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❝𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲, 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞.❞

His feet dangled over the edge of the bed, his feet only a few centimeters off the floor and if he swung his foot out, he was most positive his big toe would drag against the hard floors. His room was dark, and Kalim couldn’t find the strength to reach out for the lamp.

He tried to swallow, but the saliva on his tongue wouldn’t go down, and with a deep inhale he doubled over. The balls of his feet pressed into the flooring and his forearms dug into his thighs as he began to cough. At first, he was able to get one small hack out, followed by another.

Kalim inhaled deeply as the realization he was far from done dawned on him. He gagged on whatever was desperately trying to come up from within the depths of his throat. A part of him considered calling out for Jamil…maybe sending some type of frantic gibberish text, but as his right hand shot out to grab for his phone a clatter filled his ears.

Tears burned his eyes as the realization that his phone had fallen between his nightstand and his bed and was now securely out of reach.

Was he dying? 

Kalim gagged on his cough and inhaled again, a part of him silently prayed to the seven that maybe just maybe Jamil was wandering past and would hear him coughing up–

It felt volatile coming up from the back of his throat, and the taste was…bitter and unpleasant. It didn’t taste like a food he could identify, and it clung to his tongue for a moment.

Kalim spat frantically, trying to get whatever it was he’d just coughed up out of his mouth and in the darkness, desperation clawed at him, and he reached his hand into his mouth.

It was wet and unpleasant as he carefully plucked something off his tongue. He blinked once and then twice before he learned over and with a soft click a dim light illuminated his room.

His eyes blinked frantically in an attempt to adjust to the sudden light filling his room. In the palm of his hand, Kalim held a wet, yellow petal. He sniffled again as he stared at the flora in his palm.

The edges of the golden daffodil were tinged pink and red, his assumption was blood. Kalim shuddered, the realization sinking in of what now plagued his body.

Kalims hand trembled, unable to tear his eyes off the petal he held. He was disgusted and revolted and…scared.

Kalim forced himself to stand, and it felt as if he was no longer in control of his own body as he approached the small bin in his room, discarding the petal without a second thought or ounce of hesitation.

He turned back, intending to return to his bed and hopefully awake from this horrible nightmare, but as he stepped forward, the urge plagued him again and Kalim found himself doubled over.

And up came another daffodil…and another…and another.

Kalim couldn’t stop, but the feeling of unrequited love towards the daffodil did not compare to the unrequited love terrorizing Kalims heart. The unreciprocated love he had for Jamil had planted these golden blossoms in his body.

And the golden flowers were, in every sense, an intrusion into his body—a terrible reminder that his heart bore wounds it could not easily heal.

And so he coughed…and he coughed…and he coughed.

❝𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫; 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞. ❞

He’d practically begged Professor Crewel to leave class. He’d insisted this was a restroom emergency times ten and that if he didn’t get to a toilet right away, the mess would be astronomical. 

Crewel had reluctantly agreed to let Kalim leave class, and he admittedly had never been more grateful. He’d sputtered coughs all the way down the hall and had just barely made it into the restroom in time before it started.

His back slammed against the door as he doubled over, just as he had in his bedroom that night, and the coughing was torn from him at a speed that surprised even him. This had been going on for a few weeks now…this insistent need to cough up flowers. Fortunately, he’d always managed to sneak away from his peers before the urge would hit too hard.

Kalim stood up as he gasped out and tears burned his eyes. He reached for the goggles on his head, throwing them to the floor with a clatter, a sound similar yet not exact to the one his phone had made when it collided with the floor between his nightstand and his bed.

His fingers were frantic as they tugged his gloves off. Hot. He was much too hot as a wheeze left his throat again followed by another merciless coughing fit that he was most certain was far too loud and would absolutely catch the attention of anyone passing by.

Oh Seven, don’t let anyone pass by. The gloves made a more squelch-like sound rather than a clatter, and he was frantic in the way he pulled at the white coat he wore, desperate to remove some of the layers covering his body.

Kalim strained against his own lungs as he coughed again, the tears this time were able to escape his waterline and begin to rush down his cheeks and he felt it.

But rather than the bitter and unpleasant taste he’d become accustomed to with the daffodils, this time the petal on his tongue was sweet and…only slightly bitter.

Kalim knew better, but he raised his hand and with a weak cough, the petal left his mouth and landed in his hand.

It made sense now why.

Rather than coughing up another yellow bloom, the petals in his hand were pink. A pale pink, a soft color that should have made him feel nice and perhaps comforted, but this was not warm and comforting.

The petal, much like the daffodil, was tinged with wet redness. A sign his body truly wasn’t happy with him for this.

He panted, holding the flower in his hands for a moment longer before much like the daffodil petal he reached out and disposed of it in the bin.

Kalim lifted his gaze to the mirrors before the sinks and sniffled. He looked awful.

A part of him considered returning to class and telling Professor Crewel he was sick. That he’d thrown up while in the restroom and should return to his dorm, but then he ran the risk of Jamil finding out.

And despite the amount of time they spent together, Kalim could not let Jamil find out about these petals.

This was a garden Jamil should never step foot in, blossoms he should never gaze upon.

