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Nero’s arms were already crossed as the doctor gave him the diagnosis: floraptysis with aggressive anthonoma metastasis. In other words, he was growing a plant inside his body and coughing up fucking flowers because nobody fucking loved him. Figured that Nero would be one of ten million people who contracted it; it was the damn cherry on top of the shit sundae that was his life.
It would have been impressive that he’d managed to escape his fate for this long if he were a normal person. Since he was just him, it wasn’t anything to call home about. He wasn’t exactly winning any popularity contests in Fortuna, not with his obviously non-human heritage. Pretty much everyone addressed him with fear and anger and outright hate. He was a simple man, so he gave as good as he got. He’d never been scared of the colloquial Hanahaki disease because he figured that there wasn’t a soul who’d care about him, so he wouldn’t care about another soul. Simple, easy, and free. Even so, there were people who weaseled their ways into his heart, burrowing under the thick walls that he’d erected around his heart and making their nests in his vena cava. Credo, his parents, Kyrie. You. Kyrie… Was the reason for this tumor growing in his chest.
When they were young, he was adopted by her family. Once again, because nobody else wanted the social outcast, the pariah’s pariah. He’d given up being adopted by a loving family at that point, so imagine his surprise when the perfect nuclear family stretched their hands to the dirty orphan lying bruised atop the cobblestones and brought them into their warm and loving light. Yeah. Pretty damn surprised. He was more surprised that his new foster siblings actually made an effort to get to know him, to find something in him that was likable. It was inevitable that he’d be looking back, finding things he liked too.
There was a lot to like about Credo: he was strong, brave, and so charming that even a foul-mouthed bad-tempered orphan respected him. There was a lot more to like about Kyrie. She was beautiful, even-tempered and patient, kind and gentle to everyone. Kind and gentle to him.
“So that’s why I think that Kyrie and I should get married and live happily every after,” Nero balanced on a thick tree trunk while exploring Mitis forest at the tender age of fourteen, impressing and delighting his oldest and dearest friend. You let out a short and ugly snort, something that the other boys at the orphanage had teased you for endlessly. Nero didn’t think that it was ugly. He thought it was kind of cute the way that you couldn’t hold back your amusement for even a second to temper your laugh into something appealing. It sounded genuine to him. It wasn’t prettier than Kyrie’s bell-like laugh, but he didn’t think that it deserved the constant pig impressions.
Of course, if the other boys hadn’t made fun of you, then he would never have stepped in between you and the group of boys laughing and mocking as you wept in the corner. He hadn’t been expecting a thank you, he hadn’t been expecting anything because he’d always gotten nothing. Instead of nothing, you’d looked up to him with wide, shiny eyes and said ‘Thank you, Nero’ with a gap toothed grin and pink cheeks. After that day, you seemed dedicated to paying him back or something because you were always at his side, always giving him stuff and scowling at the people who slighted him. Being a fourteen year old boy, he pretended he wasn’t keen on having a female tag-along all the time, but he actually enjoyed the company. It made him feel like… Well, he felt liked. It was a pretty nice feeling.
“I don’t think that you’re Kyrie’s type, Knight boy.” He frowned at your words but also at the nickname that you’d given him after becoming his hip attachment and then his friend. You’d given it to him because of his defense of you, saying that he was as brave and strong as the dignified Holy Knights. He’d stuck his tongue out at you and pulled down an eyelid. He wasn’t near their strength. He had so much further to go, so it kind of rubbed him the wrong when you gave him that title without him having earned it. He was aiming to be even better, even more powerful than the Knights that he’d seen. He needed to in order to be worthy of Kyrie.
“What’s wrong with me, Giggles?” He asked using the ironic nickname that he’d established for you after that unfortunate incident, looking at the dirt covering his knees, his elbows and his… Everywhere. So he was a little messy. He knew that Kyrie looked past appearances and saw the worth of the person underneath. It was one of the qualities he admired most about her. You shrugged and twirled the long stick that you and he had been play fighting with in your hand. You weren’t any good, not compared to him, but he liked having a partner to spar with and most of the other Holy Knight trainees didn’t want to face him unless they were a lot bigger and were confident they could pound him into the dirt. He wasn’t terribly big, not yet, so he tasted dirt a lot.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, N.” You made little patterns into the dirt with the tip of the stick, doodles of radially symmetrical flowers with seemingly endless petals, as you frowned. “You’re amazing; strong, brave, good-looking even under that dirt.” You had paused for a second in your flower creation, just scowling at the beautiful little imitations of nature. “Any girl would be lucky if you looked at them like that.”
His cheeks felt a little hot at the praise. You were the only person who would tell him stuff like that. If he got a compliment, it was usually begrudging or related to how strong he was and how useful he’d be when he grew up (a comment sometimes paired with a creepy laugh, but who cared about that?). Even when he received a compliment from his lady love, it wasn’t the thing that he really wanted to hear from her. “Then why do you think that I’m not her type?”
You shrugged, tossing the stick aside into the deep woods. He frowned. He thought that you were going to spar with him a little bit longer. “Just a hunch.”
