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This time, there was even more blood than before.
Chance knew this was killing him. This game of fate he played with, pretending that everything was okay. Pretending that Mafioso actually loved him. And maybe he did, but it wasn't... he knew it wasn't real. And that's fine, he told himself.
But the flowers growing in his chest beg to differ. It was twisting, growing, ruining him.
But you know what made it worse? He knew that it would never be true love. Not with a line coiling around his neck, threatening to snap.
Since he was young, he could see those thin, red lines. Ones that connected two people with each other, no matter what. It helped him read people easily—how he could see their greed, or how much they wanted to use him. But for him, his line—it was coiled around his neck, suffocating him.. Although it was still connected at the pinky, it still stretched out into the unknown. He felt he couldn't connect with anyone, and he was desperate. Desperate for any semblance of true love, after watching so many fade away into nothing. He wished so desperately, clung onto the thought that maybe, this could be real. He could endure this pain, if it was all for you. He could still pretend that everything is fine, that he was unaffected, like he’s not dying at the thought of loving someone else.
But one day, that all changed. He finally reached the end of the cord.
It was a man in a fedora. He had a cold, distant gaze, and Chance’s thread quivered whenever he walked past. For Chance, it was coiled tightly around his neck, unrelenting. But the man, it was tangled right around his wrist. And when he looked up, the fedora covered part of his eyes, casting shadows. He never saw what was underneath. But Chance could see the same loneliness, the identical longing they both had.
They just wanted to belong. To be loved, just like Chance.
And Chance had been so, so happy. To finally see them. To know that out there, someone could love him.
But it only got worse.
They never gave their love freely. He was always cold, distant—and they never quite smiled. Even when Chance was begging for any scraps of his attention, for his love—he never got anything in return. Every time he moved closer, the thread loosened. But the man—his soulmate, never let him get too close. He kept his distance, the thread around his wrist almost puppeteering when Chance could get close.
And he hated it—he hated it so much. He had finally found the one he loved, after so long, but it was all for nothing. Maybe he didn't deserve love. Or happiness. He didn't deserve anything good.
So, he got more reckless with his life. Gambled more, placed higher bets. He was always looking for his next win, something that would finally raise the stakes. But no matter what he did, he always won. Even as Mafioso watched him place bets on his life, and continuously participate in Russian Roulette, he was always the last man standing.
But he couldn't win. Not anymore. No, this... This couldn't be fixed. This wasn't a gamble he could win.
He lets out a cough, and something wet slides down his cheek. Maybe it's the rain. Maybe he's crying. He doesn't know anymore.
He quickly pressed his hand to his mouth. Blood drips out, followed by yellow camellia petals, stained crimson.
How disgusting it was, to love someone else. To want to be needed. What a foolish thing, a foolish gamble... Such things couldn't be won, even though he desires for them all the same.
This... disease, whatever it was. It was killing him. He knew he didn't have much longer. There was surgery—maybe they could remove it, and he could definitely afford it. But he declined, saying he would confess to them.
He didn't. He knew he couldn't. They didn't love him back—not the way he so desperately did. The flowers were a reminder of that.
Yellow camellias. Pitiful, isn't it? Even the universe was laughing at his misery, reminding him his love could never be.
At that moment, he feels something rising in his throat. Blood.
"Shit—"
Another cough, another wheeze. His throat feels like it's closing up, and he bends over, struggling to breathe. More blood splatters on the sidewalk, droplets splattering against the concrete. He stumbles against the brick wall of the alley, smearing his palm across it, leaving a streak of red.
Was he really going to die like this? In an abandoned alleyway, all alone? Where did he go wrong...?
But it was fitting. After all, he chose to be alone. He chose to be a coward, and keep quiet about how he truly felt. He didn't want to lose Mafioso—he didn't want to lose his memories of him. He wanted to cherish them with what little time he had left. He… would rather die.
A voice called out to him, interrupting his thoughts.
"What are you doing here, all alone in the alley, gambler?"
Immediately, the choking in his throat dullens. The thread loosens around his neck, and his breathing eases. He turns around, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the blood streaking his skin. He straightens, swaying unsteadily, and gives a half-hearted, cocky grin.
"Didn't expect you to be so concerned for me, Don."
Mafioso folds his arms, his expression unreadable. He studies Chance carefully, then notices the puddle of blood beside him. "Are you... Are you bleeding-?”
He steps forward, movements now urgent. "You're hurt. Tell me… where?"
Chance chuckles, but his shoulders shake with the effort. "Would you believe me if I told you I was dying of heartbreak?"
Mafioso grits his teeth. "I need you to be serious… You could die."
Chance sways for a moment, then leans back against the wall, smirking through the pain. "Oh, I know. I am being serious."
Mafioso finally strides forward and reaches them. Just at that moment, Chance’s knees buckle, and he collapses into his arms. Mafioso catches him just in time. Worried, he lowers them gently to the ground, hands running over his sides, searching for wounds. Nothing.
His brow furrows. He presses his palms against Chance’s chest, frantic. "I don't see anything. Then that blood..." His eyes darted to the puddle, realization dawning on him.
Chance gives a bitter smile. "... don't worry, it's mine."
Mafioso shakes his head, his jaw tightening. "This isn't funny."
