#hanahaki x reader

[filmsbyun]

Daffodils || Choi Soobin

To you, the bond of soulmates was as sacred and divine as a delicate flower. Growing up, you had watched your parents bask in a love so grand, drawn together by the cruel yet beautiful trial of flowers and ink. You dreamed of your own bond one day awakening, of finding the one destined for you.

Until you didn’t.

One vicious prank was all it took to crush the seedlings of your young heart. The idea of soulmates began to sicken you—no longer a dream, but a wound.

Soobin had always gathered your broken pieces, helping you reassemble what was torn apart. The time you spent closing your heart to love, he spent his trying to cup the love that only grew for you with both hands—trying to keep it from spilling over. And one day, that love blossomed into soft, bright daffodils, nestling deep within his chest.

⊹₊⟡⋆ 35k

pairing: best friend! Choi Soobin x afab! reader

warnings: soulmate au, hanahaki au, best friends to lovers au, mention of past bullying, physical violence, reader suffers from past trauma, coughing out petals, feelings denial, character growth and development, lots of crying, mental breakdown, angst with comfort, [soobin with glasses], almost self-sacrifice, they're bad at feelings but they work it out (aka idiots in love), hasty decisions, one scene has blood, longing and yearning, oc used

Sorry guys for the delay, I got hit by a car. ALSO, sorry how the 22k became... 35k. Whoops? Well, anyyyways, this is a rewritten version of Daffodils. This story is part of the Fleur de Destin event. To my old readers of Daffodils, a lot has been changed and polished in the new version so I'm gonna suggest re-reading teehee >.< alright see you all next month I got hit by a car again- Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

© filmsbyun ── please do not copy,translate, or repost my work without permission.

Back in one late spring of middle school, when the season took its dying breath, and summer inhaled it to bring itself to life, Soobin learned what it meant to be ruined—really, truly ruined.

It wasn’t his ruin, not then. It was yours. And perhaps that was what made it worse—the hushed way your world cracked, the trust in your eyes shattering like glass beneath careless hands.

A joke—a cruel performance staged for the sick satisfaction of a restless classroom. A boy, one named Kim Doyun, with a heart far less tender than yours—claimed you as his soulmate. He wove his words carefully, painfully cunningly, each one a thread tightening around you—a noose disguised as fate.

At first, you hesitated. The bond was sacred, wasn’t it? A tether between souls, something that cannot be broken or erased. And yet, he convinced you otherwise. He told you the flowers had not taken root in him because you had both acknowledged the bond early. He said the universe had granted you mercy, sparing you—and him—from suffering. And when you questioned the absence of the soulmate mark on your skin, he smiled, easy and assured, and told you it would bloom in time—petal by petal, slow and gentle, just like your love.

And you—young, hopeful, desperate to believe—fell into the lie. You had seen love, real love, in the way your parents looked at each other. A love grand enough to house a family, to turn walls and windows into a home filled with warmth, laughter, and unwavering devotion. You had grown up in its glow, in the certainty that love could be both gentle and fierce, a force that built rather than destroyed. So how could you not yearn for the same? Was it wrong to long for something so beautiful? To want a love that could stand against the world and remain unshaken? 

For a week, you lived in a dream spun of hollow promises. You thought you were chosen. Loved. But reality came crashing down in the form of laughter, cruel and cutting, echoing through the classroom when he revealed the truth.

It had been a joke all along.

You could only stand there, frozen, as they jeered. And Doyun grinned like he had done something clever. It was everywhere, filling the space, pressing against your skin, echoing in your skull. Your heart clenched tight in your chest, something inside you withering like petals left too long in the cold. The air tasted different, heavy with humiliation, with betrayal.

It wasn’t just him—it was all of them. Their satisfaction at your expense, their voices blending into the shadowy monsters that one sees during nightmares. You wanted to move, to run, to disappear, but your body refused. Instead, you stood there, crumbling in real time, splintering under the force of their laughter.

Till this day, Soobin regretted it—because the day the cruel joke came to light, he hadn’t been at school. And so you, his best friend, were left to stand alone in the wreckage.

He only came to know of it when you showed up at his doorstep, eyes puffy, sobs so raw they shook through your whole frame. You clutched onto him as if he were the last solid thing in a world that had betrayed you. And Soobin—helpless, furious, burning with something too vast to contain—held you back just as tightly.

The very next day, to everyone’s shock—including yours—Soobin, the soft-spoken, kindhearted boy who never even raised his voice, left Doyun with a broken arm.

You weren’t there to see it happen, only heard the shocked whispers afterward—how Soobin had slammed his knuckles into the boy’s face until he could barely feel them anymore. How the sickening crack of bone cut through the air, screams raw and sharp. How he didn’t stop until the teachers had to drag him away. They sent Soobin home with a week’s suspension, but Doyun—the one who had turned the concept of sacred bond into mockery—was expelled. A fitting punishment, they all said.

You couldn’t bear the burden of knowing that your pain had become Soobin’s. When you visited him at his home, battered and still recovering from the injuries, you asked him, your voice trembling, why he had done it. His response was quiet. “I still think a broken arm is far less of a punishment for what he did to you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and the sting behind your eyes burned hotter. You moved closer carefully, as if afraid that even the slightest touch might hurt him. But as you hugged him, you held him as though trying to pour all your feelings into that one moment—an overwhelming mix of gratitude, guilt, and sorrow.

From that day on, you swore to never speak of soulmates again. You refused to search for the tattoo you were meant to bear. You convinced yourself that love, in all its destined cruelty, was nothing more than a well-dressed illusion. Gone was the soft-spoken warmth, the quiet trust, the belief that the universe would never be so cruel. In its place, something sharper took root.

And just like always Soobin saw it before anyone else. Saw it in the way your smiles never quite reached your eyes anymore, in the way you deflected kindness like it was something dangerous. He watched as you built walls where there had once been open doors. He watched as your heart, guarded by time and pain, resisted the touch of love, while his struggled to contain the overwhelming flood of it, spilling over for you. And though it broke something in him, he understood, because the universe chose you to be the punchline of its cruel joke. 

If someone asked him when he started loving you, Soobin wouldn’t have a clear and proper answer. It was quite simple, and at the same time, it was not. His love for you formed gradually over the years; it was a paradox: a source of profound joy and deep anguish. 

His heart swelled with happiness at your every smile, yet ached with the fear of unrequited affection. Loving you was both his greatest blessing and his most harrowing curse, intertwining elation with despair in a dance as old as time. Harrowing curse, because if you were to become soulbounded to him, Soobin would grapple with the knowledge that you’d have to carry the burden of loving him when your past wounds were still tender. Yet at the same time—he selfishly wished you were his. 

But wishes had no place in reality.

Soobin swallowed another sip of his drink, the bitter aftertaste coating his throat. The golden glow of overhead lights of the restaurant reflected off half-empty glasses. A long dinner table sat in the center, plates pushed aside as the night stretched on, the warmth of alcohol loosening tongues and drawing out old stories. Across the table, bathed in the same golden light, you leaned back in your chair, smiling at the right moments, laughing when the time called for it.

One moment, the conversation revolved around careers and future plans. The next, it veered into something suffocating, dragging with it the unwelcome choke of soulmate stories.

“Man, I thought I was gonna gag to death the first time it bloomed,” someone said, shaking their head. “Daisies right in my throat. I swear, I almost never confessed because of it.”

Another laughed. “At least you had a happy ending. I had to watch mine wither.”

More stories followed—tales of aching chests and blooming petals, of whispered confessions and love that came too late. Some spoke with fond smiles, recounting the moment their floral marks appeared, the way their hearts had raced with hope. Others shared quieter stories, voices dipped in accepted melancholy, remembering the pain of unrequited love, the suffocating grip of petals that would never fall away. Every word carried the weight of a fate decided long before they had any say in it, a thread spun by the universe without their permission.

Soobin glanced at you the moment the topic changed. You didn’t react right away, swirling your drink as if the discussion barely registered. But he knew you. He saw the way your fingers curled just a little tighter around your glass, the way your gaze flickered away before you took a quick small sip—like the liquor might wash down the bitterness rising in your throat.

The warmth of alcohol no longer felt as comforting, its haze unable to soften the sharp edge of the conversation. Words had touched a wound too deep. Then, someone turned to you.

"What about you? Have you found yours yet?"

You blinked, then let out an airy, dismissive laugh, setting your glass down a little too roughly. "Eh. I don’t really care about all that." A shrug. "Doesn’t matter to me."

The words came easily, well-rehearsed over the years. A script you had perfected.

Around you, protest and teasing erupted, lighthearted jeers from friends who didn’t know better. They nudged at you, pushing for a confession, insisting you were just too shy to share. And you, you only shook your head, lips curling into a carefully constructed smile, the kind that concealed rather than revealed. 

The conversation continued, the voices blending together again like an orchestra that had shifted tempo, but it felt distant, distant enough that you were now barely part of it. You could hear the chatter, but you were no longer really listening. Your mind wandered, the words still echoing in the back of your head, while the bitter aftertaste of that one question lingered in your mouth.

You found yourself drinking more than you intended. One glass became two, then three, until the burn of alcohol dulled the edges of everything, the world blurring around you. But even as the alcohol worked its way through your veins, it couldn’t wash away the suffocation, the discomfort of that moment—the reminder that you were still, after all these years, broken in ways others could never see.

The moment your fifth glass met the table, Soobin was already reaching for it, his grip was firm as he slid it away. “That’s enough,” he murmured, a quiet finality in his tone.

You blinked at him, sluggish from the alcohol. “Soobin, I’m fine—”

“I know,” he said softly. “But let’s go.”

He was already easing you to your feet. The room swayed, lights blurring into a hazy glow, and Soobin steadied you with a hand at your back. He draped your coat over your shoulders, his warmth seeping through the fabric.

“I’m taking her home,” he told everyone. The others threw out goodbyes as he walked you out, brushing off questions with a polite smile.

Outside, the night air curled around you, crisp and biting against your flushed skin, yet it did little to clear the fog in your mind. Your steps faltered, the pavement uneven beneath you, and Soobin sighed before guiding you toward a nearby bench by the bus stop.

“Sit,” he said, his voice softer now.

You obeyed, letting your body sink into the worn wooden slats as he knelt before you. The glow of the streetlamp cast long shadows over his face, the muscles of his face soft as his fingers moved to undo the straps of your shoe. A sigh of relief left your lips as he slid them off, the dull ache in your feet subduing. You watched him, gaze heavy with the weight of intoxication and fatigue that seeped deep into your bones.

“You’re too good to me,” you murmured, your words thrown casually. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His fingers stilled against your ankle, breath catching for half a second before he masked it with a quiet exhale. He looked up at you then, his heart lurching at the sight—your face tilted toward the sky, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks, utterly unaware of the storm unraveling in his chest.

Soobin only smiled, a wave of melancholy flickering in his expression. Then he scoffed lightly, trying to lift the mood. “Crash and burn, probably.”

You pouted, nudging his shoulder with your socked foot. “Mean.”

He grinned, then shrugged. "I don’t really have a choice, do I? You’ve been shoved in my face since birth."

Your brows furrowed as you processed his words, then, in your drunken indignation, you lifted your foot to kick at him. He dodged easily, laughing, hands raised in mock surrender.

"You—" you began, but the bus arrived before you could retaliate.

It pulled up with a hiss, and Soobin helped you up, guiding you inside. The moment you sat down, exhaustion finally won. You leaned against him, head tucked into the curve of his shoulder, breath evening out as the sway of the ride lulled you into sleep.

Soobin stayed still, adjusting slightly to make sure you were comfortable. The world outside blurred past in streaks of neon, but he didn’t look at any of it.

He looked at you.

The gnawing fear returned, creeping into his chest like an old, familiar ghost. It settled deep in his ribs, twisting tight, whispering the questions that had haunted him for so long. What if you really were his soulmate? And, What if you were meant for someone else? What if the universe had already decided, and he was simply a spectator, standing at the edge of something he could never have?

Soobin swallowed hard. He didn’t have answers. He didn’t have solutions for any of the scenarios playing in his mind. But one thing was certain—he was a coward. Because his love for you couldn't be conveyed in phrasal combinations; it either screamed out loud or stayed painfully silent, trapped in the spaces between words. It beat louder than anything he could ever say.

His fingers found yours, hesitating only for a second before curling around them. His eyes softened when your hand fit perfectly in his large one. The softness of your skin against his sent another wave of longing crashing through him.

“I don't ever want to hold you back from where you’re trying to get to,” he whispered, his voice nearly lost in the quiet hum of the bus. His thumb traced a light, barely-there stroke over your knuckles. “I’m sorry I never tell you what I really mean.”

And when he was sure you wouldn’t stir, he allowed himself one selfish moment. He risked a small kiss on your head, a quiet surrender to the wave of affection that threatened to overwhelm him. His small, only liberty.

You woke up feeling like absolute shit.

Your skull pounded as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, your mouth dry and bitter, and your entire body ached like it had been trampled by a herd of elephants. As you shifted, a groan escaped your lips, muffled by the pillow you tried to suffocate yourself with. The light coming through the blinds felt like daggers against your eyelids.

God, never again.

The sound of your apartment door unlocking barely registered in your haze. However, the obnoxious thudding of footsteps on the wood floor knocked the rest of your brain into place.

“You look awful.”

You pried one eye open just enough to shoot Soobin a glare, but it was hard to look intimidating when your head felt like it might split in half at any moment. He stood at the foot of your bed, arms crossed and way too amused for this time of the morning.

“You look awful,” you grumbled, your voice a hoarse rasp that you barely recognized as your own.

Soobin snorted. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t the one drinking like I went through my third divorce last night.”

You grunted, pushing your face further into the pillow. “Shut up.”

He was still talking—probably about how you needed water or food or some kind of life-saving intervention—but it was not until your gaze drifted lazily to the clock on your bedside table that your entire soul nearly left your body.

You were late. Shit.

You bolted upright so fast that your brain rattled against your skull. “Oh my god—” You clutched your head, vision swimming. “I’m late. I’m fucking late.”

You flung the covers off, nearly tripping over your own feet as you scrambled toward the bathroom.

“Late for what?” Soobin called after you.

“My TA duties, Soobin, what else?!” you shouted, shoving toothpaste into your mouth in a blind panic.

Five minutes later, you were half-dressed, hopping on one foot while desperately shoving your shoe on while simultaneously stuffing papers into your bag. Your cardigan was barely on, your hair was still a mess, and Soobin—incredibly unhelpful Soobin—was leaning against your doorway, watching the disaster unfold with a mouthful of cookies he stole from your kitchen.

“I can still make it,” you panted, grabbing your phone and whipping around to face him. “Please drive me there.”

He lifted a brow, pointing a finger at you with a scrutinizing look. “I know it’s a foreign concept to you, but usually TAs are dressed very professionally and—”

“Soobin.”

“Alright, alright,” he squeaked, hands raised in surrender. “Get in the car.”

You practically threw yourself into the passenger seat. The moment he pulled out onto the road, you glanced at your reflection in the side mirror, quickly rifling through your makeup bag, attempting to force some semblance of order onto your chaotic appearance and tried to mentally will yourself into looking more put-together by the time you arrived.

As you busied yourself with your mascara, Soobin reached back into the backseat, the faint sound of fabric rustled before he dropped a tiffin bag onto your lap with a soft thud. You blinked at it, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden arrival of... breakfast? Inside was a tupperware box with sliced bananas and oatmeals, a spoon neatly wrapped in tissue, a bottle of water, and a small strip of pills inside. It took you a second to register it. Of course, Soobin had packed this. Before even coming to check on you. Because he knew you’d be useless this morning.

“Eat up,” Soobin said simply, keeping his eyes on the road, though his lips curved slightly as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “And take the pills. It’ll help with the headache.”

You stared at the food for a beat. Soobin’s thoughtfulness was so Soobin. Though you were sure he got his sister to help him arrange this because he, for the life of him, couldn’t cook. 

"Soobin!" You cried out dramatically, holding up the box and bottle like they were some kind of sacred offering. Your voice dripped with mock reverence. “I am forever indebted to you!”

His eyes flicked to you for a second, and you could feel the eye-roll before he even did it. A deep sigh escaped him, but his lips were still twitching as he turned his attention back to the road. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice unusually soft. “Just eat.”

The gentleness in his tone made your heart squeeze a little, a pang of affection you were too tired to process fully. Instead, you grabbed the tupperware, carefully peeling back the lid. The warmth of the oatmeal was a small comfort in your otherwise frazzled state. You shot Soobin a sideways glance, noticing the subtle way his fingers tapped on the wheel. His presence brought you the comfort you never once had to search for in this vast universe. And as you basked in the combined warmth of his presence and the oatmeal, the campus loomed ahead.

The car pulled to a stop at the edge of campus. You gulped down the last of the water, fumbling with the lid before reaching for your bag.

“Alright, alright, get out.” Soobin’s voice was laced with playful annoyance, nudging his finger on the side of your shoulder. 

You swatted his hand away with a huff. With a quick goodbye, you reached over and gave his perfectly styled hair a ruffle. The reaction was instantaneous.

A strangled gasp tore from his throat, his whole body jerking back as if you had just mortally wounded him. “No—!!”

You were already halfway out of the car when he grabbed his sun visor, flipping it down in a frantic panic to check the damage. “Oh my God. You did not just—” His fingers flew to his hair, patting it down like it had just been violently attacked. A choked-off groan left him when he saw the carnage in the mirror. “Do you know how long it took me to style this?! You—you absolute menace—!! I swear, you just live to ruin me.”

You, of course, were cackling. “See you later!” you called, already grabbing your things and practically launching yourself out of the car before he could say anything else. You dashed through the halls, skipping a few steps on the stairs as your heart pounded from the adrenaline coursing through you. Somehow, you’d made it. You’d actually made it.

You knocked gently before pushing the door open. Sunlight poured through the large window behind Professor Park Minhye’s desk, giving the office a vibrant look. She barely looked up at first, glasses perched on her nose as she scanned a stack of papers. Then, noticing you, a warm smile broke the stern lines of her face.

"Ah, there you are. Morning. How are you feeling today?"

You managed a small, sheepish smile. The oatmeal and painkillers had helped, but exhaustion still sat at the edges of your body like a lingering weight.

"Morning, Professor. I'm alright, just a little under the weather."

She raised an eyebrow, the kind that saw right through excuses but chose not to call them out directly. "Hmm. You didn’t have to come in if you weren’t feeling well, you know."

You shook your head as you set your bag down, already reaching for the lecture notes. "It’s my duty. I didn’t want to skip."

Professor Park studied you for a moment, her sharp gaze softening just slightly. "You remind me of myself at your age," she mused, before leaning back in her chair. "Too stubborn for your own good."

A flicker of warmth curled in your chest. It wasn’t disapproval in her voice—if anything, there was something like quiet pride laced within it.

"I’ll be more careful," you promised, meaning it.

She nodded, satisfied, before turning her attention back to the papers. "Good. Now, let’s focus on today’s lecture. I was thinking we should add more interactive elements—wake these students up before they start drooling on their desks."

A small chuckle escaped you. "You mean like last week?"

"Exactly," she said, exasperated but amused. "We’re not letting that happen again."

You settled in, organizing the materials by the sunlit desk. You found yourself being quietly grateful—not just for the sunlight, but for the presence of someone who cared enough to notice when you weren’t quite at your best.

Professor Park handed you a file, her wrist briefly turning as she reached forward. It wasn’t the first time you had seen it—the delicate purple ink of an iris flower tattooed just above the bone. The file stayed in your hands, unopened, as you stared. An iris soulmate tattoo. Proof of a bond that ran deeper than flesh, deeper than choice. There was a bittersweet melancholy in your chest, creeping up like an old memory, like something you weren’t sure you wanted to feel right now.

"You think it's pretty, right?"

Her voice was gentle, pulling you sharply out of your thoughts. You startled, fingers gripping the file tighter as you met her eyes.

"Pardon?"

She smiled knowingly and turned her wrist, letting the ink catch the light. "My tattoo," she clarified, the corner of her lips tugging up just slightly. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Heat crawled up your neck. You hadn’t meant to be so rude and obvious, and now you probably looked and sounded nosy. "I—I didn’t mean to—" But before you could offer a rushed apology, she hummed, tilting her head as if recalling something distant yet cherished.

"I was about your age when I met him," she mused. "It was spring, and I was stubborn—too focused on school, too determined to ignore all that soulmate nonsense." A quiet chuckle escaped her. "And then one day, all he did was hand me a book."

You listened, words caught somewhere in your throat. You knew the look of love. 

"He was so full of life," Professor Park continued, her eyes soft with memory. "He made everything feel lighter, even when things were hard. I used to think soulmates were a cage, something that defined you before you even had a choice." Her fingers traced absent patterns over the tattoo. "But with him, it was never about being destined. It was about choosing each other. Over and over again." A small pause. Then, she added, "He’s my husband now, that silly man."

The past tense you thought you’d heard in her voice had tricked you—her partner wasn’t a memory, wasn’t someone lost to time. They had chosen each other and continued choosing each other, even now. There was something so steady about the way she spoke, something warm enough to reach beneath the guarded parts of you. You should have looked away, should have ignored the way her words made something unfamiliar settle in your chest. Instead, you found yourself holding onto them.

Choosing each other.

A faint warmth stirred in your chest. But just as quickly, a familiar chill crept in to smother it. You remembered the laughter that wasn’t kind. The way their voices lilted with amusement as they told you it had all been a joke. That you had been foolish to believe—even for a moment—that someone had been meant for you.

The past never truly faded.

Yet as you watched the way she spoke of it, gazed at it so lovingly, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling a little hopeful too. Not a revelation, not a surrender, but the faintest crack in the walls you had built.

Acceptance was a distant shore, but for the first time in years, the tide of possibility brushed against your feet.

After a long day of juggling work and classes, you finally stepped out in the courtyard. The cool night air kissed your skin as you walked into the parking lot, the scattered glow of lamplight pooling in uneven patches on the asphalt. A handful of cars dotted the space, but your eyes instinctively landed on Soobin, his tall frame leaning slightly against his car, bathed in the dim luminescence of his phone screen.

His brows were drawn together in concentration, the faint glow casting sharp angles on his face, making the usually soft contours appear more rigid. His lips were pressed into a firm line, and for a moment, he looked unapproachable—which made you chuckle quietly because he was anything but that.

You jogged up to him, waving. His expression softened the moment his gaze met yours. The crease between his brows smoothed out, and the corners of his mouth tugged up. You smiled back at the sight instantly. 

“Guess who didn’t die today from working like a dog?” you chirped, pushing the fatigue from your voice as you reached him.

His lips parted, a quiet exhale escaping—part sigh, part laugh. But before he could respond, you did what you always do: you looped your arm through his, the movement ingrained in muscle memory.

Soobin simply adjusted, shifting his weight, before opening the door for you.

“You saved yourself from having your TA position revoked, all thanks to me,” he quipped, casting a sideways glance.

“So kind! Won’t even let me have a moment for myself!” 

“A moment of embarrassment?”

“Fuck you.”

His only response was a low huff as he shut the door behind you both with a soft, muted thud, sealing you in the quiet cocoon of the vehicle. The scent of his cologne lingered inside—one that you've gifted him on his birthday last year. It wasn't a woody or a spicy scent, something more mellow but crisp, like he had spent a moment too long beneath the night sky. You thought it suited him. The dashboard lights flickered on as he turned the key, the engine purring to life.

You leaned back, exhaling as you checked your phone. “Tomorrow’s gonna be awful.”

Soobin raised a brow, adjusting the rearview mirror. “How so?”

“The weather. Says it’s gonna rain.”

“Hmm.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, thoughtful. “You like the rain.”

“I do. Just not when I have to be outside.”

Your love-hate relationship with the rain leaned more toward love—because who doesn’t love the rain? But only when you weren’t working your ass off or getting stranded outside without an umbrella.

At a red light, Soobin flicked his phone open, scanning the map for a quicker route home. Meanwhile, you busied yourself with the glove box—not for any real reason, just feeding a faint curiosity. Your fingers brushed against something small and wooden, its texture rough beneath your touch. You frowned, lifting it into the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

“Jesus, Soobin—” you muttered, cradling the tiny figure in your palm. A handcrafted wooden bunny, worn at the edges, slightly uneven, the imperfections unmistakable. You had given this to him when you were kids.

“Why do you still have this?”

Soobin flicked his gaze toward the object, then back to the road, his lips curling upwards. You knew he was getting ready to throw some mocking words at you even before he said anything.

“Ah, that one.” His voice held the air of someone recalling an inside joke. “It’s so ugly I couldn’t bear to throw it away. Some unfortunate trash bin would have to take it in.”

The incredulous look on your face was enough to send him into a cackling frenzy, shoulders shaking in what you called his ‘dry ass humour’. You wanted to reach out, smack the back of his head for that one—but he was driving, and you cared about your expensive life. So instead, you resorted to cursing under your breath, grumbling.

Your fingers clipped against the wooden surface, a ghost of a smile playing at your lips as you reminisced about the moment you gave him that. The memory drifted back like a slow breeze, warm and golden, carrying with it the scent of sun-heated grass and the distant hum of cicadas.

It was summer. The sweltering heat hung around your bodies like a thick embrace, and the glaring sunlight streamed through the leafy canopy, casting dappled patterns onto the wooden floor of your living room. Both of you lay sprawled across it, limbs aching from the aftermath of your previous game of catch. The effort of moving even an inch felt unbearable, so you remained there, pathetic starfishes sinking into the cool embrace of the polished floorboards.

Then the front door creaked open. Footsteps echoed through the house before your father’s voice cut through the haze of exhaustion.

“Kids, come with me. Let me show you something.”

Curiosity flickered between you and Soobin, the kind that burned bright in young minds. With newfound energy, you both scrambled to your feet and followed him outside to the lawn. The grass prickled against your legs as you knelt beside him, watching intently as he pulled out a collection of small wooden figurines from his bag. Tiny animals, each one meticulously carved and smoothed down, painted with gentle strokes of color that brought them to life.

“These are so adorable!” you gushed, grabbing two figures in your hands before shoving them toward Soobin. “Aren’t they?”

Soobin, equally awestruck, turned them over in his palms, his eyes wide with wonder. Your father looked pleased at your reactions before emptying the rest of his bag onto the grass, revealing a set of carving tools and unfinished pieces of wood.

“All right, who wants to learn how to make them?”

The two of you practically shouted ‘Me!’ in unison.

What followed was an afternoon of sawdust and determination, of fingers slipping over tools too big for your small hands, of giggles bubbling up every time a carving went wrong. You were awful at it, absolutely horrendous. But you didn’t give up. Soobin, on the other hand, sighed in exasperation halfway through, pouting as he set his unfinished piece aside. “I can’t do it,” he muttered, defeated.

That was all it took for you to push forward even harder. If he couldn’t do it, then you would. And when you finally managed to carve out something resembling a bunny—albeit lopsided and rough around the edges—you knew exactly who you wanted to give it to. Because, somehow, you’d always thought bunnies suited him.

That was years ago. Yet, here he was, holding onto something so worn out as if it still felt relevant.

“Hey, don’t even think about taking it away,” he warned, his large hand swiftly snatching the figure back before you could get another look. “I still have unfinished business with it.”

You gave him a nasty look. “That sounds so weird. You should’ve thrown it away ages ago. It’s not even that good,” you sighed, sinking back into your seat. “I can make you a better one now. Something polished. You could actually use it as decoration.”

“I appreciate it,” he said, slipping the figure into his pocket. “But like I said, I’ve got unfinished business with this little guy.”

You snorted, shaking your head. You made a mental note to yourself that you will make a new, better figure for him.  The silence dawned upon you lulled you into comfort, the kind that only came with years of knowing someone inside out. You watched the soft glow of the dashboard reflect against his skin, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the steady rise and fall of his breaths. 

You couldn't shake away the thought that had already taken root in your mind. A slow, nagging pull that refused to leave. Your mind went back to the iris tattoo of your professor. You have always wondered, but never dared to word it for some reason, why didn't Soobin search for his soulmate?

You turned toward him again, more specifically looking at his hands—the same hands that had held onto a worn-out wooden bunny for years. You imagined a small, floral tattoo on it. But the imagination couldn’t develop any further, breaking and shattering by your will when your heart lurched at the thought. He was sentimental, in ways he didn’t often admit. Maybe that was why the question itched at the back of your mind.

Would he still hold onto you that way, too? Ah, what a selfish thought. 

You didn’t mean to ask it. But the silence coaxed the words from your lips before you could stop them.

“Soobin… don’t you want to find your soulmate?”

For a moment, nothing changed. Then his grip on the wheel tightened, just slightly, but you caught it. His mind went blank, your words rattling around in his head without quite sinking in. The car hummed softly beneath you, but his foot eased off the gas, the vehicle slowing as though mirroring the sudden change in the air. Without a word, he pulled over near the sidewalk, shifted into park, and exhaled—slowly.

Your brows furrowed. “Whoa—what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He turned to you, and you were struck by the sheer intensity in his gaze. His eyes searched yours like they were looking for something. Like they were desperate to understand.

“Did someone say something to you?” you were taken aback by the tone of his voice. “Did anyone try to mess with you again? About—about soulmates?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? No! No, I swear, nothing happened.” You waved your hands for emphasis, but his shoulders remained taut, tension rolling off him in waves. You noticed how he exhaled through his nose, a little too controlled. How he ran a hand through his hair—an old habit, a telltale sign of unease.

“Then… where did that come from?” he asked, still watching you closely.

You hesitated, albeit only for a second. Then you shrugged. “I mean… it’s been so long, and you haven’t found yours yet.” You glanced at him, lips twitching. “Granted, you aren’t the most talkative or extroverted person I know, so your chances are slim, but—”

“Hey.”

“Did I lie, though?”

He huffed a laugh, the corners of his lips curled upward into that charming boyish grin of his. Your best friend was handsome, undeniably so. Which is also why you wondered how come he still hadn't found his soulmate yet.

You exhaled, letting your head fall back against the seat, gaze tracing the blurred city lights streaking past the window. “I just mean… don’t you wanna find your soulmate?”

Soobin’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly, knuckles no longer as taut. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the gear shift, started the car again, and pulled back onto the road. The silence stretched between you, thick with thoughts you weren’t sure you wanted to voice.

Because the truth was—you had thought about it. Many times. More than you cared to admit.

You had imagined the day Soobin would finally meet his soulmate. How it would happen, where he’d be. Maybe it would be something mundane, like Professor Park—his hand brushing against theirs as he reached for a book, or eyes meeting across a crowded sidewalk. Maybe it would be grand, something cinematic, fate conspiring to bring them together in a moment so perfect it would seem almost scripted.

And when that day came, you would smile for him. You would support him, cheer him on, celebrate the happiness he had always deserved. Because that’s what you were supposed to do. That’s what any best friend would do.

But deep down, beneath the surface of rationality and selflessness, there was a part of you that recoiled at the thought. A part that curled in on itself, heavy and aching. Because when Soobin found his soulmate, it would mean the inevitable—something you had always tried to ignore. It would mean that he would no longer belong here, in this in-between space with you. That the quiet moments, the inside jokes, the way he always understood you without you needing to say a word—all of it would fade, replaced by a force greater, something predestined.

And you? You would be left standing at the threshold of his happiness, unable to step through with him.

You blinked, shaking yourself free from the thought. It wasn’t fair to feel this way. But even so, you couldn’t shake the heaviness that lingered in your chest, an ache so profoundly baffling that refused to be silenced. Which only seemed to tenfold by his next words.

“You know that I refuse to find happiness without you.”

He had seen the way you guarded yourself over the years, the way you locked your heart away from the possibility of love. He had been there through all of it—the worst of it. And because of that, because he refused to leave you behind, he let himself be held back, too. The realization, albeit knowing already, still left you unsettled and deeply guilty.

Your fingers curled slightly in your lap. “Soobin…”

He glanced at you, just briefly, before turning his gaze back to the road. You sometimes wished you could see what was going on in that head of his.

You swallowed. “Just because my world stopped in its tracks doesn’t mean everyone else’s has, too. That includes yours, Soobin. You should allow yourself to move forward.”

His grip tightened again. But who was going to tell you? Who was going to tell you that you were his world?

And if you stopped, he’d stop for you. Every single time.

Just then, your phone vibrated in your lap. A message lit up the screen, and when you read it, you almost cried out in happiness.

[University Announcement: Due to the incoming storm, all classes are cancelled tomorrow.]

“Oh my god,” you breathed, a grin spreading across your face. “Soobin, you have to come over tomorrow. If I’m stuck inside all day by myself, I’ll go insane.”

The sudden shift of the mood and conversation made him let out a subtle shaky breath, one that you failed to notice. But he was glad for the turn, that you were busy with an entirely new topic now. Soobin chuckled, shaking his head. “You act like you don’t have a million things to do at home.”

“I don’t,” you insisted. “I’ll die of boredom, Soobin. I mean it.”

He sighed, feigning reluctance. “Fine. I’ll come over.”

By then, he was nearing your apartment complex, pulling into the familiar underground garage. As he eased into the parking spot, your question from earlier still haunted his mind, refusing to fade. But you didn’t move to get out. Instead, you stayed where you were, staring ahead at the dashboard, as if trying to gather your thoughts.

“You should really focus on finding your own happiness, Soobin,” you murmured at last. Your voice was soft, despite the hollowness pressing against your ribs. “I’m not dying. It won’t be the end of the world if I never find my soulmate. I’ll be okay.”

You turned to him then, flashing him a small, reassuring smile. It was the same one you always gave him when you wanted to convince him you were fine. The same one that never reached your eyes. Soobin clenched his jaw, knowing full well you were lying. And if you were a liar, he was a coward. So he had no right to call you out.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, then leaned in toward you. It wasn’t a dramatic movement, nothing inherently alarming. But it was enough for your thoughts to screech to a halt, for something in your chest to lurch violently. You froze, pulse skipping in confusion, in something dangerously close to unease.

Soobin reached past you, fingers grazing the handle of your door. Then, with a quiet click, he unlocked it. It was a simple act, one he had done before. One that, in any other moment, would have meant nothing. And yet, the proximity, his presence, the insistence of his movement—it unsettled you. It felt… intimate. Too intimate.

He had always been close to you. You had always been in each other’s space. But this—this somehow felt different. And you hated that you didn’t know why. You felt sick to your stomach suddenly for even thinking of such a thing. 

His voice was quiet, steady. “Go home. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t trust yourself to. You hastily muttered a goodbye, shoving the door open and slipping out before you could think better of it.

Soobin watched you go. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leaned back against the headrest, eyes falling shut. He hadn’t meant to make things weird. But somehow, he felt like he just did.

And he thought—if he were braver, if he were more honest, he would say it. He would say it, so he would know it, and you would know it, and he could never take it back. But he wasn’t that brave or that honest.

So instead, he stole one last glance at you, letting you slip away from the reach of his hands.

The clock struck 11 a.m., and Soobin was already at your doorstep, looking far too disgruntled for someone who had just been invited over. Dressed in a white polo and faded jeans, he looked casual, soft even—but the scowl of disdain slowly creeping onto his face ruined the effect as he took in the sight before him.

Stacks of papers. Attendance files. Your laptop was open to what he assumed was a grade sheet. Your living room had been turned into a mini office space, the big coffee table at its center, surrounded by neatly arranged papers. You held out a stack toward him, your expression far too innocent to be trusted.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked flatly.

“You’re helping me grade them. You do half, I’ll do the other half.”

Soobin blinked at you, then at the papers, then back at you. “Are you serious?”

You merely grinned, shaking the stack at him until he had no choice but to take it. He flipped through the pages, his scowl deepening. “Oh my god. What the hell is this handwriting?” He squinted. “Are these written by university students or kindergarten children?”

You let out a laugh as you walked into the kitchen, retrieving two mugs and filling the electric kettle with water. “Does coffee sound good as payment for your patronage?”

“Barely,” he muttered, still staring at the indecipherable scribbles in front of him. He plopped onto the floor with an exaggerated sigh, resting his back against the couch as he picked up a pen. “I can’t believe I came all the way here just to be scammed.”

“Oh, please.” You shot him a look from over your shoulder. “You would’ve just stayed in bed all day otherwise.”

“And that would’ve been preferable to this.”

“Lazy asshole.”

“Bitchass scammer.” 

You rolled your eyes, setting down the two mugs before settling across from him. Soobin had already started grading, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he focused. The weather outside remained gloomy, the soft gray clouds blanketing the sky, promising rain.

For a while, the two of you worked in a comfortable silence, save for the occasional sigh of frustration or the scratching of pens against paper. Then, Soobin suddenly let out a strangled noise.

You looked up. “What?”

He slowly turned the paper toward you. “‘The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the solar system.’” He met your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Are you seeing this? Are you actually seeing this?”

You clamped a hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking as you tried—and failed—to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god—please give that person a zero.”

“Oh, hell yeah, I will.” He clicked his pen with finality and scribbled a huge zero on the page, a menacing laughter escaping his lips that could make children cry.

You slid his coffee toward him as a peace offering. “You’re doing great, TA Soobin.”

He took a slow sip, eyes narrowing at you over the rim of the mug. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You were right, he didn't. 

The rain started gradually, a soft patter against the window. You barely noticed at first, too focused on the papers in front of you, until the rhythm grew steadier, filling the quiet space. Your attention shifted, eyes flickering toward the glass where droplets slid down in thin, winding trails.

Without a second thought, you set your pen down and stood up. Your steps were quiet against the floor as you walked toward the balcony door, sliding it open. The cool air rushed in immediately, carrying the crisp scent of rain. It brushed against your skin, the damp breeze slipping through the fabric of your sleeves. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, relishing in the sensation, in the way the world outside blurred behind the silver curtain of falling water.

From where he sat, Soobin could only watch the way you stood at the threshold, your silhouette framed by the spring rain. The glow of the sun peeking behind the grey clouds cast a soft halo around you, turning the raindrops into tiny shimmering stars clinging to your skin. He couldn’t see your expression, but he didn’t need to. He knew how the rain looked through your eyes, how it danced in your eyes like a silver meteor shower.

Behind you, his voice was soft. “It’s raining. You’ll get soaked.”

You turned to him, mischief tugging at your lips. “So?” 

Your voice, light and carefree, drifted back to him. He felt a tug in his chest—a twisted pull, one he had never been able to escape. He tried to warn you, tell you that it’s too much, that you’ll ruin your clothes, that you had papers to grade with him, but the words felt empty. You had dragged him into the downpour with a breathless laugh, twirling under the weight of the storm, arms outstretched as if you could catch the sky itself. The rain greeted you like an old friend, cool and insistent, clinging to your skin and threading through your hair. It slicked the world in a watercolor blur, every sharp edge softened to nothingness.

Soobin stood there for a moment, watching. His breath hitched as his glasses fogged up, blurring everything but you—your figure bathed in the dim glow, your rain-drenched lashes, the ghost of a smile on your lips. Slowly, almost reverently, he reached up and slid them off, as if removing them might somehow let him see you more clearly. And maybe it did. Because in that moment, you were all he could see.

“Dance with me,” you called, your voice bright against the muted sky.

His chest ached. If you asked him to stay in this moment forever, he would. If you asked him to drown in you, he would sink without hesitation.

