Chapter Text
As he stood in the rain and cheered his best friend on, though he was merely a dot in the distance now, he felt the tingling warmth of doing something selfless and right and good. His tears didn’t matter, none of it did, because Luca was chasing his dream and that’s what was important.
Alberto owed that to him.
The rest of the day went by quickly and he basked in that feeling, though the tingling warmth from before was beginning to feel more like a burn. It grew stronger throughout the evening but it was still easy to ignore, so as he sat at the dinner table and then said goodnight, he did.
It wasn’t until he laid in his borrowed bed and stared up at the stars painted onto the ceiling that reality set in and he began to cry.
What have I done?
Something caught in his throat and the burning from before intensified. Suddenly, he began to cough, and something jostled loose somewhere. Alberto coughed as quietly as he could, he didn’t want to wake Massimo. He coughed once more and felt something come up. Baffled and scared, he ran to the small bathroom across the hall and spat into the sink.
The yellow, oblong petals weren’t from a flower he recognized, and he didn’t know the name of the illness itself, but he wasn’t stupid, he knew what this was. After all, it was the one thing his father had ever talked to him about.
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Alberto stared down at the forms he was filling out and sighed.
Name: Alberto Marcovaldo
Age: 17
Reason for visit: …
He paused and thought for a moment. Il Fiore Della Morte, Papa had called it, though he wasn’t sure if that’s what it was actually called. He gave a cursory glance to his adopted father, his Papa, and pivoted in his seat so that the man couldn’t see what he wrote and simply said flowers.
It had gotten bad lately, it always did when Luca and Giulia left again. Alberto would usually be able to get it to ebb somewhat throughout the school year, however, when they returned and he was reminded of how smart and sweet and pretty Luca was, not to mention how confident he’d become, it would come back full force.
Papa had known about it for a year, though Alberto had convinced him it would go away on its own eventually when he’d found out.
He believed him for a while, but after summer ended and Papa noticed his son’s condition worsening, he’d put his foot down and brought him to the doctor a few towns over, the one that he knew had an x-ray machine. Mercifully, Papa had agreed not to tell Signora Marcovaldo, and by extension, Giulia and Luca.
“Alberto Scorfano,” The nurse in her pristine white cap and dress said over her clipboard.
“Actually, it’s Marcovaldo,” Alberto said as he stood, trying to look confident and unbothered. “Papa officially adopted me last week, so,” he explained while handing his unfinished forms to the nurse. She was smaller than him in her practical heels, young and pretty with short chestnut locks that curled around her cheeks. Alberto’s heart caught in his throat because any sensible man would want her, this was the kind of girl he’d like if he had any sense at all.
She looked at him and then down at his forms. She obviously tried to hide it but Alberto didn’t miss the way she startled at “flowers.”
“Right this way,” she said and turned without looking at Alberto.
Alberto and Papa followed her to a room that Papa made look tiny, but the nurse looked just right in.
“The doctor will be with you in a moment,” she said without looking up from her clipboard before turning on her heel and leaving without another glance at Alberto.
The doctor seemed nice enough at first, though he rattled off all manner of fancy medical words that Alberto tuned out before finally listening to Alberto’s lungs with his weird bendy device and then telling Papa, not Alberto, that he would do an x-ray.
Alberto didn’t like the situation one bit, laying in the thin papery gown on the cold flat table as an absolutely gigantic, terrifying camera took pictures. Luckily it was quick, the worst part was waiting for the pictures to be developed.
Hours later the doctor called them back again and the nurse from before stood in the corner of the room, she held another clipboard and continued to refuse to look at Alberto. Dark shiny photos had been pinned onto a box on the wall. Alberto couldn’t make out anything in the photographs but when the doctor turned out the lights and flipped a switch that illuminated the box, the picture was clear as day.
Alberto saw a set of ribs, and with a start, realized they were his. The ribs caged what should have been lungs, but looked more like a field in Tuscany.
“As you can see,” the doctor said, pointing with the eraser end of a pencil, “a very clear case of Hanahaki Disease, the flowers are pretty advanced, and the variety seems to be sunflowers. Not the worst, but certainly not the best.” The doctor said with a cocky air about him.
Papa slowly removed his cap and held it over his heart. Alberto felt his stomach twist at the sight. He didn’t like that at all, not one bit.
“What is to be done?” Papa said with his eyebrows so low in concern that they completely obscured his eyes.
“Well, it varies on a case by case basis,” the doctor said as he flipped on the lights and turned off the lightbox. “It is recommended that patients try to resolve their Hanahaki naturally,” the doctor said, which made Alberto’s stomach do a flip. What he wouldn’t give…
“Others choose to have their flowers surgically removed, and with it their feelings for the causing party.” The doctor and Papa looked to Alberto as if asking a question.
“I don’t know if I could do that.” He said simply, they didn’t need to know why.
“Unfortunately a disproportionate amount of people do die of Hanahaki Disease,” the doctor said, as emotionless as ever, “they feel attached to their flowers and the people they represent,” he continued. The room fell silent.
