Chapter Text
Wine remembers when the first petals slipped past his lips and onto the floor of his bedroom, resting there like beautiful, dangerous, red blaring signs that somewhere along the way, a wrong turn was taken.
His mind presents him with the most terrifying of memories, scouring through remembrance to try and figure out exactly what mistake he did that has brought him to this moment.
Was it when Wine confessed to Toey without being sure she felt the same? Was it when his gaze lingered a second too long over Tor's face? Was it when Wine stared deep into his own in the mirror, knowing he could never feel for anyone the words he's spoken out loud?
This can't be right, it can't possibly be real, Toey loves him, Wine loves-
Wine isn't sure who he loves any longer, who he's supposed to harbour rooting feelings for, thoughts that spiral out of control as he does his best to get rid of the evidence, though he can't separate from the petals indefinitely.
They'll appear again, and again, engulf his world in shades of red, remind him that he's wrong, broken, never enough.
Crushing them between his fingers over the sink, Wine stares and stares, the crimson a stark contrast to the blurriness that fills his vision.
He captures the image through his mind's eye as he would with his camera, a picture for his eyes only, never to be developed, never to be seen by anyone else.
He doesn't recognise the flower species, doesn't recognise his face in the mirror, blurred by tears and the queasiness in his gut.
The petals go into the box he keeps under the bed, hidden but not out of sight.
Never out of mind.
Each cough equals a maddened scramble to hide, to keep it all a secret, fleeing from the dinner table and the classroom and the company of those around him, until Wine feels like he's spending more time running away and picking apart flowers than living.
"Is everything alright?" Toey asks when he barely touches the slice of cake in front of him, his mind a million miles away. He's doing it again, shutting her out, like he does even to himself.
That's a question Wine's more than gotten used to as the years have rolled him over. Each time his brain comes up with a different answer to it, a new kind of scream for help he might let out, the truth begging to fall from him like the petals he coughs into his hand.
"Yes," he replies instead, as he's always done, as he might always do.
The last thing he wants to do is hurt anyone.
The flowers have a different plan, as it seems - they keep growing, the thorns prickling as they dig into his lungs, making it hard to breathe, to think, to live.
Soon enough, they consume every waking thought Wine might have, their presence constant and unmistakable, making themselves known at the worst of times.
Wine's grown too accustomed to hiding behind a camera, observing without being a part of events, capturing memories for posterity because he's not sure how much longer he has to keep them. Remembering becomes a prison, each frame centring the feelings Wine's worked so hard to push down.
They bloom in and out of Wine's control now, the pictures and the petals one and the same.
He can't hide forever, Wine finds sooner than he expects, sooner than he wants, a simple cough bringing forward a monsoon as Jay watches in horror.
"Wine!" he calls out as Wine feels like he's choking, air ways clogged up and ears ringing from the lack of oxygen, the tears stinging his eyes.
His friend does his best to lead them away from anybody else that might see, twisting through the corridors of their high school until they find themselves in a secluded area, one where Wine can rid himself of the flowers to his heart's desire.
And how his heart desires - wishes to run again, where Jay's confused gaze can't reach him, hopes to undo the damage of his overflowing feelings, all the things he's kept bottled up, hidden even from himself.
When the coughing stops, Wine's exhausted, slumping back against the wall and sliding down until he's resting on the cold concrete ground, staring at the pile of red and yellow and orange that fills the small alcove next to them, simply so he doesn't have to face Jay quite yet.
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" are the first words Jay utters, already far too aware of Wine's habit of silently steering away from anything that might disrupt his façade.
Wine almost wishes Jay didn't know him so well, but swallows back the idea as soon as it pops up. If he can't trust Jay, there's no one else he might be able to speak to, and the words held inside hurt just as much as the growing flowers.
Forcing himself to not shake his head in reply, Wine nods, only a stammer leaving his lips before the coughing begins anew, now more blood than petals. Wine heaves in a deep breath, lungs feeling too small.
"We should go to the hospital, right now," Jay says, hands fitting under Wine's arms to haul him up, but can't do much as Wine denies it vehemently.
"No," he mumbles, desperation tinging his hoarse voice. "No one else can know. You weren't supposed to see this." Looking down at the state of his uniform shirt, specks of blood and torn flowers hanging from it, makes Wine's gut twist painfully, a wave of nausea hitting him.
"How long?" Wine doesn't understand what he's asking, head tilting to the side as Jay grows exasperated in a way Wine can't recall ever seeing him. "How long has this been going on?"
Lowering his head, Wine avoids Jay's eyes as if they can see right through him, the one person he could never fully hide from. "A few weeks," he replies lowly, afraid of the reaction it might get.
"A few?" Jay scoffs, no mirth in his tone. "How many?"
"Seven," Wine states firmly, hands shaking as he tries to force them into the pockets of his blue shorts. He's been keeping a dutiful track of the days, like a prison sentence.
"You've been suffering for almost two months and you didn't think to tell me?!" Jay has never yelled at him before, not even when they fought over the trivial things teenagers argue about.
Wine shrinks into himself, feeling even worse for being such a disappointment to those around him, not even able to ask for help when he needs it. He stands between the fire of the flowers that disperse as the winds find them and the sword of having an angered Jay in front of him.
