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Coming home was easy. Gary could melt into his grandpa’s embrace as easily as he had as a child, murmuring an I missed you into his shoulder that Tracey politely pretended not to hear—as if anything had ever escaped Tracey’s notice.
Well, one thing had, but Gary would rather keep it that way. That was a situation he doubted he could ever be ready to confront, let alone ask Tracey to.
But when he pulled away from his grandfather only to immediately be pulled into another hug from Tracey, something deep in his chest ached with longing.
A cough escaped him. Tracey pulled back, eyes wide and brimming with concern. “Are you okay, Gary?”
Gary nodded. “Just a tickle in my throat. I’m fine, it’s no big deal.”
Tracey looked doubtful. Frowning, he put a hand on Gary’s forehead. “Your temperature feels normal, I’ll give you that. What do you think, Professor?”
Gary turned, letting his grandpa feel his face—forehead, then cheek. “You feel a little warm. Go lie down and I’ll bring you some tea. Sick or not, it’ll do you some good.”
Gary couldn’t argue with that. He was tired, and something was making his throat itch.
Gary had managed to fall into an uneasy doze, and was woken when his door opened and someone sat beside him. He opened his eyes, blinking blearily, and felt his grandfather’s warm, weathered hand on his face.
“You’ve cooled down, that’s good. How’re you feeling?”
“Hey, Grandpa,” Gary greeted, a yawn escaping him. His throat was still itching, and he felt a warm rush of gratitude when he saw the mug of tea. “I’m fine, just sore and tired.”
“You sound a little hoarse,” his grandpa said, frowning in concern. “Can you sit up and drink some tea? It should help soothe your throat.”
Gary pushed himself into a sitting position and took the mug. He drank deeply, relieved to feel soothing warmth run down his throat and spread into his chest. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
“Of course, sapling.” Something in Gary always softened at the childhood nickname. Some people called the ones they’d raised their babies, but Gary’s grandpa loved puns, so Gary was his sapling. “Tracey was worried about you. He wanted me to tell you he hopes you feel better soon.”
Gary felt a familiar warmth at the mention of Tracey, making his heart flutter. He sipped his tea, only to choke on it when he was suddenly seized by a coughing fit.
“Gary!” His grandpa’s familiar hand rubbed his back as he coughed rough, painful coughs. “Easy, easy, you’re okay.”
Gary’s throat had gone from itching to aching by the time something came loose and the fit subsided, leaving him gasping for breath. As he caught his breath, he noticed a deep blue petal had landed in his lap. Where had that come from?
His grandpa kept rubbing his back as his breathing evened out. “That’s it, steady, steady. What happened?”
“Must’ve swallowed wrong,” Gary said, not feeling up to trying to puzzle out why he had coughed up a petal. Why would anyone except a grass-type specialist randomly cough up a petal? What the hell was that about?
With a tired groan, he curled up with his head on his grandpa’s lap and closed his eyes.
“Oh, sapling…” As he drifted back into sleep, he heard a soft gasp. “Oh, sapling…”
As Tracey worked, he couldn’t help stealing glances at Gary. Gary had quickly grown bored with bedrest, insisting all he had was a little cough and he’d be fine.
Professor Oak had agreed to it, but he looked as worried as Tracey felt, and insisted Gary wasn’t to do anything too strenuous.
So here Gary was, at the desk beside Tracey’s, organizing data. Tracey adored the easy camaraderie whenever he and Gary worked side by side—sometimes happily bantering, other times working together in comfortable silence—but it felt different this time. Maybe because Tracey couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
To Gary’s credit, he looked fine. A little pale and tired, but the usual spark hadn’t left his viridian eyes, and his sly grin was just as bright when he caught Tracey looking his way.
Tracey could only smile back, relieved to see Gary acting like his usual self and amused at his ability to tease so clearly with just a look.
