Lily Rose

Your gaze lingered on Jiro's softened face, catching his red eyes just briefly before you averted your own. You'd let your ears do the rest of your dirty work now. Listening. Reveling. In each hum he spilled. Every low, labored breath that escaped his lips. Basking in it only made you feel worthy of hell.

Your free hand grew a mind of its own. Your thoughts scolded you for the way it pressed up into Jiro's bare chest. A sad, simple attempt to free you of your guilt. You should have known, you really never had much hope with Jiro around. He leaned in to push against it—to push against you, until he was more than sure that the heat of his breath fanned out against your exposed neck. When it did, you shivered. Skin hot. Sensitive.

Slowly, you were giving in. Surrendering.

In a tedious ascend, your careful fingers brushed past the many scars that littered his body. You were rewarded another of his appreciative sighs, soft like a whisper at the pulse of your neck. You managed to tangle your fingers into the mess of his hair. Your body angled so that you would just miss the secret upward curl of delight on Jiro's lips.

Focused on soaking him in until you thought you may burst, breathy gasps filled the room like it'd been poisoned. But intoxicated, would hardly cut it. Jiro's mere presence alone could have easily overwhelmed you if you'd let it. Without a doubt, it would have, if his lack of words didn't disarm you. Leave you starving for more.

Your hungry pleas were suddenly becoming incoherent. His own were always silent. The deliberate way he placed his hands on you still left an open wound. Raw. Infected. One Jiro never forgot to overlook because needles...?

Wouldn't penetrate it.

Gauze? Didn't stuff it.

And Bandages? Didn't cover it.

Your hand trembled against his scalp, like that might stop your tongue from being tricked. The more you let your mind dwell, the less easy it was to hide from him. It never stopped you from trying, though. Combing through the strands of his hair between your fingers, hoping—praying, he'd ignore your distraught daze. It was a matter of how the loose knots came undone. If your hand faltered, surely your mouth did. If your mouth faltered, inevitably, Jiro would ask.

Luckily, your fingers slipped through his hair with ease. Like a brush, before you began to hum.

"Jiro.." You whispered, lulling him back to Earth.

His breath left your skin empty, but his attention was drawn to the glossed over gaze in your eyes.

"Yes?"

A keen expression to be adored, who would dare let it go to waste?

You reached in for Jiro's face, cupping your palm up under his jawline. And, caught off guard by the tenderness, Jiro blinked down at you with a sense of his own curiosity. Narrowing his eyes like he'd get a better idea of the problem.

"Hm? Oh. Did that hurt?" He asked, concern tied to it that was reserved for you.

"The opposite, Jiro." You lied, sighing out. Your thumb brushed his frail cheek, sore under his attentive red eyes. He didn't pull back, or so much as flinch while allowing you a smile.

His face was a sickly warm. As tender as the spell that fell over you. Shamefully aware of the way your own body burned, you almost discarded the words swirling at the tip of your tongue.

You'd hardly heard good things about the words. The phrase. A risk was tied to it. An intimacy often left rejected by most when offered too soon. Forgotten when offered too late.

Your better judgement was impaired by Jiro's lips. It all stopped mattering each time his hips met yours. As you inhaled to soak in his scent, you exhaled, "I love you," before your sober thoughts could rob you of the chance.

It might as well have been magic. A single sentence had made the world stop spinning as sweet. Your relief, your cure—disgustingly short-lived, as Jiro had suddenly become wide eyed and a deathly sort of pale. Glaring holes into you as if to disapprove of what you'd just whispered.

Everything blissful soon festered into something dark. Cold. Lonely. It was too easy to pick up on the way Jiro's eyes faltered. You began to feel you'd said something terribly wrong. Sickening. And you doubted there was time to refund your words.

"Jiro?" Your voice still lulled soft to him, but distant. You could never deny that you would always care, but his response was starting to kill you. "I'm... sorry. I shouldn't have- Are you–"

His fingers still laced with yours, his other hand ripped up from the bed sheets to glue itself to his lips. You had no time to ask him anything more before he was already in the throes of an episode.

