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Contrarian watches as Broken casts the yarn around an abnormally large needle. It's a very funny looking one, almost as long as the length of Broken's arm and as thick as the pencil he uses when the other finds the fancy to draw something.
He repeats this process several times before doing the same thing with another similar needle. He loops it over and over again, interlocking threads and tying it securely, and repeats the cycle all over again. It is almost calming in its monotony and Contrarian watches with a focus he isn't quite known for as Broken does his magic.
Broken sighs and his gaze immediately looks back at him, jumping straight to attention to erase that worried crease on his friend's face.
"Is this that really entertaining to you?" Broken beats him to it though and Contrarian takes a moment to flounder before he leans away, hands resting on the back of his head casually.
"Of course it is! I mean, have you seen the way you did all those knots neatly? It's almost like magic from my perspective."
"Oh." Broken hums, not quite sadly but not quite happily either. "If you want, I could teach you how to knit. I'm not a very good teacher but—"
"Yes!" Contrarian cheers, jumping up and down before taking the extra needles and yarn on the table before them, presenting them to Broken not quite unlike a puppy. "Show me! Please."
Broken's lips twitch to something like a smile, putting down his own materials to rest a hand on Contrarian's wrist. There's a flutter in his chest at the touch and Contrarian beams at the gentle light in Broken's eyes.
"Sit down, Connie," the nickname almost makes him breathless. "It's easier to teach you when you're close to me."
Almost breathless at that, Contrarian lets Broken's voice wash over him in a gentle wave. It feels right being by his side, close enough to lean against Broken's small form, a space that Contrarian feels at ease to simply be. A thought passes through his head then, this is love, surely, he thinks.
Another flutter inside him, feeling like seeds of desire unspoken.
Contrarian froze. His relaxed body tensed as something inside him squirms in discomfort. No, no, no. That can't be, he thinks, This is stupid.
"Oh, I just remembered!" He scrambles away, careful not to look panicked and scared. "I was supposed to help, uh,H-hero! Yes, Hero. With the uhhh dishes and stuff!"
He moves away from Broken, failing to see the other reaching out to him in vain, as Contrarian flees without looking back. "See ya, Broken!"
Surely his brain was just messing with him. He isn't, shouldn't, can't be in love with his friend.
Contrarian dashes away the moment he knew Broken wouldn't hear him running, gasping for air as he locks himself inside his room, burying his face on his pillows. He coughs as he tries to regain his composure, feeling like his are lungs are constricting, choking him from the weight of his realization.
And yet, Contrarian is unable to resist searching for him.
It had been days since he abandoned Broken and shame had prevented him from even trying to look at the other in the eye. But beyond that is the unrelenting sorrow of his earlier realization, weighing him down far more than shame ever could. When had it happened? Does it matter why it happened? There is a bud sprouting between the space in his chest and it grows and grows and grows for every stolen glance he makes, every glimpse of that mournful expression staring off at a distance, waiting for something, for someone, to occupy the emptiness beside him.
Oh, Contrarian yearns for that spot to be his.
But that's impossible. Contrarian, the silly jester, the worst part of them all, couldn't ever hope to compare to the person, the Goddess, that Broken had offered his heart to.
And yet. And yet…
"Connie?"
His voice strings him along despite it all.
"Heya, Broken. Long time, no see!" No thanks to him avoiding the other.
Broken, sweet and meek and delicate Broken, looks at him with a power only the Princess used to have. He reflects Her in a way he doesn't notice (but he does) and pins him down in place with a soft look in his eyes. Contrarian waves at him awkwardly, throat tight, breathless for all the wrong reasons.
When had it happened, he thought to himself earlier. Perhaps it was when Broken had slowly nestled his place in the part of Contrarian had guarded so fiercely ever since he had known awareness. With him, the silly and useless rulebreaker founds himself free in a way that resisting the Narrator couldn't provide. No masks, no pretenses. Just him, just Contrarian, with all the misshapen edges and crooked curves his entire existence could be.
Something fluffy wraps around him, or more accurately around his neck. Broken is suddenly far too close for his liking, his heart threatening to burst as the other places a knitted scarf on him.