Gary turned away, doubling over and coughing into his hand. Tracey rushed to his side to massage his back through the rough bout of coughs, alarmed when it seemed to get worse, until, finally, it subsided. Gary curled the hand that had been over his mouth into a loose fist against his chest, but when he looked at Tracey, his gaze was soft with gratitude. He flashed a weak but earnest smile that warmed Tracey to the core, and Tracey committed that smile to memory—he wanted to draw it later.
For now, though, there was a more pressing matter at hand. “Let me make you some tea, your throat must be hurting after that.”
Gary’s smile brightened a little. “Thanks, Trace.”
“Anytime.” Tracey headed off to the kitchen, affection and concern and eagerness to do something that could help Gary feel better meeting in his heart like watercolors blurring together.
Tracey wasn’t quite ready to say it, and he wasn’t sure when he would be, but he’d fallen for Gary. He’d known Gary for so long, he wasn’t entirely sure when his feelings had changed, but it felt like one day a switch had flipped and he found himself needing to do something with those feelings, lest they choke him like flowers growing in his lungs.
So he memorized the curve of Gary’s cute, crooked nose and drew Gary’s face over and over, and he daydreamed, and he found a hundred ways to say I love you without saying those exact words. Like let me make you some tea.
With Tracey out of the room, Gary opened his fist and looked at what he’d coughed up.
A flower, deep blue and bell-shaped—or at least , it looked like it had been before he’d crushed it. This was too weird. He needed an answer.
With a resigned sigh, he opened an incognito browser tab and typed in a search for coughing up flowers.
The search results loaded, and he took the deepest breath he could muster and looked.
Hanahaki disease: the health condition where the victim coughs up flower petals
Well, that checked out. He clicked the link.
Oh.
Oh no.
Gary could handle a lot of things. He was Gary Oak, the brave and confident trainer-turned-researcher, competitor in two leagues, one of the rare few to see Mew in person and to earn praise from Professor Rowan.
What he could not handle was what the flowers in his chest were apparently intent on making him do—confronting his feelings, and risking one of the closest friendships he’d ever had.
He closed the tab and looked at the crushed flower in his hand. He couldn’t let his friendship with Tracey be destroyed like that. He couldn’t risk Tracey feeling pressured into being with him because he was Professor Oak’s grandson, or being uncomfortable enough with the situation to just leave. Tracey was smart, hardworking, and dedicated—he could easily find work elsewhere, and anyone he worked with would be lucky to have him.
The thought added to the ever-present ache in Gary’s chest.
“Here’s your tea.”
Gary yelped in surprise and nearly fell out of his chair at the sound of Tracey’s voice beside him. “Dammit, Tracey! Wear a bell or something!”
“Sorry.” Tracey grinned sheepishly, and Gary forgave him instantly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. What’re you holding that’s got you so distracted?”
Tracey was already right there, there was no use lying to him about it. He showed Tracey the flower. “You know some stuff about plants, do you know what this is?”
Tracey looked at it thoughtfully. “I think that’s a bluebell. I’ve never seen ‘em around here, where’d you find it?”
“Oh, you know, just…” He gestured vaguely in a random direction. “… Around.”
Tracey tilted his head. “Huh. I wonder where it came from. It must’ve had a rough trip, it looks pretty crushed.”
Gary nodded. “Yeah…”
“Well, anyway, here’s your tea.” Tracey handed the mug over. “Drink it slowly. Take as long as you need—the data can wait, taking care of you can’t.”
Tracey’s voice was soft, and his hand was warm on Gary’s back. Gary closed his eyes, wanting to savor the feeling. “Thanks, Trace. You’re a good guy.”
“I try,” Tracey said warmly. “If you need anything else, I’m right here, and your grandpa’s around.”
Another series of coughs racked his body, and he covered his mouth desperately. Tracey couldn’t find out he was coughing up bluebells because of feelings he had no choice but to push down.
His stomach twisted and his coughing threatened to turn into retching, but he fought his gag reflex. The last thing he needed was for Tracey to see, but he really didn’t want to have to puke into his hand.