Watching it filled you with the same dread that always bubbled up to your throat, so you swallowed. There was no use trying to pry away for help now. Not naked. Not while underneath him. And certainly not while you were trapped with him inside of you. An arrow of pain shot through your heart as his fevered expression seared itself into your memory, though. If he could just hand you the thread, you'd figure the rest of it out yourself.

"Do you need something? I promise I was only.." Your pleads eventually trailed off when you realized how selfish it all sounded.

Jiro had seconds between a gag to reply. He spoke in intervals that made little to no sense. None of the sense you were looking for.

"I should— No. Can yo—"

Both of his eyes closed, his face twisted tense and his swallowing harshened. Hesitant, your hand reached up to push his tousled bangs from falling into his eyes. His ill body strained against yours. You could feel the tightness in his muscles against your skin. Every bit of his jostling had taken you with it as he became almost too weak to hold himself above you. It was obvious that he tried, only as steadily as he could. His bare abdomen fell into yours, his hips dipping in a little further than necessary. Jiro's body was giving way into yours. There wasn't a thing he could do about it. If he'd crushed you, it was a small price to pay for putting him in this position.

As his body heaved once more into yours, strands of his hair escaped your hand. He jerked his head a little further to the side of you, his slender hand once taut to his mouth, rigidly became undone. Something warm spilled out onto your chest from between Jiro's fingers, causing your eyes to lurk around for the source.

Your body froze. Saliva? Stomach acid..? It made sense. The disheartening kind.

You were hardly horrified by the smell that assaulted your nose. Or the realization that his vomit was gradually dripping onto your bare chest and into your hair. All that occupied your mind was the confession you'd whispered before. Not the pitful look Jiro's face was distorted in, or his soft pants of weariness.

"Sorry... That was.. inconvenient." He eventually choked out, loosening the grip of his fingers laced between yours. "I think now is a good time to stop this."

Your heart sunk, eyes bleary in threatening tears. You didn't let go of his hand, waiting for an explanation you swore would never come.

"Stop what..?" You asked, biting a hole into your lip. "You want to stop seeing each other?"

Jiro tilted his head, clear minded despite you. Lifting his body with pressure into your shared hands, he wasn't a bit distraught to see the tears starting to stain your face.

"No. I can still see you clearly, even with my glasses off, you know. I wouldn't have taken them off otherwise."

"I know that. I meant—"

"....?" Jiro just stared at the rose tint blooming up to your cheeks, the way you were almost more choked up now than he was. His eyes, exhausted, fell back and forth between you, the vomit drenching his hand, your chest, and your hair.

"Can you explain then? What do you mean? I still don't know."

"I guess I—I said I loved you, and then you puked...?"

He paled again, wincing as if something hurt, or as though he may cough, gag, choke..? With a deep breath, he recovered quickly, but slightly. It was obvious by his stare that it didn't seem too amiss to him, until it happened again.

"Right.. Sorry. I did. I also warned you it might happen at some point, though. I was about to clean it up...but, it might happen again, so you can let go of my hand now."

Your fingers only tightened, sending a whirl of question marks around his head. You'd sit in his filth before you let him escape you without an explanation.

"Did it bother you?"

He looked down at both of your hands, blank-faced and dull voiced.

"No. Why would I be bothered by it? I can't always control when my physical condition begins to deteriorate, so I'm pretty much used to it by now." Jiro's face lit up for a short moment, as if coming to a rapid conclusion, but making the correlation a little later than you.

"Strange. You meant did it bother me when you said, I love yo—"

His voice cut out and what replaced it, didn't sound pretty. Didn't quite look it either. His dry heaving mocked you, and what made it worse was his continued attempt to assess the moment further, regardless.

"I guess something about what you said did make me feel off. I-It's fine, though. I let my guard down."

"That's it? You let your guard down?" You repeated his words back to him, as if you'd misheard him. But nothing was louder and more clear to you.

"I'm getting tired. This can't be comfortable for you either. Do you want to stay this way? Or can I move now? I might be sick again if not, and this will be harder to clean if we let it sit."

You shifted your body to get a peripheral view of the strange color soaking into your hair. To spite the puzzled look he was washed in, you only lightly released your grip on his fingers. He had the strength to tug his hand away from you at any moment if he wanted to, but he still sat there, choosing to wait until you loosened your own entirely. His only free hand in yours, and yet, loneliness was knocking at your door.

