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The first bloom never lies.
It begins as a tickle in the throat, an itch that feels too delicate to be dangerous. Then comes the wet cough which makes you tremble—painted with petals soft as confession. By the time the second flower unfurls inside the lungs, there is no mistaking it: the heart has already chosen someone it cannot have.
They call it Hanahaki. A disease. A sickness born from unrequited love. The body, unable to bear the devastating truth of not being loved back, sprouts flowers in the dark chambers of the chest. Roots tangle with veins. Blossoms claw their way upward, until your love can no longer be hidden, but only to be choked upon.
Some are fortunate. If the beloved returns their feelings, the flowers wilt into nothing, leaving behind only the memory of what almost bloomed them to death. But for others—those whose love remains unanswered and unseen—the garden grows unchecked, turning ribs into trellises and lungs into graves.
There is surgery, of course. A way to cut the blossoms out, stem by stem, until the body is clean. But it comes with a price: the love itself is cut away with it, leaving the heart hollow, its ache replaced by an emptiness far colder than the blood-drenched, coughed-up flowers.
And so every story of Hanahaki becomes a gamble: to confess and risk rejection, to remain silent and wither, or to forget love altogether and survive half-alive.
In the end, the petals never lie. They bloom only for the truth the heart cannot speak.
And Lawrence?
He let the petals speak—willingly nurtured the flowers in his lungs, letting them grow lush and radiant, even as they consumed him.
Time was already slipping from his grasp.
So, in the remaining days he had left, he tried—quietly, desperately—to leave traces of his feelings with the one he loved most: Steven. Their leader.
Lawrence had always been the bubbly one in the group, the kind who noticed the smallest, most ordinary things. Like how Woongki always bought a new pouch for his hygiene kits, or how Han never failed to stash a snack into his pocket whenever they attended events that offered food for free.
And then there was Steven.
Lawrence noticed the way his eyes crinkled whenever he barked out a laugh, the way his lashes looked impossibly long up close, the way his voice softened even in reprimand—especially when he was scolding the younger ones for being stubborn.
Steven is their leader. Firm when he needed to be, yet endlessly patient whenever the rest of them frayed at the edges. Trainees pa lang sila, hanga na si Lawrence sa kanya, hindi lang dahil mabuti at masipag siyang tao, kundi dahil sa paraan niya ng pagmatch ng talent niya with his hard work.
People often told Lawrence he was talented, that he had everything it took to succeed. But Steven… Steven was different. What drew him in was not just ability, but the discipline behind it—the quiet determination, the way he pushed himself while still fostering camaraderie and healthy competition with everyone around him.
And with so many of them in the team, Lawrence knew he could have easily fallen for someone else—someone who might actually love him back.
And still, against reason, against hope, his own heart turned toward Steven.
It began so subtly he nearly convinced himself it was nothing.
Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Nagsimula ito sa simpleng pagtabi-tabi nila sa isa’t isa when they were trainees, ‘yung pagdikit-dikit ng kanilang braso, ‘yung pag-aabutan nila ng tubig or towels after practice, hanggang sa nagsisimula na silang magpahiraman ng kani-kanilang mga damit sa isa’t isa.
Maybe it was in the way Steven looked at him—like he’d hung the stars in the sky, like every small thing about him was worth marveling at. Maybe it was the way Steven didn’t treat him any differently just because he was a foreigner, but instead provided a safe space for him to be comfortable by willingly translating things for him and communicating with him in English.
Only Steven looked at him like he was worthy of being admired, genuinely.
That was when the coughing started.
At first, it’s just a scratch in his throat, so he brushed it aside, thinking it’s fatigue. But one night, as he leaned over the sink in the dorm restroom, he saw it: a crimson-tipped petal of carnation resting in his palm, trembling with the remnants of his cough. His chest constricted with fear and awe in equal measure.
Carnations.
Steven’s birth flower.
He’s in love with Steven.