Chance opens his mouth to speak, but the petals rise in his throat again. He convulses forward, hand pressed to his lips, coughing violently. Blood and yellow camellia petals spill into his palm. Mafioso looks on in horror, frozen.
"Chance..." He murmurs, his voice cracking. "What... What is that."
Chance wipes his mouth with the back of his trembling hand once more, smearing blood across his chin. He forces another grin. "Told ya. I'm dyin' of heartbreak."
Mafioso immediately pulls him closer, cradling him against his chest this time. His arm supports Chance’s back, the other hand cupping his jaw. "I didn't think you were being serious..."
He yanks a phone from his coat with quivering fingers, dialing a number. "You hang on. I'll get my best doctors to work on the case."
Chance weakly pushes against his chest, shaking his head. "I'm a lost case, Maf. You should give up on me."
Mafioso grabs his wrist before it can fall. "Don't... Don't say that. Help will be here soon."
Chance coughs again. He feels weak, light-headed. His eyes almost flutter close. "No, you don't get it... I don't have much time left... I don't have any hope anyways."
Mafioso grips his shoulders, shaking him once, desperate. "Don't—Don't you dare say another word."
Chance laughs hoarsely, blood dripping down his chin. "But it's true, isn't it...?"
Mafioso nearly crumbles. "You have to tell me, Chance… Who is it?”
Chance’s eyes lock onto him, glassy and wet. His hand weakly brushes against his chest once more. "The answer is staring right at you in the face."
"It's you."
Mafioso’s eyes widened, startled, the thought clearly never crossing him before. "What? You... You love me?"
Chance nods slowly. He was going to die, after all. He might as well.
Mafioso stares, the words caught in his throat. He’s quiet for a few seconds, before he finally speaks. "Please, I... I care about you too. You can't die like this."
But Chance sees the truth. Maybe a part of it is genuine, but it’s never truly real, isn't it?
Tell me, Mafioso. If you really care for me, why can't I feel any sincerity in your words at all?
And Mafioso only grips him tighter. "Why didn't you go for surgery? Something… anything?"
Chance lets out a bittersweet laugh. "I didn't want to lose my memories of ya. I wouldn't trade it for the world."
"You... You fool..."
No, I'm not a fool. I know this love is fake, that none of what he had was ever real. But still...
Chance shivers from the cool air—it’s chilly against his skin. Mafioso quickly unbuttons his coat—the same one Chance had gifted him. He wraps it around them, pressing him close, trying to keep him warm. Chance slowly reaches out, then lifts Mafioso's fedora up, just enough to see his eyes. They’re a beautiful, deep wine red. But he sees there are tears threatening to spill.
"You... have such beautiful eyes..."
Chance's breathing stills for a second. His eyes begin to shut.
Mafioso nearly chokes. "Chance, no, you can't— You have to stay awake. Please." His hand clutches Chance’s. He feels how cold they are, and how desperately he’s holding on.
Chance’s lips barely move. "Did you ever even care about me, Maf?"
His body trembles as he whispers again. "Please... just tell me the truth."
Mafioso leans in, shaking uncomfortably. "Yes, Chance… I always did.”
“You can't die. Please." Tears slipped down his cheeks. "I'm sorry."
For the first time, Chance sees his face completely—stripped of shadows, fedora tilted back, pain and anguish carved deep into his expression.
Chance gives him a faint smile in return. "I love you."
Mafioso’s chest rises and falls sharply, his grip trembling. "Please, Chance… You can't—"
"Say it. Please."
"I... I love you too."
You liar. No—this isn’t real. No one could ever truly love me. And yet... oh, what I would give, just to hear you say it a thousand more times.
Chance exhales slowly. "Thank... you..."
Mafioso’s voice breaks as he shakes him, begging softly. "Please, you can't die like this—"
Chance simply smiles quietly, his eyelids growing heavy. He was getting tired.
And even as the world is ending, the only thing I can think about is you—no matter what, you will always be in my heart.
He hears Mafioso begging him not to. Still, he can't help but close his eyes.
I’m truly doomed. This love has been killing me all along. But I… don't mind. I’ll let you hurt me—and I’m just glad you did it slowly. As long as you look at me with those eyes, and pretend you love me... everything will be fine.
The yellow camellia petals on the ground begin to wilt. They sink into the blood, staining a damning crimson.
I know we are destined to meet again—whether in this lifetime or another. But please... I hope we don't. I’m glad I met you, truly. Thank you for coming into my life. Yet for better or worse, you were an experience I would rather not repeat. In my heart, I know this truth—you would have been happier without me. It would have been better if we had never crossed paths. Still, I’m not cruel enough to wish hell upon you. But you know what? I’ll admit it—I’m selfish. Selfish enough to make this terrible wish.
He shudders, and takes his last, final breath.
So please, Mafioso… let’s never meet again.
And beneath the pale moonlight, Chance slips away. Slowly, the sun begins to rise—but this time, it rises without him. Mafioso clutches their body, trembling uncontrollably, his sobs swallowed by the silence. The man he was too afraid to love, the one he had always wanted, and the one he finally did, was gone—and all that remains is the cruel reminder that he was just too late.
"I... I loved you too, you goddamn fool.”