Archive of Our Own

It starts when things are finally beginning to settle again. Things were going back to normal, at least he thought they were, until it happens.

It's maybe three in the morning when Awsten snaps awake and sits bolt upright in bed, coughing so hard he can barely breathe in between. His first thought is that it hurts, that there's a deep ache in his chest that rises to a sharp pain with every spasm of his lungs. He feels something coming up his throat, and naturally he has no fucking idea what it is, until he spits into his hand. He only realizes after he catches his breath. Flower petals.

Simply the realization in itself seems to be enough to set off another coughing fit, albeit a much lighter one. Some of the petals catch in his throat, stick to his tongue. Others float out as easily as cigarette smoke, spiraling past his face like dandelion seeds. It terrifies his half-conscious brain, but there's no one else in the apartment to yell to for help.

In the end, he winds up staring at the damp petals in his hand for a long time before just falling back asleep. Tour starts tomorrow (technically today), and Awsten's thinking too loudly to come to any useful conclusion. For the time being, that is the end of that.

_____

He tries to convince himself it's for Ciara, at first. Who else could it be, really? She's made it glaringly obvious that she doesn't love him anymore, what with… well, everything. It doesn't matter. It's what makes the most sense. And honestly, if it was her, he'd have no qualms about getting the surgery to get all the shit out of his lungs.

But that's the problem. Deep down, he knows he's lying to himself. He's still too angry to feel any kind of love for her right now. Certainly not anything strong enough to… make this happen. The truth is, he knows exactly who it is, who it's always been.

Ciara always loved yellow flowers. She never had one favorite, she liked sunflowers and chrysanthemums and lillies, always yellow. In the end, that was what forced Awsten to admit the truth to himself. The petals scattered in a halo around his pillow that morning were white.

Geoff, evidently, has an affinity for white roses. Of course he does. Romantic piece of shit.

There's just a few problems with that— well, more like countless problems— which make things just a little difficult. Awsten can put his top three on a list, actually.

1. Geoff has a girlfriend.
2. Geoff is straight, at least as far as Awsten knows.
3. Due to points 1 and 2, as well as the fact that Awsten is currently suffering from fucking hanahaki disease, Geoff doesn't love him back.

Awsten's come to the scientific conclusion that he is absolutely, totally, and royally fucked.

_____

If nothing else, he can be glad it didn't start earlier. For now, it's easy enough to conceal. No one seems to notice how he kind of seizes up sometimes, trying his hardest to suppress the cough forcing its way up his throat. He wakes up before anyone else now, so that he can clean up the petals he coughs up in his sleep. He's always quiet and fast, out to dispose of them outside and back in before even Lucas notices he's gone.

A week and a half into tour, there's spiky, dark green leaves mixed in with the rose petals. No thorns yet, and Awsten thanks whatever higher being that's up there for that. Life expectancy for hanahaki is pretty dismal already, but with thorned flowers it's even shorter. He hopes at the very least he'll have enough time to finish touring. It's a shitty way to spend his last few weeks, but it's a good way to be remembered, he supposes. Maybe he's well known enough that they'll consider him a part of the 27 Club when he's gone.

God. He swears he wasn't always this morbid.

He doesn't like to think about the future too much. For now, it's not fucking with his voice, and he can still hide it well enough. Even that's getting difficult, though. He's gotten into the habit of pulling the collar of his shirt over his face so he can cough, and praying that the petals don't fall out of his shirt before he can take care of them. For now, it's enough. He's fine, right?

He's fine.

_____

A part of him knew he couldn't keep it a secret forever. Not on tour with four other people. Really, it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down. That moment comes three days after he finds the leaves.

Geoff, Otto, and Lucas had all gone out for lunch, leaving only Awsten and Jawn behind on the bus. Awsten doesn't know why Jawn stayed behind, doesn't really care, but he himself rarely leaves the bus unless he has to. It's easier to hide the flowers that way.

Right now, Awsten's in the front, watching an unnecessarily fast-paced baking competition on TV because there's nothing else worth watching, and their options are pretty limited to begin with. Jawn's behind him at the table, doing something on his laptop.

Awsten's used to tugging his shirt up over his face by now, and he does so when the urge to cough comes once again. It's stronger than usual this time, every cough sending a stabbing pain to his chest.

Jawn glances up from his laptop, concerned. “You good?”

Awsten manages a nod when he's finally able to take a breath. It doesn't last for long, though, within seconds he's in another coughing fit, even worse than before. He can't breathe, he's choking on rose petals, he can barely focus on anything but that. The stuff that sticks in his throat makes him gag and sends his stomach heaving on instinct. Actually, he feels like he's going to— oh, fuck.

Before he even realizes what he's doing, Awsten's up and running for the bathroom. He can't even bring himself to care that there's petals and leaves spilling from his shirt now, he has to go.

He barely manages to stumble inside the bathroom and slam the door shut before he collapses over the toilet and he's heaving once again. Petals and leaves mix with what is probably this morning's breakfast on the way back up. And hell, he thought it hurt before. That was nothing compared to this. His throat burns, like he's being torn up from the inside out.

Even though he's not forcing up anything anymore, something's still stuck at the back of his mouth. He makes himself wait until he's sure he's not going to hurl again before he reaches into his mouth and tugs on whatever's stuck back there. It doesn't budge, but Awsten nearly screams as the pain flares up again. Whatever the hell is lodged in his throat seems intent on ripping its way out.