There's no ire in Jay as his arms wrap around his shoulders, however, a hug that seeps with fear. "I'm sorry, Wine, but this isn't okay." Taking a step back, his expression holds no room for disagreement as he says, "You need to see a doctor."
"And tell them what?" Does Jay think this hasn't crossed his mind, not even once? It's the scenario he falls asleep to in tears every night, the faces of those closest to him finding out that Wine's filled to the brim with his errors. "What am I supposed to say to my parents? And…" he trails off, choking again as the bile rises in his throat, strangely floral. "And Toey. What am I going to say to her when she sees me like this?"
Wine doesn't realise he's crying until Jay starts doing the same, his tears silently rolling over his cheeks. "I have a feeling Toey would like to know if she's causing you pain."
Is that what Jay thinks is happening? That Wine isn't the only one to blame for the awful hand dealt to him by his own scrambling of the cards?
"This isn't her fault," Wine nearly barks out, startling even himself.
"But…" Jay starts, the sentence left unfinished. "You're in love with someone who doesn't-" he stops again, the cogs visibly turning inside his head as he starts to pace back and forth, some of the petals clinging to the bottom of his shoes. "Toey didn't fall out of love with you, did she?"
"I'm so awful, Jay," Wine sobs, hiding his face behind his hands. "She doesn't deserve this."
"Who?" The single syllable pierces through Wine's chest like a knife, as sharp as the thorns leaving him breathless.
That's the one question Wine won't answer, the name hanging from his lips and remaining unspoken, the fear that saying it out loud will make this nightmare even more real. "I can't tell you."
"Wine," Jay looks seconds away from starting to shake him so maybe his brain will work again, "we need to fix this, or you're going to die." Good, Wine thinks bitterly, that way I can't hurt you or Toey or anyone ever again. "You either confess to whoever it is, or I'm taking you to the hospital myself. I don't care if you don't want to go, I'm not gonna watch you die!"
"I'm not dying!" Arguing back does nothing to make Wine believe in his own words, each one as false as the previous as the scratching in his throat returns, the urge to cough again nearly paralysing. "I'm fine, Jay."
"You call this 'being fine'?" He gestures to flowers all around them, slowly wilting as the day grows hotter. "Wine-"
"Please, Jay," hands encircling the other's wrists, Wine verges on begging his friend to not do anything else. "Don't tell anyone. I can fix this by myself."
Jay's gaze is unreadable, boring into Wine as if trying to read through his mind. "Fine," he relents, his voice still as hard. "But if it happens again, we're going to the doctor. No ifs or buts," he adds on when Wine opens his mouth to disagree.
With a short nod, Wine steps away from him, retreating into himself once more, the shell closing to keep the flowers inside. It won't happen again, because Wine will never be as careless to let others see it if it does.
***
Fingers typing fast over the keyboard, Wine searches up the flowers he's been coughing up for weeks for the first time, curiosity getting the best of him after trying to pretend they're not real for so long.
It's as if someone else seeing them suddenly gave the petals a gravity Wine was battling with before. Made them palpable. Made them even more excruciating to live with.
The red roses are easy enough to recognise, their love-full meaning hard to miss amidst the specks of blood that fall from Wine's lips. Their petals are growing darker, however, a deep crimson that hurts the eyes - mourning, Wine learns quickly, hands shaking over the keys.
Tiny flowers fill the box he keeps safely hidden under the bed, lily of the valley and purple hyacinth and dark red carnations, all symbols of the rooted sorrow he feels, analysing their shapes against the computer screen.
Even with the door locked, Wine still fears someone might come in, confront him with the evidence that he can never be the perfect boyfriend, the perfect friend, the perfect son.
It's all too much, the language of flowers one he wishes he didn't look up, didn't become versed in. But every night Wine sits at the computer, compares pictures to the blooms laid in front of him, berates himself for letting them grow, for letting himself go.
Every night, he coughs until his throat is raw, muffling the sound by hauling himself into the bathroom each time, blood covering the tiles he dutifully scrubs back to cleanliness. Not that anyone would hear him, even if he became a whole garden right in the middle of the living room - his father's never home, his mother's too tired, too burdened by her own life, to see.
All that Wine has is the flowers, the fullness in his chest as they take up every crevice, pushing at his lungs.
All that remains of who Wine should've been are the pictures, the videos, registering the past where Wine thought he could fix himself, fall in love with the right person and never have to suffer for it.
And Jay.
How can Wine forget Jay?
Wine must do better by him, make that furrow between his brows every time Wine walks through the door to their classroom disappear. He can't afford to have his best friend worry this much, not when Wine can deal with this.
Not when he can put an end to it, not through cuts and not through words.
Wine can live even if he's dying, that's what he must believe in in order to stay sane, and all he has to do is lie.
***
Wine's doing a great job at pretending to be fine, he's pretty sure.
Jay has let the topic go - for now, the other's voice echoes in his brain, his worried tone still ringing between each time their eyes meet over one of Wine's endless coughs.
No one else knows, however, and for that, Wine congratulates himself for playing the dutiful, quiet and studious role so well. It's what people expect from him, anyway, and catching others' attention is the last thing he needs right now.
Better than that, Toey can't tell that anything is wrong, Wine's more-silent-than-usual ways chalked up to his worries about university as the end of high school looms ever closer, her focus turned to her own studies and plans for the future.
