Chapter Text
It’s one of those nights, where they lay down throughout the small expanse of Wooyoung’s bed that could barely cater two people. It’s one of those nights where they stay still, huddled up against each other as their eyes were focused on the movie that’s being played on the laptop. Exclusively, the eyes. Wooyoung’s other senses are constantly tingling, mind screaming at the way San’s warmth is spread on his back, gradually seeping to spread completely all over his body.
It’s one of those nights, where San’s signature musky fragrance serves as Wooyoung’s life source— the so-called oxygen he couldn’t live without; where the rising and falling of San’s chest behind Wooyoung feels like a mother’s embrace that lulls you to sleep; where the arm wrapped around Wooyoung’s torso only makes him not want to let go forever.
It’s one of those nights again, where Wooyoung is reminded how he’s helplessly in love with his best friend.
And it’s one of those nights where he could hear his heart shattering into tiny million pieces, because San will never love him back, not the same way he does.
“She shouldn’t have gone through that door!” He hears San exclaim, “See?”
The ghost residing within the house is now chasing the female lead, who’s desperately crawling on the floor with bloody hands. Wooyoung chuckles.
“They always do this,” San mumbles. “This really doesn’t happen in real life. Why do they think this is a good way to do the plot?”
“Classic horror movies, Sannie.” Wooyoung is still giggling. After all, he was the one who chose this movie. San doesn’t like horror, but he always lets Wooyoung pick anyway. And Wooyoung likes it that way, because he’s always rewarded with San’s animated reactions. Just like now, and how Wooyoung knows San is pouting even without looking at him.
“Horror movies are so dumb, this is why I don’t like them,” San grumbles again, the arm looped around Wooyoung’s stomach tightening as he pulled himself closer to him. See, Wooyoung should have been used to all these intimacy. However, his stupid heart got crazier ideas and decided on its own how it’s a good decision to pine over your long-time best friend. So, since that’s the idea, what San just did sent Wooyoung’s mind into orbit. Because Wooyoung had always chosen his heart over his own mind, thus, his mind is consecutively a puppet of his feelings. Or of San.
San pressed his cheeks to the crown of Wooyoung’s head. Wooyoung— oh weak, poor Wooyoung, pressed back as well. San is warm and everything and he felt like home. There have been countless instances where Wooyoung just wants to give in. Resign to his temptations. Be greedy. Confess. Confess. Confess. Save himself from all of these. But then again, his heart had always been above his mind. And his heart is anything but strong. So this, in no doubt, is his fated predicament.
“Sannie?”
“Wooyoungie?”
“Are you sleepy?” Wooyoung whispers, and for whatever goddamn reason. And San was whispering back. He likes it, the intimacy, the softness of it all.
“No,” San exhales, shuffling to position himself better behind Wooyoung, “Let’s stay like this a little longer.”
And who was Wooyoung to refuse? He was only a mere feebly, puny mortal, subjected to give everything San wanted even if it meant the moon and the heavens itself.
“You’re a larkspur,”
“Excuse me?”
“A larkspur.”
Wooyoung smiles at San, his confused expression too evident on his face.
“I can’t understand flower terms, Wooyoungie,” San pouts, causing yet another dilemma within Wooyoung.
Because San pouts like he’s a child whose candy pop was stolen. He pouts like he’s a humanized puppy disregarded with attention. He pouts like a lover denied of a kiss. Endearing and utterly solidifying Wooyoung’s claims of being in love with him. Because it takes everything and nothing to not lean forward and kiss San. Everything, because kissing San would be the epitome of Wooyoung’s dreams. And nothing, because San is by now deity to Wooyoung’s eyes; always transcending, too blinding, out of Wooyoung’s reach.
“Larkspurs is July’s birth flower,” Wooyoung says, reaching for the same flower next to San, “Your birth flower.”
“But a lot of people are born in July,” San protests. Wooyoung doesn’t need to look at San again to see what’s plastered on his face. He does it a lot, Wooyoung reckons he does it at least once a day.
He lifted the flower up beside San’s face, making an expression seemingly all-calculating and looking in between the two flowers in front of him.
“Perfect match, though?” Wooyoung teases. San rolls his eyes.
