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Tamaki’s in English class staring at the back of Mirio’s head when his throat starts to itch.
It does that sometimes, so he coughs a little and goes back to focusing on the strings of words and letters that fog up in his brain. But the sting persists, and tears poke at the corners of his eyes.
He takes a sip of water and it subsides, but spikes back up again, and Tamaki knows it’s no problem anymore; teachers are used to him leaving class without warning now – usually because of anxiety, but this is something else.
He races towards the bathroom without hesitation and coughs out all the feeling of the sharp thing in his throat and it’s disgusting – sounds disgusting – and he swallows thickly once it quells, stares into his dark eyes in the mirror and his now-pale face.
He catches the yellow just as he goes to wash his hands.
The thing gets scraped up because he’s not sure what it is, really. Tamaki’s never seen anything like it – and he’s eaten a lot of funny stuff in his life, thanks to Fat.
It’s thin and bright yellow and soggy in his hand from spit and water.
And as Tamaki squints at it, it connects in his brain and he realises-
It’s a flower petal.
Was this -?
No. Maybe it had accidentally fallen in his breakfast this morning. Because there was no way. There was no way-
The petal slaps against the sink as he swipes it off his finger, and then Tamaki watches it slip down the drain.
He goes back to class with his heart pounding, and he feels a little lightheaded, all of a sudden. Tamaki figures it’s just his anxiety, and sucks in a deep breath before entering the classroom again.
Hadou and Mirio both notice him come back in – and the latter perks up like a dog. Tamaki fixes him a little smile, just to reassure him it’s nothing serious, and then he returns to his seat behind him. But it returns like a hiccup and he sneezes in the middle of class, winces at the loudness of it. And there on his notes – Tamaki’s eyes twitch.
Another one. Drier than the other had been, but the same. Slightly crumpled like tissue paper and twice as vibrant. Tamaki assigns the petal a tiny place on his desk out of the way before going back to his notes – which he still can’t read properly. Mic-sensei is gonna have to explain it to him after class at this rate. Which he won’t, obviously. Because Tamaki never does ask Mic-sensei for help. The guy’s too loud and Tamaki always forgets or gets anxious at the prospect. Hadou can explain it later, instead.
And Hadou seems to know he needs her for something, since she hangs back after dismissal to watch Tamaki pack his stuff away. Usually, Mirio does it too, but he’s been rushing off to his Internship earlier and earlier every day now, so it leaves him and Hadou alone for after-school hangouts.
She lingers at his desk and hands brush over something – which he realises, is a dangerous thing to let her do – just as she plucks up something in the air.
‘Sunflower petal?’ She murmurs. ‘Hey, Tamaki, were you out in the countryside earlier? Is that where you ran off to in a hurry?’
‘No, I was just feeling unwell.’ And even after all this time of being his friend, Hadou still meets that with a look of concern.
‘You’re not sick, are you?’ She leans towards him and stares into his eyes, examining. ‘You know, there’s a pressure point -’
‘I know, Hadou. It’s fine, okay?’ He zips his bag up and swings it onto his back. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘Huh.’ Her eyebrows raise, and Hadou trails Tamaki out the class. ‘So where did you find the petal, huh?’
‘I was eating sunflower seeds earlier.’ Tamaki says lightly. ‘I might’ve manifested it by accident.’ He feels guilty lying over something so easily, and it’s dangerous to lie to Hadou: She’ll work it out eventually.
‘By accident?’
‘Yes.’ He says, with an air of finality and stop talking about it now, please. Hadou gets the message.
They end up holed up in the school library, revising the English stuff Tamaki didn’t get in the lesson. He still doesn’t really get it by the time they’re done two hours later, but it doesn’t matter anymore – his mind is focused on other things right now.
And as Tamaki shuts his door and locks it and throws his shirt and pants off and clambers into bed, pulling up his laptop for research, he realises that it’s pointless.
Hadou had said it was a sunflower, and it’s kind of obvious now. Even if he hadn’t worked that out, it was bright yellow and stomach-achingly familiar to him. So he changes directions and googles Symptoms of Hanahaki disease.
“Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病) is a respiratory disease where the victim of unrequited love begins to cough up the petals and flowers of a flower growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated. Hanahaki can be cured through surgical removal of the plants' roots, but this excision also has the effect of removing the patient's capacity for romantic love. It can also be cured by the reciprocation of the victim's feelings.”
He lets out a little rush of air after reading, and the sickness sets in.
Victim of unrequited love begins to cough up the petals and flowers of a flower growing in their lungs.
It’s nothing he didn’t know before now, but it sinks in like a cold bath. A hand trails up to his chest, just over his sternum. There’s a flower growing there, apparently.
A sunflower.
He chokes a laugh. Sunflowers for Suneater.
Was the universe planning on killing him with a joke? Seriously?
Tamaki’s brow furrows. It was common for the flowers to have some kind of meaning, and he wonders – just maybe, if the flowers aren’t for the obvious. But even the meanings of the flower points towards someone obvious – points to the sun. His sun.
Mirio Togata, who doesn’t love him back.
That settles in him easily. Tamaki wouldn’t’ve expected anything more.
Mirio was wonderful. He deserved the world – and he deserved better than twitchy, anxiety-ridden, always-crying, awkward Tamaki.
Would Mirio even want to be his friend anymore if he knew that Tamaki loved him? He’d probably laugh and find some excuse to leave and never run into Tamaki’s room again. Tamaki would probably look like a huge creep now, because of Mirio’s Quirk. Because he wasn’t flustered about it anymore, not the same way everyone else was. Because it was Mirio, and Tamaki could never be uncomfortable around Mirio.
Tamaki takes another breath but it catches again, and it takes a lot more coughing, wheezing and choking to get the next bit of flower out. Except it’s not a petal this time, it’s a tiny green bud; curled up and spiked, shining with water and he has to tear open the furls to see the bright yellow inside, almost like cracking open an egg. The dark innards; the fresh seeds, stare back at him.
Definitely a sunflower.
He finds an old water-bottle in his trash, which ends up repurposed on his desk with the label removed. The bud gets stuffed into the bottle, and then the lid is screwed back on.
Not knowing what else to do after coughing up a whole flower, Tamaki turns off his laptop and goes to bed early.
Fatgum and Kirishima know better than to talk to Tamaki when he’s eating. He has a routine by now – that he has a moderate breakfast and then goes the whole day edging on hunger, just so that he has an appetite when he has to eat at the Fatgum agency.
His lunch is usually nothing new; a mountain of takoyaki he slowly works through, clams and then fried chicken. Kirishima watches (not over his shoulder, more around the guy since he’s so tall) Fatgum cook stuff up and ends up nicking from Tamaki’s pile. Fatgum finishes whatever Tamaki doesn’t, and because the guy loves making enough food to stuff a giant, there’s plenty of that.
There was a time he brought in sushi, and Tamaki manifested a fish’s tail like a mermaid in the middle of the kitchen. Another time he had a tiny paper bag on the counter that he’d brought back from holiday and found Chapulines: giant roasted grasshoppers. All thing’s considered, that hadn’t been the worst of the stuff Tamaki had had to eat in his life.
He’d eaten a butterfly when he was about eight and had to go home early from school. Mirio had hung out with him until his parents had arrived and ended up hugging him really tightly until Tamaki squeezed out all his tears.
A kid had tried to shove a worm in his mouth in fifth grade. Tamaki had refused to open his mouth for the rest of the week. Mirio finally got him to talk when they were paired up in a class for work – a single burst of laughter at a stupid joke, and Mirio had kept him from being refractorily quiet.
He tries not to dwell on that anymore. Flowers only seem to bloom when he thinks of Mirio too much.
Tamaki rubs at his mouth and quickly excuses himself to go cough up three more bright yellow petals in the hall.
‘Suneater, you’re lookin’ kinda pale.’ Fatgum mentions. ‘Are you sure you wanna-’
‘Yeah.’ Tamaki says.