A knock on the door has Awsten yanking his fingers out of his mouth. He knows he didn't lock the door.

“Awsten?” God damn it. “You okay?”

Awsten takes a breath, gets a firm grip on the thing in his mouth and jerks. The pain borders on excruciating, but he manages not to cry out again. He can't stop the tears welling in his eyes, but it's out. He glances down at the thing in his hand: a rose stem, two or three inches long, covered in thorns and dripping in his blood. Fuck.

“Awsten…?”

“I'm fine,” Awsten chokes out. His voice is shot, of course it is, he just yanked a fucking rose branch out of his throat.

“Are you sure? You don't sound good.”

“Just— just leave me alone, Jawn.”

That seems to do the trick for a moment, because Jawn falls silent, until…

“Are these… flower petals?”

Awsten can't even yell at him to go away before the door swings open, and there's Jawn with a handful of rose petals clutched in his fist. He stands there in silence for a moment, taking in the scene before him. Awsten's still got the bloody stem in his hand, and when he glances back at the toilet, he can see almost an entire flower bloom floating above the rest. That, too, is stained dark red.

“Is… is this what I think it is?” Jawn holds out his handful of petals for Awsten to see.

Awsten is so fucking sick of roses.

“Please just go away,” he begs. His raspy voice sounds so pathetic, so goddamn helpless, and he hates it. “Please.”

“Awsten.” Jawn kneels down next to him. “Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell any of us?”

Awsten shakes his head and slumps down in the door frame. “Wouldn't have done any good.”

“Done any good, are you kidding me?” Jawn demands. “We could've helped you, dude, I— how long?”

“What the fuck could you have done to help?” Awsten retorts. He doesn't mean to take this all out on Jawn, he really doesn't. He's just so tired.

“How long?”

Awsten sighs. “Day before tour started.”

“Fuck.” Jawn runs a hand through his hair, looking back at the mess of flowers. “Fuck. Two weeks. And it's— they're roses, right?”

Awsten nods. His throat still stings, and it's not worth talking. He can still taste blood in his mouth.

“Okay, look, if… if it's Ciara, please just get the surgery, she doesn't—”

“It's not her.” It'd be so much easier if it was.

“Whoever it is, then,” Jawn continues without skipping a beat. “You have to talk to her. And if she— if things don't work out, this isn't worth your life, Awsten—”

Awsten smiles wryly, because Jawn doesn't know. Of course he would assume it's a girl, he's never known anything different. It should be something so trivial, but he finds the explanation sticking in his throat like one of the roots growing in his chest.

“Him,” he finally says, so quietly that he half hopes Jawn didn't hear it.

“What?”

“You— you said 'talk to her',” he mumbles. He's finding it hurts less the quieter he talks. “'S not a her.”

Jawn stares at him just a second too long, and Awsten's about to tell him to just forget it, forget I even said anything—

“… Okay,” Jawn says. “You know that doesn't matter to any of us, right? Is that why you didn't say anything, because…?”

If only it were that simple. Awsten shakes his head.

“Oh.” Jawn glances down at the floor. “It's, uh… it's not Patty, is it?”

“Jawn.”

“Sorry, sorry. I'm just trying to process,” Jawn admits. “I wasn't exactly expecting this.”

“Yeah, well, you weren't the only one,” Awsten deadpans. “No, it's not Patty.”

He can sense it coming up again, and for once, he doesn't have to hide it. Coughing hurts even more now that his throat is torn to shreds, but luckily there are no more thorns. Not yet, anyway.

Jawn watches the petals float to the floor almost forlornly, and wordlessly offers his hand to Awsten. In any other context it would be weird, but right now, Awsten holds onto his hand for dear life as the rose petals work their way out of his system. When it's over, he struggles to catch his breath. He can tell the flowers have started to take root in his lungs; it's harder than ever now just to breathe. Jawn merely sits with him patiently, and only when Awsten's mostly caught his breath does he speak.

“It's Geoff, isn't it?”

And yeah, Awsten's always known it was Geoff, but admitting it feels like a weight both lifting off his shoulders and crushing him impossibly further at the same time. Yes, it feels good to finally tell someone, but now it feels real. Inescapable.

He doesn't know why it's just hitting him now, but the gravity of the situation finally sinks in. Geoff doesn't love him. That would be painful enough on its own, if not for the fact that it's literally killing him. He's going to die, no question about it. Even though he knows Geoff doesn't feel the same, Awsten would never get the surgery if his life depended on it. Which… it does.

Tears spring up in his eyes before he can tamp down on his emotions. Everything's suddenly so overwhelming. He just wants to stop hurting.

“Yeah.” Awsten wipes at his eyes frantically, but it's no use. “God, I'm such a fucking idiot—”

The tears come faster than he can conceal, then a sob escapes him, and that's all it takes for him to fall apart. He hates crying in front of people, he hates it, but he can't hide it now. He rips his hand out of Jawn's grasp to cover his face, not that it does any good.

“Hey, no…” Jawn gently takes Awsten's wrists and pulls his hands away from his face. “Aws— Awsten. C'mere.”

And then Jawn's pulling him into his chest and wrapping his arms around him. Awsten normally hates being touched when he's upset, but he makes no attempt to escape. It's oddly comforting.

“Just leave me alone,” he whispers, just because it's still embarrassing the way he's sitting there sobbing on the floor. “Leave me alone, just go—”

He's cut off by his own sobs, and Jawn just holds him tighter.

