Archive of Our Own

A gentle warming sensation in the back of his throat, a subtle spice lingering on his tongue, a bitter, floral aroma that pervaded his sense of smell. These are the things that first had Shouto suspicious of something being wrong. A meeting with his family doctor provided no results, so he took to chewing on minty gum and peppermint candies to try and keep the resulting nausea at bay. 

Then came the itching, the tickling in the back of his throat that no matter how frequently he drank water, wouldn't disappear. Was it harder to breathe? Or was he imagining it? Summertime in Japan is hot and humid, so perhaps he's just failing at self-regulation. 

Not wanting to bother his classmates, he's kept this to himself for almost six months now. Over this time things had gradually gotten worse, but he could get over the taste enough to eat and push through the difficulty breathing. He'd endured much worse in many ways, so it wasn't an issue. 

When the coughs started it was no different. Maybe allergies, or a seasonal cold? Peppermint candies were traded for medicated lozenges, but this wasn't bad. He could deal with it. 

When his friends had asked him what was wrong, mentioning that he looked paler, more tired, he brushed them off. Why should they be concerned if he wasn't? He knew his body better than anyone.

Everything changed early one autumn morning as Shouto was ripped from his slumber by a pain in his throat only matched by the aching in his chest. He failed to suppress the coughs and sputters, leaning halfway out of bed to desperately dislodge whatever was stuck in his esophagus. 

By the time the first petal fell, he was shaking. His body covered in a cold, fevered sweat from exertion. Did he just….throw up a flower petal? What the hell was that about? Shouto’s throat burned, his chest ached as his breaths came out ragged and shaking and wet . And he was scared .

Shouto wasn’t someone who got scared easily, but not knowing what was happening to his body was terrifying. So he shakily grabbed his phone, and sent a message to the one person he trusted implicitly: you.

You were at his side in moments, still dressed in your nightclothes, bare feet and messy hair. You gasped audibly at Shouto’s crumpled form, curled in on himself on the floor beside his bed. He was wheezing, trying to catch his breath, his hand clutching the fabric of his plain white shirt. When he looked at you, there were tears in his eyes and your heart broke. 

“Shouto-what’s going on?” You asked, kneeling down beside him and flattening a reassuring palm to his back. 

He didn’t understand what was going on, but when you touched him, he felt his chest seize and another rumble of coughs shook his body. He tried, gods how he tried, to stymie the coughs, to not show you just how pitiful he was feeling. But he was powerless in the face of this unseen invader, the flowers that grew in his lungs and threatened to take his life. The flowers, that would be the cause of his death. 

It was all you could do to bring him to your chest, to cradle his head as more coughs wrecked his body. You could see the pain written all over his face, in his body language, in the pathetic whimpers that escaped him as he gulped as much air into his lungs as he could. You had no idea that in doing so you were only exacerbating his condition.

What started as one petal morphed into several as they finally dislodged themselves from Shouto’s throat. A flurry of purple coated with sticky sap and bile. The taste of cloves weighed heavy on his tongue and made him nauseous - more nauseous than he’d felt over the last few months. He swallowed hard, a futile attempt to keep whatever else wanted to force itself out of him at bay.

He was vaguely aware of your presence, of you shoving a trash bin beneath him to vomit into. The strong scent of spice and stomach acid pervaded the air and made you wince, but you knew. You knew immediately upon seeing those petals what was going on, and despite the churning in your stomach, it was your heart that was in worse condition.

Shouto was dying, a painful, slow death at the hands of his love. His love for who? That was a question for later. Right now he needed you, and as he continued to wretch into the bin, you quickly grabbed a wet rag to keep him cool. 

The coughs sounded painful, raspy and wet and those damned purple petals were ejected from his esophagus at almost every heave. You tried your best to assess things, how bad the condition was, how far along the plants had progressed, how long he…

Just petals, that’s what you tried to focus on for now as slowly the episode subsided. Not flowers, no stems, no leaves - just petals. And he hadn’t spat out any blood yet, so that was also a good sign. There was still time to get help.

Sensing that things were over with for now, Shouto flopped onto his back, his head landing in your lap, as he sucked in as much air as he could. Gasping, panting, his chest heaving and rattling with each breath, his mind was in a haze. His eyes found yours, pleading silently, ‘ please make it stop, it hurts, I don’t understand. ’

“We need to get you to the infirmary, Shouto,” you whispered, “Can you stand?” 

Shouto didn’t understand why the concerned look on your face tugged on his heart. He didn’t understand why seeing you so worried over him made him panic. He didn’t understand the sudden urge he had to reach out and touch your cheek.

When he spoke, his voice was rough, lower than usual, and strained, “I think...just...give me a moment.”

You nodded, attempting a reassuring smile, and brushed his hair back from his face. He was still covered in sweat from the exertion of the episode, and you ran the cool rag over his forehead, down his cheeks, to his neck. The action caused his eyes to flutter shut as his breathing slowly returned to normal. He looked so peaceful, a stark contrast to just a moment ago when he was curled into a tiny ball - impossibly small and weak and breaking .

