Unwanted Flowers [Montanha x Erwin] ONESHOT ENG

Unwanted Flowers

How do people deal with rejection? How do they react? What do they do? A difficult question. Very difficult. Some people put up with it... Quite well. They have the thought in their head that they will forget after a while anyway and there is nothing to worry about. That someone else will be found and they won't have to worry about it anymore. That they won't feel it anymore and it will only get better. That's how it can be. Maybe. Because it doesn't have to be at all. Someone else, someone who loves with their whole self, will stand in front of a mirror and somewhere in the reflection will see that it all makes no sense without that one piece that got lost somewhere. It fell out along the way and, dusty, lies on the floor, between feelings, tears and shattered glass. And despite the fact that other things will be found, this one doesn't want to be found. It wants to be lost and forgotten, somewhere far away. And it can stay under the bed, under the cabinet, for long nights. Weeping and sleepless. And it will stay. It will make a nest in your heart that will hurt you. Little twigs, like millions of needles, will poke deeper when you think about it again. You'll let yourself be tricked again. And you can tell that it will stay that way. That the shattered glass from the frame will stay on the floor, the feelings will never be the same, and the tears will sink what has remained dry and untouched. That it all makes no sense. One may conclude. But what if someone picks up the glass? He will fix the feelings and dry the tears. What if there is someone who will patch up the missing piece. He will take out all the needles carefully and try to make sure they never come back again. He will wrap the heart in a new frame. He won't let anyone touch it again. At times even he won't touch it. He will leave it alone, though he will never stop protecting it. He will be convinced that he can't do anything more and will only make things worse, even though you crave him. You crave his touch, his laughter, his voice. But something won't let you either. There is a long, thick wall between you. On the other side you feel that smoldering warmth, and you know where, where on the wall you can feel it most deeply. The most... So close to you... You hear it calling you. You hear your name, even though you cover your ears with all your might. It's already here to stay. It will break through the wall and embrace you. It promises that things will only get better. Your task is to... To trust. I guess that's what you can call it. Trust. Fully. Entrusting yourself to someone. Completely. Forever.

A terrible storm was brewing in Los Santos. It had not rained on the island for a long time. Surprised citizens began to return to their homes, hid in cars, under canopies, or put on hoods so that even the smallest drop wouldn't get on their skin. They hid their belongings under their jackets, covered up with fabrics or umbrellas, which few, however, had with them. Except for one person. One who, alone and soaking wet, wandered through the streets of Los Santos. In his hand he held frosted white tulips, wrapped in decorative paper that was tearing in his fingers with each passing second. Drops dripped from the buds, onto the pavement, forming a path that was slowly sinking into larger and larger puddles on the sidewalk anyway. The man looked up. Rain fell on his face in a second, and his silver-brown hair flopped back slightly. He didn't like their color. Since he stopped paying attention to the time, the time himself reminded him about that. He combed the small silver hairs that stood out perfectly in the front, with those that still held their color. He thought about starting to dye them, or at least making them not stand out so much from the rest. However, he came to the conclusion that once he start, he would never get away from it and at the end of the day he would have to get used to them anyway. The man looked around him. When others were returning to their homes, he stood in front of the one that did not belong to him at all, although he treated its center as if it were his own. As if he had always lived there. As if it was where he belonged. Entering the tall glass building, he stood motionless for a moment. Should I go in there? - he thought. - Should I even be there? Does anyone want me there? It's hard to tell, the last time he was there, he didn't feel at all like at home. He felt foreign. Like he didn't belong there. Now? Now it was different. For some reason it was. And no one knew the reason. The reflection of the glass shell showed him the rest of this city. Everything behind him was... Cold and... Strange. Very strange. As if it were not of this world. As if someone had made a mistake and left it that way because he didn't know how to fix it. He left chaos that someone else has to fix. But will someone want to? This is the most important question. The elevator that was supposed to take him upstairs played a cheerful tune and, stopping at the first floor, opened the door for him. All wet, he stepped inside and clicked the floor button with a trembling hand. The elevator played again, closed the door and went up. It drove quite slowly. Despite the fresh newness of the building, the elevator, for some reason, never went faster. It always took a while to get up to the first two floors, and going to the top floor seemed like a long, hard eternity. Between the silence and his breathing, somewhere you could hear the dripping of droplets from his black coat. They were so... Loud. Too loud for it to be just water. One, two, three, four, five. He counted and thought. He stopped when the elevator played the tune for the last time, leaving him on the desired floor. Shaking off the flowers lightly, he approached the apartment and raised his hand, clenching it into a fist. He paused. Again. He froze in place. He didn't knock. He stepped back and looked at the apartment number. Maybe it was actually a bad idea? Maybe he's not home? He won't know unless he knocks.... But what if he doesn't want him? What if he won't let him in and he has to go where he doesn't feel like a human? What if he kick him out and his house will shatter into a million pieces. What if. He walked away. He took a step back and turned away from the door. He walked to the elevator and again pressed the button that would eventually take him to the first floor. But... What if he heard him? What if he was waiting for him and knew he was there, but suddenly everything went quiet? What if... He won't know unless he knocks. Clutching the flowers in his hand, he rubbed his face and walked to the door once again. He knocked three times and sniffed his nose. The door opened almost immediately, and warmth welcomed him from inside. He, however, did not look happy. Tears slowly flowed from his eyes, like the previous rain from heavy storm clouds. The man in the doorway tilted his head and looked him over from head to toe, stopping at his deep, glazed eyes. The silence was broken by one of them.