjae's spasming body on the floor, Jackson yelling at him while crying, trying weakly to punch him and the funeral. Everything seemed surreal, as if Youngjae would pop out of the ground, smiling and laughing and saying it was all a joke. He wasnt dead. But he very much was. Jaebum knew, but he couldn't help but hold out hope. And it had taken four years for jaebum to stop blaming himself. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn't entirely his fault no matter what he wanted to think not everything was because of him. Youngjae hadn't died only because of him. It took five years to come clean to Jinyoung, to tell the younger that Youngjae had tried confessing to him. Twice, even. But that he had turned him down, rather harshly the second time. Jinyoung had asked to see the letters but Jaebum hadnt kept them. And it took seven years to stop visiting Youngjae's grave every other day, Jinyoung in hand, driving for fifteen minutes then hiking for another five and standing on the hill as snow, leaves and rain fell on them. In the seven years, Jinyoung had broken off from Jaebum, asking for some time alone. The older had agreed and Jinyoung had told him he'd be back when he was okay. After he'd had time to process everything that had happened the last couple of years. Yesterday, Jinyoung had come back to Seoul after two and a half years and had asked, almost begged, Jaebum to take him to Youngjae's grave. So the two stood, after Jinyoung had placed down a bouquet of flowers and a letter, the younger crying into Jaebum's chest, the latter still numb to Youngjae's death. Three years after Jinyoung came back, Jaebum visited the grave on his own, letter in hand. It was rather thick as he had had a lot to say. He had finally realized that the bubbling feeling in his chest the last few days before Youngjae had died wasnt annoyance or hatred but him starting to enjoy the younger's company. Liking his pretty smile, his laugh and way he moved his hands when he talked about something he was passionate about, how he'd playfully punch someone, how he was always radiating warmth. The doodles he drew in his notebook instead of notes, his voice when he sang, how it stood out from everyone else. How much he loved music, how you could see how much he cared about Jackson, how much he worried for the people he loved, how he wore his heart on his sleeve. He had fallen in love with how you could read Youngjae, how he always had his emotions and thoughts on display for the world to see, unashamed.Jaebum had been a fool. He had realized he loved Youngjae back ten years too late. If he had been ten years quicker who knew how they could have fit themselves into each other's lives.Maybe Youngjae would still be here, pursing his dream of being a singer. Maybe the three would be together happily, living with each other. Maybe Jinyoung wouldnt have left for nearly three years, maybe Jaebum wouldn't be crying in front of his grave even after ten years, on his knees as if he were pleading for forgiveness, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Just maybe he would still be here.