"Do you love me, Jiro?"

He paused with a cutting edge type of silence.

"..Stop saying that."

You no longer tried to fight the tears seeping out towards the side of your face and to the pillows. Your worst nightmare, was just like everyone else's, except a little messier, a little more cruel.

So worked up, you hadn't been bothered by much else, you were hardly affected by the twitches and tremors of Jiro's body inside yours. Never minding the vomit starting to dry as he pulled his hand from yours, setting your fingers loose. You weren't present when he'd pulled himself completely away from your body, and the blur of him leaving your bedside was too hazy.

You swore you heard him say bye when your door halted to a shut, but you were far too busy curling up into a ball of your own mess and his to register his departure.

The room was still heavy when your lashes fluttered open. Breathing in wasn't any less suffocating than before. Fingers drawn to the hardened rheum crusted into the corners of your eyes in excess, it was a harsh reminder of the steady bout of long lasting sobs that caused it.

Scanning your surroundings like you'd woken up lost in the middle of the woods, you guessed it had to have been midnight, now. Or somewhere between dusk and dawn. The crickets chirping outside shook the windows, keeping the pitch black night from crawling through. Its shadows found you still, reaching a tender hand out the moment you let it know there was hope. And there was, so long as you could curl out of the ball you'd made of yourself.

Swallowing hurt. Everything hurt.

Nonetheless, you rose from your spot, dazed and shivering.

Cool air brushed past your shoulders as your hands extended towards the ceiling. A yawn escaped your lips, and with it fell a heavy blanket. Slipping off your body, you were left newly exposed to the shadows waltzing the walls of your room. Shuffling. Soft footsteps in tandem as they drew in closer, and closer, and...

Strange.

Your vision was foggy through your stare. Your memory in worse condition. Losing to the feelings that riddled you, the same feelings had woken you up to continue the battle. Watching. Waiting. Hoping you'd surrender with a gallant sweep of your white flag. The only problem was that when you had succumbed, the clouds still polluted your head, long after your tears had already evaporated. There wasn't a drop to spare anymore, now. So why did it all hurt so bad?

Your heart had already sunk as far as you thought it could go. Shriveled and dried when it met the unforgiving heat of Earth's core.

Right. Dried.

Your face tingled from the salty streaks your tears left. Reluctantly, your fingers pulled apart strands of the vomit that had tangled into your hair as you slept. You'd most certainly have to wash your pillows now. The sheets too, if the sun dared to show itself in the morning. If you could even gather up the energy you'd need for the daunting task...

You sighed out in despair. Throwing a leg over the edge of your bed, your other leg following suit. Sure you were committed to the idea of a bath, you slid off the bed until your feet made contact with the cold floor. And a little faint, your legs took a solid minute to adjust to your weight. When everything felt fine, you took your first step.

"Ugh—" You groaned. Frustrated. Weak. Woozy, lost, and dizzy. Your hand fell back to the bed to steady yourself, but missed by a landslide when you fumbled to stay upright. Prepared to greet the floor with more than just your feet, a hand grabbed you by the arm. Firm and sure, to keep you on your toes while another wrapped around your waist to keep you in place.

You were half-asleep, dehydrated. In the middle of a dream, even. You couldn't have been less bothered by the shadow or ghost that steadied you.

As long as you were still standing.

Your lazy eyes panned up with exhaustion, though. In the rare case you actually preferred to hold onto your indifference and apathy, the glint of glasses always ruined it for you.

"Jiro..?"

You called out his name through your confusion. Puzzled enough to check that the reaper himself hadn't bought a pair of glasses just to trick you. Or anyone else hadn't, for that matter. Luckily, his voice was unmistakable through your fog.

"You slept surprisingly well. I didn't expect you to be able to rest like you were, but you looked half-dead when I came back."

The blur of his image was confirmed. The reaper didn't need to trick you. Jiro took it upon himself to reap your soul all on his own accord, you just felt a little bad that you weren't as dead as he needed you to be.

Yet.

