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i. THE FIRST MONTH.
Purple aster. They’re Namjoon’s favorite. (Of course they’re Namjoon’s favorite.)
Why the fuck is he coughing up Namjoon’s favourite flower? He doesn’t know. Perhaps he doesn't want to know. He doesn’t. Not really. Scientifically, there is no proof that the flower a victim of Hanahaki Disease coughs up has to be their love interest’s favorite. But it happens often. And it’s usually the case.
He’s fucked.
Purple aster. Tiny, thin petals. They remind him of daisies. Smaller than his pinky’s nail. So small. But deadly.
Yoongi pauses. Looks up from the three tiny, purple aster petals contrasting against the white porcelain of his bathroom sink. (He should wash them down the drain. Or throw them out. Into the garbage, or out of a window. It doesn’t matter.) He looks up and he can see his glossy eyes, the dark rings underneath, and his unwashed hair in the mirror.
He looks down again. Stares at the petals as if they’re going to either disappear or burn up if he concentrates hard enough. They probably won’t. Of course they won’t. But what if this is all just a strange nightmare he’s having? What if he’s just going to wake up in a few minutes?
But deep down, Yoongi knows he’s not dreaming. He’s not going to just wake up. This is real. Too real, honestly.
Yoongi’s coughing up petals from Namjoon’s favourite flower. A lot of people can like blue cosmos flowers , he thinks. Tries to be positive for once— but it doesn’t make any sense and he can’t really breathe anymore.
ii. THE SECOND MONTH.
“Hey, Yoongs.”
Seokjin’s relaxed greeting is what pulls Yoongi out of his mind. The older places to porcelain cups containing hot, steaming coffee on the round, dark wooden table before promptly sitting down in the armchair in front of him, a big smile on his face. Seokjin hangs his bright pink padded jacket over the armrest and pulls one of the cups closer to his side of the table.
They’re sitting in Jimin and Taehyung’s coffee shop, where it’s like Christmas has already begun (despite it only being November), three weeks since his... attack? (Whatever he’s supposed to call furiously and pathetically coughing up flower petals at three A.M.)
The walls are covered in paintings and art projects made by Taehyung and his boyfriend Jeongguk. Curtains are not only hanging in front of the big windows, but also covering the walls. Thin cotton whites (almost transparent) and rich velvet reds — a perfect combination. There’s small round tables placed all over the place but still it manages to look precise. The chairs have blankets hanging over the backrest, as well.
Along the walls, rectangular tables and couches with soft pillows with Christmas colors are placed. Further back there’s an area with both small tables, sofas and armchairs surrounded by bookshelves.
And in the center of it all, at the counter, the two smiling boys owning the coffee shop are standing and taking care of customers. Taehyung and Jimin. Taehyung’s brown hair is in a mullet (it’s really grown a lot these past months) and he has his rectangular smile on display. Jimin’s colored his hair pink recently, Yoongi notices. Yes, pink . But his crescent eyes still shine like stars, greeting each and every customer with joy.
The two of them looks like either brothers, boyfriends, or soulmates. Yoongi honestly couldn’t tell the first time he saw them. But, now, he knows that Taehyung already has a boyfriend, shy little Jeongguk, and Jimin would never interfere with their relationship.
(Though, they are soulmates. No doubt.)
The counter is, as always, filled with baked goods: blueberry muffins, brownies, carrot cakes and chocolate chip cookies. All the kinds of sweets. A smaller bowl containing different kinds of candy is placed on the side with a piece of paper reading “TAKE ONE, IT’S FREE”. Both Taehyung and Jimin are kind enough to think about the people without money who might still want a taste of sweetness in their life. (Or, when Yoongi thinks about it, they might be for kids.)
Yoongi rips his eyes away from the two young owners when he hears Seokjin trying to bring him out of his head. Again. And when Yoongi doesn’t answer nor takes what he supposes is his own cup Seokjin drops his smile and puts on his “motherly” look (that’s what Taehyung and Jimin call it, at least).
“Yoongi, you’re gonna tell me what’s bothering you or else I’m bringing Tae to physically squeeze it out of you,” Seokjin says with a stern voice, clearly not taking any bullshit. Which might’ve been what Yoongi was planning to say.
He’s always been like that. Taking his emotions and shoving them down somewhere deep back in his mind where he can forget they exist. It’s much easier than actually dealing with them.