“You don't really want me to do that, do you?” Jawn mumbles.

He doesn't. He really, really doesn't.

Awsten almost imperceptibly shakes his head. He's crying all over Jawn's shirt, but evidently Jawn doesn't care. There's a part of Awsten that deeply despises this, being so vulnerable. They may have been best friends since, like, forever, but it's still weird. He's not some fucking crybaby, except that apparently he is.

“Okay,” Jawn says softly. “Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna talk to Lucas, and he's gonna make sure you get to the hospital the next time we have a hotel night, yeah?”

Awsten shakes his head with a sniffle, much more forcefully than before. “I'm not getting surgery.”

“That's okay,” Jawn soothes. “You don't even have to think about that right now. They'll just give you options, and we're gonna figure this out. It's gonna be okay.”

For whatever reason, that sends a fresh wave of tears streaming down Awsten's face. He's choking again, not on roses but on the lump in his throat.

“I-I don't wanna die,” he chokes out.

“You won't,” Jawn says firmly. “You won't, okay? I promise. I won't let you.”

And Awsten just dissolves into sobs, clutching onto Jawn for dear life. He can't help it.

“Breathe,” Jawn coaches quietly. “Just breathe, man.”

Awsten does his best to obey, trying to control the halted gasps that make his throat hurt even more. It's hard at first, but eventually his breathing evens out to something almost normal.

“That's it, there ya go.” Jawn just rubs his back, making no effort to pull away from him even though he must be sick of babysitting by now. “Awsten?”

“Hm?”

“Have you ever… have you thought about telling Geoff?”

Awsten's quiet for a moment after that. He knows the answer. Truth be told, a part of him wanted to call Geoff the minute he realized what was happening to him. But…

“I can't,” he whispers. His voice still shakes from crying. “I can't do that to him. He— he has Chloe, he has everything… he doesn't want me.”

Awsten can practically sense the pity radiating off of Jawn. He doesn't want his fucking pity.

“And I— you know how he is,” he continues. “He cares so much, I… I won't guilt-trip him into thinking he loves me. I don't wanna manipulate him. I'm not going to be that person.”

He feels Jawn nod against the top of his head.

“I get it,” Jawn says. “I think you're wrong, I don't think you could manipulate anyone, but I get it. Just… tell me you'll think about it, alright?”

Awsten swallows thickly.

“I'll think about it,” he says, though he has absolutely no intention of doing so.

“Thank you,” Jawn mumbles. “It's gonna be fine, okay? You're good. We're okay.”

Awsten wants to believe him. He finds it hard to do when it's clear Jawn doesn't even really believe himself.

_____

They sound like shit onstage that night.

Well, scratch that; Geoff and Otto kill it that night. It's Awsten that sounds like shit. Thankfully the fans are singing along too loudly to notice, but Awsten knows how it goes. It'll show in the recordings they all take. They'll listen back and realize how fucking horrible he sounds. The acoustic set is a whole other story— a much worse one. The venue is quiet, and he can't hide the scratchiness of his throat. He hits a grand total of maybe three notes during the entire show, and Geoff keeps shooting him weird, concerned looks from across the stage.

Otto catches his shoulder before they go out for the encore. “You alright, dude?”

“Yeah,” Awsten says in the clearest voice he can muster, plastering a bright smile on his face. “All good. Ready?”

If there's one thing he can do, it's play the part. He's not just Awsten right now, he's Awsten Knight, Waterparks frontman: nonsensical, carefree, free of hanahaki disease. It's an identity he assumes on the daily, but he's never had to put on the act for a friend. He's pretty sure Otto notices, but if he does, thankfully he lets it go.

They finish the show. Barely, they get through it. Awsten bounces offstage with that same fake megawatt smile, to the sound of tumultuous cheers he doesn't deserve. The kids deserved a better show than that, but what was he supposed to do?

When they settle in on the bus for the night, Geoff makes him tea with honey and lemon. Awsten's not even sure how; he's pretty sure they didn't have honey and he knows they don't keep lemons on the bus, but somehow it all ends up in his tea.

When he inquires about it, very softly and even scratchier than before, Geoff just shrugs and says, “You were already sounding kinda weird this morning. I picked up some stuff after lunch, that's all.”

Awsten can't explain why his he's grinning like an idiot the minute Geoff turns his back. He has to put the steaming mug down so that he can pull his sweat-soaked shirt over his face and hack up a few more petals. He doesn't quite understand how one person could be so… he can't even put a word to it.

Geoff is always so incredibly selfless. He's like a dad in some ways, and Awsten might make fun of him for it all the time, but at the end of the day he's always grateful for it. Geoff cares, about everyone, but especially his friends…

And Awsten loves him so much.

He can't help but stare at Geoff, settled across from him watching Netflix. The soft feeling in his chest is so nice that, just for a moment, he can forget that that feeling is exactly what's killing him.

_____

Awsten's the last one awake that night, aside from Lucas. Which is strange, come to think of it. They're both usually the first two to bed. Regardless, Lucas plops down on the couch next to him while he's scrolling through Twitter.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Awsten mumbles, sipping his now-cold tea that was previously balanced precariously on the armrest.

“We've got a hotel night tomorrow, y'know,” Lucas says quietly.

“Yeah…” Awsten frowns, a bit confused. He knows the schedule. “I know.”

