Work Text:
Walking home from work, Wallace coughed up a few petals. It was okay, he's dealt with this before... Not since high school, but he still remembered all the details.
After the first petals come, usually you'll die within a week. Apparently not always, since Wallace remembered seeing petals about the apartment a week ago today (probably manifesting while he slept), but that just meant he didn't have a lot of time left.
Maybe he should have had a sense of urgency in getting home to confess his feelings, but he couldn't bring himself to walk any quicker than a slow pacing.
To keep his mind occupied, he picked at a flower and thought about the target of his affections;
Pick, He loves me, doesn't he? Scott's gone through so many break ups, especially recently, but he's always had Wallace by his side.
Pick, He loves me not, but there's a big difference between how you are with a friend and how you are with a lover. Obviously he wouldn't suddenly start hating Wallace.
Pick, He loves me, he's been trying to spend time together a lot more recently, especially since his previous break up. Scott even really wanted to hang out today, but Wallace has to go to work (on a Saturday! Can you believe it?)
Pick, He loves me not, after all, he's gone through a breakup just recently, and he's always been like this after a breakup; pathetic and desperate for attention.
Pick, He loves me, but could he not have grown to like that attention?
Wallace spent his time going over every possible reason Scott could or could not love him, every possibility.
Until he came to the door, picking off a final He loves me not. Luckily for Wallace, he didn't actually believe in superstition.
He made sure he had everything in order. He checked his phone; 3 missed calls, oops, nothing he could do about thise now. He checked his hair on the newrest reflective sirface; perfect as always. He coughed up another petal, and held it tight.
Taking a deep breath, Wallace gently opened the door...
...
Flowers.
Petals, trailing the floor, the beauty of nature manifest into the house that suddenly no longer felt like home; a swarming sensation of nausea took over Wallace's body, No no no no no no no!
He followed the flora, the trail of colour under the dim light, and in the bathroom, his belovéd lay, eyes no longer lit up, chest no longer breathing, flowers falling out of his mouth.
Wallace dropped the petal he had coughed from earlier, He loves me.