Flower Eater ; kth + pjm

1 ; spilling

There wasn't much he could say. There wasn't even much he could do. After he found out, he simply nodded, thanked his doctor who was obviously worried for the younger male, and he left.

The walk back to the dorm was quiet, painful- he even stopped a few times to catch his breath as he felt his insides clogging up. Breathing heavily and uneven all the way back to the dorm, his mind foggy and thoughts racing about how he was going to deal with this and cope with everything that is sure to come. Up until he walked right to the door of the dorm, the dorm he shared with his members. His breathing slowed down and he stared at the doorknob, the doorknob being the one thing that separates him from the place he doesn't like going back to, for it's back to where he knows he struggles to hide it; Back to where he knows he'll die with this because, well, there's nothing he can do about it.

The bitter smile he had aimed at the love birds on the couch- watching some new kids movie that had come out this week- went unnoticed by anyone but him as he walked in. Deciding to just go to his shared room, he figured he'd find something to do to distract himself from letting his mind wander to things that would hurt him. Maybe he'll listen to music. Who knows, maybe he'll even finish up those assignments he started yesterday that he was too busy throwing up to even think about finishing. Before he could even step foot into his shared room, he was rushing into the bathroom right across from his room and was throwing up roses into the toilet.

Dark red, thorny roses began filling the porcelain bowl, a smile growing on his face. He laughed and began to cry as he kneeled down to grab a handful of petals and rub them within his palm and between his fingers, finding them soft to the touch- one of the softest things he had ever felt.

He sat cursing whoever did this to him, cursing whoever made something so bizarre where you hurt for loving someone. He laughed even more at how ridiculous this all was.

Alone and locked in the bathroom, he flushes the petals down and he washes his face.

Grabbing his toothbrush and wincing as he brushes his teeth, it being a bit hard due to the thorns that had scraped against the inside of his mouth. After spitting out the bloodied toothpaste countless times and rinsing his mouth, he sighs. The exhaling of the breath could have been the last exhale containing his soul. It was heavy and it hurt his whole being.

Resting shaky hands on the sink, Jimin looked up at himself in the mirror to meet a pale face and cheeks that were hollowing, dark circles under his eyes and puffy red lips. Casting his eyes downward directly to the running water, he watched as it ran down the drain- He just watched, staring at the water that was still slightly red from the remaining blood. He was brought back from his haze by a knock on the door, it accompanied by some giggles and whispers.

"Jimin, you almost done? I've got some business to attend to."

Hearing the voice makes his heart flutter and ache at the same time, for voice he loves so much is the same voice killing him from the inside. The voice that belongs to Kim Taehyung is the voice clogging his insides until they decide to burst out to remind him he's in love with his best friend. The man he so adores, who doesn't love him back the way he needs him to.

Jimin sighs once more, a bit lighter than the soul escaping one he had released earlier, stops the water from running further more and unlocks the door, walking right past the two. He spared no glances up from his fixed gaze on the floor, but he could still tell Jungkook was worriedly looking over his shoulder at the smaller male with his bottom lip between his teeth even. Jimin tried to ignore it because Jungkook still says how bad he feels about what happened between him and Taehyung.

Saying he felt bad due to Taehyung falling in love with him rather than Jimin- how he felt he took the only thing Jimin loved with every fiber in his being away from him. Jimin didn't want to hear it. He felt like an elder brother to Jungkook and he knows if he let Jungkook continue, he'd start to dislike the younger- borderline hate. He knows that wouldn't be right of him to do.

The sound of Jimin's bedroom door and the bathroom door closing all at once was his sign to slide down to the floor with his back against the door. His shaking hands dig around his pockets to pull out his headphones and following, his phone. He reaches up to lock the door just as the song plays throughout the tiny earbuds and the soft bass, soft singing plays through his ears until he closes his eyes. With this, he lets his mind run back to Jungkook and Taehyung.

A bitter smile, one that is continuously growing, returns to his lips, seemingly getting whiter each passing day he coughs up buckets of rose petals. There is no doubt in Jimin's mind nor a doubt in his heart that the reason he's got this Hanahaki bullshit is because of Taehyung. Jimin then thought of that night.

That night, which he had dubbed a 'perfect end', was the night they had shared a room in a Comfort Inn, since they were on the tour bus in the middle of nowhere. He remembers how they made love about year ago, remembers how the two of them, sweaty and breath heavy with unsaid words, spent that sacred time together.

Jimin's brain racked with things still remnant from that night. They had made love like the world was ending, but neither of them admitted they were in love. Not before, not during, not even after. In fact, Jimin was the only one, obviously, who was in love.

He ends up being the only one, the only lonely one. He even wonders if he felt so much love for Taehyung that it was only his love steaming into the room of that night's occurrences. His breath was heavy with more than just lust, his thoughts going wild with every passing second it was happening.

That what might have been running through his mind; a fragment of his imagination he had wished was real.
It wasn't, though. Nor would it ever be. After they fucked each other until their bones felt like goo and their eyes threatening to close for the night, they had laid there; Jimin in Taehyung's arms- his head on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around Taehyung's waist as best as he could despite how they were laying. Jimin had thought about finally telling him, about saying what's been on his mind for months, maybe even a year prior to that night.

He didn't.

With Jimin sitting on the floor, his back pressed to the locked door, he's thankful he hadn't said anything that night. That same night after Jimin had faked being asleep- who could sleep with a racing heart like his was- Taehyung had left him in a bed that was once warm, now growing colder with the absence of a body.

Taehyung had showered and slipped out of the room with no more than a glance at what he had thought was a sleeping Jimin, never returning to lay back down with him for their last night on tour- not a single thought of speaking to each other. The next morning when they had to get ready to fill the tour bus before boarding the plane back home, not a word, of that night or anything else.

Jimin had thought he had done something wrong, something that may have jeopardized their friendship, which was wrong, ultimately, but the way he had felt when those excruciating weeks went by and still no word or glances from Taehyung, he had figured to just give the other some space.

His mind wasn't nearly as stable as he had pretended it to be, so he thought it could be good for the both of them.

He was withering, much like the old and drying rose petals he's been coughing and throwing up; those rose petals whose color was draining the more they dried out; those rose petals that had meant his eminent death.

Jimin had been throwing them up ever since that night. Almost every day afterwards, the petals came up from his overworked stomach, gracefully floating down the toilet and eminently down the drain.

He wished that his feelings followed the petals, out of him and down a drain, far away from him and his suffering form that was still sat at his door, headphones and phone in hand and working, a soft melody floating through, not that he was paying any attention.

He was preoccupied; he was still dreaming, dreaming that Taehyung would realize how much pain he's enduring. All because he loves him.

'If only the love I felt went down the drain... like the petals."