Chapter Text
Seoyeon sat on the bathroom floor, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. The faint scent of flowers clung to the air—a cruel irony to the suffocating weight inside her. Her trembling hand reached for the bundle of tissue on the sink. Each was stained with blood and delicate petals, proof of the invasive disease now blooming within her.
A sharp ache radiated through her chest, making her wince. She pressed a palm over her heart, futilely trying to ease the pain. It was as if the flowers were mocking her, growing stronger with every glance she stole at Yooyeon.
In the quiet moments of the night, Seoyeon’s mind spun with relentless thoughts. She had searched up her symptoms—pain, petals, and the ceaseless longing—and the diagnosis had been clear. Hanahaki Disease.
“Unrequited love,” she whispered into the silence. The words tasted bitter on her tongue, and she couldn't suppress the hollow laugh that bubbled up in response. “Of course, it had to be love.”
The realization had left her breathless—not just from the disease but from the sheer weight of it. Love? For Yooyeon? She thought back to the countless times she brushed off his emotions as admiration or deep friendship. Every lingering gaze, every unspoken wish to be closer, now burned with clarity.
It was love.
And it was killing her.
Her days were numbered.
The pain would only grow, the petals would continue to bloom, and the suffocation would intensify.
But it didn’t matter. Seoyeon wasn’t afraid of dying, not anymore. Not if it meant that the torment of her unrequited love for Yooyeon could end.
Seoyeon had always been Yooyeon’s friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.
And that was the reality Seoyeon had accepted.
Seoyeon’s mornings started the same way. The sharp sting of the flowers fighting for space in her chest, the relentless cough that seemed to tear her apart. She had long stopped trying to hide it, at least from herself.
But when she faced Yooyeon, when she was with their friend group, it was a different story. She was still Seoyeon, the same Seoyeon who could make them laugh, who could joke around with ease and share a beer on a lazy weekend night. The smile never wavered, the words always coming out without hesitation.
She was, after all, a master at hiding what she felt.
Yooyeon never noticed. Or if she did, she never said anything. Seoyeon would never let her.
“Hey, you good?” Yooyeon asked one morning, a casual question, as she passed Seoyeon a sandwich. “You look a little pale.”
Seoyeon grinned, swallowing the bitter taste of her own truth before responding. “Just a rough night,” she said with a shrug. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Alright,” Yooyeon said, offering a smile that made Seoyeon's chest tighten. “Just take care of yourself.”
“I will,” Seoyeon assured her, though she didn’t know how long she could keep up the facade.
Days turned into weeks, and Seoyeon’s condition worsened. But her routine never changed. She would wake up every morning, drink her sweetened coffee, and go about her day as if everything was fine. She would laugh at their jokes, share casual stories, and try her best to hold on to the image of the friend she had always been.
But at night, when the apartment was quiet and Yooyeon was fast asleep in the next room, that’s when the real pain came. That’s when the flowers bloomed more violently than before, when the ache in her chest became unbearable, and when she would stagger to the bathroom, coughing up the petals that had made their home inside her. It wasn’t blood, but it might as well have been—each petal a piece of himself slipping away.
But no matter how bad it got, Seoyeon never let it show. Not in front of Yooyeon. Not in front of anyone.
She couldn’t afford to.
But, on this one particular night, Seoyeon struggles to stay in character. To keep a steady smile on her face. To look at Yooyeon in the eyes.
Seoyeon sat by the window, watching the stars flicker dimly against the dark sky. She hadn’t been able to eat much for days—the flowers in her lungs made every breath feel like she was choking, but the food wouldn’t go down. Yooyeon had noticed. She always noticed when Seoyeon didn’t eat, when she was too quiet or too distant. But she never asked anything more than the simple, “Are you okay?”
And Seoyeon always answered the same way. “I’m fine.”
But Seoyeon wasn’t fine. She wasn’t sure she would ever be fine again.
Her hand rested over her chest, feeling the soft, subtle ache that came from the flowers shifting inside her. Sometimes, she wondered if they were trying to tell her something, if her body was trying to scream out the truth that she’d buried so deeply in her heart.
But what good would it do?
Yooyeon would never feel the same way. She would never love Seoyeon the way Seoyeon loved her.
She had already accepted that. And, in some strange way, that made it easier. Because the truth was that Seoyeon didn’t want anything from Yooyeon. Not anymore. The weight of her feelings had become a part of her, a companion in the dark, something he carried with her every day.
And when she died, when her body gave in to the suffocating flowers, at least she would die knowing that she had loved her. That was enough.
The last few days were the hardest. Seoyeon could feel herself slipping, could feel her energy draining away with every passing hour. The flowers had wrapped themselves tightly around her lungs now, leaving her gasping for air at times. But no matter how difficult it was, Seoyeon kept her composure. She refused to show any signs of weakness.
She couldn’t do that to Yooyeon.
So when Yooyeon came to her one evening, knocking on the door to ask if Seoyeon wanted to hang out with their group, Seoyeon smiled. She smiled even though her chest felt like it was being crushed by a thousand hands, even though her vision was blurry from the lack of oxygen, and even though she was so exhausted that her bones felt like they might shatter.