‘Seriously?’ Kirishima bounds beside him. ‘If you wanna go home, I’m sure we could just -’
‘-I’m fine, really.’ Tamaki grits his teeth. Then he realises his sudden rudeness and pulls his hood over his ears. ‘Sorry. I might be getting sick.’
‘Well maybe the fresh air’ll help with that.’ Fatgum resigns. A giant hand gets pressed to his back and Tamaki stumbles just a little but recovers with experience. Their patrols are usually pretty calm, and Fatgum and Kirishima end up chatting as Tamaki is wedged between their conversation.
He’ll be fine, Tamaki thinks, if he just doesn’t think about Mirio too much.
The only problem arises when they get back and Tamaki is helping clean up.
Tamaki, hadou said you were feeling unwell still. do you need to talk?? tmb when youre not busy
He hacks up a couple petals and ends up on his knees in the kitchen, phone scattered to the floor. Tamaki only realises he’s not alone when Kirishima comes piling in with a broom in hand.
‘Senpai- Oh my god, Amajiki?’ He drops down and holds Tamaki as he finishes coughing up flowers – which takes too long, in both their opinions. ‘Amajiki, are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ Tamaki rasps.
‘You don’t look fine.’ Kirishima huffs. ‘Seriously, you shouldn’t have gone on patrol with us if you’re this ill, look at – wait, are these… sunflowers?’
It sure had taken Kirishima a while to notice the flowers everywhere. ‘…Please don’t tell anyone.’
Kirishima stares at him, eyes wide with concern. ‘Senpai, you gotta. You almost died there! How long has this been going on?’
Tamaki doesn’t want to say, because he knows Kirishima will get even louder and angrier if he finds out it’s been a week. ‘Uh,’
‘Amajiki, this looks really bad.’ Kirishima picks up a flower. ‘You know who it’s for, at least, right?’
He mutters it quietly and Tamaki’s hand rolls over his mouth. Kirishima turns back to him. ‘Huh?’
‘Yes.’ He swallows, tasting something vaguely metallic.. ‘Yes I do.’
A beat of silence. Kirishima doesn’t sound like he’s breathing anymore. ‘Oh.’
‘Hey, Kirishima, Amajiki! You both okay in there? I heard-’
‘We’re fine, Fatgum, sir!’ Kirishima yells back. The hand on Tamaki’s back is removed, and Kirishima returns to his broom to sweep up the rest of the scattered petals. ‘I won’t tell him anything, but you gotta talk to someone, senpai.’
‘Okay.’ Tamaki mumbles.
And then he doesn’t. For three more days.
Hadou finds out on a Thursday after school. Holed up at the back of the library reading up on some theorem in science, they’ve got a huge wall of silence between them. It’s easy to cut through, and Hadou loves to talk to him. But right now she’s much more preoccupied on Hayu, who decided to join them for the day.
If Tamaki had to tell anyone about the Hanahaki disease, willingly, it would be Hadou.
Tamaki waits until Hayu goes to put some books back before he speaks.
He listens to his own heartbeat for about a minute, the words in his textbook falling flat again like untuned notes. ‘Can – Can I tell you something? Hadou?’
She looks up at him, eyebrows raised and a blue string of hair in her mouth. ‘Hm?’
‘I- uh,’ And Tamaki’s already stumbling. How do you tell a friend you’re dying? ‘I think I need help.’
‘With the work? I can give you my sheet if you-’
‘No, no, just, like… help.’
Hadou frowns again. ‘The school has an on-site therapist if that’s what you mean?’
‘No! No, I-’ He sighs. This isn’t going to work. ‘Have you heard of Hanahaki disease?’
Hadou’s frown morphs into urgent concern. She shuffles her chair closer to him and leans close and her voice races. ‘Is that why you’re-’
‘Yes.’ His hands are shaking. ‘For about a week now, I think.’
‘It’s Mirio, isn’t it?’
Tamaki bites his lip. ‘Yeah.’
Why is it so obvious? Tamaki’s never been the best liar - maybe he needs to work on that.
