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levisolace · 7 months ago

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am i making you feel sick? (zayne x f!reader)

WC: 15,691 Pairing: zayne x reader, subtle sylus x reader Warnings: graphic depictions of illness Genre: Angst, (Possibly) Unrequited Love, Hanahaki Disease AU Summary: You escape Linkon to heal from the deadly Hanahaki Disease, your unspoken love for Dr. Zayne threatening to consume you from within. Note: Hi! I had this in my drafts for a while since Sylus came out. Figured to finally post it. Here's my first LaDs fic. Hope you all like it. This is only a one-shot btw.

ao3 link

You don’t know when it started. Maybe it was over the meals you’ve shared, or when you began to know much more about him, how he loved sweets, how he graduated half the time it should’ve, or maybe it’s just how truly and deeply kind and caring he is. In the stolen glances you gave him whenever he was in your presence, you admired how beautiful he was. His raven black hair, hazel green eyes, and broad shoulders. Oh, his beautiful shoulders. It was your dream to have your hands running through them.

It was perfect. You two shared a history from your childhood and more than a decade later, you were brought back once again in your adult years. Like it was fated. Like stars have aligned for the two of you. Maybe it was the knowledge of the “you meet people twice theory” that made your delusion worse. Maybe it was when you began to think of scenarios of you and him before you went to sleep at night.

To make it short, you don’t know when you started falling in love with your primary care physician, Dr. Zayne.

It was fun at first, the idea of falling in love. He is your friend, no matter how busy he is, if he can, he gives his free time to you. In the midst of all of that, you began to question yourself if the way you see him was more than a friend.

Before you knew it, you found yourself blushing at every interaction, every text, every post and comment he made, and every doctor appointment whenever he would even slightly touch you. Your heart rate sped up and he probably noticed that too. You were practically transparent with how easy you are to read.

He was the total opposite.

He’s stoic and unreadable. Half of the time, you don’t know if he’s serious or joking. Most of the time, it’s the former. He would always find ways to scold you on how you take care of yourself.

Still, you hoped. You made yourself believe that underneath all that caring was an underlying emotion that comes as more than a physician and a friend. And so you let yourself fall into that deep abyss of longing. Love. It’s such a common word, one that is used lightly but holds the weight of the world and humanity.

But you couldn’t be more wrong.

You stepped out of the cab and onto the rain-slicked pavement of Linkon, the familiar hum of the city wrapping around you like an old friend. The night was young, but the streets were already alive with their own rhythm—flashes of neon lights, distant sirens, and the ever-present murmur of conversations blending into a cacophony that was both chaotic and comforting.

You tugged your leather jacket tighter against the cool evening breeze, your thoughts racing faster than your heartbeat. After weeks in the field—tracking elusive prey through shadowed forests and braving the bite of unforgiving weather—returning to the city was like slipping into a well-worn pair of boots. But tonight, the excitement in your step had nothing to do with the urban landscape you missed. It was all about the man waiting for you at the clinic.

Dr. Zayne had been a constant in your thoughts even while you were miles away, slinking through the underbrush and facing dangers of wanderers. Your encounters were always memorable, punctuated by shared glances and conversations that left you with a giddy sense of longing.

Your boots clacked against the pavement as you hurried down the street, the soft patter of rain masking her footsteps. You reached the glass door of the clinic, pausing for a moment to smooth your hair and then pushed inside.

The lobby was quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of overhead lights and the soft hum of a vending machine in the corner. You approached the reception desk, where a young woman was looking up with a smile.

“Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Zayne,” you tell her.

“Ah, Miss (L/N), right?” the receptionist asked. You’ve probably been here too many times to not be known. Is that a bad thing? Probably. But you don’t mind.

You nod. “Ah, I think Dr. Zayne stepped out for dinner,” she informs you. “You can wait here. He should be coming back soon.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you,” you replied, giving her a smile.

You cursed to yourself. You probably shouldn’t have tried to surprise him with your unprecedented visit and just texted him beforehand. It’s still pretty early for his usual dinner time despite it being dark already. With how busy and needed he is in the hospital, it resulted in him having inconsistent meal times, very much similar to your line of work. You hoped to catch him before he ate and ask him out for a meal like you always do. But that’s not happening tonight.

As you wait patiently in the lobby while looking through social media posts on your phone, a nurse you know well approached you and called you by your name. You look up to see Yvonne smiling at you. You gave her a genuine smile back, happy to see an acquaintance.

“Hey Ms. Hunter, you here for Dr. Zayne?” she asked.

“Yeah, I heard he’s out for dinner. I just got back from a mission and wanted to see him because I had to skip an appointment during the week,” you inform her.

She places her hand in the pockets of her scrub as she thinks, her eyes widening for a moment when she remembers. “Yeah, I think he ate dinner with Dr. Emma.”

“Dr. Emma?” The unfamiliar name rolls off your tongue in a bad way. This is the first time you’ve heard of her.

“Yeah, she’s a new doctor who transferred here a while ago. A genius doctor too, maybe that’s why she quickly hit it off with Dr. Zayne,” she pouts.

That’s when your heart sank. A dinner date. The words echoed in your mind, crushing the small spark of hope you had been nurturing. You forced a smile as Yvonne excused herself out of the quick conversation, dropping it as quickly as she fades from your view.

Just like that, your excitement bubbled down into an unknown pain. It was like humiliation but something else completely. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you even if no one was watching you—like they knew you were here for Zayne but he was already with another woman. But they don’t know that. You’re just another patient here. Thinking of that truth should’ve comforted you. But somehow, it felt worse.

With a heavy heart, you went back to your apartment without seeing the doctor you were waiting for.

One sad dinner by yourself later, you found yourself lying on your bed, the exhaustion of the preceding mission finally dawned on you. The adrenaline of excitement has worn out, leaving you with a heavy feeling of disappointment and body ache.

Your phone dinged with a notification and yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to move a limb. It’s a wonder how you never felt this way after a mission before even if you were injured. It’s like something was weighing you down but you couldn’t pinpoint where.

The phone dinged a few times more and you ignored it, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment. You guess it was just the group chat from work. Tomorrow and the weekend are your days off anyway. They can forgive you for not responding for a few hours.

It was then that your phone started to ring, indicating a phone call. Groaning in annoyance, you will yourself to reach for your phone by the bedside table, picking it up hastily while your eyes are closed.

“Hello?” you answer groggily.

“Are you alright?” The familiar deep voice asked without missing a beat, tone laced with concern. Your eyes widen, looking at the caller ID. It was Zayne. The messages were also from him.

“Oh, it’s you.” Everything felt lighter than it was, your tone involuntarily chipper than it was a second ago. It was like your body is uncontrollable when it comes to him. You sit up on your bed to speak to him more clearly.

“What happened?” He asked again, eager to get the point.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you leave the hospital? The nurse told me you were here to see me and then left,” he asked further. You don’t answer for a moment, unsure on what to lie about. You can’t exactly tell him the truth.

“Oh… yeah. I just got back from a mission but you weren’t there so I left,” you explained.

There was silence from a moment like he was thinking and you wish that you knew what it was about. Like most of the time, you wished to enter his mind and see him wholly.

“...Are you hurt?” The eagerness dropped from his tone, replaced by the softness that you adored partnered with the deep concern that he showed you multiple times. It’s a softness that you found yourself used to, something that pertains to a relationship more than a doctor and his patient.

“I’m alright, Dr. Zayne,” you answer truthfully but your voice betrays you and you curse yourself in your mind, knowing that the attentive doctor would notice.

“You don’t sound alright,” he states the obvious, the subtle sarcasm noted in his answer.

“I really am, Zayne. I just felt bad about missing the appointment because of the mission,” you say as you pull and fold your legs closer to yourself, hugging them to your chest. You hear his soft sigh on the other line and you let out an involuntary chuckle, picturing his disappointed and crunched forehead while he sat on his office desk.

“Do you want to come in tomorrow?” He asked and your heart jumped at the question. The thought of seeing him tomorrow giving you a boost of serotonin.

“Do I need to? I really am fine,” you answer truthfully, pertaining to your physical health.

“Nevermind. You’re coming in tomorrow. That’s an order from your doctor,” he commands and you chuckle again and roll your eyes but enjoy his nagging nonetheless.

“Fine, Dr. Zayne. I’ll come in tomorrow.”

“Great, I’ll see you then,” and he hangs up.

That night, you sleep with a heavy heart no longer but the thought of another woman still lingers at the back of your mind. You push the thoughts away, focusing on the thought that you will see him tomorrow.

Just for tonight, you’ll dream of those green eyes. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?