"I made this for you," was all Broken says, voice barely a whisper, lips trembling in uncertainty. "You seemed unwell this past few days. I hope this gift would cheer you up."
And just like him, Broken hides away from Contrarian, quickly leaving the room.
But Contrarian remains unmoving, eyes gawking and face flushing. A gift? A gift for him…?
Something terrible burned his throat then.
He kneels, coughing painfully. He grips his precious gift, trying to protect it from how he hacks out his lungs and splatters his filthiness on the floor. It burns, something scratching and clawing at his throat, and when he opens his teary eyes, yellow flowers had scattered before him.
Blearily, he recognizes them as tulips, whole in their full bloom glory, stained with his blood. He picks one, wiping off the blood off the petals, only succeeding to smudge the delicate yellow. Faintly, they remind him of Broken and the mere image of him carrying a bouquet of yellow tulips is enough to cause another coughing fit.
Then he eyes at the gift he was given, realizing he had failed from protecting it from his terrible transgression. Specks of his blood tainted the meticulous threadwork, ruining a heartfelt gift. Contrarian laughs wryly. Of course. Of course! This is what he deserves, after everything he's done. All that he could ever be is ruining something beautiful, something precious, because of his own stupidity.
He takes off the scarf and cleans up his mess as best as he could. He dumps the flowers in a nearby trash. There was a moment where he thinks of throwing off the scarf too because he surely isn't worthy of it anymore but he hesitates before sighing in defeat. Maybe someday he can part with it without guilt.
The scarf was stuffed at the bottom of his drawer in his room, unwashed and rusting with his blood, as a reminder of his failure and shame. It's a good way to humble him when he starts getting the funny idea of taking it out and cleaning it and showing it off to the rest of the flock. But even imagining that is enough for him to hack out yellow zinnias and sunflowers on the daily. Contrarian is so sick of flowers at this point.
But not these ones. Yes, seeing all the flowers decorating their home in vases or flower crowns or even just their garden makes him feel queasy, the stems and thorns pricking inside his lungs and throat ever so poignant in their presence. But he finds himself entranced at every petal that he expunged, beautiful and soft and wonderful in their daintiness. He knows clearly who they remind him of.
He still avoids Broken, even more so than before. Contrarian doesn't allow for them both to be in the same room, much less alone. And even if it breaks his heart to see Broken so upset and defeated when he leaves immediately, the plants inside of him constrict, drinking off his blood and love to bloom so marvelously that he feels like throwing up whenever he so much thinks of Broken.
Ah, he misses his smiles. He misses his company. He misses the days where he just would lean against Broken, telling him so much inane stuff and the occasional jokes, and Broken would hum and patiently listen to him ramble about a prank and stunt he will never do.
Bile rises in him and a hibiscus tears out of his mouth, followed by a daisy, followed by several more he can't identify because everything hurts. It hurts to think, to cough, to move.
It's a cycle at this point and there is nothing more Contrarian hates than cycles. They were mind-numbingly boring, tedious, constrictive. And worse, he can't escape them. He couldn't do the only thing he was best at and that was overriding rules, disobeying them and spiting at its metaphorical feet.
No. That's not necessarily true. He could pretend that everything is okay, laugh it all off even as it claws and scratches at his throat, his lungs, his heart. He could pretend there wasn't a garden being nurtured inside his body, draining him of his joy and life and his soul. Why couldn't it drain him of the thing they originated from, of this overwhelming longing, of this intoxicating love?
His heart beats weaker by each day and the flowers bloom ever more brilliantly for it.
Pretend. That's all he needs to do. Ignore everything that hurts and is uncomfortable. Just like his usual. Run. Run away from everything that holds him down. Hide it all with a smile and a joke. There's nothing worth seeing in him. After all, he's nothing more than the worst part of them all.
"Contrarian."
But he's no Opportunist.
"Skeptic!" He greets with too much of a trill, slapping his mouth shut before he clears his throat. He swallows down the leaves and gives the other bird a casual smile. "What brings you to my humble presence?"
The inquisitive voice grabs his wrist all of the sudden and Contrarian feels dread close in on him as Skeptic remains quiet, eyes scanning him, worried. Paranoid appears behind him. holding two bloodied daffodils.
"We need to talk."