“A hunch?” Yeah, he wasn’t going to give up on an angel just because of his friend’s funny feeling. “What kind of hunch?” He’d never known you to have bad instincts though, so it couldn’t hurt to dig for a little information.
“It’s probably nothing, but when she looks at you…”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not like how you look at her. I don’t know how else to describe it.” You shook your head at your insufficient explanation. He pressed his lips together in an unimpressed line.
“Sounds like you’re making stuff up so I stop liking her.” He had an idea, but that was ridiculous. “You aren’t jealous, are you?” He asked with a teasing tone. He still had his little sword-stick and he poked you as he teased. “Are you?” He poked and you swatted at the stick.
“Quit it, Nero.”
“Are you?” He poked again and pulled away as you tried grabbing at the stick. You stomped your foot and glared at him, tears lining your eyes.
“Nero, stop!” Those tears ran now, and he stopped. Shit, he was just trying to kid around, not make you cry. He tossed the stick away, giving up on trying to talk you into sparring later, as he approached you.
“Hey, don’t cry. I’m sorry.” You were rigid in your anger, still glaring holes into him. Guilt bubbled up in his stomach and made him a little sick, so he clenched his fist to try and alleviate some of the problem. It didn’t. What helped was wrapping his arms around your body, tucking your head into the space between his shoulder and head so he could lean his head on yours. He was taller than you now, he’d realized in that moment. Bigger, too.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, holding you a little closer when he heard sniffles.
“It’s fine, Knight boy.” He felt a little better, his chest a little light after he heard that silly nickname. “You… Aren’t totally wrong. If you and she got together, I think I would be a little jealous that you wouldn’t have time for me anymore.” You admitted and something in his chest felt hot. Not quite painful, but close enough that he pulled back. When he did, another pang of guilt hit him when he saw your tear stained eyes.
“You don’t have to be jealous. I wouldn’t give you up just because she and I got married.” You gave an amused scoff at his words and gave him a little arm shove.
“Married? Nero, you might want to try dating first!”
“That’s what I’ve been trying! I think it’s time to try something else since it isn’t working.” He felt a tickle in his chest when you laughed at him, giving his arm another shove.
He wished that he could go back five years. Tell his younger self that what he needed to try was something completely different. Or maybe tell his younger self that no matter what he did, it was going to end up a failure. Of course, if he didn’t listen to you at that age, he wasn’t going to listen to himself. What did he know? Not a damn thing. Which is why he was leaving the doctors office alone, his chest heavy and burdened with the plant that he was growing. He even knew what type of plant and what color—yellow carnations. It was the most common type for the disease that affected so few; the doc speculated that it was because yellow carnations mean rejection in the flower language, but it was only speculation because it wasn’t backed by a study. Nero hadn’t cared, but now he was a little pissed. He couldn’t even get a rare type of the disease? He had nothing else normal about him; his hair, his lineage, his goddamn arm. He couldn’t even get a cool flower to infiltrate his lungs and spread through his tissues, overtaking his cells like a virus until there wasn’t anything of him left? Or maybe just a flower that he could live with smelling on his breath for the rest of his short life. Like the gardenias that kept overtaking your other plants on your little sill garden. Those had such a strong and amazing smell that Nero swore that it lingered on your clothes every time that he saw you.
That was typical for him though. One more cherry on that sundae.
At least he got the diagnosis early. It was easy for him to figure out after he’d confessed to Kyrie and got rejected.
“I’m sorry, Nero.” He felt his heart drop into his stomach as his face froze into the smile he’d made especially for her, the hand holding a pretty bouquet of pink carnations drooping. “I just can’t see you as anything but a brother.”
Her eyes were sad as she gave him that bad news. Her pity didn’t help the pain lancing through his chest, burning hot and stifling his speech. He’d felt his smile start to drop and he forced it right back into place, like stuffing a suitcase far too full. You’d been right. It had taken him five years to build up the courage to confess and you were right.
“It’s OK, Kyrie. Don’t be sorry. Even if you don’t return my feelings, at least I’ll always have you as a sister.” He’d reassured her, smothering the broiling hot rejection with the plethora of mental I-Told-You-So’s he’d collected across the years. He told himself from the start that he was unlovable; a monster. He told himself that angels don’t fall for mortals. He told himself that even if everything went perfectly, he’d find some fresh way to fuck it up, so it was probably for the best that she let him down easy. He left Kyrie behind, still looking sad and a little worried for him. At one time he would have read into that look, thought that it was because she cared for him in a different way than was reality. He couldn’t fool himself anymore as he launched another I-Told-You-So at the sick feeling in his stomach. He’d gotten far enough away from Kyrie, hiding in an alley somewhere, that he was able to expel the I-Told-You-So’s and the rejection from his body. He leaned against the brick, heaving and crying, probably aspirating a little bile as he did.
He could have gotten over it eventually, if it hadn’t been for the little petals that floated atop his vomit, a pretty punctuation mark to the last chapter of his life.
He hid his condition.
What else could he do? He didn’t want Kyrie to pity him and try to force herself to have feelings that didn’t exist for him. He couldn’t even get the damn surgery done because the doctors of the order wanted him to keep the flower, just to see how his inhuman body would react. So he took the only option left to him and just pretended everything was normal.
