#nice pick

Afterlife feels no better than life itself. It is hot, bright and filled with suffering. Suffering that seems to reside solely in your upper body. A weird enough occurrence that makes you question whether you have died or not.

Consciousness and movement come back to you as the sedatives are still working on your bloodstream. You raise a hand over your face to cover your eyes from the sun that slips through the window of your room. White walls surround you, making the light even brighter. So you're not dead, you think. You lower your hand once your eyes have adjusted to it all. When it falls on your side your fingers brush against something, someone, you had not registered yet.

"Lena." You call her in a broken whisper.

She is there beside your bed with a hand resting close to yours. She's asleep in a chair and, by the looks of it, she has spent quite sometime in there. Her hair is loose and there are bags under her eyes. You recognize the outfit she's wearing, the same as the last time you saw her.

She seems to wake up, opening her eyes, at first a little and then all of a sudden when they focus on you.

"(Y/N)." She says and you wince a bit as she reaches for your hand. You fear the pang of pain that will go through your chest when she holds you. "How are you feeling?"

Her eyes roam your face, as if examining every expression of yours. You clear your throat as you look away. You don't really know how to feel or if you're even supposed to feel something or nothing at all. Just then, you catch a glimpse of the crystal box that lies in the near table, containing a little bouquet of white flowers.

"Those are-" You try asking the obvious.

"Plumerias." She confirms. "They had to cut them to clear your lungs. It is what was left of them."

Your heart is racing, you can feel it beating against your chest. There's barely any sign of pain and you don't feel yourself about to explode with flowers. They took it from you and you want to feel thankful for that. For living another day. But the flowers, they are what was left of your heart and you can't help but feel a certain sadness about it.

"You still have the seed." Lena explains hurriedly once she watches your defeated expression. "The flowers...they were already withering when the surgeon opened your chest."

You raise your other hand up to your chest, where the only trace of pain you realize you can feel comes from the incision above your heart. "Wither..."

Fragmented memories from the fever come rushing to you, shadow faces and distorted voices. Only one that remains crystal clear among them all.  

"You." You have to swallow hard to continue, the words already hard to pronounce with your damaged throat. "You said-"

"I love you." Lena repeats, the same way you heard once in your delirium. Your eyes find her again and there is another light in hers when she looks at you. "I love you."