You sit in front of him, legs crossed, your frilly skirt brushing against your knees as you try to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Zayne flips through your chart, his brow furrowed in concentration, like every detail of your health is a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“Everything looks fine,” he says at last, his voice calm and steady.

You smile, forcing a lightness to your tone that doesn’t quite match how you feel inside. “Told you. I’m a good Hunter.”

His lips twitch into a half-smile. “You are. But that doesn’t mean you should throw yourself at any wanderer that crosses your path.”

You pout, sticking out your bottom lip in mock protest. “I wasn’t throwing myself at anyone. You make it sound like I’m reckless.”

Zayne chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not reckless—just a bit too fearless sometimes.”

The playful back-and-forth between you has become so natural, but today it feels different. You’d dressed up a little for this checkup, abandoning your usual jeans for something more delicate, more thoughtful, hoping he might notice. Maybe today would be the day you’d muster up the courage to say something—anything—to let him know how you feel. But before you can respond, a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

Zayne glances up, his face softening instantly. “Come in.”

The door opens, and a woman steps inside, holding a small container in her hands. She’s striking, with short auburn hair that falls just past her ears and eyes that shine with quiet warmth. She’s dressed in a simple but elegant medical uniform, her steps confident and unhurried as she approaches the desk.

“Hey,” she says, smiling at Zayne. “I brought you something.” She sets the candy container down in front of him, a fond look passing between them.

Zayne’s face lights up—genuinely lights up—in a way you’ve rarely seen. He glances over at you, as if only just realizing you’re still in the room. “Y/N, this is Dr. Emma Lin. She’s—uh—one of the new doctors here at Akso Hospital.”

Emma gives you a polite nod, her smile warm but distant, like she’s already figured out who you are and where you stand. You manage to smile back, but your throat tightens painfully. You can feel the familiar weight of something blooming deep inside, a pressure building that you’ve worked so hard to suppress.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Emma says lightly, looking back at Zayne. “I just thought you could use a snack.”

“No, it’s fine,” Zayne replies, his tone softening even more. “Thanks for this.”

Emma lingers for a moment, her hand lightly brushing Zayne’s shoulder before she finally turns and heads out, leaving the room in an awkward, heavy silence.

You stare at the closed door, a pit forming in your stomach. So this is her.

“She’s nice,” you say, forcing the words out even though they taste bitter on your tongue. “Seems like she cares a lot.”

Zayne clears his throat, his gaze dropping back to the chart, though he’s clearly not reading it anymore. “Yeah. She’s great. We’ve been, uh… seeing each other.”

There it is. The confirmation you didn’t want but were already expecting.

“Oh,” you say softly, keeping your tone as casual as you can manage. “That’s… that’s nice, Zayne.”

He glances up at you, his brows knitting together as if he can sense the sudden shift in your mood, the hurt you’re trying so hard to hide. “It’s still pretty new,” he adds, almost as if he’s apologizing. “We’re just trying it out.”

You swallow, the familiar burn in your throat intensifying. You can feel the petals—sharp and brittle—pressing against your chest, but you can’t let him see. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m happy for you,” you lie, forcing a smile that feels like it’s cracking at the edges. “You deserve someone great.”

Zayne watches you closely, his gaze searching, but you don’t let anything slip. Not a single hint of the pain coursing through you.

“I should probably go,” you say abruptly, standing up a little too quickly. “Thanks for the checkup, Zayne.”

He stands as well, concern flickering in his eyes, but you’re already heading for the door before he can ask any more questions.

“Y/N,” he calls after you, his voice hesitant, but you wave it off, turning with a bright, practiced smile.

“I’m fine, really. Just… have a lot on my mind. See you next time.”

And with that, you’re out the door, your chest tightening with every step as you leave the clinic. The air outside feels cold against your skin, the pressure building inside you unbearable. You let out a shaky breath, but little did you know, it’s too late to stop it.

The days dragged on like you were on autopilot. Your feelings weren’t new. They’ve always been there. Since you had a tiny crush on him in your childhood, you actually believed that you had a chance.

The memory of Zayne's words, spoken only a few weeks ago, echoed in your mind. His voice, usually so warm and reassuring, had been hesitant, almost apologetic, as he shared the news. He'd told you about the new doctor he was seeing, her name a blur in your memory, her face a hazy silhouette in your imagination.

You hadn't meant to linger, to let the silence stretch into an uncomfortable void. You'd forced a smile, a laugh, even though your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. You’d congratulated him, your voice a shaky whisper, but inside, you felt as though the world had been flipped on its side.

The world you’d been building in your head, a world where perhaps, just maybe, your unspoken feelings for Zayne could blossom into something more, had crumbled in an instant. You had been so careful, so cautious, not wanting to jeopardize the easy familiarity that had always existed between you. But now, the fragile hope you had clung to was gone, shattered into a million pieces.

The image of Zayne’s smile, reserved only for you, the way he’d always look at you with a warmth that seemed to encompass you entirely, now felt like a cruel mirage. The way his hand had lingered on yours, just a moment longer than necessary, had felt like a shared secret, a silent promise. Now, the memory of that touch sent a pang of longing through you, a sharp, unfamiliar ache.

You couldn't explain the sudden urge to avoid the clinic, the way even the faintest scent of disinfectant made you feel dizzy. You’d found yourself choosing the more dangerous missions, seeking solace in the adrenaline rush of battle, a temporary distraction from the growing unease in your heart.

You tried to push the thoughts away, to bury the hurt beneath layers of duty and responsibility. But it was a losing battle. The emptiness you felt, the ache in your chest, it was a constant companion now, a gnawing emptiness that refused to be ignored.

You couldn't ignore the growing fatigue, the way you seemed to be catching every bug that went around, the way your lungs felt tight, as though they were constantly filled with a suffocating weight. But you pushed it all aside, attributing it to the stress of your job, the relentless pressure of protecting the city. You were a Hunter, one with duties to protect the people from Wanderers. You couldn’t afford to be sick. Not when their threats are more rampant than before.

You need more distraction. You need to forget about Zayne.

The world felt muted, the colors drained.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the Hunter HQ buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow on the cluttered desk where you sat, sifting through reports. A wave of nausea, unexpected and sharp, rolled over you. You clutched your stomach, a bead of sweat forming on your brow. This wasn't the usual post-mission exhaustion. This felt… different.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Tara asks in concern as she sees you practically about to hurl.

You excused yourself, hurrying to the nearest restroom. The familiar scent of disinfectant did little to ease the churning in your gut. As you leaned over the sink, a wave of violent coughing seized you, racking your body. Something lodged in your throat, a burning sensation rising with each heave.

At first, it just worried you. Your protocore syndrome must’ve worsened. But that can’t be. You’ve gotten stronger since you’ve been in the N109 zone and you’ve been fine even before that.

Finally, you coughed up a small, crimson-tinged object – a delicate, blood-red rose petal.

Panic tightened your chest. Hanahaki. The whispered fear that had always lurked at the edges of your mind, now a stark reality. The illness that bloomed in your lungs, a physical manifestation of unrequited love, a slow, agonizing death. It was a rare disease, so rare that people even begin to question if they still exist. But they do. And now, you are an example.

Your world seemed to tilt on its axis. Zayne. His warm smile, his kind eyes, the way he always seemed to know just what to say, the way he’d gently patch you up after each mission, his hands tracing the scars on your arms with an unspoken tenderness that had always made your heart skip a beat.

You remembered the day he'd told you, his voice softer than usual, about the new doctor he was dating. The way his hand had lingered on the door handle, a touch of hesitancy in his eyes. The way he’d looked away as he mentioned the woman’s name. The woman he’d spent months, maybe even years, telling you stories about.

But this couldn’t be. You weren’t supposed to be sick. You were a Hunter, a soldier, a protector. You weren’t supposed to be felled by something as fragile and fleeting as love. You weren’t supposed to be… heartbroken.

The fear gnawed at you, a cold, sharp blade against your insides. Your vision blurred, the bright lights of the HQ fading to an almost unbearable white. You clung to the sink, your mind reeling, knowing that with each cough, each petal you coughed up, your life was slowly fading away.

The days dragged on, each one blending into the next, a constant reminder of your hidden struggle. Tara’s worried glances were becoming harder to ignore. She’d been your best friend since you started hunting together, and her concern was palpable, hovering like a cloud over your head.

“You need to take a break,” she pressed one evening after a long mission, her voice low as you both cleaned your gear in the dim light of the supply room. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not invincible, Y/N.”

You waved her off, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears. “I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. The last mission was tough, that’s all.” But deep down, you knew you were lying, and Tara could see right through it.