“You’ve been acting weird, Knight boy.” He was resting in the shade of a large tree, fuck if he knew what brand of tree. He just knew that it gave him a little reprieve from the hot summer day after he’d sweated half his weight off doing drills. It had been a struggle from the moment he’d started; but then he’d started when Kyrie had been watching. His chest hurt when she was around now, the former fluttering cherry blossoms of first love turning to daggers raining and piercing his heart. He tried to stay away from her. He couldn’t breathe at all, a heavy weight on his chest pressing down his lungs until he was fit to start wheezing.
He’d had to stop prematurely, the Holy Knight in charge of training expressing his disappointment by telling Nero that if this had been the real world, Nero would have been torn apart by even a scarecrow. Nero thought that he’d been doing pretty well; the doctors had given him a month to live, the max time that other people who come down with the sickness had lived. He’d beaten the odds. So far he was at a month and a half. Take that, Bembridge Scholars. He felt like hot microwaved hell though, and he could feel it getting worse. Which made his mood worse, so he waved off the trainers words with a glare that made him back off. It wouldn’t matter if he got killed in the line of duty. Hell, he’d prefer that. It was a little more manly to die in battle than to a damn flower.
“You’re acting weird, Giggles.” He deflected. “Where the hell have you been?”
He hadn’t seen you since he’d told you that he was confessing to Kyrie the week before he’d done it. Two months he’d been without the comfort that your presence brought him. You and he had been in your bedroom together, him reclined on your bed and pretending to read one of your crappy romance books while you mended his battered coat. Kyrie would have been happy to fix it, but he didn’t want to ask any favors before he’d asked the biggest favor of all: to give him a chance. He’d mentioned that he was going to confess, turning a page and stumbling on the shitty sex scene in the book and making a sour face. You’d taken a few moments to respond, but you eventually wished him luck.
“I thought I’d give the new couple a little space before reinserting myself as your tag-a-long.” You said airily as you gave a casual shrug. He cringed. Mostly from the fact that he and Kyrie were not a new couple, and partially from the fact that you referred to yourself that way. He was the only person who had ever called you that, so hearing that specific phrase?
You knew how he thought of you.
“Giggles, I—“
“I know, I know.” You interrupted, waving your hand at him as you lifted the hem of your cream colored dress to navigate the raised roots of the tree to sit by him. “You were busy, and you still are, and you want more time with the angelic Kyrie.” Every word bit into him more. Weirdly, though, his chest wasn’t hurting as bad as reminders of his unrequited love usually felt. He still felt a dull ache, like the carnation had just settled in his lungs rather than growing and piercing his organs with its apical meristem. Maybe it was soothed by the beautiful floral scent that wafted from you, drifting to his nose with every soft breath that you exhaled. He took a deep inhale, relishing in the fact that he could actually breathe. He really loved the smell of gardenias.
“Actually, Giggles…” He bit his lip. If he told you that you were right, would you jump to conclusions and guess about his condition? Should he tell you? You’ve been his best friend since childhood, there hadn’t been anything he’d kept from you so far. Somehow though, the idea of your tears being spilled over him… That hurt more than the tendrils making their way through his veins. “I always have time for you. Kyrie or no.”
He grinned at you and ruffled your hair, laughing when you shot him a look that could kill. His chest felt incredibly light when your scowl melted into a smile. But the heaviness returned after a solemn look crept onto your face. You stared pensively onto the practice field and Nero knew that you had something on your mind.
“I know that look.” He booped your nose, watching you wrinkle it as it tingled. He knew how bad those tingles could get; you’d booped his nose on more than one occasion. “You’ve got something on your mind.” He didn’t feel any better for having guessed when you leaned forward, elbows on your bent knees, tucking your face into your forearms.
“What if I told you that I had to go away?” He felt his stomach do a kind of swooping sensation, like having the floor drop out from underneath him.
“Go away?” He repeated. You nodded. “For how long?”
You shrugged. “Forever.”
“This is just hypothetical, right?” You couldn’t be planning to leave. Not now. Not before… Well, not until he met his untimely end and then it wouldn’t actually matter how he felt about the matter because he’d be feeding the worms. “You aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, yeah?”
You didn’t respond immediately. That worried him. Were you leaving now? Was this the last time that he’d be able to see you? He felt the flower in his chest shift and wriggle a little bit, reminding him of the damn parasite. It was a little funny; it hadn’t been hurting him since the moment he laid eyes on you. Weird.
“...I’m not leaving now. But soon.”
“And there’s no way for you to come back?” He asked, clearing his throat. Shit, he felt a weird tickle in his throat, like a coughing fit coming on. He held it back, covering his mouth every time that a little cough escaped him to catch any petals that flew out. Surprisingly, none came.
His chest got hot with anger when you shook your head. “That’s some bullshit! Who’s sending you away?!” He jumped to his feet, muscles trembling and fists clenched until the leather of his gloves creaked under the strain. “I’ll give them a good talking to.”
He wasn’t going to wait for a name, but he couldn’t keep moving forward when you grabbed the tails of his coat, covering your own mouth as you began coughing. “N-Nero, don’t.”