If this were any other circumstance, any other situation that wasn’t traumatic, you’d be flustered. Having Shouto’s head gently cradled in your lap, brushing his hair away and studying his handsome, delicate features were the stuff made of dreams. You’d been close before, after all you were best friends, but this was different. This was romantic, straight out of a shoujo manga. Well, it would be if he wasn’t dying. 

After a moment, you helped him up, supporting his weight as best as you could. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, yours around his waist as you helped him hobble to the infirmary. 

“Hanahaki, huh?” You asked in an attempt to make conversation, this trek would be slow-going in his weakened state, so you might as well ask some questions to fill the silence.

“Hanahaki?” He questioned, his voice was still rugged.

“That’s… what you have, isn’t it?”
“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a disease, a lovesick disease. You love someone who doesn’t return your feelings, right? Because of that, those flowers are growing in your lungs, and if you don’t take action soon they’ll slowly suffocate you.”

A pause, Shouto needed to process that. It should be impossible, right? Flowers growing in lungs? If he hadn’t just experienced it firsthand, he would call bullshit. But well, the ache in his chest, the rawness of his throat, the taste of cloves and syrup on his tongue begged to differ. 

His brow furrowed as he continued to think on this, but the worst part, worse than dying in his mind, was that he had no idea who he’d developed these supposed feelings for. 

He racked his brain, looking for… anything to signify that he’d fallen in love with someone. Shouto didn’t know what love was, anyway. It was the last thing on his mind as he trained to become a hero, literally everything else in his life came before the prospect of a relationship.

Sure, there were people he admired - Midoriya, Bakugou, Aizawa, his brother Natsuo and sister Fuyumi. All Might, Aizawa, all the pro’s he’d worked with before now. You. And people he considered close friends. Again, Midoriya, Bakugou, Iida, Uraraka. You. People he would gladly take a hit for; Midoriya, You. People who could easily rely on, who he could trust; You. 

He felt like, as his mind continued spinning, there was something in there. The repetition meant… something. But his body was sore, and as you stepped out into the cool autumn air, he was pulled from those thoughts - for now. 

When did the seasons change? He didn’t remember. He’d spent so much time fighting this Hanahaki disease , fighting the exhaustion, the weakness, the loss of appetite, that the world had kind of faded into the background without him realizing. And summer had faded to fall. 

The crisp air was a relief on his burning body, a gentle breeze carded through his hair just like the leaves that threatened to blanket the grounds any day now. Moonlight shone from above, somber and luminous, bouncing off of the white of his hair brilliantly. 

Shouto was so handsome, so stupidly pretty that it made your heart squeeze. What a beautiful tragedy he was, a hard life lived thus far now cut short by his love. This unfair love that he didn’t even understand. This love that would kill him, drown him in blood and sap and flowers; too early, too soon. 

Whoever it was, you were going to try your best to convince him to get the surgery. It didn’t matter to you who, even if it was… no. No. It wouldn’t be you. But whoever it was… surely they weren’t more important than his life. His life that had already been wrought with so much heartache, so much pain and trauma. He didn’t deserve this, and your chest tightened at the thought.

But Shouto was smart, he was kind, and he knew his worth. Surely he must know that whoever it is, isn’t worth dying over. No love is worth dying over.

As you both stumbled through the cold darkness to the infirmary, Shouto felt that itch in his throat again. That ache in his chest that made him want to curl in on himself and beg and plead and pray that it would stop. Would it get worse from here? He had never heard of this Hanahaki disease before now and so he didn’t understand what would happen to him. 

If things were different, you’d revel in your closeness. You’d blush at the warmth of him against you. You’d look up at him with starry eyes full of wonder and adoration and feel your heart swell in pride that this man, this hero, was your best friend. 

And you were his.

The night aid took one look at Shouto’s condition and all but threw him into a bed. All it took was for you to whisper a broken “Hanahaki” and they immediately got to work. A bedpan was given in case another episode happened, throat lozenges and cough medicine as well as mild painkillers were swallowed carefully. He was grateful for the cool water soothing his raw throat.

“Recovery Girl will be here soon to discuss things further, would you like me to contact your parents?”

Shouto shook his head, red and white hair mixing and bouncing as he did, “No, it’s okay. I’ll contact them myself, thank you.”

His poor voice, coming out all rough and uncharacteristically ragged made you wince. You loved his voice, smooth, low, calming; what once was now replaced with the agony of this disease - of this love. 

When the aid left, he turned to where you sat by his bedside, picking at the hem of your top and lost in thought. He reached a hand out to you, flattening his palm over your knuckles to stop you in your fidgeting. He didn’t understand why touching you made his chest tighten.

Your eyes met his, and his agonized expression had given way to his normal calm, stoic facade. 

“Can you please tell me more? Explain more about what’s happening to me?”

You nodded, inhaling shakily. “Yeah but, eat a lozenge while I do, it’ll help soothe your throat.”

Oh, he knew. Shouto had been suckling on cough drops for months now, and he popped one between his delicate lips as you began your explanation.

“So, I already told you what this is. Hanahaki. The longer it goes untreated the worse it’ll get. Flowers grow and bloom in your lungs until they suffocate you. You’re coughing up petals now, but soon there'll be flowers, stems, twigs if you’re unlucky. And you only have a few options for treatment, too.”

