Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ike sat at his desk, he was scribbling frantically on the poor piece of paper. Crumbling, writing, crumbing, re-writing, and the process repeated, over, and over, and over. 

He neglected his basic needs. I can’t waste any time. He thought, throwing another paper ball across his room. It must be perfect. It has to be perfect. 

Ikes’ distraught writing was interrupted by an abrupt coughing fit. Shit, no, not now, please! Blood trickled from his mouth as he clamped a hand over it, desperate not to ruin the letter. Splotches of blood landed on the paper, along with a single, red petal. 

No! No, no, no! He rushes to the bathroom as another petal lands in hand. Ike stares at himself in the mirror, eyebags, pale skin, overgrown hair, he notes all these things. 

Black spots appear at the edge of his vision. Huh? That’s weird… He blinks and takes a deep breath. I can’t breathe,  he realises, I CAN’T BREATHE. 

Ike watches as a flower falls from his mouth, and darkness invades his consciousness. I hope… Vox gets my letter… Please, that’s all I ask…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vox stared at the numerous messages he sent to Ike, All unread, he noted. 

The two had plans to meet up, Vox had just arrived and was texting Ike. Something is wrong, something is so horribly wrong.  

Approaching the listed address, he knocked on the door. No reply . “Ike? My boy, are you there?”. He knocked, again, and again, and again. 

Defeated, Vox stood there for a moment, flicking through all the possible outcomes for this situation. Messages left unread, no answer… is he asleep? But he was well aware I was visiting today… 

Deciding to test his luck, Vox reached out for the doorknob, only for it to easily twist and open.

“Sorry for the intrusion…” he muttered under his breath, before calling out again as he made his way up the stairs, noting the unsettling stillness in the air. “Ike? Hey, your door was open, I hope you don’t m-...”, 

He stared at the open door to Ikes’ bedroom, looking around, all he could see were papers. All scrunched up and messily thrown across the room, and blood. Lots of blood. 

His desk was covered in splotches of blood everywhere - He decided to come back to the blood-covered letter later.

Vox’s eyes followed the trail it left, leading towards to connecting bathroom. Bad sign. Hesitantly, he let the blood guide him into the bathroom, and nothing could have prepared him for the sight in there. 

Lying on the ground was Ike, blue in a face and blood spewing in a puddle out of his mouth, along with a single, bloomed flower resting in it. 

Vox stood there, in stunned silence, before falling to his knees, sobs now filling up the otherwise quiet room. Ike, no, no, no! Why, why didn’t you tell anyone?! 

He observed the still Ike’s body for a moment longer, then shakily stood up, tears continued to stream down his face as he made his way over to the abandoned letter, sitting lonesomely on the novelist's desk. 

Vox looked down at the paper, it was addressed to him. 

Through his wet eyes, he would barely make out the words written down, but he was certain, the last words this novelist wrote. 

“Live a long life, I love you - Ike Eveland”