Wine hopes, selfishly and feeling like a monster, that they don't include him.
What would the person he was last year think of him if he could see them right now?
Would he still be sure his feelings for Toey are love? Would he still be sure this is what he wants, a relationship turning colder by the second as he finds himself falling for the wrong sibling?
Wine can't stop the wondering, the wandering, footsteps tracing over Tor's without meaning to, finding him everywhere, in every face and in every corner.
There's an invisible pull he can't escape, hidden in Tor's smile and gentle eyes and welcoming presence, bringing Wine in closer to an edge he can already see himself falling from.
Wine's dying slowly and all he can think about is Tor.
Out of all the fuck ups in his life, this one has to be worst.
Of course, all that's bad has the propensity to become worse, no matter how grim things already look - and of course, it's Wine's decisions that cause it.
Case in point: agreeing to have dinner at Toey's house, when he can't even look her in the eye, when he can't even say a word without being overcome with the urge to spill his guts.
The food looks delicious, it always does, yet Wine can barely eat, throat clogged by words and tears he won't shed in front of Toey, can't have her think for even a second that his mind's far away from here, his heart beating in someone else's hands.
Wine wishes he could have his camera right now, if only to have something to disguise himself behind, something that isn't the spiral of thoughts in his brain to focus on.
The TV plays an ad for perfume with a smiling couple and he thinks about Tor - Wine nibbles a piece of meat and he thinks about Tor - Toey talks about their exams week and he thinks about Tor.
God, Wine's the worst person he's ever had the displeasure of meeting.
Of course, all that's bad has the propensity to become worse, no matter how grim things already look - and of course, it's Wine's treacherous love that causes it.
It happens fast, too fast for Wine to carefully hide away, avoid the stares he promised himself he'd never have to face again.
One second, he's downing a glass of juice to have something to occupy himself with as the door opens and who else but Tor walks in, Wine's heart stopping frozen inside his ribcage at the sight of him.
The next, he's sobbing with his head in hands as the petals burst out of him and all over Toey, her frightened eyes too much to bear as he watches her make sense out of reality in mere seconds.
The disease isn't as rare as some people online tried to make Wine believe; just last year, one of their schoolmates vanished for days, returning weeks later with the light in her eyes dimmed and whispers that she had been coughing up flowers in the girls' bathroom.
Toey knows what this is, knows exactly what the incoming flood of flowers entails, Wine's blurred out vision still capable of making out the tears springing from her.
The pull towards Tor remains, tearing through Wine's chest like the thorns, leaving him a broken mess on the floor, frantic voices around him saying words he doesn't understand, the air growing thinner and rarer as it doesn't come through his nose.
Someone's on the phone, someone's trying to get Wine to lie down, someone's crying right next to him, and Wine isn't sure if any of this is his own actions or not, his whole body trembling as the room spins, going dark around him.
***
The hospital room's lights are dimmed when Wine blinks himself awake, slowly, as if his whole body knows staying asleep would mean not having to look into his mother's worried eyes.
He's woken up, however, and the worried eyes are right there, staring at Wine with a mix of pity and despair he never intended to see, never wants to see again.
"What happened?" he tries to croak out, only then noticing the oxygen mask covering the lower half of his face.
"Don't exert yourself, dear," she holds back his hand as he tries to reach for the mask, keeping it where it should stay. "It's been a long day."
Wine remains confused, flashes popping up in his brain - Tor, walking through the door - the flowers flowing out of Wine's mouth - Toey, gaze fixed on him in horror.
He's failed so many more people than he's ever wanted to.
He's failed his mother too, her forlorn expression twisting his insides and making Wine want to cough again, no air coming through his nostrils despite all the machines he's hooked up to.
"You were at Toey's house," the older woman explains, her grip on Wine's hand unrelenting and grounding, the only thing keeping Wine from crying again. "And you…" she looks at him like she's trying to find the right words, none of them seeming to be it. Wine understands the feeling. "You had a pretty severe coughing fit. Toey called for an ambulance, but you had already stopped breathing when the paramedics arrived."
Wine can tell she's trying so hard not to cry, keep a level head through what must've been a terrifying experience. The urge to end his life grows stronger, alongside the guilt for bringing her so much grief.
Finally managing to untangle himself from the mess of IVs and cables tied up everywhere, Wine pulls down the oxygen mask, croaking out a weak, "I'm sorry, mom."
"Oh, dear," her gaze turns even more filled with pity, and Wine hates himself for being its cause. "Don't be, it's not your fault."
A thought rushes through his mind, and Wine presses his free hand over his chest, searching for the scar that might be there. Finding nothing, a distressed noise escapes him, looking at his mother in bewilderment.
"They didn't take you to surgery," she asserts in a controlled voice. "I didn't let them. Not before you agree to it."
Wine might never be able to explain the gratefulness that fills his whole body in this moment, something he's certain his father wouldn't have thought of before sending him to the operation theatre.
"You should've told me," and Wine knows she's right, knows that she would've understood it, but he couldn't, he can't. "You didn't need to go through this alone. I'm so sorry that I didn't see it before."
Add that to his list of errors - making his mother cry over him. "I didn't want to be a burden," he mumbles, feeling like a little kid all over again.