Soobin had spent years concealing, building walls that matched yours, forcing his love for you into something unobtrusive, something that wouldn’t show and hurt you. But right now, in the rain, with you looking at him like that—his love felt too vast to contain. It cracked at the edges, spilling into every breath, every heartbeat. And he let it.

Because if love was ruin, then he would gladly be destroyed by you.

Slowly, he let you pull him into motion. Your fingers curled around his, tugging at him as you guided his steps. There was no music, just a symphony of the rain and your laughter, a soft tune that winded between you. Your smile was infectious, your laughter intoxicating as Soobin hardly managed to conceal his. He felt like a child again with you, dancing under the weeping sky, free from the shackles of reality and the hidden truth.

You were his doom, he always knew that. 

So when it happened, Soobin was all but shocked.

It started small, a bloom unfurling deep within his chest. A warmth, soft and almost timid, spreading like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Soon the warmth sharpened, edges curling inward, soft petals pressing against his lungs. The world seemed to still, the rain fading into background noise as his pulse pounded in his ears. He’d known it was coming, but knowing didn't soften the ache.

His worst nightmare. His deepest, most forbidden dream. The fear of a lifetime, wrapped in something that should have been beautiful. The bond had awakened, and it was you—of course it’s you.

Dread clawed its way up his throat, but beneath it, beneath the fear of losing you, was something just as terrifying. If not, then more. Relief.

Because at least now, he knew. At least now, there was no more pretending. No more wishing. As much as the truth was excruciatingly painful, Soobin’s senses were clouded by the strong waves of solace. You were destined to him.

You turned to him mid-spin, your eyes sparkling with joy. Soobin’s gaze softened as the petals took root within him. He watched you, his smile warm, yet his eyes wavered with a sadness rooted in love too profound to express.

You didn’t see the way his chest rose and fell, uneven, as the flowers inside him stole his breath. He let you laugh, let you hold his hands, let you live in the moment, even as it broke him.

Because how could he tell you? How could he burden you with something you’ve spent so long running from?

That night, long after you had fallen asleep, long after you had waved him goodbye with that sweet smile of yours, Soobin stood in front of his bathroom mirror. The storm had passed, but its remnants lingered—the air was cold, seeping through the cracks of his window, rattling the glass with each gust of wind.

Hands gripping on the edge of the basin, his eyes bore into his reflection. His hair was still wet, slick strands stuck against his forehead, though he wasn't sure if it was the rain or the sweat that now clad his body in a thin sheen. The discomfort bloomed like a sledgehammer to his chest. A pressure so insidious and cloying—crept up his throat. It coiled tight, as if unseen roots had wound themselves around his windpipe, burrowing deeper, deeper, deeper. His breath came unevenly, a shuddering inhale that barely made it past his lips before something inside him cinched tight, forcing his body into rebellion.

The first cough punched through him like a force of nature. Then another. His chest burned with every heave, his throat raw as he gripped the edges of the sink, knuckles white. His body lurched forward, stomach twisting painfully until—

—A lone yellow petal slipped from his lips.

It drifted down, fragile and weightless, landing against the porcelain with a silence that felt deafening.

A daffodil.

You made daffodils bloom in him. The flower that symbolizes new beginnings and rebirth. 

But as Soobin stared at the petal, trembling in the aftermath of what it meant—he thought, perhaps, destiny was not so cruel after all. Perhaps, just as flowers withered only to bloom again in the warmth of spring, your heart, too, was meant to be reborn. And if fate allowed it, if you let him, he would wait for that day—when love no longer felt like a wound, but something you could finally hold without fear.

When you had woken up the next morning, you felt sore—there was a massive clog of pain biting down on your entire shoulders and nape, eerily similar to the dull, stubborn pain of a post-vaccine shot. You moved out of bed, wobbly, needing to use your wall as a crutch as you staggered toward the bathroom. Your head was throbbing and turning on the bathroom light only made it worse.

You wanted to mumble something to yourself, a quiet reassurance maybe, but your body wouldn’t let you. The piercing headache drowned out every coherent thought, leaving you grasping at your temples, willing the pain to stop. Fever? Your skin burned with heat, yet a violent shiver ran down your spine.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. With trembling hands, you turned the faucet, cupping cold water and pressing it against your face. The biting chill stung your skin, washing away the sweat, the nausea—but not the unease clawing at your chest.

What the hell was happening? Was this the result of yesterday’s antics? You had never gotten sick from the rain this badly before. So why did it feel like your body was crashing all at once? And then, a different thought hit you.

Soobin.

How was he? Was he sick too? The idea left a sour taste in your mouth, gnawing at you worse than the fever. You needed to check on him, but even looking for your phone felt like an impossible task. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the sink, trying to collect yourself. You had responsibilities—your TA duties, the students relying on you, the work piling up—but none of it seemed to matter at this moment. None of it could override the singular thought threading through the haze of your fevered mind.

You needed to know if Soobin was okay.

Your legs moved on instinct, carrying you back to your room as you fumbled beneath your pillows.

"Where’s my phone…?" you muttered under your breath, voice scratchy. You twisted around, spotting it on the bedside table just as your elbow knocked over a ceramic cup. It hit the floor with a hollow thud, but you barely noticed. With slightly unsteady fingers, you dialed his number.

One ring. Two. Three.

Then the line clicked.

"Hello?"

His voice was low, frayed at the edges; exhaustion, clinging to each syllable, weighing them down until they barely reached you. Your stomach twisted. 

"Did you catch a cold? Shit, Soobin—I'm so sorry." You pinched the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as another wave of pain pulsed behind your skull. "It was a bad idea."

A soft chuckle echoed on the other end. "This is nothing. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine."

But something in his tone made you frown. It wasn’t just hoarseness—it was hesitation. Like even he wasn’t convinced by his own words. There was a pause, before you heard him speak, sounding a little too cautious. 

"Are you alright?" he asked.

You parted your lips, but nothing came out. How were you supposed to explain this? The way your body felt like it had been wrung dry, like every muscle ached with an exhaustion that ran deeper than any fever. But you took note of how your pounding headache had faded to a faint throb by now, and your joints no longer felt rusted. You didn't know what was going on.

You swallowed. "I’m okay."

A long pause stretched between you, filled only by the sound of your breaths. You thought he might call you out, might say something to shake the dishonesty from your voice—but he didn’t. Instead, there was a sigh, barely audible, as if he had already known what you would say before you said it.

"Take the day off today. I’ll stop by your place later, alright?"

As soon as the call ended, you quickly typed out a message to Professor Park, apologizing for missing morning TA duties due to your sudden sickness and promising to stop by in the afternoon. The guilt nagged at you—leaving work unfinished, leaving tasks hanging—but even if you forced yourself through the motions, you wouldn’t be of much help to anyone like this.

You exhaled, dragging a hand down your face before forcing yourself into the shower, letting the warmth ease the last remnants of tension from your body.

By the time you stepped into the kitchen, towel wrapped loosely around your head, the hunger hadn’t quite returned. But you still made breakfast—because at the very least, you needed energy. Because no matter what was happening to you, life would go on, and you had no choice but to keep up.

Next, you checked your pantry, scanning for ingredients to make soup. You weren’t particularly fond of cooking, but ever since living on your own, it had become a skill you’d polished. Gathering everything you needed, you wasted no time getting to work.

When you finished prepping and packing, the lingering soreness in your shoulders had faded. Only a dull ache remained at the nape of your neck—a sharp, stinging sensation that you ignored. It was bearable. A couple of painkillers would take care of it, you reasoned.

You changed quickly, grabbed the packed meal, and stepped outside, the cool air pressing against your skin. It was only a ten-minute walk to Soobin’s apartment, yet every step felt heavier than it should have. The fresh spring air did little to soothe the worry settling in your chest. You could only hope he had actually listened to you and stayed home to rest.

You exhaled, willing the tension in your chest to loosen. You had no reason to feel this unsettled. And yet, when you finally reached his door, standing in front of it with your knuckles poised to knock, you hesitated. What were you doing? You rang the bell before you could overthink it any further. The door swung open and your doubts subsided.

Soobin stood before you—disheveled, a little pale, dark circles shadowing his eyes, lips cracked and dry. He was hunched slightly, as if just standing upright took more effort than it should. But despite the fatigue etched into his face, despite the way he barely had the energy to greet you, the moment your eyes met his, something in you soothed. Unbeknown to you, for Soobin, having you close to him again finally made the roots loosen their grip on his lungs, allowing him to breathe in the much needed oxygen he was forbidden from these past hours. 

You opened your mouth to say something but faltered, lips pressing together instead. Seeing you struggle with words almost made Soobin cage you in his arms, run a soothing hand through your hair and whisper reassurances to you. But he restrained himself by stepping away from the door.

The guilt climbed up your throat as you stepped inside. You really should've thought before you acted yesterday, pulling him into the rain with you seemed like an innocent and fun act until it wasn't anymore. The comforting and familiar ambience of his apartment did not help you as the sight of him slumped over made everything feel just a little off.

You set the bag of food on the table. “Eat it while it’s hot. You’ll feel better.”

Soobin didn’t respond. Instead, he flopped onto the couch, burying his face into the cushions. A muffled groan was the only indication he had heard you.

You lingered for a moment, watching his unmoving form. Then, glancing at the time, you exhaled quietly. You should’ve left by now.

"I’m heading to campus. If you need anything, let me know, alright?"

A lazy thumbs-up peeked from the couch. Another muffled groan.

You should’ve left. Should’ve turned on your heel and walked out the door without another thought. But something inside you hesitated.An odd, intrusive urge crept up your spine—the sudden, dizzying need to close the distance, to reach out and thread your fingers through his  hair, to feel the warmth of him against your skin. It struck you so unexpectedly, so viscerally, that you jolted back, as if burned.

What the hell?

Clicking your tongue, you pressed your fingers against your temple as another dull wave of pain thrummed inside your skull. "Bye," you muttered, a little too briskly, before slipping out the door.

The moment the apartment door clicked shut, Soobin let out the coughing fit he had been holding back. His body lurched forward, shoulders shaking as he clutched his chest. The bond reacted whenever you were near—he felt it too, the same overwhelming pull, the same aching urge to close the distance and pull you into his arms.

The soulmate bond had its own cruel mechanics. Proximity dulled the pain, soothed the discomfort, but never erased it. It was like a fire burning low instead of blazing—it still smoldered beneath his ribs, simmering just enough to remind him of its presence. Worse still, the bond had a will of its own. It nudged, coaxed, demanded. It made him crave touch, made him reckless, made him want to close the gap between you and ease the ache in both of you, even if just for a moment. And yet, no matter how deeply he longed, no matter how much his hands itched to reach for you, it did not count as acceptance. It was just an impulse, one of the many effects. 

He groaned as he sat up. Dragging a hand over his face, he exhaled slowly, his breath heavy in the silence of the apartment. "This is going to be harder than I expected," he muttered to himself.

His gaze landed on the bag sitting on the table. His chest tightened again—but this time, not from pain. You had gone out of your way to make him soup. Warmth bloomed in his heart, momentarily overthrowing the ache. It was such a simple thing, yet the love he felt in that moment was staggering. He wasted no time, pulling the container out and prying off the lid. 

The aroma curled into the air, rich and homely, and the first spoonful melted on his tongue, warmth spreading through his body in a way that made his eyes flutter shut. It was good—really good. The kind of homemade warmth that settled deep inside, easing everything in its wake.

Reaching back into the bag, he found the toast you had packed alongside the soup. Lightly golden, crisp at the edges, soft in the center. He huffed out a small laugh. You really had thought through it. Tearing off a piece, he dipped it into the broth, watching as it soaked up the warmth before bringing it to his lips. He sighed, pressing his palm to his chest as if that would do anything to calm the lingering discomfort.

Then, an odd thought crossed his mind. Are the daffodils getting drenched in soup too, or does it go through a completely different canal?

The mental image of flower petals swimming in broth was ridiculous enough that a breath of laughter escaped him. Whatever the case, the soup was working—soothing his throat, the tightness in his chest, momentarily distracting him from the reality of what was happening to him.

You stopped by the cafe near your campus for a quick coffee. The late morning crowd had the typical scenario—students hunched over laptops, business professionals sipping their drinks with absentminded focus, a couple near the window speaking in hushed voices over half-eaten pastries—soulmates, you deduced. 

You waited for your order, feeling the exhaustion settling into your limbs. Though the worst of the morning’s sickness had passed, a vague tiredness clung to you, like a heavy mist that refused to lift. Just as you let your eyes flutter shut for a brief moment, a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the most beautiful person in this café.”

You huffed out a laugh before even turning around. “Yeonjun.”

Leaning casually against the counter, Yeonjun flashed you his foxy grin. His presence was impossible to miss, exuding that cocky charm he carried wherever he went. Dressed in a dark sweater layered under his club jacket, he looked both put-together and relaxed, like he had just come from practice but somehow still managed to look better than half the people in the café.

His gaze flickered around the café before settling back on you. “Weird not seeing Soobin with you. You two are usually attached at the hip.”

You shook your head with a small smile. “Not today. He’s sick.”

“Sick?” he inquired with a raised brow.

“It’s my fault actually. We were out in the rain yesterday for some fun,” you said, sighing. 

That caught Yeonjun’s attention. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he leaned forward resting his chin on his propped hand over the counter. “You two were out in the rain?” he drawled. “That is so romantic.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "Yeonjun, you should be worried about him instead."

He chuckled, standing to his full height. "Oh, I am. Just saying, though.” He gave you a small smile before adding, “Guess I’ll have to check in on him.”

You let out a quiet huff of amusement, shaking your head as the barista set your drink down with a quiet call of your name. You picked up your cup as you turned to face him again. “I left him with some food. If you stop by his place, check if he ate, alright?”

Yeonjun straightened. “Aye, aye, captain.”

You snorted, waving him off dismissively as your gaze flickered outside the café. The rain had picked up again, albeit light, dotting the pavement with dark speckles. The extra jacket you had brought would come in handy now.

Digging into your bag, you fished it out and turned to Yeonjun. “Hold this.” You shoved your cup into his hand before pulling your hair into a loose ponytail, fingers working quickly. The jacket slipped over your shoulders. “Thanks,” you chirped once he handed your drink back.

Yeonjun’s expression shifted, brows pinching ever so slightly, lips parting like he was about to say something but stopped himself. His eyes lingered—on your neck, your hair, something. It was subtle, but you caught it.

You raised a brow. “What? Is there something on my face?”

He hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he quickly masked it with an easy grin. “Nah. Just… did you get a haircut?”

“You creep.” You blinked. “That’s what you were staring at?”

Yeonjun barely dodged the playful kick you sent to his shin, letting out an exaggerated gasp of offense. “Excuse you. I was appreciating art, my darling.”

You nearly gagged, holding a hand up to stop him from saying anything else. He only laughed, though there was something off about it—too light, too quick to cover up whatever had momentarily distracted him.

Pushing open the café door, he held it for you as you stepped out into the cool drizzle. You pulled the jacket tighter around you. “I’m gonna go now. Already running late for my TA duties.” Then, shooting him a pointed look, you added, “Please, if you’re done early today, check on Soobin.”

He gave a lazy salute. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Yeonjun watched until your figure couldn't be deciphered among the crowd ahead, his playful demeanor fading as his lips pressed together. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. Was that… a soulmate tattoo?

He wasn’t entirely sure. It had only been a glimpse—a faint outline, a floral shape against your skin when you tied your hair back. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light, a shadow cast in passing. But it gnawed at him.

Yeonjun’s classes had ended earlier than expected. After wrapping up his club duties and delegating tasks, he decided to call it a day. As he slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the building, your words from earlier echoed in his mind. He knew how busy you were with your TA responsibilities, meaning you wouldn’t be able to check in on Soobin until much later. And if there was one thing Yeonjun understood about Soobin, it was his frustrating tendency to downplay when he was sick.

With a resigned sigh, he changed course, making a quick stop at a convenience store to pick up food and drinks before heading toward Soobin’s apartment. When he arrived, he knocked on the door, expecting to hear the telltale shuffle of Soobin dragging himself out of bed to answer. But there was nothing. He knocked again, harder this time, his knuckles rapping sharply against the wood. Still no response.

Frowning, he pressed the doorbell, foot tapping impatiently as he listened for any signs of movement inside. “Come on, dude…” Silence stretched out, gnawing uncomfortably in his chest. Something wasn’t right. Soobin wasn’t the type to ignore people, especially not when he was sick—if anything, he should be dramatically lamenting his misery by now, groaning about his sore throat or asking for sympathy points.

Unease curled in Yeonjun’s stomach as he reached for the doorknob. It twisted open with no resistance. His breath hitched, heart stuttering as his brain lurched toward the worst possibilities. Unlocked door? An intruder? Has Soobin passed out somewhere? His grip tightened around the plastic bag as his gaze darted around the dimly lit apartment. Nothing looked out of place, but the silence felt too terrifying. The hum of the fridge was the only sound filling the still air.

Then, a sound reached Yeonjun's ears, causing the hair on his arms to stand. A deep, heaving cough, followed by the unmistakable retching noise of someone struggling against their own body. His pulse pounded, a mixture of alarm and determination flooding his system as he scanned the room for anything he could use as a weapon. His eyes landed on a lamp perched on a nearby shelf. Without thinking, he grabbed it, wielding it like some absurd, makeshift club. Every instinct screamed at him to be ready for the worst as he crept forward, following the source of the noise with careful steps. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and through the narrow gap, he could hear another hoarse gag.

Shit. Is someone choking him?

Every muscle in his body tensed. If there was someone else in there, they weren’t walking out unscathed. With a surge of adrenaline, he pushed the door open with a sharp burst of energy, yelling out a battle cry, lamp raised high in a ridiculous but entirely committed fight stance.

What he saw instead made him freeze.

Soobin was hunched over the sink, a trembling hand clamped over his mouth. His complexion was ghastly—pale, exhausted, his shoulders rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. But what made Yeonjun’s mouth fall wasn’t the sight of Soobin sick and miserable—it was the delicate yellow petals stuck to his fingers, some drifting in slow motion as they slipped from his grasp and fluttered to the tiled floor.

For a long moment, Yeonjun simply stared, brain struggling to catch up with what he was seeing. The gears in his head turned sluggishly, thoughts colliding in slow-motion confusion. Then, finally, with all the brilliance of someone facing an unimaginable scenario, he blurted out, "Have you been eating someone’s flowers? What the fuck?"

Soobin made a strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a cough, before another violent heave wracked his body. He barely had time to turn back toward the sink before he was coughing again, his breath coming out in wheezing gasps.

Yeonjun dropped the lamp onto the bed and was at his side in an instant, gripping his shoulders. “Hey, hey—breathe, dude. Easy there.” He started rubbing firm circles over Soobin’s back, his own pulse thundering. “Oh my god,” Yeonjun breathed, the realization seeping into his bones like ice water. “No way. No fucking way—”

Soobin, still gasping for air, groaned weakly. “Shut up, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun ignored him, his own face paling as his gaze dropped to the basin. Yellow daffodil petals clung to the porcelain, some floating in the water, their edges curling inward. That means—earlier that day, did he really see a soulmate tattoo on your nape? His stomach twisted as the dots started connecting, a pattern emerging before his eyes, clearer than day.

Was that a lie you told him about Soobin catching a cold? Or worse—did you not even know?

The mechanical clogs in his mind started turning. He didn’t know which possibility was worse: that you had lied to protect Soobin, or that you had been completely unaware of the suffering he had been enduring in silence. But if you were lying, then you wouldn't really ask him to check up on Soobin knowing the possibilities of him discovering the truth. And, how could someone not know about the awakening of their own soulmate bond? Fuck, the more Yeonjun tried to seek answers, the more questions he was facing.

With careful hands, Yeonjun guided Soobin down onto the closed toilet seat. The younger boy slumped forward, elbows resting on his knees, his entire body trembling from the aftermath of the coughing fit. His skin was damp with a sheen of sweat, lips cracked, his usually neat hair sticking to his forehead in damp strands. He looked utterly spent—like he had been carrying this burden far longer than anyone had realized.

And then, Soobin looked up. His eyes, exhaustion glazed, pinned Yeonjun with desperation. His voice, hoarse but firm, cut through the thick silence between them. “Not a single word about this, you hear me?”

“What?” Yeonjun scoffed, frustration bubbling up. “Are you fucking serious? You were just coughing up petals, Soobin. That’s not something you can just keep under wraps like some minor inconvenience.”

Soobin flinched, his fingers clenching into his sweatpants. He looked like he wanted to argue, but no words came. His gaze dropped to the floor, his breath unsteady.

Yeonjun exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face before his rational side finally took over. With a calmer voice, he asked, “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Soobin’s lips parted as if to speak, but still, silence stretched between them. His fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his sweatpants—gripping onto something, anything, as if to ground himself. And that was all the confirmation Yeonjun needed.

His confusion only deepened. If you were Soobin’s soulmate, why was he going through this hell instead of just accepting the bond with you? You guys were best friends. Did you really not know the bond had awakened? As if sensing Yeonjun’s endless spiral of questions, Soobin finally spoke.

“She has trauma regarding soulmates,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. “Back in middle school… a boy lied to her about being her soulmate. He made her believe it—lied to her about the bond being accepted between them, played along for a week, only to reveal in front of the whole class that it was a prank.”

Yeonjun’s mouth fell slightly ajar at the story. So, that’s what was going on. Yeonjun’s stomach twisted, feeling sick. There was no way someone could be this cruel to play with something so, so sacred. He felt terrible about it, about you.

“She still has fresh wounds from it,” Soobin continued, his voice trembling. “She’s terrified of opening her heart, of trusting in fate. That’s why… that’s why I can’t tell her.”

Yeonjun stared at him. “You do realize she’s gonna find out sooner or later, right?” he said after a beat, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

Soobin let out a shaky breath. “I’ll hold on till then.”

There was something bone-deep in his tone—something that sounded like both a promise and a plea. Yeonjun could only sigh, tilting his head back against the cabinets.

“Listen, man. This isn’t my place to say anything, but…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Do you really think she’ll feel less hurt knowing you never told her until she finds out herself? That you kept her in the dark? You, of all people—who’s supposed to be her everything?”

At that, Soobin’s ears flushed pink, and Yeonjun almost rolled his eyes.

Anyone with eyes could see how deeply this idiot was in love with you. It was only a matter of time before the soulmate bond manifested, as if the universe itself had merely been waiting for you both to catch up. But your connection had never been dictated by fate alone—your bond was stronger than fate itself. As if, in another life, in every life, you would have found each other anyway. As if you had reached for one another, bending destiny’s rules before destiny had the chance to decide.

“I’m not her everything,” Soobin mumbled.

Yeonjun scoffed again, shooting him a deadpan look. “Right. I’m the one soulbounded to you.”

That earned him a weak glare. He inhaled shakily, his voice trembling when he spoke again. “You don’t understand, Yeonjun.” He dug his fingers into his hair, his frustration laced with something far more fragile. “I can’t do this to her. Not when she’s still hurting. Not when the past still haunts her. I don’t want to be the reason for her relapse.”

Yeonjun stayed quiet, letting him vent.

“I don’t think anyone will ever understand what I really feel for her,” Soobin choked out. He swallowed, blinking rapidly as if that would push back the tears that threatened to spill. “How I feel knowing fate tangled our souls together.”

Yeonjun’s chest ached at the rawness in his voice. “And how do you really feel?”

Silence stretched between them. Soobin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Then, with a voice that sounded like it had been clawed from the depths of his soul, he answered, “Like I’ll never recover. Like I’ll never draw another breath without half of it being a wish for her to be mine.”

Yeonjun’s lips parted slightly, as if something inside him had been struck. He let the words settle in the quiet, allowing them to soak into the bones of the moment. “You know,” he murmured, slowly leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees. “the way I see it… love is cruel sometimes.”

Water dripping from the faucet filled the silence, the petals swirling gently in the basin as if they, too, understood the depth of Soobin’s suffering. Yeonjun continued, “It gives you something beautiful, something so overwhelming, but it makes you fight for it. Makes you bleed for it.” He sighed. “And it’s terrifying, I get it. But you’re bleeding either way, Soobin.”

“I just want to protect her,” Soobin’s voice broke.

“You think you’re protecting her by staying silent,” Yeonjun said, meeting his gaze firmly. “but you’re not. You’re just delaying the inevitable. And in the end… isn’t it crueler to let her figure it out on her own?” His gaze flickered to the basin of wilted daffodil petals before meeting Soobin’s eyes again. “How much of yourself are you willing to lose in the process?”

Soobin swallowed thickly but didn’t answer. His grip tightened on his own arms, as if bracing himself against the thoughts threatening to consume him whole.

Yeonjun sighed, pushing himself up from the floor. He dusted off his jeans, then glanced down at Soobin. “You think she doesn’t deserve to carry this burden, but Soobin, you’re carrying it alone. And trust me when I say, it will break you before you even realize it.” He frowned. “You love her, don’t you?”

Soobin squeezed his eyes shut as if that would stop the emotions from rising to the surface, but his silence spoke louder than any confession could.

Yeonjun’s gaze softened. “Then don’t let that love turn into a curse. Don’t let it be something that eats away at you from the inside out.” He let the words settle for a moment, watching as Soobin’s fingers slowly loosened from their death grip on his arms. He reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “I don’t have all the answers,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “And I can’t tell you what the right thing to do is. But I do know this—you can’t keep tearing yourself apart like this. One day, you’ll have to stop running. And she’ll need to as well.”

Despite the fear curling inside him, despite the uncertainty that still gnawed at his ribs, Yeonjun’s words felt like a lifeline. He didn’t know if he had the strength to make the right choice, but the pressure felt a little less unbearable knowing he had someone for support.

Yeonjun clapped a hand on his back, then pulled him fully to his feet. “Come on. Get up. Go wash your face.” He was pushing the younger male towards the sink. "And tomorrow morning, I’m taking you to the doctor."

"What?" Soobin's eyes widened. "Why? There's no need for tha—"

Yeonjun arched his brow. “Because I know you. You’re gonna choose to keep suffering alone despite everything I just said. So if you're gonna keep quiet about it anyway, better know the risks of avoiding the bond. What to do when the pain gets too much and all that.” He pressed his lips in a thin line as he watched Soobin struggle to form words. "Besides, after all, you won't be the only one affected from avoiding the bond, right?"

Soobin could only stare at him, throat tight. Right, how could he forget about that? You'd feel the pain as much as he would. In fact, you were probably feeling it right now. His chest hurt at the thought, eyes stinging with tears.

For your sake, and his too, in the end, Soobin agreed to visit the doctor.

Darkness loomed over you like a vulture waiting for its prey to take its dying breath.

It was the kind that bled into your lungs, pressing into every crevice of your being. It did not matter whether your eyes were open or closed—sight had no meaning in a world where only the weight of phantom hands dictated your reality. You gasped, but no air came. Your body thrashed, heels scraping against nothing, fingers clawing at revenant wrists that would not yield, their grip only tightening against the fragile column of your neck. Panic seized your limbs, tears blurred your vision, desperation blooming in your chest like a withering flower.

A chorus of cruel, ringing laughter echoed, bouncing from unseen walls around you, filling the void with the taunt of memory. You blinked, and a cheshire grin emerged from the darkness, wide and gleaming, the only feature granted to the faceless specter above you.

"It was all a prank."

Your body lurched upright, lungs heaving as if they'd been starved of breath for hours. The room was silent, bathed in the pale silver glow of a moon that seemed distant, too far away to anchor you back to the present. Cold sweat clung to your skin, a sheen of ice trailing down the nape of your neck, settling deep into the marrow of your bones.

Your fingers trembled against the sheets, curling, uncurling—seeking something to hold onto, to remind you that the hands around your throat had never been real. But real and unreal blurred at times like this, when nightmares did not fade upon waking but instead latched onto your ribs, tightening with every shallow breath.

The nightmares never stopped haunting you. The past was a corpse long buried, but its roots never loosened their hold. They twisted around your lungs, curling tighter with every restless night. For you, it had never been the roots of flowers constricting your lungs. It was the fear from the past, one that only grew, refusing to let go.

You dragged a hand over your face, fingers trembling, the dampness on your forehead matching the dampness behind your eyes. You tried to breathe through it, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. Not when the shadows clung to the corners of your room like remnants of that nightmare.

What you needed wasn’t silence. It was light. And the only light that had ever pierced through your worst nights had always been him.

With hands that shook, you reached for your phone. Your thumb hovered above his name, that familiar form of letters more sacred than any prayer. You pressed, blinking at the time glowing back at you. 2:57 a.m. You hesitated for the briefest second, wondering if he’d be asleep. If this was selfish. The line clicked on the first ring.

"Soobin," you breathed. His name fell from your lips like a cry swallowed by the wind, fragile and cracked. But that single syllable was all he needed.

Fifteen minutes later, he was at your doorstep.

He was breathless, evidently so, as he ran all the way to you. But before a word could leave your lips, you were in his arms—swept into a haven carved from comfort and homeliness. His hold was strong, a harbor you had always known. Your cheek pressed against his chest, making your senses focus in the wild rhythm of his heart instead of the lingering hollowness of your nightmare.

The moment his body met yours, the ache that had been floating inside you dissipated. A sense of calm, inexplicable and consuming, bloomed through your veins. Above you, Soobin let out a shuddering exhale, his shoulders falling the slightest bit. Though you didn’t see it, he, too, felt the reprieve—the choking roots retreating from his lungs. It was like your souls, stretched too thin by distance and silence, had finally returned to their rightful place.

One hand rose to your hair, fingers combing through the strands in a motion so gentle it unraveled the remaining tight knots in your chest, and your mind. “Another nightmare?” he whispered.

You gave a faint nod against him, not trusting your voice just yet.

He pulled back slightly, enough to cradle your face in his hands and coax your gaze up to meet his. The touch was so familiar, done a thousand times before—a gesture stitched into the fabric of your friendship—but tonight, it made your breath catch. Tonight, you looked at him like you were seeing him again for the first time.

In the hush between heartbeats, you stared, wide eyes tracing his features like an artist committing them to memory. The slope of his nose, the soft furrow in his brows, the tremble of concern behind his dark eyes. Instead of snapping out of your thoughts, you indulged in them.

Why does this feel so…

Soobin blinked down at you, unaware of the mess blooming in your chest. “Do you want to eat something? Or just talk?”

You stared at him for a beat, then deadpanned, “Dumbass, you can’t cook. I’d have to do all the work.”

He spluttered, eyes momentarily shutting, the tips of his ears reddening. Trying to feign a cough to save his reputation, he said, “I—I meant like instant ramen or something!”

You shook your head with a faint laugh, one hand brushing your hair back. “Let’s just talk.”

So you both padded over to the living room. The cushions dipped beneath your weight as you curled up on opposite ends of the couch. You watched him move in the quiet as though afraid to disturb the fragile stillness that clung to the room. He reached for his phone, tapping a few times, and soon enough, the soft chords of your favorite CAS song spilled into the air like a lullaby. Your gaze lowered to your hands in your lap. A warmth bloomed in your chest, but it was quickly eclipsed by a sharp sting.

How long could this go on?

You chewed the inside of your cheek, guilt curling like smoke in your lungs. Nights like this—when the nightmares were persistent and your thoughts frayed at the seams—had begun to blend into a pattern. And Soobin was always there, arriving like your one and only light in the suffocating dark.

But that wasn’t fair to him, was it?

One day, he would find someone—someone stitched to him by floral vines and the ink of fate, leading him somewhere you couldn’t follow. Someone else would be his sanctuary. Someone who wasn’t you. And when that day came, when the ache in your chest couldn’t be soothed by the sound of his voice anymore, you’d have no one but silence.

The thought slashed through your ribs, leaving a hollowness behind. You couldn't keep leaning on him like this, asking him to piece you back together each time the ghosts clawed their way back into your sleep. He had a life beyond your hurt, beyond your late-night calls. 

Your voice cracked through the lull of music and night, barely audible. "I’m sorry."

Soobin turned slowly, concern etching itself into the slope of his brows as he made his way beside you, his presence a balm even before he spoke. He sat close, not touching, but near enough to feel the tremble in your breath.

You kept your eyes fixed on the floor, nails digging into your palms. “I’m sorry for being like this,” you whispered. “For needing you this much. For calling you at 3 a.m. For making you run every time I fall apart.”

You finally looked at him, and the sorrow in your gaze made his chest cave in. “I’m being selfish, aren’t I?” you said, voice cracking. "I just—I know you can’t stay forever. And I have to learn how to survive without you.” Your fingers trembled in your lap. “This has to stop. You have your own life to live. You don’t owe me anything, Soobin. You’re not supposed to be the one picking up my broken pieces all the time.”

Soobin’s eyes softened, a small smile drew its way on his lips. If only you could see what he saw every time your eyes met his—how the flowers in his lungs bloomed and withered all at once when you were near.  And even if the stars decided to pull you both in opposite directions, Soobin would have defied every last one of them. Because where you ended, he began. Because you had long ago taken root in his soul, and nothing—not time, not fate, not the arrival of another—could ever change that. The overwhelming urge to tell you that you were already his, and he was yours almost consumed him whole. 

“You’re not selfish,” he said. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You searched his face as if it would offer a reason, a rationale, a loophole to all the guilt clawing its way through your chest. But all you saw was him—Soobin, sitting beside you like he always did. Like he always would.

“I don’t know how long I’ll take to get better, Soobin. It’s been years, and I still can’t sleep through the night without reliving it. Still can’t breathe without choking on air that doesn’t want to stay in my lungs.” Your words spilled between stifled sobs. “And the worst part is—I don’t even know if I want to heal. Because sometimes…” you swallowed hard, “sometimes the pain is the last thing I have. The last link to what I lost. If I let that go, what do I even have left?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to word it out. The love you’d once held onto so tightly it had cut your hands. The hope that someone, somewhere, was out there for you—probably still is, waiting. But your fear held you back from reaching your hand out.

Soobin laced his fingers through that hand of yours, giving a gentle squeeze. And then, he let out a small, breathless laugh. Not from amusement, but from the ache of irony. Here you were, mourning the love you thought you'd never receive, and he—your soulmate—was sitting right in front of you, heart and soul offered without condition.

“You think you lost yourself when you lost your hope,” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “But you didn’t. You’re still here. Maybe a little bruised, but you are healing. You’re here, and I see you.”

His thumb moved across your knuckles, slow and gentle. His words embraced you so gently, you felt your eyes moisten again, needing to pull your bottom lip between your lips. Soobin smiled faintly at that. “You didn’t lose your heart the day it shattered. It’s still yours. Still beating. Still capable of love. And just because it broke doesn’t mean you’re lost. I promise you, you’re not.”

The words had tangled somewhere deep in your chest, caught between the weight in your heart and the rawness in his gaze. Soobin didn’t know how he’d managed to stay afloat until now—until this moment, where the dam of his own emotions had threatened to burst, wave after wave rising beneath his ribs. But he meant every word. He had spoken them before, during your darkest hours, and he would speak them again for as long as you needed him.

Soobin stood and quietly extended his hand toward you. “I’ll stay the night with you,” he said.

You looked at his outstretched hand, calloused fingers you’d clung to before. Fingers that had gathered your broken pieces time and again—and a thought, selfish and startling in its intensity, bloomed inside you like a flare in the dark when you slipped your hand into his.

You didn’t want to let him go. Not now, not ever.

That night, you fell asleep in the circle of his warmth. He held you close—close enough that the daffodils rooted in his lungs could feel the nearness of you, and it brought him a calm he hadn’t known in the past nights. If you thought yourself selfish for leaning on him, then Soobin was just as selfish for wanting you near.

His hand moved in slow circles on your back, a quiet lullaby echoing the rhythm of your heartbeat. He pressed his lips to your temple, breath warm against your skin, and whispered promises to guard your dreams. Promises he had every intention of keeping.

You dreamt of yellow.

Of sunlight painting the horizon in gold. Of yellow daffodils swaying in a field that stretched beyond the edges of your pain. You dreamt of laughter that didn’t echo with grief. And in the middle of that bright, blooming world stood Soobin—arms open wide, eyes crinkled with the kind of joy that made your soul ache. The kind of joy you didn’t think you’d ever feel again.

He looked like something you knew by heart—your home.

When your eyes fluttered open the next morning, the sheets beside you were cold.

Soobin was gone.

“Are you nervous?” Yeonjun nudged the taller male sitting beside him in the quiet waiting room. It was barely 8 a.m. He hadn’t woken you when he left. Instead, he’d pulled the blanket over your shoulder, let his fingers hover for a moment above your brow, then retreated like the coward he felt he was. Now, he sat beside Yeonjun, phone screen dimming in his hand as he stared at the last message he sent.

[Had to run some errands. See you at campus.]

You hadn’t read it. The tiny gray checkmark was a silent reassurance—you were still asleep.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed quietly. What if today changed everything? What if it didn’t change anything at all? The questions spiraled, each one heavier than the last. Would confronting the truth bring relief, or only more hesitations? Forcing the bond on you, forcing love from you—he couldn’t do it. 

Soobin’s thumb brushed against the edge of his phone, then curled around the device, grip tightening. His head fell back against the wall with a muted thud. He closed his eyes, throat bobbing with the force of his swallow. “I’m scared, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun eyed the younger, lips pressing in a thin line. At that moment all he could provide was a comforting hand on his shoulder. They sat in silence until Soobin's name was called.

Inside the chamber, flowers filled the space—not just real ones in vases, but inked into canvas frames, stitched into cushions, even printed along the soft border of the curtains. A comforting illusion, as though beauty could soften the sting of truth.

The doctor was an older man with kind eyes and a voice like worn velvet. “Have a seat, son.”

Soobin nodded and did as told. They exchanged a few words, standard questions and details spoken like ritual. Finally, the doctor asked what brought him in. Soobin, however, deflected it with his own, straightforward question.

“How long can you go without accepting the bond?”

There was silence. The clock ticked on, every second scraping along his nerves. The doctor didn’t answer right away, and Soobin couldn’t meet his gaze. His fists curled on his knees, nails pressing against the flesh of his palms. Maybe it was a bad idea to come here.

"Rejecting the bond doesn’t kill you, son," he began, words practiced, yet not unkind. "It never has. That’s a myth people like to romanticize. Drama makes for good stories, not truths."

Soobin nodded slowly.

"The rejection of a soulmate bond isn’t new. People have been doing it for centuries. Some out of grief, some out of love that wasn’t returned. Others simply fall for someone who isn't their destined match. The reasons don’t change the outcome." The doctor leaned back in his chair, fingers lacing over his stomach. "When the bond awakens, one carries the flower and the other, the mark. A perfect mirror of souls meant to align. It only settles when both recognize the love for what it is. When they accept it—mutually, honestly—the flowers begin to wither, and the mark, once faint, blooms in full colour for both, even the one who bore the blooms. That’s when the bond settles."

Soobin knew that much. He was aware of the mechanics. If you accepted the bond with him, he too, would get a matching tattoo of a daffodil—one that is currently residing somewhere on your body.

"Until then, it’s the most difficult part," the doctor said. "Touch helps. So does presence. It soothes the ache, but it doesn’t cure it. The bond starts to pull you toward each other, urges your bodies and minds to close the gap. Fighting that… well, it creates friction. Pain. For both, but especially the one bearing the bloom." The older man removed his glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief, tone turning solemn. "You might feel fatigue, spells of dizziness, even blackouts. The more you resist—especially if your counterpart is unaware or distant—the harder it gets. The bond feeds on proximity, on shared moments. Prolonged avoidance can cause the flowers to decay."

