#Can you believe Mezsha's name is pronounced like. Mee-sha or whatever.

[i-cant-stop-fandoming-help]

Hanahaki (Words better left unsaid(?))

Fuck it i'm splitting it into parts. this is part one. ALL OF IT IS IN ONE DOC THATS SEVEN PAGES LONG AND STILL NOT COMPLETE. HERE'S THE FIRST FOUR PAGES.

Anyways this is filled with headcanons because only the MSS demo is out. HERE YOU GO BORIS I HOPE YOU LIKE FUCKING. CHUBEE BEING ANTISOCIAL OR WHATEVER IDK HOW TO DESCRIBE IT.

EAT THE ANGST WHILE I GO AND MAKE MYSELF SOMETHING TO EAT FOR I HUNGER.

also a friend and I wrote a fic with our OCs that involved Hanahaki like. 2 years ago. And the resolve of that fic was that the sickly person lost their memory and thats how the hanahaki was rid of. and i liked that idea so Input "FORGETTING UR LOVED ONES WILL CURE YOU OF THE FLOWERS!!!" in here.

Uhhh tw for Hanahaki, memory loss caused by concussion, and idk what else. please ask me if you need something tagged cuz i genuinely have no idea what to tag.

also i had to replay all the routes in the demo so I could do my best to write the personalities. I mainly just like kicking chubee while he's down because. idk actually. ig its just cuz i like him as a character? I'm really tired

im going to stop rambling pls just read this so i can get back to working on the second part AND my other angst fics. and the singular happy fic in my WIP collection.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. Chubee knew the feeling well. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. His heart was pounding, and his stomach was spinning about. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. Rongdien was snort-laughing at Matu, who had tripped over Aloiki’s fake tail and fallen flat on his face.

Rongdien was one of the hardest of the group to make friends with, it took the beekeeper a while to figure out how to make them grin. While everyone else was somewhat open with their interests, they had remained stone-faced.

That frustrated Chubee, although he hated showing it. Deep down, he felt that he was only good for jokes and “therapy”. Nobody really cared about him, nobody wanted to know what he was interested in, or what he had gone through in life. So when someone didn’t see him as good for either, he could only feel hollow. If he didn’t have a purpose, why should he live?

The red-head glanced at the blonde, gaze clouding with confusion. “You’re staring, ‘Bee. Why are you staring, Chubee.” Their voice wasn’t loud, but it was commanding enough to make Chubee stand up straight.

“Sorry, Mx. ‘dien.” He tried for a grin, but it was hard to manage. Their amber eyes were sharp, piercing him through and making his knees wobble, making it hard for him to stand.

“Why are you staring.” Rongdien repeated, making the beekeeper attempt to straighten up even moreso. 

“Don’t see you laugh often, is all!” There was something bitter rising in his throat, and his breath was growing hard. “I don’t feel so well, though.” He kept the grin up as he backed up, the bitterness growing.

He booked it. Chubee ran down the halls, ran towards his room. He slammed his door open as fast as he could, before his knees buckled. Petals flooded out of his mouth, that of the red windflower. Typically, he would’ve stared in awe, but they were coming from his mouth.

“No, no, no.” He whispered, tears welling in his eyes. He had this sickening curse once before, back before he graduated, and someone else had to tell him years later.

“You had this sickness. “Hanahaki”, I believe it is called. You were spewing up entire bouquet’s worth of purple petals. 

Chubee was unusually still. His hands weren’t patting his knees, his foot wasn’t tapping the ground, his eye wasn’t twitching. 

“It was weird that you were missing so much school, y’know. Everyone was worried, even…” the brunette paused, her lips pursing. “Even Pedro.”

The name hung in the air, and she stared at him like he was about to spew out an entire flower again.

“Maria, it’s fiiiineeeee!” He hated how his voice wavered, “I’m over it. You know how? I got a concussion.”

Maria’s eyebrows furrowed, and she looked at him quizzically. “How would that help?!”

The blonde just shrugged, taking off his gloves and touching his fingers to his palm repeatedly. “I had a talk with Carmen,” he tried to keep any and all emotion out of his tone. “ ‘Pparently, forgetting the one you love helps. It’s why I didn’t show up for the rest of the year, either.”

She still bore a concerned expression, and Chubee itched with discomfort. He never knew how to react whenever someone showed concern for him.

“Y’know, Carmen has a killer throw. Never trust ‘em with a tennis ball, you’ll regret it.” Shivers went down his spine, but he tried to sound like he was joking. “Knocked me straight out. Only knew he did it because he was next to me at the hospital.”

Maria glanced out the window– the sun was setting, and it caused a beautiful gradient to cover her face. Blue, pink, orange, and then yellow. “He said you got a bad concussion, and everyone wanted to see you… Many people are fond of you, Garcia.”

Chubee had no retort to make, as much as he wish he did. 

“At the beginning of the school year, when the teacher made us do an introduction assignment… a lot of people remembered your interest in beekeeping from that day. It’s why Jaime got you the bee plushie, and why Lucia and I saved up to get you those bee-themed pixie lights.” She raised a finger, pointing at his hat– the one he always wore. “It’s why Antonio got you that.”

Chubee snapped back to the present, he had lingered on that memory for too long. What purpose had there been to think back to it? He already knew that he just needed to forget. Forgetting was a lot easier than opening up about his feelings.

