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Mukuro finds two flower petals strewn across the entrance mat to his lover's apartment. Bending down, he smiles to himself as he holds their fragile being in his white-gloved hand. Tonight would be a good night. The petals are soft and small, perhaps new. Closing the door behind him he takes off his coat and steps into the kitchen.
“Darling.” He calls seductively, knowing his lover must be present somewhere in the room. “I didn’t hear from you after our fight. I thought I’d surprise you.” He continues, putting down the cotton drawstring bag he’d brought with him on the kitchen table and listening for the sound he knows will come shortly.
The taut echo of dry choking punches the still air and Mukuro’s smile curls sinisterly upwards. “Still choked up after our conversation?” He coos, taking an invigorating breath as he moves towards the bathroom. “I thought I made it clear this was only ever a bit of fun for me?” He says, a smug victorious clarity to his voice as he hears the telling thump thump thump of hands and knee’s falling defeatedly to the ground.
“Ry-yo-hei- kun.” Mukuro teases, wild red and blue eyes meeting with the desperate grey of his lovers. The Vongola sun guardian is slumped over, hands on the floor as petals sputter and flurry from his gaping mouth.
“Darling, look at you.” Mukuro hums, crouching down. He reaches a gloved hand out to tilt Ryhoei’s chin up. The strong tanned hand of the boxer grabs onto him shakily, strength drained as another choke gifts Mukuro with a lap full of beautiful sakura petals.
“It . . . it extremely. . . won’t stop.” Ryohei shouts between breaths, his hand moving to clutch around his stomach. “It hurts.” He rasps loudly, strain lining the words as their forced out between batches of fragrant petals.
“Mmm.” Mukuro hums in a faux-thoughtful manner, discarding Ryohei’s chin and instead scooping up the petals to prevent them from falling to the floor. There’s maybe 2 ounces in total. Not nearly enough.
“Does it hurt more or less when I say I don’t think I could ever love you properly?” He queries nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side. Keeping his tone clear over the grating sound of his foolish lover's dry choke.
A fight breaks out between Ryohei’s need for air and the petals that refuse to stop forming in his throat. But the reaction is almost instant. Choking turns to sputtering and desperate gasps, a strong muscular arm shakily reaching out to grab at Mukuro’s trouser leg. There’s a wheezed and pained “-why?” leaving Ryohei’s lips, the injury of the heartache no less hidden by tray after tray of petals that leave his mouth. The roots of the disease no doubt now taking a hold of his lungs as the most magnificent bittersweet scent fills the small bathroom. An amused huff of air escapes Mukuro’s nose as he uses the outside of his foot to swipe Ryohei’s arm from under him.
“What if I told you this was all a little game hmm? That this was fun, but I could never see us together?” He teases, placing the petals held precariously in his arms carefully into the sink to his right.
“Mukuro—nnnn , please.” Ryohei shouts, that fighting spirit carrying him through longer than others have managed. “Extreme . . . doctor.” He sputters, a shaky arm succeeding in bring him up from his weakened position on the white tile floor only to give out when Mukuro knocks it again.
The only thing cradling his fall is the puddle of petals beneath him. Puffing up and settling back down as Ryohei’s body shakes.
“It would never last, you know.” Mukuro calls as he exits to the kitchen. Deciding now would be the time to start clearing up the mess that will no doubt ensue. Picking up the cotton bag, he returns, smiling with sublime pleasure to himself as his return is greets him with a wonderful mix of sweet-smelling Sakura and the bitter salted smell of a man struggling for his last breath. “We’re not meant to be.” He informs the now spasming Ryohei.
The sun guardian twitches, frantically trying to draw breath. His head shoots up in a small break from his coughing, looking round for the man he thought he could trust. The skin around his cheek and neck a hauntingly beautiful mix of purple and red.
Mukuro just smiles, walking over he sits down on his knees and takes his lover pained face in hand. One clear breath makes it’s way past Ryohei’s petal-soft lips. “But . . . I loved you.” He chokes, tired throat coughing up two petals he tries to close his lips to keep them down.
“My dear.” Mukuro smirks, tilting his head to look down condescendingly at his lover. “You know I could never love you back, didn’t you.” He whispers, a gloved thumb parting Ryohei’s lips as his forefinger slides in and hooks out the final few petals from his mouth.
Confused, hurt grey eyes meet his. A cough, a heave, another cough. And finally, the sun dies from Ryoheis eyes. Vision glazing over to an out of focus stare. His head lolling in Mukuro hands like so much dead meat past its use.
Mukuro lets it roll off his palm and land in the pile of treasures with a satisfying thud. Ryohei had certainly put up more of a fight than any other. Truly a tricky pick, but the pay off would be worth up. Sweeping up the pile of petals, he gets to work cutting up the body. Sometimes oils left on the skin made for tender base notes no other pressed liquid to compare to.
The shop is quite today, a handful of school girls gaggle around the stalls. Loitering and whispering as young people do when confronted with extravagance and wealth that lures them further than their pockets can carry.
“It always smells so good Mukuro-san!” One woman exclaims, holding up a newly extracted bottle of his latest creation. “It’s like . . . fragrant and salted at the same time.” She’ pauses, finger to the corner of her mouth as she finds the words to describe. “it smells like . . . What I imagine it feels like to be adored without a care.” She gushes.
Mukuro just smirks at her, ringing up the old fashioned registered he’d come to love as the thump thump thump of buttons brings up her total.
“Are you sure you only have five bottles?” She asks, pouting slightly as she hands over the cash.
“I’m afraid this months batch was a little, tougher to extract than expected.” He says, handing the woman over her branded bag. “But I have a feeling next months will have a certain, spice to it.” He continues, eyeing up the longer grey-haired man waiting for him outside. Four dates had softened the sword user, but not too much for what Mukuro had in mind.
Mukuro finds two flowers petals strewn across the entrance mat to his lover's apartment. Bending down, he smiles to himself as he holds their fragile being in his white-gloved hand. Tonight would be a good night.