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Ricky likes flowers.
He likes them because Jiwoong likes them.
Mostly, he likes the way Jiwoong’s smile looks softer when he stands under a cherry blossom tree, or the way a field of daisies makes him look younger and more carefree.
Flowers are prettier when Jiwoong’s around.
When it’s just him, the flowers are covered in a thin layer of spit and blood, their petals folded and damp. He sits with them, usually at midnight when he knows the others are asleep, watching as the blood rolls off the petals in beads onto the bathroom floor.
It isn’t until the others start waking up that his panicked hands shove the red-stained petals into the toilet, flushing the evidence of his unrequited love. But the lack of their physical presence does not deter the constant reminder that he’s killing himself to give the boy he loves a garden of all his favourite flowers.
Ricky wishes it was easier to push him away, to love him at an arm's distance until his flowers can forget their love for the older boy. But Jiwoong is oblivious to Ricky’s suffering, clinging to the blonde haired boy under the impression that their relationship is not rooted in something beyond friendship.
To Ricky, it’s unbearable.
He can’t breathe when Jiwoong’s around, suffocating both mentally and physically while the flowers grow wildly, reaching out for a love Ricky knows he can’t have. Every breath is strained against a pain that consumes him, immobilising his ability to form any coherent sentences as he stumbles, almost drunkenly, to the nearest bathroom.
Usually, the flowers come out accompanied by a sharp pain in his gut and a burning in his throat. Other times, when he’s too deeply infatuated with the older boy, the petals come out coated with a greenish substance that leaves a bitter residue on his tongue. Not a day goes by where he is unburdened by the painful reality that he is falling deeper and deeper for a heart that does not call for his the way he calls for it.
The others don’t know about it, blissfully unaware of his muted retching in the middle of the night, and he’s happy to keep it that way. Knowing Jiwoong, the older would likely crumble at the knowledge, forcing himself into a relationship with Ricky in order to relieve him of his flowers.
Most people would take advantage of Jiwoong’s selflessness, abusing his lack of selfishness to coerce him into something he doesn’t want. Under any other circumstances, Ricky is ashamed to admit that he might’ve pursued such a method, but he is too deeply enamoured with Jiwoong to even consider persuading him into something he doesn’t want.
So he keeps his midnight bathroom trips a quiet affair, untangling himself from whichever member decided to bother him that day, before sneaking off quietly to where he can let his troubles run wild. With every thorn that is dislodged from the inner linings of his throat, there is a brief moment of relief before he can feel the blossoming of another.
It’s tiring, he’s tired .
He has never been the type to consider any cause of death beyond a natural one but he’s frustrated, pushed to an edge until he’s left with two options: let go or try to hold on until the ledge can no longer support his weight. Temptation calls his name in the form of an early death and he is often swayed by the idea of dying before the flowers can consume every inch of his being.
Even in his present state, he is in a constant gamble with death, unsure whether or not the next flower will remain stubbornly clogged in his throat until someone finds his lifeless body pressed against the tiled bathroom floors. At this rate, any fate that allows him relief from the flowers wrapped around his heart is a kind one.
The breathing next to his ear, however, reminds him that relief from his predicament would be a selfish decision, tying up the boys in a half fulfilled dream. So he waits until the breathing evens out, turning heavy with sleep, before he untangles himself from the arms wrapped tightly around his torso.
The flowers today are less vicious, just barely lingering in a way that their presence is not painful, but rather just uncomfortable. He makes his way to the bathroom nonetheless, committed to taking advantage of these few private hours to uproot the flowers that make the night air taste painfully sweet.
On his way to the bathroom, he notices the faint orange glow of light coming from the living room and he is instantly wary of the possibility that he is not the only one awake at this hour. He stops abruptly, cringing at the sound his slippers make against the floor. Hushed whispers tell him that it is not one, but two people awake and he presses himself against the wall.
“Hao…I don’t know.” Ricky flinches at the voice, recognising it immediately as Jiwoong. The sad edge in the older boy's voice tugs at the flowers wrapped around his heart and he doubles over in pain as they grow uncontrollably.
