Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Flowers are beautiful things, delicate and intricate little wonders. Their colours blooming like little rainbows in the Springtime, bursting with the shy scent of perfume.

Flowers are the symbols of love, friendship, innocence, wealth and much more…

Flowers are something you give to someone to say thank you. They are gifts you give to family when you’re not sure what else to get. Flowers can often be seen as a peace offering to people you wish to say sorry to.

Flowers are a way to say goodbye to a loved one.

Flowers are to tell someone you love them. That you would do anything for them. That you would offer your very heart to them in any way you can think of.

So if flowers are a symbol of love. If flowers are delicate and beautiful. If flowers are to show someone how much you adore them…

Then

Why

Can’t

I

Breathe?

Chapter Text

Delicate, little blue rose petals. 

That's what they are. 

There is no denying them. 

Delicate, little blue rose petals make themselves comfortable on my pillow. Flecks of blood stain their edges, spoiling their beauty. My pillow ruined with specks of dark crimson liquid, seeping further into the cotton with each minute that passes, and I can't help but stare at them. My eyes fixed on the splodges, and clumps of petals mixed with red that have just forcefully left my lips. 

Cough. 

After cough.   

I brush my shaking fingers to my lips, now wet, soiled with my own blood, tears threatening their way down my cheeks as petals tickle the back of my throat. Stomach churning, palms sweating as another cough demands to pass my lips. My fingers press against my lips, hard, trying to keep the force from leaving as petals crawl up my throat, my other hand clawing at the pillow to brace the pain. 

Why?

Why is this happening? It hasn't ever before, why now? Have I done something wrong? Is Thomas ill? Oh Thomas! If Thomas is ill, the others will be too... right? It can't just be me... but what if it is? 

Am I dying?  

I can't die... I'm part of Thomas. He needs me. They all need me... please... they need me... right? 

Cough. 

The urge to cough my lungs out passes eventually... 

Knock. 

"Patton?" At just the sound of his voice the urge comes back. My lungs feeling like bursting balloons ready to pop any second. Heaving back a burning breath, wheezing, I drive the petals down with an agonizing gulp.

"Y-yeah, Lo?" I just barely manage to push the words from my blood covered lips. 

"We're required to record a video in a few minutes. I'm just making sure you're organized." 

"Of course! Happy Pappy Patton is always ready for filming with Thomas..." Each syllable is torture on my tongue. Every word burns my throat. 

"I see..." His footsteps hurt my ears as he leaves... Mainly because I don't want him to go. 

I take one last look at the blood covered petals, which rest so perfectly on my pillow as tears fall from my eyes, the back of my hand wiping at my lips. 

I 

Can't 

do 

this! 

Chapter Text

"It's just a crush...?" 

"Just a crush?! Thomas, are you completely out of your mind? He could be your Prince Charming. Your love for an eternal happily ever after! And you are telling me that it is just some 'CRUSH?'" 

"Whoa! Pump the brakes, Princey. Thomas hardly knows the guy, he doesn't even know his name, for crying out loud! For all we know, he could be some kind of axe murderer!" 

"I mean... Come on guys... maybe my feelings are just... confused?" 

"Ah, feelings... The bane of my existence. Why on earth would anyone need feelings is beyond all... well, me. They do absolutely nothing but weigh you down, causing added misery and pressure to-" 

"Your feelings are not confused! Thomas hopes and dreams to be in a loving relationship. Like in the fairy-tales, and if you haven't noticed, I am the one who is in control of those hopes and dreams! Here is your chance to -" 

"Has anyone even thought about asking Thomas' feelings? Where's Patton in all of this?" 

"Yeah... where is Patton?" 

I hear my name. Feel my body tugging upward, their words pounding against my skull all at the same moment, mind swirling, chest tightening. Heart... breaking. No matter how hard I try my best to breathe, it always seems to come out in short, shallow gasps of air. It's like I'm a fish out of water. A star without its shine. And a Patton without his... heart all in one piece. 

I feel myself being summoned once again, the tugging of my body as if I am getting hoisted up out of a hole in the ground. It hurts. In all of my many times being summoned, they have never been this painful. Never this gut wrenching.  

Smile.

Force a laugh. 

Pretend you're fine. 

Hide the pain. 

Hide the fear. 

No one

Needs

to 

know.

"W-what's - What's goin' on kiddos?" I wobbly rise up, balance a little stilted, as the words painfully dribble from my lips like water hitting rocks. The tickle at the back of my throat seems to worsen and I have to let out a small cough to try and ease it. 

