System Mission: Seduce the Final Boss [BL]-Chapter 69: Waking up

He was a flower.

A beautiful, delicate thing. He possessed petals of a deep, vivid purple, soft and almost translucent under the light.

He recognized it immediately, it was just like the one in his dream.

Only, this time, there was no garden, no other flowers or warmth stretching endlessly around him.

Just him.

Rooted.

Still.

Alone.

"*****, my sweet, sweet flower boy!"

The voice came like sunlight, it was warm and familiar.

The moment he heard it, something inside him loosened, something tight and aching that he hadn’t even realized was there.

Happiness.

Pure and immediate.

’Mom...’

He couldn’t clearly see her face, but it didn’t matter.

He knew her.

He would recognize her anywhere.

Her voice, her presence, it wrapped around him like something safe, something unquestionable.

She was beautiful.

Tall.

Her eyes, he couldn’t see them, but he felt them watching, like she always does when she’s worried.

’Mom... is that really you?’

It was such a childish thought.

Such a fragile, foolish dream.

"But of course it is, my sweet boy," she cooed, her voice dripping with affection. "Let me take care of you properly... alright?"

Then, water.

It fell gently over him, cool and soft, soaking into his petals.

It felt nice.

Like a tender touch.

Like a kiss pressed to his cheek.

’I missed you... mom, how is everyone doing?

It was pointless, he knew that none of this was real.

But he ignored that.

"What are you saying?" she laughed softly. "Everyone’s doing just fine."

She leaned closer.

He could feel it.

The warmth.

The attention.

A kiss, blown lightly in his direction.

"Now, mommy has to go," she said gently. "Be a good boy and wait for me."

And so, he did.

He stayed.

Rooted in place.

Waiting.

Patient and obedient.

Forgetting something important.

The next day, she came back at the same time, as radiant as ever.

"Oh, you have no idea how much has been happening," she said, her voice bright, lively.

Again, water, it was so much more than before. It soaked into him, filling him, making him feel alive, fresh and vibrant.

Seen.

Wanted.

He basked in it.

Held onto it.

And the next day, again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Someone he always relied on.

Until...

"...Mom?"

The space around him felt colder and quieter, because she didn’t come.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Time continued to stretch.

When she finally returned, it wasn’t the same.

She stood above him, her presence heavier now, something unreadable pressing down from where her gaze must have been.

’Mom...?’

"I can’t play today."

Her voice was flat and distant.

A single drop of water fell.

It wasn’t enough.

It didn’t reach deep enough.

It didn’t fill him.

And then, she left, and he was left there.

Dry.

Waiting.

The next day, it was too much, instead.

Water poured down all at once, heavy, overwhelming.

It drenched him, weighed him down, pressed against his petals until they bent under the force.

It wasn’t gentle or kind anymore, because he couldn’t even breathe.

Then nothing.

Again.

Back and forth.

One day it was too much, and then too little.

Too much.

Too little.

There was really no pattern.

’Why...? Why is she like this...?’

His petals curled slightly, edges softening, weakening under the inconsistency.

’She’s my mom...’

The one who was supposed to care, to stay.

’Why doesn’t she come anymore...?’

The silence stretched longer each time.

’Did she forget me...?’

One evening, she came back, looking different.

There was something in her presence that felt wrong and heavy, as if she was unsteady.

She knelt down in front of him.

And this time, he could feel it in her cold hands.

Scissors.

Her voice broke as she spoke.

"*****, you are no longer my child."

Something inside him shattered.

’No, no, that’s not right, I am, I’m right here! Mom, look at me, I’m here, I didn’t go anywhere.’

The scissors moved.

’Mom, I came back...’

A sharp, clean sound.

Then, he felt an immediate, blinding pain.

It tore through him, severing something fundamental, something that held him in place, something that was him.

’Ah!’

The world shattered.

Blake jerked upright with a violent cough, his body convulsing as air forced its way back into his lungs.

He was in pain.

Everywhere.

His throat burned as he coughed again, chest heaving.

"Ha..."

The light was too bright.

He squinted, eyes watering as he tried to focus, but everything blurred together in harsh white.

Then, he heard quick footsteps.

A figure moved beside him, a nurse, her expression tightening the moment she saw him awake.

