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Sasuke would like to say the flowers came at some big, life-changing moment. Maybe during the Chunin Exams, when Naruto saved his life. Maybe when they fought in the Valley of the End, as he saw his best friend for maybe the last time. But no, the flowers first came at a completely unremarkable moment. Nothing special about it, nothing but the sudden tearing pain in his chest, the wrecking coughs. And the petals. Bright, yellow petals, slick with blood. He’d been on a mission, perhaps? The details are so hazy, like everything else now. But the dread he felt at that moment was still clear, the realization that his loneliness had taken tangible form, that he was going to die. It was just like him, him and his rotten luck, to fall for someone so oblivious, someone so obviously pining for someone that wasn’t Sasuke. For someone else he cared about so deeply, he can’t even bring himself to hold jealousy for her.
Had they noticed in that moment? They must’ve; they were right beside him after all. But the details are oh-so-hard to think of—he can’t remember if he had hidden the petals away. He did, didn’t he? Because they would’ve asked after if they had seen, would’ve gasped in horror and looked at him with pity in their eyes. But maybe if they had seen… maybe if he had seen…
Kakashi sensei had noticed, he thinks. Had he pulled Sasuke aside after to ask? He thinks so, but these things are getting further and further away. He had bigger things to focus on. These small things—these people he used to care about—they shouldn’t matter to him anymore.
His meager self reassurance didn’t matter to the flowers. First petals, then entire flowers, and now. Now, entire daffodil plants he pulled from his lungs. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to think. The sweet flowers made Sasuke remember, though. The warmth of his smile, the way it had made him happy in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. His dumb, stupid laugh, how it always seemed to come at the most inopportune times. Sasuke clings to that, now that everything seems to be colder. Harsher.
The roots are down to his heart, he thinks. That’s why his chest hurts every time he thinks of the life he abandoned back at the village. He coughs up flowers. He remembers and then forgets again. And above all—he loves.