“Stop it,” San objects, but eyes away from Wooyoung. He smiles.
“I’m not kidding. You love purple, right?”
Wooyoung knows he loves purple, he doesn’t need to ask. Purple is San’s color. Purple which symbolizes intuitiveness and spirituality that absolutely resonates with San as a person. Intuitive San who never failed and always just understood Wooyoung even in his messiest days. Spiritual San who shares his deepest thoughts with Wooyoung every midnight when one of them stays over. Purple. And Wooyoung had always been too far gone when it came to San that he dyed his hair purple during his first semester in freshman years, in an attempt to make San love him more than he knows he already does (which he also is already aware is only platonic).
“Yeah, I love purple!”
“Well then, Sannie, you’re a purple larkspur.”
“Again, a lot of people are born in July and they might also love purple,” San sulks.
“I have a reason why I chose this though,” Wooyoung woos.
“Just a reason?”
Wooyoung huffs. Unbelievable.
“Reasons. I have a lot of reasons.”
He’s rewarded with San’s cheeky smile.
“Okay then, go on.”
Wooyoung rolled his eyes before moving on, not missing the way San chuckles.
“It symbolizes positivity. You’re a breath of fresh air to me, and you always make me happy.”
Okay, he’s starting to regret this now. He’s too caught up with San’s stupid smile near him and helplessly giving him what he wanted even without saying it out loud that Wooyoung forgot about himself. How was he supposed to finish this without confessing his heart out to San?
In an attempt to save himself even for a bit, he looked away from San.
“Loving bonds. Everyone you have a connection with, you treasure them deeply. Your friends, your family, even just the people you have worked with. You treat each one of them differently and so special that every bond you make is always forged so strongly.
Dedication and sincerity. You’re the most dedicated person I know, and you’re always so sincere in everything you do. You never do things half-assed, and you make me strive to become a better person. Always.”
Wooyoung thinks he might just have fucked up. He’s so fucked up. How does that not sound like a confession? Oh, he’s so gone. And San is going to catch all of that, and he’s going to change the way he treats Wooyoung. Only change, because San is never capable of hurting anyone, and he’ll never leave Wooyoung with just this. But that’s the thing. What if he does?
He made a mistake by locking his eyes with San, and he’s about to look away again immediately, when he noticed the struck expression on San’s face. Eyes glued onto Wooyoung’s, hands gripping into the hem of his shirt.
“Sannie?”
In whatever trance he was in, San broke out of it. A shy smile tugs in his lips, and if Wooyoung is being deranged, he could see a tint of light pink in San’s cheeks.
“Thank you, Wooyoungie. I mean, you’ve always been good with your words. But, yeah.”
San being bashful makes Wooyoung bashful as well. What San feels, Wooyoung feels. That’s just how it works. Wooyoung is so dependent on San that he never thinks too much about what to say.
“I’m not playing, idiot. You’re a larkspur indeed.”
“But, that still doesn’t answer my question?”
“You’re insufferable, Sannie. Do you know that?” Wooyoung huffs. Because San is incredibly unbelievable, and he always gets away with it with just a laugh, because Wooyoung is built weak just like that.
“I mean, I don’t really care. If I think you’re a larkspur, then I think you are.”
“Do you say that with every client you get who’s born in July, Mr. Florist?”
“I don’t make it a habit telling people their flower counterparts, so no. You’re the only larkspur I know, Sannie.”
“So I’m special?”
Wooyoung shrugs, but it was all too playful that San tackled him, luckily not causing them to knock themselves to the ground.
San is nothing but special to Wooyoung. San didn’t need words to know how he meant the world to Wooyoung. But a side of him tells him that he’s just afraid. Afraid that anytime soon, he’ll bleed his chest out and profess his love. And Wooyoung just isn’t ready, not yet. He thinks he never will be.
“I’m cutting my hair,”
That made Wooyoung look up from where he’s currently seated on San’s couch. San is dressed in his casual clothes, preparing to go out. His hair is messy, probably from all the ruffling that he did just a minute ago. Wooyoung wants to lean forward and ruffle his hair too. Personally, Wooyoung already likes the way San’s hair is right now. It’s not too long, but not too short, and it creates a perfect crown for San’s perfect head.
