#emptional repression

(Bloom) Unspoken

He pressed a closed fist to his chest, rubbing, brow drawing down into a deeper scowl. He hadn’t taken any particularly hard hits, certainly nothing that should linger. All things considered, he should be feeling no more than the usual aches left behind from muscles well used; the dull, comforting burn of victory. 

Ilya coughed, the tightness in his chest only seeming to grow. His throat felt scratchy, almost as if something was tickling at the back of it. He grimaced, reaching for his water bottle, downing half in a handful of steady gulps. The feeling remained. A weary sort of resignation settled about him as he tried to clear his throat again. The pain shifted, his throat fluttering around the intrusion.

“Yebat'!” Ilya hissed, fist pounding on his chest once more.  

Steam began to drift out into the locker room. Someone had left the door open again.The steady beat of a dozen showerheads raining down filled the room, dulling his teammates’ distant shouting and excited chatter into something harder to focus on – something less important than the sensations building in his chest.

Ilya thumped sharply at his breastbone again, coughs wracking his body, the impact jarring him. He bent double as they dragged on and on. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, streaming down his cheeks with each new hitched, hacking cough, his body rebelling against the intrusion his mind refused to acknowledge. 

Seconds stretched into minutes.

His chest felt heavy, his throat raw. Bleary eyes cracked open as his coughing subsided, giving way to the sound of retching, followed by a dull wet splat hitting tiled floors. Resignation and shame and embarrassment rose in Ilya's chest, as the familiar magenta and red petals stared back at him damingly.

At least it is not honeysuckle anymore. 

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Read the full fic on AO3

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