Yoongi sighs and locks eyes with the older. “Just tired, Jin-hyung, ’s all.” Seokjin doesn’t seem to buy it. “Promise.”
“ Yoongi ,” he says instead. Dragging it out, as if he’s complaining. “Are you sure?”
“ Yes! ” Yoongi breathes out. He’s gotta admit that while, yes, it’s nice to have a hyung that takes care of him and makes sure he’s not going to accidentally kill himself, it gets annoying when they try to help all the time. Yoongi’s an adult. He can take care of himself.
Finally, Seokjin drops it. He puts on his smile again, picks up his cup of coffee, and pushes the other cup towards Yoongi.
“Is it—” Yoongi doesn’t even get to complete his question before Seokjin interrupts him.
“Yes, an iced americano without sugar or cream or... well, anything but ice. I’ve memorised that order by now, I thought you knew that.” Seokjin adds the last part with a teasing tone, making Yoongi scoff.
He picks up the cup, anyway.
At the sight of the white porcelain in his hand the memory of the three purple aster petals contrasting against the white of his sink resurfices. It’s like the image is burned into his retina. He can’t forget it. Can’t close his eyes, because it’s there. Tiny, thin, purple petals. Aster. Namjoon’s favourite flower. The words Hanahaki Disease ringing in his ears. It’s there and it isn’t going away .
The worst part is that while purple aster is Namjoon’s favourite flower, Yoongi can’t imagine himself being in love with the younger. Sure, Namjoon is smart and kind-looking with his dimpled smile and thick glasses, but Yoongi’s only talked to the guy a few times. They first got to know each other when Jimin and Taehyung’s coffee shop opened about three months ago and Seokjin decided to drag Yoongi’s sleep-deprived ass there. Because Seokjin (that fucker) is a social butterfly at heart and loves to meet new people. He’s the opposite of Yoongi.
How can he be in love with someone he barely knows?
He’s already critical to the whole “falling in love”-thing, not to mention dying because of unrequited love, and now he’s supposedly fallen in love with a guy at first sight, or something? No, Yoongi doesn’t believe in that shit. It sounds like a sad, romantic movie. Something Seokjin would watch at midnight just to cry over the obvious plot.
And that’s why he doesn’t tell anyone. Not Seokjin. Not Taehyung or Jimin. Absolutely not Namjoon. Because if it were serious, he’d know. If it’s really Hanahaki, Yoongi would’ve noticed the signs of having even the slightest feelings for Namjoon. It has to be something else. The Hanahaki Disease is a new condition, after all. The first outbreak in Japan was just two years ago. They can’t possible know everything about it—
“You’re zoning out again.”
Yoongi blinks a few times before lifting his head, looking into Seokjin’s worried eyes. The older seems to favour that expression around Yoongi. At least the last month or so, ever since the whatever-the-fuck-you’re-supposed-to-call-it — yeah.
“I’m tired,” Yoongi says, trying to make his tone relaxed and calm. Trying to forget about the petals now laying somewhere deep into the trash can in the kitchen. Trying to forget about the facts and the what if ’s. “I told you before, hyung. I didn’t sleep last night and now I’m feelin’ shitty. It’s normal, y’know.”
“ Yoongi ,” Seokjin warns. It’s harder to convince him this time.
Yoongi puts the porcelain cup back onto the wooden table and lifts his hands in surrender. “I promise, hyung, it’s nothing .”
Seokjin sighs, placing his own cup down and burrowing his face in his hands. He mumbles something like “I give up” before looking up and taking a breath.
“Fine,” he breathes out, frustrated. “You win. Hurray, congratulations . You can keep your fuckin’ problems to yourself, then.”
Seokjin’s probably tired of Yoongi’s habit to close up and never talk about difficult things. It’s always like that. Yoongi feeling down, Seokjin trying to help, Yoongi not wanting any help, Seokjin becoming frustrated— it goes on and on and on. But he can’t really help it. It’s a self defence mechanism. From what, he doesn’t know. (Not quite , anyway.)
Yoongi chooses not to continue the conversation, instead picking up his cup of coffee and taking two big sips. If only it was an alcoholic drink. He could use some alcohol right now.
iii. THE THIRD MONTH.
The pain in his chest is insufferable. In his lungs. The are flowers growing and digging their roots into his membrane. Making themselves at home. With each breath he takes he can feel a stem tickling in his esophagus.
