Roses Are Red [Kiribaku]

Everything's Coming Up Roses

For a while, there was only the pain.

It shook inside of him, just as irrepressible as the petals that fell from his lips. It was all so much, swallowing him up like a rising wave, all of the anger, and frustration, and fear, and even as it seemed like the wave was receding, every painful gasp for air served as a bitter reminder. There was no holding it back. So, he cried. And it didn't matter how vulnerable or ashamed it made him feel, because somehow, it felt good.

The voices were far away, their soft 'it's okay Katsuki, it's all okay's repeated over and over again like a broke record, but there was still comfort in it. With his mother's swaying embrace, comforting fingers running through his hair, his dad's firm rub on his back, it all slowly began to ebb away. The tears, the emotions, even the petals themselves receded, as if they were all used up. As if gone with the tide. Inside of him, the floodwaters left behind a hollow shell, a new sort of numbness. Except this time, the numbness wasn't chemically synthesized. Katsuki was simply at his wit's end.

His arms fell limp from around his mom's torso, eyelids heavy as he leaned into her form, lungs barely bothering to take in even shallow breaths. The exhaustion was overwhelming. There was still the seat of the couch underneath him, still arms wound around him, still the voices of comfort in his ears, but those were the only things tethering him to reality.

"We never taught you, did we? How to feel your emotions." The new words caught his attention. It was his dad. "How to deal with them."

Katsui shook his head. He didn't like that.

"I'm sorry, Katsuki," his mom was speaking next, "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard, not when you were hurting like that."

He didn't want their apologies, dammit. He just wanted this all to be over.

"We're sorry," his dad patted his back, apologizing again, and Katsuki hated it. "We didn't know the medicine would affect your emotions so much."

"But how," he finally croaked out, voice coarse from the coughing. With new strength, his fists clenched into the back of his mom's shirt. "Why couldn't I..."

"That was just the medicine working, Katsuki," his mom breathed. "Just the medicine, that's all."

"It's bullshit," he muttered into her shoulder.

"I know, Katsuki, I know."

Katsuki barely noticed when his father took a box of tissues from the side table, cleaning up the mess of petals that had fallen everywhere.

"It's total fucking bullshit," he muttered again, more to himself than anyone else, a dangerously pissed-off tone creeping into his voice. "What sort of fucked-up bullshit—?"

"—I'll uh, go get him some water," his dad piped up quickly, rising to his feet.

"Why the fuck would they give me something like that?" He finally pulled away, sinking into the couch with a huff.

"Without love, the flowers can't grow, right?" his mom offered. "But it's not like medicine is smart. It can't tell emotions apart, so..."

Katsuki closed his eyes, sighing. "So it just took everything away."

"Yes."

It was all starting to make sense. He leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling. Studying it. Anything to keep himself from crashing back into reality at full speed.

For a long while, they stayed silent like that. Even when his dad returned with a water bottle, Katsuki only drank from it silently, stewing in his thoughts while his parents waited on.