The next day, he went to the clinic, seeking confirmation for what his heart already feared. The doctor’s gaze was steady and unflinching, as if he’d delivered this verdict countless times before.
“It’s Hanahaki,” the doctor said quietly. “You can undergo surgery to remove it. But you must understand—once the roots are cut away, you will lose the ability to love again, along with losing every memory and feelings you have for the person you loved. You’ll go on living, yes, but as an empty shell incapable of emotions.”
Lawrence had stared at the floor, clutching the petals in his hand like a rosary. The cure was tempting and reasonable, but the thought of living without love—without this love—felt worse than the flowers choking his lungs. Loving Steven was painful, yes, but it was also miraculous and beautiful.
He learned what it meant to love because of Steven. He discovered that he was capable of giving love, of showing it—and that it was one of the most breathtaking feelings in the world. Through Steven, he glimpsed an entirely different world—one so vivid and extraordinary that he could never bear to let it go.
So he chose silence.
Back at the dorms, he concealed his coughs behind locked bathroom doors, flushing away the petals before anyone could notice. His skin grew paler, his body weaker, but he moved through each day as if nothing had changed. If the others caught the shadows beneath his eyes, they never asked. Well, he wouldn’t let them—because if the team knew, they would beg him to go under the knife, and Lawrence already knew what he wanted: to love Steven until the flowers consumed him whole.
And so he cherished the days left to him like fragile glass.
Every smile he gave Steven was a confession. His gestures, although small and unnoticed by others, was his way of loving in silence. He didn’t need Steven to know. Didn’t need him to return the feeling. All he wanted was to keep loving, quietly, beautifully, until the flowers finally claimed him.
And if he withered away in the end, at least he would die with something magical rooted in his heart.
“Steven hyung, busy ka po mamaya after practice?” tanong ni Lawrence habang marahang umupo sa armrest ng sofa kung saan nakaupo si Steven. Abala si Steven sa pagkalikot ng cellphone niya, halos hindi namamalayan ang presensya ng kasama. Maliit lang ang couch, good for one, kaya nakuntento si Lawrence sa pag-upo sa gilid.
“Hmm… hindi naman. Wala akong ibang gagawin after practice. Why?” Tiningala siya ni Steven, at doon niya napansin ang lalim ng mga mata ng teammate niya. Ilang araw na rin niyang nakikita ang pagbabagong ito—Lawrence was thinner, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. At sa tuwing tinatanong nila kung okay lang ba siya, lagi lang itong sumasagot ng mabilis na “Okay lang po ako.” at idinadahilan ang insomnia. Kaya kahit nag-aalala si Steven, pinipili na lang niyang manahimik—pero hindi siya tumitigil sa pagmamasid, quietly watching over Lawrence in his own ways.
“Nice. Samahan mo ako?” may kasamang malumanay na ngiti ang tanong ni Lawrence, at sa simpleng hiling na iyon, may bigat na hindi niya nasasabi.
Steven’s lips curved into a smile. Bihira kasing mangyari ito—Lawrence almost always did things on his own, never asking for help unless he absolutely needed it. Kaya para kay Steven, nakakapanibago na humihiling siya ngayon ng kahit maliit na pabor, and that made Steven happy.
“Sige lang. Saan ba?” tanong ni Steven habang inaayos ang t-shirt ni Lawrence na medyo dumudulas mula sa balikat.
At habang tinitigan niyang muli ang binata, hindi na niya maitago sa sarili ang pag-aalala. Something was wrong. He could see it in Lawrence’s sudden weight loss, in the tiredness etched into his features—signs too loud to ignore, no matter how many times Lawrence insisted he was fine.
“Hmm… gusto ko lang po maglakad-lakad, maglibot around the city. Okay lang ba, hyung? Gusto ko lang po makapagpahinga,” sagot ni Yence, sabay ngiti. May kakaiba sa ngiti na iyon, pero hindi na niya muling tinanong. Tumango lang si Steven nang walang pag-aalinlangan.