"Well, now that the heart has arrived it seems that there is no need for me in the matter." My eyes flitter over to Logan, trying to grasp his attention only for it to fall flat, and feeling my own heart dropping to my stomach. "Clearly I have been thrown out the figurative window. He's just going to cloud your judgement with his... icky, sticky, gooey emotions." Logan grimaces, wiggling his fingers as if trying to get rid of something yucky from them. 

Smile.

Force a laugh. 

Pretend you're fine. 

"Don't be silly, Logan! My emotions aren't sticky... but this is!" I force a giggle, hoping it's convincing enough to fool Virgil into thinking I'm fine, and conjure up a stick. There are a few chuckles from Roman and a tiny snort from Thomas and Virgil. Logan, on the other hand, is glaring at me with utter distaste. 

"I am not silly!" Logan snips back, giving a quick adjustment of the tie he is so fond of. "Neck tie! It means I am serious." 

Hide the pain. 

Lungs burning with the urge to cough, the urge to choke up the flowers that are crawling up my throat only to get stuck half way. Never passing the finish line. 

"Patton... I think we need your help." I turn my full attention to the Host, Thomas, and offer a smile. I try to hold off a cough, lungs filling as I keep down the unwanted force to come from my lips. 

Instead, I take a deep breath and - "Happy Pappy Patton is your Happy Helping Pop!" 

"Patton, these jokes are tediously punishing!" Logan adjusts his glasses, eyes cold as they flicker to mine. 

"Did you just -" 

"No I did not! Can you cease with the joking?!" He snaps, causing a flinch to rush through my body, tears pricking from the corners of my eyes at his sudden outburst. "This is why we can never take your feelings seriously, Thomas. Morality is not just your moral compass, he is the holder of your emotions. It's clear that Patton is the problem in all of this. In short, Him and I cannot simply be part of the same discussion. You either listen to," Logan lets out an exasperated sigh before continuing, "Your heart. Or, you can listen to the most logical side in the room. End of this illogical dilemma."

"Geeze L, you don't need to say it like that. Patton's just got here and we haven't even heard his side of things." Virgil shifts from foot to foot, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. 

"I hate to say it, but the Virgil is right." Roman adds, glancing over at me with a look a pity. 

Hide the fear. 

Throat feels dry, almost claggy from the blood I can begin to taste on my tongue. If I stay here any longer it feels as if my heart might shatter into pieces and my lungs pop into nothing but a flurry of flowers. 

Blue flowers. 

I know what they mean now. 

Blue roses. 

Unrequited love.  

The video ends with me being the last to sink down. And as usual, we all managed to help Thomas come to a rational decision about his new found crush. Eventually...  That if he wants to develop it, then he should try and get to know the person more, see what each of them have in common. And if he wants it to be nothing more than a crush, then that's what he has to figure out when the time comes to decide. 

"Thanks, Patton..." 

I offer a meek smile, though Thomas doesn't seem to notice the lack of enthusiasm. "Happy to help, kiddo!" Thomas grins back shyly and nods. 

"You're okay, right? I mean, you just haven't seemed yourself. Logan had no right to say what he did -" 

"I'm Pat-tastic! No need to worry about your o'le Dad." I chuckle, trying to keep the petals down. 

Thomas gives another nod and I sink down back into my room. 

My room is a little darker when I enter, filling with sadness and despair, it's almost blue. Whimpers push past my lips as I try to make it to the adjacent bathroom, locking the door before collapsing in front of the toilet. Tears stream and collect at my chin like little raindrops, splatting into the toilet water as I hack up blood and faded blue petals. knuckles turning white with the lack of blood flow as I grip the porcelain harder, and harder with each retch, heaving out the blood clumped flowers. 

A shudder rushes through me, sending chills down my spine, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I hack the last few flowers up, wiping my blood covered lips with the back of my hand as I stare at the mess before me. Another pain filled sob racks my body, but I force myself to be quiet, keeping each whimper contained. Flushing the toilet, watching the whirlpool until there is no evidence that anything even happened. 

Because

No one

Needs

to 

know.

Chapter Text

I feel it. Warm and wet trickling from my lips, blood seeping into the pillow my heavy head rests on, staining my hair an off red colour. It's sticky and messy, smearing across my cheeks, dribbling down my chin and dripping over my bare chest. Crimson liquid has already ruined more than one of my shirts, my pillows, my sheets, so what is the point of wearing one? Why should I wear something that will only get ruined with in a matter of minutes because petals covered in red want to force their way up my throat? 

