Dying Heart||Hanahaki Disease/Dream6d[HOLD]

"green."

Everyone had gotten into the car. Clay looked to the right to see Vincent sitting besides him.
He frowned, examining his features. 

Vincent would understand that he was ignoring him— right?
Clay started the car before looking back at George, "Where's the hotel?" He asked pulling out his phone. George passed his phone up to him from the backseat. Vincent took it and showed the screen to Clay, both of them exchanging quick talk about it.

Vincent passed the phone back and looked at Clay.
He looked nervous.
Extremely nervous.
Vincent frowned and looked down at his lap where his phone was. He stared at the screen as Clay found the directions and the car started moving.

~

Clay helped Vincent get his bags out of the car, emotionless, as always. His face looked pale and he looked exhausted.
Vincent glanced at Clay before back at the bag, picking it up.

"Do you know why Zelk isn't here??" Clay asked, nervousness wrapped his tone. "Oh- he's working on something and he couldn't make it last second." Vincent sighed. Clay shut the trunk, leading Vincent inside. His chest vibrated and he stifled a cough. Vincent looked at Clay, his hand brushing against Clay's as it glided across the suitcase bar. Clay flinched, moving his hand off the bar and fumbled with the keys in his pocket. 

Opening the door, Clay rushed inside as Vincent pushed the suitcase into the house. The wheels rolled on the hard tile loudly as he followed the blonde male.

Clay threw the keys onto the counter top next to him and turned to Vincent.

The french man stared at the ground as he shut the door behind him and rolled the suitcase next to Clay. He looked at Clay who was staring back at him. Clay averted his gaze, a cough tickling in his throat. Clay choked a cough, "Uh-uhm, okay you can bring your stuff here." Clay struggled to speak as he kicked his shoes off and walked towards a spare room. Vincent took his shoes off as well, placing them next to Clay's and followed him. 

The male in the green hoodie walked quickly and nervously, his arms twitching. He stood next to the door, letting Vincent walk in. The french male smiled before walking in and turned the lights on. "You can u-" Clay coughed loudly, covering his mouth with his arm as he struggled to breathe. Vincent turned around looking at Clay who was now hunched over coughing horribly. Vincent's brown eyes widened, "Dre-" Clay coughed again, cutting Vincent off. 

Finally his coughing fit had ended. There were petals in Clay's hand, he scrunched them up and shoved his hands in his pocket. He bit his bottom lip nervously and looked up at Vincent before standing up straight. "You okay?" Vincent tilted his head. Clay nodded slowly, tears brimming his eyes. "You can unpack here, I'll be right back." Clay cleared his throat before turning around slowly. 

In a rush, he sped off to the bathroom where he disposed of the petals, dumping them in a nearby trashcan. His hand was coated in slight blood, noticing there was a new colored petal.

It was purple.

Purple and grey petals. 
If grey had represented Vincent, then what about purple?

~ 

It was hard on both of them, but soon after a few days, Clay had grown close to Vincent.

Too close.

He figured out the purple petals had represented a new feeling Vincent had developed.
Sympathy.
But why would the petals switch between grey and purple?

Maybe grey was just all of Vincent's feelings to Clay.

Dull.
Bland.
Fake.
Something painful.
Anything. 

Clay was sitting in his room, surrounded by many petals at 3am. He clenched his stomach.

That day was supposed to be when the meet up was. 
Clay painfully shut his green eyes. 

He was tired.
He was hungry.

He was desperate to stop the pain.
Oh how he urged to stop it.
He would do anything.
He even starved himself sometimes, only because he had to eat with Vincent at the same table and he discovered that when he did- he often choked on petals in his throat. 

It was so out of Clay's nature to act like this, but he really really needed it to stop. He ate only when Vincent wasn't around, which was when Vincent was in his room, and it wasn't even enough. 

Clay sighed, looking at the mess around him. His sleeves were rolled up, red marks scattered on his delicate skin, his dirty blonde mix of hair was messy and ruffled up, green emerald eyes were dull and the whites of them were stained red, his cheeks were tear stained, body limp, and blood on his hoodie. 

Blood and petals. 

God, he hated love.

--

Just a reminder, that this book is normally made when I need to vent about something, so a lot of the chapters sometimes may describe about how i feel, which means they are very much angst.