Archive of Our Own

Yunho has always known that Mingi is a storm. Not the kind that sweeps through with fury and fire, but a quiet tempest—something cast and powerful, but so gentle that you almost forget its strength until you are caught in its eye. Mingi laughs with his whole body, talks with his hands like every word has weight to it. Yunho used to think that Mingi was someone you’d never forget, and he knew that, for him—at least—forgetting Mingi was impossible.

Sitting in the dim light of their favourite café, Yunho watches as Mingi leans across the table, mouth twisted into a grin and fingers tapping absentmindedly against his mug.

“They want me to read for the lead role,” Mingi says, voice buzzing with excitement. His eyes sparkle, glowing even in the low light. “Can you believe that? Me . The lead.”

Of course Yunho could believe it. He could believe anything when it comes to Song Mingi.

“That’s amazing,” Yunho says, trying to keep his voice steady. His smile, the one that always feels just a little too small for how much he cares, tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You’re going to kill it. Like always.”

Mingi beams, his whole face lighting up in a way that Yunho can only describe as blinding. He can feel the familiar ache tug at his chest, the tickle in the back of his throat, but he swallows it down, letting his gaze flicker to the dark roast swirling in his cup. His fingers itch to write something—anything—but instead, he clenches his fist beneath the table.

Mingi’s obliviousness has never been cruel. It isn’t Mingi’s fault that Yunho has spent the last few years of their friendship writing love poems for a man that doesn’t even know he is the muse. It isn’t Mingi’s fault that the words Yunho writes under the pen name “ The Waiting Poet ” are a desperate plea for someone who is always just out of reach. No, Mingi is innocent in that. Yunho’s feelings are his own burden to carry.

“You’re always so supportive, Yuyu,” Mingi says, his tone soft now, more sincere. He reaches across the table, poking at Yunho’s hand with his fingers, the touch light but electric. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Yunho’s heart lurches, his breathing hitching just for a second before he plasters on the smile he has perfected over the years. “That’s what friends are for,” he replies, voice steady even though inside, the words twist. Friends . That’s all they will ever be, and Yunho has long since accepted that.  Or at least, he has tried to.

Mingi’s phone buzzes on the table, a message from his manager flashing on the screen. Mingi grabs it, his eyes lighting up again as he types out a quick response. He is buzzing with excitement, and Yunho feels an odd sense of pride and envy. Pride because he wants nothing more in this life than for Mingi to succeed. Envy because no matter how close they are, Mingi’s world is slowly shifting, growing bigger, and Yunho fears he’ll be left on the outskirts, watching from the shadows.

“You’ll come to my audition, right?” Mingi asks suddenly, pulling Yunho from his thoughts.

Yunho blinks, caught off guard by the request. “You want me to come?”

Mingi laughs, the sound so bright and easy. “Of course! You’re like, my good luck charm. Every time I’ve got something big, you’re there, and things always go well. I mean, remember that commercial I booked last year? You were there. And the drama role? You were in the waiting room, sending me good vibes the whole time.”

Yunho laughs softly, hoping it doesn’t sound too hollow, and shakes his head. “Pretty sure that’s all your talent, nothing to do with me.”

“Nah, it’s you, man,” Mingi says, shooting him a grin so dazzling that it almost hurts to look at. “It’s always you.”

It’s always you .

Yunho feels the weight of those words settle in his chest, nestled right in the space between his heart and his ribs. He wants to believe it. He wants to believe that one, just one, that Mingi sees him in the way he sees Mingi. But that isn’t reality. In Mingi’s world, Yunho is his best friend, his good luck charm, the one who cheers from the sidelines with unwavering support. The one who writes words Mingi adores but will never know are meant for him.

And that was fine. Yunho can live with that. He has to.

The bell above the door chimes, signalling the arrival of someone else, but Yunho barely notices. His eyes are still on Mingi, watching as he talks excitedly about his upcoming projects, his hands gesturing wildly, his smile so wide and bright that it could rival the sun itself. And Yunho’s heart—well, his heart aches with the kind of longing that only those in love with their best friend’s can understand.

Somewhere in the back of Yunho’s mind, words begin to form, delicate and fragile. The waiting poet loves with quiet hands, with soft smiles and silent devotion. He watches as the world spins, as the sun sets, as love remains just out of reach, and he writes.

Yunho lets the thought linger, unspoken, as he smiles at Mingi.

He’ll write it later. He’ll write it all.

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The air in Seonghwa’s office is heavy, thich with the scent of ink and earl grey tea—an almost comforting blend, under normal circumstances. But the sharp floral scent of tiger lilies that has begun to invade the space is anything but comforting to Yunho. He sits hunched over on the worn couch that sags in the middle, holding a tissue over his mouth as another coughing fit rips through him. A single, vibrant orange petal floats down into his hand, joining the others crumpled in the tissue.

Across from him, Seonghwa sighs, his fingers tracing the edge of a manuscript stacked among many others on his tidy, yet cluttered desk. He doesn’t need to look to know what Yunho is coughing up. He’s seen the petals too many times before in the past few months.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Seonghwa says, his voice low but edged with concerned frustration. He tosses the pen he’s been fidgeting with onto his desk and crosses his arms, his gaze sharp as it lands on Yunho. “It’s getting worse.”

Yunho swallows hard, the taste of copper lingering on his tongue. “I’m fine,” he mutters, though the petals in his hand are a glaring contradiction in all of their orange and yellow beauty. He tucks the tissue away, as if hiding the evidence will  make it less real.

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, his expression incredulous. “Fine? Fine ? You’re coughing up Mingi’s birth flower petals for fuck sakes, have been for months . Do you have any idea what happens when the flowers bloom fully?”

Yunho stiffens, his fingers curling into the fabric of his jeans. He knows exactly what happens. He’s read enough tragic stories about Hanahaki Disease to understand how it all ends. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier to accept. The thought of telling Mingi—of confessing that he’s in love with his best friend, a love that  is slowly killing him—is more terrifying than the disease itself.

“I’m not telling him,” Yunho says softly, his voice cracking. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

Seonghwa’s eyes seem to darken, his jaw tightening. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s not fair is you letting yourself suffer alone when you can stop this. Mingi isn’t some stranger, Yunho. He’d do anything for you if you gave him the chance to.”

Yunho’s heart clenches at the thought of Mingi’s smile, the carefree way his laughter fills any room he enters, the warmth of  his presence. But it isn’t that simple. Mingi doesn’t see him that way. Yunho knows it. They are best friends, inseparable since middle school. But Mingi is… Mingi. Kind-hearted, oblivious, hard to love Mingi, who only sees Yunho as a brother. Nothing more. Nothing romantic.

“I can’t,” Yunho whispers, his hands shaking as he buries his face in them. “I can’t lose him, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa sighs deeply, his frustration giving way to a softer look of pity. “You’re going to lose him either way if you don’t say or do something. At least if you tell him, you have a chance.”

The words hang heavy in the air, weighing down on Yunho like a physical force. He doesn’t want to think about it. The risk of confessing, the possibility of rejection—it is all too much. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into the crashing waves, staring into an unforgiving abyss. One wrong move and he will lose everything.

Seonghwa leans back in his chair,  crossing his arms. “I get it, you’re scared. But this?” He gestures to the petals Yunho is still desperately trying to conceal. “This is going to get worse. You won’t be  able to hide it forever. What happens when Mingi finds out you’ve been dying in silence?”

The thought makes Yunho wince. He can imagine the hurt, the betrayal, on Mingi’s face if he ever learns the truth. Yunho doesn’t want to put him through that. But he also knows that Seonghwa is right. He can’t keep pretending everything is fine. His body is giving up on him, slowly but surely. The petals are coming more frequently now, the tightness in his chest growing with each passing day.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho murmurs, his voice barely audible. He doesn’t know if he’s apologising to Seonghwa, to Mingi, or to himself.

Seonghwa’s expression softens further, the anger in his gaze fading into something much sadder. He stands up and walks over to the small window in his office, gazing out at the grey sky that matches the atmosphere of the room they are in. “You don’t need to apologise to me,” he says quietly. “But you need to make a choice soon, Yunho. Time isn’t on your side.”

Yunho swallows hard, feeling the weight of those words settle deep into his bones. He knows Seonghwa is right, but the thought of confessing still sends a wave of panic through him. He would rather endure the pain of unrequited love than risk losing Mingi forever.

As the silence stretches between them, Yunho’s thoughts drift to the others. His friends have noticed something is off about him, but none of them knows the full extent of what is happening. Wooyoung joked a few weeks ago about Yunho looking pale, suggesting he needed a vacation or a better skincare routine. San had playfully thrown an arm around Yunho’s shoulders during their last group hangout, laughing about how Yunho looked distracted.

Even Hongjoong, who is usually so perceptive, hasn’t pressed him too much, though his concern is evident in the way he asks, “You good, man?” every time they are alone.

But none of them know about the flowers. None of them know he’s dying.

Only Seonghwa knows, and Yunho had begged him not to say anything. He isn’t ready for the others to find out. He isn’t ready for their pity, for the questions, the pressure to confess.

“I just… need more time,” Yunho says, his voice shaky. “I’ll figure it out.”

Seonghwa turns to him, expression unreadable. “Time isn’t something you have a lot of, Yunho.”

Yunho bites his lip, knowing that Seonghwa speaks  nothing but the truth, but he’s unable to shake the fear that grips at his heart. He doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t know how to live by telling the truth, either.

Seonghwa’s phone buzzes on his desk, breaking the tension. He glances at the screen and sighs. “I have a meeting in ten minutes, but we’re not done with this conversation.”

Yunho nods as he stands up shakily. His legs feel weak, his chest aching. He shoves his hand in his pocket, clutching the tissue filled with petals like it’s a lifeline.

“Take care of yourself, Yunho-yah,” Seonghwa says softly as Yunho heads for the door. “And, please, think about what I said.”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods silently and leaves the office, the weight of Seonghwa’s words  pressing down on him with each step.

As he walks out of the building and into the cold autumnal air, Yunho’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees a message from Mingi, a bright cheerful photo with Wooyoung and San at a new café they wanted to try.

Mingi
Yo! Where you at? You missed out on the best waffles today!

Yunho stares at the message, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. He wants to respond with something light and carefree, to pretend like everything is fine. But instead, he finds himself typing a simple reply.

Yunho
I’m sorry. I’ll be there next time.

As soon as he hits send, another petal slips from his lips, falling onto his phone screen opened with Mingi’s chat like a silent reminder of everything he is trying to forget.

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The audition space is alive with nervous energy. Everywhere Yunho looks, there are actors milling about, each lost in their own world of self-doubt and quiet determination. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead casting a sterile glow over the room, their brightness beginning to cause a pulsing headache behind his eyes.

Mingi stands in the middle of it all, pacing like he always does before something big. He holds a folded script in his hand, wrinkled and thumbed through so many times that the edges were beginning to curl and  tear. His lips move as he whispers lines to himself, brows furrowed in concentration. His entire body seems coiled with energy, a mixture of excitement and anxiety that Yunho has come to recognise over the years.

Yunho leans against the wall, trying to blend into the background. He isn’t supposed to be here, not really. Auditions are for the actors, not their best friends. But he can’t leave Mingi alone, not when he looks like this—like he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and is pretending like it doesn’t bother him.

“You good?” Yunho asks, his tone casual, though he can feel the tremor in his own chest, the familiar pressure  building behind his ribs. His fingers twitch, resisting the urge to rub at his sternum where it always aches the most.

Mingi stops pacing and looks up, his face lighting up with the easy grin that he always wears around Yunho. His eyes crinkle at the corners, a mixture of relief and excitement. “Yeah, I’m just—man, I really want this. Can you imagine?” He gestures with the script, as if  he can already see his name on the marquee. “The lead role in a drama? This could be the break I’ve been waiting for.”

Yunho’s heart clenches painfully at Mingi’s words, but he pushes the feeling down, just like he always does. He can see it so clearly: Mingi standing in the spotlight, taking the world by storm, fulfilling every dream he’s ever had. And Yunho? Well, Yunho will be there too. Somewhere. Maybe in the background. Always on the edge of Mingi’s life, cheering him on from the sidelines.

He deserves this , Yunho reminds himself, his gaze softening as he watches Mingi bounce on the balls of his feet, his excitement palpable. He deserves everything he’s worked for .