“Alright. After practice, tara?” He flashed that smile—that smile Yence loved so much it hurt.
And in that moment, Yence felt it—the sharp, suffocating weight in his throat—the petals rising and ready to choke him. He muttered a quick excuse, bolted out of the practice room, and stumbled into the restroom.
His body lurched forward, wracked with violent coughing. Blood-tinged carnation petals spilled from his mouth, falling into the toilet bowl like a cruel confession. His chest burned, his vision blurred, and every spasm of his body left him weaker than before.
Tangina. Wala na siyang oras.
When it was over, with the little strength he had left, he flushed the petals away, erasing the evidence of his suffering. With trembling legs, he staggered to the sink, gripped the edges for balance, and forced himself to meet his reflection in the mirror.
What he saw almost broke him.
The gauntness of his cheeks, the deep hollows under his eyes, his lips—dry, cracked, and drained of color, and his skin which is mostly pale and almost lifeless.
He exhaled heavily, then fished the small tint from his pocket. With careful strokes, he brushed color back onto his lips and cheeks, painting life where none remained. He needed to look presentable. Needed to hide how sick he looked.
By the time he returned to the practice room, the others immediately asked what happened. He shrugged it off with a small smile, saying his stomach had acted up but he was fine now. Satisfied, they let it go.
But Steven never looked away. His gaze lingered on Lawrence. He could see it—something was wrong. And no matter how much Lawrence tried to mask it, Steven knew.
Nang matapos ang practice, nilapitan agad ni Steven ang manager at sinabing mauna na sila dahil may pupuntahan pa sila ni Lawrence. Samantalang si Lawrence ay pilit pa ring hinahabol ang kanyang hininga—hirap na hirap na dahil sa mga sanga’t bulaklak na bumabalot sa kanyang baga. Sinubukan niyang itago ang hingal, sinubukang huwag ipahalata. Isa-isa nang lumabas ang members matapos magpaalam, kumaway pa ang mga ito sa dalawa bago tuluyang mawala sa kanilang mga paningin.
“You good, Yence? Tara na?” tanong ni Steven, nakangiti pa rin, habang si Lawrence ay nakasalampak pa, pilit na tinatago ang kanyang paghahabol ng hininga. Nginitian niya si Steven, dahan-dahang tumayo, kinuha ang shoulder bag sa gilid ng practice room, at sabay silang lumabas.
Pagkalabas ng building, sinalubong sila ng malamig na hangin ng gabi. The night wind tousled Lawrence’s dry hair. Pinikit niya ang kanyang mga mata, ninamnam ang simoy ng hangin na dumadampi sa kanyang balat. Gusto niyang maramdaman ang bawat sandali, kahit panandalian lang.
Napansin siya ni Steven at natawa ito ng mahina bago siya gayahin niyo—ipinikit din ang mga mata at hinayaan ang hangin na dumampi sa kanya.
Maya-maya’y lumingon si Steven sa kanya. “So, saan mo gustong pumunta?”
“Hmm… saan po ba maganda, hyung? Gusto ko lang talaga maglakad-lakad. Mas pamilyar ka sa mga lugar dito eh,” sagot niya.
Nginitian siya ni Steven, hinawakan ang kanyang kamay, pinagsaklop ang mga ito, at doo’y halos mapaluha si Lawrence sa kanyang nakita.
Their hands fit so perfectly.
Just like soulmates.
Like a perfect match made in heaven.
Kung mahal lang sana siya pabalik ni Steven.
Pero hindi. Hindi siya ganoong klaseng tao na susumbatan si Steven. Kagagawan niya itong lahat kung bakit siya na-fall. Kagagawan niya rin kung bakit siya humantong dito—dahil hindi niya pinili ang operasyon.
Still, he let himself drown in the what-ifs.
What if Steven loved me back? Would we be happy? Would we be the best couple? Members always said they had the best chemistry.