Your nights were plagued with coughing fits, sharp and painful, like a bitter reminder of the flowers blooming within you. Each cough felt like a warning, a desperate call for attention, yet you buried it beneath a layer of denial. You pushed through the pain, stubbornly refusing to let it slow you down.

But then Captain Jenna called you into her office, and you felt the weight of her piercing gaze as soon as you stepped inside. She was a force of nature—stern but compassionate, always demanding the best from her team. The moment she closed the door, you could sense the shift in atmosphere.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice steady but filled with concern. “You’re not yourself. I’ve noticed the way you falter during missions, how pale you’ve become. It’s like you’re a shadow of who you used to be. What’s going on?”

You met her gaze, your heart racing as you weighed your options. You could tell her the truth about your condition, about the Hanahaki disease that was slowly consuming you. But could you bear to reveal your secret? The love you held for Zayne, the pain of watching him with another woman—it felt too heavy, too raw to lay bare.

“It’s nothing, Captain. Just a bit worn out,” you said, your voice stronger than you felt.

“Worn out?” she repeated, her brow furrowing in disbelief. “This isn’t just exhaustion, Y/N. You’re struggling. I need you at your best. The team needs you at your best. If you can’t do this, I need to know.”

The pressure built inside you, and you fought the urge to scream, to let it all out. “I can handle it. I promise. Just give me a bit more time.”

Jenna studied you for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You know where to find me if you need to talk.”

You nodded, though her words felt like a lifeline you were too proud to grasp. As you left her office, the walls felt like they were closing in. The facade you’d built was crumbling, and you were running out of places to hide.

The next few days were a blur of missions, each one feeling heavier than the last. Tara’s worried looks became more frequent, and you could see the doubt creeping into her expression. You tried to put on a brave face, but the more you pushed yourself, the worse you felt. Your coughs grew worse, punctuated by a metallic taste that clung to your throat.

One evening, you finally reached your breaking point. You collapsed onto your bed after another grueling mission, your body trembling with exhaustion. Your hands trembled as you brushed your fingers across the petals that had begun to manifest along your throat. Each one was a reminder of your unspoken feelings, a testament to the love you couldn’t bear to confess.

As you lay there, Tara knocked on your door before entering without waiting for a response. She took one look at you and rushed to your side, her eyes wide with concern. “Y/N! You look awful! Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this bad?”

You turned your head away, biting your lip to keep from crying. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Stop lying to me!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with frustration. “You’re clearly not okay. You need to see a doctor. If you won’t talk to Jenna, then you’ll at least talk to someone else.”

At that moment, the walls you've built around yourself finally crumbled, and the truth began to pour out. “I don’t want to talk about it, Tara! I’m just… I’m just trying to keep it together.”

Her gaze softened, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you.”

You felt the warmth of her support, and for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it. “I… I don’t know how to explain it,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “There’s something wrong with me, and I don’t want to burden you with it.”

“You’re my best friend. You’re never a burden to me,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

With a shaky breath, you finally relented, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like an anchor. “I think I have Hanahaki disease. It’s… it’s because of Zayne.”

Tara’s eyes widened in shock. “What? How long have you known?”

“Since the checkup,” you admitted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But I can’t tell him. I can’t let him know how I feel. And if I don’t have the surgery, the flowers will keep growing. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Y/N…” Tara began, her voice a soothing balm against your anxiety. “You need to take care of yourself first. If Zayne cares about you like you think he does, he’ll understand.”

The idea felt foreign, a small glimmer of hope amidst the suffocating darkness. But would he really care? Would it matter to him?

You shook your head, the thoughts swirling like a tempest in your mind. “I can’t go back to him. Not like this.”

Tara leaned closer, determination shining in her eyes. “Then let’s go to the hospital and get you the help you need. You don’t have to face this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”

For the first time in days, the thought of facing your illness didn’t feel as daunting. Maybe there was still a chance to reclaim a piece of yourself. Taking what Tara said by heart, you stood up, ready to fight the battle you’d been avoiding for too long.

You need to come up with a plan without involving Zayne. He doesn’t need to know and carry the guilt of you being sick. He’s a doctor, for fuck’s sake. How could he bear to treat you when he learns that he’s the reason for it? Or worse, will he have to be the one to surgically remove the plant growing inside you to completely remove him for life?

After a long period of silence, you turn to Tara with dried tears in your eyes, determined and decided.

“Tara, I need you to listen to me about what I’m about to do.”

Filing a leave of absence from the Hunters Association felt like the hardest thing you’d done in a while, but it was the first necessary step. You expected resistance—Jenna rarely let anyone take time off easily, especially not with everything happening in Linkon City. But to your surprise, she granted your request immediately, no questions asked. Maybe she’d seen more of your exhaustion than you realized. Or maybe she knew this was something you needed to do alone.

Once the leave was secured, you contacted Sylus, the only one you know who could help you get into the N109 zone safely, a place few dared to go unless they had business on the other side of the law. He was your last hope for hiding away from everything: Zayne, your disease, and the life you couldn’t bear to face anymore. You expected him to hesitate, maybe even refuse to help, but Sylus responded almost immediately, granting you safe passage to his home without a second thought.

“You look rough, sweetie,” Sylus said the moment you stepped through the door. His nickname for you, one you used to find annoying and mocking, now felt oddly comforting. But today, there was no mockery in his tone. Only concern.

You glanced up at him, feeling the weight of his crimson eyes studying you. He wasn’t just looking at you; he was seeing you, seeing how much you’d changed since the last time you stayed in N109. Your skin had lost its color, your lips were dry and cracked, and your once sharp, determined eyes had dulled with fatigue and the weight of secrets.

Sylus sighed, stepping aside to let you pass. “You know where your room is.”

You nodded weakly, mumbling a soft “thank you” as you dragged yourself through the dimly lit hallway. Luke and Keiran, Sylus’s trusted associates, were already by your side, taking the backpack from your shoulder and exchanging worried glances as they guided you to your room.

The room was exactly as you remembered it—small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Sylus’s house. It had been your safe haven once before, back when the pressures of the outside world had gotten too heavy. But this time, it felt different. You were running from more than just stress. You were running from yourself.

Luke placed your bag on the chair while Keiran hovered near the door, his usual mischievous demeanor replaced by concern. “Are you hungry?” Keiran asked, his voice unusually gentle.

You shook your head, barely able to muster the energy to respond. The truth was, you hadn’t felt hunger in days, the constant nausea from the flowers growing inside you making food seem like an afterthought.

Keiran exchanged a glance with Luke before stepping closer. “You need to eat something, Y/N. You’re looking… worse than usual.”

You couldn’t help but give a weak smile at his bluntness. “I’ll eat later,” you promised, though you knew you probably wouldn’t.

Luke stayed silent and didn’t press the issue. Instead, he handed you a glass of water, and you took it gratefully, sipping slowly as the two of them busied themselves tidying the room. You could feel their unspoken worry, the way they moved more carefully around you, like you might break at any moment.

“Anything else you need, just let us know,” Luke said quietly before they both left, closing the door behind them.

Alone at last, you collapsed onto the bed, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. The room felt too quiet, too still, and your thoughts began to spiral. You’d made it to N109. You were away from Zayne, away from the Association, from everything. But the weight in your chest—the flowers—remained. You could feel them growing, their roots twisting deeper with every unspoken word, every feeling you couldn’t voice.

You lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how long you could keep running. How long until the disease consumed you completely?

There was a soft knock at the door, and you turned your head to see Sylus leaning against the frame, holding a tray of what looked like a warm bowl of noodles.

“Not eating, huh?” he said, his voice low. “I figured. Got you something anyway.” He walked in and placed the tray on the side table. You were right. It was one of your favorites when you stayed here before.

You smiled weakly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Sylus shrugged, his crimson eyes still locked on you, sharper now, as if he could see the weight you were carrying. He goes back to lean against the door frame, watching you like you were going to break at any second. “I do when you come back looking like death warmed over. What’s going on, Y/N?”

You wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill everything—the disease, your love for Zayne, the way it was slowly killing you. But the words stuck in your throat, and all you could manage was a tired, “It’s complicated.”

Sylus’s gaze didn’t waver. ��Everything’s complicated. Doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it.”

For a moment, you considered it, but then the thought of Zayne flashed through your mind. The image of him with Emma, happy, unburdened by your love, and the flowers in your chest tightened.

“I’ll be fine,” you said instead, though you weren’t sure you believed it yourself.

Sylus stared at you for another long moment before sighing. “Well, you’re here now. Rest up. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

He pushed off the doorframe and left you alone again, but his words lingered in the air. We’ll figure it out.