Oh Seven, picturing the look on his face when he discovered Kalim was ill with something he couldn’t cure horrified Kalim. 

He had to calm down. He couldn’t go back to class looking like this.

Kalim allowed himself to take a few deep breaths before he stepped forward and carefully crouched down, reapplying his layers in reverse order to appear as if nothing had happened.

Unfortunately, though, the beauty of the cherry blossom does not outweigh the violence in which they harbor and the agony they bring to the victim.

The urge hit him again.

And so he coughed…and he coughed…and he coughed.

❝𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬, 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐞; 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝. ❞

Tears clouded his vision as he rounded a corner, leaving the familiarity of Scarabias lounge behind. The warmth and the laughter he’d once held within him now replaced with a sense of shame and despair 

How? How could he have been so stupid to think Jamil would return the sentiment?

Oh Seven, how he would be paying the price for this. How he would spend his night hunched over on his bed, coughing up daffodils and cherry blossoms.

Rejection was a part of life, yet it was something Kalim was unfamiliar with.

This wasn’t normal rejection either, and maybe that was part of the reason this one hurt more than any other.

This was the man he had developed feelings for, insisting they would never be. He couldn’t remember if Jamil had said why they could never be or not, and a part of him couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The look on Jamil's face was burned into his memory as he told him. A flat expression, one that didn’t falter. He merely lowered his gaze and rejected Kalim.

“No Kalim. I do not wish to go on any semblance of a date with you. I am not interested.”

And it hurt. 

But the pain was sub-par to the pain that radiated throughout Kalim as he picked up his pace, frantically trying to make it to his room before he began to cough. He could feel it; the tickle in the back of his throat was there, and it was growing.

Kalim sputtered a cough as he shouldered open his bedroom door.

“I will never be interested”

It played over in his mind. Those five words cut deep and brought on an agonizing pain. This was almost normal to him now.  To cough up flower petals every so often was becoming a part of his daily routine.

But, what had not become a part of his daily routine was coughing up flowers.

Kalim wheezed as he slammed the door with all his might, and just as he had in the bathroom that day, only a month or so ago, did he press his back against it.

A wheeze broke from his throat and he couldn’t tell if it was one from wanting to cry or one from the cough, but it was short-lived as the urge to get it out increased.

Kalim coughed for what felt like an eternity and though he was expecting nothing more than a petal, this time it was no petal.

It was something bigger than a petal. Something that as it crept up his throat took up the entirety of his fleshy wet esophagus.

And oh how it hurt.

Kalims eyes grew wide, and his hands wrapped around his throat. Was he choking? Kalim inhaled a strained breath before he managed to cough it out, but this time it scared him.

As it left between his lips and landed on the floor with a wet splat, a sob followed.

Kalim tried to stay on his feet, but his back slid down the door before he could say or do anything and for a moment, he allowed himself to cry. He buried his face in his hands and wept.

Yet, he couldn’t identify if these were tears of sorrow from rejection or tears of fear from the reality that he had just coughed up a whole flower.

A symbol that his disease was becoming worse. A sign that he was not healing and that, if anything, death was approaching.

Kalim didn’t want to die. Not at Seventeen.

Oh, why couldn’t Jamil just love him back?

Kalims sobs echoed throughout his room as he sat on his bedroom floor, avoiding the sight of that carnation bloom. Much like the other petals, it too was tainted red and pink yet this time, it was more than just the edges.

More and more of the petals seemed tinged with red.

He choked on a breath and allowed himself a stuttered sob before that urge returned.

Kalim lowered his hands from his face and inhaled a breath.

And then he coughed.

And he coughed and he coughed and he coughed…

❝𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚. 𝐀𝐧 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫, 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧, 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡. 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬.❞

His eyes affixed on the beauty of a Scarabian sunset. The ways in which the vibrant reds and gentle purples swirled together to create a work of art. How he wished the vibrant reds of Jamil Viper would swirl with the delicate purples of his own being to create a work of art filled to the very brim with a love so very pure.

Tears glazed his eyes as he stared, his fingers held to opposite elbows before his stomach as he stared.

The sunset was beautiful. How he wished he could share it with Jamil.

How he longed to sit by this very window and gently caress his cheek and gaze into his beautiful dark eyes. Kalim would give anything and everything to….to sit on the bed and become silhouettes to the world as he worked to braid Jamil's long dark hair.

He longed for one he could not have, yet he also longed for freedom.

Kalim longed to no longer be the soil flora grew within. He was tired. His body was tired, and he didn’t know how much longer he could go on like this. 

Oh, why can’t he love me back?

Kalim clenched his jaw, the golden hues reflected off his eyes as he stared. He’d coughed up almost a whole bouquet today.

That was the other part Kalim had to cope with; he no longer found himself coughing up petals in solitude. 

His body now found it appropriate to force Kalim to vomit up full blossoms. He wanted so desperately for them to be beautiful, but with each and every fit, the flowers became uglier and uglier.

He hated this bouquet.

In the early hours of the morning, he’d coughed up a bitter daffodil and just before lunch, he’d coughed up seven cherry blossoms in the bathrooms again.

