iwishthebestforyou - Tumblr blog

iwishthebestforyou · 7 months ago

Text

OUT OF TOUCH — 🥀

fic inspired by the song out of touch

content: angst, knew they had didn't have enough time so didn't confess x thought they had enough time so didn't confess,

scara x reader

maybe ooc

cw: Death, loss

chrysanthemum 💐

—

Entering the hospital room of his childhood bestfriend, the room smelled faintly like antiseptic, it wasn't the empty room or the odd decorations on the wall that got his attention first— no. It was the flowers that were in full bloom sitting on the windowsill, soft petals bathing in the sun that almost seemed too bright.

It was so like you to carry flowers around. For some odd reason, you have a very big interest into flowers, flower language- everything of that sort, carried them in notebooks, bags, in your hands, everything flower related was always nearby, he always found it odd and never really asked other than some teasing comments, but now, at this situation he wished he did.

The memories that always seemed so little value suddenly seemed to be worth alot, the times where'd you would tell him about flower language, bringing him bouquets- even pressured him to take care of his own flower that only bloomed since you were always reminding him to take care of it

Scara stood in the doorway, just staring into the room, his fists clenched by his side's, eyes focused on the patient who was just resting there, you've gotten smaller, paler and those bright eyes were closed. The white around him was starting to irritate him, white walls, white everything. White always suited you, just not in this setting.

It wasn't supposed to be this bad. He knew that illness of yours has been there since the start but- you've always lived with it, you've always brushed it off, so why now? Why now are you failing against it? You've always been so strong.

He swallowed hard as he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding in, speaking the first few words even after standing there for what felt like an eternity. " ...I'm here. " His voice cracked saying it, there wasn't any mockery, sarcasm or anything laced in his words like it usually would have.

Your eyes opened almost immediately hearing his voice, their lips curving into a faint smile, a happy but a tired smile. " Your.. your here. " They whispered, voice filled with something he couldn't decipher.

Scaramouches gaze flickered back to the flowers on the windowsill, still blooming despite the situation. You must be magical, since how are those flowers still alive? The rest of the hospitals flowers have either died or been replaced by plastic. Yours is the only one alive. He forced a nod and stepped inside " Yeah.. " he murmured, his throat starting to feel clogged. " I came, y/n.. "

Scaramouche sat down on the chair beside the bed, his hands trembling as he continued looking at the flowers, they were vibrant, so full of life just bathing in the sunlight. It felt cruel. Like those flowers were mocking him, mocking you. You were once as bright as those flowers too, always shining and full of life, but now your barely even holding onto that life. he looks at your weaker form and his heart clenches, the contrast was too much for him to bare.

" ...You didn't have to.. don't you have practice today? For that concert. " You whispered, voice soft and strained. Despite your condition, your voice was still filled with that familiar warmth. "And I know how much you hate hospitals."

He gave a bitter laugh, though it just came out like a broken exhale " Yeah? Well, you didn't really give me any other choice. " He replied, trying to sound lighthearted or atleast bring back that usual sarcasm in his voice. But his voice crack at the end betrayed him.

You chuckled softly, the chuckle quickly turning into a cough. Both sound and sight made him flinch, but you still smiled at him, smiled at him despite of how much pain you were in, trying to reassure him it was okay, you were fine. But that smile only worsened his anxieties. You weren't okay, they both knew that.

You were the only one who looked at him without any anger, someone who looked at his heart and not just his mean, hardened exterior. He never got to say it, but you mattered alot to him. Maybe even the only person that was close to him.

Growing up, there wasn't much he could claim as his, not his family, not the sense of belonging, not friendships. Everything was fleeting— be there for a second and leave, that was everything and everyone around him. But you? Your friendship? Was the only thing he could call his own, the one thing he had for himself

And now that too, something he thought would last an eternity was slipping away, just like everything around him always did. He never really was lucky huh?

" But to be honest, I'm glad you came .. I was waiting for you, you know? " You said softly, gaze at the ceilng " I thought you wouldn't, but I understand. You hate goodbyes. "

His chest tightened, guilt clawing at him but also a surge of anger " Don't say that. " He muttered, cutting her off before she could continue. " This isn't goodbye. "

You gave a him a look, a look that broke him more then he already was, a look of bittersweet acceptance and it made this stomach churn. " Scara.. " you said, voice barely above a whisper " You know it is. We both know. "

His chest tightened even more and he felt like he was losing his a ability to properly breathe, hands clenched tightly digging into his palms as he struggled to keep himself to calm. " Stop it. " He said harshly, his voice trembling. " You don't get to decide that, your going to beat that fucking illness, you always have. "

You didn't reply immediately, your gaze softening even more as you looked at him again. " The flowers are blooming. " you said, catching him off guard.

He blinked, confused by the sudden change in topic. " What? "

" You know, the chrysanthemum.. " you continued, eyes turning to the flowers that sat so prettily on your windowsill. " They mean goodbye in flower language. "

His breath hitched and for a moment, he couldn't speak. The weight of your words suffocating him, the hopeless tone in your voice.

" They're beautiful, aren't they? " You whispered " I always wanted to leave something beautiful behind, even if they're just flowers. "

" Stop, " he said again, voice cracking " Just shut up.. stop talking like that.. stop talking like your leaving. Your going to stay, then- then we're going to go back to how things were. I'll even let you make fun of me, okay? "

You laughed sweetly, the sound bittersweet. " It's okay scara, really, I've made my peace. "

But he hasnt. And he wasn't really to let go, not yet. Not ever.