You sighed, moving your hand to place his back on the bed and then covering it with both of yours. He was so much bigger than you. 

“The first and easiest option is to confess, and if they return your feelings then it’ll heal. If they don’t you can always opt for the surgery. Which… is painful in more ways than one.”

He eyed you curiously as you spoke, his gaze lingering on your mouth as you did. The way your lips navigated each word - each syllable. The soft plushness of them, surely you must use an amazing chapstick, right? For your lips to look so soft? Why did he suddenly want to kiss you? Was it because you helped him so much already? Because you were the first person he could call when things happened and that you were reliable? That you cared?

Shouto cleared his throat, tasting blood and syrup as he did.

“They go in, meticulously removing all traces of the disease in a process that can take hours depending on how advanced your symptoms are. But the thing is…” his eyes snapped back to yours, “The thing is you’ll forget the person of your affections. Everything. You won’t have a single memory of them. It’ll be as if you never met.”

“That’s why most people forgo that option. It’s not worth it to them, to lose everything about the one they love. But Shouto-”

Just as you were about to convince him to not care about such a thing, Recovery Girl waddled in. 

“Another one with Hanahaki,” she sighed, removing her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, kid. It’s late so I’ll be honest with you. You’re a top student with a lot of potential. Don’t be an idiot, and take the steps necessary to save your life. I have seen too many bright hopefuls lose their lives over this.”

You both watched as she moved to his side, returning the glasses to her face and pressing a stethoscope to his chest through the thin material of his shirt. The room was dead silent as she listened, hope and doubt, fear and anxiety swarmed in your belly. 

“Hmm,” she spoke after a long moment, “Sounds like it’s still early. That’s good.”

Her experienced eyes raked over the boy, analyzing his state. She checked his file, reading over his measurements and weight and overall details before continuing. 

"Alright, young Todoroki. We're going to run some tests, and take some measurements so that we can carefully monitor your body while you make a decision. You'll need to contact your parents, tell your teacher, figure out how to break it to your classmates and friends."

"For All intents and purposes, you're dying. So treat this like you are. At least until you make your choice."

She removed her glasses again, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "Please, prioritize your life, kid."

You glanced at Shouto then, trying to get a feel of his headspace, gauge his reaction. He was stoic as always but his eyebrows were lifted and his fist balled in the fabric of them sheet beneath him. He was being brave in the face of this, but you knew.

You knew that inside he was panicking. Did he know who it was? Gods, what a tragedy that this would happen to him. Shouto, who had almost no life experience outside of the Todoroki household, and his experience at UA. 

After a few moments and a bit more medical talk, Recovery Girl took her leave. Shouto had the clear to return to the dorms and classes for now, but first the night aid was to take the aforementioned data. 

As soon as she left, you were going to ask him, ask him who it was and finally convince him to get the surgery. But the vacancy was quickly filled with the night aid, who ushered you out so that she could take blood, get measurements, take his weight and temperature and whatever else they needed to monitor his state. 

You waited patiently just outside the drawn curtain, fiddling again with the hem of your shirt. Anxiety and fear leadened your belly, raced like ice through your veins, burned like fire in your heart. You tried to think about who. Who could have done this to him?

Not that it was anyone's fault. It wasn't as if he'd been seduced, as if he'd been forced into loving someone. But… it still made you angry.

First suspect was Midoriya. The boy who'd irrevocably changed the course of Shouto's life by convincing him of his own worth and of his own power. 

Then, Bakugou. But no matter how hard you tried you just couldn't make it make sense. 

Uraraka? She was cute and sweet and… had eyes for Midoriya. That could make sense. But had Shouto ever spent more than casual moments with her?

Yaomomo was next and that… that made the most sense. He'd helped her in much the way Midoriya had helped him. Convincing her of her worth, bolstering her confidence. So far that was your best bet. 

For a moment, one fleeting moment you wanted to consider yourself. But that'd be impossible, Shouto would never have fallen for you of all people. 

Right?

Behind the curtain, Shouto's mind and heart were sprinting to see which one could work faster. That same fear and anxiety that flooded you also ran laps around in him. The same questions that weighed on you, reflected his own thoughts. 

Who? Why? How? When? He'd never been too in touch with his emotions, he didn't catch himself feeling any differently about any one person over the other. He tried his best to treat everyone with equal regard and respect, so how had he fallen in love? 

What did love even mean? What did it feel like? He'd never felt it before, that he could remember. Not this supposed romantic love. 

Sure he'd had it before his mother's breakdown. Felt it in the way his sister provided for him and Natsuo protected him. In the way that his classmates uplifted him. But those were different. He knew. He'd read it in a book once.

Familial love, platonic love. But this… romantic love? He'd have to do more research, ask his peers that might have an inkling, read up on it. Because what else is a boy to do when something he's never had is killing him?

The tests were over before either of you had any concrete answers, and Shouto was dismissed. You walked back to the dorms in silence. Your paces slow, the tension between you thick and heavy. The night breeze was welcome once again, and you snuck another glance at the boy beside you. He looked better than before, less pained, still beautiful.

