Work Text:
Parting is such sweet sorrow,
that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.
~William Shakespeare
…
Flowers.
Beautiful. But some have torns.
A single petal. Pretty, gorgeous. And so harmless.
But yet, pain. So much pain.
Then a whole flower.
It hurts. Please.
It burns.
Breathe. I can’t.
Make it stop.
…
When the first petal falls, it is 30th January 2020. His birthday. Flashes of people wishing him ‘Happy Birthday’. But just not him. A tinge of hurt. And that’s when he feels it. An itch in his throat. The need to cough. Violently.
New rushes to the toilet, uncaring of the concerned noises of the people around him.
He heaves. Coughes. It hurts. Make it stop. It doesn’t.
He wipes his mouth and rinses it out, spitting in the sink. And he sees it. A single petal. White and unstained. Floating down the sink and into the drain. Following the flow of the water. He checks the toilet bowl. More petals. He flushes it down.
Smile. Breathe. Head held high. Go back out. Nothing hurts. He’s fine. It’s his birthday.
…
It is his birthday again. One year later. Nothing has changed. But yet at the same time, so much has.
He is still coughing up petals, just this time, there’s more blood. Daffodils, he has identified. But also, yellow carnations. Unrequited love and rejection, are their meanings. How ironic, New thinks. It still hurts. Just more. Instead of a dull ache in his chest, it has become more of a sharp throbbing pain. The more it hurts, the more he misses him. How silly.
They still aren’t talking. It’s his fault, he knows. He is the reason why they aren’t talking. New’s fault, not Tay’s. So he doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t even try. He deserves this. He deserves to keep hacking up flower petals, a reminder. A punishment. Tay still doesn’t wish him ‘Happy Birthday’. It’s fine. He’s fine.
It still hurts. At least physical pain hurts less.
…
They get better. Tay and New. They’re talking now. It’s the same. But yet it’s not. They are different now. The year spent apart feels like an eternity. Tay has acted in more dramas, and so has New. They have grown, as actors, and as people. But they’re still TayNew.
But it still hurts. More than ever. He still coughs up blood and petals. Daffodils, yellow carnations, and now lily of the valley. Sadness, pain, and loss. Beautiful, but deadly. It burns when he forces them out, beautiful petals now stained with his blood. He flushes them down the toilet. He washes his mouth and face, being careful to wash away all traces of blood.
Bright smile again. And he returns to Tay. They have a TayNew Meal Date to film. Tay smiles when he sees him. How he had missed this smile.
“Let’s go.” He says, and walks out. And New follows behind him. They’re still TayNew.
It aches and it burns. He feels like he can’t breathe.
“Let’s go.” He says back. Catching up to walk beside Tay.
He suppresses the need to cough, the flower petals threatening to spill out. Breathe. Because as for now, it doesn’t hurt as much.
That TayNew Meal Date, he doesn’t talk as much. Tay doesn’t question it.
He’s ok. It hurts.
…
It has been 2 years since he last started coughing petals. Now they’re flowers. As the love he has for him grows, so do the flowers in his lungs. It burns, it’s horrible. He’s fine. They’re even better now. They are attached at the hips again. He is happy. They are happy. It still hurts.
Gun catches him. Walks in one day as New is curling into himself and on the floor, coughing up more flowers and blood. There is a new flower now, a petunia. Resentment and anger. He doesn’t know why he is resentful. But yet again he does. He hates himself. He is stupid and dying because of someone who would never love him back. He is weak. They are gorgeous, even covered in blood. He gathers all of them and throws them in the bin, being careful to cover them in a bunch of paper. Gun watches him.
“When? Why? Who? New, please tell me. Let me help you.”
New remains silent. The itch in his throat and the pain in his chest grows.
“Is it Tay?”
New doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to. He turns and coughs up more flowers. Fully formed and covered in more of his congealed blood. That is Gun’s answer.
Gun doesn’t say anything. Instead, he crawls up to New and brings him into his arms. They’re still on the floor. And for the first time since he started coughing up flowers, New allows himself to cry.
He cries. He sobs. He is shaking. And Gun continues to hold him.
“It is okay. You’re okay. Everything will be fine.”
They both know he is lying. Gun is scared. He is shaking too. They stay huddled on the floor.
“Tell him. Please.”