" Don't say that.. " he didn't even realise the years that started to form. He didn't cry. But, how could he not at the situation? His voice breaking with every word. " Don't.. Please don't say that. "

You reached out weakly, your hand brushing against his. Your touch was so gentle, so light. It shattered something inside him. He'd rather how you were before, hitting him and throwing things at him then whatever this is. " It's okay. " You murmured you words barely audible with the soft hum of the machines surrounding you. " I'm getting tired.. I hope you don't mind if I go to sleep. "

He nods and you smile, your eyes closed, breathing steady but faint. He sat frozen, eyes locked onto your peaceful face.

He didn't move. He didn't speak. The silence in the room grew heavier, pressing down on him like a heavy weight.

A trembling breath escaped his lips and he lowered his head, starting to breath heavily as his vision blurred, he couldn't properly breath anymore, hands covering his face, shoulders starting to shake and silent tears streamed down his cheeks, quiet sobs as tears soaked his hands. He didn't make a sound, didn't dare disturb that peace of yours.

It was the first time in years he left himself cry, and it hurt more than he thought it would. It felt so unfair. Everything felt so unfair, he only had this one thing and even that's been being taken away.

The blooming flowers on the windowsill blurred through his tears, their vibrant colours with your pale face gave a cruel reminder to him of what he was going to lose.

For now, you were still here. Still breathing but he couldn't stop the overwhelming dread gnawing at him, knowing this peace won't last forever.

So he let himself break as you slept, completely unaware that the stoic, rude and usually sarcastic bestfriend of yours was breaking right beside you.

A few days pass by, and tonight felt oddly colder. Harsher and even more darker, a few people inside the room silently sobbing as the day finally came, the day he dreaded so much. Scaramouche remained seated beside you, his gaze fixed on you, as if silently begging for you to just magically get up and laugh at him, to tease him for being so emotional. But your breathing was growing fainter by the second.

He didn't dare move, he couldn't even think properly.

" Scara..? " Your voice, softer than before, weaker than ever and more fragile.

He leaned closer, his chest tightening " I'm here.. " he whispered, his voice hoarse

Your eyes fluttered open briefly, the corners of your lips curving into a soft faint smile. " Are the flowers still blooming? "

His breath hitched. Of course, it's about the flowers again. His chest ached at that question and he nodded, his eyes betraying the composure he was trying to hold. " They're alive, blooming like how you wanted it to. "

You exhaled a shaky breath, smiling at that. Seeming to finally fully come into terms on whats gonna happen. " That's good, i'm glad.. "

Scaramouche clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he forced himself to atleast stay strong for you. Atleast not let you pass seeing a frown on his face.

The heart rate monitor was beeping slower and slower, the nurses put their head down.

Please. Please. Don't take them away. He dosent believe in miracles, but please- if that's what it takes to bring you back to your old self then please.

Please don't do this to him. Please.

He was spiralling, tears starting to form as you broke the silence with a whisper, so faintly that it was barely audible.

" Take.. take care of the flowers. I'll see you.. someday "

Beep.

Nothing.

Your eyes were shut, and this time they didn't open at the sound of people talking or his voice. They just stayed shut, the sound of the monitor flat lining pierced through the air as choked sobs from friends and family came from behind him, his own tears and sobs filling his senses, nurses and doctors looking down.

" No, " he whispered, his voice breaking and his heart torn into pieces, there was so much he had to say, there was so much time he thought they had- so he didnt say anything, he didn't wanna believe that the time was slipping from his fingers.

He reached for your hand, gripping it slightly but it didn't have that warmth anymore, it was cold. Too cold. His body trembled as the realisation hit him like a tidal wave. You were gone.

More nurses entered the room, voices quiet and respectful, muttering apologies and condolences, but he barely registered their presence, feeling numb and his eyes focused on you.

Cruel.

Your too cruel.

A few weeks later, he was helping your family take your belongings from the hospital room. It was too cold, emptier. He stood by the windowsill, just looking around on the tiny pieces of you that you left behind.

His eyes took notice of the chrysanthemum, his fingers brushing against them, the flowers you cared so dearly for, the flowers that were wilted, petals lifeless.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, the sound harsh and hollow. " The flowers.. they're wilted. " He muttered, his voice breaking. He broke the promise you left him with, but then again, he was never good at the keeping promises thing.

His chest ached as he picked up the pot, looking at it, holding it so fragile like it was an extension of you. He couldn't cry, no, you wouldn't want him to cry. But his vision blurred and the tears started rolling down anyway.

You were gone, and yet, despite it all he could feel you, your smell, your interests still scattered all over the room. The memories that clung to every corner in his mind, he still had so much to tell you, still so much to do, still so much to talk about, so much things he couldn't say.

He set the pot down carefully, brushing a hand on the dead petals " You said youd leave something beautiful behind, " he whispered. " But what am I supposed to do now when your not here to remind me to take care of it? "

The words echoed in the empty room, the weight of your absence pressing down on him.

And for the first time in his life, scaramouche wish he believed in miracles. Because if he did, maybe he could've atleast had that hope that he'd maybe see you again, even if you were just a flower.

But alas, just like that flower has wilted, you did too. But maybe that beauty you wanted to leave behind wasn't the flower, but the memory of you.

I'm sorry if it's just yap, I was just bored and spilled my feelings in hehe it feels a bit self indulgent

114 notes · View notes