Lucas pauses, like he's not quite sure what to say next.

“I went ahead and rearranged the schedule a little for tomorrow,” he says. “There's a hospital within walking distance. I figure I can walk you over around ten in the morning?”

Awsten sighs. “Jawn told you?”

“He had a feeling you weren't going to,” Lucas admits. “I'll tell the guys you're getting tested for strep throat or something.”

“I don't have health insurance, Lucas. You know how expensive it is to treat this shit.”

“I know. It's a free clinic.” Lucas pushes himself off of the couch, presumably to get ready for bed. “I won't force you to go, obviously, I'm not your mom. But I think it would be a good idea.”

Awsten knows he's right. There's no cure for hanahaki, but there are… prolonging measures. Like with cancer. And wow, okay, Awsten does not need to be thinking of his disease in terms of cancer. That's just too much for him.

“Yeah, you're right,” Awsten mumbles. “Thank you, dude. Seriously.”

Lucas gives him a little half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Just doing my job, y'know? Now get to bed. You need sleep more than any of us, and not just because you'll be a whiny brat if you don't get it.”

Awsten returns the halfhearted smile and nods. “I'm never whiny. I am an angel at all hours of the day.“

He glances at the time on his phone, and grimaces when he remembers he'll probably have to be up around seven in the morning to clean up the roses, just in case. Fuck, it's late.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lucas says. “But seriously. Get some rest.”

Awsten obeys, because he has nothing better to do, and because his bunk is really the only place where he doesn't have to worry about hiding.

He hopes that tomorrow will be better, but he doesn't dare get too optimistic. He can't stand to get his hopes up now.

_____

“I wish I had better news for you, Mr. Knight, I really do.”

The doctor that examines him the next morning is a sweet Hispanic woman named Dr. Hernandez. She sits at the desk in the examination room with her hands folded in her lap, a sympathetic expression on her face. Awsten had been a little nervous walking in to the clinic that morning, but she'd made him feel a little better about the whole thing. Unfortunately, even she can only do so much in sugar-coating a hopeless case.

“If the removal surgery isn't what you want, I'm afraid there's not very many options,” she explains. “They still haven't found a cure for hanahaki disease, unfortunately. And the, ah… object of affection? Have you talked to them at all?”

Awsten shakes his head. “It's not going to work out.”

“I see.” Dr. Hernandez nods. “Well, the best I can do for you is buy you time. I can get you a prescription for a preventative medication, if you'd like.”

“How long would that give me?”

“Judging by how far along you are…” she pauses, apparently deep in thought. “About a month and a half, I'd guess. I have to warn you, though, it's not perfect. A lot of people have pretty nasty side effects, but it works in the long run.”

Awsten swallows. “And… how long would I have without it?”

“About three weeks.” Dr. Hernandez shifts like she wants to get up and hug him or something, but she doesn't. “I'm so sorry, honey. I really wish I could help you more than that.”

Awsten wants to reassure her, tell her that it's alright, but really, he was hoping for some better news too. He sighs, staring down at his feet, and decides that six weeks is better than nothing. He can finish the tour, sort things out in LA… maybe fly home to Houston. He could be with his family, at least.

“I'll take it,” he finally mumbles. “Thank you.”

She nods and types something into her computer.

The bottle Awsten receives at the pharmacy an hour later is filled with nondescript dark green pills. The name on the label is one he can't even pronounce. He googles it later and finds out that it's essentially weed killer wrapped up in an unassuming package, barely safe for human consumption. The list of side effects read like a poison warning: nausea, weakness, dizziness, drowsiness, exhaustion, disorientation, loss of consciousness, vomiting, coma.

The users on the medical forums call it Roundup. Wonderful, Awsten thinks.

A month and a half. Six weeks. It's enough.

_____

The pills are an absolute nightmare.

They work, Awsten can't deny that. The first time he takes one, he wakes up with fewer petals in his bed, and his chest feels a little less tight. It would be perfect, if he didn't also start the morning stumbling to the hotel bathroom to vomit what was essentially half a rose bush. There are thorns again. He tastes blood at the back of his throat all morning.

It's clear by breakfast that singing, at least for tonight, is a hopeless cause. Awsten can't speak above a hoarse whisper, in fact he'd rather not speak at all. Thankfully, Lucas announces to the table that he's on vocal rest so he doesn't have to raise his voice. Jawn shoots him a sympathetic look, but says nothing.

“What'd the doctors say yesterday?” Otto asks.

“Well, it's not strep, which is good,” Lucas says easily. “It's some kind of upper respiratory infection, right Awsten?”

Awsten nods, and makes a mental note to remember that Lucas is a damn good liar.

“Yeah. They gave him antibiotics, I think, but really we're just gonna have to see how things pan out,“ Lucas explains. “We can't cancel tonight, but we can push out some later dates if we have to.”

Geoff and Otto both nod, having no reason to suspect anything. Of course they don't.

“Do you think you'll be able to sing tonight?” Geoff asks quietly.

Awsten shrugs, because he really doesn't know. His bet is on no.

They wait it out as long as they can, but by soundcheck that day Awsten still can't even manage a whisper. Geoff and Otto split singing duties for the night, the likes of which they haven't had to do in years. They've never had to do it for a headlining show. Awsten puts on a smile like he always does, even manages to suck it up and speak to the crowd once or twice, but he feels terrible. This isn't what the kids paid for, this isn't what they wanted, and chances are he'll never get the chance to make up for it.

