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Peter never thought he’d have to experience it. Yet, here he is, hunched over his bathroom sink with bloody globs of flower petals falling from his lips. His chest ached as he heaved and gasped and sobbed, his body screaming for just a second of peace. He was trembling, his knuckles white from gripping the edges of the marble sink.
It started a few weeks before this incident. Peter had spent the day with you, messing around and playing ping pong and watching cheesy old sci-fi movies. Peter’s throat had been itching the entire day. It became harder to breathe for Peter with every brush of your skin against his. The first petals fell not long after you left, leaving Peter scared and confused. It wasn’t until Peter’s mother explained to him what was happening that he realized the gravity of the situation.
Peter was horrified, rightfully so. He had fallen helplessly in love with his best friend and it was slowly killing him. He tried to ignore it, he really did, but one way or another you’d pop into his mind and Peter would be thrust into a horrible coughing fit, spewing flowers across his bedroom floor. Peter couldn’t bring himself to confess his feelings to you, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to afford the surgery. He convinced himself that his feelings were one-sided and shallow, soon deciding that the pain of losing you was much worse than that of the plant growing in his lungs.
Peter was always good at hiding his pain, and this was no exception. He would bury the burning pain in his chest that he felt whenever he was around you. His mother and sisters saw his pain, and they cried and begged for him to take a chance. They didn’t want him to die. One look in Wanda’s tear-filled eyes made Peter understand that this wasn’t just about him– he needed to live for his little sisters.
That’s how he landed himself in his cramped bathroom, vomiting up an entire garden’s worth of petals. He tried to rehearse what he was going to say, but with every word came an onslaught of blood-covered flowers. Peter glanced at his reflection; his ghostly white skin covered in deep red blood, his eyes bloodshot and filled with tears, stray flower petals and leaves clinging to his blood-stained Nirvana t-shirt. He looked weak and hurt and broken but all he felt was an indescribable need for your warm, comforting touch. All he could do was cry as more petals forced their way up his throat and out of his mouth, blood splattering on the white marble on his bathroom floor. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t get the words out, hell, he could barely think about you without throwing up his guts. Peter resigned himself back in his room, laying defeated on his bed as he accepted his imminent death. Wanda, Lorena, and his mother weren’t home. He hated the idea of them finding his body like this, but at this point, he knew there was no other option. It was too late. Peter let his eyes flutter shut, and he did the only thing he could do at the moment; he thought of you.
He ignored the pain in his lungs as he thought of your smiling face and your glittering eyes. He disregarded his struggle to breathe as he thought about how it might feel to kiss you and how it would sound to call you his. Tears and blood and flower petals covered his bedsheets, but he didn’t care. His breathing was shallow and unsteady, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was ending his pain.
Peter’s eyes snapped open as a knock sounds at his door, your voice sounding from the other side of it.
“Peter? Are you in there?” Oh no. No, no, no, you can’t see him like this. Peter didn’t want you to see his weakness. He could hear you coughing on the other side of the door before you spoke again.
“Peter, I’m coming in. I really need to talk to you.” Your voice was hoarse and raspy. Peter couldn’t speak due to the plant in his throat, but he could move just enough to wipe the blood off his mouth. He sat in silence as you opened the basement door. Peter barely looked at you for a second before his lungs lurched, causing him to cough up a handful of petals. You were over to him in a second, gently stroking his back as he spluttered. His cheeks burned in shame. He felt pathetic. Your eyes looked pained as you gazed at him sadly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he tried to respond, but his words were caught on vines and rosebuds. “Who, Peter?” You ask quietly, and your eyes are torn away from his as you cough up a few petals of your own. His eyes widen.
“Who are you in love with, Peter?” Here you were, sitting next to him literally asking for him to confess and he still couldn’t bring himself to admit it. He’d rather die than lose you. He didn’t stop to realize that he was losing you either way. At least now he knows he’d be rejected– you’ve got hanahaki, too. You're in love with someone- hopefully they love you back. He would hate to see you in pain any longer.
You take his tear-stained face in your hands, your eyes pouring into his. You can see it in his eyes– he loves you. Within seconds your lungs cleared up, a fresh breath of air filling your chest. Peter’s lungs are still painfully stuffed with plants. He chokes on leaves as he desperately tries to breathe. Panic sets in as you try to cure his illness.
“Peter, I’m in love with you.” Peter doesn’t believe you. He thinks you’re lying to keep him alive. His chest tightens; the disease won’t go away unless he believes that you love him. He's dying right then and there. You gently wipe his bloody lips with your thumbs before you slam your lips against his. What little breath Peter had left was gone, but at the same time the bush in his lungs reseeded and shrank until it was completely gone. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Peter could breathe.
You pull away, resting your forehead on Peter’s as he gasps for breath. His eyes fill with tears as he cries quietly. You pull him close and run your hands through his silver hair, letting him sob into your shoulder. Peter looked death in the eyes and accepted it. He was so scared of rejection and abandonment that he was willing to die to avoid it. You hated that. you hated yourself for not seeing it sooner, for letting Peter’s suffering slip right under your nose. Peter slowly moved away from you, his eyes red and puffy. His breathing was hesitant and unsure as if he was waiting for the petals to return.
“Peter,” you say softy. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” He sniffled.
“For not telling you sooner, for not seeing that you were in pain, I–” he cuts you off.
“Hanahaki is scary, but love is scarier.” he says. “I hid from you, I fought back my pain so you wouldn’t see it. It’s not your fault.” His voice breaks slightly, but a small smile grows on his face.
“I guess you really… take my breath away.” He chuckles weakly, pulling you into his chest as he lays down on his bed. He glances sadly at the discarded petals on the floor. You pick on up slowly, examining it closely before crushing it in your hand. You turn to Peter and gently place a kiss on his cheek. He sighs in comfort before removing his blood soaked shirt and returning to his place next to you. Your hand gently caresses his pale chest, causing Peter to shiver slightly.
“Peter?” you whisper
“Yeah?”
“I love you.” Peter smiles before pressing a kiss to your head.
“Trust me, I know, and I love you too.”