But cutting his hair is fine too. He’ll take San in any way he can. In any way, in any form, in Wooyoung’s eyes, San remains enchanting.
“Too sudden?”
“I’m feeling a bit hot, so,”
And Wooyoung nods. San didn’t need to say another word. He stood up and faced where San was standing behind the couch.
“Okay, I’ll go with you,” Wooyoung says, tapping on his pocket to check the outlines of his wallet.
“You don’t have to,”
“You’ll probably have your entire head shaved if I let you walk around the streets not knowing which proper barber shop to enter,” Wooyoung sighs. San gave him an amused look.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I know you, idiot.”
And Wooyoung turned his back to San, because everything felt like too much, and nothing even had been done. He missed the way San looked at him fondly, not even capable of forming words that could reply to that.
“Let’s just go. I might need a haircut too.”
And he did.
They have different majors, but Wooyoung still can’t escape San. Not that he’s complaining, but sometimes, being blessed by his presence takes a toll on Wooyoung's sanity. He thinks he might never get away from San at this point. Then again, not that he ever wanted to do so in the first place.
It’s history, and Wooyoung kind of wants to go home. His mind is currently occupied with how to focus on what the professor got to say, something about the importance of nationalism, which obviously, flew straight in between Wooyoung’s ears. He really wants to listen and save himself from the additional time he’s about to spend reviewing stuff that he should have learned during lectures, but he can’t help it. Not when it’s one in the afternoon. Not when he’s sitting at the farthest row in the lecture hall making the professor’s voice hard to grasp. Not when he’s seconds away from falling asleep. And not when San is distracting him by bombing his inbox.
‘You’re gonna fall asleep,’ sent San.
When he looked to his left, San was already looking at him, his head on the table with his phone in front of him. Wooyoung pointed at his phone.
‘It’s boring,’
‘Same. Wanna get out of here?’
Wooyoung looked at San, the latter with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Wooyoung just rolled his.
‘No can do, dude. He’s gonna kill us.’
‘Sucks :((‘
Wooyoung was about to turn off his phone and ignore the tantalizing and looming presence in the room that only he could feel when San sent another message.
‘Ice cream after class?’
There’s 5 minutes before the shop closes when Wooyoung hears a loud shutter sound near him.
“What are you doing?”
San chuckles, pulling out the polaroid from the camera.
“Marketing,”
“What are you talking about,” Wooyoung chuckles, fixing the last decorative bouquet in front of the reception table.
“Look at this,” San says, the polaroid film in his hand, showing Wooyoung tending to a bunch of flowers, “Wouldn’t it be cool if they know the receptionist is a cool, handsome guy like you?”
Caught off guard, that’s what Wooyoung is. He pushed San slightly and chuckled awkwardly, hoping it’s not as tense as it sounds.
“Very funny, Sannie,” Wooyoung walks behind the table, creating a distance between him and San.
“I mean, it works?”
“Well, I don’t know. Can you give me that please?”
San pouts, “No, you won’t give it back.”
But Wooyoung just tuned out. ‘Wouldn’t it be cool if they know the receptionist is a cool, handsome guy like you?’ Does San think he’s a cool, handsome guy? It’s free to dream. It’s easy to fantasize. It’s too easy to imagine that San might feel the same way too. Because San is kind and loving, and he’s so sincere. He’s never been against Wooyoung, not even once. He was always the first one to understand him, not even Wooyoung can put words into his own thoughts. It’s in the little compliments and praises he gives Wooyoung that it’s easy to slip into another narrative. It’s so easy, very easy to fall into the delusion that maybe, at least ever so slightly, that San loves Wooyoung, not just in the way you love your best friend. But that’s just all it is. A fantasy that Wooyoung only meets when he closes his eyes and enters his dreams.
“Wooyoungie?”
“Yeah?”
“You kind of spaced out, you good?”
“Yep. Won’t you give me that photo?”
“Nuh-uh, you won’t give it back. Remember the other ones I let you borrow?”