His grip on the wall loosens as he grabs at his chest and he slips, knees hitting the ground with a loud thud. Despite the pain, he can hear the silence as it falls over the two voices in the living room. He doesn’t care though, using his shaking arms to pull him towards the bathroom as his slippers drag loudly against the floor.
“Hyung, stay here. I’ll go check- Ricky!” Ricky’s grateful it’s Zhanghao and not Jiwoong that finds him on the floor.
“Please…please don’t let him see me like this.” Ricky wheezes. He isn’t sure if Zhanghao has understood his broken begging, but the other nods silently before turning back towards the living room.
“Is he okay?” He hears Jiwoong’s quiet voice, laced with a worry that only encourages the growing flowers.
“Not really, but don’t worry.” Zhanghao’s voice is quiet as he reassures the older boy. “Why don’t you go to sleep, I think it’d be better if I went to help him.”
There’s a hesitation from the older boy that has Ricky’s flowers pushing against him violently, yearning to reach out to the boy behind the wall.
“He’s gone Quanrui.” Zhanghao mumbles in Chinese. “Let me help you.”
Ricky shakes his head violently as Zhanghao extends a hand, his own hand pressed tightly against his mouth to keep the flowers from falling out. He sits back on his knees, pointing weakly with his free hand towards the bathroom.
Thankfully, Zhanghao understands Ricky’s wordless request, hooking his arms under the younger boy’s knees and armpits. He lifts him up, letting out a heavy breath at the exertion, before walking quickly to the bathroom.
He sits Ricky down gently on the floor before closing the door. “I won’t leave- not until I know that you’re okay.”
He tries to argue, tries to tell the older man that he doesn’t want to see Ricky with his lips stained with his own blood as he shoves fingers down his throat in desperate attempts to pull out the flowers that grow from his lungs. He pushes Zhanghao weakly, begging the older with his eyes to leave the room. When the other does not comply, he opens his mouth to complain, immediately regretting his decision.
Flowers spill from his lips, coated in the greenish substance that burns his throat as they come up. He hunches over, hand pressed firmly against the tiled floor as the flowers pool around him.
One flower stays stuck in his throat and he coughs loudly trying to get it out but it remains there, stubbornly unmoving as frustrated tears begin forming in Ricky’s eyes. He shoves two fingers down his throat, eyes watering as he gags, but they just barely brush over the tips of the petals and he panics.
“No, no, no, please! It won’t come out!” He struggles, pushing his fingers down deeper as his tears fall freely. “Why won’t it-”
He pulls his fingers out, holding his fingers in a fist before hitting his chest. His hand, coated in blood and spit, messes up his white shirt, staining it with the evidence of his struggle. He keeps hitting until the skin on his knuckles become tender, splitting with his unrelenting hits.
Zhanghao’s shocked paralysis wears off and he kneels next to Ricky, struggling briefly as he tries pulling his hand away. “Quanrui stop! Please, you’re hurting yourself!”
Ricky doesn’t listen, crying loudly as his breathing becomes increasingly shallow with his struggle. “No! It’s stuck! It hurts…”
His body slumps with his exertion and Zhanghao barely catches him before he hits the cold floor. “Hao-ge…make it stop please.”
“I’m so sorry Quanrui.” Ricky feels Zhanghao’s arms wrap around him as he pulls the younger in, his tears staining Zhanghao’s pyjamas. “Quanrui…can you let Hao-ge help you please?”
Ricky nods quietly where his head is pressed in Zhanghao’s shoulder, his tears uncontrollable. “Please…it hurts so much.”
He feels the gentle dip of Zhanghao’s head before he pushes Ricky away slightly. He cups Ricky’s face gently with his left hand, pressing firmly against his cheeks until his mouth opens. “I’m going to get that flower out for you but you have to let me put my finger down your throat…is that- is that okay Quanrui?”
“Please, Hao-ge, it hurts so much.” Ricky mumbles.
Zhanghao nods once before pushing his fingers in slowly. He treats Ricky delicately, retreating slightly everytime Ricky reacts. His fingers barely brush over the petals and Ricky feels his eyes watering as the fingers trigger his gag reflex.