As you reached the door to the dorms, you both paused. Something in this moment felt monumental to the both of you though neither knew why. As if, once you entered the building, things would change. The reality of Shouto’s condition couldn’t be ignored, shoved down, swallowed like the water he attempted to gulp to ease his aching and raw throat. 

“Shouto-”

“Y/N-”

You both turned to one another, and spoke simultaneously, causing you to giggle sheepishly and him to look away and scratch the back of his head. 

“Sorry,” he said plainly, “You first.”

“I just… who? I want to know who.”

His gaze flitted to the moon which hung low in the night sky, dawn would break soon. Things would shift soon. 

“I don’t know.”

Three words to break your heart, three words but not the three that you longed to hear. Three words to solidify the lump in your throat and the lead in your gut, the ache in your heart. 

“Well, if you don’t know then… then the surgery is the best option, right?”

“It’s more than that,” he glanced back at you and his mouth tasted of clove and nectar. The moonlight bouncing off of your features made you look ethereal, the breeze flitting through and rustling your hair only added to it. You were beautiful. God, you were beautiful. How did he not see that before now? Shouto cleared his throat, drawing a fist to his lips as he did so to keep the petals at bay.

“I feel like the answer is right in front of me, but I just can’t figure it out.”

He stifled a cough, then. Shoulders shaking, body lurching just slightly as the muscles in his abdomen tensed with effort. He attempted to clear his throat once more, but the episode was already starting.

You immediately rushed to his side to support him, “Come on, we can talk inside, lets-”

“No,” he wheezed, “No… not… I’m not ready yet. Just… Give me a moment.”

Shouto fished in his pocket and produced a small bottle of cough syrup and a medicated lozenge; the same ones he’d been almost constantly nursing over the last few months. His throat bobbed as he downed one, two swigs of the medicine, and you were mesmerized by the long lines of muscle that were prominent there. Then he popped the lozenge onto his tongue and you were captured by that, too. 

What were you doing? Eyeing him in such a way when he was literally dying, when his love for whoever wasn’t you would kill him? 

He took a few deep, experimental breaths and though his chest rattled as leaves and petals shook, he was able to retain his composure. “Okay. I’m fine.”

You were warm by his side, a stark contrast to the cool autumn. Your hands felt searing against his back, his chest as your attempt at support still made his throat itch. Why? Still he couldn’t understand how and why you were having that effect on him.

“Ready to go back to your room now?”

He nodded and you continued to support him all the way there. The ride up the elevator was silent, the walk to his door was silent, even as you both entered there was silence. Too many things left unsaid, unacknowledged hung between you like thick molasses. It flooded your senses, begging to be seen though neither of you wanted to look. Neither of you understood where to look. 

You puttered around while Shouto emptied the bag Recovery Girl had given him onto his nightstand. A myriad of small bottles of cough syrup, a few blister packs of pain medication, and two bags of lozenges were amongst the gifts. Meanwhile, you went about cleaning up the mess from before.

The wet tissues from the syrup and bile, the petals that lingered and clung to the bathroom tile… all of the evidence to be discarded. You didn’t have to do this, Shouto was clean, he’d get to it eventually. Maybe. If things were going to get worse from here, he’d eventually be unable to do anything without getting winded, though. Without coughing and bleeding and --

No, don’t think about it. It’s too much right now. Focus on what’s in front of you: helping him. Cleaning. Getting him water and maybe a snack if he could eat. God this made so much sense, a few pieces clicked together in your mind.

The way he barely picked at his food during lunch because the nauseating taste of pollen and sap coated his tongue. How he got too winded too quickly during training because his body was wasting away, because he was struggling to breathe properly. The weight he’d lost..

Shouto was never a large guy, always on the slender side, though muscular. You wondered how much of him had wasted away, how long this had been going on.

As you made your way back into his bedroom, that one thought clung to your mind. How long? How long had he been suffering without telling anyone? Without knowing what was happening to him? You cursed the sheltered life he’d been brought up in, cursed his stupid father for keeping him from the outside world and for only teaching him how to be better, to be more and more and more. For not teaching him anything about real life outside of that.

He sat on his bed, arms resting on his knees as his head hung low. His shoulders and chest heaved with effort, just breathing was hurting. 

You took the spot beside him, and ran your hand along his back reassuringly, though as you did he stifled a cough deep in his throat. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“It’s okay, Shouto. What are friends for, right? But, I do want to talk about this.”

Why did your hand feel so good? So soothing and so wonderful as you rubbed along his taut  muscles? Like he couldn’t get enough of it. Of you.
Perhaps it was because he’d never known such solace in all his years. He’d never known such a gentle touch, a kind word, a sweet softness that only you could provide. Well, he assumed, anyone could. But you were here, you were doing the providing, so it was you.

He nodded.

“Like I said before, you have options. Even if they’re limited. The easiest one is to confess, hope they return your feelings. Which, I mean, come on, who wouldn’t?”

He lifted his head to peer at you, “What do you mean?”

