Chapter Text
4am: Wake up in a cold sweat. Stare at ceiling.
4:30am: Take a shower.
5am: Get dressed. Ignore the nausea. Eat.
5:30am: Walk to study. Review morning reports.
6am: Cough up flower petals into trash can. Continue reviewing reports.
7am: Attend morning meeting.
8am: Back in study. Go over energy usage and production statistics. Try to think of ways to improve power sources without stealing the Great Zapfish again.
8:10am: Fail.
8:13am: Get back to work.
10am: Receive Wasabi report about ongoing talks with the New New Squidbeak Splatoon. Establishment of communications with Inkadia are on track to be completed by the end of the month.
10:10am: Don’t think about him.
10:11am: Fail.
10:20am: Cough up more flower petals. Ignore the blood.
10:40am: Work on something else.
1pm: Attend midday meeting.
2pm: Find tray of food delivered to study. Set it aside.
4pm: Take short break to review the day’s record submissions. Skip through most songs. The tray is still untouched.
6pm: Evening meeting. Try not to glare at ministers.
7pm: Find tray gone from study.
9pm: Get interrupted by Commander with a military ration bar and an electrolyte drink. Have argument about skipping meals.
9:30pm: Lose argument.
9:32pm: Eat under strict supervision by Commander.
9:33pm: Ignore tightness in chest.
9:37pm: Get reprimanded again as Commander leaves.
9:38pm: Wait until footsteps fade away.
9:40pm: Cough up more petals into trash can.
10pm: Work.
1am: Head back to quarters.
1:30am: Cough up last batch of flower petals. Get ready for bed.
2am: Pass out in futon.
Repeat.
The calendar sits on the wall, days marked off in thick red ink. It was almost nine in the morning. There was to be an extra meeting today to go over the diplomacy efforts, one that the Squidbeak Splatoon would be attending. One that he, would be attending.
You don’t want to go to the meeting.
You have to.
You sit silently at the head of the table while your ministers converse with the Splatoon. They would deal with the majority of the negotiations. All you had to do was sign off on what they agreed upon.
You try not to let your eyes wander.
He had greeted you warmly when you entered the room, golden eyes sparkling with the same youthful vigor you remembered so well. You remained cordial to him, even as a thousand little knives dug into your lungs.
You did not flinch.
You couldn’t afford to.
The meeting comes to a close, and you are called upon for your judgment. You ignore the tickle in the back of your throat as you speak, accepting the terms of the agreement gracefully. Compromises would have to be made, ones you weren't too happy about, but you still your tongue.
The pressure in your chest grows.
The meeting is dismissed. Callie turns to you as if to say something, but you ignore her and leave the room in a hurry. You try not to draw too much attention as you run back to your study.
The door slams shut behind you as you stumble into the room, all but gasping for air. You collapse to your knees in front of the trash can, throat burning from holding back for so long. A violent cough wracks your body, and you practically heave out the petals.
Red. Orange. Pink. Green.
Whole flowers come next, thorns tearing at your throat, drawing blood. They get stuck easily, forcing you to pull them out with your fingers in order not to choke. Your stomach lurches as you gag.
Red. Orange. Pink.
It felt never ending. No matter how hard you cough, how much blood pours from your throat, you could still feel the foliage crowding your lungs.
Red. Orange.
You could barely breathe. All you could think of was the pain.
Red.
Red.
Red.
Red.
You don't hear the sound of the door opening until it's too late.
“Octavio!?!?”
You blink away tears and try to look up, but another fit has you retching into the trash can, more blood than flowers at this point. There's a commotion, three sets of feet rushing towards you as a commanding voice shouts down the hall for a medic. You barely register the feeling of hands supporting your trembling body, too focused on hacking up a lung. You feel mortified at being caught like this, but you don’t have much time to linger on it, gentle, calloused hands cupping your face once the spell passes. He’s so careful lifting your head up, as if he was handling something fragile and precious. Through your swimming vision, you catch a glimpse of his worried face, those golden eyes so knowing and full of sorrow.
“Tav… It’s still happenin’?”
All at once, that feeling in your chest blooms sharply. The one you'd been running from the most, the one that was far too painful to ever acknowledge. You buried it and buried it and buried it, but still you felt.
And you hated it.
Any air that you once had was now snuffed out completely, fire tearing through your chest with every failed gasp. Even so, you felt the need to say something, to reassure him that you were fine and it would pass, but you don’t get the chance.
Everything goes dark, and you pass out in his arms.