But that doesn’t stop the itch at the back of his throat, petals tickling incessantly. They always rear their heads when his emotions swell too high, when the love he tries so hard to suppress bubbles up, raw and undeniable. He swallows hard, forcing the bouquet back down before anything can escape. His chest tightens unbearably in protest, but he ignores it, just like he always does.

“You’ll get it,” Yunho says, his voice steady despite the way his insides twist. “You’re going to shine, Mingi.”

Mingi laughs, the sound so bright and full of life. He reaches out and claps Yunho on the shoulder, the weight of his hand both grounding and suffocating at the same time. “I’ve got you to thank for that, man. You’re always in my corner.”

His heart lurches at the words, a sharp pain shooting through his chest. Always in my corner . It’s true, isn’t it? He’s always there, always supporting, always loving. But not in the way Mingi needs. Not in the way that can save him from the garden blooming inside of his lungs, the flowers having taken root the moment he realised that he was in love with his best friend.

Yunho nods, forcing a smile as his throat tightens. “Always,” he echoes, the word catching slightly as he swallows down another petal.

The two of them stand there for a moment, the noise of the room fading into the background as Yunho watches Mingi. His best friend, his everything , so close yet so far out of reach, unobtainable. Mingi’s future is right in front of him, full of opportunity and promise in the form of scripts and cameras, while Yunho’s is… uncertain, to say the least. He isn’t sure how much longer he can keep this up—pretending he’s okay, pretending that the Hanahaki isn’t slowly killing him from the inside out in the most heartbreakingly beautiful way.

Before Yunho can sink further into his own thoughts, the casting director calls Mingi’s name. He straightens immediately, his nervous energy giving way to a determined focus.

“This is it,” Mingi says, flashing Yunho a quick grin. “Wish me luck.”

Yunho’s smile wavers for a fraction of a second before he catches himself. “You don’t need it,” he replies. “But good luck anyway.”

Mingi gives him a playful salute before striding towards the audition room, his confidence returning in full force. Yunho watches him go, his heart heavy and throat burning from the effort of holding everything inside.

As soon as Mingi disappears behind the door, Yunho lets out a shaky sigh and ducks into the nearest bathroom, his hand flying to his mouth as another cough tears through him. This time, when the petals come, they aren’t just the small, delicate fragments he is used to. No, this time it was a full bloom—a vibrant orange flower, petals curled and soft at the edges, glistening with saliva and blood. The sight of it sends a wave of panic through Yunho, but he quickly crushes it, wrapping it in tissue before flushing it down the nearest toilet.

He presses his back against the wall as the water flushes, trying to steady his breathing. This is bad. It’s getting worse, and at a much faster rate than he had anticipated. He thought he had more time. But the blooms are coming more frequently now, and each one seems to take a little more out of him. His chest feels tight, the weight of the gifts growing heavier with each day.

It’s fine. I can handle it. I just need to keep it together.

Yunho has been telling himself that for months now, but with every petal, it feels like he is only slipping further away from control. His love for Mingi is like a wild, untamed thing inside of him, beautiful and oh so dangerous, threatening to tear him apart if he can’t find a way to contain it.

He returns to the waiting room, letting out another breath, this one shakier than the last. He can hear faint murmurs from behind the door, Mingi’s deep voice carrying through as he reads his lines. It’s so strong, so clear, full of emotion. He is going to nail it. He is going to walk out of that room with the lead role, and everything will change.

Yunho’s life, on the other hand, won’t change at all.

He will continue to stand at Mingi’s side, watching him soar higher and higher while Yunho sinks further and further into his own quiet, maddening suffering. Mingi will never know the truth, because Yunho will never tell him. He will carry this love in silence, just like he always does.

And one day, when the petals bloom fully, when the flowers choke the life out of him and he takes his last breath… maybe then he could rest.

But for now, Yunho will stay in his corner, always supporting, always waiting, always loving .

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The restaurant buzzes with energy, filled with the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and the warmth of old friends. Mingi sits at the head of the table, his face glowing with excitement and happiness, as everyone around toasts to his success.

Yunho sits a few seats down, just close enough to smile and nod when Mingi’s eyes flicker his way. He watches his best friend bask in the congratulations of their group—San claps Mingi on the back, Wooyoung tosses playful jabs, and Seonghwa gives a small but proud smile from across the table. Everyone is in on the celebration, their voices blending together in a symphony of joy.

It should have been perfect. Yunho should have felt nothing but happiness for Mingi, who had worked so hard, put in so many long nights memorising lines, honing his craft. But beneath the surface of his quiet smile, Yunho feels the familiar, aching weight pressing down on his chest, filling his lungs.

Mingi got the lead role. His dreams are finally coming true.

And Yunho? Well, Yunho is just there. Watching. Waiting.

Mingi’s eyes sparkle as he laughs at something San says, his smile wide and genuine, lighting up the entire room. Yunho’s gaze lingers for a moment too long, caught up in the way Mingi’s joy seems to brighten everything around him. His chest tightens, and Yunho quickly lowers his eyes, swallowing down the petals that threaten to rise. Not here. Not now.

The petals always come when he isn’t careful, when his feelings slip past the walls he’s tried so hard, so carefully to build. But tonight isn’t about him. It’s about Mingi. He can’t let his own sadness spoil that.

Across the table, Hongjoong’s sharp gaze is on him. Yunho can feel it, even without looking directly at his friend. He knows Hongjoong too well. Knows that the shorter man can always tell when something is off.

Yunho shifts in his seat, focusing on the condensation sliding down the side of his glass. He can hear Mingi laughing again, and it twists something deep inside of him—a mix of pride and longing, of joy and pain. He wants to freeze this moment, keep it forever in a bottle on his bookshelf, but also push it away because it reminds him that things are soon to change. Mingi is going to skyrocket to stardom, and Yunho? Yunho will go back to his mundane office job, to being the quiet poet that no one knows, waiting for his lungs to fill with petals until there is no room left and they burst.

A hand taps his arm, drawing Yunho’s attention. Hongjoong had slipped over to the seat beside him, eyes narrowed with concern. “You alright?” he asks, his voice low enough that only Yunho can hear.

Yunho blinks, forcing a smile. “Of course, yeah! I’m just tired.”

Hongjoong doesn’t look convinced though. His gaze lingers on Yunho’s face, searching for the truth hidden beneath an easy lie. “You’ve been off all night,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I’ve known you too long for you to pretend like nothing’s wrong around me.”

Yunho sighs, glancing at the others. They are all still wrapped up in their conversations, oblivious to the quiet tension brewing between him and Hongjoong. Mingi is laughing with Yeosang and Wooyoung, completely at ease, his entire world about to change. And Yunho? He isn’t ready to talk about what is really going on. Not here. Not with everyone around.

“It’s nothing,” Yunho says, his voice barely above a whisper. He can feel the familiar ache in his chest, the phantom sensation of petals brushing against his lungs. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”

Hongjoong’s frown deepens, his eye flickering over Yunho’s face with intent. “I’m worried about you,” he says, much quieter this time. “Even if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

It causes Yunho’s heart to skip a beat. Hongjoong has always been perceptive, always able to see past the surface. They’ve been friends for almost as long as Yunho has been best friends with Mingi, and there are few people in this world that know Yunho better. But Yunho can’t tell him the truth—not about the petals, not about his feelings for Mingi. It’s too much. Too dangerous. He isn’t ready to let anyone else into that part of his world.

“I’ll be fine,” Yunho mutters, the words coming out harsher than he intends. He winces at the sound of his own voice, his tone betraying how fragile he really feels.

Hongjoong’s eyes soften, but he thankfully doesn’t push any further. Instead, he sighs and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, a mirror image of Seonghwa all those days ago in his office. “Alright,” he says, though his tone makes it clear that he isn’t convinced. “But if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.”

Yunho nods, grateful that Hongjoong is willing to let it drop—for now, at least. His chest still feels tight, but he forces himself to take a deep breath, steadying the emotions that threaten to spill over.

After a moment, Hongjoong shifts in his seat again, this time with a lighter expression. “You know,” he says, voice more casual now, “we haven’t hung out in a while. Just the two of us.”

He blinks in surprise. It’s  true—most of Yunho’s time lately has been spent at home, either writing late into the night or helping Mingi rehearse for his audition. He hasn’t seen much of anyone outside of those moments, and Hongjoong is right. It has been too long since they’ve spent any real time together.

“I’ve missed you, believe it or not,” Hongjoong adds with a smirk, though there is a hint of genuine fondness beneath the teasing tone.

Yunho smiles despite himself, the tension easing slightly from his chest. “You, too.”

“So,” Hongjoong says, leaning in conspiratorially, “how about we do something this weekend? Just us. I can even let you pick what we do, since I’m feeling so generous.”

Shaking his head at Hongjoong’s actions, Yunho laughs. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Good.” Hongjoong pats him on the back before getting up and returning to his seat on the other side of the table. He gives Yunho one last knowing glance, as if to say I’m not done with you yet , but the tension between them is gone for now.

Yunho leans back in his seat, exhaling slowly. The noise of the restaurant fills the space around him again, but he feels slightly less overwhelmed. Hongjoong always has that effect on him—able to shift the weight of the world off Yunho’s shoulders, even if just for a moment.

But the tightness in Yunho’s chest remains, the ever-present reminder of what he can’t say. As Mingi’s voice rings out, laughing with their friends, Yunho’s gaze flicks  back to him, his heart pulling painfully at the sight.

He’s happy for Mingi—of course he is. His best friend is about to take the world by storm, and Yunho will be there, watching every step of the way. Always supporting, always on the sidelines.

But Yunho also knows the truth. One day, the petals will take him. One day, his lungs will be full, and there will be no more breath left to cheer for Mingi.

And when that day comes, Yunho hopes that Mingi will at least remember him, even if he never knows the truth.

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The sun is already dipping below the horizon, the grey clouds above swallowing what little light remains in the early evening sky. Yunho’s footsteps echo along the pavement as he walks, hands buried deep in the pockets of his long coat. The world feels cold, even though the autumn breeze is light, a contrast to the heavyweight lodged deep inside his chest.

Jongho had offered him a ride home after work, even teased Yunho for looking “half-dead”. Yunho had forced a tight smile, saying that the walk home would help clear his head, the exercise would be good. In truth, the idea of sitting in Jongho’s car, where he might be subjected to question after question that he isn’t ready to answer, sounds suffocating.

The walk is supposed to clear his thoughts. But it only seems to make the weight heavier.

The streetlights flicker on as Yunho passes under them, casting long shadows on the pavement. His office job, dull and repetitive, did little to distract him today. Every second was another dull moment closer to Mingi’s big debut. The drama is set to premiere in a few days, and Yunho knows the attention it’s going to get. Mingi, standing in the spotlight, Yunho’s star finally rising.

Yunho, in the dark.

His steps falter as something bright catches his eyes up ahead. His heart sinks the moment he recognises it. A massive billboard looms over the busy street, larger than life and impossible to ignore.

It’s Mingi’s billboard.

Yunho freezes, his breath catching in his throat as he takes in the image. Mingi is front and centre, eyes soft, posture intimate. He is staring down at his co-lead, a man with a delicate frame and milky skin, like he is something precious. The kind of look Yunho has seen Mingi give so many times, only now it isn’t directed at him . It isn’t real, Yunho knows that—it’s acting. But that doesn’t stop the ache in his chest, doesn’t stop the sharp sting behind his ribs. The co-leads' pretty, almost fragile appearance only worsens the feeling.

Yunho forces himself to tear his gaze away, to focus on the ground as he continues to walk, but it’s too late. The damage is already done.

The first cough rips through him without warning, forcing him to bend over, his body convulsing violently as he struggles to breathe. His vision blurs as tears well in his eyes, his throat tight, strangled. He reaches for his neck, desperate to clear whatever is clawing its way up, his other hand trembling as it reaches out to steady him against a lamppost.

Another cough, and this time petals slip from his lips—soft, yellow, delicate rose petals, like the ones blooming inside his chest, the colour and meaning of friendship mocking him. Yunho gasps, choking as more come, his body wracked with spasms as the petals spill out onto the pavement, each one a reminder of the love he can never have.

He tries to inhale, but something sharp lodges itself in his windpipe, stabbing at him from the inside. His knees buckle, and he falls to the ground, clawing at his throat in desperation. Around him, people walk by, not caring about his suffering. Some have pity in their eyes, others disgust. The world keeps moving, indifferent to the man on his knees, struggling to breathe.