"I can't believe this!" Paranoid scratches at his arms, eyes flitting back and forth between Skeptic and Contrarian then at the books spread out before him. Books that look awfully ornate and gaudy for some random medical texts. "You fucking dunce—"
Skeptic shakes his head, his claws pressing to the pulse on Contrarian's neck, then to his chest, before taking hold of his jaw to pry it open. "Did you know about this?"
"N-no."
"Can I hit him once?"
Skeptic flashes a light at Contrarian's mouth. "If it would help him cure of this affliction, then go ahead."
"Wait wait wait!" Contrarian swats Skeptic away, waving frantically at Paranoid's looming form. "Look. I swear it looks bad but I'm fine really. I haven't coughed out flowers for a few hours now."
Paranoid decks him.
Contrarian dodges him in the nick of time. Even if he didn't, he doubts Paranoid would actually seriously hurt him. Skeptic rubs at his forehead, sighing.
"You have pink camellias at the back of your throat." Skeptic says, circling his own throat. Contrarian gulps them down in response. His body didn't agree with that and he coughs out a few petals and leaves after.
"There! We're done now, haha! Can I leave now, Doc 1 and uhhh," Paranoid bares his teeth at him, "Doc 2, sir. I feel well now and perfectly healthy."
"You have Hanahaki, you bumbling fool." Paranoid tries to reach out to him again but Contrarian flinches and the other stops, his frown deepening in genuine worry. For him. For Contrarian. "Do you know what that is?"
"Sounds like something from Smitten's books, to be honest."
"It's certainly some kind of a fantastical disease," Skeptic crosses his arms, not masking his dubious tone as he glances back at the books on the desk. "One that has an equally impossible cure."
A cure? Contrarian perks up at that. Even more so with the revelation of it being an impossible cure. Maybe there's hope for him after all.
"Puh-lease," he grins, "I'm not called Contrarian for no reason. I make the impossible possible. I am the acclaimed third option. Hit me with it, Doc 1."
Skeptic raises an eyebrow at him, unamused, "From what scant information we found, you simply need to confess your feelings to someone. Or you will die from suffocation."
On second thought, it might really be impossible.
"Are you sure," he coughs, "that there's no other option than that, Skeps?" He glances at the books then, tilting his head. "Your sources seems… questionable, at best." Very likely those were indeed Smitten's books.
"Who is it?" Paranoid ignores him and instead once again hovers close to him, pressing a claw on his chest. "So we can drag them here and you can resolve this mess once and for all—"
"I don't know," he shrugs, giving a little snicker at the end, "For all I know it's probably you that I'm dying to confess to."
Paranoid bristles, flinching away like he personally spat in his breakfast. Which he never did ever. "Very funny, Contrarian."
"Hm," Skeptic hums in contemplation, stroking his chin like a cliched detective, "It's probably Broken."
"No!" Contrarian yelps before realizing he fucked up when Skeptic's eyes glint in triumph. "I mean, whaaat are you talking about haha! I don't know a Broken!" Okay, maybe that was going too far.
Paranoid turns around and puts his hands on his face, screaming in frustration.
"Denying anything right now wouldn't save you, Contra." Skeptic awkwardly pats Paranoid's back while his eyes remained focused on him. "We know you'd been hiding these for days now. Hunted could smell the blood and flowers off of you. You've been looking sick and duller to the point you aren't pulling up pranks with Cold anymore. You barely bother Stubborn and Cheated nowadays and you even hurt Smitten's heart when you refused his gift of flowers when he noticed you were feeling down. Worse of all, you've been avoiding Broken and refusing to be in the same room as him."
The reminder of his sin churned his stomach so painfully and Contrarian couldn't help but heave another bout of flowers on the ground, gasping for air as strands of stems and buds and bile were strewn on the floor. Skeptic and Paranoid immediately came to support him, one of them trying to soothe down his frazzled, unkempt feathers while the other tries to whisper comforting words to him.
"Don't tell him!" Fine then, if his poorly kept secret was going to be exposed like this, let him have this please, "You mustn't tell Broken! I don't want to force him to accept this stupid feelings of mine!"
"Accept what?"
The door creaks open. Contrarian freezes.
