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Greg hiccuped, and a single smooth pink petal plopped out. That had been happening more and more lately. He’d only just made it through the congressional hearing without revealing his condition to the entire world–he had been as anxious about that possibility as he was the possibility of going to jail. That was still a distinct possibility. Everyone was milling around the yacht as if this was a normal vacation, even as they all knew it wasn’t.
He was laying on his stomach on a really quite comfortable chair, and was looking at the petal in his hand when a shadow came into view.
“Greg, you little slut, you’re in love!” Tom said, his voice going up in a sing-songy pitched way, which was not at all comforting. “Better tell the poor girl and hope she takes pity on you.”
“I uh… well… I guess you could say that, yeah.”
“Who is she? Out of your league I imagine.”
“I’d rather not say, at this exact moment, actually, if that’s okay.” Greg looked at Tom and felt his insides flutter with anxiety and something entirely else.
“Very tight-lipped, Gregory! She works at Waystar? Do I know the lucky lady?”
“It’s quite sensitive, so I would appreciate your discretion.”
“Oh it’s sensitive, is it? It’s sensitive?” He sounded just south of angry.
“Yeah it is. I’m not, like, happy about this. I’m not really in a position to, uh, have the conversation right now, so I just… I kind of have to live with this.”
Tom deflated slightly, the game clearly losing some of its fun. “Tough break, buddy. Maybe it’ll go away.”
“Maybe.” Greg thought it was pretty unlikely; the man he loved had treated him terribly and yet he still loved him just the same. At least it didn’t hurt yet; instead there was only a tickle as he coughed the petals out.
***
They were in the back of a car headed back from a night out with Kendall’s squad, and Greg finally let out a hacking cough, vomiting up three perfectly pink petals.
“Oh, party foul, man. That’s gross,” Kendall jeered. A few of his pack of sycophantic onlookers booed in agreement.
“I’m not, like, super able to control it, unfortunately.” Greg gave a sad grimace, which was mostly genuine. The coughing had left his throat increasingly raw, giving his voice a rasping quality.
On someone, it might have sounded distinguished, but he didn’t think he pulled it off.
“Ah that’s okay, you make me look generous. I’ll keep you around even if you harsh the vibe a bit.”
“That’s uh, very gracious of you. You know, like if we’re talking about actually changing the culture at Waystar, like, maybe this is a good thing. Maybe it’s kinda open minded or something.”
“Okay, yeah I dig that angle. My dad wouldn’t do that. He always hated emotional crap.” Kendall paused. “Comfrey, tonight was off the shiz. Great work.”
And just like that they weren’t talking about him anymore, which was really easier and better anyway. Greg had at least one thing in common with Logan, he didn’t really like the emotional crap either, but clearly his body hadn’t taken that into consideration when he started spitting up flowers.
***
“Greg coughed up a whole fucking flower at the shareholder meeting. Don’t we pay him enough to go to the doctor for that?” Roman asked. The Future Freedom Summit was just about to start, and Tom, Shiv and Roman were milling about, waiting for the gripping and grinning to begin.
“There aren’t good treatments, Rome.” Shiv said calmly. “It’s not like we can ask him to get surgery for the company.”
“It’s just embarrassing. As if he wasn’t embarrassing enough before he was the fucking flower boy of Waystar.”
“As gripping as this conversation is, I’m going to leave you two boys to it,” Shiv said with a smile, already headed towards the bar.
“He’s already working out of the mail room,” Tom replied. “We’re already at the legal limit of reasonable abuse.”
“Oh as if that’s stopped you before,” Roman replied. “We’ve all heard the rumors about your little foot obsession. Like to put the underlings in their place.”
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to. It’s not like I can fire him for it.” The thought of firing Greg, even hypothetically, made his stomach sink. Greg was his lackey! Roman didn’t have the right to suggest it, even if it was looking more and more like he was the current favorite Roy child.
“Why not? You’re already going to jail anyway. Afraid of the woke mob defending cousin Greg?” He did air-quotes as he said ‘woke mob’, a look of signature Roman derision on his face.
“Ha, ha,” Tom deadpanned.
“He better watch himself while we’re here, these red meat guys don’t take kindly to pansies.”
“I’ll instruct him to chew and swallow.” Tom smiled, though he didn’t feel happy.
“Yeah you do that, Wambsgans.”
***
“Can I get this?” Greg asked. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could offer in exchange for Tom agreeing to take the fall for him. Besides, the diner food was terrible; the whole meal would be 20 bucks or less.
