Work Text:
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
The flowers that grow in my lungs won't make a garden. They only stop me from breathing.
If we replayed the same moments over and over, would the ending ever change? How many times could you hold my hand until the warmth dissipates?
The wind rushed against Chance, whipping his clothes wildly around him. His hands dug into Mafioso's waist as he pressed himself against Mafioso's back, gripping him tightly. He leaned even closer, wishing he could mold into Mafioso. Refusing to let even the smallest of gap between them, Chance watched the world dissolve into a blur beside him. Streaks of forest green hues blew by as he sat on the motorcycle, staring at the greenery.
The sun slipped behind the rolling hills in the horizon, its final golden rays washing over the fields. Dew left behind by the downpour a few hours earlier caught the fading light, each droplet glittering like scattered shards of gold. Chance watched as the night sky dimmed, the birds quieted down, and only field crickets began rubbing their wings together to sing.
The engine of the motorcycle roared, filling the empty silence with a pestering, polluted noise. As Chance rocked on the seat, shifting against the leather, he knew he was finally free. Mafioso hadn't talked, simply speeding down the rocky road of the countryside, driving both him and Chance further into the setting sun.
Chance closed his eyes and breathed in the cool breeze and smell of petrichor— a pleasant earthy scent that reminded Chance of the rain. He wanted it to start pouring again, just so he could feel the wetness cling onto his clothes, soaking through the fabric and onto his skin. He wanted the rain to cool through his pores, seep into his muscles and bone, and then wash away all the fears that lingered underneath. He wished the rain could drip down on his hair, clumping it together before it slips down his face. He needed the water to roll down his cheeks, becoming the tears that he couldn't force out his chest. It had to become the emotion he was missing in the hollowness of his chest.
"How much further?" Chance whispered, barely audible underneath the rutting engine.
A pause.
"In a bit. We're almost there," Mafioso replied quietly.
Chance's shoulders relaxed, clutching onto Mafioso tighter. He was almost free.
The motorcycle tore down the rough path, weaving between towering trees that blurred into blurs of green. Jagged rocks and loose gravel battered the tires, each impact sending a sharp jolt through the bike that threatened to throw them off the seat.
The fields to the side stretched endless, and Chance could imagine himself lying on them, letting the prickling feeling engulf him. He just needed to be a bit more patient. He could lie in them soon.
Chance smiled softly to himself. He could taste the freedom awaiting him in the distance. Mafioso would take Chance into a better place, and the two of them will finally be able to come to peace together. Chance shifted in his seat, leaning impossibly closer until his forehead rested against Mafioso's shoulder blades. Mafioso's coat snapped and billowed in the wind, brushing against Chance as he tucked himself behind Mafioso, letting Mafioso's steady frame shield him from the rushing air.
Mafioso's wrist twisted on the handle, allowing the motorcycle to speed faster. His fingers tightened around the handlebar, refusing to falter despite the tremor creeping through his hands.
The speedometer clicked to 150km/h.
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹
"Chance!" Mafioso's voice yelled in alarm and panic as a set of hands teared Chance back.
Chance toppled backwards, crashing on top of Mafioso. Fear seized Chance as he scrambled forward, gasping as the oxygen overflowed his lungs in quick bursts.
"Chance. What the fuck are you doing?! Why?" Mafioso was yelling, but the edges of his words blurred in Chance's head.
The only emotion that grasped onto Chance was the disappointment that dawned upon him. He had failed— again. He couldn't even complete an action that simple.
"Chance. Answer me," Mafioso kept shouting.
Chance wanted to block it all out. He could feel the tears build up in his eyes, blurring the ground beneath him. The cool feeling of the floor tiles pressed against his fingertips. He wondered if the ground would open up and swallow him whole while it had the chance.
Two arms suddenly reached out, pulling Chance into a tight embrace. It was warm.
Chance leaned into the hug, feeling the familiar warmth sink into his bones. However, no matter how gentle and comfortable the touch was, it never reached the void in his heart.
The tears kept slipping, drenching the shoulder he was hiding himself in. He couldn't feel his arms; they weren't responsive. They subtly twitched and trembled, desiring to cling back, but he couldn't get them to move. He could feel the soft pats at the back of his head, trailing down his neck to his lower back. It was reassuring despite the pain that clawed at the back of his throat.
"Talk to me, baby," Mafioso's voice whispered.
The gentleness of his tone crept down Chance's spine. His lips parted, wanting to say anything. Nothing came out.
Finally, Chance closed his eyes. It felt unbearably hot on his eyelids. He didn't ever want to open them again. The tighter Mafioso held on, the more Chance wanted to slip away. He was already too far gone.
Chance's eyes lifted. His stomach lurched.
A loop of rope hung from the ceiling beam, swaying ever so slightly. It stopped: a catastrophe frozen in time.
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹
"Loving you was the most exquisite form of self destruction."
Flowers will grow beside our bodies. They are calling for me to act as their bed. As my final act of love, I will oblige to your wishes.
Chance finally felt warm. The heat seeped into his body, filling the hollow ache that had lived inside him for so long. For the first time in what felt like forever, he had everything he thought he wanted.
Lying in the grass, he had never felt so connected to the earth. He could feel the ground molding itself around him, every dip and bump cradling his body as though it were ready to reclaim him. Beneath the soil, he imagined worms and tiny critters moving unseen through the darkness, oblivious to everything above. Perhaps they were already squirming their way towards his body.
His thoughts drifted in and out of focus, but the sky remained impossibly beautiful— a deep wash of indigo melting into violet. Stars shimmered overhead, scattered across the heavens like distant lanterns, their quiet light softening the night.
Chance struggled to draw a full breath. His head hurt, but it was so warm. The blood from his head trickled into the dirt, seeping deeper into the cracks and holes of the ground. His eyelids were heavy. He wanted to sleep.
However, his fingers trembled, wanting to reach for Mafioso. He knew Mafioso was nearby, but he couldn't turn his head— let alone move his body. Despite the calm, Chance's thoughts began racing in a haze. A sob threatened to choke out, tears blurring his vision. He wanted Mafioso.
He wanted the warmth that had wrapped around him, the arms that had held him close. He didn't want the earth beneath him to claim him. He wanted to burrow into the familiar shelter of Mafioso's embrace instead— to feel the steady rise and fall of Mafioso’s breathing and the gentle strength of his hold. His own breaths came shallow and uneven, desperate for a comfort he could no longer reach.
Suddenly, a hand cupped over his. Warmth bloomed beneath the touch, love unfurling through every corner of his body, stitching him back together. Chance's breath caught. He took one more shuddered inhale before the heat of Mafioso's fingers eclipsed every other thought.
He felt anchored again. This was enough. It was more than enough.
Chance will forever repent for his selfish desires that doomed them both. He would spend the eternity in hell.
And Mafioso would always linger a step behind him.
A sunflower will always turn towards the sun— even when the sun stands on the brink of burning itself apart.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