They're back on the bus that night, and Geoff and Otto hang back to greet fans gathered outside the bus. Awsten wants to, but the petals he coughed up backstage before the encore didn't exactly do him any favors. The fans' grins falter as he walks right past them, giving them an apologetic smile.

As he steps up on the bus and shuts the door behind him, he can hear Geoff say, “Yeah, Awsten hasn't been feeling too good, sorry…”

Understatement of the year. He has no idea.

_____

Awsten considers not taking his medicine that night, just because of the trouble it's already caused him. In the end, though, he downs a little green pill before bed. He has to. The side effects are better than… well, the alternative.

He sets himself a vibrating alarm for 6:00 AM and shoves his phone under his pillow. Hopefully there'll be even less to clean up tomorrow morning.

_____

6:00 comes far too fast for Awsten's liking. He does in fact awaken to fewer flower petals than before, thankfully without the resulting nausea. For a minute, things actually seems almost okay.

He gets to work clearing the remaining petals from his bed. He keeps a plastic bag under his bunk now to make things easier, so he carefully reaches out under his curtain to grab it. It makes a loud crinkling noise, but it's never been a serious issue before. Awsten's not too worried about it.

Until he hears someone move.

He can hear someone shift in their bunk, he's almost positive it's Otto. He freezes on instinct, hoping it's just someone turning over in bed, but then he hears the telltale rattle of a bunk curtain. No one's ever up this early, what the hell?

Whoever it is slides out of their bunk and starts heading to the back of the bus. Towards the bathroom, probably. Awsten lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. God, he's so paranoid.

At least, that's what he's thinking until the curtain on his bunk is abruptly snatched back.

Otto stands there in the hallway, the fabric of the curtain clutched in his hand, taking in the scene before him. Awsten can only imagine how it must look to him. He knows he probably looks like a deer caught in headlights, the way he sits with the plastic bag crushed in his fist, surrounded by rose petals.

“I knew it.”

… Okay. Not exactly what Awsten expected Otto to say. “What?”

“You left a bunch of petals in front of my bunk a couple days ago. I put the pieces together,” Otto explains quietly. “They don't ever wilt or anything, y'know.”

Awsten's stomach drops, just a little. He thought he'd been so careful. He'd worked so hard to keep his secret, hell, he was ready to die with it. Now everyone knows. Everyone except, of course, the one person that really matters.

“So that doctor's visit wasn't for strep, was it?”

Awsten shakes his head wordlessly. Half of him wants to apologize for keeping secrets, but the other half fiercely reminds him that Otto was never supposed to know.

“Why didn't you tell anyone?” Otto whispers, mindful of the others still asleep around them.

Awsten huffs out a humorless laugh. “Jawn asked me the same thing.”

“It's a valid question.”

“Because I didn't want anyone to know,” Awsten grumbles. “I didn't wanna be poor dying Awsten, alright? I don't need everyone's pity. And I don't need people giving me relationship advice twenty-four-seven.”

“Dying…?” Otto repeats, ignoring the jab. “Have you talked to him yet?”

Him…? Awsten's momentarily caught off guard, because how could Otto have known? He hadn't told anyone that he's bisexual, not even Jawn. Well, until he had to, anyway. Regardless, he's almost positive even Lucas doesn't know who his disease is for. And yet.

“No,” Awsten mutters. “I haven't.”

“Okay, well,” Otto begins. “Considering Maxx is in a perfectly happy relationship with his girlfriend the last time I checked, this might be a little bit of a problem—”

“Wait, wh— Maxx?!” Awsten splutters.

Otto frowns. “Well, yeah. Is it… is it not Maxx?”

“No, you fucking idiot, it's Geoff!”

“Oh.” Otto pauses. “Yeah, that makes more sense in hindsight. But I mean… same issue. Relationship. Girlfriend. Impending death.”

“Yeah, thanks, I'd almost forgotten about all of that,” Awsten deadpans.

“So is that why you've been avoiding him?”

“I haven't been avoiding him—”

“Yeah, you have,” Otto argues. “You've barely said a word to him this whole tour. He thinks you're mad at him or something.”

“He… he does?” Awsten says quietly.

Otto nods. “He keeps asking me if he fucked up somehow. Like I'd know. It's kinda been stressing him out, on top of everything else…”

“Everything else?” Awsten says. “What do you mean?”

He hadn't thought this tour was particularly stressful, but then again, his definition of stressful has changed quite a bit in the past few weeks.

“You don't know?”

“I've been a little distracted these past few weeks,” Awsten mutters.

“Geoff and Chloe have been fighting. Like, a lot,” Otto says. “I can't believe you haven't heard him on the phone every night.”

Awsten goes silent for a moment. He'd had no idea. In a perfect world, that could've changed everything. But Awsten doesn't dare to hope. He knows Chloe and Geoff, knows how strong their relationship is. Even if it wasn't, Awsten couldn't live with himself if Geoff chose him over Chloe. He'd never do that to her, or to anyone else for that matter. He knows all too well what it feels like to be abandoned.

“You really should talk to Geoff,” Otto persists. “Seriously. Honestly, I feel like all he really needs is a little push to—”

“To what?” Awsten snaps, nearly forgetting that he needs to stay quiet. “To guilt himself into pretending to love me? To leave her and realize a few months down the line that I'm not fucking worth it? Has it occurred to you that there's a reason why I haven't spilled my guts to him?!”