His hands fumble for his phone, his vision swimming as he unlocks it, the screen blurring in front of him as tears prickle. There is no time to think—he sends a rushed message to the first person in his contacts, not even looking at who it is.

Help.

The word  is sent before he even realises it. His fingers slip as another wave of petals force their way up, the spark edges of something slicing at his throat, leaving him gasping and sobbing as he clutches his phone to his chest. His whole body trembles, convulsing with the effort of keeping the petals from suffocating him entirely.

The tears stream down his face now, mixing with the petals that are littering the ground around him as they continue to fall from his lips—soft, beautiful things that seem innocent, yet are the source of all of his agony. He can’t do this anymore, he thinks at that moment, can’t keep pretending.

The billboard looms overhead, Mingi’s face staring down at him , beautiful and unattainable. Yunho’s vision blurs completely as he fights for breath, his body weakening with each desperate attempt to inhale. The petals continue to flow, merciless in their assault.

And still, no one notices. No one stops to help.

As Yunho’s world spins, he realises how alone he truly is.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Yunho wakes to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the faint beeping  of a heart monitor. His eyelids feel heavy, as if weighed down by exhaustion and something deeper, the persistent ache in his chest. The world around him is muted, soft in its clarity, and it takes a moment for his mind to really catch up to his body.

Where is he?

He blinks blearily, his vision slowly coming to focus. White walls. The gentle hum of machines. The stiff bed below him. The hospital. The realisation hits him with a sudden, cold jolt, and Yunho’s pulse quickens. Panic rises in his throat as memories rush back—walking home in the evening, seeing the billboard, Mingi’s face staring down at him with that tender look that wasn’t meant for him. And then the coughing. The petals. So many petals. The pain.

How did he get here?

His hands instinctively move to his chest, feeling the dull throb under his ribs. He remembers the feeling of his throat closing, the desperation as he’d drop to his knees clawing at his neck, petals spilling from his lips in a rush that stole his breath. He sent a message—one word. Help .

Seonghwa. Seonghwa must have—

The door to his room bursts open, and Yunho’s gaze flickers toward it, his thought scrambling to keep up with the sight of Seonghwa rushing in. His friend’s normally composed features are a mess of emotions—relief, fear, and something sharp that Yunho can’t quite  name. Behind him, Yeosang lingers in the doorway, his usually calm aura noticeably tense as he watches from a distance, his expression unreadable.

“Yunho,” Seonghwa breathes, his voice shaky as he reaches the bed in a few long strides. “God, Yunho…”

Before Yunho can say anything, Seonghwa is at his side, gripping his hand tightly, his fingers trembling against Yunho’s skin. His pretty features are marred by worry and… anger.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Seonghwa’s voice cracks, and Yunho’s chest tightens, though for once not because of the disease. “How can you just—” he pauses, squeezing Yunho’s hand harder, as if to make sure Yunho is really still there. “You can’t keep doing this.”

Yunho swallows, his throat still sore and raw from the petals  and thorns. He tries to speak, but the words feel stuck on the rough ridges, like they’re caught in between all of the sharp edges of everything he can’t really say.

“You’re killing yourself, Yunho,” Seonghwa’s voice  wavers, and Yunho sees the tears brimming in his friend’s eyes, threatening to spill over. “I can’t—I won’t keep watching you slowly waste away like this.”

Seonghwa’s words  pierce through the haze of Yunho’s confusion, hitting him harder than any coughing fit ever could. He can’t look Seonghwa in the eyes, his gaze dropping to where their hands are joined, Seonghwa’s grip is firm and unwavering. There’s something unbearable about being the cause of his friend’s pain.

“You have options,” Seonghwa continues, his voice a mixture of desperation and anger. “You know you do. You either tell him how you feel, or you get the surgery.”

Yunho flinches at the mention of the surgery, the very thought of it making him recoil internally. He’s heard of it before—the Hanahaki  surgery that would take away the flowers blooming in his lungs, but at the cost of erasing his ability to ever feel love again. The idea of living without love, of never being able to feel this way about anyone, it leaves him cold.

“I can’t,” Yunho murmurs, his voice hoarse.

Seonghwa’s face twists in frustration. “Why not ?”

Yunho finally meets his gaze, his eyes glassy. “How can you ask that of me? To either lose him… or lose the ability to feel anything at all?”

“Because…” Seonghwa’s voice cracks, and the tears he’s been holding back finally spill over, streaming down his cheeks, “how can you think it’s fair to us? To me? To Mingi? To all of us? That you’d rather die than do something?”

The words are like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from Yunho’s chintz lungs as he watches one of his closest friends, the one who has always been so strong, fall apart in front of him. Seonghwa’s shoulders tremble at the force of his tears, his chest heaving with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. Yunho can only sit there, feeling hollow and fragile.

“Do you even realise what you’re doing to us?” Seonghwa continues, his voice rising with the anguish that has clearly been building for months. “You’d rather leave us behind, watch us lose you, instead of… instead of giving yourself a chance.”

Yunho can feel the cracks forming inside of him, the fragile walls he has built around his heart shattering with every word Seonghwa speaks. He knows his friend is right, Seonghwa is rarely wrong. He knows the truth of it all, but the thought of confessing to Mingi, of risking the one thing he has left—their friendship—feels unbearable.

Seonghwa’s words fade into the background as Yunho’s gaze drifts back to Yeosang, who still stands silently in the doorway, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.  Yeosang isn’t crying. He isn’t yelling. He is simply there , watching, his sharp eyes taking in everything with a quiet understanding. And Yunho knows.

Yeosang has figured it out, all of the context clues are out in the open.

Yunho can see it in the way Yeosang looks at him, the way his expression softens with quiet resignation. He knows. Maybe he’s known for longer than Yunho realises.

But Yunho doesn’t have it in himself to care anymore. There are too many pieces already falling apart, too many truths that can’t be put back together.

The silence in the room stretches as Seonghwa wipes his eyes, composing himself with a shaky breath. When he finally speaks again, his voice is quieter, filled with exhaustion. “You can’t keep doing this, Yunho. You can’t keep pretending it’s going to be fine when you’re breaking.”

Yunho doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’s too tired, too defeated to find the words to say anything that might ease Seonghwa’s pain. He can only watch as Seonghwa, drained and frustrated, takes a step back from the bed.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Seonghwa whispers, his voice barely audible over the beeps and hums of the hospital equipment.

It makes his throat tighten, not from the flowers this time, but from the weight of everything left unsaid between them.

In the quiet, Yeosang’s voice breaks through, soft and steady. “We won’t force you to do anything, Yunho. But you have to decide something soon.”

Yunho nods numbly, the exhaustions settling deep in his bones as the reality of his situation presses down on him like a weight he just can’t shake. He’s running out of time. And he doesn’t know if he has the strength to make the choice that can save him.

The room remains thich with tension, the gravity of Seonghwa’s words weighting on Yunho’s chest like a second heart. He has nothing left to say. Or maybe, it’s that he has too much to say but no way to voice it, not when every breath feels like it could be his last.

Then, Yeosang speaks up again, voice even and measured, cutting through the suffocating silence. “I… I told everyone that you were in an accident.”

Yunho’s heart stutters, his eyes wide as he turns to Yeosang. Panic surges up from within the pit of his stomach, twisting uglily into his chest.

“No,” he croaks, his voice rasping from the strain of the petals. “Yeosang, no.” He pushes himself upright in the bed, wincing as the sudden movement sends pain through his lungs. “You can’t—” His words came out strangled, desperate. “You can’t tell them. Not about this. Please.” His hands tremble as he reaches out towards Yeosang, the sheer force of his plea vibrating in the air between them.

Yeosang’s calm composure falters, a flicker of guilt passing through his eyes as his gaze meets Yunho’s. “I didn’t tell them about…” His voice trails off, the weight of what he didn’t say hanging heavy. “I only said you had an accident. They don’t know about the… the Hanahaki.”

But it isn’t enough. It isn’t anywhere close to enough.

“Promise me,” Yunho rasps, his voice cracking under the strain of his fear. “Don’t tell them. Don’t tell anyone .”

Yeosang’s lips press into a thin line, and Yunho can see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to keep something this big from their group of friends. Their tight-knit circle is more like family than anything else, and Yunho is asking Yeosang to carry the burden of his secret, to hide the truth from people who deserve to know, who would want to help.

“I…” Yeosang starts, glancing briefly at Seonghwa before his eyes drop to the floor. He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. “I promise, Yunho. I won’t say anything.”

Yunho exhales, relief flooding through him, but it’s a fleeting feeling. The look in Yeosang’s eyes cuts him deeper than he expects. There is pain there, a kind of quiet, resigning sorrow. Yeosang is the type to shoulder burdens without complaint, but this one is different.  Yunho knows how much it hurts to lie, to hide things from their friends, especially something like this.

“Thank you,” Yunho whispers, though the words feel hollow. What kind of friend is he, to ask them of this?

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with the weight of secrets, until Seonghwa clears his throat, pulling out his phone. “I’ll check the group chat,” he mutters, his voice still tight from the emotional storm that has barely just passed.

Yunho watches as Seonghwa scrolls through the messages, the soft glow of the phone’s screen reflecting in his eyes. Seonghwa begins to read aloud, his voice shaky but trying to sound normal.

“Hongjoong-ah says he’s on his way to the hospital. He’ll probably be here soon.”

Yunho nods absently, his mind spinning, though a small part of him feels comforted at the thought of Hongjoong coming.

“San’s freaking out,” Seonghwa continues, trying to inject a little lightness into his tone. “He sent, like, fifteen messages in a row asking what happened.”

There is a slight twitch of Yunho’s lips, but it isn’t enough to be called a smile. He can picture San pacing around, frantically typing, probably making Wooyoung hold him back from running to the hospital from their apartment.

“And Jongho says he’ll stop by after his shift,” Seonghwa adds.

Yunho doesn’t say anything. He can feel a strange emptiness settling in his chest, an odd numbness creeping into the edges of his mind. Something isn’t right.

“Is that… everyone?” he asks, voice low, hesitant.

Seonghwa himself hesitates, thumb pausing over the screen as if the answer hurts to give. His eyes flick towards Yunho, and Yunho can feel the air shift. There is no need for Seonghwa to say it, because the silence tells him everything.

There is a name missing.

No message from Mingi.

Yunho’s breath catches in his throat, his chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with the Hanahaki. He doesn’t need to voice his question—his face must have given him away, the sudden wave of hurt and confusion washing over him.

Yeosang, always observant, steps in, his tone gentle but firm. “Mingi’s busy,” he says softly. “He’s filming right now for the drama.”

Yunho blinks, his stomach twisting painfully. Of course Mingi is busy. Heis the lead in a highly anticipated BL drama, his dream role. He is on set, working hard, surrounded by a whole team of people. It isn’t like Mingi has time to sit around checking messages anymore, not with his schedule.

But Yunho can’t help the ache in his chest. Not when Mingi is the one person he wants to hear from the most. He doesn’t expect Mingi to drop everything, but the silence feels… cold. Distant. It reminds him of the widening gap between them, the space that has grown ever since Mingi’s career started to take off.

“I’m sure he’ll call when he gets the chance,” Seonghwa adds quickly, sensing Yunho’s discomfort.

Yunho swallows, his throat tight as he nods mutely. He wants to believe it, but a part of him can’t help but wonder if this is the beginning of the end. Mingi is moving forward, rising higher, while Yunho is sinking, drowning in petals and unspoken feelings.

He can’t shake the image of that poster from earlier—the way Mingi had looked at his co-star like he was something precious, something delicate. It’s everything Yunho wants for himself, and more, but can never have. And the cruel irony of it all is that the more Mingi soars, the more Yunho’s lungs fill with flowers, choking on the very thing he can’t bring himself to confess.

Seonghwa shifts beside him, breaking the heavy silence. “Yunho,” he calls, his voice soft but insistent, “you need to stop thinking like that.”

Yunho turns to him, startled. “Like what?”

“Like you’re going to be left behind,” Seonghwa says, his eyes piercing through Yunho’s defences. “We’re all still here. Mingi’s still here.”

But Yunho can’t quite believe it. Not when his own body is betraying him, not when the distance between him and Mingi feels like an ever-widening chasm.

“I don’t know if I can hold on much longer,” Yunho admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Seonghwa reaches for his hand again, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to hold on alone.”