It’s honestly mostly annoying at this point. Yoongi’s used to being tired and exhausted all the time, so it’s nothing new. This feels like a classic Bad Day™. The only difference is that he doesn’t feel like ceasing to exist. He just wants the pain to go away. This fucking pain . And it’s not just the flowers. The roots and the stems. Not just the feeling of wanting to cough every goddamn second only to find that the stem in his throat isn’t going to be removed.
The flower petals don’t even come up that easily. A few times a day he’ll cough up a handful and toss them in the garbage bin. (He throws the bag in the chute way too often, but it’s okay. Seokjin hasn’t noticed yet.)
It’s the feeling of— fuck.
It’s just annoying.
That’s all.
It’s not how he’s now thinking about Namjoon all the time. Not that he is. Just a little. When the flowers come up from the depths of his lungs. Not as soon as he moves and the pain strikes. Not with every breath. Just— sometimes. A few times.
Anyway, he’s thinking a little bit about Namjoon because of this. What might be the cause of this. It can’t be love. It just can’t. Yoongi may not have been in love before, but he’s sure that it isn’t supposed to be like this. Feel like this. Look like this. Everyone always says that you know when you love someone. You might not realize it right away but in some way you just know . And Yoongi doesn’t just know . He’s fucking confused.
Sure, the younger’s pretty cute. Yoongi knows some facts about him (thanks to Seokjin and his twenty-nine-questions game. Don’t ask why he’s asking nine extra questions. It’s Seokjin, who the fuck knows?). Like the whole favourite flower shit.
Namjoon’s into music production, just like Yoongi. That’s a thing they have in common. He raps too, just like Yoongi. (His stage name is RM. It stands for Real Me.) He’s one year younger than Yoongi. Born on September 12th 1994. He’s got a little sister who’s Jeongguk’s age (born ‘97). He can speak English (taught himself). He likes the number one. He’s really clumsy. He’s from Ilsan. Moved to Seoul for work. Like Yoongi did.
And, of course, his favourite flower is purple aster.
Namjoon’s favourite flower is purple aster and that flower is the one growing inside of Yoongi’s lungs. Purple aster petals are the ones he can taste the bitterness of and smell the sweetness of. (Why does flowers smell sweet but taste bitter?)
Purple aster. What does that even mean? The flower. Or the name. Both.
According to Google the word “aster” comes from the latin word for star. The flower symbolize wisdom and royalty.
Isn’t that fucking ironic? The star-part he gets. It’s looks like a star. But wisdom? What’s so wise about a flower looking like a star? Not to mention how Yoongi’s ended up with said flower. It’s growing in his lungs and he’s just sitting on his ass wondering how he got here. Where he took a wrong turn. When it all started to spiral.
He’s losing his mind, isn’t he?
Fuck it.
iv. THE FOURTH MONTH.
“Hey, Jin-hyung!”
The voice practically bursts his eardrums. Is it legal to scream like that? Can he file a report or something? To get peace around here? Yoongi’s too busy burrowing his aching and pounding head in his arms to listen to any sort of sound. Anything above, like, 5 decibel makes his vision go white. He’s probably bleeding with how hard he’s biting his lip. Doesn’t wanna accidentally cuss someone out and get banned from the café. (It’s happened. Don’t ask.)
Yoongi raises his head a bit to see what’s happening. This incredibly, annoyingly high voice is (of fucking course) Namjoon. The guy Yoongi’s been trying to avoid the last few months. The younger is racing towards his and Seokjin’s table at a speed that’s got to be above some limit. Especially with how clumsy Namjoon is.
(Why is Yoongi so fucking obsessed with the law?)
“Hey, Joon-ah,” Seokjin replies with a (thankfully) lower voice. He’s aware of Yoongi’s painful headache and gave him a painkiller that’s just not working, despite Yoongi taking it an hour ago. “Come sit with us.”
Namjoon slows down when he approaches their table, almost knocking over Yoongi’s third cup of coffee, and then giving both of them a huge smile.
He looks kinda cute, actually. Wait—
“Hello there, Jin-hyung. Yoongi-ssi.” A nod is given in his direction and Yoongi replies with a grunt, going back to suffocating himself with his arms. “It’s been long! Why haven’t you’ve been coming to the shop?”
Yeah, right. Yoongi’s getting worse quickly and he doesn’t need Seokjin finding out about whatever the fuck he’s supposed to call it. He’s not going to say it’s Hanahaki. He’s not. He can’t just— have that. Hanahaki. Yeah.
