Because Gray looks at Natsu with the tenderness of the leaves flowing in the winds on an autumn day. He looks at the man whose laughter has opened chambers of his heart where a thousand suns now glow. He looks at the man who has taught him the capacity of love and its depth and how the world looks when it's golden and bright. And gods, he wishes he can hold Natsu and tell him how this love has softened him; how this love has shaped and molded the map of his heart—the crooks and the creeks, the rivers and the hills and the oceans inside of him.
He wants to tell him that he can hear the vibrations of his bones and the ribs when these emotions collide and crash with the overwhelming realisation that this love will now always be a part of him. Stitched into the core of his existence.
But he does not do any of that.
Because there are flowers blooming in Gray's chest that are as yellow and bright as Natsu's sunshine smile. And when he coughs, the petals on his palm fly away with the wind and the pain his lungs coil around tightly till he cannot breathe.
He slumps back on the wall and watches from the distance as the man whom he loves, walk away from him, while he sits on the floor, pooled around the yellow flowers and a pain throbbing inside of him.
But when he closes his eyes, he can see the wild pink hair and the stupid beautiful grin. And in that moment, the ache gives way to all the love flooding inside of him.
He smiles and tells himself that he'll be okay.
Some lies are harmless anyway.