‘Because of the sunflowers. That’s - ’ She snickers, ‘That’s a little poetic, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ His previously shaking hands clench like they’ve got a current. ‘Hadou, I need you not to tell anyone. At all.’
‘Yeah, of course I won’t tell Mirio - wait, anyone? ’ She stares at him, bewildered. ‘Amajiki, please tell me you’ve told someone who can help.’
‘You know I can’t.’
‘ Amajikii. ’
‘I can’t, Hadou. What if they-’
‘It doesn’t matter if Toogata finds out.’ Hadou says.’You’ll die if this keeps up, won’t you? Listen, Amajiki, I just wanna make sure you’re not dying anytime soon. So go see Recovery Girl, and see what she can do.’
‘She’s just going to make me take the surgery.’ Tamaki mumbles.
‘And what’s so wrong with that? You’ll still be friends with Toogata, won’t you?’
Tamaki huffs. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think I’ve been in love with him for a long time, now, and this... manifested as a result.’ It still hurts to think that Mirio doesn’t even feel the same way - but now that ache is joined by a sting in his throat whenever he swallows, a slightly raw voice and petals in his lungs.
Hadou frowns. ‘Then tell him.’
‘Hadou.’
‘No, seriously! Tell him.’
‘I can’t do that. I can’t.’ Tamaki lowers his head and piles onto the table. ‘He’d - I’d ruin our friendship. He’d hate me.’
Hadou hums. ‘Maybe! But do you think Togata would do that?’
Tamaki falls quiet.
‘Well, either way, think about it. What a dumb way to lose a friend, don’t you think? It’s not your fault, Amajiki.’ She gently pats the top of his head and ruffles his already messed up hair. ‘You can always talk to me if something’s up, remember that.’
And then they have to stop talking about it, because Yuuyu comes back with eight new books and the three of them end up studying until it’s dark out.
‘Tamaki!’ Someone yells, and Tamaki fumbles with the key to his room just a little bit more. ‘Hey- hey wait - Tamaki?!’
He turns to face Mirio with a hand preemptively over his mouth and breath catches instantly. Tamaki chokes, just a little, and his breathing falls.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you too much - Nighteye’s been keeping me really busy with training and hey- you should come practice with me!’ Tamaki nods and clamps the hand over his mouth harder. ‘Tamaki, are you- are you feeling okay? You look pale.’
Tamaki turns and coughs until his throat is free, keeps the petals on his tongue. ‘I’m just a little ill.’ He reassures. ‘It’ll pass.’
But Mirio’s not convinced. ‘Are you sure? You look really bad, Tamaki.’
‘I promise I’m fine.’ Tamaki says, voice rattling. ‘Look - I have - homework.’
Tamaki knows that’s a lie. From the way Mirio is looking at him, he knows too.
The gap of silence following that is heavy. Mirio stares at him like a lost puppy. That just makes Tamaki’s throat itch even more, and without another word, Tamaki finds himself on the other side of the door, slammed shut and world pooled in darkness.
A whole flower comes up his throat, fully blooming and beautiful, and the petals are speckled with red.
Tamaki decides after a stunted twenty-minute conversation with Recovery Girl that he should probably talk to Mirio. She says the same thing about it that Google and Hadou did: talk to the person, see how they feel in return and react accordingly. Recovery Girl puts Tamaki in for a checkup in two days and gives him a couple cough sweets and antibiotics for the cuts in his throat.
She also makes a statement of calling his parents later - and that’s a battle Tamaki isn’t ready to face now that he has to. They’re going to be scared and ask way too many questions and -
Ugh.
Tamaki’s gonna go talk to Mirio at lunch when neither of them are busy. But for now, he plans on hiding from his best friend as much as possible.
He only has a few petals come up that night after the big flower. His throat is beginning to properly sting. Tamaki doesn’t sleep too well either; turns over too much and his blankets end up tangled in his legs. By morning he’s restless and twitchy.