He’d stopped by the gym while Jamil was in basketball practice– just to check in on him, and as he left, Kalim found himself coughing up a mouthful of Yellow Carnation.

In the back of his throat, that tickle began to surface, and Kalim knew. He knew all too well what was coming.

The sadness that crept in as he realized just how pathetic it was that he was prepared for this gnawed at his person.

Kalim exhaled, “Jamil…if only you…you knew how I longed for you…”

And then that tickle grew, and he could no longer fight it.

Kalim turned away, maybe out of fear that other students would see him or maybe a desire to guard the sun from his condition, but he turned away and began to cough.

He coughed, and he coughed until his throat tightened around the blossom.

It was short-lived however as with a shaky, strained inhale Kalim managed to guide the blossom up with a few weak coughs.

And then he held it in his hands.

A pink camellia that was far more red than pink. Kalim stared at the blossom in utter disgust.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to throw the flowers at the man and be angry.

“If you would just love me back, this wouldn’t be happening! Do you realize this, Jamil? You are killing me! Your job is to protect me and yet–”

Yet that was fear. That was rejection and those were emotions Kalim did not want to display outright…especially to someone like Jamil.

The tears had begun to race down his cheeks, and this time he could identify them as sorrow rather than choking. 

How he longed for Jamil.

How Kalim longed for someone who did not long for him.

Just as he’d done with many flowers before, he tossed it into the bin, only to inhale a strained breath.

And as he’d done many times before, he coughed.

And he coughed and he coughed and he coughed.

❝𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡. 𝐈𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐭.❞

And he coughed and he coughed and he coughed.

Jamil had never in his life witnessed such a coughing fit before, what was this?

He stepped closer as Kalim braced himself against the pole to the canopy in his room. Jamil watched as his grasp around the dark wood grew tighter and tighter.

And then he watched as the rose fell from between his lips and landed on the floor in front of him with a wet smack.

And then came the droplets, one and then two. Crimson in color.

Jamil understood immediately.

He closed the distance between them and pried Kalims fingers from the bed post.

Jamil placed Kalims hands onto his shoulders as his heart thundered not only in his chest but his ears. He felt like his lungs weren’t expanding, just contracting as he tried to speak.

“I love you,” Jamil forced from his throat, gazing into Kalims eyes, but they seemed lifeless almost.

Kalim strained again, and Jamil's eyes flickered to Kalims throat and the way it moved frantically.

Sickening.

It seemed though however that the pain radiating within Kalims body became too much and his legs gave out from under him, and thank the seven Jamil had been holding him.

Jamil was gentle in the ways he guided Kalim to the floor.

“It’s alright, you…you’re going to be alright Kalim, breathe and know that I love you.”

But as he spoke these words, Kalim lifted his tear filled gaze as another rose fell from his mouth and into his hands.

“Dammit, I love you!” Jamil cried out, “I said I love you, now stop coughing!” It came out more desperate than he intended it to.

Kalim strained, his hands reached for his throat, a pathetic symbol to display that he was choking. Why couldn’t Jamil move? Why wasn’t he helping Kalim?!

He knew what he had to do, and yet he couldn’t move his arms.

“I love you!” Jamil insisted again, “I-I rejected you because it–it…I–I’m a servant and you deserve better! I love you Kalim now please stop!”

Yet as Kalims face became more purple, Jamil grew more desperate.

He was wheezing now more than he was coughing, and Jamil wanted to save him. He wanted to save him more than anything, but he couldn’t move his arms to do it.

He was in shock. He knew he was failing, and he knew that he would face severe consequences, and yet he couldn’t move. He was trying and he's failing. Jamil's existence had been rooted in protecting Kalim for Seventeen whole years, and yet– he could not protect him from this.

The gurgle to leave Kalim made Jamil nauseous himself, and he watched Kalim blink rapidly.

“I love you!! I love you Kalim, I always have, and I always will! Please stop coughing!”

He was blinking back his tears now, and he wanted to scream for someone, but he didn’t know who. He could have tried screaming for Crowley, but that more than likely would not work.

Helpless, Jamil watched as a mouthful of roses sputtered from between such perfect lips, lips he had desperately wanted to kiss for…oh he couldn’t remember.

But a long time.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he cradled Kalims body, a strained sound leaves him, and he watched as Kalims eyes dim.

Oh, Seven, what had he done? He didn’t– no, he did, but he was too late.

“Kalim?” Jamil pleaded and shook his frame slightly, “Kalim come on, I said I love you!”

“I said I love you, Kalim! Kalim I love you! Kalim!”

And while his desperate attempts were futile, Jamil sat in a garden of bloody, wet flowers even though he didn’t want to.

His voice grew more frantic as he tried to find any semblance of movement from the man he loved, yet none came.

Kalim was still. His chest did not rise, and it did not fall. His garnet eyes stayed affixed on Jamil, unwavering and unblinking.

And he did not cough.

For his love was reciprocated too late.

And though he had withered away in Jamil's arms, he left one final gift behind.

A garden of flowers, all for the one he loved.

And he did not cough…he would not cough…for he was dead.

Kalim Al-Asim was dead in a field of bloody flowers.