But what if there was nothing left to figure out? What if the only solution was letting the flowers take you?

The silence of the room settled over you like a heavy blanket, pressing down on your chest until it was almost unbearable. Every breath felt strained, like the air itself was growing thicker. It has been a few days. You hadn’t told Sylus, or anyone for that matter, the full truth of your condition. But you could feel it—the flowers—growing stronger, more vicious by the day. Sylus has ordered a doctor to come to your room, just to check up on you. Just as you predicted, doctors are a bit hard to come by in this area. The doctor knows little about Hanahaki disease, so you told him it was your Protocore Disease accompanied by accumulated stress from work. He gave you suppressants and asked Sylus to monitor you for now.

Hours passed in a blur of restless half-sleep, until a sharp pain in your chest jolted you awake. You pressed a hand to your ribs, wincing as a violent cough wracked your body, more intense than any you’d had before. Panic surged through you as the pressure built in your throat, forcing you out of bed.

You stumbled into the bathroom, hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the sink. Another cough ripped through you, harder this time, and you doubled over, gasping. You felt something sharp and foreign rise in your throat—something too large, too wrong.

With a shuddering breath, you coughed again, and this time, something solid came up. You coughed repeatedly but it would just not come out. Tears stream down your face from the pain and frustration. You began to help it by pulling it out with your fingers. And finally, it came out.

You leaned over the sink, spitting out the mass into the basin, your heart pounding in your chest. When you looked down, you froze.

A stem of thorns, slick with blood, curled like a dark vine in the sink. Each thorn gleamed under the dim light, jagged and cruel. The petals had been bad enough, but this—this was something else. Something worse. You couldn’t ignore it any longer. The disease was advancing, and it was doing so faster than you’d anticipated.

Panic surged through you as you backed away from the sink, a quiet whimper escaping your lips. You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too late. You hear that damn bird cawing outside the door.

The door creaked open, and Sylus stepped into the bathroom, his eyes narrowing the moment he saw you. He was still dressed fully like he just came back from outside. He must’ve had a meeting late at night, a normal occurrence in this place. Mephisto, sits by his shoulder, cawing like he was the one who led Sylus to you.

“Y/N?” His voice was low but urgent, the edge of concern sharpening his usually calm demeanor.

You turned, eyes wide, your hand still pressed to your mouth as if you could hide the evidence. But it was no use. His gaze flickered from you to the sink, where the thorny stem still lay, stark against the white porcelain. There was blood all over your mouth, dripping on your hands and neck.

“Sweetie…” His voice dropped, softer now, but laced with something darker. “What the hell is going on?”

You couldn’t speak. The words stuck in your throat, tangled with fear and shame. Sylus crossed the room in a few quick strides, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached the sink. He stared at the thorns for a moment before looking back at you, his face hardening with realization.

“You’ve got Hanahaki, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a truth you could no longer deny.

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded, your hands shaking as you gripped the edge of the sink for support. “I… I didn’t want to tell anyone. I thought I could handle it,” your voice was hoarse, throat swollen as you tried so hard to speak.

“Handle it?” Sylus’s voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. “You’re coughing up thorns, Y/N, rose thorns. You do know that rose is one of the deadliest strains of Hanahaki, don’t you? This isn’t something you can just ‘handle.’ Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

You swallowed hard, the taste of blood still lingering red in your mouth. “Because… because it’s because of Zayne.”

Sylus froze, his eyes widening in shock. “Zayne? You mean—”

You nodded, the confession spilling out like a dam breaking. “I’ve loved him for so long, Sylus, and I can’t stop. But he’s with someone else now. And I… I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t put that on him, not when he’s happy.”

Sylus’s expression darkened, and he let out a low, frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Darling, you’re killing yourself over him. You should have told me sooner.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, the pain in your chest growing sharper. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought… I thought I could live with it, but it’s getting worse. The flowers, they’re… they’re spreading.”

Sylus stepped closer, his hands gripping your shoulders gently but firmly. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’ll figure something out. But first, we need to get you to a doctor. A real one, not some back-alley medic.”

“I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If I get the surgery, it’ll remove the feelings entirely. I won’t feel anything for Zayne anymore. And… and I don’t know if I’m ready to let go of that.”

Sylus’s expression softened, the anger fading as he saw the pain in your eyes. “I get it. But you have to take care of yourself first. This disease—it’s going to kill you if you don’t do something. I’m not letting you waste away like this.”

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. But the thought of losing your feelings for Zayne, of letting go of the love that had been a part of you for so long—it felt like a different kind of death.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Sylus nodded, his hands still steady on your shoulders. “I know. But I’ve got you, sweetie. We’ll get through this.”

You nodded, feeling the tears fall freely now. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else. To let Sylus’s strength carry you, if only for a little while.

“We’ll get you to a doctor in the N109 zone,” he said quietly. “Someone who can help, someone who won’t ask too many questions. But after that… you need to make a decision, Y/N. Whether you want the surgery or not, you need to choose. I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

You nodded, knowing that the time for running was over. You couldn’t keep pretending this wasn’t happening. The flowers had taken root, and now it was up to you to decide how to survive.

Zayne sat at his desk, staring down at the empty appointment slot on his tablet. It had been weeks since you missed your first check-up, and at first, he didn’t think much of it—Hunters had unpredictable schedules, after all. But then you missed the next one. And the one after that. Now, weeks had passed without so much as a text from you, and an uneasy feeling had settled deep in his gut. You were never this irresponsible about your health.

He tried reaching out—texts, calls—but all had gone unanswered. That was when real concern started to gnaw at him. The you he knew wouldn’t just vanish like that, especially not from something as crucial as your medical check-ups. Something was wrong.

He didn’t like the feeling. In fact, it twisted in his chest, growing heavier by the day. He’d dealt with plenty of patients who disappeared on him, but you were different. You always kept in touch, always made an effort to keep things light even when you were battered from a mission. But now? Silence.

Sighing, Zayne grabbed his coat and decided to take matters into his own hands. He needed to check on you in person. He knew where your apartment was—he’d dropped off medicine there more times than he could count after your particularly rough assignments. His job required him to keep an eye on his patients, but with you, it was more than that. He hated the way his thoughts kept drifting back to you.

The streets leading to your apartment were quiet as he made his way over, the familiar hum of the city blending into the background. His mind raced as he walked up the stairs to your door, running over all the possibilities: maybe you were hurt, maybe you were sick, maybe you were avoiding him. That last one gnawed at him harder than the others.

When he finally reached your apartment, Zayne rang the doorbell, waiting for a response. Silence. He knocked this time, but there was no movement, no sound coming from within. His heart sank a little, and he tried the handle. Locked.

“Y/N?” he called out, pressing his ear to the door. Nothing.

He felt his pulse quicken. He checked the windows, walked around the perimeter, hoping for some sign that you were there. But the place was eerily still. It was clear you hadn’t been home for a while. The anxiety that had been simmering in the back of his mind began to boil over.

Zayne pulled out his phone and scrolled to Tara’s number. If anyone knew where you were, it would be her. You were inseparable as fellow Hunters, practically glued to each other on and off the field. If something was wrong, Tara would have noticed.

The phone rang, each buzz tightening the knot in his stomach, until finally, Tara’s voice came through.

“Zayne? What’s up?”

“Hey, Tara,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Have you seen Y/N lately? She’s missed a couple of appointments, and I just went by her apartment. She’s not there, and she hasn’t been answering my calls.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Zayne’s chest tightened at the silence. Tara wasn’t usually one to hesitate.

“Zayne…” Her voice softened. “She’s on leave.”

“Leave?” His brow furrowed. “Since when? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She filed for leave about a week and a half ago,” Tara explained, her tone tinged with worry. “She hasn’t been herself lately. I mean, she’s not feeling well and went on sick leave… I figured she needed some time to recover, but I don’t know where she went.”

Zayne’s grip on his phone tightened. “Wait, she’s been sick?”

“I don’t know how bad, but it’s been getting worse. I tried to get her to rest, but you know Y/N. She’s stubborn. Always pushing herself too hard.” Tara sighed on the other end. “I haven’t been able to reach her since she left either. I thought maybe she just needed space, but… I don’t know, Zayne. She told me she’ll come back when she feels better.”

Zayne’s mind raced. Sick? That explained your recent absence from your appointments, but why hadn’t you come to him? Why hadn’t you said anything? And where the hell were you now? The idea of you out there, alone, battling something serious without any support—it made his stomach turn. He was supposed to be your physician. Who else could you trust more in this situation?

“Thanks, Tara,” he said quickly. “If you hear from her, let me know immediately.”