“Well, come on, Sho’. It’s not like you haven’t noticed nearly every girl in the school fawning over you. Remember Valentine’s when your locker was so flooded with chocolates you needed a garbage bag? And that by the end of the day you had… how many? Full of candy?”
Shouto hummed a quiet chuckle at the memory. It was a mess, and you were the one who helped him carry it all back to the dorms. You were the one who had the idea to share it with everyone so that not only it wouldn’t go to waste, but he didn’t look rude by throwing it out or not accepting it.

Funny, he didn’t think you’d given him any chocolate that day. Not that he gave you any for white day, which is fair. 

“I don’t think there’s a person in this school who wouldn’t return your feelings. You’re smart, handsome, strong… everything about you is amazing, Sho’. If they don’t want to be with you they want to be you, you know?”
He didn’t, not really. But he understood where you were coming from. He couldn’t deny the proof in the chocolate, the way the press had inflated his performances, how he’d catch whispers of people venting their jealousy. Those things were concrete. Love? Not so much.

His gaze lingered on yours for a moment too long, he wanted to memorize your eyes. The color, the shape, your lashes. Those eyes he’d looked at a thousand times before suddenly looked… different. Why?

“So, I think… maybe we should try figuring out who it is first, yeah? I mean, especially since you're still in the early stages, it could save a lot of trouble and pain and heartache later. If you can manage the symptoms, at least.”

“It’s been fine so far,” Shouto shifted back then, wanting to get a better look at you. You watched as his eyes searched your face, what was he looking for?

Nothing, really, was the answer. He just wanted to look at you. Just wanted to enjoy the concern for him, the softness for him. The curve of your lips, the furrow of your brow, the shape of your cheeks and chin and nose. He just wanted to look at you. Why?

He lingered on your mouth, unconsciously sliding his tongue across his lips to wet them. You looked so kissable. Have you been kissed before? Would you taste as sweet as he imagined? Feel soft against his own lips, slotting together in perfect harmony? 

Why… Why was he leaning in? His eyes were trained on your lips and Shouto was leaning in as if he was going to kiss you. Your heart started pounding, the blood rushing to your cheeks. Surely not. Surely there was something on your face or your hair that he was getting a good look at. 

His breath was hot against you, so close you were sure he could hear your heart hammering away in your chest. His eyes never strayed from your lips. 

“Shouto…” you breathed, wetting your own lips in anticipation. Was he really going to kiss you? 

Could it be… you?

But your whisper of his name brought him back to reality, and just before your lips could meet he pulled away. “Yes?”

You exhaled the breath you didn’t know you were holding and pulled away from him.
“U-um...Do you have any ideas… on who it could be?”

He watched you carefully. Why did you look disappointed? And why did he almost kiss you? A moment of weakness brought on by the severity of the situation? Surely it wasn’t you. 

Right?

The thought nearly choked him, and as he doubled over in a cough a great cloud of petals ejected from his mouth. They fluttered to the floor as he couldn’t stave off the episode anymore. 

Shouto fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching his chest as he coughed and hacked and did everything he could to dislodge that which was stuck in his esophagus. More petals, covered with...blood. Blood, nectar, bile, acid. A disgustingly sweet mixture that nobody should ever have to taste.

You sprinted to the bathroom again, grabbing the same waste bin and wetting a rag to help him through it. You also snatched another bottle of water, just as before.

God this… this was awful. Seeing him like this again and not knowing why. Well, you knew why, you just didn’t know who. And knowing who was the first step in fixing this - fixing him. You dropped beside Shouto as he continued to cough, retching as the nausea took over occasionally, which only gave way to more coughs. More blood. More petals.

You were watching the disease develop in real time. What started just a few hours ago as a single petal was now clusters, dozens massed together. It wouldn’t be long before they were flowers, before they were stems and leaves. 

It’s progressing too fast. Why? Shouto tried his best to think about anything but the burning in his lungs, the pain in his throat, the air that he failed to drink down. He’d gone months, since early spring, with this condition barely moving and now? Now he was spitting out blood-slicked clusters of petals just hours after the first one fell. What changed? 

As he hacked and coughed and sputtered and struggled to breathe, he considered that question. What has changed? 

You did your best to tend to him, powerless in the face of the florals that were ripping him apart from the inside. Wiping the sweat from his face, the syrup from his chin, rubbing soothing circles into his back as he continued to struggle.

What perhaps was the most disturbing thing about this, despite the obvious, was the smell. That you hadn’t ever expected; in all your research and reading about the disease nobody had ever mentioned a smell. 

Distinctly clove, laced with honey-sweet nectar and accented with metallic blood. The clove smell had to come from the flowers. What else could it be? You made a mental note to research that later as you stared down at the bin. The bottom was covered in those purple petals, spattered with crimson and wetted by saliva and bile and sap. 

Gods, he’d expelled so much already. Just how fast was this moving? And why?

After a solid twenty minutes of Shouto struggling, the episode finally ceased. He fell back against the bed with his eyes closed, a pained expression marring his pretty face. He gulped down air as fast as he could, causing his chest to swell as he finally got the oxygen he needed. He must be light-headed and exhausted.

You pushed his sweaty bangs away from his forehead and ran the cool rag over the flushed skin. The action caused Shouto to open his eyes slightly, and then it happened.

It clicked.