Anyway, Yoongi’s worsening state includes headaches (just as painful as this one), having a hard time breathing (but he’s always been lazy, so), being cold as an ice cube (but that’s kinda normal), looking like a dead man because his body’s tired but he can’t fall asleep with the pain in his chest (also kinda normal), and constantly coughing. Often there’s not flower petals, but they’re getting more frequent. It’s okay, though. It is.
So, in conclusion, Yoongi gotta hide it from Seokjin by faking something that perfectly matches the symptoms: a cold! And maybe lung inflammation if it gets worse! Then pneumonia!
This plan of his backfired a bit when Seokjin insisted he’d take care of Yoongi by staying home more often and giving him ginger tea, blankets and tissues. At least he can hide the petals underneath the mountain of tissue paper in his garbage can.
And this is the reason for why Seokjin’s not spending that much time in the coffee shop, despite his eternal love for coffee and people. (A social butterfly at heart.) Something in Yoongi stirs at that. The fact that Seokjin would abandon the things he enjoy doing just do take care of stupid Yoongi who got his heart twisted and lungs poisoned, then lied about it. It doesn’t feel right. He tastes something other than the bitterness of flowers in the back of his mouth. It’s guilt.
When Yoongi peeks out again Seokjin smiles at Namjoon and gives Yoongi a warm look. “Oh, Yoonie here got sick,” he says slowly and with a pout on his lips, brows ridiculously furrowed. It looks like he’s talking to a baby. “And he’s got a headache because of caffeine withdrawal so I dragged him out here so I would get one peaceful second without hearing him complain.”
That whole sentence was said with the same voice. Slow and explaining as if Yoongi was a fucking baby.
“Oh my god, hyung,” he says and bends down his head again.
Yoongi can hear Namjoon’s muffled giggling. He’s probably trying to suppress it with a hand or something.
“Don’t worry,” Seokjin whispers loudly, obviously knowing that Yoongi can hear him. “He’s just shy!”
And now, ladies and gentlemen and everything in between, Kim Seokjin is officially on his People-Who-I-Am-Going-To-Kill-Sooner-Or-Later-(Sleep-With-One-Eye-Open-Bitches)-List.
v. THE FIFTH MONTH.
Yoongi’s going crazy, most likely. That’s the only explanation for this.
He’s researching Valentine’s Day traditions and the meaning behind giving loved ones flowers. Yeah. It’s actually helpful, which’s the worst part. Probably.
It’s about how a Saint called Valentine gave the people he wed hand-picked flowers. He’s apparently behind that tradition. He’s heard about it before in school. He’s always been like okay, that makes sense, when’s lunch but now he’s really thinking about it. What if this Hanahaki Disease thing existed before? Scientists are researching previous outbreaks in ancient history to see if unrequited love and flowers were mentioned. They haven’t told the public anything yet, but there’s a bunch of theories online.
There’s one Yoongi likes the most. It’s about a boy who loved. But his love was not returned. And so, the boy’s heart decided to mourn by growing a garden of his love’s favourite flower inside of his broken body and hoping that’d the boy’s love would see it and fall in love. A beautiful Oleander flower bloomed deep within his lungs, roots digging into the membrane. But the Oleander flower is poisonous. It killed the boy.
The flower was so strong, so powerful, that even after the boy’s death it continued to grow from the corpse and through the earth, turning into a big Oleander tree. And years later, the boy’s love walks by the Oleander tree and does fall in love, just as the boy’s heart had hoped.
Even though it’s just a story, Yoongi likes the thought of eternal love. If it’s enough to kill you then it shouldn’t just end at your death. It should continue for ever and ever. Proof that while love is beautiful and lasting it also holds pain. And the dark irony of how the boy had to kill himself before his love noticed his efforts.
The boy only tried to become beautiful. He died so that he’d become beautiful in someone else’s eyes.
Somehow Yoongi likes the thought of that as well. He wants to become beautiful in Namjoon’s eyes too. If I grow a garden of purple asters in my lungs, will he think of me as beautiful? Will he fall in love at first sight?
It’s been five months since the first petals climbed up his esophagus. Five months since this mess was dropped on top of his life. Five months since he started lying to Seokjin about bigger things than his depression. Five months since everything cracked and fell apart, slowly. Since Yoongi started to fall in love with Namjoon.