“No! Greenpeace stole your inheritance. Besides, all my meals will be free soon, so…” Tom trailed off, looking sadly past Greg, seemingly seeing nothing at all.
They were silent for a moment. Greg hiccuped, breaking the silence, and a dopey pink rose escaped his month.
“You gotta get that dealt with,” Tom said, not unkindly.
“I was holding that one in all day.”
“You’d do terribly in jail. It’s a good thing I take care of you.”
“Yeah… I, uh, don’t imagine orange would suit me.”
“Bit of a skinny tangerine situation, like an oddly shaped creamsicle. You’ll visit me, won’t you? When I’m in prison. I just… I can’t imagine Shiv…” Tom trailed off, admitting and not admitting that he thought his own wife wouldn’t visit him in prison. Given Greg’s condition, this really only made Tom the second most pitiful person at the table. Shiv didn’t deserve Tom, but that didn’t appear to matter one little bit. She had him, and Greg didn’t.
“Yeah. Yeah of course.” Greg could never really say no to Tom, not when it came down to it.
***
“You seem much happier than me, Greg.” Tom’s insides were seething with jealousy. Greg had just relayed that he’d gotten a date with Comfrey, who was beautiful and smart and out of Greg’s league. Meanwhile he could feel the rift between him and Shiv growing larger by the day. He wasn’t going to jail, but what was he doing? He had no real plans for the future.
“I’m, like, rather eager to not be coughing up petals constantly, so yeah, I feel happy, I guess. But, like, we’re friends, right? Like, you don’t want roots to grow in my lungs and strangle me?”
The compliment tunnel was beautiful in a gaudy sort of way. The flowers framed Greg’s face just so, reminding Tom vividly of what he was about to lose.
“Uh-huh, sure. But it's supposed to be me that's happy, and it's you. How did that happen? Huh? I took the wrong drugs in the wrong order, and I can't get happy.” Tom knew how it had happened, but admitting it was absolutely out of the question.
“Well, can't you just be happy you're free?”
“No, 'cause you've ruined it.” Surely that was enough of an admission for Greg.
“How have I ruined it?” As he spoke, a small hiccup brought a flower out of his mouth, floating down to the ground peacefully.
“I don't know. You just have.” Tom looked away from him.
***
It had only been a few hours since Greg had agreed to make a deal with the devil, and he’d found himself alone in his Italian hotel room. The sheets were rough and the pillows were hard and the wifi was slow. Lackeys never got the good rooms.
A knock came at the door. It wouldn’t be the Contessa, he’d spit up a flower at the wrong moment and basically screwed the pooch on that one. Comfrey had been willing to ignore it, but apparently royalty had higher standards; that was a bit disappointing to say the least. Greg answered the door in his pajamas.
“It’s not Comfrey. It was never Comfrey,” was the first thing out of Tom’s month. “You got it before you even knew Comfrey, you little harlot.” He sounded frenetic. Greg wondered what had happened, what moves had been made. He was still so in the dark.
“Yeah, no, I just kept hoping it would go away.”
“That happens sometimes,” Tom said, taking a step towards Greg, into his room, uninvited but not unwanted. “And it’s not the Contessa. You met her on this trip. Why did you let me think it was Comfrey?”
“I thought maybe I could convince myself it was Comfrey,” Greg admitted, feeling his face heat with embarrassment. “I’ve just sort of been trying to distract myself.”
“Shiv doesn’t love me.” Tom said, a hideous, anxious little laugh bubbling out of him. “Maybe she never did.”
“That’s a tough break.” Greg’s heart was hammering fast in hopeful and apprehensive anticipation.
“But I think you don’t mind so much, do you, Gregory?” His voice lilted up, sing-songy and syrupy sweet.
“I guess, like, the bigger question is what you feel about it.”
“I’m tired of being kicked, and told it’s love. Or that it’s not love, but don’t worry it’s around here somewhere if you look hard enough.”
“Tom…”
“I want the kind of love that’s so apparent, that it nearly shoves itself in your face,” Tom paused, his face so near Greg’s, “like a bouquet of pink roses.”
“Yeah? That’s not too much for you?”
“Greg, you statuesque Igor, you’re never too much for me.” Tom spoke so reverently, that Greg felt he could nearly cry. But he didn’t have the chance, because just like that Tom was kissing him furiously pressing him up against the wall of his cheap hotel room, clearly as desperate as him to make there be as little distance as possible between their bodies.
As suddenly as it had come, Greg felt the pressure on his lungs cease, and felt suddenly that everything was right in the world.