His throat hurts as Zhanghao manoeuvres his fingers so that the flower petals are wedged between his index and middle finger. When the flower is secured, he feels the older boy’s finger retracting, the flower dragging painfully against his throat.
When the flower leaves his throat completely he inhales, his throat tender and broken from the drag of the stems. Zhanghao drops the flower onto the floor, it makes a wet slapping sound as it joins the other damp flowers that gather around Ricky.
Zhanghao’s hand is covered in red but he doesn’t bother cleaning it, pulling Ricky tightly against him. “Quanrui…please don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I’m sorry.” Ricky whispers into Zhanghao’s shirt, the blood on his lips leaving light red smudges.
“Who?” Zhanghao asks quietly.
“Quanrui, who are these for?” Zhanghao asks again when Ricky doesn’t answer.
Ricky sighs, knowing that with Zhanghao’s persistent nature, neither of them would be leaving until Ricky gave him a satisfying answer. “It’s Jin-ge”
(Jin or 金 is Chinese for Kim)
“Jiwoong or Taerae?” Zhanghao’s voice is quiet and devoid of judgement. “Quanrui? Can you answer me please?”
“It’s uh, Jiwoong.” Ricky answers, his voice strained as he holds in his tears. “It’s this stupid crush I have on him and it just won’t go away no matter how much I want it to.”
Zhanghao hand brushes gently through Ricky’s uncombed hair, a bit hesitant as if he were thinking over what to say in response. “Quanrui, can I tell you a story?”
Ricky nods, his throat in too much pain to speak.
“Do you know how Hanbin and I started dating?”
Ricky shakes his head and Zhanghao continues. “I’ve liked him since we first met, from before we had even officially started filming. I didn’t even get to talk to him but I remember seeing him in that photoshoot with Matthew, Gyuvin and Jingxiang. He just looked so…perfect.”
Zhanghao pauses for a moment to wipe the blood off of Ricky’s mouth, covering his hand with his sweater and dabbing gently at his red-stained lips before continuing. “He didn’t even know me until the first stage, even then, we didn’t talk. I just remember sitting in the dorm, wide awake, just waiting for the flowers to start growing.”
“They didn’t though.” Zhanghao brushes Ricky’s bangs from off of his face. “I got so confident that Hanbin liked me too that I remember one day I was following him around, trying to find time to just talk to him alone. The only time I could find was when he was in the bathroom.”
Zhanghao laughs softly. “I know it’s not the best place to confess but I learnt a lot about Hanbin and our relationship because of it. I thought I’d just wait outside until he was done and then I’d ask him to go with me somewhere else, somewhere more fitting. But then I heard him breathing really heavily, it sounded like he was crying. I wasn’t too sure what to do so I knocked and asked if everything was okay. He didn’t answer but the door was unlocked so I pushed it open.”
Zhanghao pauses, eyebrows furrowing slightly as if he were recalling an unpleasant memory. “He flinched the second he saw me, it looked like he was hiding something from me with the way his hands were out of view behind his back. It took a lot of talking and crying until he finally showed me his hands.”
“Quanrui, they were covered in blood.” Zhanghao whispers. “I could see bits and pieces of petals but his hands were mostly dried blood. I-I thought he was dying. I told him that I was going to call for staff to help but he started begging me not to, telling me that he would get better soon and not to bother anyone.”
Sensing tension in the older boy, Ricky squeezes his shoulders gently. Zhanghao smiles appreciatively before continuing. “I didn’t know what to do so I just held him and he just kept crying. He kept apologising and I didn’t understand why, until he finally confessed.”
He pauses again, hands hesitating on Ricky’s back. “He thought I didn’t like him back when in reality, I had fallen beyond in love with him. Quanrui, what I want to say is that sometimes we let our thoughts become our reality. Hanbin was throwing up flowers even though my feelings for him never wavered from the moment I met him. Maybe…maybe your feelings for Jin-ge aren’t so one-sided.”
Ricky thinks about it, silently considering the olders words. But no matter how he approaches it, he can’t imagine the older boy liking him back. It has always been that way, Ricky watching Jiwoong from the side as his flowers slowly consumed him. “Please Hao-ge…don’t give me hope like that.”
