Chapter Text
Remus thought that flowers were so-so.
He didn’t have anything in particular against them, he just didn’t see the merit in them. He didn’t see why they were such a big deal. People gave flowers to symbolize love, congratulations, excitement. What was the point? They grew, the world oohed at their pretty colors, they died. Then, the cycle repeated. Nothing special there.
Now flowers coating the inside of your throat? Flowers twisting the air from your lungs, the life from your body? Leaves constricting your airway, thorns tearing your insides to shreds in a desperate attempt to remind you that you could feel anything for someone? Now that was cool. He could fuck with that.
Unfortunately, it was a lot more fun in principle than in practice. Who'd've thunk it?
It was blue thistle. Of course it was thistle. He wouldn’t have expected anything else. That didn’t make it hurt any less. As soon as Remus saw the first flash of blue, throat burning with the exertion it had taken him to hack it up, a twisted sort of smile had flashed across his face. He couldn’t help himself. It was just so funny.
It was so funny because of course it was thistle. What else should he have expected?
The flowers themselves didn’t hurt half as much as the stems did. They tore his throat raw and red and bloody, and they tasted like sweat and dirt and that same coppery tang that accompanied an open wound if you were to lick it.
It had been happening for years, something that Remus would never admit but he knew was true. Janus had been with him through all of it, eyes clouded with worries his lips would never spill and mouth set and determined, conjuring him a bucket when things got really bad and cleaning up the bloodied and broken flower stems that seemed to coat his floor whenever he came to Remus’ room. He was there whether Remus wanted him to be or not, and that meant more than Remus would ever say.
Besides, he didn’t have the heart to clean them up himself.
Ironic, seeing as none of them technically had hearts. They were figments of Thomas’ imagination, none of them should have hearts. None of them should experience romantic attraction either, but that theory clearly didn’t pan out or he wouldn’t be where he was now.
Right now, Remus was bent over himself on his bed, hacking up little blue flowers with prickly stems. Janus sat beside him as per the norm, staring into the open air with his arms crossed. Remus was clutching one of the flowers in his hand, and blood dripped slowly down the back of his wrist. He didn’t care. It was nothing he wasn’t used to.
Finally, Janus broke the patchwork silence. “Why won’t you just tell him?” he asked quietly. It was a conversation the two of them had had many times, one that Remus was not particularly inclined to have again.
He sighed, wiping some spare blood from the corner of his lips. Broken leaves and stems littered the floor around the two of them, only marginal portions of the broken greenery actually having made it into the bucket that Janus had provided. “Because, J-anus, it’s not a problem right now.” He couldn’t help his slightly raspy tone, but he covered it up with his usual slightly unhinged grin, only made worse by the blood still caught in his teeth.
Janus raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, unimpressed. “Not a problem?” he repeated softly, raising one of his hands. In it, he held a fistful of blue thistle, still dripping sluggishly. The scent of copper had filled the air long ago. “It’s not a problem?”
Remus shrugged. “Not for him it isn’t, as long as I keep it quiet he has nothing to worry about. Besides,” he continued, tone turning bitter, “I have it on good authority that I’m a nuisance to him and a hindrance to Thomas.”
“He never actually said that to you.” Janus rolled his eyes. “Stop being a whiny little bitch baby.”
Remus stuck his tongue out at him. “I’ll be a whiny little bitch baby if I want to be a whiny little bitch baby.” His retort was slightly marred by the shaky, wet coughing that punctuated the end of his sentence. “It was implied.”
“He offered to be a sounding board for your... ideas, how is this any different from any of your other concepts?” Janus offered.
“Because I’m not supposed to feel like this,” Remus said with a frown. He resisted the urge to gesture to himself, to his heart. That would be horribly, awfully cliche. “None of us are, but especially not me.”
“I swear, if you start talking about how “undeserving” you are again-”
He cut Janus off with a wave of his hand. A blot of blood landed on the other boy’s face. Oops. “I’m done feeling sorry for myself, Jan. Besides, it’s not like this’ll kill me or anything fun like that.” He grinned.
And it was true. As facets of Thomas’ personality, they couldn’t actually die. The worst the thistle could do to him was make him wish that he could.
Janus’ face hardened. He wiped the blood from his cheekbone with a flick of his gloved finger. “Then I’ll just clean some of this stuff up for you,” he replied, voice silky smooth.
Remus winced as his friend stood up, flower buds crunching under his black dress shoes. Despite what they did to his insides, he couldn’t help but cherish them just a little. It was horribly sentimental, but they reminded him of him. How could they not?
They were small and blue and prickly, just like another side that Remus couldn’t help but think about. Little things set the flowers off; watching him push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the little ‘ahem’ he did before reading something from his flashcards, the way his slender fingers twitched only moments before he tightened his tie. He cherished the flowers because, like it or not, in a sick, twisted way, they were Logan’s eternal gift to him.
And everyone knows that there are no take backs on gifts. Remus wouldn’t want to be rude, after all.
Janus gathered the flowers quickly, efficiently. His movements were almost mechanical, the result of muscle memory that comes with having repeated an action so many times it becomes second nature. His gloves stained dark red. That was fine, he could always make more gloves later.