His face emptied of blood when he saw a thick white petal on your hand when you pulled it away after coughing hard. His breathing got faster and he felt lightheaded. He’d never fainted in his life, but there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there?
“Giggles?” He barely choked out, his nickname for you sounding weak. “Giggles, what is that?”
You tucked your hand and the damning evidence behind your back, looking away from his accusing eyes. “Nothing.” You muttered.
No, you lied. You didn’t do that to him. Never. Not even when you’d ‘borrowed’ his headphones and music player and dropped it in water, ruining both. You could have just put it back where it was and he’d never have been the wiser. Instead, you’d confessed to your crime and promised to pay him back for the objects. He’d jokingly said that you could just be his servant for the week instead. Your face after he’d asked you to wash his demon soiled clothes was priceless. You didn’t complain, but he was certain it took a long time for you to forgive him for that kind of torture.
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Show it to me.” He demanded, his chest getting hotter when you refused him. He was fucking pissed and also something else. Something that he hadn’t been in a long time; he was fucking scared. Terrified.
When had you gotten your diagnosis? Did you even see a doctor like he did or were you still in denial? And who was the dense fucker who left you in such unrequited heartbreak that you grew that fucking parasite that would take your life away, little by little until there was nothing of you left?
Whoever it was, Nero was going to beat him senseless until he grew a braincell or two and figured out that the girl who loved him was far too good for him, but he’d get Nero’s approval just because he was the person she’d chosen and she needed him or else she’d die.
Of course, there were very few people who Nero would approve to be your significant other. Come to think of it, there wasn’t a single person at the top of his head that he’d give the thumbs-up to. There were plenty of people who he’d flip the bird if they even thought to look your way though.
“I saw the petal, Giggles. Show me.” Something in his chest twisted and ripped when he saw a tear escape your eye, running down your cheek as you sighed with resignation and pulled the little crushed petal from your hand. It was white, but a little blood was smeared across the soft, creamy petal. His breathing stopped totally. You were further along in the disease than he was. He opened his mouth to ask, but no sound came out, just a weird choking sound. He coughed and swallowed a petal, but he was able to ask. “How long?”
You shrugged again, kind of pissing him off. You were too fucking blasé about this! “The petals? About a month and a half, I think.” His muscles were tight, like he was about to fight the biggest enemy that he’d ever seen. You were on borrowed time, just like he was.
Suddenly he saw life flash before his eyes. It wasn’t his full story, but it had most of his favorite parts because every memory featured you.
That time that you teased a baby snake demon with a long stick and it chased you and him, all the way to the edge of Mitis forest. He’d been howling with laughter at your expression and you had pouted until you broke down and did that cute snort-laugh at him while smacking his shoulder lightly.
That time when you finally snagged a solo away from Kyrie and you were so excited that you begged him to be there. He had a mission that day, so he couldn’t make you any promises, so he didn’t. You had pouted and said something like, “If it were Kyrie, you’d make sure to be there.” Well, that irritated him enough that he’d shown up still covered in demon blood and his own sweat, disgusting his seatmates. When you’d spotted him, you couldn’t stop smiling and you ruined your own solo because you were singing a dirge far too happily. Seeing that smile made him seriously happy that he’d rushed the demons and skipped a shower. When you hugged him after the ruined performance, not hesitating at all to throw yourself into his chest, he felt something there make itself aware by igniting his cheeks a burning red. He’d chosen to forget about how it made him feel, even after you gave him your brightest, most beaming smile as you whispered your thanks into his soiled clothes.
That time when you snuck him into your bedroom, late, late at night after the his foster parents scolded him for fighting. It was maybe a few months after they’d taken him in, but he still didn’t feel like part of their family. Always the outcast. He’d felt like they regretted adopting him, regretted letting him into their home. He felt like an absolute failure, so he went back to the orphanage where he was pretty certain that they’d send him the following day, so he decided that he’d cut ties before they could. Only he couldn’t get in through the front since they locked it at that hour. It wasn’t difficult to find your room; you’d always kept a little windowsill garden, even before you aged out of the system. He’d climbed a trellis nearby, grunting softly as he reached for your window so he could lift the sash and climb in, but he was surprised when it opened on its own. So surprised that he started falling. Your hand had gripped his forearm tight and you righted him as you and he struggled to get him inside. You’d asked him what the hell he was doing there this late at night and he couldn’t give you an answer. How pathetic would it sound if he said that he was there because he didn’t think his new family loved him, and to you? Another orphan. Yeah, he just kept his mouth shut. Not that you didn’t see through it. You always saw through him. You just sighed and scooted to one side of your mattress while holding the comforter up so he could join you. “But I swear if you steal my blankets, I’m kicking you out.” The next day, he’d awoken refreshed and to the irritated scowls of the Eleisons for having to search for their ward. They dragged him back home so quickly that he wasn’t able to say good-bye to you. Not quickly enough that he didn’t see all the blankets piled on his side of the bed.
More and more memories, each one killing him a little more than the last.
“Why haven’t you gotten the surgery yet?” The words were out before he knew he was saying them. Yet as the seconds passed after he’d asked, the more he wanted it. He couldn’t outlive you. He didn’t want to; you were his oldest friend and he loved you. It would just fucking break him, seeing you pass from being unloved. Actually, the entire thing was breaking his brain. In what world did it make sense that whoever you loved didn’t reciprocate?