Aizawa-Sensei can tell something’s up. He keeps glancing back to Tamaki in the lesson and though he’s usually hostile in his appearance, his eyes flicker with concern. Tamaki knows he must look a mess.
The lessons pass by like a countdown and the hours don’t pass at all. Every check of the clock, of his phone, tells Tamaki that a minute has passed. Thirty seconds. Ten. One.
He doesn’t write anything all morning.
Tamaki ends up staring at Mirio’s back and sweating for most of the class.
The last lesson before lunch passes sluggishly, and his anxiety peaks at that point; petals end up scattering on his desk and Mic politely slides the box of tissues he keeps on his desk towards Tamaki, makes no comment of the red flecks on his hand.
The bell rings.
Tamaki wrings his hands and takes a deep breath, and his throat feels full.
‘Amajiki.’ Hadou nudges him with her shoulder whilst he’s packing up his stuff. ‘You’re gonna do fine. Come see me when you’re done, if you can.’
‘Yeah,’ he says shakily. ‘I’ll do that.’
Hadou smiles at him and it’s enough to stop him shaking as much. He has never felt so grateful for how good a person Hadou really is; how patient she is with him.
Tamaki pulls the bottle from his bag and sets it on his lap under the table. The petals at the bottom of the bottle are now brown and wrinkled much more delicately than those at the top; fresher. The top flowers are browned with blood.
Mirio seems to pick up that Tamaki wants to talk. He sets his pen and book aside and looks up at Tamaki expectantly.
‘Is something wrong?’
And Anxiety usually formulates this reply. Tamaki never says anything other than “no” to questions like this - always insists he’s fine and moves on quickly. The silence aches in his chest.
‘Yes.’ He says.
Mirio’s face falls. ‘Are you okay?’
Tamaki’s breaths are falling faster. ‘Not really. But - not the way you think.’ He chews on his lip and the rawness of it diverts from his stomach-ache out of nerves, from his throat stinging. ‘Mirio, I - I need to tell you something.’
Mirio is frowning.
‘You can always talk to me, Tamaki.’
He doesn’t want the words to fall out of him like a faucet. He doesn’t want to cry. Tamaki’s throat hurts so much.
‘I-’ His heartbeat catches. ‘I...’
Mirio leans forward and curls one of his hands around Tamaki’s fist. Stays quiet, but his face says “take your time”.
‘I’m in love with you.’ He says.
Mirio is still for a moment. It feels like an hour.
‘What?’
Tamaki feels a laugh bubble in his chest - more like a sob, but he’s not sure. ‘I’m in love with you.’
Mirio’s face is too much to look at so Tamaki looks down at his wrist and focuses there.
‘Wh- How do you know?’ Mirio’s voice curves weirdly.
With his spare hand, Tamaki puts the bottle of flowers on the table and doesn’t look up. The blood on the recent petals - the cold Tamaki’s been having. It adds up.
‘Oh.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Tamaki croaks.
‘For what?’ Mirio says.
‘For - for being weird.’ He admits. ‘I must sound like a creep.’
Something pushes at his chin and fingers curl over his skin there. Mirio’s hand tugs his face up until they’re staring at each other.
‘Tamaki,’ Mirio says. ‘Why are you coughing up flowers for me?’
‘Because -’ because flowers mean that they don’t love you back. The flowers mean your love will kill you. The flowers mean -
‘Because I do love you, Tamaki.’ Mirio says, like it’s easy. ‘So I don’t get how you caught this.’
Tamaki doesn’t have anything to say after that.
Mostly because Mirio is kissing him after that, as sweetly as he can. Hands end up tangled in Tamaki’s hair and Tamaki clings to Mirio like he’ll die if he doesn’t which - hah, he almost did - and pulls Mirio deeper.
Then they remember they’re in a library and have to pull apart. Mirio is flushed bright pink and looks like he's just been through a storm. Tamaki can't imagine he looks any better.
Mirio recovers quickly enough and goes back to studying, but Tamaki feels fried.
He kind of stays that way until Mirio drags him back for another kiss, and it’s almost as easy as breathing.