My room is cold. Almost lifeless, joyless and empty. The soft thud of my heart is the only noise that reaches up to my ears. I block everything else out. I don't need to hear anything else. I don't want to. 

The urge to cough my lungs up scratches at the back of my throat, petals and thorns tickle and scrape at my oesophagus, causing a whimper to escape my clamped lips. I hold it. Keep it down with a hard swallow and a gulp. 

No one needs to know.   

No one has to see this. 

No one will notice 

if

I 

pretend

to 

be 

fine...

It's been three days since filming the video with Thomas and the others. Three days filled with nothing but agony and despair. Is it normal for my heart to hurt this much? Is it possible to feel this much pain? The answer must be yes, because if I couldn't... I wouldn't be hacking up petals, flowers, thorns and blood every time I think of a certain someone. Tears wouldn't be staining my cheeks, blood wouldn't be smeared half way across my face, and roses wouldn't be filling my lungs until I can barely manage to breath in a gulp worth of air. 

But the pain is real. My lungs ache. My head hurts. And my heart... is broken. 

But I'm fine. 

I have to be fine. 

For Thomas. 

Chapter Text

My heart feels heavy in my chest, slowly dragging its broken pieces down to rest like a rock at the bottom of my stomach. It's as if it's not meant to be there at all. Thumping away every now and again, leading the blood to my veins and around the rest of my weakened body. Maybe I should just stay here; in my room, on my bed buried in a quilted layer of duvet, which is once again soiled with deep red liquid that continues to dribble from my parted lips. My mind drifts in and out of sleep, eyes drooping to an inch of their life as my head lays lazily on the pillow.

Nothing stops the pain in my lungs. Nothing stops my heart from shattering. Nothing stops the feelings I feel for Logan... Nothing. No matter how hard I try to push the thoughts and feelings away, they come back twice as strong. Then again, repression can be a difficult thing. But that doesn't stop me from trying to force away each and every single emotion connected to Logan.  

I've never felt so empty, so lonely in all my life. 

I've masked my pain many times before in the past. From Virgil. From Roman. From Thomas. Even from Deceit. But it is the most difficult to hide it away, burying it deep within my soul until it is invisible, from Logan. He has no time for that kind of thing. Emotions. Feelings. Pain. Love... He won't notice if I stop smiling. He won't notice if I start crying. He won't notice if I -

My throat tightens, pressure building up inside of my chest as the urge to cough up a lung takes hold of me, until I can hardly breathe. Water fills my eyes until I can no longer see past a blur of tears. It's as if I am downing in my own ridiculous feelings of fruitless sorrow and melancholy. My heart is like a rock. My lungs are like punctured, half inflated balloons filled with glass. 

Cough! 

Hack!

Gasp!

I choke back another wet cough, as warm coppery liquid begins oozing from my lips, dribbling down to collect at my chin. By this point the blood doesn't bother me anymore. The stains on my bed sheets are the only flecks of colour on them. If I look at them long enough some even appear to make pictures - the corners of my blood covered lips quirk into a weak smile as I spot a splodge that looks a little like Micky Mouse. Another one resembles a heart... but broken. I sniffle and sit up. My heart is broken too. 

Thunk-thunk.

The thwack of my heart against my chest quickens, and I feel my throat tighten. I force down a breath before bracing myself. "W-who is it?" Three words... three words and my tongue feels like sand paper against the roof of my mouth. It burns and it stings. I try my best to perk myself up... if it's Virgil or Roman they'd know something is wrong as soon as I open my mouth again. 

"It's Logan."

Chapter Text

Him.

Logan...

My chest tightens and the thwacking of my heart vigorously assaults the brittle bones of my rib cage. I can't begin to count on one hand the amount of times I've wished for it to break free of its confines. For my heart to grow wings and fly away, never to return to this dying and ugly cell it once called home. Perhaps a few broken ribs would be less painful than the agony in my lungs... Would it numb the feeling of utter depression and disappointment my heart is brimmed with? Or would it create a hollow gap for something much more sinister to reside? 

Broken ribs and no heart would be heaven to me right about now. But there are no puppies or kittens greeting me at shiny golden gates. No cookies on a silver patter. No relief to the never ending cycle to this coughing loop I'm enduring. Instead, I find myself standing somewhere in-between - a veil between life and death... purgatory, maybe? Somewhere painful. A place to suffer slowly while others relish in life. 

