↱FLORAL FOR YOU↲ ⇾woosan⇽

Daffodil

*＊✿❀ｄａｆｆｏｄｉｌ(異み殴)❀✿＊*

__

If San were to ever be asked what torture was, he would've answered something along the lines of unrequited love.

Like watching the love of your life fall for someone else, or maybe breaking from the inside out because a forest was blooming in your lungs as a form of betrayal.

A perpetual cycle of coughing and wheezing instead of breathing, the taste of blood eerily familiar after being stripped to the wire, barely hanging on.

Yes, there was no denying that Hanahaki had been the massacre of his strength and dignity.

Now, however, if San were to be asked that same question his response would be that torture was watching as Wooyoung walked towards his hospital bed looking like an utter wreck.

Puffy face, red-rimmed eyes, splotches over his cheeks, and the occasional sniffle were enough for him to conclude that Wooyoung was in a miserable state.

How could everything spiral so far out of control?

Gasoline spilled over San's ribs, expanding in its toxicity and setting aflame the wilderness of his emotions.

He was burning, fading, oxygen-depleting as spring was exterminated by embers of unanswered questions.

San felt the urge to put the oxygen mask back on, which was soon replaced with an aching throat as he hacked a full-bloomed cyclamen dripping scarlet.

In a few strides, Wooyoung was by his side.

He whispered comforting words in his ear but San's mind was too jumbled, bones rattling from the coughing fit; instead, he focused on the warm fingers rubbing soothing circles on his cold back.

It was nice, something to hold onto before his sanity slipped away.

A damp cloth was pressed to his twitching palm and he startled at the unexpected sensation.

Oh... Wooyoung was cleaning his fingers and face from traces of blood, delicately, patiently, and so inherently sweet.

A wave of nostalgia rolled over his stomach as he watched Wooyoung hesitantly discard the flower.

This wasn't how San had pictured saying goodbye, even if the rejection was so blatantly there.

There was another sniff, a breathless cry and, finally, Wooyoung rested his eyes on San's face.

His watery gaze traveled over every single feature to examine it, as though committing it to memory, fingers absentmindedly smoothing down his cheeks and circling where his dimples would appear when he smiled.

"Hi," Wooyoung murmured while he subtly patted San's thigh.

It was a request for him to scoot over and let Wooyoung snuggle to him as close as possible.

San knew Wooyoung needed the comfort, needed to make sure that he was there, alive and breathing, so he complied.

Once Wooyoung was all settled, head beside his on the pillow and hand cupping his jaw, San responded meekly, "hello."