The older sighs, pulling Ricky closer. “Quanrui…do you know what happens if you let them grow for too long?”
“I know! Of course I know!” Ricky’s voice is loud but his heart aches with a silent pain- of course he knew. He’s known since the first flower. He knows exactly what will happen if he lets the flowers grow, watered by Jiwoong’s seemingly indifferent attitude towards every hint he drops. “But do you know what happens when I tell Jin-ge?”
Ricky doesn’t wait for the older to speak knowing that Zhanghao would try to persuade him into a confession. He knows Zhanghao cares about him but he doesn’t need the older boy to sit with him as he forces out every last flower in Ricky’s throat. “He’ll do something stupid, because he cares. He fucking cares about me and he’d probably force himself to like me. I-I can’t do that to him I would rather….”
The last part is whispered, his voice cracking slightly and unable to finish his sentence. He leaves Zhanghao with an implication he doesn’t even consider saying out loud but the older boy can tell. He sees right through him and Ricky watches as his eyes widen.
He goes to pull Ricky closer but he pulls away from him, scrambling up to his feet and putting his hands in front of him. It’s a boundary Zhanghao could shatter easily; one push, one whispered ‘Quanrui…please,’ and Ricky would crumble, clinging to the last piece of home he has in his mess of flowers.
But Zhanghao doesn’t, almost as if he knows he’s pushed the younger boy too far in one night. Instead he stands up slowly before taking a step back, he’s cautious in a way that tugs guiltily at Ricky’s heart but he’s grateful that the older understands what he needs in this moment.
“Quanrui please…just think about it.” Zhanghao begs and Ricky nearly gives in, hands wavering a bit where they stand between him and Zhanghao. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I won’t…I promise.” It’s an empty promise, Ricky and Zhanghao both know that, but the older doesn’t say anything. “I-I’m going to sleep…goodnight Hao-ge.”
He doesn’t wait for Zhanghao to answer, walking quickly to his room as he leaves him in a bed of bloodstained flowers.
-
The next morning when he sees Zhanghao speaking with Jiwoong he feels his breath as it catches in his throat.
“I’m sorry Quanrui.” Zhanghao doesn't look at him and Jiwoong looks as if he had the world tugged from underneath his feet. “I had to tell him.”
Ricky's heart drops and for once he is grateful for the flowers, grateful for the way they hold his heart up as it falls.
He’s vaguely aware of the others as they call his name but he ignores them, pushing past the doors to where the flowers’ fragrances are slightly dampened by the sticky Seoul air.
He runs aimlessly with no clear direction in mind aside from getting far away enough so that the flowers quiet down with the distance between him and who they reach out for. It isn’t until his foot snags on the uneven road that he’s forced to slow down, his knees hitting the ground. He feels the skin split and then seconds later, the warm rush of blood as it stains his pants.
He tries pushing himself up on weak arms, grateful that there are no people around to witness his pathetic struggle, but his body feels heavy- burdened by petals and thorns. Giving up, he crawls painfully until he’s up against the wall, leaning into the hot bricks of a building far from the centre of Seoul, and even farther away from Kim Jiwoong.
He tries to even out his breathing, inhaling painfully against the flowers as they crawl out of his throat. His breathing, however, remains painfully stuck in a loop of unevenness and he gives in to the blossoming in his throat- for once he doesn’t fight back.
He’s tired of fighting back against something vastly beyond his control, tired of loving someone who doesn’t love him back. He lets his head rest against the wall, pliant as the flowers paint black spots in his eyes and as they drain the air from his lungs. He gives in to the pain that, for once, is welcomed, letting the flowers suck him dry of feeling as numbness spreads quickly through his fingers.
He can feel the way the flowers linger just behind his lips, straining against the soft flesh. He grants them permission, opening his lips slightly to let them spill out onto his lap. The pain is still there and he is grateful for its presence, thankful that it keeps him grounded in the living despite his receding consciousness.
Regret wraps around his heart briefly, urging him to pull the flowers from his throat, but he pushes it aside.
He takes one last, stuttering breath before he lets the smell of roses overwhelm him as it pulls him into the ground.