“You too,” Tara said, her voice growing softer with concern. “I hope she’s okay.”

Zayne hung up, his thoughts swirling in a storm of worry and frustration. This wasn’t just a case of missing appointments. You were sick, and you hadn’t told anyone what it is that you’re feeling. Not Tara, not the Association, and not him. The thought of you out there somewhere, getting worse by the day, hit him hard.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He wasn’t going to let this slide. He needed to find you, and fast. And if you were too stubborn to ask for help, well, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it to you anyway. You didn’t get to disappear on him. Not like this. Not when it felt like something was so deeply, dangerously wrong.

The underground clinic in the N109 Zone was dimly lit, the scent of antiseptic and metal lingering in the air. Sylus sat beside you, his crimson eyes fixed on the makeshift doctor as she examined your condition. The doctor, a woman with worn hands and tired eyes, shook her head slightly, pulling back from the dim glow of her equipment. Sylus told you she’s the only one in the area who specializes in Hanahaki disease.

“It’s as I suspected,” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the hum of old machines. “The remedies I’ve given her will alleviate some of the symptoms—the coughing, the pain—but they won’t stop the disease. Hanahaki can only be cured one way.”

You knew what she was going to say before she even spoke the words. You felt it every time you coughed, every time a petal slipped from your lips, every time the thorny vines twisted deeper into your lungs. Hanahaki Disease was a cruel sickness. Only unrequited love could birth it, and only love returned could stop it.

Sylus stood, pacing the small clinic room, his fists clenched tight. “So what’s the point of this?” he growled. “You’re telling me she’s just going to keep getting worse?”

The doctor nodded grimly. “I’ve seen cases like this before. Without reciprocation, the flowers will continue to bloom. The disease will spread. It will choke her from the inside out.” Her eyes shifted to you, softening with pity. “She’ll have to make a choice soon. Either have the flowers removed surgically and forget her feelings entirely, or…”

“Or die,” you finished for her, your voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor didn’t respond, but the silence was enough.

Sylus slammed his fist into the nearest counter, rattling the tools scattered across its surface. “There has to be another way.”

The doctor said nothing. She’d already given her answer.

You shifted uncomfortably in the worn cot, feeling the sharp sting of another thorn scratching at your throat. You pressed a hand to your mouth, and when you pulled it away, you saw more petals—vibrant, soft, and hauntingly beautiful. The irony wasn’t lost on you: love, something meant to be pure and life-giving, was slowly killing you.

Sylus knelt beside you, his frustration giving way to concern. He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You need real help.”

You met his gaze, seeing the worry etched deep into his features. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that you could push through this. But the truth was, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep going. Each day, the flowers bloomed more aggressively. Each day, you felt your strength slipping away. And the one person who could save you—Zayne—was unreachable, tangled in a new relationship, unaware of the feelings you’d been hiding.

“I don’t want to forget him,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Sylus’s expression darkened. “You’re dying for a man who doesn’t even know you’re dying because of him.”

You knew he was right. You’d seen Zayne’s smile when Emma came to his office. Zayne wasn’t yours to love, not anymore. Maybe he never was. But the thought of forgetting him entirely—of erasing every moment, every memory, every flicker of what could have been—was unbearable.

“I can’t,” you murmured. “Not yet.”

Sylus let out a slow breath, his frustration palpable, but he didn’t push further. He simply stayed by your side, silent but steadfast, offering the only comfort he could in this grim situation.

Days passed in a haze of pain and exhaustion. The makeshift remedies from the underground doctors kept the worst of the symptoms at bay, but they couldn’t stop the inevitable. The flowers continued to bloom, their roots digging deeper into your chest. You could feel them, a constant presence now, weighing down your lungs, stealing your breath little by little.

One night, as you lay in bed at Sylus’s place, you woke to another coughing fit. This time, it wasn’t just petals that came up—there were stems, long and twisted, covered in thorns. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, feeling the flowers pressing against your ribs, desperate to grow, desperate to take over. You couldn’t stop them.

Sylus found you sitting on the bathroom floor, clutching your chest, petals and stems scattered across the tiles. He didn’t say anything at first. He just knelt beside you, his expression a mix of anger and helplessness.

“You don’t have much time left, do you?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how weak you’d become until that moment, how much the disease had taken from you. The once-strong Hunter now sat in a heap, broken by love that was never meant to be.

Sylus grabbed his phone, his voice tense as he called another doctor. “She needs real help. Now.”

But deep down, you both knew the truth. There was no real cure for Hanahaki—not unless Zayne’s love was returned. And that hope was slipping further out of reach with each passing day.

The dim lighting of Sylus’s home did little to soothe your nerves. After another coughing fit that left you weakened and breathless, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bouquet of petals in your hand—pale, soft, and soaked in blood. The weight of your condition felt more unbearable with every passing day, the flowers pushing closer to your heart, the thorns digging deeper into your lungs. Yet, even after everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree to the surgery that would rip not only the flowers from you but also your feelings for Zayne.

There was a knock on the door. Sylus entered, followed closely by the underground doctor from the N109 zone. She carried a bag of supplies, her face etched with the same quiet concern you’d come to expect from her.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Sylus began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He took a seat beside you, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “The remedies we’ve been giving you… they’re not enough. You’re getting worse.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “But I’m not ready for the surgery. I can’t just… forget.”

The doctor stepped forward, glancing at Sylus before speaking. “Y/N, I understand your hesitation. But we’ve been talking, and there might be another option.”

You looked up, confused. “Another option?”

“It’s not a cure,” she clarified, her tone careful, “but there’s a treatment we could try. It won’t stop the disease entirely, but it could slow it down—buy you more time, at least. It would alleviate some of the more aggressive symptoms, like the coughing and the thorn growth.”

Your hope flickered. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

The doctor exchanged a quick glance with Sylus, then spoke again. “The treatment is experimental, and the resources here in the N109 zone are… limited. We don’t have the proper equipment to administer it safely. You’d have to go back to Linkon City, to Akso Hospital.”

Linkon City. The name sent a jolt of fear and longing through you. It meant facing everything you were trying to run from—Zayne, his new relationship with Emma, the memories you were desperate to hold onto. But it also meant the possibility of relief, of not feeling like you were drowning every time you took a breath.

“How does it work?” you asked warily, your eyes darting between the doctor and Sylus.

“The treatment will slow the growth of the flowers,” she explained. “It won’t cure the disease, but it’ll suppress the symptoms long enough for us to manage them. It’ll give you more time to decide what you want to do.”

Sylus crossed his arms, his gaze heavy on you. “It’s the best option right now, Y/N. Better than sitting here, wasting away.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Going back to Linkon meant stepping right back into Zayne’s world. You didn’t know if you could handle seeing him again, knowing that you still loved him and that he had moved on. But the alternative—letting the disease run its course, with no other options left—was becoming harder to endure.

“What if it doesn’t work?” you asked quietly, fear creeping into your voice.

The doctor’s face softened. “It’s a risk, I won’t lie. But right now, doing nothing is a bigger risk.”

You clenched the sheets in your hands, the conflicting emotions inside you swirling like a storm. You wanted to believe that this new treatment would help, that it would give you enough time to figure things out. But deep down, a part of you knew this was a gamble.

“I don’t know if I can go back there,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Zayne… he…”

Sylus placed a hand on your shoulder, his expression firm but kind. “You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. But you can’t die like this, Y/N. Not when there’s still a chance, even if it’s a small one.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll arrange everything with Akso Hospital. They have the facilities and the staff to administer the treatment safely. You can be in and out, no one needs to know you’re there.”

You swallowed hard, the idea of returning to Linkon gnawing at you. But the weight of the disease was becoming too much to bear. If this treatment really could slow it down, even for a little while, maybe it was worth the risk. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not without trying something.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “I’ll go.”

Sylus’s hand tightened on your shoulder briefly, a silent show of support. The doctor nodded, already pulling out her comms to make the necessary arrangements.

“I’ll set it up for tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll get you to Linkon, get the treatment started, and bring you back here before anyone even knows you’re gone.”

You nodded, but deep down, a part of you wasn’t convinced. Something about this didn’t feel right. But you were too exhausted, too weak to argue. For now, you would hold on to the hope that this “treatment” would give you the time you desperately needed. Time to figure out what came next—whether you could keep running from the love that was slowly killing you, or whether you had no choice but to let it go.

As the doctor left to make the arrangements, you lay back against the pillow, the weight of the decision settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had no idea what awaited you in Linkon. All you knew was that whatever happened, it would bring you closer to the inevitable.