A soft sound erupted from the nurse who slapped her hand over her mouth in reaction. Alberto looked at her and, with a small start, noticed the mostly silent tears streaming down her face.
“Nurse Giordano, do you need to excuse yourself?” The doctor said gruffly. Nurse Giordano placed her clipboard down on the counter with a clatter and practically ran from the room, sensible heels clicking rapidly against the old floors.
“Women.” The doctor scoffed with something akin to disdain and Alberto placed a hand on Papa’s arm to prevent him from pummeling the man.
“Back to it,” the pompous doctor said, “it’s up to you, Alberto, what you choose,” The doctor addressed him directly for the first time, “the nearest specialist is in Florence, I’ll give you a referral, but if you want my opinion, tell the girl.” He said with a smile and mimed a punch to Alberto’s arm. Alberto gave an awkward chuckle and a forced smile.
“Alright, I’ll go get that referral.” The doctor said and finally left the room.
Papa sighed in the silence and gave a sidelong glance to Alberto.
“It is no girl…is it?” Papa’s voice held no judgment as he turned his head and looked at Alberto. Alberto turned bright red and thoughts of Luca popped into his head unbidden. Regret immediately washed over him as that familiar burn returned and he tried to suppress his cough. His attempt failed and a cough burst forth from his chest, deep, rattling, and painful.
Papa placed his hand on Alberto’s back, silent encouragement and comfort as his son suffered.
Alberto covered his mouth and coughed hard, crumpling up the bloodied yellow petals in his fist as he pulled them out of his mouth, ignoring the fiery pain.
“Beto, I think you should speak to Luca,” Massimo said as gently as he could.
“ No,” Alberto replied firmly, tightening the fist that held the petals and suppressing the rumble in his chest.
“So…it is him then,” Papa said simply, looking at the wall with a neutral face.
Alberto turned bright red in anger and embarrassment at the realization that he’d just confirmed Papa’s suspicions.
“Don’t look so surprised, Mio Figlio, I do have eyes.” Papa seemed to read his thoughts.
The rumble in Alberto’s chest escalated and he put his face in his hands as another hoarse cough broke free. He gathered another round of petals and broken pieces of flowers into his hands and crushed them in his grasp, angry at the world, himself, and the pain. When he sat up, Papa was looking at him with something like pity. Alberto stiffened as Papa reached out and carefully swiped at the corner of Alberto’s mouth with his thumb, which came away from his face bright red. Alberto wiped his mouth aggressively against the sleeve of his own t-shirt, scattering a few of the petals on the floor in the process.
Alberto jumped up from his seat and began to pick them up, still ignoring the pain, but he kept dropping more petals as he did so, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded.
“Alberto!” Papa shouted, reaching out with his strong arm and catching Alberto moments before he collided with the floor.
“Papa,” Alberto said in a tight raspy voice as he grasped Papa’s arm and sat on the floor with a thud, the room was spinning and there was a blaring roar in his ears.
Alberto must not have heard the knock on the door, but Papa gave a quick “come in” and Alberto saw a pair of sensible yet dainty shoes walk towards him.
“ Mio Dio , one moment, per favore , please, hold on,” Alberto could just make out the voice of Nurse Giordano over the roaring in his ears, the shuffling of papers, and the clacking of heels as she retreated from the room once again.
She returned hardly a minute later.
“ Signore, per favore if you will, help me bring your son up here?” Alberto had barely registered the words before he was being hefted up by Papa and Nurse Giordano. They laid him flat on the exam table, under any other circumstances he would have protested but the echoing room was still spinning and his face was burning, his chest was burning, everything was.
“Just a small bit of shock,” Nurse Giordano explained to Papa, as she propped something beneath Alberto’s legs. “He’ll be alright in a moment,”
“Alberto?” Her voice asked,
“Yes?” He tried, though he was sure it sounded nothing like he’d meant it to.
“Can you drink this?” She asked, and he found that there was a paper straw being pushed towards his mouth. He took a sip and tasted that it was some kind of incredibly sweet something, it was syrupy and cloying, but as he drank, the room slowly stopped spinning and his ears stopped buzzing.
Suddenly he was all too aware of Papa and the pretty nurse staring down at him. He turned his head to see another nurse, this one older and planer, cleaning up the flower petals that littered the floor.
“Oh,” Alberto tried to sit up, but they made him do so slowly.
“Sorry.” He said once he was up and leaning against the wall which felt blessedly cool.
“Don’t apologize,” Nurse Giordano said with a tight smile, “it happens.” Alberto wondered about her, because as she stood there he could practically see the thoughts running through her head. She seemed to remember something and her eyes snapped over to the counter where she had set down the papers she had come in with. She grabbed them and then schooled another friendly smile onto her face.
“This is the referral to the doctor in Florence,” She said, handing Papa the papers, “you can go settle up at the front desk and I’ll get Alberto to you when he’s ready, va bene.” She smiled at Papa, and despite his obvious apprehension at leaving Alberto alone, Papa gave him one last glance before leaving the room.
