Unspoken Melodies and Wilted Flowers

Zhiyu never knew when his love for Wyen began-perhaps it had always been there, quietly blooming like a flower in the shade. It was soft, delicate, and filled with warmth, growing with every shared laugh, every late-night conversation, every moment where Wyen's presence made the world a little brighter.

But love, as magical as it seemed, could also be cruel. Zhiyu realized this the moment Wyen excitedly introduced his girlfriend. Time seemed to stop. The words felt distant, muffled, as if he were underwater. His heart clenched so painfully that he wondered if it had shattered entirely. But he smiled. He smiled so naturally, so flawlessly, as if the ache in his chest didn't exist. "Congratulations," he said, his voice unwavering, though his whole world was collapsing around him.

From a distance, Yangxie watched. His gaze was fixed on Zhiyu-not on his lips that curved into a perfect smile, but on his eyes. Eyes that held a storm, a sadness too deep to be hidden, even behind the most practiced mask.

That night, Zhiyu curled into himself in the darkness of his room, the suffocating pain finally breaking free. Silent tears turned into quiet sobs, and then into gasping cries as he clutched his chest. His body trembled as he choked on something-something that wasn't just sorrow.

Cough.

Cough.

Again and again, until his throat burned. And then-

A petal. Soft, delicate, tinged with crimson.

Zhiyu stared at it, his breath hitching. A gerbera petal. His favorite flower. Wyen's favorite flower.

His hands shook as more petals followed, slipping past his lips like the love he could never confess. It hurt-it hurt so much. But no matter how much he bled, how many petals he coughed up, he knew one thing for certain:

Wyen would never love him back.