His piercing gaze inspected your complexion further, though you guessed there was little to see. The faint light from the now fading moon was only bright enough to catch your silhouette in his. You couldn't help but to believe Jiro could see every part of you through it, though. Or was at the very least trying to.

His grasp on you was also strangely warm again. Like the blissful moments before he knew you loved him. He was so hot against your chilled body. A scalding fire blowing through on a cold winters night. He let you grow weaker in his arms with each passing second. His hands keeping up with the way your body became liquid to his heat. There was no way he'd let you slip through the cracks of his fingers.

He was so warm—and yet, you knew for sure it was only because you'd been the one freezing for so long. Your heartache dissipated for a moment, though, until your wandering thoughts were ripped back into reality by his dull voice calling your name.

"Hello..? Are you okay? You should sleep a little longer. You can hardly stand and your heart-rate is starting to spike."

The spell you were under broke.

Frostbitten. Bitter—you made an attempt to gain just a little of the composure you had promised yourself back. Leaning away from his body instead of into it, you cursed the way his heat still chased you.

"I don't need sleep." You retorted.

Your hand pushed into his chest with all of the strength you could muster, wearing a frown so deep it looked painful.

"I need you to leave so I can take a bath in peace and wash your filth off of me."

Your words were brutal in nature. Somehow, Jiro didn't budge. He wasn't swept away by your negativity, and didn't so much as offer you a good hard blink when your hand unexpectedly grappled with a handful of his shirt. In fact, his eyes were wide. Wider than usual.

"Hm. Are you bothered?"

His words took you by surprise. Something straight out of your own mouth had simply fallen from his, causing you to brace yourself as he continued.

"By me, I mean. Your physical responses have been indicating emotional distress lately, and you aren't crying now, but if I'm honest, I could hear you crying earlier until I was out on the sidewalk."

You froze. Pain reeled in your shadowed gaze as you remembered the agonizing sobs that must have spilled from you. Louder and louder they got, the further away you were sure Jiro was.

Humiliated was hardly the word you were looking for.

"You kept walking even though you could hear me cry?" You asked.

Jiro nodded, then back-tracked.

"I stopped. For about a minute or so to listen until you calmed down a little. It reminded me of Yuri. You sounded a lot more distraught than he usually does, though. I thought you might blow a vocal chord, actually. Does your throat hurt? You sound hoarse."

His fingers fell from the grasp on your arm when he knew his other hand could take care of you by the waist. Gently, he tilted your chin upward, sighing about the lighting, a tool, needing something he didn't have...?

You would have cried, if you could.

"Is... this why you came back? If you were going to leave in the first place, then you didn't need to come back for this. I would have let Yuri know in the morning."

Jiro only blinked down at you, as if this was as serious as a scheduled check up. Anything but an excuse to be in your presence again after he'd left you alone earlier in the evening to sob. You were juggling with your own assumptions now, wondering why he couldn't have just listened to your tears and then dealt with it promptly after. So, you opened your mouth once more to inquire. Make your thought heard, but Jiro was far ahead of you.

"I'm here now, though. Do you think you could sit down and open your mouth again just like that? I'll turn on the light."

You rolled your eyes back far enough to see your brain throbbing.

"No, Jiro. My throat doesn't hurt." You lied. A little. But that wasn't the point. "I'm fine."

"You sound sick. Crying strains—"

You couldn't wait any longer. Not for him to explain the logistics behind tears. The symptoms or the effects. You cut him off, sharp tongued with annoyance.

"I'm not sick. You of all people should know that."

And yet, he spoke to you with a clinical type of precision.

"...Okay, but it would benefit both of us to make sure that you're not in need of any treatment."

You felt defeated.

"The only thing that needs treatment is my hair. It would benefit ME to wash your vomit out of it."

Finally, he paused. Made no more noise and no further persistence. It was almost like he'd forgotten that the whole reason you were in any less than optimal condition was because of him to begin with.

"I'm going to let go of you now."

"Thanks."

You struggled for a second to find the correct footing when he released you. The pounding in your chest didn't help. His gaze following the outline of your body as you hastily made your way to the bathroom didn't either.

It was necessary, though. Probably mandatory. You opened the bathroom door by smacking your body into it, finding out that it was only slightly ajar instead of opened. Your head rattled, and through the pain, you heard a laugh. Amusement slipping in Jiro's voice.