You glared at him. “I’m not getting the surgery, Nero. I refuse to forget.”
“So you’d rather die?!” He couldn’t help but raise his voice; you weren’t listening. Maybe it’d get through if he begged? “Please, please, please,” he kneeled in front of you, moving to stay in your eyeline even as you kept trying to look at anywhere but him. “Please, Giggles. Whoever it is, they can’t be worth losing your life. Nobody is worth losing you.”
He cupped your wet cheek, pulling you to face him. You kept your eyes averted, stubbornly. He stroked your cheek with his thumb, noting again how soft your skin was. The first time he’d noticed, you and he shared your first kiss together. Soft and fumbling, a little too hot and a little too messy, but he liked it the more it went on. Enough that he hadn’t wanted it to stop. At the end of the kiss, he had thanked you for helping him practice for Kyrie.
“Gigs, I don’t want to lose you.” His voice broke at the end which caused you to finally look him in the eye.
“I don’t want to lose you either, Knight boy.” You whispered, your shiny eyes arresting him. Seriously pretty… One more reason why it didn’t make sense that the person you loved didn’t love you back. “But I can’t lose all those memories. It’s been so long, I don’t know who I’d be if I lost all those moments.”
Another feeling blended with the hot fiery red of his anger; the bright, venomous green of jealousy that left his feelings the ugliest shade of brown. Which is to say that he was jealous, angry and now he felt like shit. This was someone that you knew, and had for a long time? Moreover, this was someone you were willing to die for?
You hadn’t mentioned anyone like that when you and he had that campout under the stars after his last mission… And after he’d chased off the baby snake demons. You’d just talked about how beautiful the stars were, and how nice it was to be around him. Your moonlit expression had been so soft when you thanked him for his company that night. Of course, he might’ve missed some stuff because he had been thinking about taking Kyrie out to see the sight.
How could he have missed that you were growing feelings for some deadweight who didn’t see what he could have? He just couldn’t imagine not getting the parasite excised, though. If he could have after Kyrie, he would. It’s not that he wanted to lose all his memories of Kyrie, but it sure would make his heartbreak a lot better. But he was barred by the Order’s surgeons and also it would make conversation at Sunday dinner very awkward if he didn’t know his sister.
“They aren’t worth the world losing you, Gigs. If I could get the surgery to forget Kyrie, then I would. You can love other people after it; that’s what the studies say.” He’d beg all night. He’d beg all day. He’d change your mind or die trying. Hell, he was on his way now.
Instead of being swayed by his words, you seemed even more resolute.
“The world will go on, Nero. And so will you… Wait, why would you want to forget Kyrie?” Shit, he let slip the dogs of war. AKA he let you know about his fib from before and now you were going to get his ass. He didn’t want his teammates in the order see him get his ass kicked by a shrimp who would undoubtedly snort as she beat him senseless, so he decided to stand and move the discussion to a different location.
“No reason. None at all.” He began walking, hoping that you’d follow. If there was anything that he’d learned growing up with you, it was that you were a predator and when you saw the back of your prey, you would pounce.
“Nero! What happened with Kyrie?” You called after him, quickly getting to your feet and following him, slightly tripping on the roots of the tree whose shade you and he had been sheltered under.
It reminded him of the days that you and he spent together playing in Mitis forest, swordfighting, playing the Witch and the brave Knight, and then cooling off under the canopy of a large tree in a cool patch of clover. You had an adorable habit of looking for four-leaf ones and getting disappointed when you could never find any, so he found them for you. The trick was to look in the shade; the plant wouldn’t grow that extra leaf if it was getting all the sunlight it needed with three leaves. He’d thought that it was a silly thing to do, find four-leaf clovers, but the gap-toothed smile that you gifted him once he gifted you that clover made it all worth it, somehow. Sometimes, he guessed, that people were so blinded by what was shining in the sunlight that they never looked behind them at the treasures in the shadows.
Maybe he was looking for the nostalgia of those sweet days passed, maybe he just wanted time to turn back and grant him a few more years playing with you, but his feet led him to Mitis forest, right where you and he tried to build a fort. It was a poor attempt, started and done in a day as evidenced by the poor construction, but it was a mark that you and he had made on the forest. Something that said We were here. You and he had signed your ownership of the fort in your initials on the front ‘door,’ a plank of wood leaning against the main structure, but he didn’t remember the addition of the heart around the letters. He hadn’t been out here much since after practicing kissing with you. He had been a little too old for the fort. Looks like someone else wasn’t.
“Nero!” You panted, leaning over on your knees as you tried and failed to catch your breath. Shit, he went too fast. He should have paid attention, especially when you were coughing up blood-tinged petals. Thankfully, you weren’t coughing, but you were wheezing a little bit. He hoped that it was just from the exertion. He was relieved when you lifted your head and gave him another of those death causing glares. “Nero, answer me! Why would you want to forget Kyrie? Aren’t you two together?”