"Oh, hey, hey, easy," she said quickly, reaching out.

The curtains were pulled shut in one motion, dimming the light enough for him to breathe again.

"Try not to move too fast," she added, one hand steadying his shoulder while the other adjusted something beside him, an IV line, maybe, checking the drip, making sure it hadn’t shifted.

"Can you hear me clearly?"

Blake swallowed, his throat dry.

"What... happened...?"

His voice came out hoarse, uneven.

The nurse hesitated for a second before offering a small smile.

"The doctor will be here soon," she said. "Don’t worry, alright? Just rest for now, it’s still morning."

’Morning?!’

Before he could press further, she straightened.

"I’ll go get him."

And just like that, she was gone.

The room fell quiet again.

Blake stared up at the ceiling.

His body felt so heavy.

He tried to lift his arm, but it barely moved.

"Tch..."

At least, nothing felt broken, just sore and weak.

A faint tremor ran through him.

And before he could stop it, tears slipped down the sides of his face.

He didn’t even know why.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep silent.

His chest tightened again as he heard footsteps again.

Someone entered.

Blake turned his head slightly, then quickly looked away, pressing his face into the pillow just enough to hide it.

’Man, this is embarrassing...’

"Blake."

He froze.

’This voice...’

He turned back.

Myles was standing there.

For a few seconds, Blake just stared at him.

Then, the tears came harder.

"...You—"

Myles stepped closer immediately.

There was something off about him, his movements slightly too stiff, his expression too rigid, like he was trying to act calmly.

To put it bluntly, he looked like a broken machine.

He reached out, his hand brushing against Blake’s cheek, then his forehead, lingering there for a second, checking his temperature.

As if to check he was alive.

"I came in without permission."

Blake blinked.

"...What?"

The words were so out of place that they cut straight through everything else.

He stared at him, then let out a weak, breathy laugh despite himself.

"...You—"

Myles didn’t react.

Instead, his hand moved, covering Blake’s eyes gently.

It was warm and blocking out the light.

Then, footsteps again.

The doctor entered and paused.

"Why did you get in again? I told you to wait for our permission, you brat!" He said, clearly caught off guard.

Blake shifted slightly, voice still uneven.

"It’s fine, I was..." he swallowed, embarrassed now, "...crying like a kid. He just came in."

The doctor sighed.

"Still, this is hospital policy."

He gestured toward the door.

At least, Myles didn’t argue, but simply stepped back, leaving without a word.

The door closed.

The doctor moved closer, checking Blake over, light in his eyes, gentle pressure along his head, asking a few simple questions to assess his awareness.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked.

Blake frowned slightly.

"I fainted, right?"

The doctor nodded.

"Most likely due to exhaustion," he explained. "Physical and mental strain can build up more than people realize."

Blake let out a quiet breath.

"Did I break anything?"

"No fractures," the doctor said. "But you did hit your head, so you got a mild concussion. You’ll need rest."

Blake nodded slowly.

"Thanks."

"I’ve already contacted your family."

Blake’s expression stiffened slightly.

"Right."

That would be an annoying problem.

"Get some rest," the doctor said, before stepping out.

And just like that, the door opened again.

Myles returned.

He walked in quietly, pulling a chair closer before sitting down beside the bed.

The silence was awkward.

’Our last interaction wasn’t all that good...’

Blake shifted slightly, then made up his mind.

He tried to sit up, only to be immediately stopped.

Myles stood, moving without hesitation, supporting him, doing most of the work before Blake could even manage it himself.

"Be careful."

Blake settled back against the pillows.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

Blake hesitated.

Then, he reached out, taking Myles’ hand.

"I didn’t try hard enough," he said quietly. "To understand you. Through words."

Myles’ gaze dropped to their hands.

"...I’m sorry," he said.

Blake’s grip tightened slightly, his vision blurred again.

He tugged lightly at Myles’ sleeve, like he needed something to hold onto.

Myles leaned down.

Then, he carefully wrapped his arms around him.

"Blake, get angry," he said quietly. "Ask things, and don’t hold back."

Blake’s breath hitched as he squeezed tighter.

"You can do that too," he murmured. "Myles... you can do that with me too. I’ll never hurt you."