But that is the problem, wasn’t it? Yunho is alone in this. Because even though his friends are there, even though they will never let him fall, none of them can give him what he wants. None of them can fill the void that Mingi’s absence has left.

And Mingi… Mingi doesn’t even know he is missing.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

The week at the hospital feels like a blur to Yunho. Endless white walls, sterile smells, and the constant parade of doctors and nurses urging him to consider the surgery. They spoke in soft, sympathetic tones, as if they were doing him a favour by offering an escape from the inevitable.

"Hanahaki surgeries are extremely safe now," one doctor had said with a small, reassuring smile. "You wouldn't feel any pain afterward. You’d live without the burden."

But to Yunho, the thought of the surgery feels like death itself.

The flowers choking his lungs are an ugly, twisted kind of beauty, but they are still his . He doesn’t want to part with the only thing that ties him to the love he feels for Mingi. Even if Mingi can never return his feelings, at least Yunho can still feel . There is so much beauty in emotion, even the painful ones. How can anyone ask him to trade the very thing that makes him human?

So, he refuses. Again and again.

He will gladly let the flowers bloom inside him, growing until they take his last breath, rather than lose the ability to love at all.

Wooyoung is waiting for him when the hospital finally discharges him. He had insisted on picking Yunho up, and Yunho didn’t have the heart to say no. As they walk out of the hospital and toward Wooyoung’s car, the crisp autumn air hits Yunho’s face, a welcome change from the sterile chill of the hospital room.

"Ready?" Wooyoung asks, unlocking the car.

Yunho nods, slipping into the passenger seat and pulling the seatbelt across his chest. He is exhausted. Every part of him feels heavy, like the weight of his unspoken feelings have doubled in the past week.

They drive in comfortable silence for a while, the city passing by in a blur of muted colours and overcast skies. Eventually, Wooyoung pulls into the drive-thru of a fast-food place. “Figured you might be sick of hospital food. Let’s grab something real to eat.”

Yunho gives him a grateful smile. “Sounds good.”

Wooyoung orders for both of them, not asking Yunho what he wants because he already knows. As they wait for their food, Wooyoung doesn’t bring up the "accident," and Yunho feels an overwhelming sense of relief. He isn’t ready to talk about it, not with Wooyoung, not with anyone.

Instead, Wooyoung fills the silence with normal, everyday things—how busy work has been at the nursery, how he and San were thinking about adopting another cat.

Yunho lets himself sink into the mundanity of the conversation, allowing it to distract him from the ache in his chest. It’s easy to lose himself in Wooyoung’s voice, in the stories of his life with San. They are so happy together, so in love. Yunho can feel the envy gnawing at him, sharp and bitter.

He chews on his fries slowly, nodding along to Wooyoung’s story about a particularly mischievous kitten at the adoption centre, while a petal flutters against the back of his throat. Yunho swallows it down with a gulp of soda, his heart tightening as he forces a smile.

“Do you have any candidates in mind?” Yunho asks, trying to focus on Wooyoung’s life instead of his own.

Wooyoung laughs, the sound bright and full of warmth. “A few. There’s this one cat that Sannie fell in love with the moment he saw her. We’re still deciding though.”

Yunho’s smile tightens, the image of Wooyoung and San's easy love making the ache in his chest sharper. He wishes things could be that simple for him, too.

Later, back in his apartment, the silence is deafening.

Wooyoung had dropped him off with a cheerful wave, telling him to rest up and that he’d see him soon. Yunho had forced another smile, promising he’d be fine. But now, standing in his empty apartment, the quiet pressed in on him from all sides.

When did everything become so grey? When had the petals slipping from his mouth become the only colour in his life?

He sinks into the bay window, his favourite spot in the apartment. Mingi had insisted Yunho get this place, purely for the bay window. They’d been apartment hunting together, and the second Mingi saw it, he had declared, this is the one. Yunho hadn’t even hesitated, signing the papers without looking at the other options.

Now, as he stares out at the rainy streets below, Yunho rubs at his chest, trying to ease the tightness that has settled there. A sharp pain rises in his throat, making him hiss as he reaches for the glass of water on the windowsill. He downs it in one go, but the pain doesn't subside.

Mingi hasn’t visited. He hasn’t even called.

There had been a single text from him a few days ago— Are you okay? Sorry I couldn’t talk sooner, I was busy with the drama shoot.

Yunho had sent back a lie, telling him it was just a small accident and that they could get coffee when Mingi had free time next.

But the truth was, Yunho doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready to see Mingi again. Not when every moment around him is a constant reminder of what he could never have.

The sun is setting when Yunho reaches for his notebook. The pale orange and pink hues of the sky seemed to mock him, the colours of a world that still feels things deeply.

He opens the notebook to a fresh page, picking up his pen with shaking fingers. He has written countless poems over the past few years, all of them about Mingi. The words come easily, too easily. Every line a confession, every verse a desperate plea.

Tonight, the poems flow like water, each one more raw and painful than the last.

“ Your smile is sunlight, warming the coldest parts of my heart. But the warmth is fleeting, and the cold always returns. ”

“ I love you in a way that feels like drowning. But I would rather drown in you than breathe without you. ”

The words spill out of him, page after page, until his hand aches and his vision blurs with unshed tears. But still, he keeps writing.

When the moon rises high above the city, Yunho finally sets down his pen. His chest is tight again, and he can feel the petals shifting inside him, pressing against his lungs. He coughs, a single petal falling into his lap.

He stares at it, his heart aching with a familiar, hollow pain.

Mingi had always been the brightest part of his life, the one who filled every corner of Yunho’s world with colour. But now, Yunho can’t help but wonder when his world had turned so grey, when the petals had become the only thing left that reminded him of what it meant to love.

And yet, despite the pain, despite the hopelessness of it all, Yunho knows one thing for certain.

He will love Song Mingi until his last breath, even when it kills him.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Yunho’s poetry sells better than anyone had expected. Each piece—raw, aching confessions hidden behind metaphors—captivates readers, even if they don’t know the true source of his inspiration. But for Yunho, every success feels hollow, a reminder of the weight in his chest and the love he can never voice aloud.

Seonghwa has been supportive throughout the process, but his displeasure is always there, simmering just beneath the surface. Yunho knows Seonghwa isn’t happy with him, but he doesn’t push. Seonghwa’s passive disapproval is easier to bear than his direct confrontation, and Yunho is thankful that he can make it through the day without losing his breath.

His days have taken on a rhythm, but not the kind he longs for. Mingi is still away, still working on the BL drama that took him far from the city. Without him around, everything feels monotone. Yunho wakes up, works, writes poems, and sleeps. He tries to break the cycle by seeing his friends, but even their company can’t lift the fog of guilt that settles in his chest.

Yeosang is the worst. Every time Yunho catches the heart-shattering look in his eyes, a fresh wave of guilt crashes over him. Yunho knows what Yeosang isn’t saying—that he could barely stand the secret Yunho had forced him to keep. But Yunho isn’t ready. Telling anyone, let alone Mingi, feels impossible.

His friends are worried about him, too.

“Yunho, you’ve gotten skinnier. Are you eating enough?” San had asked over dinner one evening.

“You look so pale,” Wooyoung had added, concern written all over his face. “You need a vacation, somewhere nice.”

Yunho brushes them off with forced smiles and deflections. He doesn’t want to deal with their questions, and certainly doesn’t want them worrying. But no matter how hard he tries, their concern lingers, and he can feel the weight of it like stones tied around his neck.

One evening, they all met up for dinner at a cosy restaurant on the quieter side of the city. Mingi’s absence hangs in the air, unspoken but felt. He is on the other side of the country, working on a recording session, and every time Yunho thinks of him, his chest tightens painfully.

They eat and talk, but Yunho can feel Seonghwa’s eyes on him all night, sharp and heavy. It makes Yunho squirm in his seat, but he forces himself to act like everything is fine. He smiles at Wooyoung’s jokes, nodded at San’s stories, and let Yeosang’s silence hang between them like an invisible thread.

When Yunho excuses himself to go to the bathroom, Seonghwa follows.

Yunho barely has time to process what is happening before Seonghwa corners him, pushing him back against the cool tile wall of the restaurant’s small bathroom. His pretty face, usually so calm and composed, is twisted with frustration.

"You need to at least tell them the truth, Yunho," Seonghwa hisses, his voice low but intense. "If you won't tell Mingi, at least tell your friends."

Yunho’s heart pounds in his chest, his throat tightening in response to Seonghwa’s words. "Seonghwa, I can’t—"

"Why?" Seonghwa cuts him off, eyes blazing. "Why can’t you? They deserve to know. Do you have any idea how hard it is watching you waste away like this? How selfish it feels, keeping this secret for you?"

Yunho swallows, his hands trembling at his sides. He wants to argue, to tell Seonghwa that he can’t, that the risk of Mingi finding out is too great. But the words won’t come.

Seonghwa’s voice cracks, his frustration giving way to something rawer, more desperate. "Yunho, you can’t keep doing this. You can’t just—" He stops, taking a shaky breath. "You’re going to die. And I can’t stand here and watch that happen when you have options."

Yunho feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his chest tightening even more. "I don’t want the surgery, Seonghwa. I’d rather… I’d rather feel everything, even if it kills me."

Seonghwa’s expression softens for a moment, but only for a moment. "And what about the rest of us?" he asks, his voice trembling with emotion. "What about the people who care about you? You think we can just stand by and watch you let this happen? You think it’s fair for us to lose you?"

Yunho’s throat burns, and he has to swallow hard to keep the bile and petals from rising. He looks away, unable to meet Seonghwa’s gaze any longer. "I’m sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

Seonghwa lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Sorry? Yunho, being sorry doesn’t fix this. It doesn’t make it better."

They stand in silence for a moment, the weight of the unspoken truth hanging between them like a suffocating fog. Yunho wants to say something—anything—to make it right, but there is nothing he could say.

"Just tell them," Seonghwa says quietly, his voice filled with exhaustion. "If you won’t tell Mingi, then at least let us help you."

Yunho doesn’t answer. He can’t.

Seonghwa sighs and runs a hand through his hair, stepping back. His frustration is still there, simmering, but the fire has gone out, leaving only the pain behind.

"I can’t keep watching you like this, Yunho," Seonghwa murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "It hurts too much."

Yunho nods slowly, his chest aching. He understands Seonghwa’s pain. He feels it too—every single day. But that doesn’t make it any easier to tell the truth.

When Seonghwa leaves the bathroom, Yunho stays behind, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His face is pale, his eyes dull, and the weight of the petals in his chest feel heavier than ever.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Surprisingly, Yunho’s life finds a strange kind of balance in Mingi's absence. He spends more time with his friends, immersing himself in their conversations, in their laughter, in anything that can keep his mind off Mingi, desperate for their company as his time runs short. It isn’t perfect—his chest still aches with every breath, and the ever-present weight of unspoken feelings hangs over him—but the absence of the man he loves means the flowers aren’t growing as quickly. His body has a reprieve. Maybe this could work, Yunho tells himself. Maybe, if he just stays away from Mingi, the flowers won’t bloom.

But it’s impossible. He knows that the moment he gets home.

He kicks off his shoes, freezing as his eyes land on the unfamiliar pair in the entryway. Shoes that aren’t his, but ones he would recognize anywhere. His heart begins to hammer wildly in his chest, panic clawing at him as he slowly walks toward the living room. The air feels thick, suffocating, as he rounds the corner, dread pooling in his stomach.

And there he is.

Mingi is lounging casually on Yunho’s sofa, scrolling through his phone like he hasn’t been gone for two months, like he hasn’t been on the other side of the country filming his big drama debut. He looks so at ease, so natural, so beautiful, as if this was his home. And maybe it was—Mingi had always been a part of Yunho’s life in every way that mattered. But seeing him here, after weeks of absence, makes Yunho’s chest tighten painfully.

It stirs something deep inside Yunho, something overwhelming and dangerous.

Mingi looks up and smiles. That familiar, bright, heart-stopping smile that Yunho has always adored, always cherished. It makes the storm inside him rage, his lungs tightening painfully, making it impossible to breathe as vines wrap their way around his heart.

"Yunho!" Mingi’s voice is full of warmth, full of happiness. He stands up, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and before Yunho can even think to move, Mingi wraps him in a hug—strong, warm, and comforting in a way that only makes the pain worse.

