Work Text:
Vox gazed at the crimson-colored carnations smeared with his blood, it was profoundly beautiful in an odd way. The truest expression of his hidden desires and long-running emotions. Deep down he knew he loved Ike but even so, he concealed it with a veil of humor. Yet, despite the beauty, the flowers taunted him silently, staring directly back at him making him confront the way he felt. Really, it was plain and simple despite the mind games he played with himself to avoid the topic.
His heart ached for Ike.
It ached for his adoration for the boy to be requited, to hear him making the same jokes, longing for the small smiles and laughs to be shared with him. For him to slide his poetry with a knowing glance, serenading him with the brilliant work he produced or making joke pieces to get a genuine, stupid reaction out of him. To be held, touched, affirmed he meant something to someone. The desire plagued him wholly, yet he couldn't share such thoughts with him. The fear he felt about abandonment and rejection was so much more overwhelming than the desire, so he denied his feelings.
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The flowers Vox coughed up were a beautiful striped pink this time, graceful and reminiscent of the delicate feelings he held. Thus, this ended the trend of the red flowers, the gruelling, pounding reminder of the longing he felt. Yet, this brought forth other feelings he doesn't want to harbor.
He wanted to gauge out his throat every time he coughed up the remainder of his feelings, he despised it. The symptoms grew more painful by the day, physically and mentally, it was a pain so deep-rooted he wanted to curl in on himself, avoiding all
responsibility and questioning from his friends about why he was acting weird lately. He wasn't. He wasn't. He was absolutely fine he didn't want to heed the warning in the back of his mind, that he should just confess his sinful feelings for the other and end this. Maybe, just maybe, if he ignored them long enough these feelings could go away. And maybe, just maybe, the emptiness he was feeling would go away and he can nurse himself back to health.
In an ideal world this is likely, is it not?
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Vox rests in a pool of crimson writing down his feelings hastily, fitting really, red is the color of love after all. Though he may not be as creative in this department as Ike is, he truly hoped this could express the feelings he had from the bottom of his heart.
Red stained everything around him from his hair to the pile of white carnations that came from his insides. He understood the severity of this situation, he was knocking at death's door. He held the note that was laced with his feelings and blood close to his chest, hoping Ike would find it. He frowned, picturing Ike standing over his dead body with a dull, lifeless expression. Ike deserved closure at the very least. He hopes Ike won't forget him in the years to come, even in death he really is selfish, isn't he?