Chapter Text
An air conditioner whirred to life in the midst of the stinging Los Angeles summer heat, bringing with it cool relief in the form of refreshing, icy air. Still not enough, but it was something against Eddie’s sweat-soaked skin. As the sun dipped in the sky, it left behind glorious streaks of orange and pink that slowly melded into one another. Eddie watched it from his window, longing for something he couldn't quite place.
Cicadas buzzed and chirped loudly into the arid, soft breeze. They were unusual, but not unheard of, for California. The disturbance kept Eddie awake for most of the night. He couldn't sleep anyway, he supposed— not with the incessant chest cold that had been nettling him the last few days.
Completely giving up on sleep, Eddie decided he'd sit on the sofa and play video games. Hopefully it would keep him entertained long enough. He briefly worried about making too much noise, but there was nobody in the house to accidentally wake anyway. He sighed, nausea growing in the pit of his stomach like an irritated wound.
Suddenly, Eddie had the urge to call someone. Anyone. He knew it was four in the morning and any sane person wouldn't even pick up the phone, but he was desperate and needed someone to talk to to keep himself grounded. So, he did what any rational person in his situation would do.
“Hey, Buck.”
Eddie— wh— it’s so early. Are you bleeding out, or something?
The phone muffled the sound of his voice, but Eddie could still hear that it was hoarse from disuse. Maybe he felt a little guilty.
“No, just bored," he says dully.
You sure? Usually if you're bored, it isn’t at four in the morning. You can tell me if there’s something up.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Just plain insomnia, and I was bored. Now I'm not though. I guess my plan worked.”
I'm glad you're not bored anymore— can I go back to sleep? …Unless you really do have something to talk about and you're just not telling me.
“No, no, I swear. I'll let you go, this cold is starting to feel worse anyway.” Eddie paused for a moment. “Maybe I will try to get some sleep,” he lied.
Good night, Eddie.
“Good night, Buck,” Eddie said, suddenly feeling himself begin to choke. His smile, which had lasted for the entire duration of the call, quickly faded.
He hung up the phone and rushed to the bathroom, half-convinced he was overreacting and half-convinced he was dying. His hands gripped either ledge of the marble sink, white-knuckled and prepared for the worst.
Eddie heaved, beads of sweat steadily dripping from his face. With a single heavy cough, blood spattered across the inside of the sink. He prayed it was just from his throat being raw. It didn't feel raw.
There was still something in his throat, too, and it felt stuck. The more Eddie coughed, the more he worried that it would be there forever— that he'd never be able to breathe correctly again.
Eventually, he was able to force it out and into the sink, which was now full of bloody water.
A single mahogany rose petal in perfect condition. No blemishes or creases to be found, despite the undeniable odds. Eddie scooped it up with both of his hands, unsure what to think of it. All he could focus on now was the physical toll that the stress and heaving had taken on his body. He needed rest, and he was going to get it.
If he was lucky, said rest would've been on his comfortable bed. As his luck would have it, he gently fell to the tile floor and practically passed out.
When he came to, bright orange beams of light shone through his window from a sun that was already well into the sky. The floor beneath him stuck to his skin and that awful feeling was back again. He couldn't breathe quite right.
Eddie checked his phone to find a text from Buck.
I couldn't sleep the rest of the night, anyway.
No explanation as to why yet, but Eddie immediately felt guilty about waking him. He wasn't sure why, but suddenly he'd found his way into a coughing fit. Back and forth between hacking and wheezing. To the untrained ear, it would have probably sounded like something along the lines of the plague. Especially considering the blood that came up with each cough.
But the flowers weren't posthumous, so it couldn't have been. Eddie's figured that much by now.
With another strained, aggressive cough, three petals came out this time, all at once— accompanied by a now-concerning amount of blood. All of the petals were still in immaculate condition, too. He stared at them in disbelief. He found himself wanting to scream so loudly it'd make his throat raw, but he couldn't make a sound.
Eddie began to wonder if it was some kind of divine punishment. If he was being punished for not being religious enough, or for hurting Chris.
Or for that longing that he couldn't quite place.