Work Text:
Torpe: (n) a man who is desperately in love with a woman, but cannot admit his feelings or approach her
He stumbled into the small bathroom as his thoughts flickered towards your refined form.
Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe; his throat was filled and the bitter taste of iron flooded his mouth, a thin layer of blood coating his tongue. Keeling over, he watched scarlet stained petals flop out of his mouth dazedly as he wheezed, wanting nothing more than to claw his pathetic lungs out of his chest. He could feel them budding beneath his ribs, and he wished he could deny the reason behind it because every time his train of thought wandered towards your alluring features the disease that plagued him attacked.
Sometimes the petals wouldn’t stop for hours, leaving goopy meshes of rosy pink and deep crimson piled up on the floor, consequentially leaving him craving for more to support himself. It was truly no wonder Krul was getting suspicious.
Every time his heart ached for your innocent grin, his lungs pulsed, a friendly reminder that all his unrequited love would bring him was pain.
His brain urged him to at least talk to you, slowly peak your interest, but the consequences were too grave, he couldn’t risk losing control and harming you… anyone.
Your smooth, rhythmic name left his stained lips like a comforting prayer as he hacked up each petal, the lightheadedness overwhelming him. The world swayed, the gibigianna around him in the dimly lit bathroom fading like a final movie scene until his failing equilibrium caused his legs to collapse from under him.
“Mika? Mika?” he was convinced that the lulling voice was coming from his dreams, but when his optics flicked open again, the proof that you weren’t imaginary was right before his eyes.