His fist clenched as he saw you cringe after raising your voice at him, rubbing your chest when he knew that your flower was growing. Your collar drifted down a little and he swore that he saw that your veins were turning green and your skin pure white. He needed a name from you and he needed it now. He could try convincing the person you loved to give you a chance. He had a different plan if that didn’t work. If he killed the person that was causing you this pain, maybe then you’d reconsider. He was normally against taking human life, but if it saved you? Lines could be forgotten.
“Tell me who it is, Giggles.” He tried once more, his voice low and pleading. “Just tell me and I can make it go away.” One way or another. You disregarded his words.
“Nero, answer my question.”
“Not unless you answer mine. Who?” You tossed your hands and let out a sound of frustration, stomping closer to him.
“Nero, I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t change anything.”
“It could. Just give me a chance.”
“What happened between you and Kyrie? Did you change your mind?” Damn, you were guessing. You could read him like a book. You were always better at reading than he was, but you gave a valiant effort to help him out when he learned about his dyslexia. You had gathered a bunch of books, each ranging in difficulty, trying and trying to figure out the best way for him to read when the letters weren’t being cooperative. You’d been so patient with him. So damn patient. It made hiding things from you hard.
“I didn’t change my mind.”
“Did she not return your feelings?” Nail, meet head. Nero turned away, trying to avoid you seeing his eyes like open doors. “Oh, Nero.” Your voice was full. Full of pity and disappointment and sadness and all of it for him. He didn’t want it.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I should have seen it coming. There wasn’t any hope for me from the start.” He spat the words bitterly, his lips pressed together in a twisted line. He felt a little better when your arms wrapped around his middle and your cheek was against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed his cheek into your hair. It was nostalgic, this hug. But it didn’t have the flavor of nostalgia, it had the feel of coming home. The warmth, the comfort, even the smell in a way. The gardenia scent was just as beautiful as ever, but it made him sick knowing that was the scent of your death.
“I’m so sorry, Nero. So sorry.” He could have purred when your hand started massaging circles into his back. Instead of doing that, he felt tears well up in his eyes. He could hear his breathing get a little shaky and he felt like an idiot. You were the one who was dying, so why was he coming to you and throwing a pity party for himself? Well, he was dying too, but you didn’t know that. And over a girl whose league he was well aware he did not reach.
“She’s an idiot, Nero.” You murmured, but fiercely. “She’s going to know it later, too, when she realizes that you’re a treasure.” You pulled your face away from his chest (something he wasn’t too fond of) and gave him a broad grin(something he was very fond of). “You’re a diamond in the rough, you know that right? You deserve the world.” You reached up and cupped his cheeks, and his cheeks heated in your palms. You pulled him a little closer to your face and his breathing hitched for a moment. “Do you hear me, Knight boy? The. World.”
He’d known you for a long time, but this was the first time that he’d realized that you’d grown into your face. You were stunning. He was stunned. His eyes drifted to your lips and he had the strangest urge swell in him. He wanted to practice more. He shook the urge from his brain. He shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts. Not only because you were in love with someone else, but because he was a dead man walking. It wasn’t fair to you for him to take advantage of your vulnerability. It wasn’t fair for him to even attempt something romantic with you when he wouldn’t be around to see it—for lack of a better term—flower. It wasn’t fair that he didn’t realize soo—It just wasn’t fair.
He straightened from the slightly crouched position that coming to your eye-level made him go, taking hold of your wrists gently and pulling them away from his face. He savored the drag of your skin across his every second that it was in contact with his and then lamented its loss when your hands were no longer on his face. He kept your wrists, though. Now you couldn’t escape.
“Thanks, Giggles.” He whispered fervently. Your smile was so soft it almost made him feel bad.
“You’re welcome, Nero. Now how are you moving in my stopped time?” You gave a little snort-laugh at your joke, one that made his heart melt and then reform a little harder. If he didn’t do anything, then this might be the last time you made that cute sound. He couldn’t have that. You frowned when you felt his grip tighten around your wrists. He made sure that it wasn’t painful, but you wouldn’t be getting away. Not until he got a fucking name.
“Who is it?” He couldn’t make his voice go above a whisper. You pulled a little and he gripped harder. “Give me a name.”
“Nero, I don’t want to tell you. Let me go.” You struggled harder and he struggled with you. Sparda knew that he didn’t want to hurt you, but you were stubborn. He was stubborner.
“Tell me,” he pressed you back, advancing when you retreated until your back was against a tree. “Tell me and I’ll do anything that you want; I’ll beg, I’ll be your servant, I’ll be your slave.” He went to his knees, holding your wrists still, looking up at you like a sinner pleading for salvation. “I just want you to live, you giggly goof.” He felt tears well up again and he ducked his head.
He hoped that you would give in, but he knew you too well. That would have been too easy and you were never one for the easy route. Liking Kyrie? Straightforward and easy. He saw pretty girl, he liked what he saw, he liked girl. Textbook. Liking you? Complex, difficult, he got lost in the cornmaze after turning left at Albuquerque. When he said something nice, you seemed upset, when he said something snarky, you were delighted. Up was down and left was right. And he was never right.
“I don’t want you to hurt, Nero.” He felt something hot and wet fall into his hair. He looked up when he heard you let out a little hiccuping sob, and the moment that he did a few more droplets fell directly onto his cheek. They dripped down like you and he were sharing tears and he hated it.