Tracey was rubbing his back, saying something that was probably meant to be soothing but came out sounding too frantic to quite land that way. Then, even more frantic, he was calling, “Professor! Help, it’s Gary!”
Over his own coughing, Gary heard racing footsteps. His insides were on fire and the pain was too much to bear. He finally lost control and vomited.
He didn’t want to look. Apparently Tracey didn’t either—he cringed and looked away, but kept massaging Gary’s back, sounding relieved as he murmured, “That’s it, get it out. You’re okay, you’ll feel better once it’s out of your system.”
If only that were true.
Finally, he could stop retching and coughing. Tracey was still looking away, looking pale, but his grandpa was looking at him. Gary had never seen him look so horrified.
“Tracey, can you look after Gary for a minute?” he asked. “I’ll clean this up.”
A little of Tracey’s color returned at being given something to do, and he nodded dutifully. “Of course, Professor.”
Tracey helped Gary stand on shaky legs, arm around his waist to support him. As they walked away, Gary glanced over his shoulder at where his grandpa was cleaning up vomit, blood, and flowers.
As Gary sipped his tea, leaning against Tracey’s shoulder, Tracey tried not to get swept up in the guilt and fear that had tied a knot in his stomach. Something was very wrong, and he hadn’t realized how bad it was.
Gary had tugged his shirt off, saying he felt gross enough without a shirt he’d puked on, and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. (Tracey would pick it up later.) Tracey could not only feel, but see how lean Gary was, the weight he was losing.
And to make matters worse, he was definitely running a fever now. His skin was unnaturally warm to the touch, and he looked flushed and exhausted. Tracey had soaked a washcloth in an attempt to cool him down, but it didn’t seem to be doing much.
Worst of all, he was quiet.
But when he spoke, it was almost as painful. “I wish you didn’t have to see that.”
“It’s okay,” Tracey assured him. “You’re sick, it’s not your fault.”
Privately, he thought Gary needed to get that cough checked out, and Professor Oak was probably thinking the same thing. But they didn’t need to talk about that right now.
“Can I tell you something, Tracey?”
Tracey nodded, giving Gary a gentle smile. “Always.”
“I…” he trailed off, voice breaking, and cleared his throat before trying again. “I appreciate you being here. Thanks, for everything.”
“Don’t mention it,” Tracey replied. “It’s nothing. I like helping you, thanks for letting me.”
“Sap,” Gary teased through the rasp in his voice.
Professor Oak joined them with a sigh. “Tracey, can I talk to Gary alone?”
His expression was grave, and Tracey’s chest tightened with worry, but he nodded. “Of course.”
“Gary,” his grandpa said. “Were you ever going to tell me it had gotten that bad?”
Gary blinked in surprise. “You mean you knew?”
“I had a feeling, when I saw a petal on your bed, that I knew where it’d come from.” He sighed. “I was hoping I was wrong, or you’d talk to whoever it was for and it’d fade instead of getting worse.”
Gary looked at his grandpa miserably. “Have you ever had it?”
“No, but I’ve known a few people who have.” He rested a hand on Gary’s. “That’s why I’ve always told you it’s not healthy to bottle up your feelings. When you do, sometimes they manifest in ways that hurt more than talking about it would.”
“I didn’t know you meant it literally,” Gary groaned.
“All the same, listen, Gary.” He gave Gary an affectionate look. “I’ve known since long before you were born that romance isn’t for me, but love in all its forms is a beautiful thing. A beautiful thing that’s hurting you to keep to yourself. Whoever the flowers are for, maybe you should tell them.”
“I can’t,” Gary said, voice cracking. “I can’t do that to him. It’d put too much pressure on him, and I might lose him for good if he doesn’t feel the same.”
He coughed, and his grandpa patted his back. “And what if he does? Wouldn’t you rather know? How would it make him feel to know you’re hurting yourself like this because you don’t want to risk pushing him?”
Gary couldn’t bring himself to answer the first two questions, but unfortunately, he knew the answer to the third. “He wouldn’t like it.”
