PLANET MONTH

Day Three: Flower (Oneshot)

(A/N: short one but i like it a lot :333 just trying to get into the writing flow and this was one of the best results of a warmup ive had in a while graahhh )

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The first time Spoke got a flower from Planet, it was after killing them. Hundreds of times, over and over, the same repetitive motion of punching them into their demise. Over and over. The harsh pain of death turning into a small ache, the numbness to it being a feeling they were not unfamiliar with, but one that hurt to reconcile with.

The first time Spoke got a flower from Planet, it was after they killed him. Hundreds of times, over and over, the same repetitive motion of punching him into his demise. Over and over and over.  The harsh pain of death turning into a small ache, the numbness to it being a feeling they had never felt before, and one that hurt to realize was even possible.

The first time Spoke got a flower from Planet, he was lying on the floor. Any thoughts about what had happened that day blurred together until he could see nothing when he closed his eyes but the pulsing of a headache.

The first time Spoke got a flower from Planet, they were sitting in their bed. Any thoughts about what happened today mixed together into a jumbled, disoriented mess in their brain. Until they could see nothing when they closed their eyes but Spoke pushing them to their death. Something about all of it seeming very familiar. 

The first time Spoke got a flower from Planet, Planet is the first to stand up. They walk over to Spoke, and pull a flower out of the collection on their cape. Spoke's eyes are still closed in discomfort, he isn't as used to this feeling as they are. They put the flower in his hair, tucking the stem into his bandana as delicately as they can manage with still-shaken hands.

Spoke slowly opens his eyes, and reaches for it. By the time he realizes, and goes to ask about it. He hears Planet's footsteps as they leave the room.

The first time Spoke got a flower from Planet, Spoke is still stuck on the floor. He hears footsteps, but can't be bothered to see who it is. If he dies, it doesn't matter. It's already happened enough today. His eyes remain closed, he isn't used to this feeling at all. He feels something touch his head, something delicately placing it there despite hesitation.

The feeling causes him to open his eyes, reaching for what had been left for him. His fingers touch the soft petals of a flower. By the time he can find the words to ask about it. He hears the same light footsteps leaving the room.