“I’m good,” Seoyeon replied. “You go ahead. I think I’m gonna stay in tonight.”
Yooyeon raised an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on Seoyeon for a moment too long. But Seoyeon just waved her off, forcing a light chuckle.
“I’m fine. Really. You go ahead.”
“Alright…” Yooyeon hesitated, but then smiled and shrugged. “I’ll bring you back something if you want. How about some tteokbokki? Want some?”
Seoyeon nodded, watching as Yooyeon walked out the door. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Seoyeon allowed herself to collapse on the couch, clutching her chest as the pain flared up once again. She could feel the flowers—soft and delicate, but deadly—wrapping themselves tighter with every breath.
She knew what was coming.
Days passed, each one heavier than the last. Seoyeon could feel her body surrendering, each breath a little harder to draw, each step more exhausting than the one before. She had become accustomed to the petals—soft and cruel reminders of her unspoken love. They would arrive in the dead of night, tearing their way out of her chest as she muffled her cries into the pillow. She didn’t want Yooyeon to hear. She couldn’t let her know.
Seoyeon’s mind often wandered during those sleepless nights, drifting through memories of laughter shared with Yooyeon. Those moments, so ordinary and fleeting, were everything to Seoyeon. She cherished them even as she knew they meant nothing more than friendship to Yooyeon.
“You're so hopeless,” Yooyeon had once teased her, throwing a pillow at Seoyeon’s face after she paid the delivery man that came knocking on their doorstep to deliver the package that she ordered while drunk. “What would you do without me?”
Seoyeon had laughed then, shrugging it off with a sheepish grin. But inside, the words cut deeper than Yooyeon could ever know. What would she do without Yooyeon? It was a question she no longer needed to answer. Soon, she wouldn’t have to do anything at all.
She’d always known she wasn’t remarkable. Not in the way Yooyeon was—the way she lit up a room just by being in it, the way people were drawn to her without even trying. Seoyeon, on the other hand, was just... there. A shadow in Yooyeon’s orbit, a convenient roommate, a friend in the background.
And yet, despite it all, Yooyeon was kind to her, despite the snarky remarks, despite the playful punches on the elbow. She laughed at Seoyeon’s jokes, brought home her favorite snacks, and even waited up for her on the nights Seoyeon worked late. Those little gestures were the only fuel Seoyeon had, and she clung to them with a desperation she could never admit. But deep down, she knew they weren’t signs of something deeper. They were just Yooyeon being Yooyeon—thoughtful, generous, oblivious.
Seoyeon didn’t blame her for not noticing. Why would she? Yooyeon deserves someone brighter, someone who could match her energy, someone who isn’t Seoyeon.
She thought about confessing once—just once. The idea had flickered in her mind late one night as she lay staring at the ceiling, her chest aching from the weight of the flowers. But before the thought could take root, Seoyeon had dismissed it. What would it accomplish? A confession wouldn’t cure her. It wouldn’t change the way Yooyeon looked at her. If anything, it would ruin the fragile, precious bond they had.
No, Seoyeon had decided. Her love for Yooyeon would remain hers alone, buried deep within her, just like the petals that would soon take her life.
The night Seoyeon finally succumbed to her faith, the apartment was silent. Yooyeon had gone out, leaving Seoyeon alone with her thoughts. She’d grown accustomed to the quiet, finding a strange comfort in it. It gave her space to think, to feel, to say goodbye in her own way.
The pain was unbearable now, a constant, gnawing presence in her chest. She couldn’t move anymore. Even breathing felt like a battle she was destined to lose. She lay in her bed, staring at the dim light filtering through the curtains, the faint scent of flowers filling the room.
She thought of Yooyeon, as she always did. She thought of the way Yooyeon’s laughter could brighten even the darkest days, the way she would flop onto the couch after a long day and complain about work, the way she always managed to make Seoyeon feel like she belonged—even if Seoyeon never truly believed it.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and then another. Seoyeon let them fall, unashamed. She wasn’t afraid anymore.
She had loved Yooyeon with everything she had, even knowing it would destroy her. And though it hurt, though it had taken everything from her, she couldn’t regret it. Loving Yooyeon had been the most beautiful, painful, and meaningful part of her life.
In her final moments, as her vision blurred and her breaths came shorter and faster, Seoyeon felt a fleeting regret—a longing for a life where things could have been different, where she could have been brave enough to tell Yooyeon the truth, where Yooyeon might have loved her back.
But that wasn’t this life. And that was okay.
With a trembling hand, Seoyeon reached for the note she had written earlier, leaving it on the bedside table. It wasn’t a confession, just a simple goodbye. She didn’t want Yooyeon to feel guilty or burdened.
As her eyes fluttered shut, Seoyeon let out one last, shaky breath.
She would die as she had lived—quietly, unremarkably, and without Yooyeon ever knowing how much she had meant to her.
But it was enough.
Because she had loved her. And that love, no matter how painful, had made her life worth living.