Soobin’s throat tightened. He could feel the burn behind his ribs. "And when that happens?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"It depends," he let out a breath, not quite a sigh, not quite a chuckle. "Some people slip into comas. Others just… lose the feeling. Walk away with scars you can’t see. No one reacts the same way, but there is one constant." He met Soobin’s gaze directly now. "You don’t get a second bond. Once it breaks, it doesn’t come back. It’s one soul, one tether."

If Soobin made the decision to break the bond... will you be finally free, then?

He paused, then added with a dry chuckle, "Some call it a kind of freedom. Earning the right to defy destiny. But whether that’s a blessing or a curse—that’s not for me to say."

Soobin sat motionless. But his head was loud, too loud.

The doctor scribbled something on a notepad and tore the page out, sliding it toward him. "These will help manage the pain if it gets unbearable," he said. "It might help you sleep. Might keep the coughing at bay."

Soobin reached for it with a quiet thank you, his hands a little shaky. As he stood, the doctor offered him a nod, eyes soft once again.

"Whatever you choose, do it with your whole heart, son. That’s all I can tell you."

Soobin managed a small bow before turning to the door, prescription clutched in his hand. The flowers in the doctor’s chamber swayed faintly in the morning light, as if encouraging him to quickly make the hardest decision.

“You’re not planning to break the bond, are you?”

Yeonjun’s voice broke through the silence as he chewed on his bottom lip, brows furrowed in concern. He watched Soobin slump onto the bench near the Arts building, the morning sun casting long, dappled shadows through the trees.

It was strange—Yeonjun used to think he knew Soobin like the back of his hand. Now, that certainty felt like a lie.

“Relax, Yeonjun. I can’t and won’t make the decision for her,” Soobin muttered, exhaling a long breath as he rubbed his temple. His entire being felt frayed, like he was barely stitched together. His chest ached, his mind was loud and cluttered, and a pounding headache throbbed behind his eyes. He glanced down at his phone, checking the time. You should be on campus by now.

Yeonjun took the spot beside him. "Hiding it from her is already bad enough," he said, voice low as he fixed Soobin with a look that said more than his words. "You do remember everything I said, right?"

Soobin gave a tired hum. It felt like his soul was dragging. Maybe this was the bond’s way of punishing him. The roots shifted again—sharp, stabbing pain erupting through his chest. He winced, folding forward with a hand clutched tightly over his heart. A rasping cough followed, one he barely managed to muffle with his other hand as his eyes squeezed shut, bracing against the wave of discomfort.

Yeonjun’s hand was on his back instantly, drawing firm circles, but it wasn’t enough. Soobin needed you. Your touch, your presence—his body screamed for it, every nerve ending crying out your name.

Destiny decided to be a little gentle with Soobin, as if it had grown soft with pity. Because the next moment, a familiar voice reached his ears, breaching past the fog of his mind.

“There you are, asshole.”

His eyes flew open, head tilting up, and there you were—standing in front of him, arms crossed, looking down at him with a frown. But to him, it felt like sunlight finally breaching through stormclouds.

“Damn, why do you look like that?” You crouched, concern drawing lines on your forehead. “Are you okay?”

Shit. Panic flared in Soobin’s chest. He scrambled for something to say, anything that would mask the truth—that wouldn't make you suspicious. But Yeonjun beat him to it.

“He swallowed a bug!” Yeonjun blurted.

The two of you turned to face Yeonjun with varying expressions of ‘what the fuck did you just say’. The awkward silence that followed caused Yeonjun to give a nervous laugh, patting Soobin’s back a little too enthusiastically. “Silly guy, right?”

You blinked, facing Soobin. “You eat bugs now?”

“Do you believe this idiot?” Soobin deadpanned.

“No.” You shook your head. “Forgot he’s an idiot.”

“I’m glad we both agree on that.”

“I’m literally right here,” Yeonjun muttered, offended. “Can you not talk shit about me in front of me?”

But neither of you spared him a glance. You studied Soobin’s face more closely now. Something tugged at your attention—a smudge on his glasses. Without a word, you reached out and gently slid them off his face.

He froze but every fiber of his being begged him to lean into your touch, to collapse into the comfort you offered so freely. But he held still as you wiped the lenses clean with the hem of your sleeve and perched them back on his nose. You tilted your head, smiling fondly. “Much better.”

Soobin’s heart stuttered. A blush crawled up his neck, painting his ears red. “Thanks,” he mumbled, fingers fumbling to adjust his glasses. Gosh, you'd be the death of him.

You stood, reaching into your bag. “You look dehydrated, Soob. Did you not drink enough water this morning?” You handed him the bottle of lemonade you’d packed for yourself. “Keep this with you for the day.”

“Oh!” Soobin straightened quickly, accepting it with both hands. He inspected the drink with a scrunched nose. “Did you put enough sugar in it? Is it edible?”

“Try it for yourself.” You rolled your eyes.

There were these mundane moments between you two that made Soobin forget the storm churning beneath the surface, forget the bond entirely, forget that you two were on the risky edge of a cliff. And he wasn’t the only one to feel this way, Yeonjun did too.

He watched in silence, watching the way your gazes held, how the space around you seemed to draw inward, cutting off the world beyond the two of you. He’d spent enough time around Soobin to understand the depth of his feelings. But watching you now, Yeonjun saw it too. You cared for Soobin in a way that ran deeper than friendship, deeper than even you realized. But because you hadn’t acknowledged it—hadn’t given yourself permission to see it for what it truly was—the bond remained waiting.

“I gotta run. Professor Park’s other TA ditched me today,” you said with an exasperated sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I need to collect reports from three sections and drop them off at her office.”

“I’ll help,” Soobin said, almost instantly. “Let’s go.”

You blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Really? Woah, so my training that day worked!” Soobin knew exactly what day you meant—the rainy morning when you danced with him under the weeping sky, the day the flowers took root in his chest, chanting your name. You grinned, your eyes crinkling with light, and reached up to ruffle his hair. “Pleased to be working with you, TA Soobin!”

He narrowed his eyes fondly, a small chuckle escaping him. How could he say aloud that soon, you might come to hate him for the truth he’d kept hidden? Every second you stood beside him, every laugh you shared, made that thought feel more unbearable.

Yeonjun cleared his throat from behind, reminding you both of his existence. “I’ll see you guys later then. Have fun doing TA stuff, nerds.”

You flipped him off without turning around. “Love you too, Jun.”

He laughed as he walked away, only to glance back a few seconds later. You and Soobin had already fallen into step beside each other, your voices rising and falling in half-bantered words, like always. Yeonjun’s smile lingered, soft and wistful. If there was anyone who deserved happiness, it was the two of you. Soulmates or not—he knew, with a certainty that didn’t need flowers or fate to prove it—you were meant for each other. And nothing, no one, could ever take that away.

Soobin and you had successfully collected all the reports, now divided into two teetering stacks between your arms as you made your way toward Professor Park’s office. When the elevator arrived with a soft chime, you both stepped in. You leaned against the cool metal wall, breathing out a sigh. The weight of the stack was beginning to bite into your fingers with dull ache, but you could care less about it. What plagued your mind instead was last night’s conversation, Soobin selflessly offering to stay the night, and the lingering ache on your shoulders.

"Thank you for last night," you mumbled, voice barely rising above the hum of the elevator. You didn’t meet his eyes, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed.

"Weirdo." Soobin huffed out a short laugh. "You don’t need to thank me for that. I’ve always done that for you."

The elevator chimed again, doors gliding open onto the quiet hallway of faculty offices. You stepped out first, boots soft against the floor. You glanced at him, brows gently pulling together. "Soobin—"

"Shh." He shifted the reports to one arm, lifting his free hand and pressing a finger lightly against your lips. The touch seared through your body, startling your mind and settling against your nape, and you swore you could've imagined it—but the ache that was gripping on your shoulders almost immediately lifted. “We’ve already talked about this, haven’t we? I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt yourself going numb, eyes widening, mind slipping out of your grasp. Your lips parted slightly, and the pad of his finger nearly touched the warm, tender pink of tongue and teeth. You saw the flicker in his eyes too—that blink of surprise, as if even he hadn’t meant to reach that far. But he didn't pull away, both of you standing motionless in front of the office room.

No. You shouldn't be feeling this. Not for your best friend—he wasn't your soulmate. You couldn't do this to him.

Your thoughts couldn't spiral further. The door to the office opened, a soft creak that made both of you jolt and spring apart like children caught sneaking out. Professor Park stood in the doorway with a kind smile. Her eyes went first to you, then to Soobin, pausing there just a little too long. His smile looked a little forced before he bowed down. You caught the faint red on the tip of his ears which soon got covered by the strands of his hair.

"I’ll put them on your desk!" you said quickly, brushing past her with your stack, needing the space more than ever. The room gave you a reprieve, however temporary. You placed the reports down, but your hands were trembling, and you had to hold the desk to keep your balance. You must've been out of your mind.

Soobin lingered by the door, awkward now. His glasses had slipped down slightly, and he pushed them up as he tried to reassemble himself under Professor Park’s gaze. "You’re the boy who’s always with her. Choi Soobin, I suppose?"

He nodded, unsure what to do with his hands, still clutching his half of the papers. But her words filled him with an odd sense of pride.

She studied him a moment before stepping forward. "Let me take those."

He handed them over with careful precision, retreating a half-step. The moment he did, he felt the cough building in his throat again—the pulling ache of distance. He turned away and buried it in his sleeve, barely suppressing the noise. When he looked back, Professor Park was still watching him. Not harshly, but rather with sharpness. Soobin managed a small smile, but deep down, he had a feeling she was already figuring things out.

“I’ll be needing her for the rest of the day. Is that okay with you, Mr. Choi?” she raised a brow, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

Soobin blinked at her words, caught slightly off guard by how pointed they sounded. The question was innocent on the surface—but layered beneath was an insinuation. It made him afraid. He couldn’t make anything obvious.

Professor Park was a cunning and smart woman. She always had a motherly instinct when it came to you—more watchful than most, always attentive, protective in a way that reminded Soobin of someone guarding a fragile but sharp blade. She might’ve smiled kindly, but he knew better than to take it lightly. He straightened and lowered his gaze in a modest bow. “Of course, Professor. I have no right to interfere in your TA’s duties.”

There was a pause—a beat of stillness where he could feel her eyes analyzing him again. Then she nodded once, turning into the office. He risked a glance into the room. You were already seated at your desk, focused on the reports.

Soobin turned away from the door, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked down the hall. His chest tightened, the bond pulling taut again, almost resentful of the growing distance. He coughed quietly into his fist, already missing you. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep doing this—lying to you, to himself. Every day he delayed, the roots grew deeper, tighter. Things were unraveling slowly, and he feared the day it would all come crashing down.

The nightmares didn’t return the next few nights, but neither did sleep.

Insomnia had always lingered at the edge of your life—an occasional visitor that made itself at home during finals week or after caffeine-fueled late-night study sessions. But this felt different. It wasn’t the sharp exhaustion of an all-nighter or the foggy disorientation from too much screen time. This was deeper, as if something inside you was quietly being siphoned away. A depletion not of sleep, but of something more vital.

You had brushed it off at first. Everyone was tired. Everyone had aches. But by midday, the way your body moved felt foreign, like a clockwork machine beginning to wind down.

The desk creaked faintly as you leaned back, typing in the final number on the marksheet. You stretched your arms high above your head, a groan slipping out as your muscles protested. Across from you, Yujin was still hunched over her stack of reports, scribbling comments with concentrated diligence. Her water bottle sat empty beside her elbow.

"I’ll fill this up for you," you offered, your voice rougher than usual.

Yujin looked up and smiled, grateful. You managed one back, grabbing the bottle and pushing to your feet. The ache in your shoulders pulsed with a dull insistence, like someone had lodged a weight between your blades and left it to fester. You rolled your shoulders once, then again, trying to loosen whatever tension had locked itself into your bones as you crossed the room toward the water dispenser.

You placed the bottle under it, pressed the lever. Your gaze followed the line of rising bubbles, but your thoughts began to drift, fogging over like breath on glass. A strange lightness stirred in your chest. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the room tilted.

You kept blinking. The edges of your vision smeared, like ink bleeding through wet paper. You reached out instinctively, hand bracing against the cabinet near the dispenser. The cold metal felt far away. Your fingers twitched, but your grip faltered. The bottle slipped from your grasp, clattering onto the floor with a muted thud.

A sudden rush of sound came from behind—shoes against linoleum, someone calling your name. The voices stretched and warped, muffled as if underwater. You tried to turn, to say something, but your mouth didn’t respond. Your knees buckled and before your body could hit the floor, hands caught you—Yujin’s voice rising, sharp with panic.

"Hey—! Hey, are you okay? Stay with me!"

She helped lower you gently to the floor, guiding you to sit back against the cabinet. Her hand hovered near your forehead before she began fanning you with the stack of papers she'd been grading just moments before. You blinked, disoriented, her face a blur of movement and worry, your surroundings tilting with every breath you took. A door opened somewhere, footsteps quick against linoleum.

“Move,” came a voice, worried but laced with command—Professor Park.

Cool fingers touched your wrist, then your cheek. The air conditioning hummed louder; someone must’ve lowered the temperature. Another hand placed a cup of water to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You tried, but your throat was too tight.

“You’re overheated,” Professor Park murmured. “Yujin, the sofa.”

They got you up with careful hands, guiding you to the couch that had always sat in the corner of her office. You collapsed into it with little resistance. The cushions welcomed you, but the pain on your nape didn’t ebb—it flared, the ache radiating outward like ripples on still water. It made your head spin. Your eyes fluttered, catching glimpses—the fluorescent lights overhead, Yujin pacing nearby, Professor Park pressing something cool against your temple.

“Bring Choi Soobin.” Her voice echoed faintly in your ears, as though it traveled through water. Your eyes slipped shut, the dimness behind your lids somehow more bearable than the stark light of the room. You stayed like that for a while—adrift in the hum of voices, the rustle of paper, the whisper of shoes against tile. Feeling the older woman's hand slip into yours, you held on. You didn’t know how long it lasted. Time felt both distant and immediate. But slowly, the world began to piece itself back together. The blurriness began to lift.

“Professor Park,” you rasped.

She leaned in without hesitation, tissue in hand, gently wiping your damp forehead. The lines around her eyes were tight with concern. “Why didn’t you tell me you were unwell?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you whispered. “I thought it would pass.”

You sat up, not quickly, but with effort, like pushing through water. The ache at the base of your skull pulsed in time with your heartbeat. “I think it’s just the semester catching up to me. Sleep’s been… hard. It’s not just the work. I don’t know. There’s this pain in my shoulder. It keeps spreading. Sometimes it grips my neck like it’s caught something.” Then, almost reflexively, you added, “I’m sorry if I sounded like I was complaining. I know I have my TA duties—”

She stopped you with a shake of her head. “You don’t have to apologize. My student’s health is my top priority. Always.” She handed you the water again. This time, you drank it. Not all of it, but enough for it to wet your tongue, cool your throat.

You didn’t catch the shift in Professor Park’s eyes—the way they narrowed slightly before scanning over your skin almost imperceptibly, sweeping over the curve of your collarbone, your wrists, your posture. She opened her mouth, hesitated, as if pondering. Then, almost cautiously, she asked, “Dear, have you by any chance—”

The door burst open, rattling the stillness of the room. Soobin stumbled inside, breath ragged, shirt half-tucked, his hair windswept like he’d raced through the hallways without a thought for anything but the destination. Yujin trailed just behind, breathless herself, but he was already scanning the room with a wild urgency. His eyes landed on you, and the panic cracked wide across his face.

You startled upright, your heart stumbling over itself. Heat surged into your cheeks before you could stop it. Professor Park was still beside you, your gaze darted to her, guilt prickling at your skin. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice small, breath hitching. “He must’ve been worried. I didn’t mean to cause a scene—”

But she didn’t scold. She didn’t even frown. Her eyes remained calm, voice even softer than before. “Don’t apologize. I was the one who sent for him.”

He was across the room in moments, knees hitting the floor in front of you with a dull thud. He didn’t touch you. His hands hovered, uncertain, before one of them dropped to the cushion beside your thigh, fingers splayed against the worn fabric.

“Are you okay?” His voice cracked around the edges. “They said you collapsed. I didn’t know what—”

You nodded quickly, leaning forward, voice a soft rush. “I’m okay now. Really. I just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just bowed his head, breath shaking through his chest. His fingers curled against the couch, shoulders taut like he hadn’t let himself breathe until now.

You reached out and touched his shoulder, your palm light against the fabric of his shirt. “You look like you aged ten years,” you said, trying for a smile that was only half-formed. “You can’t keep worrying like this, you’ll go bald.”

It came out shaky, but it earned a faint huff of air from him, the sound catching somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. You didn’t know how he did it—but with him here, you felt as if you’d already recovered, like the worst had passed the moment he arrived.

Neither of you caught the shift in the older woman’s eyes, too engrossed in your own little world. Her lips slowly curved, and for a moment, she seemed to be somewhere else entirely, tracing a line of thought she had no intention of saying aloud. A faint shake of her head followed, barely there, almost to herself. Just a thought—perhaps it has happened.

“Soobin,” she said, her voice warm, “take her home.” Then she looked at you. “And you’re taking a few days off from your TA work. Come back when you’re well.”

You couldn't bring yourself to politely turn her order down. At that moment, a break truly sounded like the escape you needed to clear your mind, rest and give yourself some time. You even made a mental note to visit the orthopedics next weekend as you two walked to Soobin’s car. 

He held your hand the entire way, going as far as to make sure you were seated comfortably in the passenger seat before getting in himself. Inside the car, he reached into the console and pulled out a half-full bottle of water. He placed it in the cup holder without a word, eyes flicking to your face as if to check for protest.

You raised an eyebrow at him, lips curving faintly. “I’m not dying, you know. You’re worrying too much!”

Soobin shook his head. The keys turned on the ignition, letting the low hum of the engine fill the silence. “I know,” he said eventually. “You’ll be fine now. Get some sleep. I’ll take you home safely.”

You liked the idea of sleeping. The seat was warm, and the sunlight spilling through the windshield turned the world outside into blurred strokes of gold and shadow. But just as you were about to let your eyes slip shut, your gaze caught something bright by the gear stick, lodged in between the corners. Two or three yellow petals had gathered there, you could've almost missed it had they not been yellow, bright against the dark trim. Curious, you reached forward and picked one up, holding it between your fingers. It caught the afternoon light like glass, the veins translucent, glowing.

Your brows drew together slightly as you turned the petal in your hand. “Is this… a daffodil?”

Soobin’s blood ran cold. A ghastly and crippling fear travelled through his limbs, eating away his entire being until it settled heavily at the pit of his stomach.  You didn’t need to look directly at him to notice the stillness that overtook him. 

“Why do you have daffodils in your car?” you asked, glancing at him now, a teasing edge in your voice, though your eyes narrowed with the faintest suspicion. “Did you get yourself some flowers? Or, rather for someone else?” 

In the driver’s seat, Soobin’s thoughts spiraled. He hadn’t meant to leave them there. He was sure he’d brushed the petals off before you arrived—had even checked the console twice. He remembered how careful he’d been. Too careful. But somehow his anxiousness won over his diligentness, and now that mistake sat blooming quietly in your hand. He scrambled for an answer, anything to redirect the truth.

“Oh—uh,” he stammered, trying to sound breezy, “they’re Yeonjun’s. He got flowers for someone. Must’ve fallen out of the bouquet.”

The lie tasted wrong the moment it left his mouth.

You hummed, still turning the petal between your fingers, watching how it caught the light. There was something wistful in your expression—your lips parting slightly, eyes far away. “Yeonjun must’ve spent a fortune,” you said softly. “Getting daffodils this time of the year…”

It was Spring, almost reaching Summer. Daffodils are best grown in Autumn. But you seemed to have bought the lie, so Soobin nodded, his breath shallow. “Yeah,” he muttered, and followed it with a brittle laugh that faded too fast.

He glanced sideways when you didn’t respond. You were staring out the window now, and though the petal still rested gently in your hand, your focus had drifted.

“I saw them in a dream once.”

His heart gave a quiet lurch. Was it another one of the bond’s effects? 

“There was a whole field of daffodils,” you continued, lashes lowered. “And you were standing in the middle of it.”

“Oh really?” he raised a brow, a crooked smile finding its way to his lips, his dimples charmingly full on display that barely masked the swell in his chest. You’d seen him in your dream? With those very flowers—the ones that were slowly consuming but at the same time held proof of his raw love for you? “You’re seeing me in your dreams now?” he asked, almost teasing. But he could barely hear himself over the thrum in his ears.

You scoffed, turning to him with a playful look. “Being best friends since diapers isn’t enough for you, is it? Now you’re haunting my dreams too.”

The corners of his mouth tugged higher, but he didn’t say anything. One of his hands reached up to fix his glasses. 

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and your hand fell back into your lap, the yellow petal still caught between your fingers. “We might as well be soulmates at this point.”

The smile slipped from his face like dusk settling over a sunlit room. The silence that followed was too still—it pulled at you before you even registered why. Your gaze darted to him, apology already tumbling from your lips. “Wait—I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t thinking—”

“What if you are?” he said, cutting in before he could stop himself. “What if you end up being mine?”

He didn’t know where the question came from. Maybe it was the petal still resting in your palm, the way you were holding it as if you were accepting everything it had to offer. Maybe it was the way you’d sounded when you mentioned that dream, like it hadn’t hurt to imagine him there with you. But the moment the words left his mouth, dread sank in low and hard.

What had he just done?

His heart beat a little too loudly. He wished he could snatch the question back, laugh it off, pretend it hadn’t slipped through the cracks in his restraint. But you were already looking at him, not startled, not confused—just unreadable. He wasn’t ready for any of the possible answers you could give him.

Your fingers played with the petal’s edges, the yellow catching light like a fragile flame. You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth, taking in a shaky breath. “It wouldn’t be so bad,” you said after a long pause. Your voice was soft. “We’ve been in each other’s lives for so long, I think destiny’s probably just gonna throw you at me for the rest of eternity anyway.”

You tried to joke, punctuating your sentence with a humorous laugh. The words were for yourself more than for him, as if you were trying to convince yourself only. But they didn’t feel wrong, and didn't taste bitter on your tongue. If anything, they felt only right.

Your answer blurred at the edges in his mind, static roaring in his ears. He couldn’t look at you. He couldn’t find a single sentence to say in return. All of them felt like they’d come out wrong.

“I said it before, didn’t I?” you continued. “You’re everywhere. Tangled into my days, tucked into the corners of my life. You touch me, and I suddenly feel a little less war-torn.” You gave a quiet laugh, barely a sound. “I don’t really know what peace is supposed to feel like after everything. But if I had to guess… I think it might feel a lot like you.”

Still, you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Because if you looked at him, you didn’t know what would happen. Because in your heart, a truth coiled quietly where he couldn’t see. If he really was your soulmate, it would’ve happened by now. That mark, that flowery grip, that cosmic moment—none of it had come. And because of that, you refused to let yourself reach too far for what you couldn’t hold. You convinced yourself it wasn’t love. It couldn’t be—not if the universe had stayed silent for so long. Were you strong enough to defy fate?

Here you were, ironically untouched by fate’s confirmation, sitting in his passenger seat like you always had. Always his best friend. Always almost. But this is what you had wanted, no? Closing your heart to love and soulmates? Your heart shouldn't be beating and longing for him now, right?

Sometimes you could find peace with the thought of Soobin leaving with his soulmate, accepting that it wasn't meant for you. Other nights you would be bargaining with God asking what you had to do or give up for Him to make Soobin stay forever.

Soobin was trying to squash that terrible feeling in his chest. What awfully felt like hope. 

He wanted to say it then—tell you how the petals weren’t Yeonjun’s, that he'd picked them out with trembling hands days ago, thinking only of you. But he didn’t. You’d had a long day. He wouldn’t lay such an important truth on your shoulders when you needed rest instead. So he breathed in, pushing down the swell rising in his chest, and leaned into the curve of a smile that barely held its shape. He reached out to pat your head with a soft, teasing coo, “Don’t get emotional on me now.”

You groaned at the gesture and caught his wrist mid-air, fingers curling around his hand to stop him—but you didn’t let go. And neither did he. His fingers shifted slowly until they slipped between yours, your palms pressing together like two puzzle pieces that had always known how to fit. A surge of warmth passed between you both, Soobin exhaling in relief as the bond’s effect took action.

“By the way,” Soobin said then, nudging the silence aside, “are you still going to that thing on Saturday? The gathering hosted by Beomgyu?”

“Right… I almost forgot about that.” You tutted, shaking your head.

“You still up for it?”

“Might be good,” you said, letting his hand go at last. “Break starts soon and that should be a good way to unwind, don’t you think?”

“Great. I’ll pick you up.”

The rest of the drive passed in a haze of shared jokes and soft complaints about crowds and snack quality. You both agreed to find a corner and hide there together like you always did—on the outskirts, but never alone.

When he pulled up in front of your apartment, you lingered a moment before opening the door, hand brushing his over the gear stick. “Now that I’m laid off from my job—” 

“You weren’t laid off—”

“Bitch, let me finish.” You flicked his forehead, earning a startled yelp from the boy. “You better watch your back on campus, Choi. I put in a very good word for you with Professor Park while you were helping me out.”

Soobin’s eyes narrowed instantly, the color draining from his face. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” you said with a self-satisfied grin. “Told her you were the most promising assistant she could ever have. You might even replace me.”

With that, you were gone—climbing the steps, fading into the night with that same soft laugh still dancing from your lips. And Soobin could only watch, a dumb smile on his face like the lovestruck idiot he is. Then he leaned back against the seat, chest rising and falling with swelling giddiness. His hand reached for his phone, fingers shaking with the building adrenaline coursing through his body, he tapped Yeonjun’s name.

Were things finally going to be okay? Would he be able to reach for you without fearing breaking you? It almost felt too good to be true. Your words felt way too good to be true. A grin broke across his face, too wide to hide when the line clicked. 

“I think I’m going to tell her.”

You pushed through the final stretch of hell week with the kind of tunnel vision that only caffeine, stress, and pure willpower could summon. Somehow, you made it out the other side. Semester break welcomed you like the first breath after surfacing from deep water. Surprisingly, you were feeling better, more refreshed. The heaviness in your chest no longer clawed to get out. Even your exams had passed without draining every last bit of life from you.

With your TA duties suspended for the time being, you managed to focus on your own coursework for once. Professor Park had let you know beforehand she’d be taking a short vacation once her lectures wrapped up for the semester. She asked if you’d be alright coming in on the weekends during the second week of break to help grade finals. You’d agreed without hesitation. By then, you figured, you’d be rested enough to feel human again.

Saturday came faster than expected. You stood before the vanity as the evening light spilled in, fading gold stretching across the floor. A dark navy dress clung to your frame, snug at the waist and flaring slightly just below the hips. It was the one Soobin's mother gifted you for your birthday last year. You remembered her warm smile and the teasing glint in her eyes when she told you who had chosen it. Soobin had flushed red, muttering denials that didn’t fool anyone, while his mother waved him off and told you that he’d sent her screenshots of dresses two months in advance.

The memory coaxed a smile from you.

Your phone buzzed on the table.

[Arriving in five minutes. Don’t keep me waiting, brat.]

You gave yourself one last look-over, brushing a hand down the dress and checking the subtle sheen of gloss on your lips. The necklace lay on the vanity, waiting.

True to his words, he rang your bell five minutes later. You swung open the door, ready with a sarcastic quip—but your voice tangled mid-thought. Soobin stood there, black shirt crisp against his frame, tucked into tailored pants that only emphasized his height. A charcoal coat draped over his shoulders, the collar crisp and clean. His hair was styled in a messy slick back way, a few strands falling across his forehead, and his glasses framed his eyes just right. He looked... too good. Unreasonably good. That made your heart drop somewhere to your stomach and detonate into fluttering fragments.

Your breath snagged for a moment as his gaze roamed. He wasn’t subtle about it either—his chest had tightened the moment you opened the door. The daffodils blooming deep within him stirred restlessly, agreeing with how devastatingly stunning you looked. He had known that dress would suit you when he picked it out last year, even though he’d vehemently denied it back then.

“I had a feeling you’d wear that,” he said as he stepped inside.

You shut the door behind him, shaking your head. “Didn’t really have an occasion to, so I figured why not now? I love this dress.”

“It suits you,” he said. Then, a beat later, “I knew it would.”

You didn’t comment on that. He followed you into your room as you gestured him in, glancing once in the mirror before grabbing the necklace from your dressing table.

“Give me two minutes. Just need to put this on, and we’ll leave.”

“Take your time,” he mumbled, already sitting on your bed, scrolling through his phone.

The clasp was being stubborn. You tried once, twice, but the hook refused to cooperate. Huffing, you looked over your shoulder.

“Soobin?”

He looked up, already pushing off the bed. “Yeah?”

“Can you—help?”

You watched him approach through the mirror’s reflection. When your hands brushed as you passed him the necklace, you felt your breath catch again. Holding your hair up with one hand, you stayed still while he worked.

Soobin’s eyes trailed up your back, then his hands stilled—because that’s when he saw it. Just below your hairline, resting against your nape, was the small daffodil tattoo.

His chest pulled taut. Of course you hadn’t figured it out yet. You never wore your hair up. All those days he spent wondering—fearing—when you’d confront him, when you’d say something before he ever got the chance to say anything first—this explained everything. You didn’t know yet because of where the tattoo had taken root. 

A smile curled at his lips, bittersweet and fond. For a fleeting second, he wanted to press a finger against the ink, to feel the warmth of it—or better yet, press his lips against the softness of your skin. Instead, he clasped the necklace curtly and let his hands rest on your shoulders, eyes finding yours through the mirror. You were already watching him.

“You look beautiful,” he said, voice soft and air against the shell of your ear. His fingers gave the lightest of squeezes. “Let’s get going.”

And then he stepped back. You stood frozen, knees untrustworthy and cheeks burning. Holy shit. You shouldn’t be thinking about his hands or his voice or the way he looked at you. You stood still for a second longer than necessary, blinking yourself back into motion. You called after him as you grabbed your purse, doing a last check before locking the door and following him out.

The drive was peaceful for the most part—until it wasn’t. Sometime between your shared playlist and petty arguments about music choices, the lingering tension finally fizzled and before long, the back-and-forth banter returned.

When you arrived, Beomgyu didn’t waste a second before throwing his arms around you pulling you into a hug that lifted you briefly off your feet.

“You actually came. You guys made my night,” he said.

“We wouldn't have missed it,” you replied, grinning.

Beomgyu pulled Soobin in for a casual shoulder bump of a hug, laughter low in his throat as you both chimed in with your congratulations. The occasion—his job offer—had given just enough excuse to gather the people closest to him, and the group that filled the small venue reflected that.

It was a modest turnout: a mix of familiar faces from your department and a handful of Beomgyu’s friends from school. He led you through the warm buzz of voices and soft music to a table he’d reserved. There, Yeonjun lounged with a drink in hand, tipping his head up as you approached. He raised an eyebrow, then did a theatrical double take.

“Okay, wow.” He stood, tone laced with exaggerated awe. “Prettiest girl in the room just walked in.”

You scoffed and laughed, brushing off his teasing as he gave a dramatic bow. “Still running your mouth, I see.”

“Only when the truth demands it.”

Then his gaze flicked to Soobin, brows lifting in recognition. The silent look between them said enough—Yeonjun hadn’t forgotten that last phone call.

As all of you settled in your seats, you recognized many, and even those you didn’t were kind, open, easy to be around. You didn’t feel drained or anxious. If anything, this was the most relaxed you’d felt in weeks. And Soobin, as always, stayed by your side.

Between laughter and conversation, you barely realized how fast time was moving. At one point, Soobin leaned toward you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“You okay?” he murmured. “If you’re tired, I can take you home.”

Your heart curled at the care threaded into those words. You turned to him with a small frown that softened into a smile. Then, reaching up, you pinched his cheek gently. “I’m fine. Stop being so soft.”

His grin twitched. Yeonjun cut in next, announcing he’d be spending the break with his grandparents, and the conversation spiraled off—travel plans, internship woes, stories from the semester. Plates emptied, drinks refilled. Somewhere between a retelling of a disastrous group project and someone’s impersonation of a professor, your eyes occasionally sweep across the room, catching small moments, little details.

That is until you felt your blood run cold.

You were laughing just moments ago. But that was before—before your eyes caught on a silhouette through the crowd. Before every fiber in your body locked into place as though it recognized a threat before your mind could comprehend it. There was no way you were seeing it right. It must've been an illusion, someone else perhaps, some who just simply looked like him. You felt the noises around you fade, a sick dizziness washing over you.

To your utter horror, there was no mistake. Laughter. His, echoing faintly across the room like a whip across skin. His face tilted up, caught in motion and frozen in time all at once.

It was Kim Doyun.

The name roared through your bloodstream like fire.

The room lost color. Sound dulled into a low drone that no longer made sense. Even the warmth of the bodies around you couldn’t reach the numb frost crawling beneath your skin. He was just across the room, completely unaware of the wreckage he had left behind years ago.

Soobin's voice broke through—muffled, distant. You felt his presence shift, but you couldn’t focus. Your fingers twitched once before going limp in your lap. Your breath snagged in your throat.

Then you blinked, and his eyes were on you.

Doyun saw you.

"Soobin," you choked, his name barely formed.

Your eyes didn’t leave Doyun’s face as if daring it to vanish, to prove itself a hallucination, but he remained.

Soobin followed your stare. You felt his body lock beside you, the sharp draw of breath through his teeth. He didn’t speak. He reached for you with the steadiness of someone trying to stop an avalanche with their bare hands. His palm touched your jaw, tilting your head toward him.

To anyone watching, it would’ve looked tender. But there was no tenderness in the way your lungs refused to inflate, in the way your pulse raced like a deer through brush. No sweetness in the white-hot panic crashing down like floodwaters. Soobin’s hand cupped your cheek like he was trying to keep you afloat.

“Hey, hey—look at me,” he murmured, his voice a thread trying to tether you to the present. But it barely pierced through the noise. “I’m here. It’s alright. Do you hear me? Do you want to leave?”

You shook beneath his touch, barely aware of your surroundings. Yeonjun sat up straight, catching on Soobin’s sudden shift in tone. But Soobin shook his head once, and the older male caught on fast. He turned back to the table, pulling attention toward himself, giving you the illusion of privacy.

Your fingers clutched the fabric of your dress until your knuckles paled. Soobin leaned closer, voice trembling with restraint.

“Tell me what you need,” he urged.

Through the fog, through the tears threatening to spill over, you looked at him. His face—the home you’d found after a storm. And in a voice thin and cracking at the edges, you said,

"Take me away from here."

Soobin held your arm with careful strength as he guided you around the corner of the rooftop cafe—secluded enough for no one to see, dimly lit by the muted golden glow of a wall sconce that flickered under the wind’s touch. Your heels scraped against the concrete tiles, breath coming out with forced efforts, your vision tunneling with every echoing thud of your pulse. Your knees buckled, but Soobin caught you just in time.

You collapsed against him as though your bones had given up the pretense of holding you together. His arms wrapped around you with a desperation that trembled at the seams, rocking you as you curled into his chest, your fists clutching the fabric of his coat as you struggled to steady your breathing.

The sobs tore through you—violent, unrestrained, deep from the gut where grief had festered too long in silence. They didn’t fall like gentle rain but came crashing like a storm, howling out of your body in a rhythm too erratic to follow. Soobin’s breath stuttered against your crown as he held on. You wept like the past had come to drag you back under.

"Why would he be here?" you gasped out between cries, each word ripped raw from your throat. "Soobin—he saw me. He looked right at me."

He didn't speak. Just pulled you closer as your shoulders shook harder.

"I thought I was okay," your voice cracked, high and small. "I thought—I thought I was healing. I was trying. Why now? Why here? Why is fate so cruel to me? Why does it keep throwing me back into him? Answer me, Soobin. Please—please tell me."

Each plea gutted him. The daffodils in his chest clawed like wildfire, each petal curling inwards, burning into his ribs. The pain was vicious now—no longer a dull ache, but a searing collapse. And then he realized. It wasn't just your panic that trembled through you.

It was the bond.

You couldn’t tell the difference in that state—how could you? The way your shoulders clenched, the way your nape throbbed—it must’ve felt like the panic itself, not the sacred thread between you both beginning to reject its place inside you. But Soobin felt the split begin at the roots, the bond fighting to hold on while your trauma pushed it out.

You weren’t ready.

And seeing you like this—shattered and gasping for control of yourself—it shattered him too. All his plans, all the words he thought he’d finally say tonight… they evaporated into the night air. In hope’s place, his past fears began to take root.

He pulled away just enough to see your face, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks, though his hands were shaking. "I’m sorry," he whispered, hoarse. His own eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Your eyes searched his through a haze of tears, confusion flickering somewhere beneath the anguish.

"I’m sorry," he repeated, softer this time, like it was all he had left. He couldn’t give you peace, couldn’t give you safety, couldn’t give you freedom—not when his presence was laced with something that caused you more pain than comfort. "You didn’t deserve this. Any of it."

You leaned into his touch again, letting the silence between you breathe for a moment as the sobs dulled to broken exhales. When your body finally allowed air to return in full, when your chest began to rise and fall without catching, you gave him a nod.

“Let’s go home,” you murmured.

He stood first, offering you a hand that you took without looking, and together, you walked across the roof tiles, step after step under the pale light of the moon.

To anyone else, your footsteps might have sounded like you were going home together, when in reality, with each step Soobin was preparing to walk away.

He would give you what you deserved—freedom. Even if it meant breaking a bond that tied every breath of him to you.

The apartment was lit only by the faint amber glow of the lamp on your bedside table. Soobin had been careful—gentle hands wiping the remnants of ruined makeup from your cheeks, brushing the strands of hair from your damp forehead. You’d fallen asleep at last, exhaustion overtaking even the panic that had wrecked your body. He’d stayed until your breathing evened out, until your grip on the blanket loosened.

He stood by the door for a long time, staring at the outline of your resting figure, memorizing the rise and fall of your chest. He should’ve walked away long before the ache in his chest had turned into something unbearable. But how could he, when the thought of leaving you—even for your sake—felt like choosing to suffocate?

It was supposed to be a calm night. A soft end to a long day, a crazy semester. But instead, you had shattered. And he had watched it happen. Watched the exact moment you cracked open, the past dragging its claws through your present.

He didn’t go home. He headed back to the venue. Yeonjun was already waiting when he arrived—called out of worry, out of desperation. He took one look at Soobin and froze, wincing at the way the younger looked as if he had visibly shrunk in the past hour.

“Soobin—what the hell—are you okay? Is she okay?” he asked in a rush, stepping closer. “What happened?”

Soobin’s eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with tears that hadn’t quite dried. His shoulders were rigid, but his expression was hollow. “She’s not ready.” The words fell like stones. “She’s not ready and I was stupid enough to hope.”

Yeonjun’s throat tightened. “What do you mean? What happened back there?”