The dots connected, and he understood - finally - who it was. Finally, he understood those feelings, the urges, the needs, the wants. It was always there, but he was just too oblivious and dense to notice. 

It was in the way you gently took care of him, in the way your touches felt electric against him. In the concerned glimmer of your eyes as you tended to him. The pout of your lip. The worry in your brow. The delicacy of your hands. It was you.

Right in front of him, just as he said. 

Of course it was you. He felt so stupid he didn’t realize sooner. The way he’d almost kissed you just a moment ago and the attack that followed; the bile that rose in his throat when you touched him; how his lungs ached when his eyes met yours. God, how long had he felt this way? How long had he… had he loved you?

“Y/N…” he wheezed. His throat was so hoarse, his chest burned, he was still struggling to breathe. It was you. 

But what did that mean? Supposedly he could confess and… assuming you felt the same, it would fix him. Right? But what if you didn’t? Would it kill him instead?

He was already dying.

But the thought of being ripped away from you was too much. If his feelings shoved a rift in between you he didn’t think he could handle it. You were his best friend, the one he loved, the only one he truly depended on. What if he lost that because of his stupid heart?

But the surgery… you’d said that would cause him to lose his memory of you. The friendship you shared, the memories you’d made, the moments he desperately clung to during the nights when his sorrow and the weight of his life was too much. He’d lose them. But that was better than dying, right? 

Because you could always start over, start anew and rebuild a friendship. Except...that wasn't totally true. You'd still have those memories, you'd still carry the burden of years lost. And arguably wouldn't Shouto be different? He couldn't deny the impact you'd made on him, and losing his memories of you would revert that progress. Right?

So the surgery is off-limits. He couldn't just forget you like that.

So it was die, or confess. 

Confessing wouldn't be hard, but that'd also depend on you returning those feelings, and he was clueless when it came to that. You'd never spoken to him about relationships and romance before, therefore he really had no idea if there was someone you liked.

Dying would be… well, dying. Slowly, painfully. So he only had one option, and he wasn't ready for that yet. Because what if you didn't return those feelings? Would that sentence him to death or trap him into surgery? The surgery, he assumed, as death would still be the worst outcome. 

And despite that he wasn't sure exactly what these feelings were, what they meant, the weight of them. He didn't think he was ready for a relationship right now, hell- would he ever be? His goals were career focused, love was the bottom of his list. 

"Shouto…?" Your sweet voice cut through his fevered thoughts, "are you...are you okay?"

Oh, so that's it. That's this feeling. He finally had a word for the way he felt around you. The light fluttering in his belly, the weightlessness of his heart, the fuzziness in his brain. It was love. 

And despite his current state; sick and dying, covered in sweat and sap, Shouto smiled. 

It was the smile that shattered your heart. Because not only were you confused as to why, but it was also the prettiest smile you'd ever seen. You had to bite down on your cheek to keep from crying, but it didn't seem to work as he brought a trembling hand up to wipe a tear from your cheek. 

"I figured it out," Shouto said quietly, his voice soft and low, but hoarse. 

"You did?! This is great- you can confess! You can-"

"No," he cut you off, "Not yet. I need to really figure out what this is, how I feel, what I want."

You took a moment to process his words. Why wouldn't he want this torture to end? Why did he want to prolong his suffering? Surely whomever it was would understand. Surely they could work things out after his life wasn't in danger. 

The next few days passed by in a blur. Shouto spoke privately with Aizawa, and then with his circle of friends. He still elected to keep it from his family, as at this point he had no intentions of dying. It would worry them unnecessarily. 

You were permitted to stay in his dorm to care for him through the night, to try and help ease the symptoms and the pain. You had no idea you were only exacerbating it.

But Shouto did, and though he was still reeling from realizing his feelings, and the disease that rapidly deteriorated his health, he didn't mind. 

Because it was just more time he could spend with you, and the longer you were together the clearer his thoughts became. Everything you did, every touch, every word, every glance had nectar slicked petals crawling up his throat. 

And it's not so bad, he thought. Getting to be with you felt worth the pain in his mind. But maybe that's the hidden poison of hanahaki. Maybe the real danger is a love so consuming that you wouldn't mind dying for it - wouldn't mind suffering for it. A love you want to hold onto with white knuckles, unable and unwilling to let go for fear of the emptiness that lies in its wake. 

A week later, Shouto was in much worse shape. Nearly every breath had the florals in his lungs rattling, what was once petals now flowers. He was weak, barely eating from the nausea, malnourished. Delicate.

Purple gillyflower. A beautiful life, a happy marriage, unbridled joy. And the distinct scent of cloves. 

How cruel. 

You were upset by the meaning, how could anyone be in such a state and feel those things? He was dying in such a slow and painful way, how could he even begin to feel such things as happiness and joy? 

But he did. Finally, he understood what this was, and it had brought Shouto the feelings determined by the flower's meaning. A life with you would be beautiful, he found himself daydreaming of it often these days. Holding your hand, kissing you, going on dates, marriage. Children. He wouldn't be like his father, he swore to himself. 

Unbridled joy, because not only was he experiencing these feelings for the first time, it was the way his heart fluttered when you were near. The way he couldn't stop the smile from spreading, or his gaze from drifting to you. He found himself in love with being in love. 