"Wine," she grips tightly onto his hand, voice edging into desperation, "you're not a burden, you were never a burden. I know I'm not the best mother, but I'm always here for you. Whatever you feel, whatever you want to talk about, no matter what, I'm here." Her hand cups his cheek, oh so gently, and Wine wants to weep even more, not remembering when he closed himself off to everyone, but knowing he missed his mother's care more than he can explain. "I love you, son, more than anything."
"I'm sorry, mom." Covering her hand with his, Wine allows himself to be seen. "I thought I was strong enough to fix this myself."
"You are strong, Wine," she states, no room for arguing. "And don't blame yourself, please. I was the one who should've seen you're suffering and helped you."
"If I told you earlier…"
"Shh," she keeps on cradling his face, as softly as when Wine would trip over his own feet and fall when he was tiny, "it's okay. Just let me take care of you, alright?"
Wine nods, letting her words sink in. "Where's dad?" he asks, already knowing the answer when all his mother can do is look down. Busy , he thinks, too busy to care that I might die . "And Toey?"
Wine's certain he must be the last person she wants to see right now, the vision of her deciphering the meaning of his illness engraved in his brain each time his eyelids close.
"She tried to visit," his mother's statement takes him by surprise, the furrow between his brows so deep, they might stay like that forever. "But only family's allowed in the ICU." With trembling fingers, she brushes away stray hairs from his forehead, the most careful touch in the world. "I'm glad you woke up, Wine. I don't know what I'd do if-"
Cutting herself off, she moves to the side to press the little bell to call for a nurse, a pair of them appearing with a doctor in tow before Wine's bloodstream can be filled with even more remorse.
"Hello, Wine, I'm Doctor Ratree," the woman introduces herself, her smile professional and her jacket pristine. "You gave us quite a fright back there, young man." She's not berating, an almost motherly air to the way she speaks to Wine, as if she too was afraid he was going to die.
Swallowing back the urge to apologise again, Wine nods solemnly, twisting the thin bedsheets between his fingers.
"Well, what we have here is a classic case of Hanahaki Disease." Walking to the opposite wall, Ratree turns on a back light to show the results of the exams Wine was put through while passed out. "The flowers have taken root at the bottom of your lungs, as you can see, and are growing upwards, blocking your airflow. The only way to stop them from doing so is to separate them from you."
Wine sighs shakily, the x-ray image giving even more weight to the cursed reality he's found himself in. He can just make out the flowers' shapes, the petals fluttering inside of him. "Is there nothing else that can be done?"
Doctor Ratree looks at him sympathetically, another person to feel sorry for Wine for being such a massive fuck up. "I'm afraid not, Wine. Other treatments have been tested, but none have halted the growth the way the surgery does. Temporary fixes are not a solution, and we can't let you have another episode like this. The next time might be fatal."
Fatality doesn't sound as terrible as the only option Wine seems to have, the lines of his hands more interesting than the mournful gazes around him. Wine thought his mother would never see him like this, and now he feels even worse for thinking he'd be alone.
The doctor looks at him intently, ushering the nurses to leave the room so they can speak more freely. It does nothing to help Wine's nerves, the reduced amount of people meaning even more focus is set on him, on his trembling form and the choices, the single choice, laid out before him.
Taking steps back to Wine's bedside, Doctor Ratree looks at him, then at his mother, then back towards Wine, one hand resting over the raised side of the hospital bed. Maybe they were afraid he might try to run, maybe they were afraid he wouldn't wake. "I understand that this doesn't sound particularly pleasing, but it'll help you live a healthy life."
"And the side effects?"
"Many people have correlated Hanahaki with romantic feelings," the way she says, it seems Doctor Ratree believes it more than other doctors might want her to, "and the surgery does bring a certain numbness in relation to them. I've done this surgery dozens of times, and I won't lie to you, it happens. You'll lose these feelings and have a scar on your chest, but that's it. You'll breathe the way you did before."
Wine isn't sure if breathing is the biggest of his concerns at the moment.
Tor isn't here - hell, he doesn't even know if Tor will ever want to see him again once Wine leaves the hospital, if he leaves, yet the pull stays with him. It's stronger than Wine, stronger than his attempts to stop it.
Stronger than his belief that if he just tried hard enough, he could be like the other boys in his class, obsessed with girls and talking about them all the time.
But when they talk about girls, he thinks of Tor - when the machine measuring his heartbeat beeps, he thinks of Tor - when Toey kissed him for the first time, Wine didn't think of her.
God, Wine's the singular reason why he's in this bed.
If he had the courage, if he could fix himself-
His silence is all the reply the doctor's words get.
"Your mother wanted us to wait for you to wake up and make sure you agreed." Wine can't take the willingness to help he sees in her eyes, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, mind still laced with the image of the flowers growing within him. "So now I ask you, Wine: do you agree?"
No , his heart, squeezed tight between the blossoms, screams at him, holding on with all its might to his thoughts of Tor.
Yes, his mind, tired of the pain and the yearning and the endless loops it's taken to convince him he'll be okay, whispers gently, letting go from the idea of a happy ending Wine can never have.
Wine's nod is minuscule, almost imperceptible, something inside of him making the decision before he can think it through.
Oh, who is he even trying to fool with such an idea? All that Wine ever does is think about these goddamn flowers suffocating him slowly, the death looming over his head coming closer with each speck of blood he lets out.