Yunho can’t breathe. The flowers are filling his lungs, choking him from the inside out. He brings a hand up to his mouth, trying to hide the cough that is threatening to escape, but Mingi feels it—feels the tremors wrack through Yunho’s body where they are pressed together.

Mingi pulls back, worry flashing in his eyes. "Hey, are you sick?"

Yunho’s throat burns, petals rising, but he swallows them down, forcing a smile. "Yeah," he says hoarsely, his voice barely audible. "I’ve been sick for a little while now. But Seonghwa’s been helping. I’m getting better."

It’s a lie, of course. He isn’t getting better. He is getting worse . But Yunho can’t tell Mingi the truth. Not now. Not ever.

Mingi’s eyes narrow slightly, his expression hardening for just a moment before it softens again. Yunho thinks he sees something—something unfamiliar, something unsettling—but it’s gone before he can dwell on it.

"Well, you better be taking care of yourself," Mingi says, his voice light, though a hint of concern lingered beneath the surface. "I can’t have my best friend falling apart while I’m away."

Yunho tries to laugh, but it comes out strained, more like a cough than a laugh. Mingi doesn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he tugs Yunho toward the sofa, sitting them both down. "Let’s order some food. It’s way too cold to go out, and we have so much to catch up on."

Yunho nods absently, his thoughts spinning, the weight in his chest growing heavier by the second. He can’t stop staring at Mingi, at the easy way he moves, at the effortless way he smiles, and at the way he seems so completely at home in Yunho’s space.

They have always been close. Best friends for as long as Yunho could remember. But this… this feels different. It feels like a cruel reminder of everything Yunho could never have. The warmth of Mingi’s presence, the safety of his embrace—it’s all right there, just out of reach despite their thighs pressed tightly together as they sit on the couch.

As Mingi scrolls through his phone, listing off food options, Yunho tries to push down the bitter envy that claws at him. How easy it must be for Mingi to be so carefree, so oblivious. How easy it must be to live without the crushing weight of unrequited love.

Yunho forces himself to respond, to pretend like everything is normal. But with every passing second, with every casual word Mingi says, the storm inside Yunho grows. He can barely focus on what Mingi is saying, his mind consumed by the flowers blooming in his lungs, by the love that is slowly killing him.

He wants to tell Mingi everything. He wants to scream, to cry, to beg Mingi to see him—to really see him. But Yunho knows better. He can’t ruin this. He can’t risk losing Mingi, even if it means suffocating in silence.

So Yunho swallows the petals down, biting back the pain, and smiles weakly. "Yeah, let’s get pizza," he says, his voice trembling slightly.

Mingi grins, pleased with the choice. "Perfect. We’ll get extra cheese, just how you like it."

And just like that, Yunho’s heart broke all over again.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Yunho's life becomes a painful blur after Mingi’s return, the fleeting peace he had felt during Mingi’s absence now shattered. Mingi is around more often, either glued to Yunho’s side or off doing press for his drama. The moments of quiet, when Mingi isn’t there, were fleeting and bittersweet. Yunho is grateful for those moments, where he can breathe—even if it still hurts to do so—but the ache is nothing compared to when Mingi is around, suffocating him with love Yunho can never have.

The group hangouts become torture. Seonghwa sticks close, his presence a shield of silent disapproval, though Yunho appreciates the support, even if it comes with a heavy dose of guilt. Yeosang will shoot him heart-wrenching looks from across the room, as if he knows Yunho is barely holding on, as if he can see the flowers blooming inside Yunho’s chest.

Every beat of Yunho’s heart feels like thorns tightening around it, cutting deeper with every passing day. The petals are growing more frequent, full flowers appearing more often than not, and the pain has shifted from his throat to his heart, where the flowers have begun wrapping their roots around it. But Yunho presses on, pretending that nothing is wrong. He can’t let Mingi know—not until Ming is far enough away, where he can’t witness the destruction his presence has caused.

He has to be strong for Mingi. He has to hold on, until the moment he draws his last breath.

Mingi, oblivious to the storm inside Yunho, has become extra clingy after their group hangouts. Yunho isn’t sure why, but there is a tension in the air, a weight hanging between them that Mingi either refuses to acknowledge or simply doesn’t notice. It isn’t long before the reason surfaces.

The two of them are sitting in Yunho’s bay window— Mingi’s favourite spot—legs lightly tangled as they always are. Mingi is reading through a new script, while Yunho skims through the final proofs of his latest book, possibly his last from The Waiting Poet persona, though in a plain looking set of pages . It should have been comfortable, easy, but Yunho can feel the flowers stirring within him, the thorns scraping against his chest with every shallow breath.

Mingi breaks the silence first. "Is there something going on between you and Seonghwa?"

The question catches Yunho off guard, so much so that he nearly drops his book. He blinks, staring at Mingi in confusion. " What? No ," he manages, but the words don’t come out as confidently as he’d hoped. And apparently, Mingi notices.

Mingi isn’t convinced. His eyes narrow, searching Yunho’s face for something Yunho isn’t sure he can hide. "It’s okay if there is, you know," Mingi says, his tone nonchalant, but his gaze unwavering. "I just wish you would’ve told me. I don’t like when you keep things from me."

Yunho’s heart squeezes painfully, as if the flowers themselves have heard Mingi’s words and tightened their grip. His chest constricts, and he feels the familiar sensation of petals rising in his throat. Before he can stop it, Yunho coughs, his body trembling with the effort to hold it back. Mingi immediately sits up, concern flashing across his face.

"Yunho, you’ve been sick for weeks," Mingi says, the casual tone from earlier gone, replaced by worry. "Why haven’t you gone to a doctor? This isn’t normal."

But Yunho can’t respond. He can’t breathe. Without thinking, he bolts from the bay window and rushes to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. His hands shake as he leans over the toilet, finally letting the petals and sharp stems pour from his mouth. They are stained with blood this time, the flowers that bloom inside him cutting deeper with every moment Mingi stays by his side.

Mingi’s footsteps are fast behind him, the bathroom door swinging open as Mingi follows, eyes wide with shock. "Yunho, what the hell—" His voice trails off as he takes in the sight in front of him.

The bathroom is silent except for Yunho’s laboured breathing. The toilet bowl is filled with petals—white, pink, yellow, and tinged with red. Mingi’s eyes dart from the petals to Yunho’s face, and then it’s like something clicks. Mingi’s expression shifts, the confusion replaced by horror.

"Hanahaki," Mingi whispers, the word falling from his lips like a curse. He steps forward, gripping Yunho’s arm as if that could somehow fix everything. "Yunho, why didn’t you tell me? Is it… Seonghwa?"

Yunho freezes, barely able to process Mingi’s words through the haze of pain. Seonghwa? Mingi thinks this was about Seonghwa? He has no idea, no clue that Yunho has been suffocating under the weight of his love for him , not Seonghwa.

Mingi continues, panic creeping into his voice. "You have to do something. You can’t just… You need to tell Seonghwa, or—"

Yunho shakes his head violently, cutting Mingi off. Another wave of petals fell from his lips, the sharp stems scraping against his throat. "No," Yunho gasps, trying to catch his breath. "It’s not Seonghwa."

"But Yunho—"

"I can’t," Yunho whispers, his voice cracking as more petals slip from his mouth. He doesn’t look at Mingi, can’t face the growing horror in his expression. "I can’t tell him. And I won’t get the surgery."

Mingi looks like he wants to argue, but the words die on his lips. He stares at Yunho, his hands trembling slightly as he stands frozen in the doorway, unable to make sense of what is happening. Yunho can feel the weight of Mingi’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t have the strength to look up.

Yunho coughs again, a fresh wave of petals filling the silence between them. Mingi’s breath hitches, and Yunho can see the pain etched across his features, the confusion in his eyes.

And still, Yunho can’t tell him.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Yunho had always thought that maybe he could handle it, that maybe he was strong enough to survive the quiet agony gnawing at him from the inside out. But now, with Mingi pestering him every day—every hour it seemed—about telling Seonghwa , about getting the surgery, about saving himself, Yunho is starting to lose what little patience he had left.

He understands why Mingi is concerned. It isn't like Mingi can stand by and watch Yunho waste away. But Mingi doesn't understand. None of them do. How could they? None of them have ever gone through this—this hell of coughing up flowers, feeling thorns clawing at your throat while your heart is crushed under the weight of emotions you couldn’t control.

Every time Yunho coughs, his lungs feel like they are filled with bouquets, flowers blooming where they shouldn't. And yet, every single one of his friends—Mingi, Seonghwa, Yeosang, even Hongjoong—wants him to do something. Something drastic. Tell Seonghwa. Get the surgery. Fix it. Fix it, like it’s a broken object that can be glued back together.

But Yunho isn’t broken. He is dying .

And no one seems to care how he feels about it.

One afternoon, Mingi is especially relentless. They are in Yunho’s apartment, the soft sounds of Mingi’s favourite playlist playing in the background, but Yunho isn’t listening. He can barely focus on anything anymore. Mingi has been at it for hours, lecturing him again.

"You can’t just keep going like this, Yunho," Mingi says, pacing across the living room. His voice is tight, scared , as though the strain of trying to convince Yunho is starting to wear on him. "You can’t expect us to sit here and watch you die when you can do something about it. Tell Seonghwa. Get the surgery. Please ."

Yunho feels his hands curl into fists at his sides, the familiar pain of thorns digging into his chest making it harder to breathe. Mingi’s words are like sharp needles in his brain, each one pricking at him, reminding him of his own helplessness.

"You’re being selfish, Yunho!" Mingi adds, his voice rising in frustration. "How is this fair to any of us? You’re just going to let this kill you, and for what? You think it’s better for everyone if you just disappear?"

Yunho’s hands are trembling now, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurts. He can feel the flowers rising again, the petals starting to press against the back of his throat, and he has to bite down to keep himself from coughing. He is tired —tired of the lectures, tired of the guilt that Mingi keeps piling onto him.

How is this fair to any of us?

That is the moment Yunho snaps.

"And how is this fair to me, huh?" Yunho’s voice comes out sharper than he intended, but the words spill from him before he can stop them. "Everyone keeps talking about how unfair this is to all of you, how you all have to watch me go through this, but no one ever stops to think about how I feel. You think this is easy for me ?"

Mingi stops pacing, his eyes wide, caught off guard by the outburst.

"You have no idea what this feels like, Mingi. None of you do," Yunho continues, his voice trembling with barely suppressed anger and pain. "You don’t know what it’s like to have flowers choking you, to feel your heart being crushed every day. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up every morning and hope you can make it through without coughing up more petals, more blood. You have no idea what it’s like to be me right now!"

Mingi opened his mouth to say something, but Yunho wasn’t done.

"It’s my decision," Yunho spits, his voice rising. "It’s my life, Mingi. And no one— no one —seems to care about how I feel about all of this. You keep telling me to fix it, to save myself, but did you ever stop to think that maybe I can’t ? That maybe I’m too tired to keep fighting this?"

Mingi looks stunned, his eyes flickering with a mix of shock and hurt. But Yunho doesn’t care. Not anymore. Not right now.

"You want me to go to Seonghwa?" Yunho’s voice is softer now, but the bitterness is still there. "You want me to tell him, and then what? Watch him look at me like he pities me? Because he can’t help me. Because that’s what’s going to happen, Mingi. And even if I get the surgery, I will lose a part of myself forever."

Mingi’s mouth snaps shut, and the room falls into an uncomfortable silence. Yunho is breathing heavily, his chest aching with the strain of holding everything in for so long. The flowers are still there, pressing against his ribs, but the weight of all his bottled-up frustration has finally been released.

For a moment, Mingi just stands there, his face a mixture of sadness and guilt. He runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before looking back at Yunho.

"I just… I don’t want to lose you," Mingi says quietly, his voice breaking slightly. "You’re my best friend, Yunho. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here."

Yunho’s anger deflates at that, and he feels the familiar sting of tears behind his eyes. He wants to say something—anything—to reassure Mingi, to make him understand that this isn’t about not caring for him, for any of them. It’s about himself. About the pain he is carrying and the exhaustion that weighs him down every day.

But the words won’t come. Instead, Yunho looks away, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"I know," Yunho whispers, his voice barely audible. "I know you don’t want to lose me. But you need to understand that I’m not ready to do what you’re asking me to do."

Mingi doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just stands there, watching Yunho with an expression that is a mixture of helplessness and heartbreak.

Finally, Mingi nods. "Okay," he says quietly. "I’ll stop. For now."