Zayne sat in his office at Akso Hospital, his fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. Something had been gnawing at the back of his mind for weeks—Y/N’s sudden disappearance from her regular checkups, the silence she’d maintained despite his attempts to reach out. She had always been stubborn, always tough, but this felt different. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

A message buzzed on his comm, interrupting his thoughts. It was from Greyson. Zayne opened the message, his eyes skimming over the text quickly:

“Heard a rumor. A Hunter suffering from Hanahaki Disease is being admitted to Akso. Thought you’d want to know.”

His heart stopped. Hanahaki Disease. He hadn’t heard of anyone in the Hunter circle suffering from it—no one except… No. It couldn’t be.

Zayne read the message again, his mind spinning. The only Hunter who had been coming to him regularly, the only one who had left without explanation, was Y/N. His mind raced, replaying every moment from their last appointment—the slight cough she tried to hide, the way she seemed distant, and the sudden leave she took from the Hunters Association. The pieces began to fit together like a cruel puzzle, one that painted a picture of her suffering in silence.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Y/N had been in love with someone, and the disease had taken root because the other hadn’t returned those feelings. And now, because of that, she was dying. Why didn’t she tell him? There could only be one reason why she didn’t ask for his help, her only physician.

Zayne stood abruptly, knocking a few files off his desk as he scrambled to process what this meant. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over him—he had been blind to her feelings, caught up in his new relationship with Emma, while Y/N had been silently withering away. He was so in sync with Emma, so alike, that when she asked if they could try being more than colleagues and friends, he didn’t know why he actually agreed to date. He must tell you that. He must tell you that he…

Oh. He does. For so long.

He couldn’t waste another second. Grabbing his coat, Zayne rushed out of his office, his mind focused on one thing: finding Y/N before it was too late.

He tapped his phone, dialing a doctor from the network who was set to oversee the patient’s treatment. The voice on the other end answered quickly.

“Zayne? What’s going on?”

“I need to know about the patient coming in with Hanahaki Disease. The Hunter,” Zayne said, his voice tense, barely controlled. “When are they being admitted?”

There was a pause, then the voice responded, hesitant. “That’s confidential information, Zayne. I can’t just—”

“It’s Y/N,” Zayne interrupted, his tone sharp. “She’s the one with Hanahaki Disease, isn’t she?”

Another pause, this one longer, more telling. “Zayne… I don’t know all the details, but… yes. She’s scheduled for surgery tomorrow.”

His heart dropped. Surgery. Hanahaki Disease could only be cured in two ways—either by having her love returned or by undergoing surgery to remove the flowers. But the surgery came with a cruel price: it would erase her feelings completely. Y/N wouldn’t just lose the disease; she would lose her love for him, and all the memories tied to it.

Zayne’s grip tightened on the comm. “Cancel the surgery. I’m coming.”

“Zayne, you can’t—”

“Cancel it,” Zayne said firmly. “I’m not going to let her go through with this without knowing the truth.”

He disconnected the call, his heart racing as he stormed down the hallways of the hospital. His thoughts were a whirlwind of panic and guilt. He should’ve noticed sooner. He should’ve been there for her. But there was still time—he had to believe that. He could fix this, he had to.

Zayne made his way to his car, his mind already racing ahead to what he would say to her. He had no idea how she would react, or if she even wanted to see him after everything, but he couldn’t let her go through with the surgery. He had to tell her how he felt. Because the truth was, somewhere along the way, his feelings for her had grown too.

As he drove through the city, his thoughts lingered on Y/N—on her strength, her stubbornness, and the way she had always kept her distance, even when he tried to get close. He had been blind, wrapped up in his own life, too focused on the surface of things. But now, he understood. And he wasn’t going to let her suffer in silence any longer.

Zayne’s mind was racing as the car sped towards Akso Hospital, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He didn’t know if she would even listen to him. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t let her go through that surgery without knowing that he was ready to fight for her—for them.

For the first time, Zayne realized just how much he cared for Y/N. How much she meant to him, and how blind he had been to the quiet way she had always been there. He couldn’t let her lose that, not when he could still save her.

Tomorrow, you’ll be leaving for Linkon and you couldn’t sleep. Your mind is everywhere until you found yourself once again in the bathroom. The dim, suffocating air of the room wrapped around you like a cold embrace. Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as you hunched over the sink, your hands trembling as you help yourself hurl the white rose. The familiar metallic taste filled your mouth, but this time, it was worse—far worse than it had ever been.

When you finally dared to glance down, your heart nearly stopped. There, lying in the sink, was the largest bloom yet: a full white rose, its petals soft and fragile, but tangled in sharp, vicious thorns. Blood stained the delicate petals, your blood, and the sight of it sent a shudder down your spine. You clutched the edge of the sink for support, your vision swimming as pain tore through your chest.

This was it. The disease had progressed further than you had imagined. No makeshift remedy could stop it now. There was no time to experiment.

The thorns, tangled and sharp, had felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out. The flowers—the symbol of love that you couldn’t escape—had bloomed in full force, reminding you of the feelings you had tried so desperately to bury. Every cough felt like a knife in your lungs, but it was more than just physical pain. It was the heartbreak of loving someone who would never love you back.

You stumbled back from the sink, collapsing onto the floor, clutching your chest as you struggled to breathe. The decision you had been avoiding for so long now weighed heavily on you, inescapable. You couldn’t survive this. The love that had rooted itself deep within you was slowly killing you, and there was no way to keep running.

Sylus found you moments later, rushing into the bathroom when he heard your weak cries for help. His crimson eyes widened when he saw you, his usual stoic expression breaking with a mix of shock and concern. He knelt beside you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his voice low.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his tone softer than you had ever heard it. “This… you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Your throat felt raw as you coughed again, tasting blood on your lips. You couldn’t even muster the strength to argue, your body finally betraying you in the worst way possible. Sylus helped you sit up, his eyes briefly glancing at the bloodied rose in the sink. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face told you he understood.

“I can’t… I can’t fight it anymore,” you rasped, your voice barely audible. “I need the surgery.”

Sylus’s eyes flickered with something that almost looked like relief, but it was tempered by the knowledge of what the surgery meant. He knew the cost—the erasure of your feelings for Zayne, the love that had been such a painful part of you for so long. But he also knew there was no other choice now.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded weakly, wiping at your mouth with a shaking hand. “It’s the only way. I… I don’t want to die like this.”

Sylus exhaled slowly, standing up and helping you to your feet. “Then I’ll make the arrangements. We’ll leave for Linkon as soon as you’re ready.”

Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you managed to steady yourself with Sylus’s support. The weight of your decision settled over you like a heavy blanket—stifling, but somehow also freeing. You would lose your love for Zayne, that much was certain. But at least you would survive. At least the pain would stop. And you could get back to work. You could see him again and act like nothing happened. It would be better for everyone if you just didn’t feel.

As you packed your things for the journey back to Linkon City, your heart felt strangely hollow. There was no going back now. You were going to let the surgery take away everything—the flowers, the thorns, and the love that had nearly consumed you. You would lose the part of yourself that had been tied to Zayne, but maybe that was for the best.

Maybe, in the end, forgetting him and his memories would be the only way to move forward.

With a final, shaky breath, you looked out the window, knowing this was your last chance to feel the weight of your love before it was ripped away forever.

The familiar, sterile scent of Akso Hospital greeted you the moment you arrived in your room. The journey back to Linkon had been long and exhausting, and your body felt more fragile than ever. Every breath seemed to rattle within your chest, the flowers pressing harder against your lungs as the disease worsened.

Sylus had helped you settle into the bed, his usual stoic demeanor faltering slightly as he glanced at you with concern. “I’ll check in on you later,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with an underlying care. “I can’t be seen much around here, you know that. If you need anything, let me know.”

You nodded weakly, barely managing to muster a response. All you could think about was the surgery—the thought of the flowers, and your feelings for Zayne, being torn out of you for good. The relief of that thought was tinged with sadness, a weight that settled heavily in your heart.

Just as you closed your eyes to try to find some rest, the door creaked open.

You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

“Y/N.”

His voice—steady, but holding the edge of something raw—cut through the quiet room like a blade. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your head to see Zayne standing in the doorway, his expression torn between worry and something deeper, something more desperate.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting the movement as pain flared in your chest. “Zayne… how did you—”

“I found out,” he interrupted, stepping further into the room. “I found out about your condition, about the Hanahaki. I—” He faltered, as if the words were too heavy to form. His eyes were wide with something you hadn’t seen before—panic.

You shook your head, cutting him off. “Zayne, it’s too late. I’m getting the surgery.”

He froze, standing still as his eyes locked onto yours. “You don’t have to do this.”