The doctor seems satisfied with his answer - his mother looks relieved at his agreement - Wine feels hollowed out by the weight of his decision.
Doctor Ratree explains how the procedure works, but Wine tunes her out, too tired to do much more than assent and let things run their course. His chest will be opened and his heart cut out; that's all he needs to know.
That now or never sensation abandons him completely, leaving only the now , the certainty that whatever happens next, Wine will never be the same.
***
The numbness sets in as soon as Wine feels himself stir over the hospital bed, all of the machines still hooked to him keeping him still, but there's no need for the oxygen mask anymore - Wine clumsily, with shaking hands, pulls it off and his lungs expand freely, air coming in unbidden.
Something starts beeping next to him, likely alerting all the nurses in the building that he's woken up, as soon his room's filled with people inspecting his vitals, notes being taken and questions being asked to each other, yet none to Wine himself.
He loses track of time, falling in and out of consciousness as the nurses move around him, the noises lulling him into a half-awake, half-asleep state where things mingle into a strange, nightmarish vision of seeing his own body shaking as the petals keep coming and coming, a barrage of red and white and black that never ends, until everything stills.
Wine lies dead in a flower bed, someone he can't see reaching for him.
When Wine wakes again, the room's empty.
The beeping has become intermittent, the lights remain dimmed and the smells of antiseptic and blood are unmistakable.
He feels as if in stasis, suspended between one freed heartbeat and the next, not knowing what to do with all the free space in his mind now that the thought of Tor doesn't bring a sudden skip to his pounding heart, hands no longer shaking at the prospect of seeing him again.
Someone must know he's back to consciousness, the doorknob rattling before the door's slowly pushed open, Doctor Ratree appearing as a shadow delineated by the harsh hospital hallway lights outside.
"It's good to see that you're awake, Wine," she says softly, and Wine wants to cry, but there are no tears in his eyes. "How are you feeling?"
I'm not , he wants to tell her, I don't feel anything . Swallowing down the words like he's swallowed back blood time and time again, he croaks out, "Fine," falling silent again as he lets her explain that the surgery went very well, perfectly, even.
He's cured.
Why, then, does Wine feel so sick?
His mother's allowed back into the room, listening intently as the doctor describes what the recovery process must look like now - loads of rest and water and not exerting himself mentally.
Wine tunes their voices out, nodding when he thinks it might be necessary, breathing in through his nose and exhaling the emptiness it brings. Has breathing always been meant to be this simple?
He tries again, thinking of Tor, thinking of Toey, thinking of heart-shaped chocolate boxes and long, handwritten notes and bouquets-
The thoughts get cut right at the root when the urge to weep becomes too much, his dry eyes focused somewhere he can't see.
The flowers are gone and he can breathe and Tor is nothing more than a past Wine can't go back to, an undo he can't press on, a mistake he can never fix, only remedy.
Wine's free from these feelings that have plagued his every waking hour, sent him down a spiral of madness and illness and locking himself inside his own body, yet he's never been as trapped as now, trapped between the walls he's built himself.
It's a hospital room, it's a hallway at his school, it's his own room, it's the bathroom where he heaved his lungs out every night.
It's looking into Tor's eyes and seeing all that Wine could love about the world, all the things that are wrong with him, the flowers suffocating and so beautiful. How can Wine hate Tor for making him suffer, when it's for him that he bloomed?
How can Wine blame anyone else for the fate that's been handed to him? If it were Tor's fault, it'd be so much easier - if it were Tor's fault, there would be no wounds in him. How can Wine not hate Tor for making him love him, when it's because of him that he wilted?
He can sense himself turning bitter, wanting to scream without a voice, all this air and not one bit he can use to speak out.
For so long, he's turned inwards, keeping to himself, keeping silent, keeping secret. It's so easy to do it again, to lock his mind back up and tuck it away in the box beneath his bed, for his eyes only.
Wine built a thorny cage around his heart no one has the keys to, now not even Wine himself.
***
Nighttime becomes torturous in a new way, Wine finds soon enough.
He no longer wakes in the dead hours to cough new petals, trying his best to muffle the sounds as his parents sleep down the hall. He no longer lies awake, staring at the ceiling as the lack of air doesn't allow for him to fall back asleep.
He doesn't even shuffle through the box's contents, tears falling over the things he's written that no one will ever read. He doesn’t want to look at the pictures and imagine a new future anymore.
Wine sleeps, without coughs and midnight thoughts and lovelorn moments. What he does have, however, are memories.
Toey's eyes are still engraved in his brain, staring on in horror, the last sight of his nightmares right before Wine's tossed back into the waking world.
If he's lost the battle against himself, then there's no one he's failed more than Toey, who loves him when Wine… when Wine doesn't, can't, just…
Wine dreaded the day she might see the flowers and connect the dots, but he dreads this moment even more, sitting next to her on the park bench in complete and utter silence.
"I should've known, I think," she mumbles, gaze still fixed straight ahead, watching a boy and girl who can't be much older than them walking, hand in hand, down the path that leads to the lake. "Maybe I was just fooling myself."