Skeptic sighs from beside him. Paranoid nervously taps his claws on his arms. Everything was spinning out of place.
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" Broken whispers in sadness but his voice was as loud as a church bell being tolled. "Is this why you were avoiding me all this time?"
Contrarian tries not to, but his eyes are drawn to the other regardless, unable to bear the heartbroken tone he was hearing. "Broken, I—"
Then he sees the scarf he discarded in his room, Broken's gift, clutched so tightly in the hands of its maker. It was clean, no specks of blood or dirt from his ignorance and carelessness was seen, and yet it is soiled once more from the tears Broken sheds for him. For him.
When will he ever stop hurting the people around him?
He expects it but it doesn't prepare him any more from the pain as he coughs and hacks and vomits again. More flowers of different colors and different varieties, all drenched in scarlet. A bouquet in their own right, and without the blood, without him in the way, the flowers are all very pretty to be gifted to the one person they were all for.
"Connie!" He hears him call out and he can feel his small, scarred hands cup his hideous face and rub his cheeks in a soothing manner. "Please. Please tell me you're alright."
"I'm sorry," he gasps out, prying Broken away from him. "I'm sorry." Please do not look at him like that. He doesn't deserve it.
And he runs out. Out of the room, out of the house, out of Broken's life. Like the coward he always is.
He collapsed in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and the occasional cricket, gasping for air after he ran away like there's no tomorrow. And perhaps there is indeed no tomorrow for him if his sickness was any indication. It was easy to believe what Skeptic had said to him earlier but it was also so cruel for that to be his only options. To confess or to die. Where was the mythical third option in there?
His thoughts wanders back to Broken. Surprise, surprise. Seeing him right there and then, even at his most shameful appearance, felt refreshing. Welcomed. Oh how he misses gazing upon his form, his face, and his eyes. But now that the truth of his ugly feelings is out now, how could he ever face him again? How could they go back to those simpler times before he stupidly fell in love and feel as though Broken isn't just being forced to accommodate for him because he was too fragile to keep hacking out flowers for the rest of time?
Broken shouldn't be forced to appease him. He shouldn't be forced to do anything at all. He must be free, freer than Contrarian ever could be, and he will not let his feelings hold him down like She did to him.
But what was left for him then? What else can he do?
"A garden left untended."
Contrarian could barely resist when the encroaching roots wrapped around his limbs, exhaustion and the lingering pain weighing him down to the ground, leaving him helpless as a soft, mellow voice spoke straight through his mind. He recognizes this. Recognizes Her.
"Ah, Princess!" He chuckles worriedly, trying to pull himself off the roots. "I didn't know you were hanging around this area. Sorry to disturb you but I really should get going—"
"You are withering beneath the soil of your overgrown sprouts, little one. You aren't long for this world." The Wild speaks in melancholy, her roots spreading more before digging deep into his flesh. Contrarian winces before he shudders pleasantly, feeling something caressing his insides. "I can offer assistance to your plight."
"Assistance?" He stammers, head light and airy. A familiar sensation, foreign and invasive, but the way he is right now, the Wild's roots feels like home. Of course. She is one with the plants, the trees, the forest, nature itself. If there was anyone who could know the extent of his sickness, it was Her.
"Become one with me." She offers and Contrarian feels himself repulsed by it, no offense to her. Her songs try to soothe him though. It isn't like his though. Not even close but he still finds himself relaxing. "Not forever. But enough for me to untangle the blooms in your chest."
"Will it hurt?" He asks meekly, never one for pain despite everything.
"It will be just like a dream." A leaf touches his face, tickling his cheek. But what really was his cheek and what was the leaf at this point. "You will wake up anew, free from the thorns mangling your heart. However…"
Contrarian feels sleepy, mind full of haze and sweet, sweet relief. He feels he could finally breathe as he can feel the breeze pass through him, sinking deeper into something he can't fathom.
"You will forget him."
Forget… him?
Lightning struck at him from that statement, waking him up like he was sliced open, bare for the world to see. Forget him? Forget Broken? That isn't right. That couldn't be right. How can he forget their time together, all those moments where he slowed down and spend an eternity with him? How can he forget those shy smiles, more precious than any gold or jewels? How can he forget those stray touches they share, the closeness only they share with each other? How can he exchange these heartwrenching emotions for something as painful as excavating something so intrinsic to him in exchange?