But as the nights grew colder and he grew weaker, Shouto knew he couldn't put it off any longer. He'd have to make a choice. Surgery or confession? Either way this heady bliss of the present wouldn't last. The friendship between you would change for good. 

It happened early one morning as Shouto was bent over the bin, coughing and spitting stocks of those purple flowers. So much blood, now. The stems and leaves were painful, and even lozenges and pain killers were helpless in its face. 

You'd tried over the weeks to convince him to confess, but every time he just brushed it off. And you hated it, this was unfair and he was doing it to himself. Why? Were they really so intimidating that he'd push it back in favor of this torture? 

Shouto fell back against the bed frame, his chest was heaving, his skin pale and clammy, eyes closed, body limp. He looked so small now, having lost a significant amount of weight over the weeks. A small trickle of blood poured from the corner of his mouth which you wiped away with your thumb. 

This action had him peeking at you through heavily lidded eyes. He needed to feel your touch again. Even if it was the lack of oxygen clouding his judgment, he needed it. And so, Shouto caught your hand during its retreat, and brought your wrist to his swollen lips. 

You froze. What was he doing?

"I need to tell you something," he rasped. His voice low and hoarse from his cut up and bruised esophagus. The taste and smell of clove overwhelmed his senses, tinged with copper and syrup. He felt sick, but swallowed it down. 

You watched him carefully as he slid his fingers down to your palm, then wrapped them around your hand. He looked so peaceful, so handsome, even despite the new hollowness in his cheeks and the circles under his eyes. His hand was so cold, like ice though it was the wrong side. That worried you.

“Shouto?” you watched him carefully, and he levelled you with that smile again. The one that was so bittersweet and so perfect that it made your heart squeeze in your chest. He pulled you down to him suddenly, and with the little strength he had left. You landed in his lap, and he pressed your cheek to his chest while resting his chin atop your head.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your hands shook where they lay on his chest wrapped in his own, your cheeks flooded with heat. Shouto inhaled slowly, deeply, and that damn rattle shook in his lungs as he did. 

“I know who it is, and I think I need to tell them. I think…” he coughed wetly for a moment before he was able to continue, “I think I’m ready for them to know.”

You blinked slowly. Okay? What did that have to do with this? With the way he was holding you so tight and so painfully tender? He took a moment to catch his breath, and you wondered just how bad it had progressed by now. Coughing out stems was supposed to be the final stages, and he’s just now trying to confess to whoever it is? 

“Who is it? Shouto? Tell me, I’ll go get them so you can finally get better.”

You felt him shake his head in the way his chin rustled and messed up your hair. 

“You don’t need to. She-”

Fresh coughs forced themselves up his chest and out of his lungs, and he all but threw you to the side to expel the offending flowers into the bin. The bin which was almost ready to be cleaned for the third time today. The bin which might never lose the smell of blood and cloves and sap. 

He’s so close to getting better, why couldn’t he just strangle out the name? His entire body heaved with effort as he coughed so hard it brought up the contents of his stomach - which wasn’t much. Shouto struggled to inhale amidst the onslaught, he struggled to draw air past the growing petals and branches and roots and - 

His hand shot out to grab your arm, a plea for help as he felt his consciousness fading. He squeezed as hard as he could before collapsing atop the bin and turning it over, effectively spilling the contents all over both of you and the room.

Shouto was floating in a vast void, finally a reprieve from the pain and torment of the last few months. He wanted to stay here forever, to be carried listlessly through wherever this was so that he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

He couldn’t breathe, though. And he’d gotten so used to the feeling that he almost didn’t notice it. And then his senses began to return.

Starting with a steady beeping, low murmured voices, the fluttering of paper and loud footsteps. Then the softness beneath his head, something secured around his mouth and chin, a weight atop him that suggested, perhaps, a pile of blankets. Despite which he was still cold. Freezing, down to his fingertips. He’d half a mind to try and use his fire to warm himself, but that hadn’t worked in weeks. 

The taste returned, and he thought nothing could overshadow the ever-present taste of clove, but he was wrong. Copper, iron, the metallic and tangy flavor of blood coated every inch of his mouth and tongue. Backed by a tinge of stomach acid and sickly sweet nectar. It made him sick.

The last thing he felt was the warmth of someone’s hand taking his own, so tender and hesitant. He silently thanked them for the heat.

His consciousness faded again, and he found himself adrift once more.

God, you prayed he’d wake up. Hanahaki had stolen the breath from his lungs, but given him a heart full of love, and it was a damn shame he’d never be able to fulfill all of the great things he was destined for because of it. And he was on the precipice of revealing the person, too. 

It’s been two days since Shouto collapsed, and he was fighting for his life. A myriad of tubes and wires connected to him to keep him alive, an oxygen mask tight over his face to keep him breathing. 

Natsuo and Fuyumi had come many times, as well as your other classmates, but you were the only one who stayed. Always by his side, even now. 

Because he was your best friend, but… wasn’t he more than that? Would you have gone through all of this for just anyone? Maybe… maybe it was more than that. Maybe you were in love with him.