“You blood-havers are strange.” A metallic, squeaky, voice rang from above him.

He jolted, looking above and wiping his mouth. “Estelia.” He muttered, his tone bitter with hatred.

The robot just giggled, hovering in the air before staring at the petals. “That’s gross. Humans are gross.”

She began to ramble, but he cut her off as keeled over, pressing his palms into the hardwood flooring and cringing as more petals spilled out of his mouth, accompanied by dots of blood.

“You should see a doctor.” Estelia vanished after saying that, although her steel-cold giggles still echoed about in the halls.

Chubee ignored that comment. He was too busy thinking about who could help him forget. 

Maybe Carolia could hit him on the head, whether it be with fist or hammer. Carolia never did seem to like others, so perhaps he wouldn’t ask questions.

There was a knock at his doorway, and dread filled his chest.

“Nice petals.” The voice was monotone, uninterested, and yet somewhat amused. “I don’t see that every day.”

Chubee did his best to gain his composure, but it was difficult.

“Mina says hi, by the way.” the brunette crouched down, patting Chubee on the back. “I can see if any of Mina’s medicine can help with the petals. With all the medicine substitution needed in my field, I’m sure I have something that could aid.”

Mezsha stood up with furrowed eyebrows, pulling Chubee up by the hood of his jacket. “But,” she continued after a long inhale. “It won’t be a permanent solution. There are three ways to survive this. But there are four ways to come out of this sickness.”

His throat was dry as he spoke. “How can I survive?”

Mina chortled at Chubee’s voice, which stung slightly, but it wasn’t important at the moment. Mezsha seemed to be thinking.

“Well,” She said after a few minutes, “I’ll dumb this down as much as I can, for your sake. The first way you can survive is by confessing your feelings– but your feelings must be returned. Obviously.”

The bee-keeper buzzed softly, kicking at the petals and pursing his lips. His parents stopped showing care for him long ago, and it taught him something. Never, ever, be honest with your feelings. Even in a life or death situation, don’t be honest. It’ll just hurt you in the end.

“The second way is surgery. I’m the only one here capable of performing such a feat– at least, without you risking some sort of infection. Also, I don’t know if the others would be able to perform it right. This is the most simple way, especially with how you’ll lose your feelings after, but you’ll have to place a lot of trust in me.”

Mina squealed and swiped the air.

“And, no, Mina won’t be in the room for it. That would be unsanitary.”

The blonde buzzed in amusement, rolling his shoulders. “Thanks for the reassurance. Really makes the idea less scary.”

The veterinarian stared at Chubee, a small spark of entertainment darting through her honey-yellow eyes. “Do not use sarcasm against me, Garcia. Moving on, the third way to survive such a condition is to—”

“Lose your memory.” The words burst out of his mouth, and as soon as he realized he cut her off, he took a few steps back. “Sorry.”

Mezsha’s glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the beekeeper. “Most people don’t know about that, how do you?”

Chubee had never been as honest as he had been in that moment. Words spilled out without a stop put to them, and it felt like he was going to crumple over. He explained everything, how he had had the disease once before, and how a classmate told him that memory loss would help, and how the concussion left him hospitalized for a month– the last month of the school year.

He explained how hard it was for him to be honest with his emotions, because it never felt like anyone would ever care. How all the tears he forced down were trapped because he didn’t want to be picked on for crying, how he was scared of anyone getting too close because he might become attached and he didn’t want to grieve when he was abandoned.

He could only stop when his hyperventilation became too much to speak through, and it was then that he realized how nice it felt to cry. To let all he bottled up, flow out. And his words hung in the air, only interrupted by his sharp sobs and sharp, uneven, breath.

Inhale, inhale, inhale, inhale, exhale, exhale, in. He could almost feel Mezsha’s pitiful gaze, he didn’t have to look up. Exhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. His heart was pumping, and tears dripped off of his chin and to the hardwood tile. Inhale, exhale, inhale, inhale, exhale.

A fluffy heap was pushed into his chest.

“Bah!” It was a tiny, yet high-pitched, roar. Mina.

He wrapped an arm around the bear cub, tears clearing from his vision as he spoke gently. “Oh, hello there, Mina…”

Mina chortled again, turning her head to stare at her care-taker. “Raaah?”

Mezsha’s jaw was tight, and her eyebrows were furrowed together. “Keep holding Mina until you calm down. Petting her may help.” Her voice was much softer than usual, even with a hint of sorrow in it. 

Chubee’s breath slowed down bit by bit, and tears were no longer welling in his eyes. His eyes stung from dryness, and his cheeks were burning from the lament.

“Thank you for opening up.” 

He looked up, and Mezsha was slightly crouched to his height. Her eyes were damp with sympathy, and her irises were much more of a marigold color.

His words caught in his throat for a mere second. “I shouldn’t have.”

Mezsha tapped her finger against the wall, her gaze clouding and growing distant. “No, it’s okay. Bottling up emotions will never do you any good, and it will only cause harm.” 

A snarky comment came to mind, but he let Mezsha continue.

“But you should not be forced to confess your feelings, or to let others know at all times how you truly feel. So perhaps we should head back to the original topic.” 

“That would be appreciated.” Chubee’s voice was nothing more than a whisper.

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