Contrarian only knows of one answer to that.
"NO!!!"
Contrarian didn't know if the refusal came from him or from someone else. It was so loud, reverberating in his entire being, leaving echoes and ripples in its place. But he feels him before he could hear him, his heavy steps and labored breathing. He tries to turn his head with whatever control he has left and it was only through the Wild's help that he didn't began coughing again when he sees him.
Broken.
"PLEASE! PRINCESS!" Broken kneels down before him, before Her, crying and gasping for air. "DON'T TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME!"
He and She watches as Broken fists the ground beneath him, claws digging through the dirt and rock as if clinging to the Princess' dress. Or trying to take him away from Her control. Contrarian's heart threatens to burst at his actions, filled with so much fondness and adoration it might as well kill him there. Broken's tears water the roots laying there and Contrarian could keenly feel how nourishing it is coursing through his veins, cleansing him, accepting him.
"Broken," he croaks out, reaching out to him. The other immediately holds unto his feeble hand. His grip felt tight and Contrarian could see that they were also bruised and bloodied. "What are you doing out here? What happened to you?"
"I–" Broken gulps, looking at him in pity, in sorrow, in a various array of emotions reserved only for him to see. "I was trying to help the others in searching for you. Stubborn tried to stop me at first, saying I should stay at home in case you come back. But s-somehow, I knew… you wouldn't come back. So… so I punched him and ran out."
Despite himself, Contrarian feels laughter bubbling up in him before he chokes. Still though, he offers a wobbly smile at Broken. "Attaboy. I'm sure Stubborn made, urgh, quite a funny face when you did that."
Broken lets out a giggle at that and it was like angels had descended to sing him a song. He lifts him to his lap, the roots keeping him down falling away at his simple silent plea. Broken's strength surprised him or perhaps Contrarian had grown weak and feeble, thin enough for his little guy to carry him. He doesn't mind it though.
"Connie, I… I have to tell you something." He inhales, shoulders drooping, the nickname ever so sweet on his lips, "I love you."
Contrarian gawks at him. "W-what?"
"I care about you, Connie. The real you. The one who spends his time hanging around me, talking about mundane stuff, instead of doing something else. The one who tries to make me laugh when I'm down, the one who's always ready to help me when I fall and fail at something. The one who supports me in the things I do, who encourages me when I can't see a reason to continue. And most of all, I see you, Connie." He leans down, touching each other's foreheads. "I see how you're afraid of so many things, always ready to deflect, to distract, to pretend, to run away from the parts you are afraid to show. And yet, you persist. And it is very admirable."
"But, I'm not... I'm not as amazing as you think I am. I'm nothing–"
"People don't have to be perfect all the time." Broken hushes him, placing a claw on his bloodied lips, before wiping it tenderly. "Not even Hero could hold the entire weight of the flock's problems. And since when did you cater to someone's expectations, least of all yours? You're the Contrarian, you big dummy."
Contrarian laughs. He laughs so loudly he swears he's scaring the local fauna with how loud he is. And most of all, it didn't hurt to do so. He laughs and laughs, free from the leaves, the petals, the blood, the worry. He feels lighter, more than what he felt earlier entangled in the Wild's embrace.
There was a pat on his head before he could feel Her recede, a relieved smile lingering on his mind before it vanishes, and he's free to sit up on his own now.
"Thank you, Princess." He pats the ground sincerely before he turns around and tackles Broken, hugging him tight.
"Did you really mean it?"
Broken laughs, breathless as he cups Contrarian's face. "I do. I love you, Connie." He lets go of him for a moment, taking out a familiar scarf out. Once more, with shyness in his eyes, he wraps it around Contrarian's neck, offering him a soft smile. "You forgot something."
Joy blossomed in his chest and this time, Contrarian isn't afraid of it. Welcomes it even. He leans to meet Broken's lips, kissing him for all his worth.
Broken reciprocates and all is right again in the world.
Surely, this is love. And Contrarian embraces it with his entire heart, content and happy forevermore.
"I love you too, my sweet dove."