Silhouette of a Wilted Flower

You're all I can think about

What in the damn hell had Omori been thinking?

Why did he...he let Stranger hug him? Why didn't he immediately summon a thousand red hands? Why didn't he slice the shadow's arms off? He should... should have at least pushed him away!

Why... didn't he push him away? It couldn't have been because he enjoyed the hug, could it?

No. Omori most certainly did not in the slightest enjoy physical contact with that vile shadow.

He did not enjoy his warmth or his pleasant scent. He did not want to lean further into his touch or his scent of flowers, just like he didn't stay awake all night trying to forget the feeling of Stranger's fingertips against his lip-

Omori clawed at his head, trying to shake the thoughts loose.

I did not enjoy it! I hated it! I hate, hate, hated it!

There wasn't a word in existence that could accurately describe how much he despised Stranger.

A strangled grumble emerged from his throat. He buried his face in his hands and rubbed viciously at tired eyes.

He didn't get a wink of sleep that night because of Stranger and his stupid face, stupid soft hair, and stupid hug. Every time he shut his eyes, Stranger was all he would see. Every time he thought, Stranger was all he could think about!

The sheets had quickly grown hot and stifling with his constant tossing. He laid there, suffering, until he abandoned the bed and opted to pace around the room.

"I just need to clear my head and think of something else," Omori muttered, trying to distract his mind from the intrusive images that plagued him. "I am not thinking of Stranger." He repeated the words like a mantra, hoping they would somehow dispel the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him.

He most definitely was not thinking of Stranger or the hug. A shadow as pathetic as Stranger should never have the power to consume the ruler of everything's thoughts. He was not thinking of Stranger. He was not.

Walk. Focus on that. Keep counting your steps.

Ninety-three...

Ninety-four...

Ninety-eight...

One hundred and...

...

The flower smell...it wasn't just any floral scent. It had a certain air to it.... It was something soothingly sweet engulfed with a cold bitterness. A fragrance too cool and earthy to belong in a place like Headspace, where the very grass smelt like cloying candy. A scent almost like...sunflowers that had been growing in thick shade.

...Sunflowers....

He smelled like sunflowers. That's what the-

A raw, animalistic snarl exploded from his lips. He swung a foot at his bed frame in pure frustration and was left hopping around the room in pain.

He collapsed onto the bed, channeling the rest of his rage into punching the mattress.

This was maddening. What was happening? What was wrong with him?! How could something as simple as a hug bring the king to disorder like this?

No! The king is not in disorder! That is impossible. Unspeakable. Unthinkable!

I am a calm and collected king...Nothing brings me to distress.

Nothing.

Omori slowed his punching to a stop. He chewed at his nail, thoughts whirling.

The hug... just surprised me.