Your heart clenched painfully at the words, but you forced yourself to keep your expression steady. “Yes, I do,” you replied softly. “I can’t keep living like this. These flowers, this pain… it’s killing me.”

Zayne’s eyes darkened, his hands clenched at his sides. “You don’t have to lose your feelings for me. You can survive this without giving that up.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your voice trembling with the effort. “How, Zayne? You don’t return my feelings, and this disease… it only stops when the love is mutual.” You met his gaze, trying to convey the finality of your decision. “I don’t have a choice.”

He took another step closer, his face tight with emotion. “But you do have a choice. You don’t need to do this surgery. We can figure something out—together.”

You shook your head, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “There’s nothing to figure out. I’ve already decided. This is the only way.”

Zayne’s eyes were stormy with conflict. You could see the guilt eating away at him, the pain of realizing what his absence had cost you. But you also knew he wasn’t here to confess his love. He was here because he cared, because he felt responsible. And as much as that hurt, you couldn’t let that be the reason to hold onto hope.

“Zayne, please…” Your voice cracked as you looked at him, your body trembling with exhaustion. “Just go. Let me do this.”

He moved toward you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. The contact was warm, his touch familiar and comforting, but you could feel the hesitation in him, the uncertainty that hung in the air.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you pulled away from his touch, shaking your head. “You won’t lose me, Zayne. You’ll still have me as a friend, as someone you care about. But I can’t… I can’t keep loving you like this.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. This was it. This was the moment you had to let go, no matter how much it hurt. You couldn’t bear to love him any longer, not when it was destroying you from the inside.

Zayne’s expression faltered, his hand falling back to his side. “Y/N…”

“Zayne, just go,” you whispered.

“Y/N, wait,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Zayne, please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

But he wasn’t listening. His hand gripped yours as if it was the only thing keeping him steady, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice strained.

You frowned, your heart sinking. “What is it?”

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw more than just concern. There was something deeper, something conflicted.

“About Emma—the other doctor,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not what you think. We’re not… It’s not as serious as you believe.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly shook your head, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Zayne, it doesn’t matter. You’re with her, and that’s fine. I’ve already accepted that.”

“No, you haven’t,” he said sharply, stepping closer. His eyes flashed with frustration. “And I haven’t either. I ended things with her.”

You stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?”

Zayne hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing as if he was gathering the courage to say something he’d been holding back for too long. “I’ve been avoiding my feelings, Y/N. For a long time. I thought keeping things professional between us was the right thing to do, the smart thing to do.” He paused, searching your eyes. “But seeing you like this… seeing you suffering because of me…”

His voice trailed off, thick with emotion, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. This was a side of him you had never seen, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. You opened your mouth to speak, but he wasn’t done.

“I didn’t want to face it,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I thought that by staying focused on my work, on our roles, I could keep things simple. But I can’t anymore. Not when I know what’s happening to you. Not when I realize I’m the reason you’ve been hurting.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in, and you felt the familiar sting of tears building behind your eyes. “Zayne… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been scared, Y/N. Scared of what it would mean if I let myself feel more for you. But I can’t hide from it anymore. I care about you—more than I should have ever let myself admit.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, his words sinking in deeper with every breath you took. Your heart was racing, your mind a whirlwind of emotions you had thought were on the verge of being erased forever.

“Zayne…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you never said anything.”

He shook his head, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you, with myself. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you that I don’t want you to go through with the surgery.” He squeezed your hand gently, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Don’t erase your feelings, Y/N. Don’t erase us.”

You stared at him, your heart aching with the weight of his words. For so long, you had believed that he would never return your feelings, that your love for him would remain unrequited. But now, here he was, asking you to give him a chance. Asking you to believe that it wasn’t too late.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, your throat tight with emotion. “I was ready to move on, to forget…”

Zayne leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t have to forget. We can figure this out—together. Please, Y/N… give us a chance.”

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks as you looked into his eyes, the weight of your love for him pressing hard against your chest. The flowers had bloomed so fully within you, so painfully, but for the first time, you felt a spark of hope.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“I am too,” Zayne replied softly, his thumb brushing away one of your tears. “But I’d rather face that fear with you than lose you because of it.”

The silence between you was thick, filled with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you had both been too afraid to confront. But now, in the quiet of the hospital room, with the flowers inside you on the verge of consuming you, there was a new possibility blooming—a chance for something real.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Zayne smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Then don’t.”

The decision still weighed heavily on you—the surgery, the flowers, the uncertainty of what the future would bring. But in this moment, with Zayne by your side, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late after all.

The tension in the room hung thick as you gazed at Zayne, his forehead still resting gently against yours, his hand holding yours like an anchor. You could feel the weight of your decision pressing down on you, the reality of your situation still swirling in your mind.

The surgery—the removal of your feelings and the flowers that had ravaged your body—was supposed to be your salvation. It was supposed to be your way out of the pain, the only option you had left to survive. But now, with Zayne in front of you, admitting the feelings you had thought would forever go unspoken, the certainty of that choice began to crack.

Could you really walk away from this now? From him?

With a deep, shuddering breath, you pulled back slightly to look into Zayne’s eyes, your hand still tightly clasped in his. The fear and confusion swirling in your chest didn’t vanish, but something else—a glimmer of hope—was beginning to take root.

“I can’t promise that this will work,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you spoke the truth that trembled within you. “I don’t know if my feelings will ever go away, or if the flowers will stop growing…”

Zayne shook his head, his eyes softening. “I’m not asking for guarantees,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet intensity. “I’m just asking for a chance. A chance for us. I… I like you, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened as emotion swelled inside you. For so long, you had been ready to let go, to numb yourself to the possibility of anything more. But now, with him sitting by your side, his touch grounding you in a way you hadn’t thought possible, the idea of walking away felt unbearable.

You didn’t want to let go—not of him, not of what could be.

With a slow exhale, you made the decision that had been forming in your heart ever since Zayne walked through the door. “I’ll… I’ll delay the surgery,” you said softly, your voice wavering but resolute. “Just for now.”

Zayne’s grip on your hand tightened, relief flooding his expression as his shoulders sagged slightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for giving this a chance.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest, but the dread you’d carried for so long felt a little lighter, like a weight that was finally beginning to lift.

As the hours passed, Zayne stayed by your side, refusing to leave. He sat close, his presence warm and steady as he talked quietly with you about anything and everything—his work, your missions as a Hunter, the lives you both led before this moment. It was as if the space between you, once filled with unspoken tension, was slowly being bridged by the quiet understanding that had always been there but never fully acknowledged.

And as the evening settled over Linkon City, something unexpected began to happen.

The pressure in your chest, once unbearable, began to ease. The sharp, suffocating pain of the flowers pressing against your lungs softened. You coughed lightly, out of habit more than necessity, but there were no thorns, no petals. You touched your chest, almost disbelieving, feeling the absence of the usual tightness.

Zayne noticed immediately, his eyes widening as he watched you. “Y/N?” he asked, concern still lacing his voice.

You took a deep breath—a real, full breath—and felt the difference. “The pain,” you said slowly, your voice filled with disbelief. “It’s… it’s not as bad.”

Zayne’s eyes softened as he leaned closer. “The flowers,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand. “They’re withering, aren’t they?”

You nodded, still too stunned to speak. The flowers that had been blooming within you for so long, the painful manifestation of your unreturned love, were beginning to wilt. The thorns were loosening their grip, the petals curling inward, no longer feeding off the relentless ache in your heart.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of relief, of hope. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t a cure—but it was a start. A small sign that maybe, just maybe, your heart was beginning to heal.

Zayne squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He closes the distance between you, lips meeting the skin of your forehead.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you let out a small, shaky laugh, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events. “I missed you so bad,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Zayne smiled, the warmth in his expression lighting up the room. “So did I.”

And with that, a fragile but beautiful sense of hope bloomed between you, far more powerful than any of the flowers that had once threatened to destroy you.

As the night deepened, you knew that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, that your journey with Zayne was only just beginning. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid. You were ready to face whatever came next, together.

The flowers within you may have started to wither, but something far more enduring was taking their place—a glimmer of love, of possibility, of the future you could now dare to hope for.

Zayne sat on the side of your bed, looking at you. You’ve just now realized the bag under his eyes and how much his hair wasn’t as kept as it always was. He looks tired.

He holds your face again, looming close. You close your eyes and wait for him to close the distance. You can feel his breath on yours, slow and calming, until his lips softly land on yours.