No one's created a step-by-step guide on how to open up about it, not even all those forum people who's posts Wine's read obsessively in the middle of the night. "Toey, I'm sorry-"
"I know," she cuts him off, looking at him for the first time. Wine can't remember ever seeing her this livid, eyes ablaze and lips twisted. "You don't even have to say you're sorry, because I know. You're always apologising. But you couldn't tell me what you're sorry for."
"I'm-"
"Shut up!" Toey yells before he can apologise yet again, aware that this is some kind of infinite loop Wine tends to get stuck in when he's full of things he blames himself for. "Were you planning on telling me?! Or was I supposed to find out when you're dead?!"
Wine feels that if she slapped him in the face and walked away, it might hurt less than the mix of fear and ire in her voice.
Staring down at his hands, Wine counts the creases in his palms, the mere thought of looking Toey in the eye making him want to throw up again. "It wasn't supposed to be like this…"
"Do you think I'm dumb, Wine?" His gaze snaps up towards her, the negative answer already on the tip of his tongue and dying down at what he sees: Toey, tired and wary of him. "I know it wasn't me who fell out of love with you, so it was you who fell out of love with me. With someone else."
"I didn't mean to-" The rest of his explanation dies down in his throat. Who cares what his intentions were? Wine still went and did it, anyway.
The park around them is alive with noise, yet the silence that settles over them is deadly, piercing through skin and finding all the things Wine should've spoken up about and never did, never will.
"Did it have to be my brother?" Toey sounds exhausted, as much as Wine feels. Has she too been plagued with nightmares? Has she too spent her waking hours wondering if Wine could ever be less fucked up than he is?
"I didn't want this," he shakes his head. "I didn't want to be like this." I wish I could be like you , he doesn't say.
"If you had talked to me, I might have understood it."
Wine looks at her with furrowed brows, that ugly part of him that resents Tor and himself for falling for a man rearing its head in his chest. "What should I've said? What should I tell him?" Turning his body fully towards her, Wine ponders if taking her hand might be too much, digging his short nails into the fabric of his pants. "Toey, I love you."
Toey stares and stares, wordlessly, a deep sigh leaving her before she says, "The worst part is that I know. And you don't even have to say it." Her tear-filled eyes bring light onto the sobs bubbling inside of Wine, the crying he hasn't allowed himself to shed, not even in the privacy of his own room.
"You might not want to hear it," because he has to say it, will never sleep again if he doesn't, "but I'm sorry."
Nothing else is said - Toey nods and walks away, leaves Wine to pick up the pieces of himself he's coughed up, to glue them together all on his own.
***
Everyday, Wine does the same thing - wake up, curse the alarm clock, eat breakfast while his parents avoid the stinging topic at hand, shower so that the tears are easily mistakable for water, stare into his lifeless eyes as he puts on his school uniform, go to class, ignore Jay's worried glances, pretend to pay attention to the teachers, read books and not understand a thing, go back home, lie in bed without a thing to do, fall into restless sleep.
Rinse and repeat.
It's routine and it's familiar; it's what Wine did before the surgery, yet now, with a hollowed out chest, it feels even worse than before.
Before, Wine had certainties, that he loves Tor and that he's losing his grip on reality and that he might die soon and none of it will matter. He didn't plan for the future because there was no future to plan for, and it's become obvious that he no longer knows what to do with himself now that the future's decided to make itself known, and fast.
The camera is the only thing he doesn't return to, doesn't have the heart to ask Toey to give it back.
"What do you want to study in uni?" a girl in his class asks during a visit from students of the nearby university, and that's when Wine realises he's got no idea - he never stopped to think about what he wants out of life.
"Engineering," he answers, because that's what Jay's studying for, and if Wine can't find joy within himself, he can only hope Jay might.
Hope …
The thought of it feels ludicrous, something so unfeasible and strange to Wine that he tries to shove it far away, inside the box under the bed with all the things that might've belonged to Wine in a different life, a different reality where feeling wouldn't kill him, hadn't been taken away from him.
The months pass at a pace that seems purposely made to drive Wine insane, each time his eyes find Toey across the school courtyard just that little bit worse. He needs something, anything, that can distract him from the miserable emptiness and the nights spent crying.
Something that isn't talking about how the lack of feelings is murdering him the same way the flowers were, that is.
The numbness in his fingers is palpable, the days dragging on in an endless loop of dread. No one at the hospital told him that the surgery would take not only his love, but every other emotion as well.
People start to ask more and more about his ideas for college as the end of the year approaches, a single term left before he graduates, engineering slipping from his lips each time like an automatic reply, easy to say and not think it through.
Until Wine starts thinking it through.
He has to go to university, not doing so a surefire way of getting into trouble with his father. He's sort of good in exact sciences, in a if I try it, I can make it kind of way. His best friend wants to study engineering.
The pros outweigh the cons in his mind - the cons being, of course, killing himself before the school year is over.
So Wine takes it as the distraction he's been screaming at the sky to get, diving into his studies like a lifeline, the only thing still tethering him to reality. It's better than looking at his own thoughts all day and feeling ever more worthless than he already does.
Studying becomes a must, an obsession that takes over every waking hour so he doesn't have to think about anything else, doesn't have to analyse the phantom pain the scar over his ribcage brings or the way he can barely string sentences together to anyone, even Jay, without wanting to jump out the window, or the phone calls.
Tor's calls.
He started calling as soon as Wine was released from the hospital, a string of texts accompanying it. Wine didn't pick up then, didn't reply to the messages.