Yunho nods, feeling a small sense of relief, but the flowers are still there, still pressing against his lungs. The pain never goes away. It never would.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

The morning light barely creeps through Yunho’s curtains, casting a dull grey over the room. His body feels like lead, heavy and cold, every breath he takes scraping like shards of glass against his throat. His chest aches in a way that feels final. This is it, he thinks, and for the first time, he truly believes it. He wasn't strong enough anymore.

He swallows back the bitter taste of flowers and reaches for his phone with shaking hands. He sends three messages—one to Seonghwa, another to Yeosang, and the last to Mingi. Simple apologies. He can't bring himself to say much more. What is there to say? He isn't strong enough to save himself, wasn’t brave enough to tell Mingi the truth. And now, it’s too late.

Yunho stares at his last text to Mingi for a long time, feeling the weight of everything he could never say. He closes the phone, setting it aside as it buzzes incessantly, notifications already pouring in. He knows they would come running, that they'd be scared for him. But they are too far away now. Too late.

With trembling fingers, he reaches for his notebook and pen from the bedside table, the familiar tools in his hands somehow comforting. His vision blurs, but he presses the pen to the paper and begins to write, his heart pouring out in weak, jagged lines.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed,
I watched you from a distance, always too afraid.
The warmth you brought, it kept me here longer than I should’ve stayed.
Your laugh—it was enough to keep the flowers from blooming sometimes,
But the thorns came anyway.

I wish I had told you before I was buried in petals,
Before my chest felt too small for the love I carried.
I wanted to be more, but I didn’t know how,
And now all I can offer is this:
A goodbye, wrapped in words you’ll never get to hear.

If things had been different, maybe I could’ve stood by your side,
Watched you rise, knowing you saw me too.
But I was always hiding,
Too scared you’d see me for what I really am—
Fading, wilting, something not meant to last.

You brought the sun, but I was already a flower in the dark.
I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to bloom.

His handwriting falters near the end, the symbols barely legible as his hand gives out. He lets the pen slip from his grasp and the notebook slides from his lap, landing softly on the blankets. His breath hitches, shallow, uneven. He is so tired—more tired than he’s ever been. His eyes droop, heavy, and he lets them close. The cold seeps deeper into his bones, into his soul, and all he wants is to sleep. To let go.

The buzzing of his phone continues, but it feels distant, like a noise in a dream. His body sinks further into the mattress, and Yunho welcomes the darkness that presses in around him. The pain, the flowers, the thorns—it all starts to blur.

Finally , he thinks. Finally, it’s quiet.

He barely registers the sound of his door being kicked open, or the way the floorboards creaked with heavy footsteps running toward him. Voices echo in the room, but they are muffled, as though underwater. He doesn’t flinch when hands grab him, shaking him, calling out his name with desperation that cuts through the haze.

"Yunho!" The voice cracks, deep and panicked. "Yunho, wake up!"

He is dimly aware of the trembling hands cradling his face, of the sobs that break the silence as someone— Mingi —begs him to open his eyes, to stay with him. But Yunho can’t. The pull of sleep is too strong, and he has no more fight left in him.

He is scared, yes, but letting go feels so easy, so right.

I’m sorry, he thinks, just before the darkness finally takes him.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Yunho drifts in and out of consciousness, his body sinking into the hospital bed like dead weight. The sterile, cold scent of the room hits him first, the same one he’d woken up to before. His eyes won’t open, and his limbs won’t move—his entire body feels paralyzed, locked down by the relentless pain that gnaws at his chest. It’s like there was no escape from it. Why won’t it stop?

He wants to groan, to call for someone, but his voice isn’t working either. All he can do is lay there, trapped in a shell that refuses to listen to him.

Then he hears them. Voices, cutting through the fog.

"You let it get this bad!" That’s Mingi. Angry, raw, and trembling with emotion Yunho hasn’t heard from him before.

"Me? You have no idea what you’re talking about," Seonghwa shoots back, his voice sharp, defensive.

"Guys, please, not now." Yeosang’s voice comes in, pleading, desperate to calm the rising tension.

"No, fuck that ." Mingi’s voice cracks, furious, on the verge of breaking. "Yunho has been dying , and no one thought to tell me? It’s all because of you , Seonghwa."

"That's rich coming from his best friend ."

Yunho winces inwardly, the sharpness in Seonghwa’s tone like a knife. He can picture them, standing there, Mingi’s face twisted in hurt and frustration, Seonghwa’s eyes blazing in defence. He wants to stop them—he needs to stop them from tearing each other apart over him. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. He never wanted them to fight like this.

Move , he wills his body. Do something. But his limbs stay stubbornly still, his eyes remain glued shut. It’s infuriating, and all that frustration builds up inside him like a dam about to burst. His chest feels tight, not from the flowers this time, but from helplessness, and he wants to scream so badly. The pressure wells up behind his eyes, and before he even realises it, tears are slipping down his cheeks.

A soft gasp.

"Oh my god," Yeosang’s voice is small, but urgent. "He’s crying. Yunho’s crying."

Everything goes quiet, the arguing cut off in an instant. Yunho’s heart beats painfully slow in his chest as he feels someone—probably Yeosang—come closer, gently wiping the tears away from his face. Mingi and Seonghwa have fallen silent, the room now thick with tension and guilt.

"Yunho," Yeosang whispers, his voice shaking. "Can you hear me?"

Yunho wants to respond, to let them know he is there, that he isn't gone yet, but his body refuses. Still, the tears won’t stop falling, and he hears the scrape of chairs as they gather closer.

"Yunho, please," Mingi’s voice cracks, full of pain and something more, something Yunho hasn’t wanted to face. "We’re here. Just... please come back."

The weight of his emotions press harder on him, mingling with the physical pain. It feels like it’s too much, but at the same time, that deep part of him that wants to keep fighting stirs. He isn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

He tries again, willed his fingers to move, his eyes to open—anything. This time, a flicker. Just the faintest twitch of his hand, but it’s there.

"I saw that!" Yeosang’s voice breaks through again, filled with hope. "He moved. Yunho, you can do this. We’re here with you."

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Yunho feels like maybe he isn’t completely alone in this.

Yunho’s world remains a dark, unchanging void, his body heavy and immobile despite the stirrings of life within him. His eyelids still refuse to open, as though they are glued shut, but he’s learned to tap his fingers—his only connection to the outside world.

It’s Mingi who first realises it, after days of watching over him. Desperation drove him to beg the doctors, his voice shaking as he pleaded with them to just watch, to give Yunho a chance to respond. The doctors had been sceptical, dismissing it as wishful thinking, but Mingi wouldn’t relent.

"Yunho," Mingi asks, voice trembling as he grips Yunho’s hand. "Can you hear me?"

Yunho focuses, sending a signal to his hand. Tap. Tap.

"See? He can hear me," Mingi exclaims, his voice thick with emotion.

He hears the doctor cross their arms. "That doesn’t prove anything."

"Do you know how you got here?" Mingi asks again, a hint of defiance in his voice.

Tap.

The scepticism in the room fades after that. Yunho becomes a living question board, and Mingi is determined to keep asking, anything to keep that connection between them. Each tap of Yunho’s fingers reassures Mingi that his best friend is still in there, still fighting, even if only in small ways.

Days pass, and Yunho remains in this strange limbo. His body is unresponsive aside from those taps, but his mind is painfully aware of everything around him. He can hear his friends, their voices weaving in and out of his consciousness, sometimes bringing comfort, sometimes breaking his heart.

Jongho visits, trying to keep things light. "You’re missing out on all the office drama, man," he says, spinning stories of coworkers and their ridiculous antics, hoping to get a laugh or a reaction. Yunho can’t laugh, can’t even smile, but he wants to. He wants to tell Jongho how much he appreciates the effort.

But even the strongest people break. One day, Jongho leans in, resting his head against Yunho’s still hand. His voice is a whisper, cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Please, Yunho… Please wake up." It’s a plea that Yunho wants to answer, but no matter how much he tries, his body remains a prison.

Wooyoung and San come together often, just as attached at the hip as ever. It makes Yunho envious in a way, from always watching their closeness, how effortlessly they shared their lives. Wooyoung always starts talking immediately, voice trembling with tears. "We got a new cat, Yunho. She’s a little monster, but we love her."

San doesn’t say much, but his presence is constant, a silent pillar of support. He clutches Yunho’s hand like he is afraid to let go, like letting go would mean Yunho might slip away forever. Yunho wants to squeeze his hand back, to reassure him that he isn’t leaving yet, but all he can offer are those small taps.

It’s Hongjoong who makes Yunho feel the worst, surprisingly. Hongjoong comes in one day, voice low and filled with self-loathing.

"I should’ve tried harder," he mutters, pacing at the foot of Yunho’s bed. "I should’ve known something was wrong."

Yunho wants to scream, to tell him that none of this is his fault. This is his burden, his decision to carry the weight of unspoken feelings and the consequences that came with them. Yet all Yunho can do is lay there, helpless as Hongjoong tears himself apart over something Yunho had done to himself.

This isn’t your fault, Yunho thinks desperately, wishing he could wake up and slap some sense into his friend. But all he can do was listen, a silent witness to the pain and frustration of those who loved him.

Yunho’s senses slowly come back to him, though he is still far from fully awake. He lay in the same heavy darkness, trapped in his body but able to hear the world around him. The low hum of machines, the faint beeping of his heart monitor… and the voices. Seonghwa and Mingi. Arguing again. It’s quieter this time, the volume subdued, but no less charged with frustration and pain.

Yunho’s heart rate begins to climb as he listens, his pulse quickening with every word they exchange. He can feel the tension radiating through their voices, especially Seonghwa’s, whose tone edges dangerously close to spilling everything Yunho has worked so hard to hide. Is willing to die to hide.

"Why won’t you just admit it, Seonghwa?" Mingi's voice was sharp, and Yunho’s chest tightens in response. "You know something you’re not saying."

Seonghwa’s response is clipped, but Yunho could sense his struggle, the way the words are barely being held back. " I’m not the one who needs to admit anything, Mingi."

Yunho wants to shout, to tell them both to stop, but his body refuses to move. The beeping of his heart monitor speeds up, louder and faster now, yet neither of them noticed. His panic spikes when Mingi’s voice drops to a whisper, the next words cutting through Yunho like a knife.

"I found his notebook."

Seonghwa goes silent. Yunho feels his stomach drop, his breath catch in his throat. No. Mingi can’t have found it, the notebook where Yunho has poured his heart into every word, where his true feelings lived. His deepest secret. His love for Mingi.

"I always had a feeling he was The Waiting Poet , you know? But," Mingi continues, voice shaky now. "I found something… A poem I’ve never seen before. It’s not published, it… it’s new."

Yunho’s heart pounds wildly in his chest, the monitor going haywire as his body reacts to the terror of Mingi knowing too much. This isn’t supposed to happen. Yunho isn’t supposed to be here to witness it. He is supposed to be gone, forever removed from the pain and embarrassment that comes with Mingi finding out the truth.

But now he is stuck. Stuck in this horrible purgatory between life and death, forced to listen to Mingi unravel the very thing Yunho has tried so desperately to hide.

Seonghwa’s voice is tight, almost gentle. "Mingi…"

Mingi doesn’t respond right away. Yunho imagines him sitting there, gripping the notebook, eyes tracing over every word Yunho has written, every emotion laid bare.

"I—I think it’s about me," Mingi says, barely more than a whisper.

Yunho feels like screaming until he can’t scream anymore. Don’t read it, please don’t read it.

But then Mingi’s voice cracks as he begins reciting the poem. Yunho can hear the tears, the weight of realisation in every word as Mingi reads the lines aloud, each syllable echoing Yunho’s love, his pain, his fear. His heart breaks all over again, listening to the one person he had never meant to hear this confession, hearing it all.

"I look at you," Mingi reads, his voice unsteady, "and the world softens. I’m sorry that I was never brave enough to tell you. I’m sorry that I’ll never get to hold you, the way I want to. I’m sorry that this is all I can give you now."

Mingi’s voice cracks fully, and Yunho can hear the tears as he continues, despite his sobs. Yunho, trapped in his unresponsive body, feels his own tears slip down his cheeks, powerless to stop the pain coursing through him.

Seonghwa is silent, because he already knows the muse of Yunho’s poetry. And Mingi… Mingi now knows everything.