“No, it hasn't, because we both know that's not going to happen,” Otto argues. “Jesus Christ, Awsten, it's Geoff. He wouldn't do something that drastic unless he knew it was the right thing to do. He's not just gonna fuck you over like—”

“Don't go there. Don't you fucking dare.” Awsten narrows his eyes. “You know what? Fuck you. This is none of your fucking business anyway.”

“It's my business if my band doesn't have a singer next month!” Otto retorts. “It's my goddamn business if I'm about to lose one of my best friends! I'm so sorry that all of us caring about your life is such a fucking inconvenience to you!”

“I never asked you to care,” Awsten hisses. “I never asked you or Jawn to help me try to break up my best friend's relationship so that I could be happy, and yet here you fucking are!”

“Maybe it's not all about you, Awsten,” Otto says firmly. “Believe it or not, sometimes it's not just about you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Awsten demands.

Otto sighs. “Nothing. Just forget it.”

“No, what—”

“I said forget it, Awsten.” Otto shakes his head. “If you can't see it… I can't explain it.”

Before Awsten gets the chance to respond, Otto lets the curtain fall closed without another word.

For a moment, all Awsten can do is sit there. Part of him knows, of all the things they just said to each other, there are more pressing things to get hung up on than "it's not all about you". But something about that makes him stop. What is that supposed to mean?

Contrary to popular belief, Awsten is in fact familiar with the idea that not everything is about him. But this… he thinks it's safe to say that his disease is pretty much entirely about him. He's pretty justified in wallowing in his own self-pity. And yet, the way Otto talked to him… like he knew something Awsten didn't. Awsten can't help but wonder.

If it's not about him… who else is it about?

_____

Awsten can't bring himself to speak to Otto any more than he has to that day. He's not ready to talk to him about the hanahaki again, but Otto keeps shooting him knowing looks throughout the day, especially when he has to pull his shirt over his face.

He tries to convince himself it doesn't matter. He can speak today, and more importantly he can sing. To him, to the band, to the fans, that's all that matters. Never mind that he feels half-dead on his feet. He can deal.

“Awsten?”

Awsten jumps a little, realizing he's been staring off into space. “Yeah?”

“You okay?” Geoff sits down next to him on the couch, a concerned look on his face.

“Yeah,” Awsten says, rather absently. “Yeah, I'm fine. What's up?”

“Lucas said we should head inside the venue soon,” Geoff tells him. “Soundcheck.”

“Okay.”

Geoff nods, but he doesn't move from his spot. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Is something up with you and Otto?” Geoff asks. “You guys seem kinda… tense today.”

“Oh…” Awsten hesitates. It's not like he can tell him the truth. “Yeah, we… I pissed him off this morning. It's nothing. Just stupid shit.”

“Hm.” Geoff shifts in his seat. “I don't know, man. It feels like this tour's just been different. And not— not really in a good way, y'know? Just feels… off.”

Awsten knows exactly what he means. He doesn't say a word, though, lest he say something he shouldn't. Just before he realizes he's been silent a moment too long, Geoff speaks again.

“Sorry. That probably makes no sense.”

“No, it does,” Awsten assures him. “I…”

And for a second, just a second, he considers telling him right then and there. Just for a second, he thinks about spilling everything. How the flowers started, how it hurts every day, how he's loved him ever since that long-ass drive to Florida back when they were nothing. How he remembers like it was yesterday, glancing in the rearview at Geoff grinning in the backseat, and thinking that he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

But he doesn't say any of that.

Mostly because he knows he can't, or at least he shouldn't. But more urgently, he doesn't say anything because he's coughing again. He almost forgets to pull up his shirt collar as the rose petals force their way out of his lungs. Geoff pats his back a little awkwardly, giving no real help whatsoever, but at least comforting Awsten until it's over.

“Are you sure you're good to sing tonight?” Geoff worries. “It's okay, honestly. You don't need to push yourself—”

“I'm fine, Geoff,” Awsten says, and winces at the harshness in his own voice. “I'm fine.”

“Okay,” Geoff relents, after a moment's hesitation. “If you're sure.”

Awsten sighs. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” Geoff murmurs. “C'mon. Walk over with me?”

He stands and offers a hand to Awsten. Awsten takes it, a little apprehensively. Physical intimacy used to seem like no big deal to him. He's touchy, everyone knows it. But this… this feels different. Awsten's chest feels a little lighter as Geoff pulls him off the couch.

_____

The concert that night, Awsten's positive, is the longest of his life.

He's already dragging his feet when they first come on stage, and even the excited screams of the fans below them don't give him the energy boost that they normally do. There's two girls against the barricade trying to get his attention, but he barely has the energy to take whatever it is they give him and smile. Every part of him is tired.

Geoff's verse in Crave is practically his only reprieve onstage. It can't come fast enough, and it's over far too quickly. Awsten's noticeably out of breath when he comes back in to finish the verse. He doesn't know how he's going to finish this fucking show.

The rest of the songs come and go in a blur, and at the end of the acoustic set, Awsten stumbles offstage and practically tosses his guitar at Lucas. There's nowhere in the sidestage area for him to sit, so he just kind of collapses against the wall, resting his elbows on his knees and trying desperately to catch his breath.

“Awsten?” Jawn's on him in an instant, crouching down in front of him, Lucas not far behind. “Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?”

