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Dream had never had anything against flowers before then.
Actually, he had rather liked them, before this.
But the universe had it out for him, and who was he to try and change fate?
He only wished he wasn’t this unlucky.
You know that little fluttery feeling you get in your chest, the one that tells you that perhaps a friendship is more than you thought, and that whoever you’re with means so much more to you than anyone else? Dream thought he did.
But that was before.
He and George were practising speedrunning, a month or two before they’d become as popular as they were now, and he’d be lying if he had said that he didn’t enjoy it.
He’d stumbled upon a flower forest biome (or whatever they were called, he really couldn’t remember) and grinned, unbeknownst to the other. Picking a few flowers, he ran back over to George, holding out one for him- a poppy. “I got you something,” he said, teasingly. George looked rather unimpressed with this.
“Dream, you know I can’t see red. That flower looks like literal shit.”
Dream pouted. “You don’t like my gift?” he sulked, before huffing. “Fine, I’ll go get Sapnap, I bet he’d appreciate it more than I would.”
“Wait, no, I didn’t- ugh, you are so annoying sometimes, Dream.”
He smiled, throwing the flower at George, who picked it up, the small noise emitted a blatant confirmation of this fact. They stood there for a moment, in that digital and yet natural garden, in a comfortable, friendly silence.
Dream then proceeded to ruin the moment by punching George and running off, much to the other’s protest as he followed, the poppy previously in his hand replaced by a stone sword.
He laughed, running through the woods and away from the other as the trees thickened- breaking a few leaves, he climbed up one and proceeded to run along the treetops, George running after him, hot on his heels. “Stop!” he whined. “Leave me alone!” George chuckled.
“You brought this on yourself, Dreamy~” he snickered, and Dream felt his stomach do a little flip at the nickname- giving him enough of a shock to break his concentration, letting George hit him to the ground. He blanched and just barely managed to MLG water and continue running, George muttering curses under his breath with his failure.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t’ get his mind off it- off of any of it, and so his concentration was weakened enough to a point where he couldn’t last much longer, falling to the steely and cold bite of George’s iron sword in his back, the red of the death screen proudly bearing the words ‘You died!’ in white text. Dream groaned. “You got lucky.”
A laugh that makes his heart clench and his stomach twist once more. “No, I didn’t. Admit it Dream, I’m just better than you~”
He felt the blood rushing to his face, a blush spreading, unbidden, over his cheeks. “Whatever.” He feels like there’s something more he should add, something he should say, but he doesn’t have the words to put his feelings into yet, and so he sighs. “Anyways, I’m going to log off now.”
“Already?”
“Shut up.”
“It’s only been…” There’s a pause, presumably because the Brit is checking his clock. “What, 3 hours?”
“Isn’t it 3 AM for you?”
An awkward silence.
It confirms his thoughts, though.
“Go to bed.”
“Ugh, fine, Dreamy.”
Dream chuckles, but it’s more strained than usual. Thankfully, George doesn’t seem to take note of this.
Perhaps he does not care.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
And with that, he exits the call, and his smile drops.
God. What is he doing? Is he sick? He thinks he might be.
Or, he could be…
No, that couldn’t be it, there’s no way he has a crush on his best friend.
Looking at the clock once more, he finds it to be 10:30. At night. A reasonable hour to sleep, he thinks, and so he does, without another thought.
Hopefully whatever illness he has would pass by the morning.
He didn’t know- no, really, he couldn’t have known how much worse it would be.
“Georgie, say it back~”
“No.”
“Please?”
Laughter. “No.”
“Come on, do it for the fans.”
“Fine, I-”
At that very moment, George’s internet crashed, logging him out of both Discord and Minecraft at once. Dream wheezed with laughter, but there was an ache in his heart, and he was beginning to realize what it meant.
Dream had heard of the infamous Hanakai Disease- rare and ethereal, but nobody had contracted it in literal forever, and so it wasn’t even believed to be real- over the decades it had been reduced to merely an angsty fanfiction trope among many others.
Dream thought himself a man of science, if naught else, and so it was really no surprise that he didn’t believe in it.
That was, of course, before he saw the first poppy, growing out of his chest, not even three weeks after the fateful day he had developed his little crush on a cute British guy across the sea from him. He looked at the beautiful little sprout, so small and so weak, his green eyes filling with horror as he realized what was going on.
No.
No no no no no.
This couldn’t be real, this had to be a nightmare-
He pulled on the flower, having not yet bloomed, and felt a shock of pain jolt through him. No.
His fate was sealed.
After all, George was straight, and so he was doomed to die with a broken heart.
...he couldn’t bring himself to log on to Minecraft that day, instead choosing to lie, hopeless and broken in bed.
He fell asleep, the free trial of death saving him from his increasingly depressing thoughts.
“Hey, Dream, look what I got you.”
He turned around, looking down at the brilliantly red poppy in the other’s hand. “Oh, nice,” he said, forcing the words past his lips as his own hand brushed his stomach, his neck, his chest, anywhere the aforementioned flowers sprouted from his own body. “For me?”
George nodded, approaching his avatar, and Dream’s heart fluttered- well, that was before the Brit scoffed, placing down some lava and throwing the poor flower in. “It’s payback, dumbass.”
Dream couldn’t repress the smile that rose to his face or the blush that did the same. “You’re mean,” he whined, the words coming more naturally now. “Why’d you do that?”
George snickered in response. “I already told you- it’s payback.”
It was then that Dream decided he had to do something before he died.
“Hey, George.”
“What?”
