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“MINE!” Daigo screamed, clambering out of Kiryu’s arms as Mine gave him a smile. His heart dropped out of his chest. Tears streamed down his face. Voice coarse.
As they fell, Richardson pushed him away in an effort to save himself, but who would survive this height. Even by some twisted miracle they’d be nothing but bed bound eternally. Rotting away in their own thoughts and guilt.
Mine sank deeper and deeper into the city. White and blood stained petals swirled and surrounded him like a vortex. Trapped. By his own petals. By his own lust. By his own feelings.
Despite only having seconds of his life left all, he could think about was Daigo.
Daigo was his solace. He was charming and that’s undeniable. The nights they’d spend at a bar together brought them so close to one another. Shoulders would touch as a drunken Daigo lazily wrapped his arm around Mine’s shoulder; hollering his old embarrassing stories. Mine’s eyes would glisten with joy as he slowly carried the chairman home, savouring every moment. Daigo would caress the back of Mine’s head and leaned closer and closer to him. But the harsh reality would return to wind him as he violently coughed up petals; interrupting what could’ve been a blissful ending.
The next day, Daigo would still gently smile at him, but act as if last night never happened. He probably couldn’t remember. The roots and vines of love and agony embedded deeper into his heart and lungs.
He wasn’t meant to be shot. He never intended it.
Mine’s heart and throat ached dully throughout Daigo’s comatosed days. He kept waking up to cough white pristine chrysanthemums. What ifs swirled painfully around his head. Every thought led to a cough. Every cough led him closer to demise.
Everyday, he sat by Daigo’s bed, tenderly held his hand, encasing it with his own hands and stroked every crevice with his thumb. His eyebrows furrowed at the pitiful sight. He whispered his confession to him at the cost of his own breath and his feelings. With the slightest hope that Daigo would wake up, hearing his words and returning the love. But he doesn’t.
These fruitless attempts caused Mine to leave his flowers by him. Maybe, if he couldn’t hear his feelings, he could at least see it. He left one flower. Then two. Then a bouquet of just pure white chrysanthemums.
Ironic he thought.
Still falling, he couldn’t help but let his blood stained flowers stream out of his mouth. What once was whole chrysanthemums scattered to nothing but petals.
Now the whole of Kamurocho can see his feelings.
The roots and vines coiled tighter and tighter. Unrelentlessly squeezing.
Until, he breathed:
His last.