The burning tickle at the back of my throat forces me out of my wallowing. It's like a fiery rage bubbling up from my stomach, to then sizzle at the back of my throat. I fight and push the urge to hack up a half wilted rose down, down, down. My lungs are lead balloons, constricted and unnaturally heavy, weighing me down until rock-bottom welcomes me.  

"Patton, may I come in?"

My fingers curl around the blood covered bed sheets, as whimpers threaten their way to my lips. His voice is like caramel, soft, smooth and almost sickeningly attractive. I clutch at my bare and aching chest, whimpering as a small trail of wetness dribbles from the corners of my mouth. 

He can't know. 

He can't see me like this. 

Will he even notice? 

Will he even care?

I wonder if he'll notice how dark the room is... It's like the life has been completely sucked out of it. Because that is exactly what is happening to me. All because I can't help my feelings for someone who doesn't give me a second glance. Who thinks I'm stupid and childish, icky and emotional.  

"I have a few concerns which have been brought to my attention, and I wish to discuss them." He clears his throat and I hear his feet shuffle a couple of times. Anxiety as well as pain circle my stomach like angry sharks. "It's rather important, actually." 

"Ah... juh-just a minute, Logan -" I wince at the sound of my own voice; hoarse and barely used aside from coughing. A Part of me wishes he noticed my gasp of agony. A part of me wishes he'll ask if I'm all right. That he cares for my well being, my health. That he'll say something. Anything. 

He doesn't. 

Sniffling, I peel myself from the bed and haul on my cat onesie, pulling up the hood to hide the dried blood matting my curls. I use the sleeve to wipe the sides of my mouth, not caring too much about getting it dirty. What is the point? I won't be needing it soon anyway... 

Flowers are killing you, Patton.

Your feelings are the death of you. 

Logan is the reason you're dying. 

You love him and it's killing you. 

Shh... he doesn't need to know. 

He won't care. 

He doesn't have to. 

Another small, curt, knock pulls me out of my worry. I gulp down petals, blood and bile as my unsteady legs carry me to the door. 

I'm fine. 

I have to be fine. 

Even if he won't notice.

Before I manage to compose myself, my nimble and numb fingers push down the handle and open the door. 

"Gosh, you look awful."

Chapter Text

Force a smile. 

A laugh is just a happy cry for help. 

A laugh hides pain. 

A smile disguises agony. 

My organs scream. Every tiny puff of air I take in feels like my lungs are one breath closer to popping on rose thorns. Every thwack of my heart shakes the ribs confining it. My stomach sinks so low, heavy, dead and filled with nothing but a thunderstorm of emotion. 

Force it down, Patton. 

Force it all away. 

Force.

It.

Down. 

"Y-yeah... You caught me at a bad time..." It burns. Walking on boiling hot coals would be less painful than the scorching in my throat. "Turns out Marley and Me is a sad movie..." Technically, it's not a lie. It is a sad movie, but I haven't been watching any movies. It's not a lie that Logan caught me at a bad time. It's bad no matter what the clock says. 

A grunt leaves Logan's perfect, plump and pursed lips. His delicate fingers flicking through the pages of his note book, pen scrolling all kinds of mesmerising calligraphy. It makes the petals rise up from my lungs and tickle the back of my oesophagus. How can something as simple as handwriting cause this type of reaction? Why does Logan cause my suffering? Can't he see that I'm hurting because of him?

No. 

He's not supposed to know. 

It's not his problem. 

I'm not his problem. 

This is my burden. 

Mine. 

"Yes, well, perhaps if you actually did your job instead of wasting your time watching sad movies and moping about them all day, then you wouldn't have that problem." I watch as Logan's pen aggressively dots a few I's and crosses some T's. It no longer holds the elegant scribblings as it did before, nor does Logan's hand glide along the page like a ballet performance. It's heavy and angry, just like the glare he has pointed at me. 

My heart tightens, and I can almost feel the weight of it leave my chest and sink to the bottom of my stomach. If my intestines weren't in knots and bows earlier, they certainly are now... and not the happy, butterfly filled kind. 

"I-I'm sorry, L-Logan, but I'm not sure what you mea-" 

"You're losing control of your emotions!" he snaps, eyes narrowed into deathly looking slits. "You are sending Thomas into a complete emotional breakdown." Logan sighs, fingers weaving up to caress the fabric tied around his neck and adjusting it like he always does. "You need to reign them in. We can't have - We can't have you ruining everything we've already worked towards." 

