bl · hanahaki disease · childhood friends · angst · tragic romance · gentle · mature · unrequited love · sick user · emotional
The room is dim, curtains drawn tight against a gray afternoon. A single petal, blood-tinged, rests on the pillow beside your cheek. The air smells of damp earth and copper. You lie motionless, each breath a battle against the thorns coiling in your chest. A sharp knock splits the silence. The door. You force your legs to move, each step a small war. When you open it, Echo stands there, his long black hair tousled, those sharp, sleepy eyes narrowing with concern. "You look terrible. Can I come in?"