“She saw him.” Soobin’s voice cracked. “Doyun. He was there. And she... she broke, Yeonjun. Right in front of me. I’ve never—” he blinked rapidly, breath hitching, “—never seen her like that since middle school. Since that day.”

Yeonjun’s heart dropped, hands shooting forward to help Soobin sit down on one of the bar tools near the railing. His gaze darted around quickly, making sure there were no prying eyes around.

“She was sobbing in my arms, asking me why fate keeps doing this to her,” Soobin continued, voice straining against the weight. “And all I could think about was how much worse it would be if she found out about the bond. If she ever knew and hated me for it.”

“Soobin,” Yeonjun tried, “you don’t know that. She might not hate you. This isn’t just about you—this is fate, the bond is not in your hands—”

“No.” Soobin’s voice turned steely. “It’s in my hands. It’s been in my hands since the beginning. I can’t let her go through that again. I won’t. I’m going to break it.”

Yeonjun reeled back, mouth falling open. “Are you insane? You heard what the doctor said. The pain—one of you could fall into a coma. You’ll never get another soulmate. Neither of you will.”

“So what?” Soobin spat, but the tremble in his voice betrayed him. “What does any of that matter if she ends up suffering? If I’m the reason she relives that hell again?”

A sharp stab exploded in his chest, so sudden and vicious it nearly stole the air from his lungs. Soobin’s eyes widened. A choking noise escaped him before a violent, gut-wrenching cough tore from his body. He doubled over, one hand flying to his mouth as his spine arched with the force of it, the yellow petals spilling out with every cough.

Soobin's eyes flew open when he heard Yeonjun take a sharp breath followed by a curse under his breath. To their horror, the petals weren’t just soft and golden—they were stained red this time, ruined by the dark, wet blotches that soaked through like spilled ink.

Yeonjun’s heart nearly stopped. “Shit—Soobin!” he exclaimed, lunging forward. He dropped to his knees beside him, hands hovering helplessly as Soobin doubled over, his fingers trembling and slick with crimson. The petals scattered across the rooftop floor like ruined confessions.

Soobin’s breath came in ragged gasps, blood dribbling down his chin. The metallic tang filled his mouth, the floral aftertaste bitter and overwhelming. Pain flared white-hot behind his eyes. His vision blurred.

Yeonjun felt the sharp pang of panic shoot through his chest. It had never been like this before. Not with blood. Not with this much agony. Not with Soobin looking like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Yeonjun muttered, grabbing Soobin’s shoulders and steadying him, his voice tight with desperation. “You’re killing yourself.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Soobin croaked, tears slipping down his cheeks, mingling with the blood on his chin. He looked up suddenly, eyes raw, swollen with pain and something far worse—resolve. Then, with sudden force, he reached out and gripped Yeonjun’s arm. There was a subtle ferocity in the gesture, a finality that made Yeonjun’s skin crawl.

“I need a place to stay.”

Yeonjun blinked. “What...?”

“I can’t be near her. Not if I’m going to go through with this. Please.”

Yeonjun stared at him, caught in the cruel space between horror and heartbreak. He didn’t want to be a part of this. Didn’t want to watch his friend lose himself thread by thread. He couldn't imagine the look on your face when you’d find the truth. But staring at Soobin, who was like a brother to him—the shattering, the absolute devastation—it told him that Soobin had already made his decision.

After a long silence, Yeonjun sighed harshly, before speaking, “You can come with me to my grandparent's house.”

Soobin’s breath left him in a shaky rush. “Thank you.”

“What if she asks for you?” One last time, Yeonjun asked, as if to make sure this is truly what Soobin wanted. 

Soobin looked up at the stars, tears clinging to his lashes. “Then I hope she lives free. That’s the least I can do for her.”

The memory of your tear-streaked face haunted his mind. The sound of your cries, echoing like a wound that wouldn’t close. It reminded him of the day you ran to him back in middle school, shattered by Doyun’s cruelty, sobbing so hard you couldn’t breathe. He had held you then, just like he did tonight.

If he let himself stay—if he gave in to the bond—it would destroy you. At least that’s what he believed. And Yeonjun, no matter how much it hurt, couldn’t bring himself to argue anymore.

You'd been awake for a while. Watching the sun rise, your room was washed in soft morning light. Your eyes were heavy from the night before, the memories returning in slow waves. But they didn’t sweep you under this time. Instead of anguish, you felt anger. And beneath that—pity. For yourself. For giving someone like Doyun that much power over your life.

You exhaled slowly, letting the thought settle. It was time to tear through the veil of the past, wasn't it? To love without fear. To feel without bracing for pain. 

You were strong. You could take your life back, right?

The morning moved at its own pace. You showered, hoping the warm water might ease the aches gnawing at your body. When it didn’t you settled with some painkillers. It somehow got even worse overnight. Maybe it was time to restart your orthopedics plan.

You weren’t surprised when Soobin showed up. The two of you stood in your kitchen, the kettle humming between you. It felt domestic—normalcy woven into your very existence. It always did, with him. You promised yourself not to take this comfort for granted.

“I’m visiting a relative tomorrow,” he said, eyes finally meeting yours. “I’ll be gone for a while.”

You blinked. The words hit without warning, slipping into the room like a chill. “Is it serious?” you asked. “Everything okay with your family?”

He offered a soft smile. "Yeah. My mom hasn’t seen her side of the family in years. Distant folks—I barely know them." A smooth lie. 

You tilted your head, feigning sadness. “I was planning to spend the break with you, you know. But no, go ahead, leave me all alone.” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Hope your relative’s more fun than I am.”

A breath of laughter escaped him, but he didn’t respond. The silence hung around you like mist. Then, he stepped away from the counter, his arms parting for you.

Your eyes trembled, shoulders slumped as you stepped into him, letting your forehead rest against his chest with a quiet thud. Soobin’s arms engulfed you, almost hiding your frame into him, resting his chin on the top of your head. You stayed like that for a while. 

Closing your eyes, you drew in his scent—there was a faint floral note. Did he change his cologne? Or his soap? But either way, underneath all that was Soobin that you knew like second nature—like the warmth of a late summer afternoon, like the pages of a well-loved book, like home.

“You’re the bravest person I know,” he murmured into your hair. “You’ve been through hell and still chose to get back up. That’s not easy. But you’re doing it. And I know you’ll make it through.”

You sniffled. The knot in your throat was too tight. With him here, it felt possible—like maybe the world wasn’t as cruel as it had felt yesterday.

“Be back soon,” you whispered.

For a moment, he didn’t speak or move. When he finally pulled back, just enough to see your face, his gaze locked onto yours. You couldn't name what you saw there. And that unsettled you more than anything else. Because there was no promise in his silence. No reassurance. Just the numb feeling of something slipping through your fingers before you even realized you were holding onto it.

You felt the hollowness the moment he was gone.

The next few days passed in a daze. Your friends dragged you out—cafés, arcades, walks through the city under cloudy skies—but it all slipped by like smoke through your fingers. Their voices rose and fell like static, laughter bursting like fireworks you couldn’t see. You gave smiles on cue, nodded in all the right places, but there was a gap between your body and your mind. It was as if you stood behind a pane of glass, watching it all unfold without reaching through.

Communication with Soobin was scarce. You told yourself he was somewhere far, where the signal was weak. When you messaged him, he replied right away. Sometimes with words, sometimes with photos—a table set for one with warm, homemade dishes; a wind-blown field under a peach-colored sky; his shadow stretched long along a country road. You stared at those pictures longer than you meant to, your eyes stinging as you tried to make sense of the pressure tightening in your chest.

You weren’t sure what ached more: the flare of your chronic pain, which returned with a vengeance, or the way time had begun to move strangely without him. You finally booked an appointment with your orthopedist, fingers trembling as you keyed in the date. The apartment felt too quiet. You missed the sound of his voice, the way he'd fill your kitchen with his humming, his rambling thoughts. You felt lonely.

By the time the semester break began to wane, you’d returned to your duties like how you promised Professor Park.

"Dear! Come on in!" Professor Park beamed the moment your head peaked in. The lady shuffled around her desk, hand outstretched as she rushed toward you before engulfing you in a hug. It felt good to be back in your space, you missed the affection and comfort the older lady gave you. She reminded you of your own mother. 

“I brought gifts from Singapore! For you and Yujin both!” She bustled back to her desk, retrieving a delicate box wrapped in soft gold tissue. With excitement twinkling in her eyes, she handed it to you. “Go on, open it!”

You peeled the paper with care, revealing a carved hairclip so intricate it stole your breath. Floral vines curled around its base, and tiny gemstones shimmered like dew.

"Professor, you didn’t have to!" you exclaimed, though your fingers curled around the gift instinctively. You held it close, heart fluttering.

She waved you off and moved behind you, already reaching for it. "Let me help you wear it, dear." Her fingers were nimble, parting your hair with delicate care. Your protests meekly faltered as her fingers threaded gently through your strands. Embarrassment bloomed under your skin, but you stayed still, feeling a little self-conscious that someone was putting such close attention on you.

“There,” she said brightly, stepping back to admire her work. "Aha! I knew you'd look lov—"

You heard her voice stop mid-sentence. Slowly, you turned to look at her. Her expression had shifted completely. The smile drained from her face, brows furrowed deeply, mouth parted with a question not yet formed.

“…Professor?” Your voice came small. “Is something wrong?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze remained fixed on you—or rather, behind you. Her eyes dropped to your nape. And then, she spoke, voice low with confusion. "Dear… how come your bond is still colourless?"

“My… what?” You blurted out. Your hand shot up to the back of your neck. “What bond?”

Professor Park’s expression shifted again—paler now, tinged with something akin to disbelief. "What bond—?" she echoed, then cut herself off. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, as if realizing too much at once. She took a sharp breath, stepping closer. "Where’s Soobin?"

You didn’t get to answer. The pain returned and it struck fast—sharp, burning—piercing through the base of your neck as if a needle had sunk through bone. Your breath staggered, eyes widening as your heart plummeted into your gut. And yet, that wasn’t what terrified you. It was the slow, merciless dawn of realization that scraped and tore as it surfaced.

“Professor Park…” you whispered, voice barely holding shape. “I don’t have a soulmate. There shouldn’t be any bond.”

But the words felt hollow in your mouth, like a script you’d read too many times, hoping it might stay that way forever. You weren’t telling her—you were begging yourself.

Professor Park took a moment before speaking again. Her movements gentler now, as she reached for her phone. "Would you like to see it? The tattoo, I mean. I can take a photo and show you, if that’s alright."

You hesitated, a hand still half-covering your nape, but you gave a slow nod. The air felt cooler against your skin this time, every second stretching. You heard the shutter of her phone camera, and then she walked back around, holding the screen out. The photo glowed between you, and in it bloomed the cruelest revelation you’d ever seen.

Your breath didn’t hitch—it collapsed. It wasn’t just any flower. It was the one whose petals you’d picked out of Soobin’s car days ago, believing those were from a bouquet. That’s what he told you, anyway—that they were Yeonjun’s. You hadn’t questioned it. Why would you have? You never questioned anything when it came to him.

But now, the same flower was etched into your skin, waiting to be filled with colour. And it had been blooming for a while, hadn’t it? The aches—the persistent pain at the base of your neck you chalked up to a chronic condition. You had appointments booked, ice packs pressed against it, painkillers tucked into every bag. None of it worked, because it wasn’t chronic. You get it now.

What if you end up being mine?

It was Soobin.

You saw it now—all of it. That night you dreamed of him standing in the middle of a field of daffodils, golden light slanting over his shoulders, petals swaying around him like a living tide. He stood there as if waiting, as if hoping, and you woke up with your heart aching for him, not knowing why.

He’d carried it alone. Carried the pain, the bloom, the bond—let it grow in silence while you lived on, blind and blissfully unaware. He never asked for your love. Never demanded your attention. He stayed beside you as a friend—as your best friend, shielding you all the time. You choked out a disbelieving laugh. Not from shock—no, this was grief. Pure, raw grief, spiraling into guilt that made your stomach lurch. You’d laughed with him, cried beside him, built a home of trust around his silences and never saw it. You’d looked into his eyes and missed the storm behind them.

And you had a terrible feeling you knew why he never told you.

The thought cracked open your chest. Tears clung to your lashes, hot and stinging. You weren’t even sure if you deserved to cry.

“Dear,” when Professor Park reached for you sitting down, it was with that same maternal gentleness she’d always carried—like the embrace of a warm shawl draped over shaking shoulders. “You’ve been hurting. Is there anything you wish to share with me?”

And that was the part you couldn’t say aloud. The words sat like glass in your throat. So instead, you turned away and stared at the carpeted floor, your voice turning inward. But when her cold and soft hands covered your trembling ones, her eyes shone with nothing but gentle encouragement, you broke.

How you’d spent days giddy after a boy claimed to be your soulmate in middle school, kept up the lie for a full week, weaving a story so convincingly. How you—young, naive, desperate to believe—had clung to his words like a lifeline. How, at the end of the week, he had laughed in your face in front of an audience—the humiliation and the heartbreak that followed, hardening in your chest like stone.

“I was so stupid,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I didn’t even know how the bond worked back then. I thought—I thought maybe he was right. Maybe if you accept it early, the symptoms don’t show up as much. I was just a kid. It was so easy for him to trick me.”

When you finally turned your head, Professor Park’s eyes were glossy and red. She reached for you, arms open, and pulled you in without hesitation. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, sniffling. You felt the press of her cheek against your hair. “You weren’t stupid. You were just a child and wanted to believe in something beautiful.”

Over the years you built your peace on denial. You tucked your hope away, convinced yourself it was safer not to believe in fate at all. And maybe it was. Maybe that lie gave you stability. But it also robbed you of the truth.

“After that it was my ignorance controlling me,” you confessed, voice rough. “All these years, I chose not to see. Because if I believed in it, I’d have to admit that I was still afraid, still hurting. I told myself I kept everything measured, nothing could hurt me. And that’s why I never let myself see him.”

You winced, burying your face in your hands as you could only imagine what Soobin had been through all these days. He had daffodils constricting his airways, and yet everytime you met him, he smiled at you and held you close. You've been making a grave mistake.

Professor Park took your hand in hers again, thumb rubbed gently against your knuckles. “You were protecting yourself. That’s not a sin.”

“But I hurt him,” you whispered. “He never said it, but I know I did.”

“He made a choice too,” she said. “To keep it from you. Maybe to give you space, maybe to shield you. It doesn’t make your love less real.”

You looked up slowly, vision blurred, throat thick. “I love him.”

It was the first time you said it out loud. The words didn’t tremble—they were waiting to leave your heart.

“I love Soobin,” you said again, never being so sure of anything before. “Not because of the bond. Not because of fate. Because of everything he is. Because he listens. Because he remembers the little things. Because he always made space for me, even when I didn’t ask.”

“Then go to him,” she said softly, her hand giving your shoulder a squeeze. “There’s still time to make things right.” 

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, breath shuddering as you straightened. A part of you still felt raw, exposed—but another part surged with clarity like the last lock falling open. You promised yourself that you'd take back control of your life, didn’t you?

“I won’t tell you to stop being afraid overnight,” Professor Park said, continuing with a firm nod. “But don’t let one person’s cruelty steal your chance at something real. The bond doesn’t make you lovable or unlovable. You were always worthy of love, with or without it.”

You’d been wrong—blind to what mattered the most. But now that you truly saw it, you were going to make things right. You owed it to him, and to yourself.

“Come on, pick up.”

Your voice was breathless, almost a plea as you stood outside the courtyard. Each ring felt like a heartbeat lost. The line crackled and cut, again and again—busy, disconnected, unreachable. You stared at the screen, frustration curling in your chest as you tried one more time. Your fingers moved on instinct, pressing Soobin’s mother’s number. You let out a breath of relief when she picked up.

“Darling! It’s been so long since you called! How have you been?” Her cheery voice filled your ear like sunlight through fog.

You managed a breath. “I’m okay, just... I wanted to ask if Soobin’s around you?”

“Oh? No, no, he’s not here. He’s staying with a friend, I think? Some kind of trip to their hometown—don’t tell me he didn’t mention it?”

Your heart sank and you felt the dread like a tide you’d been bracing for. You weren’t really surprised. You figured out by now that he was up to something terrible. Distancing himself from you was probably his main goal, and it definitely had something to do with the bond.

“Oh—he did,” you lied with a short laugh. “Sorry, I’ve just been all over the place with exams.”

“Ah, those exams,” she sighed, “you poor thing. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“I will. Thank you.” You ended the call, your voice didn’t crack.

She hung up with another gentle laugh, and you were left staring at your phone, your reflection warped across the screen. Your thumb scrolled up on your last conversation with Soobin. A handful of photos—rolling green hills, a horizon stretched golden with sun, a few wind-swept trees—but no town signs, no buildings, nothing that told you where he’d gone. You tapped each photo, zooming in and scanning the edges, eyes darting like a hawk’s.

Desperation clawed through your chest. You opened Google Lens, dropped the images in, prayed for anything useful. The search pulled up tourist blogs, vague suggestions, countryside guesses. You closed the app and exhaled hard through your nose, biting the edge of your thumb. There was one more person who could tell you about his whereabouts. 

You had barely found the name in your contact list when you felt a brush across your shoulder. Your heart leapt into your throat. You turned, almost stumbling back.

“Oh—sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

You blinked hard, heart still galloping. “Ari.”

She looked apologetic, shoulders tensed beneath her canvas tote strap. Her hair was a little windswept, cheeks slightly flushed like she’d hurried over. Ari had been your friend since middle school—one of the only ones who didn’t drift away. You were in the same university now, in different departments, but the history between you had never faded.

She cast a glance over her shoulder before stepping closer. "Do you have a minute?"

Your nerves were already worn thin, but you nodded. "What’s up?"

Her eyes darted once more, then settled on yours. “Doyun reached out to me.”

“What?” you asked, voice barely managing to come out. The name alone still made your stomach turn.

“Through socials,” she continued. “He asked if I could get him in touch with you.”

You stared, mouth falling open and closing like a gaping fish. 

“I told him no,” she said quickly. “Told him to back off. That he had no right. But he kept begging. Said he just wanted to meet you once. He wanted to apologize.”

You blinked, head spinning. A scoff almost tore from your throat. Ari, without another word, pulled out her phone and showed you their conversation. 

“I still hate him for what he did to you,” she said, slipping the device back into her coat. “I never forgave him. I never will. But I figured... I should tell you. Just in case he tries other ways to reach out.”

Your grip on your phone tightened. He had been gone for years and now, when everything inside you already felt like it was collapsing, he came crawling out from the past to apologize? Your gut twisted with indecision, the instinct to run curling in your bones like a deeply ingrained reflex. You had spent years putting this behind you, burying it under layers of apathy. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe you had spent too long running. Every step you’d taken away from the pain had only kept you shackled to it. 

You were in control now. Not Doyun. He wanted to talk? Fine. He could talk.

You hadn’t slept.

The night stretched on, hollow and endless, devouring every second until the hours blurred into something unrecognizable. Your eyes stung from exhaustion, but sleep had never come. It never even teased you with the possibility.

By dawn, your insides were already roiling. You barely made it to the bathroom before you were retching into the sink, body convulsing from the storm coiled deep in your gut. When it passed, there was no relief. Just the bitter taste in your mouth and the chill that soaked into your bones. The mirror offered no comfort either. Your reflection stared back like a stranger—eyes rimmed with shadows, cheeks hollow, strands of hair clinging to damp skin. You reached up, fingertips brushing the back of your neck. The pain was so bad that it almost became numb to you, forcing yourself to move around like a ragdoll.

You tried to sleep again, tossing and turning in your bed until the light shifted across the ceiling as the sun climbed high and painted everything in tired gold. You took a quick shower, and as you dried your hair, your phone buzzed, cutting through the haze.

You turned toward it with the slow caution of someone expecting bad news. But it wasn’t dread that bloomed when you saw the sender—just a strange hollowness that settled in your chest like ash. It didn’t make your pulse spike. It didn’t twist your stomach into knots. You were rather awfully calm, calm enough to willingly soothe out whatever nerves that tried climbing you. 

You just stared at his name, one that used to have so much power over you just a few days ago. Because it was your conditions that dictated the meeting. You chose the place. You chose the time. He had no say. He was just answering to what you had already set in motion. And he would follow your terms.

This time, he would follow you.

Doyun sat across from you, his hands shaking as he gripped the ceramic cup in front of him, but he wasn’t drinking. He hadn’t taken a single sip. His eyes—ones that once carried nothing but arrogance—were now swollen, red-rimmed, heavy with something you didn’t know if you could call remorse.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he offered, a brittle chuckle escaping like it had been caught in his throat too long.

Your eyes, devoid of any emotion, pinned him on his seat. You were surprised how just a few years ago even hearing his name used to carve open panic in your chest, left you gasping through old nightmares—and how just a few days, seeing him made you fall apart exactly like how you did back then. Now you’re sitting in front of him feeling like an empty shell. You nodded in acknowledgement, bringing your cup of coffee to your lips.

His mouth opened again, as if he had planned to ramble, to fill the space with anything that wasn’t silence. “How have you—”

“That point, Doyun. Make it.”

Your tone cut like a blade. His words trailed off, severed mid-sentence. He stared at the table for a beat too long before sucking in a breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, cracking under the weight of his own guilt.

“I… I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he started, exhaling shakily. “I just—I needed to say it. I needed to tell you I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders stayed still, but inside, your chest had gone taut. For years, you had curated your rage like a collection. Kept it locked away in the attic of your mind, dusted it off whenever the pain clawed back in. You didn’t know who you were without it.

He shifted forward slightly, the movement awkward, uncertain. “I met my soulmate.”

Your eyes widened just a fraction, as if to show your bewilderment. He probably noticed it because he continued. “She—she loved me so much,” he whispered, voice trembling. “She carried the flowers in her. I've watched her suffer so much. But she still loved me through it all.” He let out a bitter laugh, one that carried the weight of years of regret. “And I bore the mark,” he said, holding his hand out. On top of his index finger, there sat a pretty periwinkle tattoo. Its colour vibrant against his pale skin. The colour meant they had accepted the bond.

Your grip on your cup tightened.

“When she was going through it,” his voice grew uneven, dragged down by memory, “I understood—the pain, the longing of your soulmate to accept the bond back. It’s suffocating. I—” his voice cracked, his fingers shaking, “—I couldn’t let her feel the pain any longer.”

The realization hit you slowly, creeping up on you before you could brace yourself for impact. Doyun had never known the weight of a soulmate bond until it was bestowed upon him. And in the end, he had been swallowed by the very thing he mocked.

He looked up to you then, eyes glossy, jaw clenched as if it physically pained him to look at you. “I regretted everything, especially what I did to you. When I found my own happiness, and when I felt how truly beautiful and cruel the bond can be, all I could think about was you. I didn’t think—” he exhaled shakily, shaking his head, “—I was young and stupid and cruel. I didn’t think about how it would affect you. But… I messed up badly, didn't I?"

You didn’t answer. Not because you wanted to give him the comfort of being heard. But because something in you needed this, too. Not closure—maybe acknowledgment. A name for the pain. 

“I know I'm late. I’m really late but I couldn't let myself die in this lifetime without apologizing. I had to at least try to make things right.” His eyes shone with raw guilt. “I am sorry. Truly sorry. From the bottom of my heart.”

You sat there, absorbing his words. You had spent so long thinking he’d never feel an ounce of regret for what he did, that he’d walk through life untouched by the ruin he left behind. But he hadn’t. The bond had come for him too and it tested him, made him kneel. Maybe that was justice at its best form.

You let out a breath, long and quiet. The anger hadn’t disappeared, but it no longer burned as fiercely. This cycle of hurt—the inherited silence, the cruelty born from fear, the grief passed hand to hand like heirlooms—had worn on for too long. And for what? To prove that pain could be recycled endlessly? That if one person bled, everyone else had to as well?

Doyun had done something unforgivable, yes. But he had also been forced to face the truth he once mocked. He had come to understand what he took from you only when it was nearly too late. Through his own suffering, he came to respect the bond he once ridiculed. And in that, perhaps, there was a strange mercy.

If he could find love, if he can do it—then maybe you could too. You must allow yourself too.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said, voice steady but quiet. “Not yet.”

Doyun’s lips parted slightly, as if he hadn’t expected anything but either absolution or rejection, like he wanted to say he understood—but you beat him to it.

“But I appreciate your honesty,” you continued. “It takes courage to own up to what you did, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t mean something. But forgiveness… that’s going to take time.”

His shoulders sagged, but there was a smile. “I understand,” he murmured.

The number you are trying to connect is busy now...

The line cut out again with a hollow beep, and you were left staring at your screen, the call log mocking you with its repeated attempts. Your phone sat loosely in your palm as your gaze drifted beyond it, past the blur of scattered students in the campus courtyard. Some were lounging on the grass, their laughter carried by the evening breeze. Others sat close on benches, fingers interlaced or heads resting on shoulders. You could tell, even without looking too closely, who had found their soulmate. There was something different in how they looked at each other—tethered by something deeper than affection.

The sun had dipped low enough to stain the sky in shades of bruised lavender and dusk rose. You let out a shaky breath, and rested your forehead against your folded arms. The metal bench had grown cool beneath you, the night air slipping under your sleeves and settling against your skin.

You wished—God, you wished Soobin were here.

With one storm passed and behind you, you were now met with another: the question of where to go from here. You had no plan, no trail to follow. You had been sitting on that bench longer than you meant to, your limbs sluggish with exhaustion, your heart weighted with dread. The pain didn’t help either—the dull throb at the base of your neck had sharpened into something more vicious. You winced as it burned again, your hand flying up to touch the back of your neck. The bond flared with a heat that made your stomach twist, nausea rolling in waves. You couldn’t breathe.

Because if you were in this much pain… Soobin—he must be suffocating.

You buried your face in your hands, elbows propped against your knees as the tears pressed hot behind your eyes. Panic clawed its way up your throat, waves of regret beginning to drown you. How long had he been suffering like this? Why hadn’t you seen it sooner? Why did things have to go like this?

A shadow broke across your shoes. You blinked past the blur of tears to see a pair of sneakers come to a stop in front of you. You slowly looked up. It was Beomgyu. His brows were faintly drawn, eyes scanning your face with concern that he didn’t bother to hide.

You forced a small smile, blinking hastily, and straightened up. "Hey," you said hoarsely. "Sorry I left so abruptly that night without saying goodbye."

He shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes. "It’s fine. Really." He gestured to the space beside you. "Can I sit?"

You nodded, scooting slightly to make room.

Beomgyu didn’t waste time. He settled in with a deep breath and turned toward you, his voice low. "I won’t dance around it. That night, I overheard Soobin talking to Yeonjun. I, uh—may have heard a little too much."

Your spine went rigid. Soobin went back to the venue after dropping you off? 

He hesitated, watching your expression carefully. "Soobin is planning to break the bond."

The words struck like a slap. Your pulse dropped. The blood in your veins felt like it had frozen solid. "What—"

"He is ready to sacrifice himself," Beomgyu continued. "I don’t think he ever meant for you to be unhappy. He just wanted you to be free. Even if it meant losing himself to make it happen."

Your breath stuttered out of you. Your head dropped with a resigned sigh, face buried back into your palms. "Choi Soobin, how can you be so—so reckless," you whispered, voice trembling with the effort to stay composed. The fury bubbled up fast, raw and cutting. You had suspected, yes, but hearing it aloud? It was unbearable.

Beomgyu placed a hand on your shoulder—not intrusive, just present—and offered a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You know, I believe things happen for a reason. Everything leading you here—what you’ve gone through—it shaped you. You’re not the same person you were before. And maybe you had to lose yourself to find the version of you that’s ready for this."

"Beomgyu," you choked out. Your vision blurred again, and this time, the tears fell. "I don’t know what to do. I can’t find him. I don’t know where he is, and I think—I think I’m losing him. If I’m too late... if I’ve already lost him—"

"Hey." Beomgyu turned to face you fully now, his tone suddenly sharp, resolute. "Don’t talk like that. If two people truly love each other, nothing—not time, not distance, not even fate—can tear them apart. You and Soobin? That’s not the kind of love that breaks easily and believe me, I have been seeing you two. You may have been late, yeah. But you finally found yourself, haven't you?  Now you just have to go get him. You won't lose him." 

Your eyes drifted downward, catching sight of his wrist where the edge of his sleeve had ridden up slightly. There, nestled against the skin was his soulmate tattoo.

Rain lily.

You remembered his story, the one he'd once shared with a heart that had waited too long. How he'd waited and waited, only to find her when he least expected. How he fought, tooth and nail, against all odds—against time and fate and fear—just to be near her. Just to love her.

Your lips parted in a tearful, breathy laugh, trembling as a small smile broke through the ache. Beomgyu noticed your gaze lingering and glanced down at the tattoo. Slowly, his fingers lifted and brushed over the inked bloom, a touch so gentle it was almost reverent. His voice, when it came, sounded almost as if he was talking to himself. "Bonds that are willed by the people themselves are not easy to break."

“But I don’t know where to begin,” you breathed out, feeling the tears threaten to spill again. “I can’t get a hold of him.” 

“And that’s where I come in!” Beomgyu smiled a little too enthusiastically, then finally, he said, "He’s at Yeonjun’s grandparents’ place."

You sat up straight. "What?"

"I heard it that night," he said, nodding. "Yeonjun didn’t want to agree at first but he gave in when..." He didn’t have to finish. You already understood. 

Your mouth opened in shock. So close. So unbearably close, and yet you hadn’t even thought of it. How could you forget about Yeonjun? You were even supposed to try contacting him! He was the one person who would’ve known where Soobin went. You’d been too lost in the chaos to realize.

Beomgyu sighed, dramatically this time, leaning back with an exaggerated groan. "God, I sound like a morally grey character right now. Eavesdropping, betraying my friend’s privacy—but hey, I didn’t want to witness my friends suffer. So you better name your firstborn after me or something."

You laughed—really laughed—for the first time in days. It bubbled up shaky and uneven, but it was genuine. 

He smiled wider. "Texted you the location. Go get him, okay? Save him. Save yourself. And when this is over, I better be getting a front-row seat at your wedding. With extra cake."

You looked at him with so much gratitude you couldn’t speak. Maybe everything did happen for a reason. Beomgyu’s appearance felt like a light at the end of a tunnel. You nodded, whispered a breathless thank-you, and stood up. You were running.

As your figure disappeared around the path, Beomgyu remained seated. He tilted his head back to stare up at the sky, stars blinking into view, one by one. The night had fallen fully now, and there was peace in the hush that followed.

"One of the greatest tragedies in life," he murmured to no one in particular, "is that you’ll always be loved more than you’ll ever know."

He gazed at the spot where you’d stood, the smile soft on his face.

You had wasted enough time.

You nearly stumbled through your front door, fingers trembling as they fought to unlock your phone. The screen flared to life, and with frantic, clumsy taps, you pulled up the booking site. It didn’t matter what it was—bus, train, flight. You didn’t care about the price. Didn’t care how long it would take. You just needed the next available ticket.

Your breath stuttered when you found one. The first available flight left in an hour and a half. You booked it without hesitation.

The next few minutes blurred into a frenzied scramble. You tore open your closet, yanked clothes from hangers, flung them into a bag with the kind of wild urgency usually reserved for disasters. Your hands shook so badly you could barely zip the bag. You tried to focus, tried to remember the essentials—wallet, charger, ID—but your mind kept short-circuiting, short-circuiting with his name. Soobin. Soobin. Soobin.

You hailed a cab and climbed in without registering the driver's face. The second the car moved, you felt time turn traitor, every red light and traffic jam a personal attack. Your legs bounced, your nails dug into your palms, and your eyes wouldn’t stop darting to the rearview mirror like you were being chased. The city rushed past you in fractured pieces—neon signs bleeding into the pavement, taillights pulsing like fevered heartbeats.

When the airport finally came into view, your heart kicked up like it had been shocked back to life. You threw cash at the driver and ran. The terminal lights were too bright, the air too cold, the noise a dull roar in your ears. You shouldered your bag and moved with single-minded desperation, feet pounding against tile, breath ragged as you navigated toward your gate.

The departure board flickered, every new update slicing through you. Every passing minute another stone tied to your ankle.

What if you were too late?

No. No. You couldn’t think like that.

You made it to the gate. The boarding call echoed through the speakers. Your chest twisted as you stepped onto the plane, every motion feeling too big and too small at once. Sitting down, you fumbled with the seatbelt, blinked hard against the burning in your eyes.

This wasn’t just about seeing him again. This wasn’t just about apologies, or closure, or trying to fix what was on the verge of being lost.

This was about everything you had refused to let yourself feel. Everything you had buried beneath fear and anger and grief. Every moment you had wasted pretending it didn’t matter—pretending he didn’t matter. You had spent so long telling yourself you didn’t believe in soulmates, in bonds, in love. But Soobin had always been there. Through every version of you. Quietly and steadily. Loving you in the spaces where you didn’t think you needed to be loved.

The engines hummed, then roared. The plane began to roll forward, faster, faster, until the earth slipped out from beneath you and the sky caught you in its arms. You stared out the window, your reflection faint in the glass, city lights winking below like dying stars.

You pressed your clasped hands to your chest, exhaling and feeling the tremor in your soul.

Please be okay.

Please don’t be scared anymore.

Because I’m coming.

“Just hold on a little longer.”

The lake stretched before them, its surface unnaturally still, a perfect mirror capturing the bruised gold of the sky. The breeze carried no sound, only the oppressive quiet of dusk. Yeonjun sat on the porch steps, arms resting on his knees, eyes drawn to the lone figure near the water.

Soobin was kneeling at the edge, his fingers curled into the damp earth like he was trying to anchor himself to it. His shoulders drooped, head bowed, the slope of his spine carved by exhaustion. There was something about the way he sat that unsettled Yeonjun—a kind of surrender that didn’t belong to someone like Soobin. His skin looked almost translucent under the dying light, lips chapped, breath ragged. The coughing hadn’t stopped since he’d left you behind. It had only grown worse, brutal and bone-deep, each fit wracking his fragile frame. Yeonjun had taken to force-feeding him the prescribed medicine, watching him weaken with every dose that didn’t seem to work fast enough.

“Do you want to eat something?” Yeonjun muttered, toeing a pebble near his boot. He tried to sound nonchalant, but even he could hear the strain in his voice.

“I’m fine,” Soobin said, voice brittle, barely audible over the soft lapping of the lake.

Yeonjun’s jaw tightened. He hated all of this—hated the part he’d played in it. Agreeing to Soobin’s plan had felt noble at first. Necessary, even. But watching his friend unravel like this made him question every decision he thought was right.

The distance was supposed to cut the tether cleanly, giving you both room to breathe. But instead of severing the bond, it had only left Soobin hollow. The connection had thinned, yes—but his love hadn’t. It clung to him, stubborn and raw, carving out pieces of him each day like grief given form. And love like that, Yeonjun realized, could destroy just as deeply as it could heal.

He rubbed his temples, a sigh dragging out of him. “I’m heading into town. Grandma needs a few things.”

Soobin didn’t answer. Just stared at the water like it might swallow him whole.

Yeonjun stood, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked away, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. The town greeted him with the same dull familiarity. He moved through it all like a ghost, ticking items off a list, exchanging crumpled bills, nodding at friendly faces without really seeing them. But his mind was elsewhere. Tangled in the mess that had become your story.

Would he have done the same if it had been his soulmate? Would he have left, convinced it was the only way to protect her? He thought of you—your broken past, the way you dimmed at the mention of soulmates, the wall you had built to protect your heart. And maybe, just maybe, he would’ve done the same. If the one he loved had looked at him the way you looked at the world—with fear braided into your ribs, with loss etched into your memory—then maybe he would’ve made the same impossible choice.

The sun had begun to dip behind the hills by the time he turned down the familiar dirt road, grocery bags rustling against his legs. The house stood quiet at the end, warm light glowing faintly from the porch. But he stopped short.

There was someone standing in front of the house.

His breath caught, fingers loosening around the handles. For a second, he couldn’t believe it. But then you turned—and the sight of you knocked the wind from his chest.

You were a mess of movement and emotion, your eyes scanning the trees, the porch, the path beyond. Your clothes were wrinkled from travel, your hair tousled, face flushed and shining with sweat. You looked like you hadn’t slept in days. But it was your eyes that struck him the hardest.

They blazed with a wildness that threatened to tear the sky apart.

Yeonjun barely had time to react before you spotted him. The moment your gaze locked onto his, something inside you snapped. You marched forward, fists clenched, and before he could say a single word, you grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down to your level with a force that startled even him.

“Where is he?” you hissed.

Yeonjun didn’t fight it. He didn’t back away. If anything, he deserved your anger. You had every right to be furious. You had come all this way. Which meant—you knew.

Yeonjun swallowed. “You—”

“Please,” your voice cracked this time. “Tell me where he is.”

Yeonjun realized it was time to step back. He had played his part unwillingly, and he regretted the choices he made he thought was right to help his friend. But now, standing in front of you—seeing the ruin of what they’d tried to fix—it was clear that love didn’t survive in isolation. It had to be met halfway.

He looked down, voice rough. “By the lake,” he said. “He’s by the lake.” Then softer, “Go save that idiot.”

The way your face crumpled nearly undid him.

You didn’t wait for another word. You turned and ran, feet slamming against the dirt path, heart pounding louder than your footsteps. The only thing that mattered was that he was close. That Soobin was finally near and still breathing.

You had crossed miles to reach him. Now all that stood between you and him were a few desperate seconds and a truth that refused to be buried any longer.

At first, you couldn’t believe your eyes.

Soobin sat on the bench beneath the towering oak, shoulders slumped forward, as if he could shrink small enough to disappear into the cracks of the earth beneath him. The breeze picked at the hem of his shirt, teased strands of his hair into motion—longer now than you remembered, more unruly. And for a moment, you stood frozen, but in the sliver of stillness that followed, the ache on the back of your neck burst into flame, the soulmate tattoo searing through skin and nerve like it had sensed him first. It pulsed through your spine, a visceral call, a scream beneath the surface of your skin.

"Soobin."

His name tore from your throat like glass shattering inside your chest. It sliced through the wind, through the impossible space that had stretched between you for far too long.

Every muscle in Soobin’s body recoiled as if the sound had struck him like lightning. His head jerked, hesitant, like he feared what he might see. But he turned and when his eyes met yours, the daffodil rooted in his chest clawed upward like it had tasted light for the first time. The stems twisted, coiling tighter around his ribs, merciless and cruel. It should have hurt more. It should have dropped him to his knees, but he couldn’t focus on any of it.

You found him.

Your eyes—puffy, rimmed with exhaustion and raw emotion—held him captive in a way nothing else ever had. He didn’t need to ask. He knew that you knew.

His lips parted, your name escaping in a sound closer to prayer than a word. He forced himself upright, each movement dragged through syrup, each muscle betraying him in its hesitation. His legs trembled beneath his weight, but they carried him forward. He moved as if caught in a current, pulled not by will but by a force that was telling him to close the distance.

You looked as if the world had crumbled beneath you. Like the cracks had spiderwebbed through your composure and you were standing in the ruins.

Soobin took a step. Then another. His knees buckled slightly from the effort. Still, you didn’t move, only stared at him with that same gut-wrenching look, like you didn’t know whether to scream at him or collapse into him.

