Chapter Text
This was not the best idea, you realised. In hindsight, maybe you should have prepared for this eventuality but unfortunately it wasn’t something included in Diavolo’s opening speech. You mentally kicked yourself as you stared at the petals in your hand, biting back at the bile in your throat. What were you going to do? It’s not like you could hide it successfully (for very long, at least) and it’s not exactly like you could confess. You knew what would happen, you were only human after all. Regardless it didn’t matter; you were coughing up blood and flower stems and there was nothing to be done about it.
You tried to make it through the day, you really did. But the hacking cough only got worse the more you thought about it. So you tried to ignore it. That worked for a week and a bit, but eventually the petals made their way into your hand again. And again. A familiar pain blossomed in the space between your ribs as you tried to choke back tears and stems. Laboured breaths tore through your crowded lungs as you gasped for air around the plants. This was the biggest load yet. The incessant nature of it all had torn your throat up and you stared in horror, recoiling as you realised there was blood coating this new batch. Sighing, you leaned back as a tickle started at the back of your throat again. This was going to be a long night you realised.
Things had only gotten worse from there. You couldn’t sleep because anytime you lay down you could feel a new flower head try to come up. You couldn’t sit up because then you wouldn’t fall asleep. You couldn’t do anything through the blinding pain which felt like it had crawled into the darkness of your lungs and made a home. Sobs wracked your body as you tried to stifle the newest protrusion, choking slightly when it got to be too much. Your body spasmed as it forced what felt to be a tangled bunch of flowers up your windpipe. Crying out you threw them away from you, disgusted with the blood drenched bunch. If only you hadn’t been so…human. So drawn to these creatures like a moth to a flame. It was laughable, really, you thought as you bit back a laugh, biting down on a stray petal. You stood, shakily at first, but with growing confidence. Gathering the flowers, broken stems and tangled roots, you laughed to yourself as you threw them in the bin, hoping that you could quell your aching lungs and heart.
An alarm blared, there was a banging noise and raised voices right by your door. Sitting up, you wiped the small line of dried blood from your chin. You looked down at your pillow and nearly screamed in horror. It was covered in petals and the broken heads of flowers. Tears starting again, you flipped your pillow, and fumbled to turn your alarm off. You anxiously checked your face in the mirror as the banging on your door became more insistent. In your sleep deprived state you could only make out snippets, “know you’re awake”, “open the door”, “heard you coughing all last night”. Your heart drops at that one and you try to ignore the rising sense of fear and nausea. Something is at the back of your throat again. Is it words? Is it your unspoken cry for attention? For love? Oh, no its just more flowers. You can tell it’s getting worse as every time you cough you can feel a tugging inside your lungs. With a now crescendo of fear you realise they’re rooting. Just like how the roots of your ill-fated favouritism grew into something much more poisonous and deadly for you, so were the roots of (what you now found to be) a mocking reminder of your unworthiness of their affection. Why were you so fallible? Why couldn’t your little heart understand that this wasn’t some school yard crush where you could get your heart broken and recover. Sighing, you smoothed your hair and opened the door.