New just cries. Painful sobs wreck his shivering frame. There are more flowers now. Surrounding the both of them. Innocent buds, but they cause him so much pain.
It hurts. He wants to give up. But he can’t. Loving Tay came as naturally as breathing. How ironic.
Eventually the sobs stop and the blood on the floor dries. They get up and clean it. Not a single bit of blood. Not a single reminder. On the outside, he is fine. But on the inside, more flowers grow.
His phone rings.
“Hin? Where are you? Come on, let’s get dinner together.”
New smiles. He tells Tay he is coming. Breathe.
…
Now he is 30 years old. And it is his birthday again. This time, Tay is there. This time, Tay is the first one to wish him a ‘Happy birthday’. He is happy. He is content. But he is still coughing up flowers. Whole bouquets now. Petals, leaves, and stems. Daffodils, yellow carnations, lily of the valleys, petunias, and black roses. Grief and mourning. New knows he is dying. The flowers are growing and it’s getting harder to breathe. They are slowly taking over his lungs.
It has been 3 years since the first petal. He and Tay are even better now. They spend so much time together that New can’t even remember what life was like without him. It still hurts and his hands are covered in scars. The dull ache in his hands after a cut distracted him from the burn in his throat. He makes sure to cover the scars with makeup before heading for work.
Tay still doesn’t know. And New will never let him.
“Stop. It hurts. Please, make them stop.” He whimpers, curled up on his bathroom floor. The flowers surround him in a pool of his own blood. He is crying again. Salty tears roll down his cheeks and joins the pool of blood. It doesn’t stop. It continues to hurt.
Biles rises in his throat. He gets up and throws up into the toilet bowl. More flowers.
Once again, New gathers the flowers from the floor and flushes them down the toilet together with everything else. Once again, he rinses his mouth and washes his face. Once again, he musters a smile and goes back out.
“Tay, let’s cut the cake.”
It doesn’t hurt as much when they are together.
…
Tay knows. Gun told him.
“Why? Hin, please. Why?”
Once again, New is silent.
“Who is it?”
Gun didn’t tell him, New thinks, Gun is letting me choose. He takes a deep breath. He is about to speak, but instead of words, more flowers fall. Tay takes a step back. His face is pale. He must be disgusted, a voice in New’s head tells him. He believes that voice. Backing away from Tay, he turns around to wipe his mouth. At least there is only blood and flowers. No vomit.
“New…” Tay says, as he rushes towards him.
New shakes his head and continues to back away.
“Please tell me who it is.” Tay begs, his voice is trembling. He pleads.
New has never heard Tay plead before. He has never seen Tay look so small before. Tay has always been strong. Unwavering. Even when his grandmother had passed on, Tay had remained strong. Even when he had cried for his grandmother, he was strong. But now, Tay is shaking. His hands reach for New. New doesn’t move.
Doesn’t move when said hands wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Doesn’t move except to sink to the floor together with Tay. Doesn’t move even when Tay starts to cry.
“I’m sorry. ” Tay says. More sobbing.
“I’m sorry.” He says again. More sobbing.
“I’m sorry.” New repeats, the arms that are originally limp at his side reach out to tighten around Tay. His hands fisting in his shirt. Clinging on to him. He is crying too.
“I love you.” New finds himself saying.
The arms around New tense up. Panic rises in his mind, and he begins to pull away.
“I’m sorry,” He says again, “I didn’t mean to… I… if you don’t… it’s nothing. ” Bile rises in his throat. He is going to throw up. Rushing up, New frees himself from Tay’s grip and grabs the nearest bin.
Flowers. Physical proof of his love for Tay manifested in that god forsaken form. As painful as they were beautiful. He continues to cry. Tears, sweat, and blood. It hurts.
Tay continues to cry too. He grabs New again.
“I’m sorry. I love you too. Please. Stop hurting.”
They are both still crying. But now it doesn’t hurt.
“Breathe.” Tay says. And New does.
…
“Happy birthday Hin. Congrats on turning 31.”
Once again, Tay is the first one to greet him. New smiles. It doesn’t hurt. He is fine. And this time he means it.
There are flowers. But they’re not from him. They are for him.
“Let’s go home.” He says. And they do.
…
The next day, New will wake up in Tay’s arms. And the day after next. And the day after that.
“I love you.” New will say.
“I love you more.” Tay will say back.