His hand twitched at his side, fingers aching to touch you, to reach for your face, to wipe away the tears you hadn’t yet shed. But just as the space between you thinned, fear surged in his gut, reminding him why he got away from you in the first place. And so, instead of reaching out, he pivoted—tried to brush past, voice hoarse and broken. "Yeonjun—"

"Don’t walk past me like a stranger." Your voice cracked against the quiet, a whip of sound that brought him to a standstill.

Soobin flinched, eyes widening as your fingers clamped around his arm. Your grip was desperate, nails digging into his skin as if anchoring yourself to reality, to him.

"Don’t you dare." Your voice trembled at the end, searing. "Don’t you dare run from me again."

He tried to speak, mouth opening and closing like he was drowning. But you weren’t finished.

"You tried to stay away. You thought distance would save me from the pain. You thought leaving was the answer." You let out a sharp, breathless laugh, a sound that was anything but amusement. "But you were wrong, Soobin. You were so fucking wrong."

Your grip didn’t ease. Your words came faster, tumbling over the emotion in your chest.

"How am I supposed to live without you when I started living because of you?"

His knees nearly gave out. The breath he dragged into his lungs felt fractured, broken along the edges. Your words curled around him, sank their claws in deep at the sheer desperation laced within them.

"You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to rip yourself away and expect me to be fine. You don’t get to—" Your voice cracked, and you exhaled shakily, eyes brimming with everything you had held back. "You showed me what it meant to be seen, to be understood. You made me feel safe. You made me—" Your breath tremored. "And then you took it all away."

Soobin didn’t realize he was crying until the wind kissed the trails on his cheeks. The pain in his chest surged, brutal and consuming, but he swallowed it down. He forced sound into his throat.

"I didn’t want you to accept the bond when you were still hurting from your past," he said, voice splintering with every syllable. "I was scared that you’d turn me away because you weren’t ready. I never wanted to be the reason for your pain... but I guess I became one anyway."

You stared at him, brows drawn together in disbelief and heartbreak.

Soobin swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he clenched them at his sides. "You don’t have to accept this bond."

Your world tipped sideways. It staggered and reeled like you’d been struck across the face. Your lips parted in disbelief. "Soobin, don’t—" The word barely made it out.

Soobin continued, blinking against the haze of pain clouding his vision. "I don’t want to ever wonder if you were forced to love me under the pretext of this soulmate bond." He grit his teeth, his body shuddering as the flowers turned razor-sharp inside him. "I want to choose you. And for you to choose me. I need you to know—I would choose you even if we weren’t soulbound."

The breath left your lungs in a violent rush. A choked gasp scraped past your lips as your knees hit the ground, hard and graceless, catching Soobin’s collapsing form just in time. He crumpled into you, a storm of muscle and trembling breath, and you caught him—arms wound tight around his body like he might vanish again if you dared loosen your grip.

He shuddered beneath your hands. His skin burned cold, like frost seeping through flesh. His frame trembled violently, wracked by more than just pain—it was the toll of weeks spent shouldering agony alone. But still, he looked at you. Still, even on his knees, he found the strength to meet your gaze.

"You have no true obligation to anyone but yourself," he whispered. "I don’t ever want you to feel a single regret... I want you to have the freedom of choice."

He had imagined this moment a thousand different ways—each one cruel, each one ending in devastation—but never like this. Never with your hands trembling as they cradled him close, never with your eyes overflowing, tears sliding down your cheeks unchecked, heavy and gleaming in the fading light. The sight cleaved through him sharper than any thorn that had ever embedded itself in his lungs.

"You say you want me to have the freedom of choice," you choked out, full of grief and fury, "yet you pull a shit like this and get away from me." Your hand rose to cup his face, thumb brushed the curve of his cheek, and he flinched at the warmth, at the way your touch thawed the frozen hollows of him. Your whole body quaked, each breath a war against everything you’d buried, everything you’d never allowed yourself to say. "You foolish, foolish man."

You reached down and caught his hand—his cold, trembling hand—and brought it to your neck, placing it over the mark that burned like fire beneath your skin. His fingers hovered, twitching against you like they didn’t believe they were allowed to stay. But you held him there. Then your other hand pressed against his chest, right where the daffodils coiled tight and cruel. As if you could pull them free with your palm alone. As if your touch could will the pain out of him.

“I love you.”

The words crashed into the space between you like lightning splitting the sky. Three words. Small, but colossal. They surged through the air, breaking every last chain he’d wrapped around his heart. A bridge spanning across lifetimes, a key unlocking every door he had once slammed shut to keep himself from hoping. Soobin’s face crumbled, weeping relentlessly. 

“Say it again,” he rasped. “Please—say it again.”

“I love you,” you said again, voice trembling, but loud. “And I have always loved you.” The confession fell from your lips like a flood, fierce and unrelenting, rich with regret and aching with truth. “I was a coward. I never recognized it. I never let myself recognize it. And for that, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry, Soobin.”

He sobbed, eyes pooling with tears. The disbelief in them was stark and fragile—like he was witnessing a dream too precious to survive daylight.

“It has always been you.”

You pulled him closer, your arms a vice around him now. The desperation in your grip was undeniable—you needed him to feel this, needed him to know, needed him to feel what words could never fully encapsulate. “I don’t care about fate or destiny or whether this is some divine intervention. Even if we weren’t soulmates, even if I had never woken up with your name written in my bones, I would still choose you.” Your voice cracked at the edges. “I would choose you in this life, in the next, in every existence beyond that. I would knit the thread of fate myself and spell your name into it.”

A sharp breath tore from Soobin’s lips, his entire frame trembling beneath the weight of your words, beneath the sheer force of your love. His eyes flickered an ounce of relief within, and before either of you could think, before he could drown in hesitation, he closed the distance between you and kissed you.

It was not soft nor was it hesitant. It was years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds of yearning poured into the space where your lips met his. It was an apology, a plea, a declaration all at once. It was his heart, bare and vulnerable, placed into your hands to do with as you pleased. And you—oh, you matched him. With shaking fingers buried in his hair and lips pressed back to his with a kind of desperation that bordered on fury, you answered him. You answered with all the love you had locked away. With every second you had spent convincing yourself you didn’t want him. With every dream that had curled around the shape of his name.

Soobin gasped against your mouth the moment he felt it—the recoil of pain, the slackening of those roots that had burrowed deep within his ribs for far too long. The agony that had once clawed at his lungs, that had stolen the air from his chest and made every breath a battle, began to unravel. He could breathe. He could truly breathe.

And in that moment, as the roots recoiled and faded, a matching daffodil tattoo emerged on his nape. The two daffodils then bloomed with the vibrant shade of yellow, the sign of the bond being accepted between two soulmates.

His hands trembled as they held you, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were here, that this moment wasn’t some cruel dream his mind had conjured in desperation.

When you finally pulled away, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, the first thing he saw was you. Not the blur of your form or the shine of tears, but you—eyes alight with something that hollowed him out and filled him in the same breath.

"You—" His voice caught on the jagged edge of emotion. "The bond—you saved me."

Your throat closed around the sadness that rose, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you turned your palm into his, your thumb brushing along the ridges of his knuckles.

“No,” you murmured. “We saved each other.”

A beat passed between you. His breath came uneven, his fingers flexing slightly against yours. Then he reached up with a hand that trembled like a leaf in the wind, cupping your cheek. His touch was barely there—not because he didn’t want to touch you, but because he still wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. If he was worthy of this mercy.

"Oh, God," he breathed, the syllables cracked with remorse. "I’m sorry for everything. I love you so much."

You lifted your hand to cover his, turning into the warmth of his palm, grounding him to you. And then he pulled you close, arms folding around your frame, crushing you to him like he meant to hold onto this moment and never let go. His heartbeat thundered against yours, two hearts beating in sync like they were supposed to.

"Let’s try again," you murmured, voice unsteady but whole. "This time, together."

His answer wasn’t immediate. He breathed you in. He memorized the cadence of your voice, the rhythm of your pulse, the surety in your eyes all over again and again and again.

Nodding, his grip tightened. "Together?"

You gave him your answer not just in words but in the way your hand found the back of his neck, the way your forehead leaned into his.

"Together."

He let his forehead drop against yours, eyes slipping shut. Everything was going to be okay. It was like walking into the sun being with you. It was like walking into the sun for the first time after a terribly long winter. 

And somewhere in the distance, spring folded itself into summer. The season no longer took its dying breath; instead, it shared its warmth, its vibrancy, its life. And in that moment, Soobin learned what it meant to be alive—really, truly alive.

THE END.

Taglist; @dawngyu @gyu-tori @pagelets @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @immelissaaa @lovingbeomgyudayone @xylatox @i-like-to-read-at-4am @saejinniestar @hoefororeo @caratcakemoa  @notevenheretbh1 @izzyy-stuff @sxmmerberries @younbeanz @softfor-svtptg @lostgirlysstuff @yystarz @ode2soob @beomgyusluver @soobinieswife @wonderstrucktae @hanniehq @chwesuh-imnida @reep04 @okkotsuevie @90steele

[bluukive]

Hanahaki

coɴтεɴт - MDNI, angst, mentions of dēath, jjk men x reader, reader has hanahaki dīsease, rejection, jjk men are mean

cнαrαcтεrѕ - Nanami, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Toji

Hanahaki Disease - a fictional dīsease where the vīctim coughs up flowers after experiencing a one-sided romance. This condition only ends once the love is returned, or the vīctim dīes. Please do not read if you think this will dīstress you ♡

Pt 2 HERE

I luv angst

[wolfbluebird]

When Roses Wilt

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader - Hanahaki disease

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Natasha starts showing symptoms of a serious illness, but she hides it from everyone, including the person who loves her most.

(Men and minors DNI)

It starts quietly, like most tragedies do.

A cough, here and there. Nothing you wouldn’t chalk up to dry air or post-mission dust. Natasha waves it off without a second thought, with that closed-lip smile that says, Don’t ask. You’ve learnt to read her, over the years—it’s part of being her best friend. Her confidante. The only one she lets close.

Still, you notice the way she hesitates in the mornings now, hand resting against her ribs like they’re bruised from the inside out. You catch her spitting something into a napkin once—pink, almost translucent. You think it’s a blood clot. It’s not.

She starts chewing gum. Always peppermint. You don’t question it at first. Maybe it’s a new habit. But then you see her throw away a tissue when she thinks you’re not looking, and for the briefest moment, something delicate flutters inside it. Pale, like her skin’s been lately.

A flower petal.

The first time you say something, she brushes it off with a smirk and a shoulder nudge.

“What, you think I’ve got a mystery lung disease now?”

“No,” you say, lips tight. “I think you’re hiding something from me.”

She looks away. Laughs, empty. “You worry too much.”

You don’t press. That’s your first mistake.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

The weeks pass. The symptoms grow louder.

She starts missing training. She never used to. Even when she broke her ankle on that mission in Morocco, she still showed up to spar. But now, she begs off with quiet excuses—headache, tired, long night. She’s pale. The bags under her eyes look like bruises. Her voice is hoarse half the time, and when she laughs, she winces, like it hurts.

You hear the coughing through her door at night. Choking, retching sounds, like her lungs are drowning. Sometimes you think about knocking. But something stops you. Maybe fear. Maybe cowardice.

One morning, you walk into her kitchen and find a vase full of roses. They’re wilting at the edges, their stems heavy. You blink.

“Where’d these come from?”

She looks at them like she doesn’t know either. “No idea. Must’ve… shown up.”

She looks like a corpse wrapped in silk. Elegant in pain. Quiet in suffering. Always composed, always deflecting.

You ask if she’s been to medbay. She lies. “Routine check-up. Just allergies.”

But you start seeing blood. On her pillowcase. In her toothbrush cup. Smudged on her shirt collar. You find another petal once—this one dark red, almost bruised—curled beneath the bathroom sink like it’s hiding, too.

Your instincts scream at you. You know what this is. But denial is a seductive thing, and you’ve always been good at ignoring what hurts.

Until you can’t.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

She stops talking as much. Withdraws. It’s like watching someone slowly disappear, one atom at a time. Her eyes go dull. She doesn’t meet your gaze anymore. She avoids your touch, your jokes, even your concern.

You try to sit with her one night, to get through to her.

“Natasha. Something’s wrong.”

She doesn’t answer. Just stares out the window, her breath fogging up the glass. Her shoulders tremble, just once.

“Talk to me,” you plead.

“I can’t.”

She says it so softly you almost don’t hear it. Her hands are clenched into fists on her lap, knuckles white.

You think, for a split second, that she’s going to break. That she’ll tell you everything and let you hold her like she needs to be held.

But then she straightens, forces a tired smile, and whispers, “It’s nothing.”

You believe her. Or at least—you pretend to. Because you don’t want to admit the truth that’s blossoming right in front of you.

That the woman you love is dying for it.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

It happens on a Tuesday.

You were supposed to be in the field, a quick recon op in Brooklyn. But something gnawed at you the whole drive over—this awful, twisting sense of dread crawling under your skin.

So you bailed.

You don’t even knock when you reach her flat. The door’s ajar. That’s your first warning.

Inside, the air smells wrong—copper and roses. You feel it in your teeth.

Then you see her.

Crumpled on the hardwood, barely breathing, one hand clutching at her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together.

There’s blood everywhere. It streaks her lips, her shirt, the floor. Around her lie dozens of petals—some delicate and pink, others blackened and rotting. A few whole roses have burst from her throat, crushed where she fell, their stems jagged and green.

You drop to your knees beside her, already sobbing.

“Natasha—fuck, Nat—”

She’s conscious. Barely. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused. She tries to speak and chokes on a petal instead. You turn her head gently, helping her spit it out. Her mouth tastes of iron and death.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you cry, voice shaking. “You’re dying, Natasha—why wouldn’t you let me help?”

Her fingers curl around your sleeve weakly.

“I didn’t want to… burden you,” she gasps.

“Burden me?!” Your voice breaks. “You think I wouldn’t care?”

She smiles faintly. “I knew you cared.”

“Then why?”

She closes her eyes. “Because you never saw it. You never looked at me like… like I mattered that much.”

You collapse against her, tears dripping onto her collarbone.

“I do. I always did. I just… I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Her breathing stutters. Another cough wracks her whole body, and you hear something crack—maybe a rib, maybe your heart. She spits up another rose. The petals stick to her lips. Her eyes go glassy.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“Too late,” she breathes. “But… thank you.”

And then the light leaves her.

No dramatic gasp. No slow fade.

Just a soft, awful silence.

You scream.

You don’t remember much after that.

Only that her blood never quite washes off your hands.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

They let you bury her your way.

A private ceremony. Closed casket. You line it with roses—red, white, and black. You leave one on her pillow every night for a month after.

You sleep with her necklace under your pillow. The one she always wore—a silver pendant shaped like a spider. It smells like peppermint and blood.

You stop taking missions. You stop answering calls.

You exist. Barely.

But the grief clings to you. It chokes you the way the flowers choked her. Not with petals, but with guilt.

You tell yourself you’ll never forget the way she looked at you. Or the sound of her last breath. Or how her fingers twitched, trying to hold on, even when her lungs had turned into a garden she couldn’t escape.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

You keep one petal in your jacket pocket. A dried thing. Fragile. Like memory.

Some nights, you dream of her. Not the bloody ending. No. You dream of her laugh. Her smirk. The way she used to lean on doorframes and watch you like you were her favourite movie.

In those dreams, she never coughs.

She just says your name, like it means everything.

You say hers back.

And when you wake, heart pounding, you whisper the words you didn’t say soon enough:

“I loved you.”

Still do.

Always will.

Masterlist

[solxamber]

Coughing up Love - Idia Shroud x reader

You don't think much of it when Idia starts acting weird because let's be real, that seems to be his default around you. Wait are those flowers he's coughing up?

There’s something odd about Idia lately. He’s acting weird—well, weirder than usual, and that’s saying a lot for someone who’s mastered the art of avoiding people for weeks at a time. It’s subtle at first. His normally snarky, rapid-fire commentary seems more hesitant, his usual screen-lit complexion a bit paler, and he’s excusing himself mid-game way more often than usual.

And, most bizarre of all, every time you hang out, he always seems to keep something in his mouth. Gum, candy, or, more suspiciously, a fist pressed against his lips like he’s hiding something. You know Idia— he's socially awkward, sure, but when it’s just the two of you gaming or chatting, he’s rarely this strange.

Today, the two of you are halfway through an intense raid when he suddenly stands up, his chair creaking violently as he jerks upward.

“Pause! Time out, emergency bathroom break,” he blurts out, yanking his headset off with lightning speed and scrambling for the door.

You frown, watching his character get obliterated on screen. “Dude, you could’ve at least—”

“BRB!” he shouts, voice trailing off as he disappears into the hall. He’s gone in a flash, leaving you blinking at the door, wondering what just happened.

But that’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. Over the next few days, Idia pulls more disappearing acts than a badly programmed NPC. Mid-conversation? Poof, gone. Halfway through a snack? Vanished.

It takes a while, but eventually, the pieces staet to click together. You catch him out of the corner of your eye, face flushed pink, a hand pressed firmly to his mouth as he stifles a coughing fit during one of your game nights. At first, you’re concerned—it’s not like him to get sick, not seriously anyway. You suggest getting him medicine or a trip to the infirmary, but Idia adamantly waves it off.

“I-it’s nothing!” he stammers, trying to hold it together while choking down the coughs. “Just, uh, allergies! Y’know, dust and stuff. Old consoles… gotta, uh, clean them more…”

Suspicious. Old consoles? In Ignihyde? Yeah, right. You narrow your eyes, but drop the subject—at least for now. It’s not until later, when you see something float from his mouth—something blue and oddly petal-like—that you realize what’s happening.

You’ve heard of Hanahaki before. It’s practically a meme among some circles—an outdated trope, really. People coughing up flowers because of unrequited love? What is this, a 2000s anime fanfic? But now, watching a crumpled blue petal fall to the floor in slow motion, you realize that your very own shut-in gamer might be the rare exception to the rule.

The worst part? He’s really, really bad at hiding it.

A few days later, you invite him to hang out at Ramshackle, hoping the quiet environment will calm whatever’s been causing his weird behavior. Things seem fine at first—until you notice him coughing into his sleeve again.

This time, he has a backup plan.

“Are you okay?” you ask, brow raised as he muffles yet another cough.

“Yeah, totally! Just, um…” He rifles through his bag and pulls out a—oh dear sevens, is that a mask?

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You’re… you’re seriously wearing a mask now?”

“It’s for—” He coughs violently again, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape. “For, uh, germs! You know, flu season! Gotta… gotta be prepared…”

You squint at him. “We’re indoors. And it’s summer.”

“Exactly!” he says, as if that makes sense. “The germs are, like, in the air! Sneaky buggers!”

The mask stays on for the rest of the evening, and every time you glance at him, you see his eyes flick away like he’s hiding something worse than a little cough.

His next attempt is, frankly, genius in its stupidity. You’re in his dorm, playing a co-op game, when the inevitable happens: he starts hacking up petals. At first, he plays it off with a hurried gulp of water, but soon the coughing becomes too much. With a gasp, he fumbles for something on his desk—a box of tissues? No, it’s a full-on dust mask this time.

“Idia, what the fu—”

“Pro-gamer tip,” he interrupts, voice muffled behind the mask. “Always be prepared for, uh… dust allergies! It’s, uh, a top-tier strat. Totally not s-suspicious.”

Dust? When he has Ortho making sure that he doesn’t perish? You stare, absolutely dumbfounded. “I’m starting to think you’re more allergic to honesty than dust.”

He laughs—well, tries to. It comes out as a garbled mix of coughing and awkward chuckles. “W-what are you talking about? I’m fine! Really!”

“Fine?” You raise an eyebrow, watching as more petals spill out of his sleeve. “You’re literally falling apart, dude.”

At this, his face burns bright pink, and his hair flares up, turning from it's usual blue to a mortified rosy hue. “N-no I’m not!” he protests weakly. “J-just a little springtime cold, that’s all.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, crossing your arms. “Because spring colds definitely involve coughing up whole bouquets.”

There’s a brief pause as you both stare at the mess of petals on the floor. Idia winces, clearly defeated, and slumps back into his chair.

“...Crap.”

The look of his face tells you to let it go and you do, believing that it'll probably resolve itself. You weren't from this world, maybe it was common here and you were the one that's overreacting?

After another week of weird excuses, mask-related antics, and watching him suffer through increasingly ridiculous attempts to hide his Hanahaki, you’ve had enough. You’re going to get to the bottom of this once and for all.

You catch him mid-cough during one of his solo raids, bursting into his room without warning. Idia practically jumps out of his seat, slamming the pause button and whirling around with wide eyes.

“W-what are you doing here!?” he yelps, trying (and failing) to hide the petals littering his desk. “I—uh—this isn’t what it looks like!”

“Really? Because it looks like you’ve been coughing up whole flowers,” you say, deadpan, as you point to the pile of blue petals strewn across his keyboard. “Seriously, Idia. What’s going on?”

He freezes. For a moment, the room is deadly silent—except for the faint sound of digital gunfire in the background. His face, already pale, turns ghostly white, and his flames flicker pink in embarrassment.

“I…” He stammers, looking everywhere but at you. “I didn’t… It’s not…”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Spit it out. Or should I say, ‘cough it out?’”

It’s the worst joke you’ve ever made, and yet, somehow, it breaks the tension. Idia lets out a wheezing, awkward laugh, though it quickly dissolves into another coughing fit. This time, he doesn’t even try to hide it—just pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face in his arms, defeated.

“I’m such a loser,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “I thought maybe… maybe if I ignored it, it’d just go away. Y’know, like a glitch or something.”

Your heart clenches at the sight of him, all curled up and vulnerable. It’s so unlike the cocky, trash-talking gamer you’ve come to know. You crouch down beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Idia,” you say softly, “you’re not a loser.”

He peeks out from behind his arms, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Y-yeah, right. I’m just the guy who gets Hanahaki because I can’t even confess like a normal person.”

You blink. “Wait—Hanahaki? Like actually?”

You did not expect that. You expected it to be some weird disease that was native to twisted wonderland and not actually Hanahaki of all things.

Idia winces, his hair turning a bright shade of pink as he realizes what he’s just admitted. He looks away, fiddling nervously with the edge of his sleeve. “...Yeah. It’s stupid, I know.”

For a moment, you’re speechless. All those strange behaviors, the coughing, the flowers—it all makes sense now. He’s got Hanahaki, and he’s been trying to hide it because…

“Idia…” you whisper, heart pounding. “You love me?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body trembling. “I-I mean, i-it’s not like I expect you to feel the same! I know I’m not, like, Vil-level handsome or anything. I just… didn’t want to ruin things.”

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Idia goes completely still. His hair flares up, a brilliant pink, as he slowly opens his eyes in disbelief.

“Y-you…” he stammers, voice barely a whisper.

You smile softly. “I love you too, you dork.”

For a second, he just stares at you, as if he can’t quite process what you’ve said. Then, with a choked sob, he flings himself into your arms, burying his face in your shoulder as the last of the petals fall away.

“I’m such an idiot,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of relief in his voice. His arms tighten around you, and you can feel the rapid thumping of his heart against your chest.

"You’re not an idiot," you murmur, gently running your fingers through his hair. The flames have cooled down to a soft, warm pink, flickering faintly in the dim light of the room. "And you don’t need to be Vil-level handsome. You’re just you, and that’s more than enough."

Idia snorts, though it’s more out of disbelief than amusement. "Yeah, right. I’m just the weirdo who plays video games all day and coughs up flowers. Super attractive."

You pull back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. "Hey, I don’t care about that. Do you think I’d be hanging out with you all the time if I didn’t like you? I’m here because I care about you, Idia."

For a moment, Idia just stares at you, his mouth slightly open like he’s trying to come up with some kind of retort, but nothing comes out. He looks… overwhelmed, his usual sarcastic defense mechanisms short-circuiting under the weight of your words. His eyes dart away, then back to you, and finally, with a shaky breath, he mutters, "I don’t get it… Why me?"

You smile, brushing a stray petal from his hair. "Because you’re kind, even if you don’t realize it. You’re funny, you make me laugh all the time—even when you’re not trying. And you’re smart, way smarter than you give yourself credit for. I like being with you, Idia. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t."

His face flushes a deeper pink, his flames flickering erratically as he shifts nervously in your arms. "I-I… I don’t know what to say…" he stammers, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought for sure you’d think I was a weirdo or something."

You chuckle softly, resting your forehead against his. "Well, you’re my weirdo, then."

That earns a shaky laugh from him, though it quickly turns into another coughing fit. You gently rub his back as he coughs, but this time, instead of petals, there’s just the sound of his breath gradually evening out. He looks at you, wide-eyed, as if expecting to see more flowers—more proof of his self-doubt.

But the petals are gone. The weight that’s been crushing his chest, suffocating him with every breath, has finally lifted.

Idia stares at you for a long moment, his expression softening as the reality of the situation settles in. His arms loosen around you, but he doesn’t pull away—he stays close, resting his head on your shoulder with a sigh that’s both relieved and exhausted.

"Does this mean…" He hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. "Does this mean we’re… together now?"

You grin, tilting his chin up so he has no choice but to meet your gaze. "If you want us to be."

Idia’s face erupts into a brilliant shade of pink, and for a moment, you think his face might actually catch fire. He quickly looks away, fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt, but there’s a small, shy smile playing on his lips.

"I-I guess that’d be… kinda nice," he mumbles, almost inaudible.

You laugh softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "It’s more than nice, Idia. It’s perfect."

For the first time since you’ve known him, Idia doesn’t argue. He doesn’t self-deprecate or brush off your words with sarcasm. Instead, he lets out a soft, content sigh, resting his head against you again, his flames warm and steady.

"Yeah," he whispers, his voice filled with quiet relief. "I think it is."

And for once, Idia Shroud—the boy who always felt like he didn’t deserve happiness—finally lets himself believe it.

You stay like that for a while, curled up together in the quiet of his room, the low hum of his gaming console filling the background. It’s peaceful in a way you never expected with Idia, who’s usually so frantic and anxious. But now, with the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted, he’s calm. Happy, even.

After a long moment, he pulls back slightly, glancing at the screen. "Uh… w-we left the raid halfway through," he mumbles, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "My bad. We probably wiped the whole party by now."

You laugh, ruffling his hair. "I think they’ll survive without us for a bit. But we can jump back in if you’re up for it."

Idia hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. "Nah… I’d rather just… stay here. With you."

The admission is so soft, so vulnerable, that it makes your heart ache in the best possible way. You smile, pulling him close again, and this time, he doesn’t flinch or make any excuses. He just rests his head on your shoulder, his pink flames flickering contentedly.

Maybe it’s not the typical "fairy tale" kind of love. It’s awkward and a little messy, filled with gaming mishaps and coughing up flowers. But it’s real. And for Idia, that’s more than enough.

he's reminds me of a pathetic wet cat left in the rain but god do I love him

Masterlist

[sebmindbreak]

Angst request..? User has Hanahaki Disease and is trying to hide it from Azure? (Idk sorry :,3)

OOO

user/you with an hanahaki disease , you got it! >u<

now you didnt precise if you wanted one shot or headcanons

SO FOR A CHANGE I DID HEADCANONS!

i had to do some research , i hope i did okay!

LIKE ALWAYS IF YOU SEE ANY MISTAKES TELL ME!

i alwas reread myself , but a mistake can escape me..

i hope you like it!

TYPE: ANGST

TITLE : flower bearings

AZURE

-He's incredibly perceptive, especially when it comes to you.

-At first, he notices your behavior changing how you flinch when you cough, how you always excuse yourself when you feel something rise in your throat.

-You try to smile it off, pretending you’re just tired or sick with a cold, but Azure isn’t convinced.

-He tries not to pry at first, giving you space. He respects boundaries.

-But every time he hears a stifled cough behind closed doors or sees the petals you failed to clean up, it gnaws at him.

-When he finally finds out it's Hanahaki, he panics internally.

-He hides it well, but inside, he’s terrified. Terrified of what it means, of how much pain you've been enduring alone.

-He demands to know why you didn't tell him. Not out of anger, but out of hurt. "Why didn't you trust me? Why did you think I wouldn't care?"

-Once he understands the disease is rooted in unrequited love, his tone softens.

-Azure refuses to let you suffer alone. He becomes more attentive carrying tissues, checking your pulse, making tea (if you like tea), even brushing petals out of your hair gently.

-He doesn’t leave your side unless he has to.

-He starts researching obsessively, desperate for a cure, a treatment, anything.

-When he realizes the disease is about you loving him, he freezes.

-"...It's me, isn't it? The one you... feel for?"

-If he realizes he loves you too, he won't waste another second. He’ll confess, with shaky breath and teary eyes, and hold you tightly.

-If he doesn’t feel the same (or isn't sure he does-), he still won’t let you go through this alone.

-He'll cradle you like you're fragile glass, quietly crying when you sleep, cursing himself for not seeing it sooner.

-Azure is soft with you, even when he’s scared.

-He brushes your hair back after every painful coughing fit, whispers encouragement, and makes sure you feel cared for.

-He might not have all the answers, but he makes sure you know: he isn’t going anywhere.

-Even if it hurts him too.

I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!

i kinda did a mix of past and present azure for fun too <3

[cricket-reader]

Lilacs On Her Lips

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist

summary: You didn't mean to fall in love with her. Truly, you never meant for it to go this far. But as the lilacs begin to overtake your lungs, one thing is clear: Natasha Romanoff will be the death of you. Because you'd rather die suffocating on something as sweet as her love than ever forget what it meant to love her.

warnings: hanahaki disease, internalised homophobia, near-death, blood, infidelity, toxic boyfriend, female reader (she/her pronouns)

word count: 3,844

A/N: prompt fill for day 4 for @juneofdoom | "It's really not that big of a deal" | Denial

{Read on A03} | what i’m listening to

I love him.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

It’s easy to pretend when I’m pressed against my boyfriend’s side, his arm heavy around my shoulders—too tight, too stifling. It’s easy when he’s kissing me—too forceful, too eager; I tell myself that I don’t hate it—I just need to get used to it, that’s all. It’s easy when he lets his gaze wander, and I have to pretend I don’t notice. It’s easy when I see Natasha across the room, laughing with someone else, with her lips on someone else—just a reminder that I will never be on the receiving end of such affection.

I am happy with my boyfriend. He’s the good choice—the expected choice. The kind of man I am supposed to want—all broad-shouldered, confident and charming.

So I can ignore the knots that grow in my stomach every time his eyes turn hungry and dark, I can ignore the prickling of my skin when his hands wander too far, I can ignore the dread that suffocates me every time that we’re alone.

I love him, and he loves me.

It doesn’t matter how heavy my lungs feel when I see Natasha slip into her room with someone else—choking on jealousy as I force myself to follow my boyfriend into bed. Everything is as it should be.

The first time I cough up a petal, I stare at it for what feels like hours. Breath hitching in my throat, I run my fingers over the silken purple petal. I don’t need to be told who it is for. Deep down in my heart, I know there’s only one person who could evoke this kind of suffering. It doesn’t stop me, however, from trying to deny it. I clench my hand around the delicate object, crumpling the petal beyond repair. As if destroying the evidence could destroy the feelings taking root inside of me.

I swallow down the rising panic and tell myself it’s just a mistake.

I have a boyfriend that I love. A boyfriend who loves me.

It should be enough—it has to be enough.

Stuffing the petal deep into my pocket, I tell myself that I will get over it. I don’t love Natasha. We’re friends, and that’s all we will ever be—all we ever should be.

It seems, however, that my body doesn’t get the memo.

Soon one petal becomes two, becomes three and so on and so forth. I stuff them in my pockets, in tissues I discreetly throw away, in cloths or towels that find their way into trash bins before anyone can notice. I excuse myself when Natasha brushes against me, when her touch lingers too long, when the warmth of her presence makes my chest tighten, vines wrapping around my lungs.

I hold it down, swallow it back. Until I can’t.

The petals come in fits now—sudden, ruthless attacks that wrack my body with horrifying coughing spells. Tears burn in my eyes as I hack up another mouthful of lilacs, my body trembling violently. It’s becoming harder and harder to keep it from the team—my boyfriend doesn’t notice. He never notices anything, too wrapped up in himself to bother.

I barely make it to the bathroom in time, collapsing against the porcelain bowl as my body expels the evidence of my own denial. I’d gotten too close to Natasha, letting the redhead lean her head on my shoulder during the team’s biweekly movie night (my boyfriend had come up with a lousy excuse to miss it once again). It was almost as if I was trying to prolong my own suffering (the team always did say I lacked self-preservation instincts).

I flush the petals away. Watching them spin in the water, delicate even as they violently swirl away. I swish tap water through my mouth in an attempt to expel the sickening taste of lilacs from my tongue.

But it lingers even still.

It’s always there nowadays. Nothing I do will get rid of that sickeningly sweet taste.

No matter how much I tell myself that I don’t love Natasha—

My body knows the truth.

I love Natasha, and Natasha doesn’t love me back.

Sometimes, when we’re alone—late night hot chocolate simmering over the stove, I can convince myself that maybe Natasha does feel something for me. Maybe it’s only friendship—perhaps it's merely lust or curiosity. Whatever it is, it isn’t love; it won’t save me.

I sip the burning liquid to combat the flowers crawling up my throat. Listen absently as Natasha’s gravelly, sleepy voice lulls in the quiet of the kitchen. Let myself fantasise that this is what it would be like if I were Natasha’s lover. No more cold nights alone, wondering where my partner is. No more stilted conversations, needing to fill the empty space with nothing but noise. No more pretending I don’t feel hollow when being kissed, kisses that are more out of obligation than desire.

I shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t want her, but really, when have I ever been normal? All my life, I’ve tried to fit into that cookie-cutter mould, tried to be the person that everyone wants to see—never offensive, never different, never difficult. I wonder if the plant growing inside me is the universe’s way of telling me that I had failed. Had I been doomed from the start? Destined to be a spectacle even with my last dying breath. Destined to be different—to have that imperfection rooted deep within me as proof of that.

For all that I would never fault another, I can’t help the self-hatred that clouds my mind like a grey overcast. Inexplicably, I am the only one on the receiving end of my prejudices. Shame curls around my heart in iron-hot tendrils. The thought of anyone knowing the truth sends spiders crawling up my body.

And so I hide.

I put on an artistically crafted mask, something to hide my greatest shame, and I hope that no one will see through it. I play the part of the loving girlfriend to a man I hold no feelings towards, but perhaps resentment. I hold steadfast to my facade, never wavering despite the fact that it’s killing me.

No one can know.

I wake to a cold, empty bed.

It’s no different than any other morning, yet the smell of his sweat, the burn of his lingering touches makes my stomach twist. I long for cinnamon and sandalwood, yearn for lithe fingers and red hair, wish for lazy mornings spent kissing and snuggling.

Jolting upright, I hack a mouthful of blood-stained lilacs onto my lap. I stare at the blood staining the gorgeous petals and white sheets, my heart sinking. My time is running out. Soon I’ll be nothing but a memory—the girl who died suffocating on her love. I wonder if Natasha will care.

Tears roll down my face as the loneliness sets in. For so long, I’ve been hiding. I wish someone was there to wrap me up in a hug, to tell me everything is going to be okay, even if the words are nothing but an empty platitude. Instead of cleaning up the petals, instead of soaking the sheets before the blood has time to set into the fibres, I curl up under the sheets. Tears stain the pillowcase as I wallow away in solitude. Why would anyone miss someone like me? Why would anyone care?

I awaken to a crash, my eyes sore and nose clogged. Someone says my name, but I just want to go back to sleep. I could sleep for a century, and it wouldn’t be enough. Pulling the sheets over my head, I pray that whoever it is will leave me to die in peace.

“Jesus Christ.” The voice is closer now. Groaning as the sheets are yanked down, I glare at the offender with red-rimmed eyes.

Clint stares back at me, eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned. “Who is it?” He asks, raising a gentle hand to push away the hair sticking to my face.

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “They obviously don’t feel the same.”

Clint makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat as I hack up full blooms, sticky blood matting them down. He runs to the en-suite bathroom and returns with a damp rag. He kneels at my side, taking my face into his hands. “Have you thought about the surgery?” Clint asks as he wipes the blood from my face.

“No surgery,” I say, heart constricting at the mere thought of losing my Natasha. Clint just sighs, resigned—as if he knew that would be my response.

“What is taking you so lo-” Natasha’s voice cuts through the silence.

Throat constricting, I cover my mouth in a last-ditch attempt to hide what can’t be hidden. Without a moment’s hesitation, the redhead is at my side, eyes alight with fury as she takes in the massacre of flowers before her.

“Who is it? Tell me who it is,” Natasha says, voice sharp. “Is it that piece of shit you call a boyfriend? I’ll kill him!”

“Stop, Nat,” I choke on my words. “I’m fine. It’s really not that big of a deal”

“Not that—Not that big of a deal?” Natasha splutters. “You’re dying! You’re dying and you didn’t say anything! You… were you ever going to tell me?”

My heart constricts in my chest as I take in the tears forming in Natasha’s eyes. The tears I put there. It’s not Natasha’s fault that she doesn’t love me, it’s not her fault that I had to grow feelings for someone so unattainable.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” I confess, tears forming in my eyes. “I didn’t want to upset anyone.”

“You idiot,” Natasha scolds, her hand brushing against my clammy forehead. “Я не могу жить без тебя.”

“You know… You still haven’t taught me Russian,” I say before coughing up another bout of lilac blooms. It was one of those things we talked about over hot chocolate late one night—one of those things we just never got around to.

Clint furrows his brows as I stifle another round of lilacs from erupting onto the sheets. His eyes dart between Natasha and me, calculating—as if he knows—no he can’t, no one can know. He raises a brow at me, a silent question hanging from his lips. I cut it off with a sharp glare.

“I think I’ll leave you two alone,” says Clint as he pushes himself up from the bed. A look passes between him and Natasha that I can’t even begin to comprehend—their bond so long-formed that their thoughts have practically become one.

Natasha’s face twists up as he leaves the room, eyes shut tight. When she opens them, Natasha fixes her eyes to the dying woman before her, two bright emeralds shining with grief. Warm hands wrap around cold hands, holding tight as if that alone would keep me weighted to this world.

“Я не могу жить без тебя.” Natasha says, voice wobbling through every syllable. It’s almost terrifying, seeing the world’s most composed, strong woman being brought to her knees. “It means: I can’t live without you.”

My heart stutters in my chest. I’m not foolish enough to believe those words hold any more weight than that of a dear friend, yet the way Natasha says it…

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, for lack of anything better to say. I’m sorry for falling in love with my best friend. Sorry for putting her through the pain of losing yet another person she cares for. Sorry for not getting over the juvenile feelings that plagued me from day one.

“Whoever it is… they are a fool,” Natasha declares, that sweet furrow settling in between her brows.

“I am the fool,” I mutter, eyes lowering to our entwined hands. “For falling for someone who deserves so much better.”

Natasha’s eyes light up with a familiar spark of fury. “Don’t say that.”

“Nat… I never deserved this person’s affection. I was fooling myself for ever believing that I had a chance. I’d only drag her down.”

Natasha freezes. “Her?”