The thought made your already weeping heart break more. Because upon the realization you also concluded that he didn’t return your feelings. If he did, he’d tell you. You told each other everything. 

“You love him,” Fuyumi whispered softly beside you. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed her. She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and gave you a sad smile. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it. It’s obvious. Why don’t you tell him? On the off-chance that it’s you?”

Your gaze landed on the boy before you, half-dead and unconscious. If it was you… It couldn’t hurt right? To at least try? At least then, you could say that you did everything in your power to stop this. 

“I’d tell him soon, if you’re going to. Father has given the go-ahead for the surgery and it’s scheduled for tomorrow morning,” she gave your shoulder a soft squeeze and excused herself, presumably giving you time to formulate your thoughts about her suggestion.

Really, what did you have to lose? 

You leaned forward, brushing his bangs away from his face. He looked so peaceful like this, calmer than he’d been in… how long had it been? You hovered over him, getting a good look at the boy as his chest rose and fell slowly. Tentatively, you leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. A kiss that lingered, too afraid to pull away.

And then Shouto shifted beneath you, causing you to pull back and frantically search his face. Was it a fluke or-

Weakly, he took your hand in his; so cold you nearly shivered. His eyes cracked open slightly, just enough to see you, and he smiled.

The dam holding your emotions at bay cracked then, fat tears flooding down your face and plopping onto the blanket that failed to keep him warm. He tried to squeeze your hand, tried to reassure you, but he was so weak now that you barely noticed.

You collapsed in a heap, barely landing in the chair beside him as you brought your head down to rest on the bed. And you sobbed, letting it all out. Your body shook, heaved and trembled as you suddenly became overwhelmed. 

It was too much, that smile. It broke you. Because how can he be smiling? After everything how can he still give you that soft, saccharine smile? 

It took a lot of effort, and his arm shook with strain, but Shouto placed his hand on your head. Petting you, comforting you as if everything would be okay. 

"Sh-shouto-" you sobbed, looking up into those beautiful eyes of his. "I'm so sorry," You hiccups, choking on your tears. 

"I know. I know that it's not me. I know, but I… I can't.. I…" you faltered. His hand fell to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him. He tried to thumb away your tears but he was so weak. So tired. 

You caught his hand as it fell, returning it to your face and holding your own over it. Blinking rapidly, you tried to steady your resolve. 

"I know it's not me, but. I can't just sit here and watch you die because you waited too long. I love you. I love you so much, Shouto. It hurts. This hurts. I need you to know that… that for me, it's you!"

The way his eyes widened at your admission wasn't lost on you, his jaw slacking just slightly before his body lurched forward. 

He ripped his hand away from you to tear off the oxygen mask, and what followed was a horrifying and traumatic scene. 

A flurry of purple petals ejected from his mouth and blanketed the bed. Some flitting gently to the floor as he wheezed. A wet cough, followed by blood. A lot of blood. Too much blood and you scrambled to thrust the bedpan under him. 

Your heart hammered in your chest as you called for the nurse. He must be dying. This must be it.

"Shouto, Shouto please! D-don’t-"

But your pleading fell on deaf ears as more and more flowers were hacked up. They forced themselves out of his body in stocks, twigs, and leaves which were coated in that disgusting slurry of blood, nectar, and bile. 

A team of nurses flooded into the room and shooed you out of the way. You couldn't see what was happening, and you collapsed back into your chair, crumpling in on yourself as more sobs tore through you. Recovery Girl waddled in after a terrifying moment and tapped your arm to get your attention. 

"So, you finally confessed, eh? About time. Any longer and we would have lost him." 

Her statement shocked you out of your stupor and you stared at her incredulously. 

"Don't give me that look. It's always obvious with Hanahaki, who the person is. You know, almost every time they reciprocate the feelings, too? Just takes them having to realize it or get over their fears long enough to give a proper confession."

Your head whipped back and forth between where the nurses worked on the heaving boy, and the experienced woman beside you. 

"So, he-"

"He'll survive. This is how it has to happen. All the foreign matter in his body is getting rejected and forcing its way out of him. Once this episode is over, he'll be able to start recovering."

It took three months before he could return to normalcy. Three months that you'd put off having that conversation. Three months of knowing glances and lingering touches and late nights spent helping him with studies so he didn't fall behind. 

Your class greeted his return with a lavish party, funded mostly by Momo. It was fun, and like a heavy weight was lifted. Perhaps, that's because it had. With your desperate confession came a new beginning, a happier future, a new normal. 

And it was after the party, as you and Shouto walked back to his dorm, that the tension between you finally snapped. 

He looked so much better now. Still a bit thin but he'd been bulking up quickly. His skin no longer pallid, his cheeks fuller, his breaths unlabored. Handsome, beautiful, alive. 

You stopped before his door, and he turned to face you. His expression, ever so stoic, but tinged with a softness that you'd grown used to - at least when he looked at you. 

"I'm glad you figured it out."

You looked away sheepishly, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "I didn't...really. I just thought that I didn't want you to die without knowing."

Shouto cupped your face with both hands, knowing that you felt the same, and brought his lips to yours. Soft and sweet, tentatively perfect. 

"Thank you for loving me."