“We're not doing an encore tonight,” Geoff announces. “Tell them to get the house lights on.”

“What?” Jawn asks incredulously, at the same time that Awsten's head shoots up.

“No!” Awsten snaps. “We're finishing the show, Geoff, what the hell?”

“You can barely stand up, dude,” Geoff says. “It's pretty obvious you're still sick, and I'd rather cut one show short than have to cancel the next two because you're so out of it.”

“Good thing that's not your decision to make, huh?” Awsten hisses through panted breaths. “We're finishing the fucking show.”

“Awsten, he's right,” Otto chimes in, in what are probably his first words to him since that morning. “I saw you out there. You almost lost your balance, like, four times.”

“I don't care,” Awsten spits. “Help me up, Jawn.”

“Awsten—” Lucas begins.

“I said help me up!”

Jawn reluctantly stands and pulls Awsten to his feet. Awsten regrets standing immediately, but he tries not to show it. Black spots dance across his vision, blood pounds in his ears, but it doesn't fucking matter.

“Give— gimme my guitar,” he says to no one and to everyone, barely aware of the words coming out of his mouth.

Someone's talking to him. He can't quite tell who it is, because the rushing in the ears is too loud and he can't really see. Alright, maybe he's not as present as he thought he was. But still.

“I told you guys I'm fine,” Awsten mumbles. He might be slurring his words just a little by this point. “Totally… totally fine…”

He stumbles forward, and feels a familiar urge creep up in his chest. His hands fumble at the collar of his shirt, but he can't quite pull himself together in time. A distant part of him understands that he needs to keep his secret, but he just…

He can feel rose petals sliding up his throat, and he gags on the cough that forces them the rest of the way up. The petals fluttering to the floor are the one thing he can still see. They float to the floor in silence, and the hallway erupts. He can't even figure out who's speaking.

“Awsten?”

“Oh, shit…”

“Awsten!”

“What the fuck?”

Okay, that last one is Geoff. That, he knows. God damn it.

Awsten sways on his feet, and he knows what's about to happen a split second before it does. His legs go out from under him, and the yelling reaches a whole new level.

Everything fades to black before he even hits the floor.

_____

When Awsten comes back to himself, it doesn't happen all at once. He goes in and out, hearing snippets of murmured conversation around him. He doesn't know where he is, nor does he particularly care in his half-conscious state. All he really knows is that he's getting the best sleep he's had in weeks.

Eventually, though, he can't hide under the surface of sleep any longer. The sounds around him become sharper as his eyes flutter open.

He's in a hospital bed. He guesses he should've expected that. The memories of the last show come back to him, and he abruptly wishes he was unconscious again. He really fucked himself over on that one, he thinks. Cat's out of the bag now.

Something tickles under his nose, and he almost subconsciously reaches up to rip away whatever the hell's taped to his face.

“Hey, no, don't touch that.”

Oh. He's not alone.

Someone grabs his wrist and gently pulls it away from his face. He glances up to see Geoff, leaning halfway out of the stiff hospital chair to stop him. Oh, no.

“Hey.” Geoff smiles softly. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”

“Hi,” Awsten whispers. His throat's a lot more sore than he remembers it being. He brings a hand up to his face again, more carefully this time. “What— what is this?”

“They gave you one of those oxygen nose-tube things,” Geoff explains. “They, uh, they had you in an oxygen mask, but they were afraid you were gonna fill it up with flowers. It was scary, dude.”

Awsten runs his fingers over the cannula situated across his face. He knows what this means, several nights of frantic googling at the beginning gives him all too much knowledge. Final stage hanahaki victims require full-time oxygen therapy. They've got a heart monitor on his finger, too, and an IV in the back of his hand giving him god knows what. This is it, then.

“They got me all hooked up, huh?” Awsten smiles wryly.

“Yeah,” Geoff laughs quietly, but it sounds forced. “I gotta tell you, man, you scared the shit out of us last night. Even Lucas lost his cool for a second there.”

“Lucas? I'd like to have seen that,” Awsten jokes.

When he puts his hand down, Geoff takes it and laces their fingers together. With the way he doesn't even glance away from Awsten's face, he'd say he didn't even do it intentionally. He just… did it.

“W-where's everyone else?” Awsten asks, trying desperately to distract himself from Geoff's thumb coursing over the back of his hand.

“They went to grab dinner. They'll be back soon, I said I'd call them if anything happened,” Geoff says. “I'm… being a little selfish, to be honest. Keeping you all to myself.”

Awsten can't help but smile at that. “I appreciate it. Don't know if I could handle having Jawn all over me like a second mom.”

Geoff smiles too, but it quickly falters. “Oh, that reminds me. Your family's flying in soon. Jawn called your mom, and, y'know, of course she freaked. He tried to tell her they didn't have to come all the way out here, but she wasn't having it.”

“That's Mom for ya,” Awsten mumbles. “And, um… the shows?”

“We've cancelled the next three,” Geoff said. “And Lucas made me promise I wouldn't ask you, but… we need to know, Awsten. Are you… are we gonna have to call off the rest of the tour?”

It's a nice way of putting it, Awsten thinks. He couldn't think of a better way that Geoff could've asked him if he was dying.

“I…” Yes. He knows the answer is yes. “I don't know. I really don't.”

As much as it hurts to say that, it hurts even more to watch Geoff's face fall. He wishes he had something heartfelt to say, something to make Geoff smile again, but… all he has is another coughing fit.