"Watch your eyes. This might help."

A light flickered on, your eyesight adjusting accordingly.

Thanks, was a good word to use right about now, but all you could manage to do was stumble the rest of the way into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you in a violent haze of embarrassment.

The bathroom was just as cold as the rest of your room. Everything but him was cold for once. The air too, still dense.

You didn't need to undress. You'd stripped as much as needed to earlier in the night with Jiro's help, having been naked since. All you needed to do was turn the faucet to the bath on. Slip the handles to whatever temperature your heart desired, and wait.

Wait.

The easiest part. The only part you were doing now. Anything more felt tedious. You stared at your distorted reflection in the metal of the faucet instead, swept away by how awful you looked. How much worse you felt.

He really didn't love you, did he?

You'd need to flatline for him to give you the amount of attention you felt was necessary to remedy this. Even then, you wondered if he'd visit your grave.

You couldn't help but to also wonder if he was waiting for you outside the bathroom door. If he'd found it unproductive to wait on you, and left. Or, if he wanted to hear confirmation that you'd be okay on your own before disappearing like you asked of him.

How stupid of you to demand such a thing when you knew how literal he'd take it. When you knew just how badly you didn't want him to go.

Your hand finally fell onto one of the bath faucet handles, but was paralyzed.

Silence engulfed the world outside of the bathroom. There wasn't shuffling, footsteps, the creaking of a door... just the glow of a light below the bathroom door, reminding you that Jiro might still be out there.

For a second, you thought about swallowing your pride. Then for two seconds, you thought about swallowing your pride. When three seconds passed, it was halfway down your throat and your bath a distant memory. Your hand was only a moment away from turning the bathroom doorknob when Jiro finally called out to you.

"You're pretty quiet. Are you alive? Usually you'd start the water by now.. Do you need help running the bath?"

You silently scoffed. Like Jiro of all people knew how to run a bath... You were the one always running him one.

But, that was the devil speaking. Your manifestation came to fruition.

You stepped away from the bathroom door, letting Jiro sit in his question to make sure he didn't rethink it. Choking your pride back out as you nearly answered him, the bathroom door came swinging open.

"Oh, you're still standing there? Sorry. You were taking too long to answer. I thought something might have happened."

Well, at least you didn't have to beg. Unfortunately, being caught staring at the door made you feel like you were desperate. And you were....but did he need to know that?

Maybe you really weren't feeling well enough for a bath afterall...

"Since I'm here, do you mind if I join you? I'll start the water. I haven't had one tonight yet and it'd be easier to knock it out now since you're having one."

Hmm. Actually, a bath sounded great..! You were desperate again now...weren't you?

Still, you really wanted to say, 'Do whatever, doesn't matter to me.' Or, 'why don't you have Yuri help you out then.' But, what you actually said?

"Yeah, that's fine."

You could have died when the words left your lips. Damn. Your voice must have been just dripping with it. Oozing in a longing you weren't sure he could quell. Disgusted with yourself, nothing would absolve you of how selfish it felt to take up his time anymore..

Or—were you just overthinking the whole thing..?!

Your face must have been wearing your thoughts, as you were only reminded of Jiro's presence when his hand met your forehead.

"You look like you're going to throw up, but you don't feel too hot. If anything, you're cold. I'll go get a thermometer to be sure. If your body temperature is too low, a bath isn't a good idea."

You snatched his wrist in your hand, and shook your head so vigorously, you might actually give him a reason to be worried. "No, I'm fine. I just got...lost in thought."

"Oh. Interesting. I guess your brain alone can easily invoke physical responses to stressful....—"

"Can you start the bath now!? Or should I...?"

Usually, he was the one who wanted to get to the point. Today, that was you.

"Sorry. Yes, I'll start it."

He reached for the bath handles, turning the one with the red highlight on it towards the faucet until water stung the porcelain. Then, he repeated the same step with the one in blue. Turning it in a little less so that the water was hot, but not so hot you'd steep like boiling tea.

"Is that temperature fine?"

You nodded.

"But you didn't feel the water..." Jiro looked conflicted. "How do you know if it's the right temperature if you don't touch it?"