Yunho wants to disappear, to vanish completely, but he can’t. He is forced to lie there, feeling his love laid bare for Mingi, knowing that this is never how it was supposed to happen.

Yunho wasn’t supposed to be alive for this.

The next time Yunho awakens, it feels like some cruel twist of fate. His body is still aching, heavy as though it’s been run over and dragged by a truck, but this time, his eyes open. The brightness of the hospital room stings, white on white, glaring after so long spent in darkness. It hurts a little, but not nearly as much as the weight in his chest, the phantom sensation of flowers still tangled in his lungs.

He blinks, head sluggishly turning to take in the room. Balloons and cards are scattered around—gifts left by his friends. No flowers, though. For that, Yunho is silently grateful. The idea of seeing any kind of blooms right now makes his stomach churn. He still feels like he’s carrying a garden inside him, choking him from the inside out.

A nurse enters, her face lighting up when she notices his open eyes. She flits about, adjusting his IV and performing small tests as she chats cheerfully, telling him about his friends and how sweet they’ve been. "Not a single day has gone by without someone being here for you during visiting hours," she says with a warm smile, like it’s supposed to make him feel better.

Three weeks . He’s been here for three weeks, stuck in that hazy in-between where he could hear everything but do nothing. He had to lie there, helpless, listening as his friends broke down, argued, and tried to hold themselves together. Now that he’s awake, he can’t even speak—there’s an oxygen tube down his throat, heavy and uncomfortable, but at least he’s breathing freely again. No more petals rising up to clog his airways. It’s a strange, hollow kind of relief.

The nurse finishes her checks and beams at him. "I’m going to grab the doctor. Stay tight, alright? No moving around too much."

Yunho mentally scoffs. As if I’m going anywhere.

He shifts his gaze to the ceiling, resigned. He’s still here, still alive, and the weight in his lungs and the grip around his heart hasn’t gone away. A bitter part of him is almost disappointed that no one forced the surgery on him while he was unconscious. They respected his wishes.

When the doctor finally arrives, Yunho recognizes his voice. It’s the same doctor Mingi had fetched to prove that Yunho was responding, tapping his fingers to communicate. Now, the doctor asks him more questions, and Yunho taps his answers—one tap for no, two taps for yes.

“Do you want the surgery?” the doctor asks, his voice calm but firm.

Yunho taps once. No.

The doctor doesn’t push right away. He moves on to other questions, checking Yunho’s reflexes and his overall condition. But eventually, he circles back.

“Are you sure about the surgery?”

One tap. No.

It happens a total of four times, the same question, the same answer.

No.

Each time, Yunho’s resolve hardens, even though his chest still feels heavy and his breath comes with a slight ache. The Hanahaki hasn’t gone away, but the idea of never being able to love—never feeling love, even if it saves his life—feels like an unbearable, hollow existence.

The doctor sighs, scribbling something on his clipboard before glancing at Yunho. “Alright,” he says quietly, disappointment heavy in his voice, “we’ll honour your decision.”

Yunho closes his eyes, and a bitter part of him wonders how long it will be before the flowers finally consume him.

When Seonghwa is the first to visit Yunho, he doesn’t know Yunho is awake. Yunho watches him from where the nurse has propped him up against the pillows. Seonghwa steps into the room, dark circles under his eyes, hair dishevelled from restless hands running through it over and over again. The moment Seonghwa looks up and sees Yunho’s eyes open, he freezes. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Then, all at once, the dam breaks—he rushes over, tears spilling as he grips Yunho’s hand, fingers trembling from the shock and relief.

Seonghwa says nothing at first, just staring at Yunho, his tear-streaked face a mix of disbelief and overwhelming emotion. Yunho can’t speak with the oxygen tube still in his throat, but he holds Seonghwa’s hand in return, letting the contact speak for him. It’s uncomfortable, but he’s awake. He’s alive. That seems to be enough for Seonghwa in the moment.

When Seonghwa finally finds his voice, he speaks slowly and carefully, steering the conversation away from anything Yunho might not be ready to confront. Yunho can tell he’s trying to avoid the more painful topics, not knowing what Yunho had heard or felt while he was unconscious. Yunho appreciates the caution, nodding along or tapping out answers on his phone, thankful that his limbs are starting to cooperate again.

One by one, his friends come and go, all relieved to see him awake. Each visit is a bittersweet reunion, though—behind the smiles and jokes, Yunho can see the sadness lurking in their eyes, especially when they ask him about the surgery. Every time, Yunho tells them no. He won’t go through with it. They all know now that it’s Hanahaki, and what it means. The gravity of the situation hangs over them like a storm cloud. Yunho’s afraid, but the idea of living without love feels like a more painful death than the flowers growing inside him.

It takes a while before Mingi visits. Yunho learns through Hongjoong that Mingi had his red carpet debut while Yunho was in the hospital. His drama had skyrocketed in popularity, just like Yunho knew it would. Mingi was everywhere now, his phone buzzing non-stop from agents and press.

The news makes the thorns around Yunho’s heart twist painfully, but there’s a deep pride there too. Mingi is living his dream, burning bright and soaring higher than ever before. Yunho could never be resentful of that—he’s just glad he held on long enough to witness it, to see Mingi achieve what he’d always known he could.

When Mingi finally arrives, he’s a wreck. His eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, hair a tangled mess, clothes haphazard like he’d thrown on the first thing he could find. He doesn’t hesitate, rushing straight to Yunho’s side, though he slows when he reaches the bed. Carefully, almost hesitantly, Mingi wraps his arms around Yunho’s fragile frame, mindful of the tubes and IVs. He holds him like Yunho is made of glass, something delicate that might shatter if he grips too hard.

Yunho can feel the trembling in Mingi’s body, the way his breath hitches as he presses his forehead against Yunho’s shoulder. He can’t speak, so he just rests his hand against Mingi’s back, offering the only comfort he can.

Mingi breaks down, and Yunho wishes, more than anything, that he could tell him that it’s alright, that it’s not Mingi’s fault, that none of this is. But the silence between them feels so heavy now, loaded with all the unspoken things Yunho had buried for so long.

And as Mingi sobs quietly into his shoulder, Yunho can feel the petals start to shift again inside his chest, the flowers waiting, patient and deadly.

Yunho doesn’t allow the conversation to happen right away. Every time Mingi tries to bring it up, tries to say something about the obvious, about what they both know is lurking beneath the surface, Yunho shuts him down. He’ll change the subject, talk about something else, anything else. If that doesn’t work, he tells Mingi he’s tired, says he needs to sleep. And Mingi, while patient, starts to get frustrated. Yunho can tell, can see it in the way Mingi's jaw tightens, the flicker of anger that flashes behind his eyes whenever Yunho avoids the topic. But Yunho doesn’t relent. He can’t. He’s not ready for that conversation—not yet.

It’s only when the doctor comes in that the dam begins to crack.

Jongho and Mingi are sitting on either side of Yunho’s bed, while San is perched cross-legged at the base, in the middle of an animated story about how the new kitten he and Wooyoung adopted has been terrorising their older cat, Byeol, who can't catch a break. San's laughter fills the room, and for a moment, Yunho almost forgets about the weight pressing down on him, the flowers still blooming in his lungs.

The lightness is broken when the doctor clears his throat, drawing their attention. All four pairs of eyes snap to the elderly man, and Yunho's heart sinks when he sees the grave look on his face. The doctor asks the others to leave, but Yunho shakes his head immediately, terrified of facing this news alone. He wants them there. He needs them there.

With a reluctant nod, the doctor concedes and steps forward. The room falls deathly silent as he speaks, his voice measured and calm, but the words are anything but.

Yunho’s on his last few days. The tests from yesterday confirmed what everyone had been dreading: his lungs are reaching their limit. There’s nothing more they can do. Soon—sooner than they all thought—Yunho will be drawing his final breath.

The doctor barely finishes speaking before San breaks down, sobs wrenching free as he curls into Jongho, who immediately pulls him close, holding him tight. Yunho can see Jongho’s own tears falling, even though he’s trying so hard to keep it together, to stay strong for Yunho and San. But in the face of the inevitable, even the strongest can break.

Mingi is silent. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t even look at Yunho. His gaze stays fixed on the floor, lips pressed tightly together, eyebrows knitted in a way that makes Yunho’s heart ache. There’s a storm behind those eyes, but Mingi won’t let it out. Not yet.

Yunho just nods numbly at the doctor, his hands trembling in his lap. His vision blurs with tears, and a single one falls, trailing down his cheek. The doctor murmurs his apology before slipping out of the room, leaving the four of them cocooned in a thick, suffocating sorrow.

The air is heavy with the weight of impending loss, and Yunho feels it pressing down on his chest—both literally and figuratively. He knows the others feel it too, even if they don’t speak. The silence between them is deafening, filled with the things none of them are ready to say, the words they can’t bring themselves to voice.

But Yunho knows. Time is running out, and there’s no avoiding it now.

As soon as Yunho waves goodbye to San and Jongho, the weight of the room shifts. The door closes, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence. Yunho can feel the tension in the air, the unspoken words hovering between him and Mingi. He still has the oxygen tube down his throat, making it impossible for him to speak, not that he could think of anything to say anyway.

Mingi hasn’t moved. He hasn’t spoken. His eyes are still fixed on the floor tiles, lips pressed into a thin line. It’s like he’s at war with himself, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. Yunho knows Mingi too well. He can sense the storm of emotions rolling through his friend—the pain, the frustration, the helplessness.

Yunho doesn’t know how to break the tension, so he does the only thing he can. He picks up his phone, opening the group chat they all share. His hands are still shaky, but he types out a message, figuring it’s better to tell everyone at once rather than repeat it over and over.

"Doctor says I’m in my last few days."
"Sorry it has to be this way. I wouldn’t change anything, though. You guys have made my life better than I ever imagined. I hope you’ll think of me sometimes, and I’ll always be with you in spirit."

He presses send and watches as the read receipts come in. Seonghwa and Yeosang respond almost immediately with paragraph after paragraph. The others, though—Hongjoong and Wooyoung—they just read the message without replying. Yunho doesn’t take it personally. There isn’t much to say when your best friend tells you they’re going to die.

Yunho sets his phone down, letting the stillness wash over him again. When he looks up, Mingi is finally staring at him. The intensity of the emotions in Mingi’s eyes makes Yunho’s heart stutter—anger, sadness, fear, and something else Yunho can’t quite name. His breath catches in his chest, and he feels his pulse quicken. The heart monitor beeps faster, filling the silence with an erratic rhythm that mirrors the storm building inside Mingi.

Yunho doesn’t know what to do with that look, doesn’t know how to comfort Mingi when he can’t even comfort himself. So he just holds his friend’s gaze, his own eyes soft with the resignation he’s had to come to terms with. He can’t say it aloud, but he hopes Mingi can understand. He hopes Mingi knows how much Yunho loves him, how much he’s always loved him, and how it’s okay. Yunho is okay with this. He’s ready.

The tension between them snaps when Mingi finally breaks.

It starts as a soft, almost inaudible whisper, the kind of sound you might mistake for someone breathing too heavily, but Yunho knows better. He’s known Mingi long enough to recognize the signs—when the silence becomes too much, when the weight of everything begins to crush him. It was only a matter of time before Mingi shattered.

Mingi’s voice, when it finally escapes, is raw and broken. “I— I can’t believe this is happening,” he stammers, eyes brimming with tears, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turn white. He’s trembling, shaking like he’s holding back a tidal wave of emotions that are ready to drown them both. “You… you’re leaving , and I’m just— I’m just supposed to sit here and— and watch ?”

Yunho listens, his heart aching, his chest tightening, though not from the flowers this time. He watches as Mingi’s hands rise to his hair, fingers tugging at the strands, and Yunho’s body reacts before his mind can catch up. He reaches out, placing a hand on Mingi’s arm, stopping him from pulling his hair out in frustration.

Mingi’s breath hitches at the touch, and then everything comes tumbling out all at once.

“I can’t stop talking,” Mingi sobs, eyes wide and red-rimmed as he grips the bed rails for support. “I won’t stop talking because it’s been too long. I’ve had too much time to think, and I can’t— I can’t lose you without saying this. I’m so scared, Yunho. I’m terrified.” His words break, shattering like glass between his clenched teeth, and Yunho just sits there, listening, heart aching with every word.