Breathe. Just breathe - I can't, my lungs are full. My lungs... are full. Will it ever be possible to breathe again? Will I remember how it feels not to hurt each and every time I inhale a single breath of air? Can I be done with all of this? I've always known Logan would never feel the same, but this just proves it... Though I'd hoped... one day. 

"I'm s-sorry, I -"

"It's the crush, is it not?" 

"Whuh-what?" It's hard to swallow. It burns. It hurts. 

"The crush Thomas has, I suppose you're feeding off of that?" 

I force a weak laugh despite myself. "Y-yes, yes I am..." 

"He will get over it, he always does. You will too. Don't let it play with your head, Patton." 

It's not playing with my head, Logan... 

It's playing with my lungs. 

If only I could tell you why.

Chapter Text

How long will my suffering last?

Weeks?

Months?

Years?

Will I even make it that long?

My body stutters and struggles as I force off the blood stained sheets from my bed, knowing it won't take long before I have to repeat the process — judging by the liquid seeping from my lips. The pillow cases of dried saliva coloured crimson and dead petals come off next. The pile on the floor haunts me, reminding me of what is happening inside my body, killing me deathly slow. A sob finds its way past my lips, I choke and splutter into my hands, as wet and clotted roses flop out and onto my palms. I don't waste time inspecting every speck of gore that fills my fists, and instead discard them onto the ever growing pile of unwashed sheets. 

Is this some kind of cruel punishment?

To be tortured, 

choked, 

and beaten from the inside out? 

But who can I ask?

No one.

Because they can't know.

They wouldn't care.

The room is darker than it was a few days ago. Dull and unrefined in a way that it doesn't even look like my room anymore. I've tried my best to ignore the sudden peeling of the wall paper and fraying of the carpet, but the darkness is something I can't seem to push from my thoughts. It's scary now, and I don't feel comfortable in here anymore. 

I choke back another sob, forcing it down, the pressure behind my eyes building until my nose stings from the hindering suppression of tears. My throat aches in agony, as petals grow into fully formed rose buds with stems adorning thorns sharper than broken glass. It is as if my lungs are on a timer, ready to pop until they can no longer hold a single ounce of air. One day I'll just stop breathing. And that would be the end. 

I've never heard of a Side dying before, nor do I think it has ever happened. We're part of Thomas' mind, figments of his imagination, a work of fiction... How can you die when you don't really exist? I just know I don't want to. 

Chapter Text

Why does love have to be this painful?

It's aching my body. 

It's killing my lungs. 

I'm dying from the inside out. 

It's only a matter of time. 

One blood soaked petal too many. 

And then I'll be gone,

no more,

forgotten. 

Just like a grave with no name.

But no one needs to know that. 

Because I'm fine. 

Really. 

I wipe at my lips, wet crimson spreads across the back of my hand. The back of my throat burns, aching for air to fill a space already full. I swallow down the taste of copper and force my way to the bathroom on unsteady legs. I long to float away, but my lungs and heart are too heavy, pinning me down into a vat of despair. 

When this all ends...

will I disappear? 

Or will my unloved soul haunt the ones so dear?

The urge to cough and splutter crawls teasingly along the walls of my windpipe. I choke it back until the urge is too much to bear. The thorns scratch and claw into sensitive flesh, petals and roses brush and stick to the sides. I cough but nothing moves. A whimper slips from my lips as blood fills my mouth, clogging up my airways. With a pathetic gasp, there's no choice but to reach my fingers in past my teeth and grasp at the intruder, warm and wet liquid pours down my wrist. 

I pull. 

A fully bloomed rose, stem and all, no longer halts my breath. My eyes widen at the sight in my quivering, blood covered hands. Petals and rose heads are no longer separate. This one is whole and completely intact. My heart speeds up and the feeling in my stomach grows from fear to dread. I splutter and quickly wipe my lips on the collar of my shirt, fingers sticking to the fabric, leaving deep stains in their wake. 

Is it a warning?

What did I do wrong?

Are my feelings toward Logan truly so awful?

Perhaps it's what I deserve. 

"Pat?" 

A flinch jolts my body into dropping the rose onto the floor, the soft thud almost inaudible if you weren't there to listen. "I..." I clutch at my neck. Even talking is a tender action. Almost impossible. "Juh-ust ah mah-oment..." 

"Uh... It's just Thomas sent me to get you..." Virgil's voice only brings more dread. "He wants us all in the living room to rehearse for the next video." There was a pause. "He said this one's kinda important..." 

Am I important? 

What role do I play in any of this... this life anymore. 

Would the Fanders notice my absence from a video?

Would Logan?