Work Text:
The low light of the evening settles through the glass windows that frame the front of the modest coffee shop that sits to the left of the performing arts building on campus. The interior is a combination of plush couches, high-bar stool seating, and simple wood and metal tables. Its usual patrons seemed to be sleep-deprived students weighed down by their load of homework.
Two girls sit side by side, Momo, on scholarship for majoring in vocal music and, Fine, begrudgingly using her trust fund bestowed to her, to major in classical music taking particular favor to violin and piano. Both notice the lack of space between themselves, but never comment because “That would be awkward, wouldn’t it be?”
When they eventually get distracted from their work by losing themselves in whatever joke that had just been said, whoever instigated soon to be forgotten. Fine begins to cough and steps away with the excuse of allergies. She enters the bathroom, locks the door, and leans on the sink as the coughing fit gets worse with the feeling of something being stuck in her throat.
After finally finding relief as whatever was causing the problem was unlodged from her throat and dropped into the sink. Opening her eyes Fine could see that it was white flower petal that was curled in a strange manner almost as if it were not open all the way. Blinking multiple times to be clear that what she was seeing was actually there. She reached for the petal, breath trapped in her lunges not daring to breathe until she picks it up gently, almost as if she were scared of it. Regarding it carefully as she inspects it, turning it over, on the side, and spreading it out, the woman immediately realizes she knows this petal. Knows it as well as the girl waiting for her outside. Disbelief settled through her but sorrow trickled in, steadily filling her with a weight that she didn’t even know was possible. She’s heard of this happening in the news, from magazines, in the novels she reads on occasion, but never actually seeing the symptoms first hand. Collecting herself numbly, she raps the petal in a tissue and pockets it before stepping out again. Forcing a smile she walks back and quickly grabs her stuff and makes a half hated excuse of being sick before walking out, and rejecting the other girl's offer of being walked back to her dorm.
-
Loving someone shouldn't come at a cost. But to love your best friend, love them more than you should, does. Specifically unrequited love. They say that love comes from the heart but this- this thing, this disease blooms from the lungs raviging up and choking until the infected dies or has it removed, taking that love away in the pross. Love, that Fine doesn’t want to lose. She loves Momo more than just a friend should. Loves her laugh and that adorable snort that comes with it on occasion. She loves how focussed she gets when she’s serious about something. She loves her voice, how it carries through the room and brings you through the story the composer wanted to tell. She loves her so much but believes so strongly that she is not loved back. Slowly causing that seed to grow, to blossom and take root painfully one stem, one bud, and one flower at a time.
Fine couldn’t find it in herself to get it removed. Removing it would be removing the one person who she feels truly comfortable with. Who just sees her as a normal person going through the same struggles as anyone else is, instead of that perfect pedestal she was set on since she was young. All that care she holds for her would just be gone, as if it was never there to begin with. The memories would no longer hold that warmth that she was so familiar with and accustomed to and so desperately didn’t want to lose.
She kept the bloodied petals and the flowers, when they too started to appear when she reached. Each being beautiful yet a devastating symbol of yearning.
-
Time goes by and Fine starts seeing less and less of Momo as the plant progresses on its journey up. Fine hates seeing Momo look disappointed, hates it because she caused it. But she also knows she can’t let the other know what’s happening. Can’t bring herself to tell her because…. that would ruin their friendship, ruin their memories, and ruin the bond she so strongly craves and adores. She would end up scaring the other off, never to be seen again. She wants Momo to live a happy life, and doesn’t want her to be shouldered with the burden of having Fine around in the condition she is in.
Fine can feel every little brush of the smooth but irritating foliage, causing almost a constant string of coughing. She skips class and stays held up in her room. She ignores Momo’s texts, then the calls, and the eventual voice mails that come at the end of said failed calls. Each being more painful than the last as she hears how hurt and frustrated the other is.
Fine doesn’t tell her brother what's happening. She couldn’t stand to think of how he would even react as she made calls and sent emails to tie up the necessary paperwork that he would need after she would eventually leave them all. Leaving him to deal with the pressure of their family. He always handled it better than her but it was still emotionally straining and difficult to deal with. As they were always berated because of the simplest things, always monitored from the clothes they wear to what they eat daily.
When fine was finally allowed to run once she turned eighteen and inherited the trust fund that was left to her from her parents. Using it to study music miles and miles away from the prying judgemental eyes of her relatives.
-
Fine barely registers the banging on her door as she lays in bed motionless except for the weak rise and fall of her chest and the occasional raspy cough that ranks through her. The door knob rattles for a few seconds before Momo steps inside unsure as she closes the door behind her. Her feet pad softly against the false hardwood and plush carpet of the apartment only stopping when she reaches the door of Fine’s room. She opens the door slowly, careful not to make any noise.
Fine stirs as Momo walks in her eyes unfocused as she looks at the other girl who just entered her room. Momo freezes as she sees her and drops the bags she was holding before making her way to the bed in slow disbelief.
Momo softly whispers out, “Fine… oh, Fine…”
She takes a tentative seat on the bed, eyes roaming over the figure in front of her. Fine, despite herself, smiles while her eyes crinkle as she sees her friend, her constant companion. Momo takes her hands in her own feeling for a pulse and finds a faint thumping barely there.
“How… how and why did you let it get this bad?” Momo wipes away the bangs on Fine's face as tears start to stream down her own. Fine gives a small shake of her head as she weakly squeezes the other girl’s hand.
“Ng…” Fine tries to say “ingh- or eh…”
“Sing?” Momo questions. Fine’s smile widens as she manages a nod, exposing a vine that settles near the inner corner of her mouth. It slips out easily and soon more join it, some hold buds that have not bloomed and others hold leaves.
The tears streaming down Momo’s face increase at the devastating sight in front of her. As she begins to sing she watches, watches everything. Her voice breaks often as she observes the vines steadily grow in number and length from the woman's mouth. She sings, she cries, and she watches as the buds blossom and bloom into flowers that lean towards the moon seeking it light. Flowers that she knows well. Flowers that she has watched bloom multiple times with the person in front of her. The flowers that she called favorite. The one person she has let herself love after her last bed break up. The amazing talented musician who has worked extremely hard, and loves what she was studying. The one who never gave up in her dream to pursue music. And she was the person who Momo relied on, and trusted deeply.
The night goes on and so does Momo’s voice as she sings nearing the point of wailing. Wailing quieting downs to an eventual whisper. Whispering that turned to humming. Humming bled into quietness. Momo doesn’t remember when Fine stopped breathing, doesn’t remember her pulse dying out, or when the vines stopped growing. But she will remember this night, never darring to forget what happened to her second love.
-
The next month Momo would get a notification that a large sum of money came into her account. A large sum and a note tied to it.
“Thank you, for our time together”