You narrowed your eyes down to the running water, watching as it drained rapidly into the bath. He was right, but you'd been so out of it, you weren't sure you cared if the temperature was reminiscent of a lake in the tundra. Or if it was the blistering heat of lava settling outside a volcano.

"It'll be fine." You said.

Jiro simply stared at you. Watched as you plugged the drain to the bath, stepped in, and sat while the water pooled.

You didn't fuss with the handles. Or fuss about setting anything else more decorative up. No candles, no bubbles. Didn't even grab the bottles of soap to prepare. The lotion sat stuck in the cabinet drawers too. All you did was sit in the bath, waiting for the water to reach your knees, or somewhere close.

Strange. He really should take your temperature.

He didn't want to push, though, as you'd already told him you were fine. And, already told him previously that pushing treatment was counterproductive on partners.. But, he was really starting to struggle with the idea. Especially when it came to your current sporadic condition.

He said nothing as he observed you through a curious lense. His fingers pulling up the bottom hem of his shirt until he tugged it off and over his head. Usually by now, you'd be staring....at him. Not the wall. Maybe you were just lost in thought...again.

You really could not have been so lost in your own thoughts by the time his pants fell. But you were, just staring at the ceiling, the tile of the bathroom. Anything but him. Even as Jiro's foot touched the water to join you, your eyes were glued away. Practically a centimeter away from each other's space, no—touching, and still, he could not for the life of him keep your gaze.

Unfortunately, your heart was still thawing, but ached in his presence. You only knew for sure he was there when he leaned in so close, you couldn't possibly ignore it.

Nothing, though. You weren't fazed, until the feeling of something that wasn't water grazed your neck.

Lips. Warm, and gentle, pulled the tears of your eyes out from hibernation. Kisses so delicate, you questioned if they were even there.

Suddenly, you began to plead with him. And though it wasn't the reaction he was looking for, at least it was some sort of reaction.

"For my sake, just stop.."

Jiro pulled away from you almost instantly. Then tilted his head in assessment of your face, checking to see that your body hadn't taken any superficial damage he was unaware of.

"Did something hurt?"

"No."

"Okay. Are you not feeling well?"

"You could say that."

His eyes grew a subtle soft with concern, though really, he should have seen it coming.

"Okay. What doesn't feel right?"

Your hand ghosted the skin of your neck, right where he'd been pressing kisses to.

"This."

Jiro blinked towards the gesture of your hand, then when it hit him, he responded.

"This..? You mean it doesn't feel right to be kissed? ..But I always do it like this. You taught this way to me."

"I know. And now, you can stop." Your voice was soft, but your words cut a little deeper than expected.

"You said it always made you feel better, though. Did that change?"

Your stomach dropped as you spit out the truth. "No... It didn't."

Trying to fit the puzzle pieces into each other, Jiro had come to a halt when two wouldn't fit the way he needed them to in his head. Jamming them together would only ruin the image he already had of you, so instead, he asked questions until satisfied by the outcome.

"Then, why do you want me to stop?"

He really thought you wanted him to stop..?

Well, you wouldn't admit to lying so easily, either. If the ache in your heart would allow it, you'd let him kiss you until he devoured your being whole. It wouldn't though, so you sat like fresh fruit. Untouched.

"You're the one making me feel worse. Kissing me isn't fixing that."

Your words fell onto him like a brick. One he wasn't sure what to do with. Perhaps it was the way you spoke so unusually distant. Maybe it was the words you threw. But, devastation wrote itself onto his face. Small, and illegible. If you squinted too far, you'd hardly see it. If you didn't squint enough, it'd have blown right past you. Only someone who knew him, and knew him well, could read that far between the lines.

He was stuck now with how badly he wanted to feel your body on his lips. Conflicted, because for once, you'd deny him of it. Force him to face the ugly truth of desperation. That you were something he yearned for, regardless of routine. Regardless of the silent anticipation for your every word, whim, and move. You could choose to say no to him, and that was supposed to be exceptional.

And it was.

He could be told no, right..?

Yuri was great at it, wasn't he..? It's just that this time, it lingered into an awkward, festering, silence. He couldn't bring himself to simply say, 'okay,' again.