Actually— Yoongi doesn’t remember when he fell in love with Namjoon. Perhaps he never did.
Perhaps he’s fooling himself to believe. Yoongi wouldn’t know. He’s never been in love. He’s had a few interests and a handful of kisses in his life, but he’s never been in love . Love is seen as a word that should be written with a capital L. Or maybe just all capital letters. LOVE. Like that. Love’s been written about since... forever. Everybody talks about it. Almost everybody knows what it is.
Love’s become an aesthetic, almost. Heartbreak, too. The feeling of loving and not being loved back. Unrequited love, Love, LOVE. However you should write it. People write about an echoing emptiness inside of one’s chest. They say their heart hurts with grief. A hole that their love left behind when their significant other (what a stupid fucking thing to call them) left.
But they never write about cracked ribs. They never say that their lungs hurt from growing roots. There’s no hole, there’s no room for a hole. There’s just flowers and flowers and flowers.
Heartbreak and unrequited love isn’t about emptiness or metaphors or holes. It’s about not being able to breathe and avoiding everyone because you’re afraid of what they’re going to say and not wanting to eat or sleep or do anything but lay still and wait for death. Wait to finally, finally become beautiful.
Heartbreak and unrequited love is choking on flower petals and having stems in your throat and underneath your tongue.
Heartbreak and unrequited love is Hanahaki Disease.
And it’s not nearly as pretty as everyone pictures it to be. (Not until your corpse is rotting underneath the ground and your flowers grow to be more beautiful than your body ever could become.)
vi. THE SIXTH MONTH.
They’re in the coffee shop again. This time Seokjin has dragged another poor soul to their table in the back. Yoongi got to pick the spot this time because he’s been looking more and more like a walking dead body and Seokjin’s probably just pitying him. But it’s okay. It’s fine. Yoongi can look like a walking dead body now because he’s not done yet. He’s gonna be beautiful. Soon. But first he has to wait. He has to crumble. Break apart. He’s gotta look like a dead body before he can become beautiful (in Namjoon eyes).
Said poor soul is a dance major at the same UNI as Taehyung and Jimin by the name of Hoseok. The guy’s the same age as Namjoon (born ‘94) and is struggling to choose how he’s supposed to address Yoongi. (“Uh, hi Yoongi— Yoongi-sunbae-nim? Or—uh—maybe Yoongi-ssi? Hyung? God, Hoseok, wow just ask to call him hyung like a completely normal person— ”) Eventually Yoongi just said “call me hyung” to make him shut up.
“So, Yoongi- hyung , what do you do?” Hoseok asks with his sunshine smile and overly happy aura. Yoongi can feel a headache grow in the back of his mind. Tries to ignore it.
Yoongi shrugs. “I work at a convenience store night shift but now I’m on sick leave because of my pneumonia. And no, it’s not contagious.”
He’s been over the whole “it’s just a cold” and later the “I’ve got lung inflammation, but the doctors say I’m fine as long as I rest” and just used the pneumonia excuse. His last one. But he’s just got a few more months. It could happen at any time now.
He would become beautiful at last.
While Hoseok is drawing on about how he’s also working night, but at some other restaurant or bar or something (Yoongi’s not really listening), Yoongi shifts his gaze to Namjoon only to notice that the younger’s already got his eyes on him.
And Namjoon looks at him. Really, really looks at him. Yoongi can’t help but feel as if Namjoon just stripped him of his skin and saw all of his secrets. Opened up his flower infested lungs and just— observed the mess inside. Stared until he knew every edge and corner of his simple body, until Yoongi had nothing left to hide away.
(Are you going to fall apart in front of all your friends?)
Namjoon stares at him so intensely that Yoongi’s got to look away. But the burning of the stare remains.
Yoongi can’t help but think about how he’s looking. Unwashed, black hair. Dark circles underneath his red eyes. Hollow cheeks and almost rotten teeth. He looks dead. (Almost wishes he was.) But Yoongi’s gotta wait. Just a little bit longer. Then he can become beautiful for an eternity and get some rest. Sleep.
Just a little bit longer.
Just—
Just a little time.
vii. THE SEVENTH MONTH.
“Please go away, Namjoon,” Yoongi says in a strained whisper. His chest hurts. His throat aches. His eyes burn. He’s not beautiful yet.