Wine's still not picking up, not replying, each time he thinks of blocking Tor's number bringing a trembling so akin to heaving for air on the bathroom floor that all Wine can do is turn his phone off, the piles of library books a good enough excuse to hide himself behind.
Toey never calls, not that Wine expects her to, yet he can't help but think what kinds of conversations she must've had with her brother, conversations about Wine himself.
How much of him has she revealed to Tor?
How much more of him must Wine masquerade?
He doesn't have time to worry about it, exams and tests and the divine promise he's made to get into university taking up all the space inside his head. When Wine's far away from this place, maybe he'll be able to look at it with a clear head.
As it is, Wine can't see a step in front of him.
***
Wine should be more careful with the steps he takes, the paths he follows, his head too filled with worried thoughts about exams and studying and not being a burden to his parents if he doesn't get into university to see the other man until they're barrelling right into each other, Wine's drink spilling over their clothes, not a drop remaining inside the plastic cup.
"I'm so sorry!" The man says, voice loud in the otherwise empty courtyard, hands moving over Wine without touching him. His fretting makes Wine want to laugh for the first time in months, the smile that comes onto his lips strange but not unpleasant. "Are you okay?"
"It's fine, it's just a drink." Wine holds both hands up to appease him, taking in the man's features as his expression turns sour. He's taller than Wine, his hair dark and his stained clothes clearly the ones of a university student, but that's not what catches Wine's attention the most.
His eyes, a deep brown colour, hold to it something Wine has only ever seen in one person before - staring at himself in the mirror.
"Please, let me buy you another one," the other cringes as he looks down at the state they're in. "And some clean clothes too."
"You don't have to," Wine waves him off, collecting the things that have fallen to the ground with the man's help, hands lingering together as he's handed one of his books. Wine tries not to let his thoughts wander over it. "I have another uniform at home."
"I insist, I can't let my junior leave like this." He seems very serious about it, yet the last thing Wine wants is to be a bother to someone at such an hour. It's clear the man has better places to be than entertaining an awkward guy at campus.
"I'm not your junior yet, it's okay."
"Please," the man pauses, as if thinking over what's been said so far, "hmm, what's your name?"
"Wine," he says plainly, holding back the promise he made about getting into this university. The older man definitely doesn't need to know what kind of fool Wine is for vowing to change his name into Witsawa , of all things.
"That's a beautiful name, Wine," the man smiles, wide and sweet yet not as genuine as he probably thinks it is. His eyes still hold that infinite sadness they did before, the one Wine sees in himself all the time. "It suits you."
He can't help the heat that rises to his cheeks however, clutching tighter to the strap of his bag. "You don't know me."
"Do you want me to?" Eyebrows wiggling, the other leans closer, arms crossed over his chest. His grin widens when all Wine can do is blink slowly, not used to such boldness. "I'm kidding. Sort of. I'm Faifa," he gives a little mock curtsy, smiling a little bit more as Wine wai 's to him.
"Let me guess," Wine tries to joke back with him, the strange lightness that Faifa seems to bring not one he wants to fade away soon, "you're an Electrical Engineering student?" Wine's not a jokester, what's gotten into him?
"Yes," Faifa nods proudly. "My parents were good at choosing names." His brows furrow as he looks at Wine once more, taking Wine's coffee-covered hand and wiping it over the fabric of his white shirt, or whatever clean parts of it he can find to do so. "I'm so sorry for making such a mess," he says again, thumbing over the side of Wine's mouth to clean it like it's the most natural thing to do.
Faifa must have no idea how dumbstruck Wine is by it.
All Wine can do is stare, those sorrowful eyes reflecting the streetlights as they focus on him and solely on him - Wine can't remember when was the last time someone looked at him like this.
Gaze moving to the side, Faifa takes him by the hand, leading him towards a low stone bench, gently pushing Wine to sit down. Unable to not follow along, Wine mimics his every move, something far too weird happening to his brain as he watches Faifa fret.
"Wait here," Faifa motions, speaking too fast for Wine to keep up. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."
"But-" Wine tries to argue, quickly cut off by Faifa rambling and running off between one blink and another.
With a deep sigh, he watches Faifa disappear behind some trees down the path he came from, winded and full of thoughts, good thoughts , the kind he hasn't had since… Well, since…
Wine has no idea when did he last have good thoughts.
They're here now, their presence unfamiliar as Wine ponders over Faifa, his smiles seeping with a melancholy Wine's far too acquainted with, his need to apologise a million times, how his words ring with self-assurance, how he exudes the kind of confidence Wine can only wish to ever have.
Wine's spent so long focusing on only his studies, blocking out everything that might lead to overthinking, that he's caught off guard by a chance encounter with a stranger bringing on a barrage of feelings he's not ready for.
And feelings , the ones he lost months ago, come back with full force, curiosity and confusion and the riddle that is Faifa, positive with an undercurrent of mystery.
No , Wine tells himself, stop, quit being like this , but he doesn't have much time to yell at his own brain, not when Faifa comes sprinting back, too many bags in hand.
"Here's a t-shirt for you to change into if you're feeling sticky," the older man pants, handing Wine a closed package. "I got you some wet wipes, too. Did your socks get wet? Cause I bought you a new pair, just in case."