It's a long one this time, and each heave brings a sharp stab of pain to his chest. He's used to it now, but it's clear Geoff isn't. He grips Awsten's hand tighter, and watches the roses fall to the blanket with a look that can only be described as mourning.

“Fuck, I'm sorry,” Awsten croaks as soon as the feeling in his chest fades.

“No, no, you don't have to apologize, just— god. This is…”

He doesn't even need to finish. Awsten knows.

They sit in silence for a second, Geoff still holding onto his hand for dear life. The only sounds are the quiet whirs and beeping of the machines around them.

“Awsten?”

Awsten already knows what he's going to ask. But god, he's not ready to answer it.

“Yeah?”

“Who is it?” Geoff sounds as if he's on the verge of tears. “Who's— who did this to you?”

Fuck. Fuck. Awsten opens his mouth, but no sound comes out at first. After weeks of keeping his secret so well preserved, he's not sure if he can do this. He's about to do what he tried so hard to prevent, what he was willing to die for…

But is it really worth dying for?

“It's… it's you, Geoff.”

It's always been you. Always has been, always will be.

Awsten doesn't know what he expected to happen. In the moment, nothing changes. There's no weight lifting off his shoulders, and the room remains dead silent. Geoff stares at him, evidently lost for words. Awsten can't even begin to guess what he's feeling. All that shows on his face is utter disbelief.

“Me…?”

“Y-yeah.”

It's almost funny, how shocked he is. Awsten thought he might've guessed by now, but evidently not. Geoff's hand goes limp in his own, and Awsten half expects him to let go. He doesn't.

“Awsten…” Geoff begins. “I'm so, so sorry.”

As much as Awsten had told himself, time and time again, not to get his hopes up, this still fucking hurts. Despite everything, a part of him was still holding out for something to happen. It's his own fault, he knows. It couldn't have happened any other way.

“No, it's—”

“I can't believe I put you through that,” Geoff breathes. “Jawn said… since the first day of tour? That long?”

“Geoff, it's— it's not your fault,” Awsten says.

“No, it is,” Geoff argues. “That whole time, I never knew, I never thought anything was wrong, I… god, I should've known. I should've done something.”

Awsten's not sure where he's going with this. It's just making the both of them feel worse, really. They both know damn well it won't change a thing.

“There's nothing you could've done,” Awsten mumbles.

Geoff hesitates. He glances up at Awsten, and the look in his eyes is unreadable.

“No,” he says softly. “There is something.”

If he's being completely honest, Awsten has fantasized about kissing Geoff before. Frequently. He's thought about the soft kisses, in the early morning or stolen in between everyday activities. He's thought about… well, the other ones too: the ones that would be hard and demanding, given while pinned against the wall or locked inside a bedroom. It's not that he's devoted time to it, it's just… he knows how Geoff would kiss. Or, he thought he did.

His imagination doesn't do it justice.

Geoff lunges forward and presses his lips to Awsten's, kissing him like he needs Awsten's touch to live. His hand slides up the back of Awsten's neck, settling to cradle the back of his head, his thumb resting on his jaw.

It takes Awsten's brain a solid three seconds to catch up with the rest of the universe. For a moment, all that registers is the euphoria— this is real, Geoff is really…

This is wrong.

“Geoff, no,” Awsten puts a firm hand on Geoff's chest, forcing them a few inches apart. “What are you doing?”

Geoff frowns, staring at Awsten in confusion. “What's wrong? I-I thought…”

“I can't, I can't do this— not…” Awsten stutters. “What about Chloe?”

Geoff cocks his head, furrowing his brow.

“Oh, god,” he mumbles. “Is that what you were worried about this whole time?”

“Well, yeah!” Awsten says incredulously. “Don't you think that's kind of important—”

“We broke up,” Geoff admits, cutting him off. “Couple days ago. I-I didn't say anything, 'cause you were so sick, it… it didn't feel like the right time to bring it up.”

Awsten blinks. “You… what?”

“I should've said something, I guess,” Geoff says quietly. “I just didn't wanna make it about me. I was too worried about you.”

Awsten can barely believe what he's hearing. Almost doesn't want to.

“You know…” Geoff huffs out a breath, his gaze falling downward. “I think— I think it took awhile to realize, y'know? And something about you being sick, and seeing them take you in that fucking ambulance, it was kinda like a wake-up call. And… I'm pretty sure I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Just never knew it.”

He finally meets Awsten's eyes after a moment, and for the first time, Awsten can read his expression. He looks… kind of scared, really, but more hopeful than anything.

“Really?” Awsten asks tentatively.

“Yeah, really,” Geoff says, and gives a small smile. “So… is it okay if I kiss you again?”

Awsten's breath hitches, and that's when he notices. His chest… it's lighter, less tight than it's been in weeks. It's like he can feel the roots that he's grown near accustomed to shrinking back, freeing his lungs from the constant ache. He glances down just in time to watch the petals on the bed shrivel into nothing. They're gone. It's over.

Awsten looks back up at Geoff, hardly daring to believe his eyes. Geoff sees them disappear too, if the amazement on his face is any indication, and Awsten grins.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I'd be okay with that.”

He throws his arms around Geoff's shoulders, closing what little distance was left between them, and tugs him in for another kiss.

And maybe it's a strange one, but Awsten couldn't have asked for a better happy ending.