“Why?” Namjoon questions with a raise of his eyebrow. Always asking questions he doesn’t— shouldn’t —want to know the answer to.
What’s Yoongi supposed to say?
You’re killing me. That’s why.
No, he won’t tell Namjoon. Because if he tell Namjoon then everything he’s done for the past six months would’ve been for nothing. The lying and hiding. Making up excuses. Telling everyone he’s sick or tired or— anything but in love with someone who doesn’t love him back. Anything but coughing up flower petals. Anything but trying to avoid the person he’s apparently in love with. Anything but the truth.
And if Yoongi tells Namjoon then he’d feel guilty. That’s the kind of person Namjoon is. He’d feel guilty because Yoongi couldn’t keep his emotions in check. Because Yoongi isn’t beautiful yet.
Suddenly Yoongi is imagining Namjoon crying and apologising. Over and over again. “I’m sorry, Yoongi-hyung, for not being able to love you back.” His dimples disappearing as his lips are tugged into a deep frown. Eyebrows pulled together. Eyes filling with tears. Those warm, brown eyes. All shiny and glittering and so— sad .
Then Yoongi is imagining Namjoon screaming at him. “Yoongi-hyung, why couldn’t you just become beautiful for me? You know I love purple aster flowers. Why couldn’t you become beautiful?” And that hurts. In his chest. The roots and stems tremble and it hurts a lot.
As Yoongi’s eyes start to fill with tears he lets out a frustrated cry.
“Oh my god, Namjoon, just fuckin’ leave me alone! I don’t need you fuckin’— caring, or some shit like that. I can take care of myself! I don’ need you n’ I don’ need anyone .” Yoongi’s practically screaming at the younger, tongue twisting and stumbling over the words ripped from his chest. His bottled-up sadness coming out all at once is turning into anger.
Namjoon doesn’t blink. His expression is switching from confused to concerned to pitiful and then just unreadable. Is it because Yoongi’s not beautiful yet?
“Hyung,” he says in a sigh, trying to sound assuring and knowing but there’s a small crack in his resolve. Something off about his tone. He’s hesitating. “I know you don’t mean that.”
And Yoongi— he just can’t. It feels like his skin is unravelling. Like the twisting knot in his mind is loosening. Like there’s a single frayed thread keeping him and his shit together. It’s going to break. He’s going to break.
Yoongi shakes his head. He backs away slowly from Namjoon who’s taken a few steps forward. Then he turns around and runs.
He’s not ready yet. He’s not okay yet. He’s not beautiful yet.
(He’s not dead yet.)
viii. THE EIGHTH MONTH.
It’s time.
Yoongi’s head is echoing empty. There’s static in the back of his mind instead of those awful headaches he used to get.
It’s time now. It’s okay now. He can leave now.
He’s gonna become beautiful now.
Namjoon’s on his way. Yoongi just sent him a text. ( “hey joon come over, i wanna show u somethin” ) Namjoon answered that he was excited. Wondering what his hyung’s gonna show him. He’s gonna be so surprised. So happy. He’s gonna fall in love.
Finally, finally, finally it’s time.
Yoongi’s in the bathtub. He doesn’t wanna leave any stains. It’s also more beautiful if the crimson purple can contrast against the white of the tub just like those three first petals. It’s been so long since that day. The day Yoongi fell in love with Namjoon. Because he knows now that this is love. True love. He’s in love.
He’s in love and Namjoon might not love him yet but when he sees what Yoongi’s been growing for him the last eight months he’s gonna be so happy. He’s gonna fall in love at first sight. Just like Yoongi did. Namjoon’s gonna look at the crimson purple staining the white and smile and say “it’s beautiful.”
Yoongi’s been growing a garden of flowers in his lungs. Purple aster. They’re Namjoon’s favorite.
Yoongi takes a breath and picks up the knife he sharpened a few minutes ago laying on the edge of the bathtub. The sound resonates and echoes against the bare walls. His shirt is somewhere on the tiles. Soon his crimson purple will be too.
At first it hurts. But he’s used to it.
Pressing the knife to the skin. Digging the metal into the flesh. Slowly carving a hole. Somewhere in the bloody mess Yoongi can see his ribs flash white. His fingers are curling around the bone to crack them open. To reach inside towards his vital organs. His lungs. His flower-infested lungs. His garden.
Blood is pouring out of the wound. The static in the back of his mind spreads. It’s in his eyes now. He can barely see.