That was an understatement. Tracey was so gentle, it’d break his heart to hear one of his friends was in pain because of him. And even as difficult as he was to offend, he might be angry that Gary had decided to suffer in silence instead of giving him the choice to answer.
But still, Gary couldn’t bring himself to do it. Tracey stood to lose so much, and Gary stood to lose Tracey. He blinked back tears. “Isn’t there another option?”
“There’s a surgery, but it’s risky. You have a whole root system in your chest, tangled into your lungs and heart, and getting that out is dangerous.” He pulled Gary close, protectively. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions, but please think carefully before you go through that.”
“I will. It’s just…” Gary buried his face in his grandpa’s shoulder, feeling like a scared little kid. “It hurts. I’m scared, Grandpa.”
“I know,” he soothed. “Don’t think about it for now. I’m here for you no matter what, sapling.”
Gary closed his eyes and tried to breathe as deeply as he could manage.
Tracey didn’t hear much from Gary for the rest of the day—after Professor Oak had talked to him, he’d spent most of the day in a fitful sleep. Professor Oak had woken him for dinner and coaxed him into eating, but his appetite was poor and he’d barely said a word.
Tracey found himself lying awake that night. He wondered what they’d talked about—what Professor Oak hadn’t wanted him to hear—and if Gary was going to be okay.
The sound of coughing and stumbling steps in the hallway got his attention. No wonder Gary wasn’t getting much sleep at night. He got up, Marill squeaking in sleepy protest beside him.
“You can stay, I’m just gonna check on Gary.”
Instead of curling up to sleep again, Marill hopped onto his shoulder, and gratitude warmed his heart.
A little ways down the hall, the bathroom light was on. He could hear Gary coughing and retching.
He went to the door and knocked. “Gary? You okay in there?”
“Do I sound okay?” Gary replied, voice rough.
“Fair,” Tracey conceded. “I’m coming in.”
He let himself in and found Gary on the floor, wrapped around the toilet and retching painfully. Umbreon was at his trainer’s side, nuzzling and whimpering in sympathy. Marill hopped off Tracey’s shoulder to join them, patting Gary’s lower back with a worried expression.
Tracey knelt beside him. “There, there,” he murmured, rubbing circles in the space between Gary’s shoulder blades. He was burning with fever.
Gary finally stopped vomiting and groaned tiredly. He didn’t even raise his head. “You don’t have to be here, Tracey.”
“I know,” Tracey said. “I want to.”
“You wanna watch me cough and puke my guts out all night?” Despite the rasp, there was a light, teasing note in his voice. “Weirdo.”
Tracey laughed despite himself. “No, I care about you, silly.” He stood up to run a washcloth under the faucet. “I’m gonna cool you off, okay?”
Gary hummed in acknowledgment and Tracey ran the washcloth along his neck, relieved to see him relax a little. He found the strength to move and used it to immediately lean back against Tracey.
Tracey didn’t hesitate to hold him, accepting the warmth and weight of his body easily. He wiped Gary’s face with the washcloth and Gary sighed softly.
After a few moments of that, Gary started coughing again, and Tracey put the washcloth down to massage his chest.
The action coaxed out a few more coughs Gary weakly raised a hand to muffle. He tried to hide it, but his hand came away bloody. His breathing was ragged.
His condition had taken a sharp turn for the worse.
“Gary,” Tracey said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice, “this is bad. You need to go to a hospital.”
“‘S no use,” Gary replied. “Not much they can do for me now.”
Tracey’s heart broke at the utter resignation in Gary’s voice, like he knew something awful that Tracey didn’t, like he’d just decided to die. “You can’t mean that!” Tracey cried desperately. “Gary, please! I can’t lose you!”
“Shh,” Gary hushed him. “You’ll wake my grandpa. I’m too stubborn to die, Trace… You should—” he coughed “—know that by now.”
Tracey felt the rise and fall of Gary’s chest, stubbornly continuing. But how long could he really last? “You’re in really bad shape. What’ll we do if you…”
He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“I’m not gonna die tonight,” Gary promised. “But even if I did… this is how I’d wanna go. With you and Umbreon and Marill here.”