My heart stops in my chest, cold dread seeping through my blood. The secret is out. Grimacing, I say, “Yes. Her.”

“You… you like girls?”

Mortification curls deep within my soul. “Don’t tell anyone,” I plead, eyes brimming with shameful tears.

“Why not?” Natasha questions.

“I’m not… I shouldn’t… I can’t…” I can’t even finish my sentence without a burst of lilacs erupting from my lungs. They expel onto the stained bedding, adding to the disarray of bloodied flowers scattered around me.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay, just calm down,” Natasha coos, pushing back the hair in my face. More flowers follow, crawling up my trachea and tearing up my throat. Tears burn in my eyes with the force of the flowers. I gasp for breath as Natasha kisses my hand, tears streaming down her lovely face.

“Please,” Natasha sobs, cradling my hand as if it’s something precious—as if I were something precious.

“Hold me?” I choke out, as the lilacs fill my lungs to the brim. I could die happy in the arms of my love, surrounded by her warmth and comfort. If the request is nothing but a selfish wish, something that will only hasten the flowers growing inside me, I would never say.

Natasha complies, her entire body trembling with the force of her sobs. She places a kiss to my forehead, murmuring in unintelligible Russian, words broken up by the shock of emotion welling up inside her.

“I love you,” Natasha cries, holding on for dear life. “Don’t leave me, please.”

I splutter on a cough at the words, heart working overtime. “Don’t say that,” I croak, voice thoroughly destroyed by the blooms. “Don’t.”

“I know it’s not a good time,” Natasha says, her hand weaving through messy tresses. “But I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” I protest, heart ripping to shreds. Not in the way I need you to.

“Yes, I do,” Natasha insists. Mourning the heat as Natasha pulls away, I try to crawl back into those loving arms, only to be held off. I stare into those green eyes, burning with such passion. “I’ve loved you for so long, Милая—darling.”

I shake my head, thoughts spinning out of control. My world tilts on its axis as Natasha murmurs to herself: “Why couldn’t it have been me?”

“What?” I question, convinced I hadn’t heard the redhead correctly. Certainly… certainly it cannot be so…

“I know I’m being selfish,” Natasha admits, “but if it were me… if it were me, you wouldn’t be… you wouldn’t…”

“You love me?” Words whispered so quietly, as if afraid to break the illusion.

“Of course, I love you!” Natasha says it as easy as if she were stating the weather. “I meant it when I said I couldn’t live without you. You are everything to me.”

“But… those other women…”

Natasha sighs, mouth pulling into a deep frown. “They were a poor attempt at distracting myself. You were already dating someone else, and no matter how much I wanted to murder him, Clint always talked me down.”

“You love me,” I repeat, disbelief coursing through my veins. All this time…

“Yes.” She furrows her brows. “We’ve already established that. It doesn’t matter, though. Tell me who these flowers are for, please. I can… I can make them-”

“Natasha…”

“Let me help-”

“Natasha!”

“What?” Natasha shouts, chest rising rapidly.

“They’re for you.” The words hang heavy in the air, almost as suffocating as the lilac bush inside my lungs. Natasha just stares, dumbfounded. Her intelligent eyes trace over my features, then to the blooms surrounding us both, then back to my face.

“They’re for me?” Natasha breathes out, her face pinched up. “But I love you.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Natasha flinches as if physically struck, her face contorting into the most pained expression I’d ever seen. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? You were dying because of me, and you didn’t say anything! How could you be so… so… so stupid?”

I open my mouth to retaliate, but stop as soon as I feel the roots inside me tear out of their iron-tight grip on the lining of my lungs. Screaming in anguish, I clutch my chest. Natasha is at my side immediately, a warm presence in the most agonising experience of my life. Her words are drowned beneath ear-splitting cries as flowers pour from my lips. The blood-stained lilacs join my pathetic arrangement, each bloom more painful than the last until, finally, the most excruciating thing crawls up my trachea, thick and hard, scratching at my throat as it expels from my body.

I stare down at the roots of my love, now sitting in my lap. A physical manifestation of my hidden desire for that which I shouldn’t. The room is silent, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

I look at the object of my desire, her eyes rimmed red, and the stains from her tears left behind on her cheeks. Even in this moment, she sparks the desire I’ve been tamping down, trying to suffocate it before it grew to this. And yet, in this moment, there is nothing more I yearn for than to kiss her—to taste those chapped lips, to feel her body pressed against mine, so warm, so soothing.

Against my better judgement, throwing all rationale to the side, I lean in. Slowly, so as to give Natasha ample time to pull away, to reject me if she so pleases. But she doesn’t. Her eyes bore into mine as she met me in the middle, tears still on the precipice of falling.

I close my eyes as our lips meet, suppressing the bodily shudder that tries to overtake me as I feel those warm lips move against mine. Never in my wildest imaginings would I have ever believed that Natasha would kiss me like this. So soft, so sensual, every bit as sweet as she is. Treating it as the most precious moment, treating me as the most important thing in her life. Every moment so tender, the care behind her lips more than I’ve ever even dared hope for in my lifetime.

Natasha pulls away first, and I open my eyes to see the wet streams of tears flowing down her face. “You taste like lilacs,” Natasha says, her eyes darting to the flowers strewn about the bed.

She sniffs once, wiping the tears from her face. “I’m still mad at you,” she says, voice still a bit unsteady from the overwhelming emotions of almost losing me.

“I’m sorry,” I say because I truly am.

“You could’ve died. You almost died because you didn’t tell me that you loved me.”

“You never said that you loved me either,” I counter, squirming at the way her eyes pin me.

“You were in a relationship,” Natasha protests.

“You were in multiple relationships.” A low blow, sure, but nonetheless true.

Natasha glares at me. “They meant nothing to me.”

“They meant something to me.”

Silence encapsulates the room.

Then, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I think we both messed up.” I sigh. “I… I’m not that comfortable with this kind of thing.”

Natasha raises a brow at me. “What do you mean?”

My face heats under her calculating eyes. “I don’t… I’m not comfortable with people knowing that I’m… that I like women.”

Natasha frowns at that, and for a second, I think that it’s over. No one would want to help pick up the shattered pieces of my self-esteem. Not even the most patient person could put up with such a thing. If I can’t love myself for who I am, who am I to expect someone else to? I couldn’t possibly ask Natasha to stay with me though I feel shame for our relationship.

“Why not?” Natasha asks.

“I don’t know.” For honesty is the best policy. It’s better for her to know that I won’t be an easy fix. That this insecurity runs as deep as the dark cave I buried my truth in.

“But you still want to be in a relationship with me?” Natasha questions, voice teetering on the verge of sounding hopeful.

“Of course,” I say, “I just don’t want you to be upset that I want to keep it private.”

“I don’t care,” Natasha insists, stubborn as always.

“Maybe not at the moment, but you will.” They always do. Not that I could ever fault them when their own girlfriend doesn’t want to even hold their hand in public.

Natasha narrows her eyes at me, taking in the certainty of my statement. “Comparing me to anyone else wouldn’t be fair.”

I swallow down the urge to berate her for being so observant. “You’re telling me that you don’t care if I’m not comfortable holding your hand in public? That you don’t mind us not showing up to events as a couple? That it might take years for me to ever be ready for even the idea of telling the team? That it’ll take even longer for me to be comfortable with the idea of marriage?”

Natasha smiles at my rant, only furthering my rapidly beating heart. “I love you. I don’t care how slow we take this. I just want you.”

“That’s not…” I trail off, unable to form a single coherent thought. That’s not what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to realise how much work I was—how loving me was a feat impossible to overcome.

“What about my boyfriend?” I gasp. “I kissed you while we were still-”

“He’s done more than that with others,” Natasha interrupts, voice downright murderous. “Don’t you dare feel bad about that. He’s a piece of shit.”

“He’s not that bad,” I feel obligated to say.

“I would murder him without a second’s hesitation.”

“Nat!” I scold, hitting her arm. Natasha grabs my hand, bringing it to her lips before placing a reverent kiss on it.

“I would kill anyone for you,” she smiles.

“That is the most awful thing I’ve ever heard you say,” I groan behind my laughter.

“It made you laugh, didn’t it?” Natasha asks, pulling me into her arms. She brushes through my hair, the steady rhythm of her chest nearly lulling me to sleep. “Don’t ever do something like that again,” she murmurs into my hair, holding tight.

“I think it’s pretty safe to say that I won’t get Hanahaki again. Unless you stop loving me, of course,” I smirk.

“I’m serious.” She pulls away from me, a frown steady on her face. “If you even so much as a cold, I want to hear about it, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I dutifully respond.

She rolls her eyes at me. “You are something else, y’know that?”

“Hey, you’re the one that’s in love with me.”

“For better or worse,” she says, kissing me on the forehead.

Taglist: @harleycao @fxckmiup @hallecarey1 @filmsbyblair

[ferigrievous]

✶⋆.˚ ROMANCE TROPES | SEIJOH FOUR .ᐟ

⤷ masterlist ; requests open ; 1.8k wc

a.n ; inspired by @kaiijo's romance tropes post. saw it yesterday night and the idea plagued me until i wrote about it and got a little carried away sorry 😓😓

oikawa tooru ✦︎ fake dating

oikawa tooru is sick of love. or maybe, he’s sick of the version of love that people throw at him– the hollow kind, the infatuation that burns bright and fizzles out, leaving only the aftertaste of disappointment. he has always been beautiful in a way that hurts, in a way that makes them forget that he’s more than just soft smiles and perfect hair. 

they fall for the idea of him, for the image he’s so carefully built, but none of them ever stay long enough to see the cracks beneath the surface. and maybe that’s why he doesn’t let them. but you, though, you’ve always known. 

you, who sits across from him at cafes, watching as he stirs too much sugar into his coffee. you, who listens to his rants about volleyball and the way his voice wavers when he talks about not being enough. you, who understands him in a way no one else does, in a way that terrifies him. because it’s easy to play pretend with strangers, but not with you. never with you.

so when he slides the idea across the table between bites of his lunch—let’s fake date—it almost feels like a joke. a ridiculous, stupid, reckless idea, the kind only he would come up with. but there’s something in his voice, something tired and worn down. a close friend has caught feelings, and he’s exhausted, and you—his best friend, his safe place—are the only one he trusts to do this without complications. "i need someone who won’t catch feelings," he says, and you agree before you can think too hard about why that stings.

but it should’ve been a warning.

because the thing is, oikawa is good at pretending. he always has been. but for all his acting, for all his careful distance, he doesn’t expect the way it starts to feel real. the way his heart stumbles when you laugh at something stupid he says. the way he starts watching you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. the way it stops feeling like a performance.

and its easy, at first. posting each other on your stories, getting matching keychains, matching necklaces. leaning into each other on the train just enough to sell the illusion. you play your part, and so does he. but somewhere between staged photos and whispered gossip, the line between fiction and reality starts to blur. the way he looks at you lingers too long. the way his hand finds yours even when no one’s watching.

and by the time he realizes, its too late.

because love, real love, has always scared him. it’s messy and unpredictable, and he’s never been good at holding onto things that matter. and now, here you are, looking at him with something like understanding, something like patience, something like the very thing he swore he wouldn’t feel.

and maybe this is the part where he ruins it. or maybe—just maybe—it’s the part where he finally lets himself have something real.

iwaizumi hajime ✦︎ childhood best friends

some places never stop belonging to you.

he has spent his entire life as something in between. too japanese for his filipino relatives, too filipino for his japanese classmates. his mother calls him anak, his father calls him hajime, and neither name feels more real than the other. he spent years swallowing syllables, and now, he is something else entirely. his japanese too stiff, his english too practiced, and his filipino non-existent, his identity a blurred outline of something he cannot quite define.

he was eight when he left the philippines. sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he can still hear the voices of the neighborhood vendors calling out in the morning. can still feel the heat of the pavement under his feet, still taste the salt in the air.

and he can still remember you.

you, his first best friend, his shadow in the summers he spent barefoot on hot pavement, running through the streets of a neighborhood that smelled like sun-dried laundry and frying garlic. you, who sat cross-legged next to him, drinking melted ice candy from plastic tubes, who never made him feel like he had to choose between halves of himself. you, who he left behind when his father’s job took him across the sea, who he promised to call and never did.

but life has a strange way of circling back.

he doesnt expect to find you again. not here, not in america, not years,  later in a university much too far away for either of you. but when he hears your voice, your voice, when he turns and meets your gaze across the room, it’s like something shifts back into place.

“..hajime?”

and just like that, he is eight years old again, standing in the middle of the street with a packed suitcase and a heart too full for his chest.

at first, it’s small things—catching up in between classes, sharing meals that taste almost right but never quite like home. he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed the way you say his name, the way you switch between languages like it’s second nature, like you’ve never had to think twice about where you belong. and he still calls you by the same nickname, like no time has passed at all.

but time has passed.

he is not the boy who left. and you are not the kid who stayed behind.

still, there is something familiar about the way you fall into step beside him. something easy about the way the lilt in his voice when he speaks to you, the way he lets his guard down in ways he doesn’t with anyone else.

"it’s weird," he says one night, walking side by side through the city. "i always felt out of place in japan. but here, i don’t know… you make it feel less lonely."

you don’t say it, but you understand. you always have.

and maybe that’s why, when his hand brushes yours as you two walk, neither of you pull away.

matsukawa issei ✦︎ unresolved feelings

a cowards way out.

thats what it was. thats what is was, breaking up with you right after highschool, when everything was already changing, when he could pretend it was just another part of growing up. another thing to leave behind.

but god, if it was that easy, why does he still dream about you?

it wasnt even real. not in the way that mattered. no grand confessions, no whispered ‘i love you’s’ between classes, no valentines gifts or anniversary flowers. just you, beside him, always, with your shoulder pressed against his like you belonged there. just the way you’d lean into him when the world felt too loud, the way his fingers would catch your wrist before you could slip too far away.

just the way it felt like something more, even when neither of you called it that.

but the truth is, he was terrified. because it wasn’t supposed to be serious. just something easy, something comfortable—best friends with a little more weight between you two, a little more gravity. but then he started wanting. started craving things he couldn’t put into words. started feeling too much. it felt  wrong, in the way that made love feel like a curse, like something he had to cut out before it rotted him from the inside.

so he ended it. before the flower could bloom. took a knife to the stem and cut it lose.

it was supposed to be easier. if he let go first, before it could wilt, before it could mold, if he walked away before it could become something he couldnt care to lose.

but the thing about love—the real kind, the kind that sinks into your bones and refuses to leave—is that it doesn’t care about logic. doesn’t care that he thought he could outgrow it. doesn’t care that he thought distance would fix it.

but distance only made the absence heavier. it crept in through the cracks, settled in his chest like a second heartbeat, a quiet, persistent ache that never really left. every time he reached for someone else, he found the ghost of you instead. in the way they spoke, the way they laughed—never quite right, never quite enough.

and now, years later, he sees you again—across a crowded room, older but still you, still his, if only in the way his body reacts before his mind can stop it. only in the way his heart feels too big for his chest.

his breath catches.

and when you look at him, when your lips part like you might say something, he realizes—

issei never stopped wanting you.

hanamaki takahiro ✦︎ hanahaki disease

hanamaki doesnt know when it started. maybe it was the first time you laughed, head thrown back, sunlight catching the sharp edges of your smile. or maybe it was all the little things—the way you spoke his name like it belonged to you, the way you leaned into him without thinking, the way you never looked at him the way he looked at you.

it doesn’t matter when.

it only matters that it’s killing him.

the petals gather around his bed in some cruel mockery, soft and pale and drenched in something not quite right. he forced down the rest that bubbled in his throat, convincing himself that he just had drank too much the night before. a trick of a mind, just another thing he could ignore.

but this isnt something he can ignore. not you, not the roots curling around his lungs, vines tangling in his ribs. every breath is a struggle, every word caught between the thorns that twist and dig into the tender flesh of his throat. he speaks less, smiles through the pain, pretends it’s nothing even as petals slip past his lips like confessions he’ll never be brave enough to say.

and hanamaki knows how this ends before it even starts.

he could tear out his heart. place it in your hands, let you decide if he lives, or how he dies. carve it from the marrow of his bones and be left with something empty, something quiet. he could survive this.

but to survive would mean forgetting you.

you, who has always been just out of reach, who laughs like the world was made for just you two, who speaks of love like it is something simple. you, who links pinkies with him in crowded hallways, or holds onto the back of his shirt while walking. you, who is everything he has ever needed, and then a little more.

but the body is cruel. it does not let him forget, does not grant him the mercy of ignorance. even when he closes his eyes, you are there, haunting him in every dream, every half-remembered moment where you are his. but then he wakes up, and all that’s left is the ache and the petals staining his pillowcase

so he lets it grow.

lets it consume him, lets it wind around his heart and squeeze until there’s nothing left. until he is nothing but petals and longing, breathless and bleeding for a love that was never his to keep.

he lets it grow. and the flowers bloom once more.

[neerathebrightstar]

Prequel : “ Curse upon thy garden”

pairing: Hal Jordan x gn reader

Hanahaki disease trope with a sprinkle of yandere (for now)

Inspired by @acid-ixx series again&again so it will get so much worse before it gets better

Read until the end for the author’s note

It isn’t until Hal starts coughing up petals that he realises how truly fucked he is. Sitting in front of the toilet bowl, retching and choking on red, purple and pink flowers he doesn’t know the name of, Hal allows himself to mourn. He mourns for the love that he now is sure will never be reciprocated and he mourns himself. There is no need to go see a surgeon when Hal knows he won’t be able to do what’s necessary to cure the disease. After all, Hanahaki ends in two ways: death or the flowers have to stop growing. And because Hal knows there is no way his love will ever love him back, the only way to save his lungs from becoming an overgrown garden is the surgery. It’s a horrific thing, barbaric even. Instead of love and petals, after the procedure there is a clean slate. It rids you of any feelings for the object of your affection and the ability to ever feel anything for them again. Hal’s love is strong, just like his will, it borders on obsession, and ever growing need to own the object of his desires. In the end it doesn’t matter if Hal will die, he is not afraid of death, what scares him is losing you. To never feel the love that bleeds from his heart into his lungs, and grows into the beauty with thorns is to truly die. You are his life, the air he breathes and flowers he chokes on. To allow someone to tear them out of their fertile soil is to tear out his heart.

When Spooky first demanded Hal stay away from his city, the ring wielding hero hadn’t paid the request (order really) much thought. Gotham was still in Jordan’s sector, he was obliged to patrol in the Known Universe so it was not like Batman could keep him out of his nest. Hal didn’t particularly like the vigilante too much since, well always, and getting on his nerves was like a hobby to him. He was pretty sure that Batman lived in a cave anyway (because who the fuck was even Bruce Wayne?) so who did he think he was to lecture the Great Green Lantern how to do this job.

It was during one of the moments when Hal felt like making a nuisance out of himself that he flew to Gotham using the ring. The original plan was to find Batman, see him pop a blood vessel, then go back home satisfied, drink a few beers and sleep. The problem was that he couldn’t find Spooky. Or any of the masked vigilantes in bird themed costumes (ridiculous idea if you were to ask him). But he couldn’t just leave like a dog with its tail tucked between his legs. God forbid one of Batman’s kids whose veins were filled with whatever serrum Bats invented to make them nocturnal find out about it and taunt him with it. He would not be bullied by kids with rabies thank you very much.

Hal flies around Gotham a couple of times as Green Lantern and stops a few minor crimes just to really rub it in Bruce’s face. He feels like a rebellious teenager decorating alleys with his signature graffiti and it makes him giddy. He doesn’t engage in any bigger stuff regarding Gotham’s colourful gallery of rogues. That will really piss Batman off, and Hal understands why. It would be like saying that he can’t handle his mess, in his own city, so while Jordan likes to irritate Spooky he still respects him enough not to get in his way too much.

He spends an hour like that before he decides that the Big Bad Bat won’t show up after all. He turns around to return to his home when he sees them. They are sitting on a rooftop, in one of the darker parts of Gotham (and Hal isn’t talking about light only, he is pretty sure most of the attacks he stopped tonight were in this neighbourhood), dressed in loose and old pants and the ugliest Christmas jumper Hal has ever seen. Even from so far away (he can’t explain why it bothers him that he can’t touch them immediately, whenever he wants) Jordan knows they are getting ready to jump (it will kill them and the thought takes all of breath from his lungs). He can’t scare them so he makes the glow of his suit even brighter, to the point he really looks like a human green lantern and flows to meet them gently over the railing. Their eyes snap from the asfalt below when Hal drapes himself dramatically next to them. He smiles somewhere between cocky and gentle and wiggles his brows.

“Everything's all right there, sweetheart?”

When they finally face him completely, something in his chest clicks so loudly, Hal knows that half of Gotham heard him. Staring at him are the loveliest eyes he ever saw on any species he encountered in Galaxy. Tears stream along their face like the artist's carefully placed strokes of a brush. Few of the city’s misplaced lights shine on their cheeks like glitter. It only adds to the fairytale like picture and the tugging on his hearth increases.

“Green Lantern? What are you doing in Gotham?”

Oh god. Thousands of angels sing in that voice (your voice is scratchy from all the crying but he doesn’t hear that. Right now he can’t stop looking and the only thing he sees is perfection) and Hal feels honoured his ears were worthy enough to hear it. He feels the sudden urge to tuck them under his head and protect them from all the harm in this world and every other world out there.

“Business with Gotham’s own Dark Knight. But seems his lady doesn’t own to good of a leash for her guard dog cause I can’t find him anywhere”

Hal pretends not to see how their face falls at the mention of the former emo kids and the BDSM enthusiasts wet dream come true clad in his leather glory and focuses on the problem at hand. They were trying to jump.

“But the FreakTM can wait, his bedtime doesn’t start until the sun goes up. Plenty of time to catch him later. Mind if I sit with you?”

He feels proud of himself when they crack a smile at his joke and don’t jump down to crack their skull instead. They look around, like they are checking if he is really talking to them before they scooch a little and put their knees to their chest. They wrap their hands around them and it’s only now that Hal sees them shaking. The Gotham air is chilly when Jordan finally sits down next to them before conjuring a big, warm and glowing green blanket to wrap around their shoulders. Hal more than feels the breath that hitched in his companion’s chest. They seem so small now, so breakable and Hal thanks whatever deity watched over them today that he made it on time.

“Bad day huh?”

They take their sweet time to respond but he waits patiently, so unlike himself, made to always leap into action. But it’s important, he can’t fuck it up. They sit there together, watching the streets of the crime infested city until the Batsignal appears on the foggy grey night sky. The civilians don’t usually fear the Bat, he protects them as much as he protects the city, but the one next to him clearly flinched like they were just slapped. He doesn’t ask because they are beginning to choke on sobs. They clutch their jumper and to Hal’s horror, they start beating themselves just over their hearth. He quickly takes their hands between his and squeezes.

“Please don’t do that”

They try to take their hands from him and sob more loudly. Hal doesn’t let go so they sit like that for a few more minutes before their silent voice interrupts the crying.

“Can you please hold me?”

They sound embarrassed and Hal wants to strangle whoever made them feel like asking for comfort is something not available to them. He pulls them so close they are practically sitting in his lap and hugs them tightly. They latch on him instantly and Jordan starts to pet their hair with one hand, humming softly.

“As long as you wish for, sweetheart”

That night you fall asleep on the hero’s shoulder, captured in his arms. You wake up alone but safe in your own bed, still wrapped in the glowing blanket. It doesn’t disappear until you properly stand up. The apartment is cold as always and there is nothing that can be done about that. But you feel warmer at the memory of last night. Because that was a Green Lantern, a hero both on this planet and others, a founding member of the Justice League. It has been a long time since anyone willingly offered you comfort like that. Sure, when you lived in the manor Alfred and his mostly silent presence was there, but he never touched you openly like that. Like a father or an older brother concerned for your wellbeing. And to be important enough in the Lantern’s eyes that he took time out of his day and saved you from throwing yourself to a certain death? It was a freeing experience, it showed you that you matter. So what if you never saw him again? You will always remember his embrace, his sweet nickname for you but most importantly you will always remember that every other day you will get to live will be thanks to his kindness.

It was not the last time you ever saw Hal. After he suffered through the Batman’s angry speech about respecting each heroes rules in their city (what a hypocrite, Hal knew very well he had contingencies on all of them and regularly broke their established rules) and his threats to never show his ugly green glow there again, the only thing he could think about was you. Your pretty, shiny eyes and soft, heartbreaking smile. He had to see you again. Just for the peace of his mind to make sure you didn’t try to jump again. It also had an added benefit of regularly pissing off Spooky who was sure to get an aneurysm if he ever saw him flirting with a civilian in his city as a Green Lantern.

The next time he comes, he should bring something to eat with him. He saw your pathetic excuse of a kitchen so what better way to charm you than feed you? He couldn’t exactly ask you out to a proper restaurant like he normally would, not in a suit so takeout would have to do. He needs to catch your name this time. After all he has to make sure it will sound good with your future last name “Jordan”.

this work is a gift to a wonderful @acid-ixx who inspires me everyday to write. his series a&a changed me as a person and I recommend you read it. this work is inspired by his series and i plan on it being a multi chapter piece but i won’t promise any regular posting, my writing schedule is shit. Yael i love you for your hard work and writing so this was meant to be a birthday present for you but I didn’t manage to finish it on time and i still had to split it.

If anyone want to be tagged let me know <3

[orangmint]

SMAU #1 BOYS OVER FLOWERS

hanahaki au, megumi fushiguro x reader . (fem pronouns used) synopsis: reader catches feelings for megumi, unknowingly, it affects her health too

masterlist

chapter. 1 i know you

chapter. 2 once more to see you

chapter. 3 do you miss me?

chapter. 4 see you soon

chapter. 5 pier 4

chapter. 6 see you in hell

chapter. 7 i know you (too)

chapter. 8 chest pain (i love)

chapter. 9 enough for you

chapter. 10 track 10

coming soon 💜 taglist closed (for now) (ITS NOT LETTING ME TAG MORE PEOPLE????💔💔)

taglist: @loveyislost @love-me-satoru @radioh3adach3 @merciless-perseus66 @1l-ynn @infl1cted @linaaeatsfamilies

[6thscara]

i’m alive i swear!!!

Hanahaki Disease [oneshot— part one?]

✭ Scaramouche x Reader

ׂ╰┈➤ hanahki au / reader’s love is unrequited💔 / not many details for reader’s character / light angst / some lumine x scara / scaramouche is called Wanderer / no use of y/n

.ೃ࿐ synopsis ; you’re just another adventurer, she’s the traveler. of course it was dumb to be hopeful, but love turns you foolish. it’s a force with enough power to drive you to death

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bro i cannot finish writing this.. i’ve had it in my drafts for like a year but i don’t know where to go w it tbh.

in that year i’ve also been going through a lot… but i wanna write again!! and i wanna take requests :D

no beta im tired of this thing💔

2,277 words

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You expected this— knew fully well it would happen, and yet you pursued.

Between you and the blonde traveler, Lumine, of course he’d like her more. It wasn’t even a contest— she’s strong, clever, and beautiful.

On the other hand, you’re just you. Which isn’t a lot. Not enough for him. Yet, your wishful thinking kept you going.

It also brought you here once again— slumped over in a secluded field in the forest, choking out petals with various hues. Your eyes scrunch at the sight of the flowers you’ve been coughing out, your heart full of resent. You sigh, thinking about how pathetic you must look.

You’ve known the Wanderer for a while, though still not too long. You knew him enough to know that despite his cold demeanour, there was a soft side to him. Although you’ve seen part of it, its entirety was reserved for someone else.

That’s why you find yourself in such a pitiful state.

With one last look at the mess you’ve made, you stand up. Your wobbly knees almost knock you over before you can hold onto a nearby tree to catch your breath.

Your body was starting to grow weak. Day by day, it was getting harder to do commissions and your daily activities— which definitely did not go unnoticed by your peers.

“…What’s up with you?” A voice calls out behind you, accompanied by the sound of jingles. It was the Wanderer.

Your eyes widen, the surprise making you flinch before quickly composing yourself. You turn around to face him, feeling your heart already begin to beat faster when met with his presence. It hurt.

You see him cross his arms, looking at you with scrunched eyes.

“Oh,— nothing,” You quickly say, “I was… doing some commissions until I had to fight off some hilichurls.” You lie.

The Wanderer breathes out a small sigh, taking a moment to inspect your poise before uncrossing his arms and speaking, “Alright then. You just didn’t look so good,”

You nod, reasonably understanding why. “No need to worry.” You say brightly, giving him a smile.

Thankfully, the wind had already taken the flower petals away, otherwise the odd pile might have seemed weird.

“So, what are you doing here?” You curiously ask.

“Not much. The traveler requested to meet me.” He answers, eyes drifting off as a hint of bashfulness uncharacteristically cracks through his manner.

He clears his throat, eyebrows slightly furrowing. You cough a bit.

“I see,” you grin, though you feel unsteady at his answer. Just because of it, you can feel your stomach stir with uneasiness while your chest tightens.

“Well, enough of me taking up your time then! Go see her.” You laugh, patting his shoulder. He scoffs.

“Exactly what I was about to do. See you.” He says, turning around and walking off. His hat jingles, leaving a lingering trail of his showing. You call out a last “bye”, to which he doesn’t mind.

You stare at his back as he leaves— and you’re sure your gaze is full of desperate yearning.

That’s that, you try to tell yourself. But it just really hurts. Simple as that.

With one last heavy sigh, you place your hands on your hips, looking up at the clear sky.

It was probably better to go do something instead of mulling over it. Right— you had planned on going to the Akademiya to try and do some research about your condition. You didn’t want to go to a doctor, firstly because the sickness seemed acquainted with your feelings, and secondly because you didn’t want anyone else to potentially find out.

You start making your way towards Sumeru City, traversing through the land’s greenery while your mind stays busy thinking about Wanderer.

It’s been like that for quite some time— ever since you met him, he’s been lingering in your thoughts, and you’ve been trying to get closer to him. Though you did to an extent, you wanted more.

It felt as if a needle pricked your heart for every thought you had of him. Thinking about him with anyone else but you was dreadful. Your heart begged you to stop— to focus on what’s ahead.

Without even realizing it, you finally reached the city. Your attention was finally brought back to your surroundings once you heard the bustling vendors, lively restaurants, and scholars discussing academic matters.

The smell of food coming from nearby restaurants was tempting, but you figured it would be better to do research now and eat later.

You make your way over to the House of Daena, promptly beginning to browse the vast bookshelves. There were quite a few Amurta students gathered around the shelves you were looking through— reasonably, since the Darshan was tied to biology and medicine.

After some perusing, you ended up with about 3 stacked books next to you. A lot of the terms in these books confused you, but the indexes were very helpful while looking for this disease. Many books you went through didn’t even mention anything similar to your condition, which was frustrating.

But finally— you find it. Hanahaki Disease, the text read, seemingly originating from Inazuma. You read with great interest, carefully going over the contents.

There wasn’t as much information on hanahaki disease as there was on others, but with what you had to work with, it was sufficient.

It was a condition that slowly killed someone whose affection for another was not returned. Your eyes widened, your breath growing heavy. You were right— it was tied to these hopeless feelings.

Then… what were you supposed to do? Unrequited love couldn’t be fixed with medicine— not any surgery, or antidote could help. Love is controlled solely by the heart of the beholder.

You gather your initial thoughts before continuing.

Hanahaki Disease, a chronic condition caused by deep, pristine love which is not returned. These unreciprocated feelings are the root of blooming flowers in the bearer’s lungs, slowly killing them until it becomes too much for the body to handle.

You continue reading on, flipping the page curiously. You let out a relieved sigh once you see that the remaining information is about possible ways to make the condition go away.

The text read, “With today’s known information, two solutions are available; the safest option is allowing the patient to let go of their feelings before they are killed,”

Right, as if you could do that. Much easier said than done. But it’s not like the author would’ve known about your love’s severity.

Sighing, you continued, “whilst the other option includes a surgical procedure, in which the blooming Hanahaki flowers will be removed directly from the patient’s lungs.”

Your heart sank. “The surgical removal is a dangerous procedure that must be taken with caution. Following the removal, the victim will also lose their romantic love for the object of affection.”

Seriously— this was your other option? You can’t go through with that! You’d probably die anyway… there's no trustworthy surgeon you know who could do it privately for you. Especially considering the after effect, it just didn’t seem like a doable solution. Love is something you hold so closely. The concept that turns existence into life. But did that really mean that it’s something to die for?

Your emotions swelled, causing a fevered feeling in your stomach.

What would Wanderer do if you died?

You flinch as you ask yourself that repulsive question, immediately beginning to cough. Hastily, you bring an arm up to cover your mouth. Ragged breaths leave your mouth as you cough up a few petals, a bitter taste on your tongue despite its sweet appearance.

Although you were alone in a secluded space, you don’t want to disturb anybody else. Covering your mouth, you let out a few little coughs before regaining your composure and cleaning up the sickeningly beautiful flower petals.

Your fingers carefully turn the page, hoping for more information, but there was nothing. Unfortunately, it seems like the disease didn’t have as much research done.

With lots of heavy feelings on your shoulders, you close the book. An uneasy sensation swirled in your stomach knowing you had a big choice ahead of you— a choice of life or death.

As you put the book away, you realize you got a bit too busy with your findings to acknowledge your body’s needs. Your eyes are tired after being glued to the book for so long, and your stomach feels empty. It was time to get food.

It was as if an aura of misery surrounded you as you walked through Sumeru City. It was only evening, and the sky was painted with orange hues, but the feelings towering over you made the air around you feel gloomy.

And yet, you try to think positively. Wanderer and the traveller aren’t completely official… so you might still have a chance! If you could just be a bit more charming— do a bit more, maybe there was a small possibility that he could think of you more fondly?

…

You plague yourself with these unconvincing thoughts, squeezing out all the hope you have left.

After all, you only had two other options that wouldn’t even suffice.

A familiar scent grabs your attention as you’re walking— a delicious aroma surrounding you. Your eyes find the same restaurant you considered stopping at earlier, a reminder of your mission for food.

Languidly, your legs drag on as you enter.

“Hello, there! What’ll you be having today?” The tavern owner, Lambad exclaims. His voice is warm and friendly.

The environment helps you relax— the energy is cozy and comfortable, soothing as you think about what to get as you sit down. “Hmm…” Your eyes scan the menu, looking for something easy to eat while staying within your budget. “I’ll just have a shawarma wrap.”

With a nod, Lambad leaves to begin preparing your food. You relax into your chair, finally being able to decompress in the flavourful aromatic atmosphere. You’ve always enjoyed eating here, because not only did they serve amazing food, but the tavern itself was like a cozy, inviting home space.

However, it did feel a bit lonely. You notice these odd feelings of isolation once you listen in on others conversations— academics, gossip, small talk, the usual. Normally, you would also be here with at least one other friend, happily chatting it up. Occasionally, even with Wanderer. But right now, you were filled with bittersweet feelings of lonesome comfort. Bittersweet because he wasn’t here with you, and comfort because it’d also be painful to have him near.

Lost in your thoughts, you ease into your surroundings, until you hear a particular jingle in the air.

It’s an immediately recognizable sound which makes you sit upright. Turning your eyes to the restaurant’s entryway, you see just what you suspected. The perfect, breathtaking Wanderer, alongside an equally as desirable blonde traveler. He holds the door open for Lumine, trailing her as he walks in before taking her side.

It’s a small action, and yet it has an effect. Such simple mannerisms make you reflect– has he ever held a door open for you? Follow you like he follows her? No, it’s the little things that are different. Different because of his love for Lumine.

You’ve always been taking the lead, so he hasn’t had to go out of his way for you at all. In that way, he has been following you, but not like he follows her.

When the Wanderer accompanies you, he’s focused on anything else in front of him– the area’s surroundings, any enemies, or events. It’s not at all like the way his eyes follow Lumine’s presence. Or how he tries to hide his enamoured gaze. How he goes along with her no matter the occasion, compared to mostly hanging around you because he was asked to.

Such a simple sight was enough to make your stomach swirl. You quietly get up, forgetting about your food as a bad feeling of turmoil begins churning. The two don’t even notice as you scurry past them– too involved with each other to concern themselves with the busy atmosphere.

The late evening’s cold air hits your face as you hastily run out the door. It’s refreshing. It’s the perfect renewal of fresh air after feeling so suddenly alert. Another sigh leaves you feeling breathless as you begin walking through Sumeru City’s uncommonly calm streets.

Aside from the occasional hum of vendors or laughter from children staying out too late, you’re once again left with your thoughts. Love was consuming you badly, destroying you as it whirled around your insides– literally.

A nauseous feeling circulated from your head towards your stomach, making the environment spin.

Not wanting to make a displeasing scene in the middle of the city, you make your way out of civilization, retreating to the forest. As if your body had a cue, flowers began expelling out of your stomach through your mouth.

Everything feels dizzy— you can’t tell if that little squelching sound is you or the greenery you’re destroying as you grip the ground beneath for support.

It feels gross. A sharp taste burns on the back of your throat while bittersweet petals continue passing up.

The rush advances quickly, leaving you breathless and panting on the ground. You crouch over the ground, barely able to hold yourself up.

The exhaustion is too much, making you simply lay on your back, having only the day’s late stars to comfort you. A rustle of wind passes, which makes you feel a bit better. Still, the remaining unsatisfactory taste and burning in your throat doesn’t ease up much.

—————

i’m sorryuuyyyyy.,, i seriously don’t know where to go with this and i’m lwk tired of it cuz i wanna write some fluff :’D

so kind of an open ending but i’m also up to writing any suggestions!!

[b3ach-bunn7]

THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS

Keigo Takami is in love with you, and you don't love him back

Hanahaki disease, angst, fluff, workplace romance

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Keigo starts his morning the same way he has for the past two months, by coughing up a handful of bloody petals.

It splatters against the pure white of his toilet bowl, and he watches, knees digging into the floor and hands grasping the lid as they wash away, the water turning pink as the red petals disappear. It’s disgusting, really, the way he’s sprawled on the toilet floor, and on any other day he wouldn’t even consider touching the lid of any toilet, even his. But he doesn’t care, because the pain in his chest is aching, and his lungs burn as tries to breathe in, and Keigo cannot stop thinking about you.

The first time he’d coughed up a petal, it was after a week of pain. He thought it might just be the flu, or some other illness he’d caught from flying around in the cold winter winds. But then one night it had reached its peak, and Keigo was in slight disbelief at the red rose remains in his hand after he’d coughed his lungs out. It was small and bloody. He didn’t know what to think of it, so he didn’t. Maybe he swallowed something when he was flying, who knows. It wasn’t anything to worry about, he decided.

And then it happened again. And again. And it’s been happening ever since, now two months later, only getting worse and worse as the days go by. It was only after a week that he looked up his symptoms, the flowers and the blood and the constant pain in his chest, and the internet said there was only one thing it could be. 

Hanahaki disease. It originated in Japan, apparently, and was rare, but real. Keigo skipped past all the useless information to find what he really needed. He found it’s a disease where someone coughs up flowers due to unrequited feelings for somebody. And he knew, the minute he read those words, that his unrequited feelings were for you.