Remus couldn’t wipe the flowers from existence, not even if he wanted to. He wasn’t sure exactly why. He’d only tried once, when the coughing fits got especially bad. He’d thought the flowers might kill him that day, figment of Thomas’ imagination or not. The only thing that had stopped them had been the soft knock on his door, accompanied by Logan’s low, concerned voice. That had startled him. He hadn’t thought Logan could be concerned for him.
Now, he just groaned and flopped back on his bed, feeling something squish underneath him. It was quite possibly the peanut butter and ham sandwich he had made for himself a week ago. The only sound in the room was the light rustling that always accompanied Janus, the swish of his odd half cloak and the slight crunch of half broken stems.
Janus stood up again after some time, the flowers in his hand a gruesome sight, one that Remus welcomed. Sick, he thought, and then, I’m sick.
He hesitated by the door. His voice was soft, sad . “Just… consider telling him.”
Remus rolled his eyes, ignoring the scratchiness in his throat. “Whatever, dork.”
There was another light swish and then Janus was gone, but his door remained open. Remus frowned. The others hated it when his door was left open. Whatever, it was their problem now.
He wouldn’t tell him. Logan was better off not knowing, after all. Even if he did tell him, Logan wouldn’t want him to begin with, he already knew that. It would be stupid to think any different.
Logan…
Remus sighed, rolling his eyes. When did he become so grossly sentimental? It was just something about the other side. Maybe it was the distinct lack of sentiment that drew him to Logan. He was cold, calculating, and he put up with Remus’ shit better than anyone else, except maybe Janus. And Janus was forced to put up with Remus’ shit.
Logan was just that kind of person. Maybe it wasn’t Remus’ fault. Maybe he couldn’t help but be attracted to him. Maybe it was simply ingrained in him, like he knew up from down and decapitation from defenestration. Maybe it was fate, destiny, something by design, something that would have happened to him no matter how hard he tried to avoid it. Maybe he was destined to love Logan Sanders.
His throat started to close up.
So soon again? he thought deliriously, grinning widely in anticipation as prickles began to caress the soft flesh of his throat. But I just had an episode.
Logan’s laugh was heavenly. Not his fake one, the one he put on for show, but his real laugh. Remus had only heard it twice, but it was quite possibly the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Logan’s voice was deep and rich and added with the slight lilt that came with his surprise, it was downright adorable.
The first one was always the hardest to cough up. It cleared the path, whether or not he wanted it to. Feeling his gag reflex kick in, Remus’ entire chest constricted and he doubled over himself again, black spots filling his vision as the first flower began to protrude from his open mouth.
Logan’s hands were big. You’d think they all looked exactly the same, but there were little things, tiny things, things that set them apart from Thomas. You had to look for them, but they were there. Logan’s fingers were long and slender, and Remus had made more than one unsavory joke about them being wrapped around various objects but in all honesty, his hands were mesmerizing. Remus could sit in a room all day and just watch Logan drum his fingers on a tabletop if the other man was so inclined. It was practically hypnotic.
Blinking heavily to clear his vision, Remus grabbed the blue flower unceremoniously and helped pull it the rest of the way out of his mouth, tasting his own blood for the second time that day. Just get it over with.
Logan hummed while he worked. It wasn’t a tune exactly, it was more a constant rumble, low in his throat. He hummed while he cleaned and he hummed while he read. You wouldn’t know if you weren’t looking for it, but Remus always was. The first time he’d heard it, the creative side had practically fallen out of his chair. He’d ribbed Logan on it until the other boy was pink in the cheeks with denial. It had taken weeks for Logan to hum around him again. He hadn’t commented on it since.
He whimpered as he wrenched it the rest of the way out, hissing out a string of profanities, each worse and more colorfully descriptive than the last. After the first flower was out, the rest were almost comically easy, scraping his abused throat as he choked them up over and over. They were crumpled and broken, dripping with coppery red.
Logan’s smile was like sunshine. Not an analogy that Remus would be inclined to make in any normal situation, but love makes you stupid. At least, that was his running theory. The point still stood. Logan might deny emotions like they were some sort of shameful secret, but if you caught him in the right moment, sunlight shining through his hair and his eyes crinkled at the corners, his grin was like liquid gold. Remus wanted to drown in it.
He’d just finished hacking up what felt like the final flower of the batch when he gagged on air, chest heaving as he gasped for breath he couldn’t find. His eyes were blurred and teary. Everything just hurt so much.
He dropped the flower he was holding numbly, staring at the mess around him with a small frown. Janus had just cleared the last batch up too.
There was a quick inhale from his doorway, so quick he could almost have missed it.
Remus’ head snapped up so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash.
“Remus?” Logan whispered, voice dripping with horror.
His mind was racing. Depending on how long Logan had been standing there, there was very little chance that he would be able to explain this one away.
Remus sat on his bed, frozen, eyes comically wide with horror. Broken flowers and blood splots surrounded him, coating his floor like a carpet. If he felt anything like his usual self he might have cracked a joke maybe, made some kind of sexual innuendo. Perhaps a flirty wink and shimmy. But right now he was frozen in time, like a deer in headlights. And everyone knew what happened once a deer was caught in headlights.
Shit.