Dream felt the now-familiar sensation of heat rising to his cheeks to rest among the freckles already there, both of them fighting for dominance over his face. “I love you.”
George smiled wryly like he always did, and his heart fluttered once more, as a familiar reply came back. “Sure you do.”
The words stung like a knife, a cut running clean through his heart as the already fractured pieces shattered completely, and then were nothing more than dust gone to the winds.
He didn’t care.
He had had to say it, and so he did.
He just wished the other believed him.
Dream had gotten more careful- he had noticed that injuries caused more flowers to grow faster, and damn him if he wanted to live, but he refused to kill himself faster.
He didn’t leave the house at all anymore- he chalked it all up to the virus (and thankfully, he wasn’t pressed any further afterwards), instead ordering all of his groceries online and picking them up only when he was certain he wouldn’t be spotted.
For some strange reason, he didn’t want to be seen like this, in this heartbroken, depressed and dying state.
Hell, he didn’t want to be saved at all, by this point- he knew of his fate, and he was too tired of knowing of it to want to postpone it- to lengthen his agony of living.
So maybe, in a way, this was a mercy.
Dream had, due to no intent of his own, become disillusioned with life, the concept of suffering a well known one to him.
He was, to the outside world, a dead man already.
Day and night became mere concepts to him. He drifted through the days without paying attention, sleeping most of the time.
He was just so tired of this torture.
He was in so much pain that it was easier to sleep, to ignore it, to let his sickness spread further through his body.
One day, he was tired of being alone, so he logged onto Discord. He should have expected the barrage of messages. How long had it been? Three- maybe four- days? People might have begun to get worried.
Not even five minutes later, he received a group call- George and Sapnap. He accepted it, and his ears were immediately bombarded with relieved shouting.
“What’s going on?”
“Where were you, Dream?” It’s the first time he’s ever heard George this upset, this shaken by something that had ever happened before. Hell, he might even say that the Brit is genuinely angry with him, which is a terrifying thought. He’s so startled that the only sound able to escape him is the start of a sentence his mind never finished. “It’s been two weeks, we thought you were in the f--king hospital or something!”
It’s been two weeks.
“What? No, it hasn’t, it’s only been three days-”
George laughed, and yet it was devoid of humor, devoid of any real, human emotion. “Are you kidding?”
There is no response.
Dream didn’t have one.
George’s words played on repeat in his mind. It’s been two weeks.
Two weeks was a long time.
Two weeks was enough time for someone to die and be forgotten.
“I… George, I’m sorr-”
“Sorry doesn’t f--king cut it, Dream, you can’t just- just- just stop responding to us, do you know how much it hurts to think that your best friend-” -the words sting- “is dead? To think that he died with no explanation, and get- getting assaulted with emails and texts and donations asking where the f--k you are?!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize- I didn’t- I wouldn’t have-”
George’s breaths come quickly and unevenly as he pants, and this uncharacteristic outburst finished, he now felt a tinge of dullness inside of him. He’s still upset, and rightfully so, but he is relieved- so, so incredibly relieved that his friend isn’t gone.
Of course, this doesn’t mean that all is forgiven, but this does make it easier to rebuild. “Whatever,” is his response, and then a begrudging “I love you, Dream.”
Dream should have known better than to hope for something impossible, but George could make him do anything at this point, and he couldn’t stop himself, anyways.
He didn’t want to stop.
Even if it killed him.
It probably would.
Dream stared George in the eyes, although the smaller male couldn’t see him doing so. “You-” He broke out into violent coughing, and George frowned, his eyes filled with concern if you knew just where to look. Dream brought his hand to his mouth, coughing into it violently, his vision blurring. “God- dammit-” he choked out.
“Dream?”
After a while, he could breathe ‘properly’, and looked at his hand.
There were slightly damp flower petals.
He blanched.
No.
It had begun.
Dream darted through the trees, wheezing as he saw George’s and Sapnap’s pitiful attempts to catch up to him. “You’re never going to catch me,” he snickered, his voice cracking quite violently, as it tended to do nowadays, and he could hear George roll his eyes. “Keep believing that,” he replied, and Dream smirked. His body may be covered in poppies inside and out, but he was still able to play rather well.
Or so he thought, wincing- it was more of a flinch, really- as his hand suddenly spasmed and yanked his cursor sideways. He tumbled to the floor but kept running. F--k. His hand hurt, dammit. Sapnap jumped down after him, slicing through him a few times with his iron axe, and still he ran onwards.
It was published in the news.
Someone had contracted the rare hanahaki disease.
They had lived in Florida.
5 hearts left.
First name Clay, last name… well, that wasn’t important.
Dread it.
Run from it.
The fandom figured it out all the same.
An arrow found his back. He swore internally- of course they had a bow. He was shivering. He lived in Florida. Why was he cold?
Dream had stopped uploading.
They knew why.
3 hearts.
They weren’t stupid.
They could connect the dots.
Dream…
Clay…
He couldn’t breathe right anymore-
He groaned, head pounding, and just barely registered George asking him something. He went to respond, opening his mouth, gasping for air, but he was already out cold.
Sapnap had already reloaded and shot his arrow.
Dream was dead.
They had gotten their face reveal, but at what cost?
George opens his DMs, a week later, the sole purpose of the action to stare at a single message from Dream. His last one, in fact.
'I love you,' he'd said, a heartfelt confession.
If only he'd realized.
He should have known.
This was all his fault, and he'd spend the rest of his life beating himself up over it.
0 hearts.
You died!
Respawn
Exit game