Keigo had never loved anyone in his life. Not his parents, for obvious reasons, and his training at the Hero commission had meant that he had no time for it anywhere else. Not that there was anybody in there to love, anyway. And now, as a Pro hero with his own agency, he didn’t want love. It complicated things, and he was in no position for a relationship anyway. He barely had time for himself, so how could he deal with a relationship? So Keigo filled the empty parts of himself with meaningless sex with whoever he found. At parties, at award evenings. It was just the physicality of it, skin on his own. He craved it and got it where he could. It pissed his publicist to no end, but they usually kept quiet, and scandals always did good for the agency. 

And then he met you.

His assistant had quit. Something about better opportunities, work closer to home. He had flashed her his best smile, sent flowers to her home, and waited dutifully in his office for you to walk in the next day. And you did, perfectly pressed shirt and black skirt, smiling so sweetly at him and introducing yourself, and he knew it was over. 

It’s not his fault. What couldn’t he love about you? You were funny, you were kind. You brought him breakfast every morning and started leaving a pillow and a blanket in his office when you knew he’d come off a night shift. You actually spoke to him like he was a person, not Hawks, not the Number two hero. It didn’t take long for the feelings to start but he thought he was pushing them down well enough.

These flowers tell him he’s not. 

He flirts with you, and the two of you joke around, but nothing ever comes of it because he knows you don’t like him back. And even if you did, Keigo would never do you the horrible favour of burdening you with loving somebody like him.

Keigo sighs, pushing himself gingerly to his feet. He clears his throat and it stings from the acidity of throwing up. He moves on autopilot, shrugging on his coat and typing the laces on his boots. His mind races with thoughts of you, of how long he has left. The final stages are apparently whole flowers and he ignores the voice in the back of his mind that says judging by what he just coughed up, he’s getting dangerously close to the end.

The weather outside is cold and bitter. Keigo hates winter, hates how he has to bundle to avoid the sharp, piercing wind whenever he flies. It’s harder to patrol in the dark and you’re less likely to leave the agency for your lunch break, so it also means he can’t use it as an excuse to take you out. He steps out on his balcony, sliding the door behind him, and he shuts his eyes.

Sometimes he thinks in another life, he’d tell you. In another life maybe he was just an assistant like you, someone normal, someone you deserved. That after his shift he’d get to come home and you’d have cooked dinner or he’d bring home takeout. He craves normalcy, to have a home with someone, and he can’t help but dream it’s with you.

He slips his goggles on and pulls up the gaiter around his neck. He steps forward and with one strong flap of his wings he’s in the air. 

The flight to the agency doesn’t take long. Nothing really does, to be honest. He’s not patrolling today but he still keeps an eye on the ground, the sky still dark as the world wakes up around him. He lands deftly in his own office, and the wide windows being pushed open already lets him know you’re in the building too. He runs a hand through his hair, quickly checking his reflection to make sure he looks good. He does, obviously, but he can’t help but worry. There’s a familiar knock on his door, and you don’t wait for him to let you in before you enter.

Today, you’re wearing a long pair of trousers that hug your legs, the white blouse you have on buttoned up apart from the top two, a small sliver of skin exposed to show a small gold necklace he got for you at a Christmas party, holding two coffees.

His heart pounds and he coughs into his sleeve. Your eyebrows furrow and you step forward, empty hand reaching out.

“Are you okay, Hawks?” You ask, and he nods.

He clears his throat, swallowing away the feeling prickling it. He nods, flashing you a toothy grin. “Yeah, now that you’re here.”

You roll your eyes but he doesn’t miss the small smile on your face as you set his drink down on the table. He takes a long drink of it and you wince.

“God, I don’t know how you drink that. It’s more sugar than coffee.” You scrunch your nose and he shrugs.

“I need the energy, babe, you know that. All that flying around burns calories quickly.”

One of his feathers shuts the window, another two hanging up his coat. Your eyes follow quickly. He might be trying to impress you a little, but it’s been a long enough time of you watching this show that he’s sure it doesn’t do much. The skin tight thermal might, though. He may or may not be flexing a little when he stretches, but he doesn’t see any harm in that. 

You nod, pulling out your phone, eyes quickly averting away from him. “Okay, so. Luckily for you, today is just paperwork. No energy necessary.” You sigh, sitting down heavily. “I hate paperwork days.”

He knows exactly why. The long, tired hours of writing and reading. Anyone would hate it, but Keigo? Keigo loves paperwork days. A whole day with the two of you in a room? What couldn’t he love about that?

He sits down across from you. It feels a little weird, too formal, with you across his desk. He doesn’t use it much. His office is pretty empty. There's no decorations, no plants, nothing. It's empty because Keigo doesn’t care. He doesn’t like this office. The only thing he likes about it is that it’s the place he spends the most time with you. He wishes you were closer.

He coughs. There's a familiar feeling itching in his lungs and he begs to a God he doesn’t know that he won’t throw up flowers in front of you.

“Aw, come on. Paper days are fine. And I’ll order food for us later.”

You perk up at that. “Really? Let’s get yakitori.”

“And this is why I love you.” He coughs again and you peer at him.

“Are you okay? You keep coughing today.”

He nods. “Don’t worry about it, babe, I’m good.”

You keep looking at him. “If you’re sick, go home.”

“No, I’m fine. The number two hero doesn’t get sick.”

You don’t look convinced but you hold up the first set of papers. His fingers brush against yours as he grabs them. The two of you sit in silence for all of five minutes before Keigo groans. You look up, amused.

“I’m bored.”

You sigh. “Me too. But as your assistant I have to tell you to keep going.”

Keigo pouts. You tap the pen in your hand against the desk.

“No way to get out of this?” He says. “Nope.”

“No work parties I can look forward to?”

You shake your head. Then you sit up suddenly. “Wait. Oh my god.”

Keigo sits up too, immediately mirroring your panic. His wings curl out behind him. You cover your face with your hands.

“What? You’re freaking me out, Y/N.”

“There is a work party! Tonight. That I’m supposed to be planning. And I completely forgot!” You groan.

Oh. That’s easier to deal with. “It’s fine, don’’t worry. We’ll sort it.” You shake your head and it ruffles your hair, and he wishes he could reach forward and brush it behind your ear. “No, I don't know what to do. It’s for Kaylee’s birthday! Everyone loves Kaylee, I love Kaylee, that’s why I offered to plan this for her.” You ramble.

Keigo catches most of your babble. He quickly moves off from behind his desk to stand in front of you, his hands coming to rest at your shoulders. “Breathe, girl.”

You do, chest moving up and down slowly. Like this, with you still seated and him standing, he towers over you. He thinks for a moment.

“Let’s just go now.”

“What?”

“We’ll just go get the stuff you need right now. Shouldn't be too much, right?”

Your eyes glance at the paperwork on the desk. “What about all that?”

He hums, and you look up at him again. This close, Keigo can see you so much clearer, so much brighter. Another cough rumbles in his chest and he ignores it. “We can do it another day. Blame it on me.”

You bite at your bottom lip, considering his offer. You stand up and nod, determined.

“Okay. Okay, let me get my coat. I’ll meet you at the front desk.”

And then you’re out before he can say another word.

—----------

Keigo thinks this is torture. Real, honest to God torture.

You’d refused his offer to fly to the marketplace, so now the two of you were just walking down the street. He’d left his feathers at work, and changed into the most civilian outfit in the agency. It always felt weird without them on his back, the heavy weight something he’d been used to since he was born. But for you, Keigo thinks he might set them all on fire. 

What makes everything worse is that you’re walking with your arm linked in his. You had been since you’d walked out the agency, animatedly talking and pointing at the things around you. It was hard to focus on much when your fingers squeezed his bicep every time you saw something you liked. 

“Okay, so. I need a cake, and decorations. And like, snack food.”

He nods. “Yes, ma’am. Can we squeeze lunch in there?”

“There’s always time for lunch, Hawks.” 

The first stop the two of you end up at is a supermarket. You pass him a coin to grab a shopping cart and he immediately starts running around with it, and you tut.

“Hawks, enough. People are looking.”

Your words should sound annoyed, but there’s a soft fondness behind them that has his head reeling. You take the cart from his hands and he lets you walk ahead, because the feeling that he’s started to dread builds in his torso, and he grabs the tissue out of his pocket and he coughs.

It’s loud and grating and it scratches the back of his throat. He’s lucky that there’s nobody around to see him gag into his hand, the petals tickling as he spits, blood splattering against it. He breathes heavily, once, twice, and tears prick at his eyes. He curses, eyes screwed shut. Not today, not like this. Not when he finally has a day alone with you. He throws the tissue in the trash outside the shop, and goes in to find you.

He finds that grocery shopping is fun. He’s never actually been before. His groceries are kindly delivered by the Commission straight to his front door, so he’s never actually done this before. It’s exciting. He likes the little line you get between your eyebrows whenever you get annoyed at him for putting random things in the basket.

“Hawks, enough! We don’t need six loaves of bread!”

“We do! We can make those little hors d’oeuvres with like, pesto on them.”

You mumble some choice words under your breath, putting them all back. “Hawks, this isn’t some Hero commission party. We’re getting a bag of Doritos and dip and calling it a day.”

Keigo pouts and you drag him over to the basket. “Here, you push this.”

You take him to the produce aisle and he boos as your throw in a few vegetables sticks. Keigo gags again, holding up the celery sticks. You snatch them out his hand and toss them back in the car.

“Stop. We need something healthy so we can eat a carrot stick and feel good about the cake I’m going to buy.” You tap your head knowingly and he grins.

“I don’t look healthy enough as is?” He stretches out his arm and the windblower you’d found for him in the agency billows around his arms.

You snort, patting him on the chest. “Oh, yeah. You look great.” 

It leaves him winded, just for a second, and then he’s back.

The cake aisle is his favourite one. You steer him clearly away from the children’s cakes, because he’s sure you saw the light in his eyes when he noticed the Marvel cake. 

“Can we get chocolate?” He asks, and you shrug.

“I don’t know. You know what Kaylee likes?” You step a bit closer to the shelves, peering at the different boxes.

Keigo hums, tapping the corner of his chin. He walks around the cart until he’s right next to you. “How about that? Red velvet. And it looks cute.” He points to the one near you, arm reaching over and brushing against yours.

“Hm. Yes. That’s- Yes. Red velvet.” You nod.

Keigo glances at you and he finds the two of you are closer than he realised. He thinks if he leans in just slightly you’ll be kissing. He smiles, soft and sweet. 

“You look pretty this close.”

“So I look ugly from afar?” You joke, but you sound nervous.

Keigo's eyes dart to your lips. It’s so quick but he sees the way your cheeks flush. “You never look ugly. Don’t I compliment you enough?”

You shove him away softly, reaching for the red velvet cake.

“Enough out of you. Go grab candles.”

And Keigo does, in the next aisle over, and hopes you can’t hear him coughing up another handful of petals. 

———

The two of you finish up quickly, despite Keigo’s efforts to long out the day as much as he can. The coughing only gets worse, and he’s surprised you haven’t noticed the amount of times he disappears to hack up his lungs around the nearest corner.

But it’s fine, he tells himself. This is about you, about helping you. He can deal with this problem later. 

You, who are sitting across from him in the tiniest table known to man at his favourite yakitori place. Part of him is a little annoyed about the whole ‘civilian disguise’, because whenever the owner sees it’s him he always gets a few extra sticks. But he can’t complain. Your legs are touching his, seeing as you’d shoved the both of you in the farthest corner of the shop possible. Which also happens to be the smallest in the shop.

“Okay, so, when we get back I’ll set up everything and we’re done!” You speak around a mouthful of food, chicken almost falling onto the table.

He nods, mouth also full. “Perfect. And you’re sure you don’t need help setting up?”

You shake your head. “I should be good, there’s not that much to do.”

You place the now empty stick on the table, dusting your hands. “Thanks for this, Hawks. Really.” 

He just smiles. “Don't mention it. Anything for my favourite assistant.”

“Aren’t I your only assistant?”

“So? You’d still be my favourite if I had more.” 

You snort, picking up another stick. “Sure, sure.”

The grocery bags crinkle beneath the table. And like this, without his wings and without any eyes on him Keigo can be selfish and pretend like this is real. 

You glance around the restaurant. “I like this place. Why haven’t we come here before?”

Keigo shrugs, polishing off another two sticks. “It’s usually busy around our lunch time. We should come more though.”

You nod. “Definitely. There’s this ramen place too, we should go there. It’s by that supermarket we went to.”

It’s so casual, so calm, and his heart is racing. 

“Oh! I found this song. I think you’ll like it.”

You dig in your purse and pull out the same ratty wired earphones he makes fun of you for everyday. He rolls his eyes and you glare at him.

“No. Shut up.”

“Just let me buy you a nice pair of AirPods, babe. Seriously, these are dying.” He flicks the wire that’s covered in tape and you tut, pushing his hands away.

“Never. I'm a wired earphone supporter till I die. Come here.”

You scoot your chair closer to the table, but they don’t really reach. “Fuck. Okay, wait.”

You stand up, dragging your chair so it’s right up next to his. You sit down, and your hand comes up to brush his hair out of the way so you can press the earphone in his ear. And if you see his breath hitch you don’t say anything. Just hit play, your own earphone in.

And the pure bliss of having you this close, close enough that he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume, lasts about a minute before he starts coughing.

He reels it back as much as he can, wincing as he swallows the petals that try to crawl their way out his throat. He drinks water, washing away the taste of metal from his mouth and he barely even registers your hand on his shoulder.

“Hawks? Are you alright?” There’s panic clear as day on your face, and he nods.

“Y-Yes. Don’t worry, I think I just swallowed a piece of chicken wrong.”

You’re not convinced as easily as before. “That didn’t sound normal, Hawks. Should we take you to the doctor?”

“No, it’s fine, babe. I promise.” 

He holds up his pinkie. You just stare at him for a moment, eyes searching for a lie. But you seem to believe him, because your hand comes up and your finger curls around his.

——-

The party is going well, he thinks.

Kaylee looks happy. You did well with the decorations, as best as you could do with an office room and an hour. There’s pink balloons and streamers that Keigo wants to scream that he bought with you. But that’s stupid and desperate, so he doesn’t. 

You’d all sang and cheered as she blew out her candles. She looked nice but Keigo couldn’t keep his eyes off you, grinning so hard it was like your face was about to split in half. People were milling about now. Keigo likes to think he knows all his employees but he’d be lying if he said he recognised every face that had come to greet him.

There is one face he could recognise anywhere.

“Birdbrain! What are you doing here?”

Rumi’s voice is loud and full of energy, and he can’t help but mirror the grin on her face the second she claps him on the back.

“It’s almost like this is my agency.” He raises his eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

“Kaylee and I know each other from ages ago. She used to intern when I was working with Best Jeanist.”

Keigo nods. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a guy approaching you. One of the office workers he can’t name. His wings are back on his body and he wishes he could send one over to listen to what you’re talking about.

“But- Are you even listening to me?” Rumi says.

“Yes. I am.”

“No. You’re not.” 

Rumi follows his eyeline, to where you’re handing out slices of cake. She nods, understandingly. “I see. Have you asked her out?”

“What? No. Why would I- She’s my assistant.” Keigo splutters.

Rumi laughs, clapping him on the shoulder once more. “Oh, Hawks. Has positions of power ever stopped you before?”

Keigo frowns. “No, it’s not like that. I’m not trying to just hook up with her.”

“Oh.” Rumi looks at you again. “You actually like her?”

“Yes. No. It’s- It’s complicated.”

Rumi hums thoughtfully. The two of them were quite blatantly staring at you now, and Keigo is sure you’d be quite weirded out if you caught them. But he doesn’t need to worry about that, because your attention is stolen away by some guy. Keigo doesn’t even know his name because he’s some irrelevant worker that doesn’t even matter.

But he seems to matter to you. Because you are smiling and laughing, and you nudge his shoulder when he says something Keigo itches to hear.

“Well. Maybe try telling her. She won’t wait around forever.” Rumi nods towards you and he shakes his head.

“That’s… I don’t- Just leave it.” Keigo’s voice sounds bitter in a way he’s not used to, and Rumi peers at him.

“Birdbrain? You doing okay there?”

He’s not. How could Keigo be doing okay, when Rumi is annoyingly right? You won’t wait forever. Keigo doesn’t even have forever. He has a few weeks left if his research is correct. And for some dumb reason Keigo didn’t seem to think about the fact that he might live to see you with someone else.

You move slightly closer to him, and Keigo’s fist clenches. 

He doesn’t even know the guy, but can he be surprised? You’re perfect, you’re you. It makes sense that he’s not the only one in love with you. Keigo sees the hand this guy places on your elbow, the way he smiles at you whenever you laugh. He knows that look because it’s how he looks at you everyday. 

And then it starts. Slow and slight. It stirs in his lungs, just a tickle, but he knows, he knows what comes next.

Rumi notices the way his face pales, and she shakes his arm. “Hawks? You’re freaking me out, what’s wrong?”

And he tries to answer, but all that comes out is a choking noise he can’t even recognise as a sound his own body made. And the feeling builds up all too quickly, and Keigo thinks he might be dying. He’s rushing out the room to try and make it to the bathroom, but he doesn’t make it further than out the door, because the pain in his chest is splitting, like somebody is trying to push their way out of his skin. He drops to the knees and he clutches at his stomach, and he coughs and coughs and there’s blood, and there’s flowers now, fully grown flowers-

And then everything goes dark.

——————

Keigo opens his eyes to the bright white ceiling of a hospital room. It’s not something he hasn’t seen before, and the slow blink back to life and the few seconds of peace before the pain kicks in are always the worst. He blinks harshly before slowly, slowly sitting up, arms almost buckling from his weight. 

He hates the weakness that comes with injury, the embarrassment. If he was still training at the commission they would’ve sent him back on the field before he’d even gotten up. But, he doubts he’d have gotten a disease quite like this over there.

It’s only after he’s pushed himself into a sitting position that he sees you. 

Arms crossed as your head leans back against the wall behind you, asleep. He has no idea how long it’s been, but judging by the fact you’re still wearing the clothes you were wearing in the office, he assumes it’s the same day. He glances out the window and its pitch black.

And you look beautiful. Even with the mascara smudged beneath your eyes, the worry on your face even visible in your sleep. Keigo looks away, but not before you wake up and catch him staring. You blink like you might be dreaming, before you bring your chair closer to him.

“Hawks. You’re- You’re awake.” You whisper the words like if you say them too loudly they might not be true.

He smiles as best as he can. “Hey, pretty. The party still going on without me?” He tries for a joke but your eyes prick with tears. 

“Don’t. Don’t joke right now. Nothing about this is funny.” You sound serious in a way he’s never heard before, and some sick, twisted part of himself is giddy that it’s all for him.

“You promised you were fine.”

Keigo wants to turn away because the hurt on your face is his fault.

“I’m sorry. I just-“ He sighs. “Did you see?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone else see?”

“No. Rumi stopped them from coming out into the hall.”

He nods. You shake your head, hand coming up to rub at your eyes. 

“How long has it been?” He asks.

You check your watch. “It’s one in the morning so. About six hours.”

Keigo falters. “Wait- You’ve been here for six hours?”

You frown. “Well obviously. I- They said I’m your emergency contact. And someone had to be here to tell you what the doctor said.”

He knows already. From the sharp pain in his chest he knows.

“I’m assuming you know it’s Hanahaki?”

He nods. You nod.

“You-“ You curse. It takes a few moments for you to get the words out.

“He said you don’t have long. The petals, he said they’re starting to look like flowers. Fully grown ones. And that means you’re in the final stages.” Your voice cracks and Keigo thinks he might throw up again.

“Okay.”

You pause. “Okay? Is that all you have to say? Okay?”

Keigo frowns. “Y/N, I-“

“Do you not get it, Hawks? You’re going to die. He says you’re going to die if you don’t either tell the person or- get the surgery done.”

Keigo shakes his head immediately. “I’m not doing the surgery.”

Your lip quivers and you pull yourself even closer. Your hand grabs his and it’s cold where his is warm, and you squeeze. 

“You have to, Hawks. The world can’t lose you. I can’t lose you.” You whisper.

And your words sound so raw, so vulnerable, and it tears at his inside more than the roses growing inside them.

“Just try. Try, okay? Tell them how you feel and see. It- It might be reciprocated. It definitely will be. I mean, who wouldn’t be in love with you?” You laugh wetly, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

But there’s something else behind them.

Jealousy.

And there’s a small flicker of hope that grows beneath his bones. And he looks at you then, at the tears that gather on the bottom of those fluttering eyelashes. And he reaches up, brushes the curve of your cheek.

And your breath hitches. He feels the heat on your face from how close he is, and he thinks he might cry.

“It’s not fair.” His voice sounds so weak, so awfully weak and he wants to scream. 

“What is? What’s not fair?” You ask.

“I can’t tell her. I don’t deserve her.”

You look so confused. Like he’s said the dumbest thing in the world. “What?”

“I’m not- I work almost everyday, and when I am off I’m too tired to do anything. My place is more of a prison cell than an apartment. I- I’ve never even been in a relationship before. Never even thought about it. I can’t- I’m not allowed, Y/N.”

And now his voice cracks and your hand squeezes tighter. And his voice sounds unfamiliar. This desperation, the frantic panic that fights against his words is so unlike him. Keigo has never been vulnerable with anybody in his life, but that look in your eyes makes him feel like he can tell you everything. All the dirty horrible secrets he keeps locked inside himself.

“It’s not fair. I don’t know if I can even be there for someone. It’s why I never said anything, I didn’t want to mess up a relationship that’s so important for me for one I can’t even commit to. It’s not fair on you, Y/N. You deserve better.”

He feels like there’s a weight that’s left his shoulder when he finishes speaking, rambled words he can barely remember. He’s out of breath when he’s done. Waiting anxiously for you to say something. Maybe this real version of Keigo is too much for you. He has half a mind to tell you it was just a joke, he didn’t mean it if it means you’ll stop looking so shocked. Keigo just needs you to say something.

“I deserve better?”

He doesn’t expect that. “What?” He says, confused.

You swallow roughly and he watches the sharp lines of your throat as you do so. “You said ‘you deserve better’. You as in, me. As in… I’m the one you have feelings for?”

Shit.

“I- Did I say that? I think it’s the medicine, it’s making me all-“

“Are you in love with me, Hawks?”

The room isn’t silent. The machines he’s hooked up to all make a low humming noise, and he can hear people and nurses walking and talking outside. But when you say those words it feels like the world has stopped. 

He could lie. But Keigo won’t get the surgery, so he figures he might as well let you know how he feels before he dies.

“Yes.”

You freeze for a moment. Then your hands come up to cover your face and he immediately misses the contact. And then your shoulders start shaking and he thinks you're crying.

Keigo sighs. “It’s not that awful of a thing. No reason to cry.”

“I’m not crying. I’m laughing.”

When you look back up at him there are in fact tears running down your face, but you look happy. And hope claws its way out of him.

“This funny to you?”

“No. Your stupidity is, though.” 

Keigo is quiet for a moment, confused. “Do you mind elaborating on that?”

“Hawks, do you think it’s normal that I do all your paperwork with you? Or that we get lunch together almost everyday? Do you think any other assistant in all of Japan would stay as late as their boss, especially when he’s a top ten Pro hero who rarely finishes before ten in the evening?”

“I-“

“Do you think it’s normal that I wear this necklace you bought me everyday?” And you reach into your shirt and pull it out, the gold catching against the light.

“Hawks, I spend every waking second I’m in that agency with you if I can help it. I’ve had job offers a million times better than what I do for you, and I’ve rejected every single one because I wanted to be with you.”

Keigo doesn’t say anything. You grab his hand again, but it feels a little more threatening this time.

“You don’t get to decide if I deserve you or not, I do. It’s- I can’t believe you. I don’t care about all that. We’ll figure it out together.”

And Keigo just closes his eyes, because this can’t be real. He must be dreaming, because Keigo doesn’t get things like this. Love. Nothing like that look on your face that’s all for him.

“You sure you're not just saying this because I’m dying?”

And you laugh, and let your tears fall freely, and Keigo can finally breathe clearly for the first time in months.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

this is for lysa if ur anyone else stop reading...?

JKKKKK guys i love hawks so much i can't explain... he was my lover for so long i miss him

also i loved writing this i literally did it in ONE NIGHT?? plz give me more ideas pookas

LOVE U ALLL HAVE A GOOD NIGHT

[sinnabarmoth]

These Roses Have Thorns

Pairing: Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: Reader has feelings for a man she met at the arcade named Sylus. There are two major problems though. 1. He has feelings for someone else. 2. This means you've contracted Hanahaki disease. Could having a crush be any worse?

Content Warnings: Adult language. Kidnapping. Descriptions of coughing up flowers.

Length: 6k

So you had worked at the arcade for a while now. It was a pretty easy job as jobs went. You restocked claw machines, vending machines, disinfecting joysticks, made sure floors stayed swept and that kids weren’t climbing into through the claw machine flaps to steal toys. For the most part you were behind a desk just people watching.

You saw a lot of couples come in and out, playing games and acting all adorable. It made you long for something like that. You had been single for a while now and the desire for a boyfriend got stronger and stronger every time you saw another ridiculously cute couple come in.

There was this one girl you saw come in a lot. She was always with a different guy though. All of them good-looking. You thought that maybe she was a serial dater or maybe she just had three different boyfriends that she was cheating on. Maybe she was just friends with all of them and you were reading too much into it. It was hard to know for sure because she was so stinking cute and the guys she came in with her were all drop dead handsome.

They spent most of their time at the claw machines winning prizes. After a while you stopped blinking an eye when she came in with the blond then the purple haired guy then the serious looking dark haired man every week. Whatever their relationship was, it was none of your business.

Then one day someone new walked in. You were sure you had never seen this man before. He had silver hair, blood red eyes, and had on dark clothes that stood in stark contrast to the peachy pink interior of the arcade. He spotted you staring and walked up. He was also tall as could be, easily dwarfing you by a good few inches.

“Can you exchange these bills for tokens?” his voice was a smooth and rich baritone that made your toes curl in your shoes.

“Oh uh,” you forced yourself to stop staring and take the bills he held out for you. “Yes. Right away.” You turned, heart hammering hard in your chest as you stuck the bills in the coin machine behind you and exchanged them for a huge bucket of tokens.

“There you are.” You set the bucket on the counter. “Sure is a lot of tokens, planning on playing a lot of games?”

“There’s a certain plushie that a friend of mine wants. It’s apparently a limited supply stock so she was adamant about getting it, but she also got called away on work suddenly. So here I am.”

“Oh! The cake bunny one? Yeah, we don’t get them in very often.” You couldn’t deny you weren’t tempted to steal one for your own plushie collection back home. “Well, sounds like you’re a very good friend. I wish the best of luck to you.”

“Thanks.” he took the bucket and went over to the claw machines. From where you were stood you could keep an eye on him, and you were more than thankful for that. He was definitely not bad to look at.

You watched him for a while, trying and failing over and over to get the plush he desired. He was having good luck accidentally grabbing other ones though. You did end up having to go over and talk to him when you noticed him use an evol on the machine.

“Sorry sir, no evol influence with the machines.” you said, scampering up to him. “Company policy.”

He sighed, looking in at the glass case and recalled his evol. “This bunny is proving far more difficult to get than I anticipated.”

“You got a lot of others though.” you picked up one of the little stuffed bumblebees. “Even if you don’t get the bunny you can shower your friend in all these.”

“She has most of them already.” he poked the bee you were holding. “If you want any of them, feel free to take them. I’ll have no use for them.”

“Really?” you squeezed the bee plushie to your chest.

He smirked. “Of course,” he leaned in closer so he was almost nose to nose, “If you can do me a favor and look the other way on this evol business. What do you say?”

Your face flushed and your heart went racing again. “Oh uh…” you looked away. “I mean, it isn’t like I’m losing money if you end up getting the toy. Just don’t be obvious about it, okay?”

He chucked you under the chin. “You’ll see that I can be very stealthy, no one will ever know about this. Your understanding is greatly appreciated, have your pick of the lot, honey bee.”

Did he just call you honey bee?

He turned back to the game, his evol re-emerging to help move the cake bunny plush into a better position. You were stuck for a moment before remembering yourself and grabbing two other plushes from down by his feet and carrying them back to the desk.

You glanced back over your shoulder and saw that he was watching you with a satisfied smile. A tickle fluttered in the back of your throat and you coughed lightly to dislodge it, though it did nothing of the sort.

The day continued on and soon it was time for you to start locking up. Unfortunately for him, that guy was still at the claw machine. He was hitting his head off the glass and looked about two seconds from breaking it and just grabbing the plush.

“There is no way that this isn’t rigged somehow.” he said. “There just isn’t a way I can be this bad at getting one stupid toy.”

“Well, you got one more token.” you handed it to him. “One last chance and then I gotta lock up.”

“Lock up?” He looked around at the abandoned arcade. “How long have I been at this?”

“Long enough that it’s night now.” you gave him a little pat on the back. “Come on, one last try. You got it.”

He sighed and put in the last token. “You can do it! I believe in you!” Maybe a little cheering would help.

He gave a wry smile and moved the joystick so the claw was over the toy once again. He hit the button and lo and behold the plushie stayed! It dropped down into the chute and the lights flashed as he finally won.

“Three hours…” he took the plush out of the machine. “She had better appreciate what I went through for her.”

“I’m sure your friend will. Now come on, I was supposed to have this place locked up a half hour ago.”

“If you closed half an hour ago why didn’t you kick me out sooner?”

“You had been at it for so long and you didn’t have that many tokens left so I decided to just leave you to it while I did some cleaning.” you shrugged.

You left the arcade and locked the door behind you. Then cursed when you realized it was raining. Walking back to your apartment was going to suck. Why hadn’t you brought an umbrella?

The man went to a motorcycle parked by the curb and got on. “You waiting for someone?” he asked.

“No. I think I’ll just wait to see if the rain lets up any.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t impose.”

“You let me cheat at the game and kept the arcade open late for me. I can give you a ride home, I have an extra helmet.” he opened the seat and fished out a helmet.

Your heart did another pitter patter in your chest. “You don’t mind? I don’t want you to have to go out of your way.”

He rolled his eyes and tossed you the helmet. “Get on the bike, honey bee.”

“Okay. Thank you.” you pulled the helmet on. He sat you on the seat of the motorcycle and told you to hold on tight so you didn’t fall off.

You gave him the address for your apartment building and he drove straight there. It was nice getting a ride but because it was on a motorcycle you were still getting drenched by the rain. Finally you made it back to your apartment and got off the bike. “Thanks again,” you said. “Um…sorry I don’t know your name.”

“Sylus.” he held a hand out.

You shook it. “It was a pleasure.” A crack of thunder made you jump. At the same time your phone beeped with an alert. Automatically the emergency alert started playing.

“Severe and unsafe weather conditions. All citizens are encouraged to stay inside. Roads experiencing flooding. Drivers are advised to pull over and remain where they are until the storm has lightened at eleven PM tonight.” the automated voice said.

“Sheesh.” you looked at Sylus as he prepared to get back on his bike. “Hey! You heard that alert the same as me. You shouldn’t be driving.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Famous last words.” you stormed back into the downpour and grabbed his arm. “It’s not safe. Please. Come inside, just until the rain lessens.”

He considered you for a moment. Something in your eyes must have resonated with him or maybe he was pitying your pleading look but he got off the bike. “Lead the way.”

This…probably wasn’t a good idea. Then again none of the choices you were making tonight were necessarily good considering that you didn’t know this guy. You watched him fail at a claw machine for a couple hours, that was it. And from that you decided to keep the arcade open late, got on his motorcycle, trusted him with your actual home address, and were now inviting him in. You didn’t get a vibe that he was someone who was going to hurt you but if your friends could see you right now they would yell at you for letting a strange man into your apartment for an indefinite amount of time!

Well too late. You were in it now.

You walked up to your apartment and let him. Your immediate course of action was to change out of your wet clothes and into dry ones. When you came back out of your room Sylus was still standing in the entry way dripping wet.

“Oh shoot, I forgot you were also still soaked.” you shoved your wet clothes in the laundry. “I think I have something you can change into while I put those clothes in the dryer.”

“And what do you have that you think will fit me?” he asked.

“I’m pretty sure my ex-boyfriend left some of his sweats here when we broke up. Let me go find them. If you want you can go to the bathroom and dry yourself off, I’ll set the clothes outside the door.”

He nodded and went into the room you pointed to. You fished around in your drawers finally finding a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt your ex had missed when he was packing. The pants may be a little short on Sylus and the shirt was definitely going to be a bit snug since his chest was a lot broader but it was better than nothing. You set the clothes outside the door to the bathroom and went about wiping up the puddles of water while you got the kettle boiling. Rainy nights were a good time for hot tea and instant ramen.

The door to the bathroom creaked open and Sylus came out wearing the dry clothes. Like you thought, they weren’t a perfect fit but he didn’t look uncomfortable in them.

“I’ll just take those.” you grabbed the wet clothes and tossed them in the dryer. “Do you want anything to eat or drink? I was making some tea and ramen for myself if you wanted anything. Pretty sure I have some leftover curry too, some snacks, anything sound good?”

“Tea is fine.” he said.

You nodded and poured both of you cups of tea. There was a bit of an awkward air around you two as silence descended. You decided to have mercy and turn on the TV to distract yourself. After your ramen was done you both went to sit on the couch and watch whatever was playing.

As the storm raged on outside you found yourself becoming more and more at ease with your guest. The conversation wasn’t groundbreaking or anything but it was pleasant. He was pretty funny when he wanted to be. Time passed and you barely even noticed when the rain finally let up. It was nearly midnight when your phone alerted you that the streets were safe for drivers again.

“I’ll be taking my leave then.” Sylus said, “Thank you for inviting me in.”

“No problem. Thanks for the ride home.” you pulled his clothes out of the dryer and handed them to him. “Did you want to change back before you left?”

He shrugged on the jacket. “No. This will be fine. I need to get going sooner rather than later.”

You walked him to the door. “This has been a pleasant evening, more so than I was expecting.”

“Glad to know I was a good host.” you beamed. That tickle in the back of your throat had been getting more persistent all evening and you cursed as you turned to hack into your elbow again.

“Sounds like you should have gotten a hot shower when you came home instead of playing hostess.” Sylus said. “Can’t have you getting sick.”

“I’m not sick, I just think there’s some dust in my throat or something.” you wiped at your watering eyes. “Stay dry out there. Good night.”

“Good night.” he nodded and left.

Once the door had closed a large dopey smile had grown across your face. This evening had been so nice! He was really cool and kind and interesting. Not to mention pretty darn handsome. You were afraid you had made your mooning over him obvious by the end but he didn’t seem to have noticed. Probably too distracted by your annoying cough to realize you were gazing at him like a lovestruck school girl.

Maybe fate would lead him back to your arcade another day. You’d be brave and ask for his number if that happened.

You went to bed with your head full of fuzzy warm dreams. You were probably asleep for an hour or two before you woke up again coughing like mad. You could feel something caught in your throat. You know you could! Oh god, were you going to puke?

You swung out of bed and ran to the bathroom coughing and coughing and coughing until your throat was raw and your eyes watered so much you couldn’t see. When you peered down into the toilet bowl you saw a splash of red and your blood went cold. Oh no…was that blood? Were you coughing up blood?