“Then I swear I’ll give it back,”
“Swearing don’t do shit with you, Jung Wooyoung,” San huffs, “I’ll give you this if you promise we take a picture together right now, though,”
It’s in these little things that Wooyoung never fails to realize just how helpless he is when it comes to San. Because even if he spends day and night thinking about San, adoring him and giving him everything that Wooyoung is, even if his heart began to thump and hurt from all this yearning he feels, and even if his heart aches from wanting something more, he still couldn’t bring himself to look away from the blinding light in front of him, insisting with his whole being that he’d rather suffer and take all of San now than have nothing at all.
Wooyoung dreamt of larkspurs, purple ones. It was a nice dream, a field of purple larkspurs with a clear horizon beyond it. In the middle of the field, stood San, his clothes all white, making him stand out than he already does. Then the wind became harsher, making Wooyoung’s vision blurry, before his chest began to ache unimaginably, making him wake up from his slumber.
He’s greeted by San’s face, oh so peaceful and asleep. He looks angelic like this, with the morning light highlighting his figure. His arms are wrapped securely around Wooyoung, and just then, he felt a sudden impulse to cough. His throat felt itchy, coming from the inside that tending on it physically is just impossible. He tried to swallow his saliva, but it’s no use. He looked at San’s face again, and there it was, the striking pain in his chest that had him breathing for air. He stood up all quickly, breaking from the arms that wrapped around him, and went directly for the restroom and locked it.
He’s bending over, coughing against the sink, not even knowing when it was going to end. All he feels is the prickling big lump on his throat desperately clawing its way out, and it’s been a few minutes since he began his coughing fit. He’s clutching the fabric in front of his chest tightly, as the vision in his eyes began to blur. One, two, three more coughs, he could already feel half of his lungs burning. Another cough, and there it was. The first petal. Wooyoung first felt the rusty element on his tongue, taking less than two seconds to realize that it was his own blood. He barely got a glimpse of the first petal and a second less to put two and two together when he began to cough again. Unlike the first fit, it took less than a minute for him to cough up another petal, joining the one on the sink. This time, even before he could finish taking a deep breath to compose himself, Wooyoung can already tell, he’s far doomed.
On the sink were two petals of a larkspur flower, adorned with Wooyoung’s blood. Larkspur flowers. They symbolize positivity, loving bonds, dedication, and sincerity. Purple larkspur flowers. They symbolize first loves. Wooyoung’s first love is San. San is Wooyoung’s purple larkspur flower.
Wooyoung knows what’s all this about, and he couldn’t even bring himself to go against this. From the moment he laid his eyes on the flowers, he knew he had accepted his fate, just like from the moment he laid his eyes on San, where he knew he’s gonna be someone special to him.
But he also knew how tragic this was. He’s not gonna get a surgery, all too against the idea of forgetting San and what he felt for him. Because Wooyoung would be no one without San, he’ll lose his very purpose. Erasing all his memories of San and what he made Wooyoung feel is equivalent to death itself. No, it was something more cruel than death.
He knew very well that what San feels for him right now also isn’t enough to save him from this situation. Love from friendships isn’t enough, and he knew that no matter how San loves romance, there’s no romantic feelings intended for Wooyoung alone. And the least that Wooyoung wants is to force San into something he doesn’t have any control over. So, he’s never going to tell San about this. Because if he does, then San will blame himself, and Wooyoung couldn’t wish the worst for San in exchange for his own necessity, even if it meant dying.
And dying from his love for San is not too bad. It’s alright. Because while these flowers are enthralling, it pales in comparison to how San makes him feel.
But still, there’s a small part in him that regrets falling for San. Somehow, he wishes he could have just loved him platonically, just like the way San feels. He regrets, not because he laments over the idea of being in love with San. No, he best believes that may it be in any other universe, he’d still look at San like he hung the moon and the stars in his eyes. He regrets, because with his death comes the realization that he’ll be breaking his promise with San, and they will never grow old together anymore.
His thoughts were interrupted when he could feel another fit coming up, and he wonders whether he could ever keep this a secret. Because unrequited love is a bitch. Hanahaki disease is a physical testament of how cruel it is. It’s never about dying, it’s about suffering in two ways more than one. But Wooyoung doesn’t mind. He’s never been his own. Hell, his heart has never been his in the first place. He just wishes he’d spend his remaining time by San’s side.
Even right now, Wooyoung wishes he could at least cook breakfast for San. Or toast bread.