Nurse Giordano helped the other nurse clean up the rest of the room and then looked at Alberto.
“Feeling up to walking now?” She asked, Alberto nodded, unable to talk from the embarrassment.
“Come then,” She offered him a hand. He debated with himself for a moment and then accepted her help. He wasn’t as shaky as he was worried he’d be and didn’t need to hold her hand longer than a moment. They walked to the doorway and she seemed to appraise him again, her big blue eyes were searching for something, though he couldn’t guess what. With one final look at him, she pulled something from her pocket, a thick folded paper, no distinguishing marks to be seen, only that it was worn in a way that made him think it had been in her pocket for some time. She offered it to him and he took it with some hesitation. He began to unfold the paper, but she placed a single finger on his hand, expression asking something of him, though he wasn’t sure what.
While looking at her, he slowly placed the paper in his pocket and was assured by her nod of approval that this was the right thing to do.
Nurse Giordano walked with him to the front desk, where Papa was waiting, without saying a word.
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It wasn’t until hours later, lying in bed, that Alberto was able to finally take the paper out of the pocket of his trousers from that day and see what it was.
He handled the thick glossy paper with care as he unfolded it.
It was a poster, an informational diagram about Hanahaki Disease.
Understanding Hanahaki Disease was printed finely at the top, but it was the illustration itself that caught his attention.
Rather than the usual realistic, unnerving, medical illustration, this illustration seemed to have been done in some sort of watercolor and it was art .
It depicted a girl with dark hair and skin gray as death. She was undeniably beautiful, but her expression was sad, Alberto thought, rightfully so.
Her lungs were visible and labeled, one side showing a healthy lung, arrows pointing to the alveoli and bronchi. The other side showed a lung infected with poppies, the blooms and leaves taking up the whole space and snaking up her airway, leaves blocking the space that was labeled trachea. The illustration was terrifying, yet completely beautiful.
A box next to the figure showed a close-up of the single bloom.
Flower type may vary depending on love interest, it said, though if that were the case, Alberto had no clue why he had ended up with sunflowers.
After he’d gotten better at reading, he had to pick up several books just to figure out what kind of flower they even were...which was incidentally, how he’d recognized the poppies on the poster.
Alberto took another moment to genuinely study the girl in the illustration. Her single bloom was located at the top of her left lung.
Alberto now knew he had two sunflowers in the bottom of his left and one particularly large one to the central side of his right. He wondered grimly for a moment how many flowers he’d end up with before it killed him.
The description at the bottom of the poster caught his attention. A disease caused by a combination of genetic predisposition and unrequited love. Flowers bloom within the patient’s lungs, damaging the tissue and blocking central parts of the airway, resulting in a decrease in oxygen capacity.
Genetic predisposition.
Alberto scoffed. He was only half-human and somehow he’d managed to get the worst human genetics available. Hanahaki was a human disease after all...sea folk did not have to worry about such things.
He thought back to his birth father for a moment. The ramblings that would go on for hours, “never fall in love, boy,” Bruno Scorfano’s voice echoed in his mind, the image of the spindly man sitting in a broken chair with a bottle of some hard liquor permanently in his grip resurfacing in his mind’s eye. Alberto wondered, not for the first time if Bruno had ever loved his mother, Chiara, or if she’d just been pretty, and there, and seemingly human.
Bruno was cold and cruel and shut off from the world, and from his son. He’d once claimed to an eight-year-old Alberto that he couldn’t fall in love, or love at all, because it was too dangerous. Alberto didn’t know what Bruno had meant at the time, but even knowing what he knows now, he’d never do things the way his biological father had. Living life that way had made Bruno Scorfano a cold and empty soul. Alberto wouldn’t trade his kindness, and his ability to sympathize, and to empathize and to love, for anything. Certainly not his physical wellness or potential longevity.
The poster in his hands crinkled somewhat and Alberto gave a little gasp before doing his best to flatten out the edges.
Hanahaki Disease was named after Tokyo’s Doctor Akihiro Hanahaki in 1904, great medical advances were made during his research, and his life-saving treatment for the disease was first widely implemented in 1907, with a high success rate, the bottom of the poster stated, this was the surgery that the doctor today had spoken of. He didn’t think he could do that. Even if unrequited, his feelings for Luca were too important to him. He couldn’t imagine killing something so precious, even if it was slowly killing him.
He looked at the poster again, the sad girl with her dead complexion and the bright, lively poppies that bloomed in her lungs.
He suddenly recalled Nurse Giordano, the way she’d cried out and left the room in tears, and that she’d given him this poster that had clearly been hers.
He wondered about her. Why she’d stuck in his mind in such a way.
Why did she have this poster? Was she alright?
He looked at the poster one last time before folding it up and carefully tucking it under his pillow. Somehow feeling the glossy paper against his fingers in the night made sleeping a little bit easier.