Is Yoongi beautiful yet? No. He’s gotta go deeper.
And deeper he goes.
Yoongi pushes the knife into his chest until there’s a knock on his door and a voice yelling hyunghyunghyung . It’s Namjoon and he’s yelling hyunghyunghyung . Eventually light floods the bathroom and Yoongi smiles.
“D’you think ‘m beautiful yet?” Yoongi mumbles as the static in his vision grows to black spots. His head is hurting a bit. Hands shaking. His chest really, really hurts. It’s on fire. “Joon m’ beautiful right?”
No response.
“Flowers. Purple aster. They’re— yours.”
The static is overwhelming. It’s like the end of a video on VHS. The static blurring and making it difficult to think.
(Yoongi can’t tell if he’s the one screaming or if that’s Namjoon.)
ix. THE NINTH MONTH.
Yoongi woke up in the hospital nine days ago.
He woke up to a beeping machine controlling his heart’s steady beating and a clamp on his finger. There was a tube in his throat and he couldn’t breathe on his own. His chest ached again. Always aching.
Everything was bright and white. White walls, white ceiling, white sheets. Yoongi didn’t like it. He wanted it to be tainted by his crimson purple again. But the flowers in his lungs were still. The stem in his throat and underneath his tongue were missing. The headache gone. (The heartache gone.)
Yoongi got to meet Namjoon seven days ago.
Namjoon was crying. Yoongi thinks he was too, but can’t remember. He was pumped full of painkillers and antidepressants and shit. Medicine for the wound on his chest. Apparently he couldn’t get to his lungs before he passed out from the blood loss. Doctors were able to keep him stable, but removed the stems in his throat to be able to intubate. He couldn't breathe on his own.
Namjoon cried and said he was sorry just like Yoongi had predicted all those months ago. Guilt was apparent in his eyes. But Yoongi was only confused, not mad. “Why didn’t you like my flowers?” he questioned. Namjoon only cried harder.
Yoongi was visited by Seokjin four days ago.
The older never left his side after that. He cried too. This time Yoongi remembers himself crying a few tears as well. Tears that said I missed you and I’m sorry, hyung and it wasn’t your fault . Seokjin cried tears of I missed you and I’m sorry, Yoons and why didn’t I notice?
(Now that he thinks about it, Namjoon might’ve cried tears that said I was so scared that you’d died and why the fuck would you do that? and please, please, please . What he begged for Yoongi couldn’t possibly know.)
Yoongi’s parents never showed. But his other friends did. Taehyung and Jimin did, together with Jeongguk. Even Hoseok came. They didn’t cry. They only smiled. Smiles that said you’re strong enough to pull through and that was enough.
In a way, that was enough. Because for Yoongi nothing had ever been enough. But this was— that. Enough.
Yeah.
(His awkwardness with words is returning with each day.)
x. THE NEW BEGINNING.
Yoongi doesn’t remember when he fell in love with Namjoon. Perhaps he never did.
He’ll never really know. That’s love, probably. Love isn’t just heartbreak and one-sided. It’s not just Hanahaki Disease. Love is happiness and sadness. Freedom and prison. Tears and laughter. Fake and real. Love is love—Love. LOVE. (Whatever.)
Yoongi wrote a song. He named it Fake Love. He might not ever show it to anyone. Not even Namjoon. Though the younger helped him with the lyrics. After a while of Yoongi being in the hospital they talked. Namjoon didn’t love Yoongi the way Yoongi loved Namjoon. But that’s good. That’s okay. Because Yoongi loved Namjoon in a fake way. He won’t say he loved Namjoon wrong, but that’s also okay.
“You gotta learn to love, hyung,” Namjoon said one time. The younger’s got a habit of throwing out poetic and pretty sentences just out of the blue sometimes. But you gotta love him for it. “Not just other, but yourself, too. Don’t forget, Yoongi-hyung. Okay? Learn to love yourself first.”
And he might not know how to just yet, but he’ll learn. Yoongi will learn.
xi. FAKE LOVE.
I grew a flower that can’t be bloomed in a dream that can’t come true.
I changed everything, just for you.
But I don't know me, who are you?
Mold a pretty lie for you.
Try to erase myself and make me your doll.
You say I’m unfamiliar, changed into the one you used to like.
You say I’m not myself which you knew well.
No? What do you mean no?
I’m blind.
Love? What the heck is love?
It’s all fake love.