"Hold on, Phi, this isn't…"
Faifa doesn't seem to hear him, going on in his tirade, "I thought of getting you new shoes as well, but they were out of those."
"Phi-" Yet again, Wine can't finish his sentence.
"They didn't have any shorts either, but I could get you a new pair of pants at another store, I just need to know your size…"
"P'Faifa!" Wine doesn't mean to be this loud, his voice reverberating inside his chest, but that does manage to make Faifa quiet, so he takes it as a small victory. "It's not that big of a deal."
"It is," Faifa mumbles, hiding behind a smile that's not as believable to Wine as might deem it to be. "I can't have you think I'm a bad senior for not taking care of you."
Wine can't possibly be special enough to require all of this. How many times has Faifa demanded of himself to take care of others in such a way?
There Wine goes again, thinking too much about someone he barely knows, making up scenarios in his head about the worst outcomes instead of living in the here and now.
"Oh," Faifa's voice brings him out of his reverie, "and I didn't know how sweet you like your drinks, so I got you a bunch of different ones." Holding up two bags on each side, Faifa grants him a sheepish grin, as if afraid Wine might decline the offering. "Where do you live? Do you want me to give you a ride? I really want to make it up to you."
Wine doesn't understand why he's laughing, but once the smile starts to spread, he's helpless against it, lips parting as he stares up at Faifa, his earnestness contagious. "You didn't have to do all this, you know? I stopped being mad about it when you apologised the first time."
"Really?" Faifa blinks owlishly at him, his surprise not feigned in the slightest. "You're so cute." And if Wine thought he was blushing before, it's nothing compared to the burning of his cheeks right now. "It's pretty late," Faifa sits by his side, "what are you still doing here?"
"I came for the uni tutoring course, but I was already leaving."
"What faculty are you planning on getting into?" The million baht question shows itself yet again, but this time, Wine doesn't feel the pressure or the scrutiny to give a reply that might please the listener, only genuine interest, so unlike what most around him have shown.
"Engineering," he answers for the thousandth time, each bringing a certainty that Wine might've chosen the right path for the future he never looked ahead to until now.
"That's my faculty!" And despite already knowing as much, Wine's still taken over by his enthusiasm. "So this means you'll be my actual junior, right? You better watch out then, I'll see you at the freshman welcoming activities!"
"Let me get in first," Wine advises with a chuckle, "then you can think about how to welcome me."
"Very well, then," Faifa acquiesces, nose scrunching. "I hope that the legend that tripping at the Engineering courtyard means you'll get accepted to the faculty will come true for you, Wine."
"Is that real?" Wine asks, brows furrowing. "I thought that the legend was tripping to get a partner from Engineering." The weight of his words only hits once Wine's already said them, stuttering over what to say next.
"I wish it was," Faifa speaks before he can muster up any other ideas, leaving Wine reeling.
"What?" is all he can mumble in response, the ringing of his phone breaking through their conversation as Faifa's the first to break eye contact, his gaze travelling far away from him.
Something in Wine wants to tell him to keep looking at Wine, only at Wine, to explain what he means, while the sensible part of his brain moves him to pick up the call, his mother's voice making him come back to the real world.
"I'll be there in a bit," he tells her before hanging up, looking around himself at all the items Faifa's brought over. "Are you really giving me all of this?"
"1,200 baht," Faifa replies promptly, breaking out into laughter at Wine's scandalised look. "Just kidding. You can take everything. For my future junior," he completes with a wink.
A light bulb goes on inside Wine's head, rummaging through his backpack until he finds what he's looking for: a red pen, handing it over to Faifa, who stares at it quizzically. "I don't have a lot to give you, like a new shirt or tie. I'm sorry for ruining your clothes, by the way. But I want you to have this," he shakes the pen in front of Faifa, "my favourite one. So you can keep being my future senior."
Wine has no idea what he's blabbering on about, but Faifa smiles like it's the best thing he's heard all week, taking the pen and proudly displaying it by attaching it to his bag. "It's my favourite now, too."
They stare at each other for what feels like an endless second, the vibrating of Wine's phone reminding that he needs to go before his mother starts to worry. "I'm leaving," he says, gathering all his gifts but not taking a single step away from the other man. Shaking himself out of it, Wine croaks out, "Bye, P'Faifa."
The leaves whisper back a reply, see you soon, nong , following after him as Wine runs the short way to where he can see his mother's car parked, getting inside and falling back onto the passenger seat without even bothering to untangle himself from all the bags in his hands.
"Any reason why you're so smiley today?" his mother says, reminding Wine that he isn't alone.
Cringing, he turns to her, biting on his tongue to try and control the smile that seems unwilling to vanish. "Hi, mom," he stutters, out of ideas on how to diverge her attention. "Sorry I kept you waiting."
Her gaze tells Wine that she'll drop the topic, but that it isn't a permanent thing. "I didn't wait very long." Eyes falling to the several cups he's carrying, she laughs, "Feeling thirsty?"
"Oh," he exclaims, taking one of the drinks out of the plastic bag and examining it. "Something like that," Wine explains feebly, his focus turned to the words scribbled over the cup holder.
Good luck! This one's 100% sweet - but not more than you ;)
Wine should be more careful with the steps he takes, the paths he follows, but if he were, he wouldn't have met Faifa.