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The flowers died on Monday. They died on Monday, but today is Sunday, and they are still displayed. Sieun can’t find it in himself to throw them out, despite their rotting petals and brittle leaves.
They sit still on Suho’s bedside table as a reminder of the last time he saw his eyes open. Of the time Suho showed up at his door, eyes sparkling with unshed tears as Sieun lied in his face. Of the time Suho turned around and left to fight a fight far too big for him, but not without shoving a bundle of flowers into Sieun’s mailbox on the side of the apartment building.
Their petals stayed bright for only one week before they died, despite Sieun changing the water daily. He knows he should hang them to dry, to have a chance of preserving what could be the last time he’ll see Suho’s bright eyes. But he can’t bring himself to do it. It would make it too real, make it feel like Suho won’t wake up and buy him a new bouquet when he realizes that Sieun is still displaying dead ones.
So they stay, the petals falling onto the table the only movement in the sterile hospital room. He watches them gracefully settle and thinks of himself doing the same. Thinks of himself slowly dying as he waits, slowly falling apart at Suho’s bedside.
It’s his fault the flowers are like this in the first place. If he had hung them up or pressed them in between his textbooks, they wouldn’t look so pitiful. They wouldn’t be drooping down, the only thing holding them up being the vase they’re inside. But still, he doesn’t touch them, he just observes. His eyes follow each petal that falls, trace along each brown edge, and watch as the rotten stem sags further.
When the sun sets and drowns the room in a golden glow, Sieun is so subdued he almost doesn’t notice the beeping from the heart monitor steadily quickening. He snaps his head upwards. He thinks he should be calling for a nurse or something similar, but the panic consumes him, keeps him still despite his mind’s constant movement.
He doesn’t move even as staff rush into the room, doesn’t move even when Suho’s fingers twitch and his expression sours. He stays still even when those eyes he thought he would never see again slowly open and frantically jump around the room before landing on him.
And when Suho’s lips part, and he says, scratchy and deep and oh-so-confused, “Sieun-ah?” Sieun can finally move again. He smiles widely, just like the first time Suho was in the hospital, and tears pour from his eyes as he reaches out to grab Suho’s hand.
The flowers died on Monday, but Yeon Sieun started living again on Sunday.