“I should have seen it,” Mingi continues, voice rising, frantic. “I should have known sooner, should have realised it wasn’t Seonghwa you were in love with. That’s all I could think about—how I thought it was him. And now, I laugh at how absurd it is. Because it was me, Yunho. It’s always been me, right?”

Yunho’s breath catches, eyes widening slightly, and the sound of his heart monitor picks up again, filling the silence between them.

Mingi laughs bitterly through his tears, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “How could I have been so stupid? You’ve looked at me the same way I’ve looked at you since we were kids. And I—” His voice cracks again, and he takes a breath, fighting through the tears. “Fuck, I love you , Yunho. I’ve loved you for so long. I’ve been too scared to say it, and now, because I—we were both too scared, you’re—” His voice breaks, and he buries his face in his hands.

Yunho is numb. He hears the words, he processes them, but everything feels distant, as if it’s happening to someone else. He’s loved Mingi for so long, the confession feels like it’s too late to change anything now. He stares at Mingi, his mind buzzing with questions, but only one pushes its way through the fog of his thoughts.

He picks up his phone, fingers still trembling, and types out the simplest question he can think of.

Why am I the only one throwing up flowers, if you have loved me too?

He shows the screen to Mingi, who reads it slowly, his brow furrowing. His breath catches, and for a moment, he’s silent. Yunho can see the wheels turning in Mingi’s head, the emotions swirling in his eyes, and then—realisation.

“Maybe… maybe I’ve always known,” Mingi whispers, voice hoarse and shaky. “Maybe, deep down, I’ve always known you loved me back. It’s in everything you do, Yunho. In how you’ve always been there, how you’ve always looked at me. It’s in those poems you write as The Waiting Poet , and yes I know it’s you. Every word you’ve written—it’s all you. And I love them… I love you.”

Mingi’s voice breaks again, but this time, there’s a small, bitter smile on his lips as he wipes away his tears. “Maybe that’s why I never coughed up flowers. Because some part of me was never uncertain about how you felt.”

Yunho’s throat tightens, his chest aches. There’s no escaping it now. It’s as if the universe is playing the cruellest joke on them both, revealing the truth too late, when there’s nothing left to be done.

Yunho wants to scream, to cry, but all he can do is stare at Mingi, heart aching with a sadness too profound for words. If only they’d been brave sooner. If only they had spoken up when they still had time.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Yunho wakes up each day with the weight of inevitability pressing on him, the thought always lingering: This could be my last morning . He goes to sleep bracing for it, expecting that one day soon he just won’t wake up. His body has been failing him for so long, he can feel it in his bones, in the way his chest tightens, the way his breathing always seems one breath away from stopping entirely. But every morning, like clockwork, he wakes up again.

At first, it feels cruel. Like he's stuck in limbo, hovering between life and death, waiting for something that refuses to come. His friends continue visiting every day, their smiles strained but genuine, all of them trying to make the most of the time they have left with him. He’s thankful for them, for their presence, even as he’s resigned himself to the fact that the end is near. No matter how brave a face he puts on, the truth is, dying is terrifying.

But then… something changes.

It starts small—so small that Yunho barely notices at first. His breathing doesn’t feel quite as shallow. His chest isn’t so tight. The usual effort it takes to pull air into his lungs eases just a little. Yunho tells himself not to get his hopes up; it’s probably just a temporary relief, something fleeting, an illusion. But as the days pass, the difference becomes undeniable. He can breathe deeper, move easier. The constant fatigue that had worn him down for so long starts to lift.

And then one morning, he wakes up feeling… different. Stronger. Like something has shifted inside him. His skin, pale and cold for what feels like forever, has started to regain some of its warmth, a slight flush returning to his cheeks. His voice, which he hasn’t used in so long due to the oxygen tube lodged in his throat, feels like it’s coming back to him. His hands no longer tremble when he reaches for something, and the exhaustion that once weighed him down has lessened.

It doesn’t make sense.

The doctors are baffled, running test after test, all of them scratching their heads, trying to figure out how Yunho’s condition could be reversing when everything pointed to the opposite. They have no answers. No explanations. The very same tests that had told him he was dying now show that his lungs are clearing, healing even. Bit by bit, the tube that had been his lifeline is no longer needed. He can breathe on his own, without the machines, without the constant beeping reminding him of the fragility of his existence.

His friends are stunned, yet they are cautious in their hope. It’s been so long since they’ve seen Yunho like this—stronger, healthier, alive in a way that none of them dared to believe he could be again. They bring him honey teas and lozenges to help soothe his throat, easing the pain of unused vocal cords as he begins to speak again.

The first time Yunho speaks, his voice is scratchy, raw, like it’s been buried for too long. But it’s his voice. His voice. It’s barely a whisper, but the moment the words escape his lips, Wooyoung bursts into tears, collapsing into Yunho’s arms, his sobs echoing through the room. Yunho cries with him, the absurdity of it all crashing down on them both. They were so ready for goodbye, for the finality of it, but now—now there’s hope. Hope in the midst of something that should be impossible.

The others follow, one by one, embracing Yunho and listening in awe as he speaks again. They ask a million questions—what is happening? How is this even possible?—but Yunho has no answers. All he knows is that he is still here, still breathing, still alive when every part of him had been ready to let go.

Yunho can only laugh through the tears, holding them close, knowing that whatever the reason, he’s been given more time. And that, in itself, is a miracle.

His body is weak. After so much time spent confined to a bed, it’s like he has to relearn how to move all over again. His legs feel foreign, shaky beneath him whenever he tries to stand. But he tries, and every day he gets a little stronger. A little more stable. And through it all, Mingi is there—steady, patient, and always by his side.

Since the confession, everything between them has shifted. Mingi is around more often, his presence a comforting constant that Yunho finds himself relying on in a way he never could before. It’s new ground for both of them, navigating this thing between them that feels fragile but powerful at the same time.

Mingi wraps his arm around Yunho’s waist when he helps him stand, his touch firm but careful, as if Yunho might break. Their steps are slow at first, but each one is a victory, and Yunho finds strength in knowing that Mingi is right there, guiding him, supporting him. And it’s in those moments, when their bodies are close, moving together in unison, that Yunho realises how much he had missed this closeness. Not just physically, but emotionally. The way Mingi’s touch feels different now—not just a friend helping a friend, but something more.

There’s weight in their actions. When Mingi holds Yunho’s hand as he’s resting, or when he sits by his side while their friends chatter away, it’s no longer just a casual gesture. It’s everything Yunho had always dreamed about but never dared to believe would happen. Each touch, each smile, feels like a secret whispered between the two of them, something that is theirs alone.

It’s nice . No, it’s more than nice—it’s perfect. It’s everything Yunho had ever imagined and more. He had spent so long loving Mingi in silence, believing that those feelings would always stay hidden, that they could never be returned. He had resigned himself to loving Mingi quietly, from a distance, content just to have him in his life.

But now… now he knows Mingi feels the same. His Mingi—so bright, so wonderful, so full of life—loves him back. He has loved Yunho for just as long, in all the same ways. And Yunho can see it in the way Mingi looks at him now, in the gentleness of his hands, in the soft words Mingi speaks when they’re alone.

Yunho had always thought that love was something beyond his reach. Something he could only hold in his heart but never in his hands. But now, as Mingi helps him take another step, as their hands remain intertwined, Yunho feels like he’s finally holding onto something real. Something he never thought he could have, but that was his all along.

And it’s beautiful.

The day Yunho is discharged, the last traces of the flowers in his lungs are still there, but they’re small now—fewer and fewer with each breath he takes. It feels surreal, walking out of the hospital after so long, knowing that the blooms that once threatened to take his life are now just a faint reminder of a pain he no longer carries. The doctors are baffled, calling it a medical phenomenon, insisting that he come back for weekly check-ups to monitor his progress. Yunho agrees, though the idea of going back into that hospital feels distant now, like something from a bad dream.

Mingi, of course, doesn’t leave his side. He’s confident when he tells the doctors and nurses that Yunho won’t be alone for a second, that he’ll make sure of it. He says it with such determination, shrugging Yunho’s small carry-on bag higher up his shoulder like it’s nothing. Yunho doesn’t need to worry about anything—Mingi has him. Yunho can see that Mingi means it, in every sense. He’s not just promising to take care of him physically, but to be there for him, truly, every step of the way.

As they step outside, feeling the sunlight on his skin again, Yunho’s heart feels light—lighter than it’s felt in months. Mingi holds his hand out, palm up, and Yunho stares at it for a moment, taking in the gesture. There’s a flutter in his chest, but not from fear or hesitation this time. Slowly, he slides his fingers between Mingi’s, the warmth of Mingi’s hand grounding him, steadying him.

And then Mingi lifts their intertwined hands to his lips. He presses a gentle kiss to the back of Yunho’s hand, his lips soft and warm, and when he pulls away, he breaks into that familiar smile—the one that lights up every room Mingi enters. It’s a smile Yunho has seen a thousand times, but now it means so much more. Now it’s a smile for him , a smile filled with love.

Yunho feels breathless, his heart pounding in his chest, but this time it’s not because of the flowers suffocating him. It’s because of Mingi. Because he gets to have this now, this quiet intimacy, this feeling of being wanted and loved in return. After all the pain, after everything he’s been through, Yunho gets to have this— him and Mingi , together, in love.

It’s overwhelming in the best possible way. He looks at Mingi, their hands still clasped, and he can’t help but smile back. The weight of the world feels lighter now. Because, after all this time, Yunho isn’t just surviving—he’s living. With Mingi by his side, he’s alive in ways he never imagined he could be. And that’s the most beautiful thing of all.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Months later, Yunho sits in the bay window of his apartment, the soft sunlight filtering through the curtains as he watches the world pass by outside. It’s his and Mingi’s favourite spot, the place they often sit together, quietly intertwined in each other’s presence. His notebook rests on his lap, open to a half-finished poem, and Yunho absentmindedly taps his pen against the pages as he watches people walk along the street below. The soft hum of music drifts from the kitchen, where the smell of dak galbi fills the air, mingling with the sound of Mingi’s off-key singing.

Yunho glances down at the poem in front of him and smiles. The words are simple, but they carry a weight, an intimacy only he truly understands. The poem speaks of love— his love—but not in a grand, sweeping gesture. It’s quiet and tender, just like the way Mingi touches his hand when they sit together, or the way he hums softly in his sleep when Yunho’s beside him. The poem hints at Mingi without naming him, a love letter in metaphors and soft-spoken imagery.

"If flowers could choose their bloom
Or if skies could paint their hue,
Then you are the quiet between storms—
A love that grows with gentle hands,
A presence that fills without demand."

Yunho runs his fingers over the page, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It’s a reflection of how things have changed—how, against all odds, his life has become something more beautiful than he ever imagined. In the months since he was discharged from the hospital, Mingi has taken his role as Yunho’s caretaker to heart. At first, Mingi spent nearly every day at Yunho’s apartment, so much so that it felt strange when he wasn’t around. Eventually, Yunho had jokingly suggested that Mingi just move in with him, and after a few weeks of back-and-forth, Mingi had finally done it.

Their relationship blossomed in those moments. It grew naturally, effortlessly—better than any flower ever could. Mingi’s presence became Yunho’s anchor, a quiet reassurance that things were different now. Better. Stronger. They had shared their fears and their laughter, learned how to be with each other in this new way, and it had turned into something Yunho knew he could never live without.

“Yunho!” Mingi’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, calling out from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready! If you don’t come and eat while it’s hot, I swear I’ll come over there and force-feed you.”

Yunho can’t help but laugh, the sound spilling out from his chest with a lightness that wasn’t there months ago. He closes his notebook, sets it aside, and stretches, his body still a little weaker than it once was but getting stronger each day. The flowers that once filled his lungs are long gone, and with them went the fear that used to hang over his head.

As he rises from the window seat, his heart swells with love, not just for Mingi, but for the life they’ve built together—one that is full of warmth and care. The music in the kitchen grows louder as he walks toward the sound, and when he sees Mingi standing at the stove, beaming as he stirs the food, Yunho’s chest tightens with overwhelming affection.

Yunho has always known that Mingi is a storm. Not the kind that sweeps through with fury and fire, but a quiet tempest—something vast and powerful, but so gentle that you almost forget its strength until you’re caught in its eye. Mingi laughs with his whole body, talks with his hands like every word has weight to it. Yunho used to think that Mingi was someone you’d never forget.

And now he knows, more than ever—for him, at least—forgetting Mingi is impossible.