Rating: 15 (to be on the safe side~)
Genre: Angst (be warned)
Summary: The apartment they shared always smelt like pretty flowers.
Notes: prince_eros please don't read this, you'll cry. I promise I'll get to your fluff as soon as I have inspiration.
Flowers. The apartment they shared always smelt like pretty flowers. Sungmin was always buying them. At first, when they’d first moved in together, he’d just bought some to brighten up the place. And then he’d bought some as a gift for Donghae.
“Thank you,” Sungmin had said when he’d given the pretty flowers to Donghae.
“What for?” Donghae had asked, grinning a little like a fool as he’d sniffed at the flowers.
“For loving me,” Sungmin had said seriously.
“Now that isn’t my fault. I can’t help it.” Donghae had smiled and they’d shared a kiss as sweet as the smell of the flowers in Donghae’s arms.
But, at first, the flowers had only started out as gifts for certain occasions, but when Donghae told Sungmin one day that he liked the way the flowers made their apartment smell – “like home, like you, Min” – Sungmin had started to buy them regularly, a different bunch to decorate and scent their home every week.
And then, when Sungmin had started to go away for business, he’d taken to sending them to Donghae - always with a little note – for his longer trips away, or for the shorter trips coming back with a bunch in his arms.
Donghae had begun to associate flowers, and their scent, to Sungmin. He’d even started being able to recognize Sungmin’s moods depending on the flowers he brought home with him; he always got roses, of every colour, whenever Sungmin was feeling romantic.
Their vibrant colours and sweet scents made the apartment feel like home, and they helped to ease the ache Donghae felt whenever Sungmin was out of town, even though it wasn’t ever for very long.
But it was like Sungmin left little pieces of himself behind, to keep Donghae company, until he came home.
“When will you be back?”
“Soon, sweetie. I’ve sent you a present.”
“A present! What is it?”
“I can’t tell you! But they smell really nice. Oops!” A soft giggle. “I won’t say anymore.”
“No! Tell me!”
“I don’t want to spoil the surprise!” More giggling, from both ends of the phone.
“Nope! Anyway, I have to go now; I’ll see you in a few days sweetie.”
“Love you, Min.”
“I love you too, HaeHae.”
Donghae stares blankly at the vase of flowers in front of him as his mind replays that particular conversation again. He’d gone over it again and again in his mind, rewound and replayed it repeatedly, over and over. Nothing about it ever changed.
There’s a card held in Donghae’s hands and his fingers play with it absently. He’d read the words written on the small slip of paper so many times, as many times as he’d replayed that conversation; he knows the words on that card by heart now.
So sorry that I can’t be there with you, I hope these will keep you happy until I come home though. They’re my favourites, so you’ll think of me whenever you smell them. See you soon!
All my love,
P.S. I’ll give you your other present when I see you!’
A little winking face had been drawn at the end of the sentence. Donghae had imagined just the way Sungmin would have winked at him, had he said it.
He knows the words on the card so well now that he doesn’t even need to read it anymore. But even just remembering the words bring the tears to Donghae’s eyes.
He stares through watery eyes at the flowers in front of him. The petals have all darkened and shrivelled up by now, lost their colour, lost their life, and most all of them have fallen from the actual stems. Their pretty scents have long but faded.
The flowers are old now, so old for flowers, a couple of months old. But he doesn’t want to get rid of them, can’t throw them away, not yet.
He’d received the flowers on his 23rd birthday. Sungmin hadn’t wanted to go. He could remember Sungmin being pretty angry at having to be away from Donghae on his birthday, but Donghae hadn’t minded, it was work, not Sungmin’s fault; “it won’t be for long, anyway. We’ll pretend it’s my birthday the day you get home.”
A present. The flowers had been a present from Sungmin until he could return. Except, Sungmin never had returned. The day after his birthday, the scent of the flowers still oh-so-fresh in the kitchen, Donghae had received a phone call.
At the age of just 23, on his flight back home, back to Donghae, Sungmin had died. A crash.
He’d dropped the phone after just a minute of listening, and the case had actually broken, cracked, against the floor. But he’d still heard the words. And he still hears the words even now, ringing endlessly through his ears.
The flowers are long dead now, but they’re still like little pieces of Sungmin, little dead, darkened, withered pieces of Sungmin. But Donghae will always be able to smell their scent; it reminds him of Sungmin, and he can’t bring himself to throw them away.
- end -
You can blame the odd piecey-ness of this on my current state of emo. My home internet has gone for a month, hence my emo.