"I make you feel worse. Huh. That's...different. It would be beneficial to you if I left then. I thought that made you upset too."

Was that much finally established?

You had to stop yourself from sighing. From reprimanding him the same way Yuri did. It wasn't fair to him. Not that he'd been very fair to you.

"Jiro, why do you think I'm upset with you?"

A thoughtful look, he seemed to be breaking the brain power bank on that one question alone.

"I guess I'm not really sure. I know that you cried when I left last time, which is typically a sign of emotional distress. I planned to come back, and did, but you weren't in immediate need of any medical intervention."

He was analyzing the interaction, yet the raw emotional aspect of what caused it seemed to be missing. You were waltzing on eggshells now, you were sure of it.

"Yes. I was upset when you got up and left me alone, so.." You explained, watching the gears in his head turn through his eyes. You needed to make this as simple as possible.

"I just want an explanation, that's all. Why? Why did it seem like I made you sick..?" Your tears were in the works, seeping their way back to your eyes. "Obviously what I said bothered you, and yet you're here again. I can't even repeat the words without you looking ill at me."

"That's why you're upset? Why I felt sick is also unclear to me.. I wouldn't say I was bothered by you, specifcally, though."

You were left empty handed. Unsatisfied, but still looking for ways to fill your famine.

"Don't touch me again like that until it is clear, okay? It makes me feel used."

His face finally slipped, falling back into a sickly grimace. When the sound of water spilled from your standing body, he stopped you. Not with his hands, but with the dismal low words he cut loose.

"It.. I think it reminded me of someone. They once said those words to me..." His voice was strained, on the verge of collapse. "Ugh.. More than once, I guess. No one's said them to me since, and I don't like the feeling it gives me anyway.. It was a little pathetic. So, you could say that it did bother me."

Well, if you'd known that...

Your mouth opened to speak. To ask, 'Who?' 'When?' 'Why?' But your lips forgot to finish moving. Instead you were frozen in place, bewildered that he'd explained something personal to you at all.

"Did you love this person back?"

Dropping the one word you knew he hated your spilled guts over, there was no other way around it. Jiro would have to grit and bear it, or risk bearing your extended absence instead. You just hoped one was more daunting to him than the other.

"I—" Eyes dreary, Jiro coughed out. "Can't answer that. I think...at one point, I..."

There was a eerie pause that took over the room. Stilled the water and quieted the hum of wind tapping at the window. The longer your ears were deafened by it, the tighter your throat got.

"Jiro..?"

A slow stream of tears bled out onto his cheeks. His voice grew hoarse from the sheer amount of trudging it did just to finish out his sentence. "Sorry.. I must have, because it hurts. I don't know why it does."

Your heart tripped. With him. For him. You weren't sure of the details, and yet there was something about the usually stoic face he wore, now soaked in tears, that got to you.

"You don't have to look at me like that." He paled, looking hurt. Pained.

Oh, but you did.

"I'm sorry, Jiro. I just don't think I expected you to say something so..."

"Pathetic?"

"Delicate."

"Ugh."

Jiro seemed ill again, his posture closing in on himself when his face twisted. It was hardly the appropriate time to hold him, but you'd already been vomited on once. What was one more time?

You dipped back towards the water, waiting till your knees were knocked against the bottom porcelain of the bath to lean in to him. Reaching in until your arm was around his neck, you inhaled the stale scent of sex and stomach acid he had yet to wash off his body.

A shiver of delight washed over you. Despite his vague clarification, there was something short to celebrate about it.

"How sick would you be if I said I loved you again?"

His labored breathing slowed, and though you couldn't see his face, you could imagine it in the way his arms wrapped around your waist. The way his chin leaned onto your shoulder for support, and the way his small laugh reeled you back in.

"Very. Seriously."

NOTES: ⌯⌲ Pansy flowers means loving thoughts, remembrance of absent friends, free thinking, consideration, meditation, and even admiration. 

⌯⌲ White hydrangeas mainly symbolize purity, grace, and abundance, alongside historical ties to vanity or sincere love.

⌯⌲ There are 2 music/songs that inspired me: Flutters by Dabin (for the entire song) Old Long Since by Hoyo-mix (BGM)