“Then why won’t you tell me? If I can fix this, then you won’t die and I won’t hurt. Win-win, right?” You shook your head and he just wanted to shake you until you grew some sense. Even as the thought occurred, he cast it aside. What if he hurt you and gave you shaken baby syndrome? It was foolish to kill you in his endeavor to save you. Foolish. “Damn it!” He let you go and walked away, each step sharp and angry. He stomped a good distance away before he turned back to you.
“Giggles, if you don’t tell me who it is, then I won’t speak to you for the rest of your life.” You flinched after he’d used your weak spot: him. “Tell me now, or we stop being friends. I will forget every memory that we shared.” An empty threat, because those were the only thoughts that brought him any peace these days but it got the reaction that he wanted. You inhaled sharply and he decided to dig the final nail in. “And you can bet I won’t be at your fucking funeral, saying one good Sparda damned thing about you.”
The guilt that he felt when you crumpled to your knees, sobbing into your hands with great heaving sobs was immeasurable, but he needed to stay strong. When your shoulders bowed under the weight of your grief, he wanted to press you into his chest again and beg your forgiveness. He couldn’t break, refused to break.
He broke when he heard you choke out two words. “It’s you.”
Oh. Oh.
He was frozen. Couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe. He had to line the pieces up, yours and his, to make it make sense. You loved him. You loved him? When did that happen? Why did that happen? And enough that you contracted an incredibly rare disease that you were willing to die to in order to avoid losing memories of him. Holy crap. Holy shit.
He couldn’t reconcile the information. He’d never rejected your love. It wasn’t totally unrequited; he loved you, he loved you so much. Romantically though? He’d been focused on Kyrie. Could he feel that way toward you? It wouldn’t be hard; you were… Whenever he had free time, he looked forward to spending it with you. When he felt like shit, you were the person he went to for comfort. Was that love?
“Me?” It just didn’t make sense that you’d fall for him when you had your pick of people. You weren’t as admired as Kyrie, but he’d heard how some of the other guys in the Order talked about you. It had pissed him off immensely hearing them talk about how shapely your ass looked underneath your dresses. How much they wanted to touch your pretty tits. He couldn’t hold back his anger when they spoke of how they’d make you scream their names. He got into a lot of fights over that. That was his point though. He was bad-tempered, foul-mouthed and generally disliked across Fortuna. A pariah’s pariah.
“No, that’s not… You can’t love me. I can’t be…” He grabbed the hair at the back of his head, needing something to center himself. It didn’t help. He’d be perfectly happy with you being in love with him if he weren’t such a magnificent fuck-up. He just didn’t want to be the guy who he’d been hating since the moment your condition was revealed to him earlier that afternoon, the one who was the reason that you were coughing those blood-tinged petals. He was having a hard time with his thoughts and words, so maybe he didn’t communicate all that very articulately. At least his stupidity stopped your tears.
“You’re fucking kidding me right, Nero? I literally just told you that you’re a diamond and a treasure and you’re doubting my feelings?” You let out a bitter laugh and then you shook your head at him. “You’re the goofy one, Nero. It’s always been you.” Your shoulders drooped and you looked like you were about to crumple into the ground. Wilting. You were wilting. “It’ll only ever be you.”
“I can’t…” He couldn’t understand. It’s always been him? Always? How long has this been going on? When he told you he was going to confess? When he asked you to be his kissing test subject? That very first day when you gave him that precious gap-toothed grin and laughed that adorable laugh that he wanted to protect? All these opportunities to tell him, and you hadn’t taken a single one. Of course, looking back, he could have realized those sweet pink cheeks meant something more. That the smile that you gave him was only given to him. That your eyes never strayed from him when he was near. He hadn’t just been unobservant; he had also been cruel.
“I know.” You wilted a little more. “You love Kyrie. I’ve accepted that.” He couldn’t.
“No, I can’t let you waste your life on me.” Your face lifted to his, showing him the tear streaks that ran down your face. Your expression was one of irritation. That was good. If you were pissed then you weren’t giving up. You gave him a bitter grin.
“Is this more of your inferiority thing, Knight boy? I’ve told you before, I—“
“I’m dying.” He blurted.
Simple, straightforward. No confusion or misinterpretation.
You blinked at him, then looked confused. He opened his mouth and closed it. Now that the cat was out of the bag, he might as well describe its markings, right? “I’m… I have the same thing you do.”
“Bullshit.” You stated just as flatly as he had. Hah. He wished that he was lying. Then it would make the issue of you having the Hanahaki a lot easier because he was pretty sure that he could love you and make yours disappear. That wouldn’t change his diagnosis though.
“Believe it, beautiful.” When he spoke next, it was with the tenor of the doctor that he was quoting. “’Floraptysis with aggressive anthonoma metastasis, stage 3. Noted xylem synthesis with subjects vascular system and fusion of photosynthetic cells with dermis. Notable formation of cuticle layer within pulmonary tissue, presumably for cellular respiration.’” His weary eyes met your horrified face. “That specific enough?”