“Gary, please—”
“Tracey,” Gary said. “I… I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow, if I have to. Just… for tonight… let me have this.”
Tracey hated everything about this. Gary in pain, talking about dying, suggesting a compromise. The thought of Gary dying in his arms. But… Gary wanted one thing from him. And Tracey didn’t have the heart to deny it.
And to Gary’s credit, he sounded a little stronger than he had a few moments ago.
“Okay,” Tracey conceded. He couldn’t imagine sleeping, but that was fine. If he could stay up with Gary, keep holding the friend he loved so much, maybe everything would be okay.
Gary woke up with warmth at his back, arms around him, and that all-too familiar ache in his chest. Umbreon and Marill were curled up close beside him, and he could hear Tracey snoring. He moved so he could look at Tracey’s face.
Tracey was frowning in his sleep, eyebrows scrunched together in worry, but his lips were parted to let out a snore. He must’ve been exhausted.
He’d probably tried to stay up with Gary all night.
Gary watched Tracey sleep for a while longer. He was cute when he was asleep, even with worry marring his usually peaceful expression. Gary realized with a pang of guilt that he’d done that. He’d been so caught up in his own anxieties and hypothetical worst-case scenarios that he had Tracey worried sick. His grandpa had been right—trying not to hurt Tracey had hurt him a lot more.
Gary had almost told him last night. Gary had almost told him a hundred times, and every time, it felt like the flowers dug in their roots deeper, the pain intensifying, screaming to just tell him. One way or another, Gary couldn’t keep doing this.
A cough and some blood-covered petals forced themselves from his lungs.
The noise woke Tracey with a start. “Gary ? Are you okay? Are you alive? I need to tell you I—”
“I’m here, Trace,” Gary assured him.
Tracey’s face softened with relief. He looked tired, but he smiled so brightly at the sight of Gary still breathing (difficult and painful as it was). He hugged Gary with so much gentleness and warmth. Gary found the strength to hug him back.
How in the world had Gary ever been afraid to tell him anything? No matter what their relationship did or didn’t become, sweet, loyal Tracey wasn’t going anywhere.
“Tracey.” Tracey pulled back at the sound of Gary’s voice, looking worried. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Tracey had never really expected a boy to confess to being in love with him and then immediately cough up an entire root system onto his lap, so needless to say, he’d been a little shocked by that turn of events. Professor Oak had nearly had a heart attack when he found them both passed out on the bathroom floor, covered in blood and bluebells.
They’d gone to the hospital and after several rounds of examination, Gary had been cleared—the remnants of his disease were benign, and he’d be coughing up petals for at least a few days longer, but he was going to be okay. He’d been prescribed an antibiotic to keep his lungs from getting infected while they healed from the ordeal.
Gary hated the antibiotic and made it clear, complaining that it smelled horrible and made him nauseous, which Tracey and Professor Oak both took as a sign he was getting back to his old self.
“Come on, Gary,” Tracey said. “There’s no use being stubborn about it, we both know you have to take it.”
“My lungs are fine,” Gary replied, coughing up a petal. “The antibiotic is just a precaution.”
“A precaution you’re taking,” Tracey said sternly. “Because your grandpa and I don’t want you getting an infection after the scare you gave us both. And you’re not getting any kisses until you take your medicine.”
“You monster,” Gary gasped, dramatically putting a hand over his heart. “Fine, give it.”
He swallowed the pill along with half a glass of water. “Ugh. How many more times am I gonna have to do that?”
“Twice a day for the next week, you baby,” Tracey answered, peppering his face with kisses.
Gary gave Tracey a quick peck on the lips and Tracey’s heart melted. “At least I can count on you to make it worthwhile.”
Tracey decided not to point out that Gary taking a prescribed antibiotic was worthwhile to avoid another terrifying health scare. It was nice to know he could bribe his boyfriend with kisses, and it was nice to know Gary was okay.