Back in the dimly lit underground of the N109 Zone, Sylus lounged in his usual chair, legs crossed casually as he flicked through his papers of work. Mephisto, his sleek, mechanical crow, perched on the edge of his desk. Its dark metal feathers glinted under the low light as its red eyes glowed with an eerie pulse. The crow had just returned from its latest mission, flying back from Linkon City with an update Sylus had been waiting on. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as Mephisto clicked softly, a sign it had recorded new information.

With a tap on the crow’s head, Sylus activated the playback, listening intently as a holographic projection materialized in the air between them. It showed clips of Y/N, her once-pale face now regaining a hint of color, the dark shadows under her eyes starting to fade. She was walking through the corridors of Akso Hospital, slower than her usual stride, but there was an unmistakable strength returning to her movements.

Sylus smirked, leaning back in his chair. “She’s getting better,” he murmured, satisfied. His crimson eyes flicked over the scenes of Y/N interacting with Zayne, watching as she spoke with him, her body language more relaxed than it had been in weeks. He noted the way Zayne hovered protectively, never too far, a subtle guardian by her side.

Mephisto clicked again, relaying more footage from its surveillance of the city. Sylus took it all in, his mind piecing together what had unfolded. Y/N had made her choice—not to go through with the surgery just yet. Instead, she was taking her chances with Zayne, exploring what could be between them.

Sylus’ fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of his chair as he considered it. He’d always respected Y/N’s strength, admired her resilience even when she was at her weakest. That she had survived the Hanahaki long enough to make it back to Linkon—and now, was seemingly thriving—was a testament to her will.

“You made the right call, sweetie,” he said to no one in particular, his voice low but approving.

Mephisto fluttered its wings, a sound like the shifting of gears, and Sylus gave the crow a nod of approval. He was satisfied with what he saw. Y/N had her path now, and though Sylus knew better than to interfere too much in her affairs, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride at her recovery.

“Keep an eye on her, Mephisto,” he muttered, his voice turning sharp again. “But let her be. She’s strong enough to handle things from here.”

The mechanical crow clicked in acknowledgment before it took off into the air, disappearing through one of the many grates in the ceiling, off to continue its watch from the shadows. Sylus watched it go, the flicker of a smile lingering on his lips.

Y/N would be fine. She had her own battles to fight now, and with Zayne by her side, she had a chance. That was all Sylus could have hoped for.

With a quiet sigh, he stood up and headed toward the doorway, his boots echoing against the metal floor. There were other things to handle in N109, but for now, knowing that Y/N was on her way to healing—both from the flowers and from the tangled feelings that had plagued her—was enough to put his mind at ease.

As Sylus watched Mephisto disappear through the grate, the flicker of satisfaction from Y/N’s recovery still lingering, a sudden tightness gripped his chest. It wasn’t the usual tension from a long day in the shadows of N109—it was sharper, more visceral. His brows furrowed, and before he could fully process the sensation, a sharp cough escaped his throat.

He doubled over slightly, hand instinctively rising to his mouth. For a moment, the metallic taste of blood made him grimace, but as he pulled his hand away, what caught his attention was the small, delicate object that had landed on his palm.

A petal.

The sight of it made Sylus freeze. He stared at the soft, pastel pink petal—a contrast to the dim, metallic world around him. His eyes narrowed, his mind racing. The Hanahaki Disease. He’d seen its ravages before, watched Y/N suffer under its grasp. But this? His own symptoms? He couldn’t quite believe it.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, tossing the petal onto his desk. The sharp throb in his chest hadn’t fully subsided, but it wasn’t the same as what he had witnessed in Y/N. There was no choking on thorns or overwhelming floral invasion. This was... different. A strain less aggressive, yet unmistakable in its cause.

Hanahaki. Unrequited love.

Sylus let out a low, humorless chuckle, his crimson eyes darkening as the realization hit him. He was no stranger to matters of the heart, but he’d always kept those feelings locked away, never giving them enough room to grow—or so he thought. This was proof that something had taken root, something he couldn’t deny anymore.

And there was only one person who came to mind.

Y/N.

He didn’t need to ask himself why. Seeing her leave, watching her struggle to fight the same disease, knowing he couldn’t do more than offer her shelter and assistance—it had stirred something in him. A feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge. He had helped her out of concern, out of duty, out of their connection—but there had been something more.

The petal on his desk was proof of that.

Sylus stared at the petal on his desk, its delicate form unmistakably belonging to a lily. The pristine white hue stood out starkly against the gritty backdrop of his desk, a contrast that was almost mocking. Of course, it had to be lilies—symbolic of purity and renewal, the very antithesis of his hardened existence in N109. He couldn’t help but scoff at the irony.

Lilies.

He picked up the petal between his fingers, turning it over as he examined it closer. Unlike the thorn-covered roses Y/N had been coughing up, these petals were smooth, soft, and almost harmless in comparison. But he knew better. They were far from benign.

The fact that he was coughing up lilies of all things wasn’t lost on him. They represented something gentle, something almost... fragile. But Sylus was anything but fragile, and yet, here he was, entangled in the same affliction that had nearly destroyed Y/N. He sighed, tossing the petal back on the desk, watching it flutter down like a weightless reminder of what had been growing inside him.

And now, there was no denying the truth—he had feelings for her. Feelings that he had buried so deep they’d only surfaced now, in this frustrating, blooming form. Unlike Y/N’s roses, his strain wasn’t lethal, but that didn’t make it any less concerning. He wouldn’t let it get worse. He refused to be bound by something as foolish as unspoken love.

He glanced at his comm device again, fingers hovering over the screen before he pressed down, confirming the appointment with Dr. Maren for the next day. He wouldn’t let this linger, not like Y/N had. Sylus didn’t like loose ends, and this, now that he knew, was a loose end he intended to tie up.

But the thought of Y/N remained in his mind as he sat there, the image of her recovery still fresh. She was doing better. The flowers inside her were beginning to wither, a hopeful sign that her heart was healing. That gave him some measure of relief, knowing she was on a path that might lead to happiness—whether it involved him or not.

As for him... Sylus wasn’t sure where this would end. He wasn’t the type to dwell on love or let emotions cloud his judgment. But the lilies said otherwise. They were there, quietly blooming inside him, pushing him toward feelings he hadn’t intended to face.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, standing up from his desk, “I guess we’ll see how this plays out.”

The mechanical whir of Mephisto’s wings echoed faintly in the background as the crow returned from its surveillance, landing quietly on its perch. Sylus spared it a glance, giving the bird a small nod. There was always work to do, but for now, he had to focus on his next move.

Tomorrow, he'll see the doctor. And then, maybe—just maybe—he’d figure out what to do about the lilies.

Sylus exhaled deeply, the weight of this new revelation pressing down on him. He couldn’t afford to let this disease grow. It wasn’t as severe as Y/N’s strain—he was lucky in that sense—but the fact that he had symptoms at all meant it could worsen if left unchecked.

He reached for his comm device, his fingers moving with purpose as he scrolled through his contacts. He needed answers, and he knew exactly who to call.

“Dr. Maren,” Sylus said as soon as the connection clicked. “I need to schedule a check-up. Something’s come up.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before Maren responded, the voice calm but attentive. “Sylus? I thought your plan to draw Y/N to Linkon worked. What’s the issue?”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, glancing at the petal again before he spoke. “It’s me. But it’s a mild strain.”

Another silence, this one longer, before Maren’s voice returned, more serious this time. “That’s not something to take lightly, even if it’s a mild case. How long have you had symptoms?”

Sylus closed his eyes, recalling the subtle tightness that had been plaguing him over the past few weeks. It hadn’t been enough to alarm him, but now it all made sense. “Not long. It’s manageable for now. But I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“I’ll fit you in tomorrow,” Maren replied swiftly. “Come to the clinic. We’ll run some tests.”

Sylus nodded to himself, feeling the weight of his situation sink in. “I’ll be there.”

He ended the call and leaned forward, hands steepling under his chin as he stared at the petal once more. It was a strange irony, being caught by the same disease that had nearly claimed Y/N. But there was no time for self-pity. He was pragmatic by nature—he would handle it like everything else in his life: methodically, without hesitation.

Still, the realization that his feelings for Y/N had manifested into something so tangible made him pause. He had always kept his emotions buried, hidden under layers of cynicism and practicality. Now, those feelings were blooming—literally—whether he liked it or not.

A slow, grim smile crept onto his lips as he muttered to himself, “How funny.”

The next day would bring answers. But for now, Sylus remained where he was, staring at the petal on his desk, caught between amusement and resignation. His finger runs on his temple, looming over his crimson eye.

At least he wasn’t dying. And if he would have to take the surgery, it didn’t matter. He would always remember you. Because your connection knows no physical bounds. You’re always connected. The string of fate connecting the two of you cannot be cut that easily.

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