Your eyes changed quickly, the watery fear in them turning flinty with resolution. You set your jaw and he knew where you found your strength: him. “It’s not going to kill you. I won’t let that happen.”
“What are you going to do?” He scoffed. Or maybe he laughed? It was hard to say. “Make Kyrie love me back?” Your face turned contemplative and he decided he needed to nip your thoughts in the bud. He’d also need to find new metaphors that didn’t involve plants because he was sick to death of them. Literally. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to force it.” He lifted his hands helplessly. “That isn’t love.”
You were silent as you stared at him, your expression difficult to read. It wasn’t resigned, he knew that one from the numerous times that he’d hit you with puppy eyes to convince you to join him in some sort of adventure. There was something in your eyes that gave him hope, foolish though that was.
“We aren’t going to force Kyrie to love you.” You confirmed. He was relieved. She didn’t need to be involved in this any longer. You got to your feet, the knees of your pretty cream dress stained with dirt and leaves from the forest floor. You stomped up to him, getting right into his face. At least as best you could since he’d gotten even taller and broader than you since he was fourteen. “I’m going to love you, Nero. You’re going to live because I’m going to love you enough for two people. For three people. For as many as that fucking thing needs to be satisfied.”
He could have laughed. It was simple, straightforward and blunt. You didn’t listen to a word he’d said when he told you to abandon him, huh? You just barreled through and decided that you’d beat your anthonoma and his with brute force. He liked it. He liked you. Sparda, he liked you. That was probably what prompted the burning and roiling heat in his chest after you’d basically told him that you were going to throw endless love at him until everything overflowed. He didn’t bother holding himself back as he reached for you, pulling you close enough that he could pull you up and press his lips to yours. He already knew how you liked it, too, thanks to his previous selfishness.
He knew that you liked gentle pecks to start, then longer and slanted open mouthed kisses. He knew that you liked his upper lip and let you have as much as you wanted of it; he’d let you have whatever you wanted. He kissed you until your pretty gardenia scented breath and his carnation reeking exhales blended into a bouquet that smelled right. Like home. It was a little funny; he’d always felt like Kyrie had stolen his breath. Now he realized that wasn’t what he needed. He needed the life-giving air that you were granting him unconditionally. He couldn’t go back to yesterday and no longer wanted to. If he did, he’d go back to that struggle for air, desperate for even a taste of oxygen. At your lips, hearing your soft little sounds and feeling your warmth; he just couldn’t imagine life without breathing you in.
He pulled away, his eyes flicking between yours. He recognized the look on your well-kissed face. He’d seen it so fucking often throughout his life and he was so fucking stupid for not realizing that his best friend was in love with him. He was even stupider for not realizing that he felt the same. Even if your plan didn’t work, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to make up for it. He wasn’t sure when his hands had begun cupping your cheeks, but he applauded their initiative. He wiped away the lingering tear tracks, not wanting to see them for even a second longer. They didn’t belong there because that’s where his kisses were supposed to go.
“OK, I’ll bite. We’ll give your idea a go.”
Full remission.
He’d gotten the all-clear from the docs only about a week after you confessed and he accepted your feelings. He had gone into the appointment not expecting anything; a habit from when he was younger. Expect nothing and get no disappointment.
The look on the doctors face as he beheld a CT totally free of roots and leaves and endless petals was something that should have been recorded for posterity. Nero couldn’t have been the one to snap that picture, though, because he was just as amazed.
“This isn’t possible… You should be at end-stage by now.” Was the only thing that the doctor could say. Nero didn’t give a shit. Not even half of one. He pulled himself out of the CT machine and practically sprinted from the sterile scented environment. He needed to tell you the good news. Though, you would be totally insufferable. There would be no avoiding your I-Told-You-So. Unlike the ones from before, he’d swallow this one down and hold it close.
He’d found you in the garden, ripping and tearing at every plant until they were in shreds. You hadn’t had your appointment to see a doctor yet, but Nero felt like you could probably cancel it. He sneaked up on you, quiet as a falling blossom, and only made noise once his arms were around your waist, lifting you and swinging you in the air.
Your snort-laughter joined his in a chorus more beautiful than any that he’d heard, one that he’d get to spend the rest of his, hopefully, long life hearing. “Put me down, Knight boy!” You smacked at his arms, laughter threading through your words. Despite his chest being overly full of his love for you, he was able to take in a deep lungful of your scent. Free of gardenia. A little sweaty, too.
He let your feet hit the ground, but he didn’t let you go. He pulled you in for a kiss, one that he knew you’d like, and didn’t stop kissing you until you kept giggling against his lips. “Good news?”
He shrugged. “Nothing I didn’t already know.” He stated matter-of-factly. You looked at him with expectant and hopeful eyes. There was a little worry there, but he booped your nose and a pout replaced it. He smiled, slow and long. “You love me.”
You rolled your eyes. “That’s a given, Knight boy. But what about—“ Another boop silenced you. You glared at him and his lips replaced his finger on your nose.
“I love you.” He told you, enjoying the easy way that he was able to breathe after your face turned a bright red. “Now I see that you weren’t going to wait for me to get rid of all this shit.”
You shrugged. “What can I say? I’m sick to death of flowers.”