You wiped the tears from your eyes and saw the red spot was not blood at all but instead a bright red rose petal. “Oh shit…”

~~~

The next couple days you could not stop thinking about that damn flower petal. Of course the second you developed a crush on a guy it would turn into Hanahaki disease! Hanahaki was annoying disease that was caused by a metaflux fluctuation hundreds of years ago that had permanently altered human DNA. So now, anytime someone fell for someone who did not reciprocate that feeling they coughed up flowers.

Your life wasn’t in danger. Hanahaki was an annoying chronic disease that lasted so long as you had feelings. You could opt for surgery to have it removed but it was still experimental. You knew that early surgeries had resulted in the patients being unable to fall in love at all after completion. Newer surgeries had seen progress where it just removed the inability to ever develop romantic feelings for the person you previously liked again which was a lot more doable.

Most people just lived with it until they finally had their hearts move on or if their unrequited love turned into an actual love match. The ratio of people who contracted Hanahaki and those who actually got with the person they had feelings for was not great. Then again, you checked five different medical websites and numerous forums and results varied wildly from place to place.

So you were just stuck with this. Coughing up stupid red rose petals again and again, all because you had the gall to like a guy. What a cruel world you lived in. It was absurd! You met the guy once! Spent a couple hours chatting while watching TV and that was it. What were the chances you were ever going to see him again? You just had to wait this out until your heart forgot about him.

Did suck to know that he must not have felt anything for you either. You had really thought you had some kind of connection.

A few more days went by and the cough wasn’t letting up. You didn’t want anyone at work knowing so you lied about having a slight cold and wore a mask to avoid questions. It was another normal day when you heard the door open. Glancing up from your notebook you saw who had walked in. Sylus!

The tickle in your throat started up again. A faint ray of hope shone down on you before being immediately crushed. Right behind him was that girl. The one that you saw coming in all the time with the other good looking guys. She was all oblivious smiles as she tugged on his arm towards one of the claw machines and you watched as Sylus’s expression softened at her touch, letting her pull on him toward the line of machines. It was the same look you had seen on every other guy that came in with this girl. You had seen enough love struck couples walk in and out of here to know exactly what was happening. He liked her.

She was the one that he had spent all that time and money on to win that stupid cake bunny plushie, wasn’t she? Fuck!

This girl had four different guys falling all over themselves and you couldn’t get one guy to look at you! This was beyond unfair! Why did it have to be this guy? Why did she have to add Sylus to her little harem? Would she not be satiated until she had every single good looking guy in the city fawning over her?

You took a deep breath in through the nose. You needed to stop. She was just a girl. Not her fault she’s cute and pretty and stuff. And Sylus didn’t owe you anything. He was just a stranger who had given you a ride home and made small talk with you for a couple hours. That was it. Still, it hurt. You turned around, coughing violently until you felt the wet velvet of a flower petal on your tongue. You tugged the mask down to spit out the petals and dropped them in the trash. This was a nightmare.

“Um…” you turned around at the sound of someone clearing their throat. It was the girl again. She gave you a bright smile. “Can I get some tokens please?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” you pulled the mask back up and exchanged the bills she gave you for tokens.

For the next hour or so you watched as Sylus and this girl went around winning prizes and playing games. You heard them mention getting lunch somewhere as they strolled to the exit. At least you didn’t have watch them any more.

As they were leaving though you saw Sylus turn his head and made direct eye contact with you. You straightened automatically. He gave you a polite smile and then he was gone with the girl.

You sighed. “I’m just an idiot, aren’t I?”

The day came to an end and you locked up the arcade. When you turned around you noticed a motorcycle pull up by the curb. He driver lifted the helmet off and you saw it was Sylus. “Glad I caught you.” he said. He fished something out of the storage compartment of the bike and held a bag out to you. “I washed the clothes you lent me. Here you go.”

“Oh,” you took the bag. “You really didn’t need to give them back. Not like I was going to miss them.”

He shrugged. “I don’t like being indebted to others.”

“Well, thanks.” you rocked on your heels. As he was pulling his helmet back on you felt a question flying off your tongue before you could swallow it back down. “I saw you come into the arcade earlier with a girl. Is she the friend you spent all that time winning that prize for?”

He looked up surprised. “Yes. She was very happy to have the toy but thought me ridiculous for spending so long to get it.”

“It just shows you’re persistent.” you forced a saccharine smile but realized he couldn’t see it behind the mask. “So is she like your girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Oh.” That made you feel a little better. “Then is she dating someone?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing. I just see her come in a lot with other guys and I figured one of them had to be her boyfriend.”

“Ah,” he nodded, “I have a feeling I know who you are talking about.”

Silence descended again. You wished he would just drive off so you could stop yourself from asking questions you knew would hurt you. “So…do you like her?”

“Yes.”

You swallowed back the urge to cough and throw up an entire bouquet of red roses. It felt like the roses in your lungs had spread to your heart and were constricting it with their thorny vines. One word from him and he had devastated you in ways you didn’t even know possible.

“Cool.” you said, your voice tight with control. “Well, good luck with that.”

You turned and started walking down the street, needing away from him before you did or said something else idiotic. Unfortunately he was not letting you off that easy.

“Do you need a lift home?” he called after you.

“No thank you. It isn’t raining tonight.” you said.

“But it is late and you don’t exactly live in the best part of the city.” he said, keeping pace with you on his motorcycle.

“Not as bad as the N109 zone at least.”

You could sense him watching you and when you turned to look at him he had the visor open and was giving you an unimpressed look.

“What?”

“I live in the N109 zone.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It isn’t for the weak.” he parked. “Now hop on already.”

Despite your best judgement you found yourself replying, “Fine.”

He dug the spare helmet out and passed it to you. You hopped on the back of the bike and held onto him as he drive you home once again. Without the rain pouring down on you, you could focus on the ride more. The lights of the city flashed by you so fast they looked like ribbons trailing behind you. Then there was Sylus who was so warm against you. You wanted this drive to never end.

When you got to your apartment building you handed him the helmet back. “Thanks again for the ride. Now I owe you one.”

“I’ll be sure to cash in in the form of you looking the other way when I use my evol to win arcade games.” he said with that smirk that made your insides melt and your lungs constrict. “Now go inside, turn on your light so I know you got in.”

“How like a mother hen of you.” you teased. “See you.” You bounded up the steps and got to your apartment. You turned on the light and went to the window. You saw Sylus down below give you a thumbs up and then he drove off.

The moment he was gone you doubled over and started coughing again, more petals falling from your lips. “These feelings aren’t going away any time soon, aren’t they?”

You were right. Your feelings did not go away as you had hoped they might have. After that night he drove you home again your feelings only continued to grow. This strange little thing became a more common occurrence.

Sylus would come by the arcade with the pretty girl every once in a while to play games and such. Then when evening came and you were locking up, he’d be waiting on the curb to drive you home. You tried not to think anything about it. Tried to tell yourself that he was just being kind. That he was just doing it to keep you in his good graces so you didn’t fine him for using his evol on the machines.

But the hopeless romantic in you saw something else in all his little gestures. Sometimes you would invite him in for coffee or tea and he’d join you for a bit inside. You’d chat as you sipped and then he’d have to leave. Most of the time when you got back to the apartment he’d stay outside and wait for you to turn on the light before driving off. But even that little act of making sure you got inside safely made your heart flutter.

Your weird little friendship was only making you fall harder and harder. And the harder you fell the worse the Hanahaki got. You had finally hit the stage where instead of a couple of petals you were coughing up entire rose heads. Thankfully they were small buds and not huge in full bloom blossoms but it didn’t make them hurt less.

Somehow you had gotten away with keeping your Hanahaki a secret from Sylus. You knew it was only a matter of time till he figured it out though. You had barely been able to cover your tracks and you could tell he was getting suspicious.

Finally you realized that you had to just bite the bullet and tell him about your feelings and the Hanahaki. You knew the chances of him reciprocating were slim to none. He had feelings for someone else but at least it would be off your chest. Maybe then you could finally move on.

It was another day and once again Sylus had driven you home. You turned to go inside but stopped and steeled yourself to tell him how you felt. When you looked back at him though he was tapping his finger quickly on the handle of the bike. “Something wrong? You look antsy.” you said.

“I’m just in a bit of a hurry.” he said.

Your heart clenched painfully, or maybe that was your lungs. “Going to meet your little girlfriend?” you teased, despite the ache in your chest.

He scoffed, “You don’t want to know my business, honey bee. Now head inside.”

“Alright. You get going if you’re in such a hurry.” you ushered him off.

He glanced at his watch and sighed. “Yeah. See you later.”

He took off down the street going far faster than the speed limit allowed. One of these days you were going to have to talk to him about not speeding. Even if he did have some kind of weird advanced healing factor it wasn’t safe for others for him to be going that fast.

You sighed. Your lungs ached as another flower decided it wanted to pop out. Fuck!

You coughed your way up the stairs to your apartment, finally spitting out the little red bulb. Did it look more in bloom than normal? “Well that’s just great.” you muttered. “Guess that’s my punishment for not saying anything. Maybe next time.”

You automatically reached to grab your key from your bag and immediately realized you had left your purse in the storage compartment of Sylus’s bike! Damn it! You grabbed the knob of your apartment door, knowing it wouldn’t open but frustration wanted you to try. You turned the knob and…the door opened! Did you forget to lock it before you left? That was careless but fortunate.

You stepped inside trying to figure out a way to tell Sylus he had your purse if you didn’t have your phone. It was probably why you didn’t notice the shadows at first. Not until you kicked off your shoes and your brain caught up, making out three large figures clad in black standing in your living room.

“Don’t make a fuss and this won’t be a problem.” one of them said.

You immediately turned to run back out the door but the figures lunged, grabbing hold of you before you could turn the handle. Someone hit the back of your head and it made you so dizzy you pitched forward, eyes rolling back into your head.

You couldn’t say when you came to again. There was some kind of bag over your head and you were aware you were in a car, could feel it bumping along down a road. Your head ached and you felt a stickiness at the back of your neck that you couldn’t discern as being blood or sweat. When the car came to a stop you were pulled out and walked somewhere. Even with the bag over your head you felt yourself swaying with dizziness.

Why was this happening? Were you being kidnapped? Trafficked? For what reason could someone want to kidnap you from your home?

You were sat down and tied to chair before the hood finally came off. You could tell pretty instantly you were in some abandoned old factory building. The figures that had kidnapped you were standing around you, two were men and one was a woman.

“What…what is going on?” you said, forcing your thoughts to stay straight. “Why did you kidnap me?”

“Don’t worry,” the woman said, “We’ll let you go once your boyfriend pays the ransom we send.”

“Boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.” you told them.

“You do.” one of them, a burly building of a man, gruffed at you. “No point trying to play dumb.”

“I’m not playing dumb. I don’t have a boyfriend. Whoever you think I am, I’m not the person you’re looking for.” you snapped at them. “Please, just let me go.”

“We saw him drop you off.” the woman said. “The leader of Onychinus.”

You wanted to question what they meant by Onychinus, you were sure you heard the name before. You were bad about keeping up with the news so you couldn’t say what it meant at the time. It was the other part that caught your attention though, they said they saw your boyfriend drop you off at your house.

Oh dear god above! “You mean Sylus?” you asked. Their gazes hardened.

“See. You do know who we are talking about.” the woman nodded to the more wiry man on her left. “And you wanted to grab the other girl.”

“Sylus isn’t my boyfriend you idiots!” you seethed. At the same time the statement made your lungs spasm. Shit! Not this too!

“We’ve been tracking him for a while and we have noticed time and time again that he drives you home, even comes inside. There’s no point denying it.”

“I’m not denying him taking me home. I’m denying him being my boyfriend. We’re just friends.” coughs wracked your body. You gasped around the flower pushing itself up your throat. “We’re--we--” more coughs shook you, “are nothing. I mean nothing to him.”

“You can say that as many times as you want but we know--”

The woman was cut off as you finally coughed up the flower and spit it onto the floor. All three of them froze as you took in ragged breaths.

“What the fuck is this?” the wiry one kicked the flower. “Do you have Hanahaki?”

“What gave it away, dumbass?” you muttered. “I told you. He’s not my boyfriend. I like him but…but he doesn’t like me. He has feelings for someone else.”

“Shit!” the woman continued to curse. “We grabbed the wrong one?”

“Told you.” the wiry man said.

“Shut it!” the woman snapped at him.

“What now, boss?” the burly man asked. “We can still try ransoming her if they’re friends.”

“You think he’s going to care that much about her worthless little life? There’s every chance he’ll just let us kill her if we send him a ransom.” the woman tsked. “Might as well keep ourselves off his radar until we get the right girl. Let’s just kill her now and move on.”

“Wait!” you screeched, “Wait please! You don’t have to kill me! I promise I won’t say anything if you let me go. Please!”

“We’re not taking that chance.” she leveled the gun she was carrying at you and a loud bang echoed in the room.

You closed your eyes, tears streaming down your face as the realization hit you that you were going to die in the moment. Was this really how it ended? Executed over a case of mistaken identity and a crush on a guy you met at work?

You waited and waited for the bullet to strike but you didn’t feel any pain. Maybe she shot you through the head and didn’t even get a chance to feel the pain. Maybe your brain was stretching out these last couple of seconds of your life. Maybe you were already dead.

Then you heard more loud bangs and your eyes snapped open. You were still in the warehouse. You weren’t dead! But then what--

You looked up and saw that Sylus and the pretty girl from the arcade were there. The three people who had kidnapped you laid on the floor, whether they were unconscious or dead was unclear. There was a tiny clink of metal and you saw a bullet fall to the ground and roll towards your feet. Had it just stopped halfway?

“You check her, I’ll get these guys.” the girl said and leaned down to check the kidnappers for a pulse. You really needed to learn her name at some point.

You felt the restraints holding you loosen and fall. Sylus walked over and knelt down in front of you. “You alright?”

“I…” without the restraints keeping you up you fell forward. Sylus caught you and sat you down on the ground. You relaxed into his arms, taking several deep breaths to still the shaking. “Sorry. What happened? How did you know I was here?”

He held up your purse. “You forgot this in my bike. I turned around to run it back to you and saw a van careen away from the apartment building. When I went up to your apartment the door was open and the inside looked like it had been ransacked. So, I called in some back up and found where that van had taken off to.”

“She a co-worker of yours or something too?” you asked.

“We actually operate on opposite sides of the law.” he shrugged. His gaze went to the flower on the floor. “What was this for?”

Your face burned. There was too much going on right now.

“Honey bee,” he turned your face to his, “Why did they kidnap you?”

“They thought I was your girlfriend. They wanted to ransom me back to you.” you said. “And the flower…I coughed it up.”

“You have--”

“Yes.” you almost wished the bullet had killed you so you didn’t need to have this conversation. “We don’t need to get into it.”

“Hanahaki is nothing to be embarrassed about.” he said. He glanced over at the girl who was stepping away to make a call for backup to come arrest the kidnappers. Sylus looked back at you, talking quietly. “I had it too.”

“Really?” you should have guessed as much considering how much he seemed to like this girl.

“I was coughing up bleeding hearts for months.” he sighed. “They’re small but still not fun to constantly be coughing up flowers.”

“You said you ‘had’ it. Does that mean pretty girl finally returned your feelings?” you could feel an entire bouquet of flowers about to erupt from your throat just thinking about it.

“No.” Sylus answered.

Your eyebrows shot up on your forehead. “Then, you got the surgery?”

“Also no.”

“Then what happened?”

“I…” he held you a little tighter, “I started coughing up pink peony petals instead.”

“Hanahaki can just change flowers in the middle of the disease?”

Sylus shook his head with a dry laugh. “No. As far as I am aware, the flowers are individual to the person the unrequited love is for.”

“Then who is it that you…” realization and a spark of hope started to rise in you.

He gave you a small smile. “I think we have a lot to talk about, honey bee.”

[valeriele3]

Yellow Carnations

A Hanahaki disease + SAGAU/Cult AU

Notes: Wanderer will be called Wanderer, or you can imagine the name you gave him, and Traveler will be referred to as Traveler since no one knows their real name except their sibling (and maybe Paimon?). Sorry this is rushed

A story where ones hope to love another turns hopeless.

"Traveler, can I.. tell you something?"

"Hm? Of course!"

You whip your head around to make sure no one else but the traveler can hear and whisper to their ear, "I like Wanderer."

The Traveler's eyes widen at your sudden confession and excitedly say, or rather, exclaim, "You do!?" She laughs bubbly. "I knew it! Sooo, when are you planning to confess?" They ask, their eyes practically sparkling.

"C-Confess!? No, no, no. I can't do that. Or at least, not yet!"

"And why not?"

"I don't even know him that well; I doubt he even remembers me."

"As if. you're practically hovering around him 24/7. I'm sure he remembers you. I would even go as far as to say that he likes you back!"

"Really? You think so.?"

"Mhm! If he didn't like you, he would've told you so, harshly, or even ignored your entire existence."

"Then..do you think I have a chance? You're really, really~ close to him, right?"

"Hmm~..Yeah?"

"Wha, so I really don't have a chance..!"

"Kidding, kidding, I think you have a high chance."

You continue to panic inside and overthink the possible endings if you were to confess. The traveler, noticing this, tells you, "How about this? I ask him if he's currently into anyone and maybe even pry enough to get him to say the name, ahem, your name, ahem."

"Really? You would do that for me?"

"Of course, you're my best friend."

"Of course I like, no, I love them. That isn't even a question worth answering; it's a given." Wanderer rolls his eyes and walks away to who knows where.

After waiting until the man was gone, you slowly walk out of your hiding spot, bubbling with joy. You and the traveler share a look and high-five each other.

After finding out about Wanderer's feelings for you, you consistently hung around him more; he always acted annoyed, but it wasn't any different from past interactions you've had with him.

You figured that this truly is just how he shows affection, somehow, like a tsundere!

And so you bid your time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to confess.

And when the time came, you faced a great humiliation.

It turns out he wasn't in love with you at all. No, he could never fall in love with someone like you; he said it himself after all.

You felt sick in your stomach, like it was churning, your throat was aching, and it felt dry.

While it was true he loved a Y/N, the Y/N he loved was not you. He loved the Creator.

How did you not know about this Creator? They even have the same name as you.

Wait, no, something's weird. What's this about a creator? You don't remember Teyvat having anything like that.

But before you could ponder anymore, your train of thoughts was interrupted by a coughing fit, covering your mouth with your hands. You tried to stop coughing, but the itching feeling was too much to handle.

Cough

Cough

You pause, 'petals?', where did the petals come from? There's no flowers around you

Clutching your hand, you began to spiral in your thoughts.

D̵̢̟͔̱͕͑̍͒̋̔̊̽́͝ǫ̷̧̧̜͍͖͎͕͉́̓́̍͜ ̶̻̲͛̀͛͑̒̾̕͝y̵̹̮̖͊͊̍̄̔͠ơ̵͇̺̯͓̗̫̜̝̆̌̏͜͝ú̵̪͚̫̬͈̙̭͈̙̈́́̌͗̐̂͋̓̔̈́͑̓͠͝ ̷̨̧̩̠̱̘̳̜̝́̐̉̅̐͗͒̏͗͝r̵̛͉̃̂̎̾̋̎͆̎ę̴̧̧̛̛̪̱̜̞͚̦̘̳̙͙͉̄̇̋͋́͑̓̎̌͜͠͝͠ṁ̶̡̢̬̤͖͙̪̟̰̹͇͕̹̼̿͒̋̄̈̽̂̔̑͌̃̒̒͜͝e̵̖̻͚̝̦̘̤̓̒̉m̴̢̝̝͈̭͙̯͚͊̀͐̍̊̈́̚͘ḇ̶͉̬̖̅͒̂̽̔̆̊̆́͒͑ͅe̸͙̞̭̮̽͌̀̓̈́̎͂r̷̻͓̠̬̖̙̗̺̥̹̺̠͕̄͊̀̀̑̔͛̃̀͋͗̀͘͝ ̶͔͕̽͒̓̈́͋́̒̒̓̚í̶͍̺̣̞̟͐͐ͅt̴̹͐̎̾̃̚͝ͅ?̴̘̥̫̲͈͉̊͗̉̇̆͆͛͑̾͘͝ ̷̹̝̝̳͔̪̖̩̜͍͚͇̀̀͘H̶̫̺̿̅̍́̽̃̇͋͗a̸̧̢̢̢̛̯̮̫̩͙̠̫͔͙͔̔̀͊͒̾̆̽́n̴̨̞̬̾͜ą̶͙̥̥̻͎̼͂̓h̵̫̤͚͖̙̐á̷̧̧̪̥̭͖̂̂̐̔́̊̐͜͜ͅk̵̘̰̎̓̇͗͆͗́̿̈͛̀͠͝ͅi̶̛̳̍̈́̚ ̸̧̲̘̰̯͓̈́̓́͊͂́͊Ḑ̶̼̰̰͍̫̗͔̩̣̤̻̝̮̲͛̾̑͠i̶̧͖̪̋͌͌̒̔̉͐͋́́͗̿͆̅͠ş̶̲̬̦̺̖̀̒͒͂̆͛ę̴̡̝̳̩̝̹̥̯͇̮̻̪̟̬͑̑͐ằ̴̡̡͎͓̬̱͚͎͈̯̦̇͒̅͊ś̸̢̧̺̘̜͇̰̯͚̦̉̉e̵̡̡̤̙͖͉͍̝̭̞̝̓

"Y/N?"

The traveler spoke

"Are you alright..?"

Silence

The Traveler kept calling out to you but received no response.

'Ah..'

'My head..it hurts..throat..water..'

"Y/N?"

'Is someone calling me..?'

"He— Y/N!"

Thud

Opening your eyes, you see an unfamiliar ceiling above you.

Now on alert, you begin scanning your surroundings.

Creak

Surprised by the sudden sound of the door, as if by reflex, you quickly pretended to be asleep, just like the times you pretended to be asleep when you still stayed at your parents house when you were younger.

"Oh, you're awake."

They begin to move closer to you, and your breath hitches, but you remain unmoved.

"Chill Y/N. It's just me."

Now able to listen to the voice more clearly, you realize it's the Traveler.

Slowly opening your eyes, you're greeted by the sight of Traveler smiling at you beside your bed.

'I knew the traveler was good-looking, but damn. Imagine waking up to this sight.'

"Here, drink some water." The traveler offers, and you reach for the water in their hands, of course, saying thank you in the exchange.

"What happened?" you ask.

"You passed out out of nowhere; oh, don't worry, I made sure to get you checked out by a doctor, and they said that you probably just overworked yourself."

"I see.."

"Oh! The petals..! Did the doctor say anything about it?" You inquire.

"Petals? What petals?" the Traveler tilts their head in confusion.

"Before I passed out, I think I coughed up some flower petals."

"Ah..you must still be a bit dazed. Don't worry, you didn't cough up any petals. And if you did, well, that's a bit worrying. We can get you checked again if you want."

You shake your head, "No, its alright, I trust you. I probably just imagined it or something.."

Deciding to trust your friend, you try to move onto another subject, "By the way, where are we? I don't recognize this place."

"Oh! We're at my teapot."

"Hmm~ You decorated this place wel—I mean, what?! Teapot!?" Realizing that the Traveler might find it odd if you don't question how being inside a teapot works, you acted surprised in the middle, hoping that the Traveler would fall for your clumsy acting.

The Traveler stares at you for a second or two before answering. "Yup! I got this as a... gift of friendship. It uses adeptal energy to maintain the place, I guess? I don't really know the complexities about this place, so you can just ask Tubby about any questions regarding this place." The Traveler explains

"Hmm..Adeptal energy, huh? I've heard of that before..Liyue, right?"

"That's right!"

As you and the Traveler engage in casual conversation, you start to feel an itch in your throat, but you decide to ignore it. It's probably just a common cold about to come.

After resting for a few days in the teapot at the behest of the Traveler, you began engaging in your normal everyday life, or as normal as it could; you no longer hang around the Wanderer and try your absolute best to avoid ever running into him. Some people either look at you mockingly or with pity. But it's fine. You don't care about them; they won't have an effect on your life.

Another thing that's different from normal, though, is the fact that you're coughing up blood-stained flowers.

You didn't know the cause; you didn't want to worry other people, so you didn't tell anyone, but you did go see a doctor secretly, although not even they could provide the cause.

All you knew was that, upon looking back, it all started with a small cough, flower petals, and then as time went on, you started coughing up petals with blood.

You were worried that the next thing that might come out of your mouth might be full-grown flowers, but surely that's not possible, right?

A/N: SO..This was supposed to be an idea post like Live Stream, but the past me decided to write about it at the time with no planning whatsoever. Even the character chosen (Wanderer) was not planned. It was originally Xiao, but I couldn't do it since the dialogue didn't feel "Xiao," so I just swapped it with Wanderer since he has a very veryyy blunt personality.

So yes, this is technically unfinished, and I don't think I'll ever get back to it if I just continue to leave it inside my drafts.

Feel free to make a fic out of this, and if you do..PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TAG ME. I'VE BEEN CRAVING SAGAU + HANAHAKI DISEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Additional notes regarding this fic are in the comments

[frostedclock-writes]

Crimson Magnolias

----

Alastor x F! Reader

Warnings: one-sided love, Hanahaki disease, R rated as mature themes mentioned, eventual flashbacks to Human life, Ace Alastor,

----

Part 1 (Part 2)

Whistling filled the air like a scream.

" Shit the tea!" You get off the couch and rush to the stove, though it took you a moment to tear your eyes from the T.V. screen.

You flip the dial on your gas stove and it clicked off, the whistling slowly faded. You spun and look back at the 666 News, but it barely fazed you. You could have sworn. Right before it interrupted with the 'breaking news' , a commercial. Something in the corner. A distortion.

You tasted ginger in the back of your throat.

Seven years.

It had been seven years in hell since you last saw him. No word, no explanation.

Alastor.

Your heart fluttered at the thought. He was alive. Maybe. You wished the commercial would have been let to play after the news faded away. You run your fingers through your hair as you try to recall what the commercial had been for. It had been so quick, and your attention was immediately drawn to the corner of the screen.

You took a small breath.

Some hotel....

Wasn't there some hotel that cropped up a few months ago? Happy Hotel? No that's a stupid name. Hazbin?

You pour tea into the prepared porcelain cup, it mixed the sugar and lemon juice together with the over steeped black tea. You lifted the cup up to your lips and blew softly, thoughts swirled around your head. Your throat tickled a little.

You should be pissed. He left without a word to you. Made you and most of hell believe he had been killed. Double dead. Fucking toast. You should hate him.

An image of him laughing over a cup of rye whisky was brought to mind. Back when you both were still....

He was so handsome, and knew exactly how to make you laugh. His silly puns that made you smile. The way he glided across the dancefloor and would bring you along for the ride.

You set the cup down quickly. A floating white petal with bits of crimson stained in it floated on the top.

You cover your mouth and shake your head, swallowing down the taste of iron mixing with ginger. The taste of the sweet tea long gone.

It shouldn't matter. Doesn't matter. Matters.

Fuck.

You walked into your bedroom and grabbed at the coat hanging up. You slipped it on, it covering the simple ankle length dress and button up blouse you had worn for the days errands. You sinched the tie around your waist as you stepped into your slip on flats. You moved quickly out of your house, not even nothing to lock the door behind you as you traveled down the sidewalk. You dodged sinners and imps alike on the streets, moving beneath a few swings of fists and weapons.

The streets were crazier then normal. But to be expected.

You knew this part of the Pentagram like the back of your hand, so it made it at least marginally easier to get to that strange broken down hotel. The flickering neon became visible by the time your lungs stung a little from the walk and your feet ached a little from the thin flats. You let out breaths in quick succession as you gaze up at the tall building behind walls that were tall enough to block off the view of the yard surrounding the dilapidated hotel.

Hazbin Hotel.

You stopped at the open archway that was the gate to what might look more like an old cinema building on the outside with the old ticket booth and the illuminated board that could hold the plastic letters. A little tower attachment on the side seemed haphazardly attached and like it didn't quite belong. A sign flashed in the window. It made your stomach clench.

On Air.

You slowly walked up the cobblestone path up the the doors of the hotel. You hold your breath as you reach for the handle. Maybe this was a mistake. Fuck, your already here. If he wanted to see you wouldn't he have come found you? Told you he was back?

Your throat tickled a little.

Just do it! Go!

The door opened, and came swinging out. The sting of your nose was quick, and painful as the gold painted metal trim of the door hit you square in the face. You reeled back and gripped your nose, warmth touched your lips. Great.

" Oh shit! Whatcha doin' out here, just standin' behind that door? Fuck, ya bleedin' and everythin'. "

You blink to clear the tears pricking hour eyes and you see a tall spider... Man? Very feminine man. Pretty. Was the word that came to mind. Tall, pink and dressed to the nines with heart shaped sunglasses resting above their mismatched eyes. He was digging around in a sparkly purse, he held out a wadded up napkin.

" It's .. it's fine I'm fine. Sorry. " You took the napkin and brought it up to your nose. " Ugh, gross, " you pulled it away and looked at the clotted blood. You look back up at the spider person. " I came looking for someone..."

" Oh?" He wiggled his shoulders and put one set of his hands on his hips. " Who are ya lookin' for, doll? A booty call maybe? " He cooed the last words.

You brought the napkin back up to your nose. You hoped it covered up the heat rising up to your cheeks. " No, no, nothing like that," you cough a few times, covering it up by blowing your nose shortly after. " I know this must seem odd, but I'm looking for Alastor."

He laughed. Gaffawed even. " No, really. Who ya lookin' for? Husk? He seems like he had a bad past love or two in his books, if ya know what I mean."

Husk, you remembered the gruff ex-overlord. He was kind behind that bottle of whiskey. If he was here, then Alastor...

The spider looked down at his phone as it began to go off several times in a row. He cursed under his breath and then shoved his phone back into his purse. " Look, if ya are looking for tall, dark and red flags, he was in tha parlor room last I saw him. I gotta get ta work. " He put his sunglasses down. " See ya. "

You watch him stride off, you blink and look back at the door. You step inside and the door slowly slid closed behind you. The inside was a little nicer looking then you expected, but some of the wallpaper was peeling and the carpet held stains that made you question what caused them to take such unique shapes. The faint glow of green drew your attention over towards a part of the hotel that was clearly an addition like the broadcast tower.

A bar. Neon lights flashed Jackpot and Beezlejuice on the dark wooden walls. A familiar face cleaned glasses behind the bar countertop and placed them in the shelf. His ear twitched as your footsteps approached. He looked up and at first his face held a look of irritation, then it melted into half of a smirk. A laugh escaped under his breath and he put the rag back down on the table.

" Y/N, what in the fuck are you doing here?" Husk asked.

You crack a smile. " Would you believe me if I said I came to get a drink?" You joked.

He made a scoff and rolled his eyes. The smirk faded to his usual expression. A near scowl. " I know for damn sure you didn't come here for me. " He picked up a glass and put it down hard on the counter. " You came for him."

You took a seat at the bar as the glass began to fill with a dark amber liquor. Whiskey you assumed. Or maybe a dark rum. " He's my best friend, what can I say? Though, I should be mad at him. Leaving me in the lurch like he did. Even sweet Rosie had no clue where he had gone off to."

Even the bite of the liquor didn't help with the swallowing of the lump in your throat.

Husk rolled his eyes and slid the glass over to you. " Who the hell knows, and someone like you should just stay away from him or you'll end up used like everyone else. He didn't even notice that-"

" Husk. " You snapped a little at him. Husk was always so observant.

" Look. " He set the bottle down then growled. " You know what, whatever. Why should I care if you like to torture yourself? Just shouldn't make your friends watch you do it. "

" I.... It's nothing. " You put on a smile and take another drink. " Nothing I can't handle and haven't been dealing with...."

" Heh, yeah, well someone like ya deserves better then a -"

" Y/N?"

You felt goosebumps rise to your skin at the sound of a voice you hadn't heard in seven years.

Alastor.

You spun on the stool and looked over to the source of the voice. He looked just as he always had. He strode over and you rose to your feet. You met him halfway and he put his arms around you in a warm embrace. You return it with your face planted firmly in his chest. He smelled of a mix of iron and damp wood.

"Alastor!"

You heard a gruff huff behind you and you assumed Husk was watching with that disapproving gaze you had come to expect from the winged cat sinner. Alastor's hand rubbed the small of your back before he placed both hands on your shoulders and pulled you away just enough to look down at you.

You silently begged for him to stop looking at you like that. It made your stomach flutter and your throat clench.

" It is a pleasure to see your smiling face again, my dear, quite a pleasure. " His gaze shot over towards husk, his eye twitched a moment. " How long have you been waiting down here?"

" What? Don't look at me, I'm not your fuckin' secretary. " Husk snarled and you kinda felt sorry for the glass he was cleaning. It was getting thoroughly cleaned.

" I haven't been here long! " You tell him quickly, bringing the Radio Demons attention back down to you. " Only a couple of minutes."

His body language changed and he spun on his heels, one arm around your shoulders and leading you off in the direction of the large staircase. " Ah! In that case! Let me show you this fun little project I've been working on! I think you will find the notion as amusing as I do. "

" You work at this hotel now? Didn't peg you for the hospitality type. " You tease.

His chuckles were like a radio flipping through stations. " Oh, dear, this project is mainly for my own amusement! The Princess of Hell is the one who is encouraging this notion of redemption for sinners. "

You cock an eyebrow. " Redemption like... Do well and get let out for good behavior?"

Seemed silly.

You followed him up the staircase and watched your hand as it slid up the railing for splinters from the chipped wood of the banisters. Alastor thew one hand out in a grand gesture at the lobby, his microphone materialized and landed in his hand and he smoothly used it to point.

" Exactly! But what better way to amuse myself then to watch her struggle to have sinners ditch their ways?" He tapped a finger on your shoulder.

He lead the way down one of the hallways, gold and red covered most of the hotel it seemed. Though you could tell where Alastor had began to leave his own touch behind. The hotel was grand, although from years of neglect before the current owner, there was things that would have made you cringe when you were alive. Mildew in the flooring and walls, roaches crawled out every once in a while and then sprinted off under another table in the long hallways, creaking steps going up, and bulbs that flickered in a way that hurt your eyes at times.

" Are you still working as a singer?"

You look at Alastor out of the corner of your eyes. " From time to time, Mimzy hires me most nights when I need money. Otherwise, I pick up whatever jobs I can find nowadays. " You admit. " What have you been doing these past seven years?"

Alastor seemed to grip his microphone a little tighter, though he put a laugh in the air. " Oh, I just took a small vacation. A well deserved one. "

A vacation. You didn't believe that for a moment.

" Ah, well... You could have told me some of us. I thought someone might have finally gotten he upper hand on you." You joke.

" Ahahah! Don't be silly, " Alastor shook his head and a smirk grew on his lips. " A simple sinner couldn't get the best of me. " His steps paused in front of a door, he tapped his microphone cane's end on the ground. His hand left your space and he opened the door up.

Alastor turned with the door and let you inside the room. The smell of swamp was in the air. A dank wetness with the soft smell of pines and cattails. The room turned from a study to a swamp, though you were unsurprised - Alastor knew how to manipulate a lot of things. And spaces were no different. A green fire burned in the fireplace near the two armchairs within the space of the study, it made the shadows dance on the wall as it flickered.

Alastor walked across the wooden floor towards the chair, he turned in a swift motion and leaned his hand and held his weight on the back of one of the armchairs. That smile. Does he even know what he does to you? He went to offer you a seat when his shadow grew across the ground and then swirled up. The cracked smile in the shadow brought a laugh to your lips.

Like a mist, Alastor's Shadow swirled around you. Then shifted into mostly solidness. "Shade. " You cooed the petname for the creature and reached out, it felt like cupping thick smoke, " Are you watching after Alastor for me? Such a sweet thing..."

Crackles like a dead station full the air.

You felt safer showing this part of Alastor affection. The being made of shadows and magic seemed to be something of its own and yet part of its master. You sometimes wished, just for a moment, that perhaps you wouldn't ruin the friendship between you and Alastor by just touching his cheek like this.

" Well I missed you too."

Alastor made a sigh and rolled his eyes, though the soft smile that graces his lips lead you to believe he was amused. He cleared his throat abd Shade sank back against the floorboards and rejoined his master. He gestured for you to sit in the chair he leaned against and you make your way to the plush armchair.

" Now, you have to tell me what Ive missed these past years. " He took his own seat across from you, waving his hand and two coffee appeared. His own red cup and yours a black one.

'Oh, deer!'

' Doe- re- mi '

You coughed a little and covered your mouth up. You clear your throat and bring your cup up to your lips to cover up the bitter ginger with dark black coffee.

This was going to be a lot harder than before. You thought the years apart would have lessoned the feeling you held in your soul.

He hates it. You remember him going on and on about ladies throwing themselves at his feet when the both of you were alive. You saw the disgust on his face when he mentioned it. He would hate you too. Would throw you away if you did.

You swallowed the hot liquid down hard with the lump in your throat.

He can't know. Won't know.

Ever.

Tag list: @boldlyenchantingfox22 @sirens-and-moonflowers

[lorelune]

(minors dni)

sorta hanahaki with jing yuan.

he’s caught spitting up ginkgo leaves (he has already had them in his throat, on his tongue, for quite awhile, but it’s these episodes are becoming more frequent—) tabloids run wild with rumors about the general succumbing to mara.

only he knows that he’ll die long before mara eats his mind. the gingko will never grow roots in his muscles and skin. it'll come up from his lungs and stomach far sooner.

jing yuan, as one can expect of someone so keen, is deeply aware of where his affliction stems from.

you’re a a recently-retired vagabond, a traveler. you've returned the luofu to settle down after a centuries away. you’re as enigmatic as you are charming. you've charmed him, certainly. he knows you’re settling into a new life.

there's a vivacity to you. regardless of his affection for you, it makes your life and way of living seem so out of reach for him. you feel out of reach for him. you humor him on little outings and frivolous appointments, but jing yuan never asks for more than that. not even when his gaze lingers with you for too long, or when you he itches to call you when he’s too deep in his cups. the itch under his skin blossoms into gingko flowers and third-moon leaves.

he has accepted the nature of his own affections, and the immutable truth that they couldn’t be returned. never mind how they continue to blossom within him, more and more whenever he sees you regardless of his reality.

you worry for him when the rumors start. you dote him on (you never have before, not like this—) you follow him around some days, helping wherever you decide he needs it. sometimes it's with desk work, other times training with yanqing. you even help him tend to his gardens and stock his seldom-used kitchen with easy meals.

he doesn’t think much of it, really. you’re not the only one to attempt to lend him a hand. it's just a kindness for an old man.

(in retrospect, he feels very foolish.)

one day in his gardens, after you so thoughtfully offered yourself up to tend it with him— you fall to the dirt, like you've been cut in the back of the knees. you make a sound like you're dying.

panic hits him so quickly he feels sick, a wretch working up his throat along with a mouthful of half-formed leaves.

it’s worrisome, how quickly his heart lurches and how the distance he’s maintained with you disappears. he’s at your side, a palm on your back as you cough and choke, a hand cups over your mouth.

with a final wet cough, your hand comes away to reveal a palmful of pink camellia petals, dappled with blood.

[faetima]

THE AVEN + HANAHAKI THING YESSS I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR SO LONG BECAUSE LIKE. I know it's always super angsty when it's the reader that gets hanahaki but rine having it. imagine pushing your s/o away because you don't think you can do a relationship rn just to get hit by the stupid idiot in love disease. damn sucks to be you man

(tbh hanahaki as fun as the angst is I love aventurine so much and usually just alter hanahaki to be like less deadly because a) I DONT WANT TO BE SAD and b) the whole guilt of "I developed hanahaki because of you now love me or I WILL die" feels strange to me)(but also yum angst and the consequences of pushing someone away) ((sorry I talk a lot teehee okay bye))

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫. 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. .

. . too bad he wasn't your darling anymore.

// tws ; slight cursing, blood ; gn reader ; modern au, hanahaki au 

a/n: finally wrote the aventurine exes hanahaki au lol ,, had no idea how to finish this but i might make a part 2 !! :3

ever since you had started dating aventurine, you felt like you were a burden to him in some way. but you were never sure if you were actually a burden to him, or if that was your mind playing tricks on you.

but last week had just solidified your beliefs.

you both had fought over something petty--you couldn't be bothered to remember what it was--and harsh words had been thrown around in the process.

words that cut deep into you, practically making you bleed out.

and after that?

aventurine had ignored you for the rest of the entire week. he hadn't even glanced in your direction. it was fine if he needed some space to think, but he didn't even tell you, he just started fucking ignoring you.

your efforts to talk to him had just been met by blank uninterested violet eyes.

everything that happened in the last week had all led up to yesterday.

you stood in front of his door, swallowing your nerves. why were you so nervous?

after everything that happened, everything you felt, everything he said, you didn't think you could handle a relationship at that point.

so, when aventurine answered the door, his blonde hair unruly and lavender eyes tired, you took a deep breath and finally said the words you had been so scared of saying.

"i want to break up."

--

now, you were rethinking your decision.

on one hand, it felt like a large weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

on the other hand, breaking up with him had left you in your current predicament: crouched on the cold tiled floor of your apartment, hurling up bright yellow marigolds. you coughed them up, unwillingly watching as they hit your newly polished floor. they hit the ground ungracefully, clumped together with a disgusting mixture of mucus and blood. you gagged on the flowers as the sickly sweet smell of the marigolds hit you, making you feel lightheaded and sick to your stomach.

you didn't think you would get the disease again after aventurine asked you out.

you had it once, albeit briefly. it was before you had even talked to aventurine, too scared to do so. maybe it had been your shyness, or maybe you were just scared of rejection. you weren't too sure which, but it had caused you to cough out a few lemon yellow petals.

but, as quickly as the disease had started, it had ended. aventurine talked to you and started getting close to you, and your hanahaki had eventually diminished into nothing. after that, you thought it would never start again.

but you guessed you were wrong, since the disease decided to plague you.

marigold petals--slick with mucus--fell out your mouth as you coughed your lungs out. they fell almost gracefully onto the small flower pile.

you took fast and shaky breaths, collapsing. you were too exhausted to move, the hanahaki sucking all the life out of you.

--

it had been a week now, and the disease had just gotten worse. at this rate, it would only take a month or two until you suffocated on the fucking marigolds.

you could talk to aventurine, but he would probably just ignore you again.

you could get the surgery, but you would rather die than forget aventurine. you still loved him.

at this point, you couldn't do anything but hope that the disease would just somehow go away.

--

aventurine was growing increasingly worried as the days passed.

he hadn't seen you at all after you had broken up. sure, that was normal, but his gut told him something was wrong.

horrible thoughts of what could've happened to you plagued his mind, and he couldn't take it anymore.

he grabbed his keys, his coat, and headed towards your apartment.

maybe it was an invasion of privacy, but even your friends felt as if something were terribly wrong. he'd just check on you once, and never speak to you again. you'd be okay with that, right?

--

aventurine had knocked about a dozen times by now, but had received no answer.

he swallowed. he still had a spare key to your apartment, but what if you didn't want him to come in? what if you were just busy? what if he was breaching your privacy?

he took a shaky inhale.

fuck it.

--

he stepped inside your apartment, and was hit by the extremely potent smell of marigolds.

he glanced around, and froze at what he saw.