Pinisil ni Steven ang kamay niya, dahilan para mapatingala siya rito.
“Halika, may alam akong lugar. Hyung will take care of you,” Steven said, before pulling him along.
So they walked hand in hand. Lawrence could barely contain his heart—it was thrashing wildly, as if wanting to break free from his chest. He could feel the veins of the carnation tightening in his lungs, choking him slowly. But he didn’t care.
Kasi kasama niya si Steven.
And he could only dream of moments like this.
They wandered through the heart of Seoul, fingers entwined, until the gentle glow of streetlamps guided them onto a bridge above the hushed river. Before them, the city unfurled in a sweep of glittering lights, mirrored on the water’s surface like a thousand fractured stars—an entire world Lawrence already felt himself drifting away from.
Steven leaned on the railing, his profile outlined by the glow of passing cars and the silver kiss of moonlight. He looked so alive, so real—like the kind of warmth Lawrence wanted to hold onto forever. Lawrence stood beside him, clutching the cold metal railing to steady his weak body. Every breath rattled in his chest, petals threatening to surface, but he forced them down.
Not here. Not in front of him.
“Ganda, ‘di ba?” Steven said, smiling softly as he stared at the lights. “Noong nasa previous group ko pa ako, whenever I’m tired, I just come here. Everything just feels… I don’t know… lighter, I guess. ‘Yun ba yung tamang term?” Steven chuckled when can’t find the right words to express himself.
Lawrence’s throat tightened. Lighter. He almost laughed at the irony—because inside, he felt heavier than he’d ever been. Nararamdaman niya ang bigat ng pag-usbong ng mga bulaklak sa baga niya na ibig kumawala.
“Yeah,” he managed, voice trembling. “It’s beautiful.” His eyes weren’t on the city though. They were on Steven.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Only the sound of the water lapping below and the occasional car crossing behind them filled the air. Lawrence drew a deep, shaky breath, then turned to him.
“Steven Hyung…” His voice cracked, and Steven immediately looked at him, brows furrowing in concern.
“Hmm?”
Lawrence swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “Thank you.”
Steven tilted his head, confused. “For what, Yence?”
“For… being you. For always being kind. For smiling even when things get rough. For treating everyone with so much patience.” His hand trembled as he gripped the railing tighter. “For making me believe about something… that I thought I should be afraid of.”
Steven blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Yence… why are you saying it like that? May problema ba? You know you can always talk to me right?”
Lawrence looked away, his gaze falling to the glittering reflection on the water. He could feel his chest tighten, the roots clawing at him, demanding to be released. But he forced himself to continue, because he needed Steven to hear this.
“You don’t know what you’ve done for me,” Lawrence whispered. “You taught me how to… give without expecting anything back. You made me realize I was capable of loving someone… and that it’s one of the most amazing things in the world.” His eyes stung with tears, but he smiled through them. “I’ll never forget that. Never.”
Steven frowned, stepping closer. “Yence… I’m scared…. What are you saying, hm? Why are you saying it like that—teka, are you crying?! Did I do something wrong?”
Lawrence shook his head hard, though his tears betrayed him. “No, no… not like that. I just—” a sob broke his words, “I just need you to know… you’re a wonderful person, hyung. Maybe the best I’ve ever known. And if I had to choose all over again, I’d still choose this path. I’d still choose to be an idol. And in every timeline that exists… I’d want to meet you in every single one.”
Steven’s eyes softened, a flicker of worry passing through them, but Lawrence forced another smile, fragile and fleeting. He didn’t want Steven to carry his sorrow. He wanted him to remember only this moment—him smiling under the city lights.
He wiped his tears with the back of his hand and laughed lightly, though it shook. “Sorry, ang drama ko, ‘no? Siguro dala lang ng hangin ng gabi.”
But inside, he knew it wasn’t the wind. It was the goodbye he couldn’t say out loud.
So he stood there beside Steven, letting his gaze linger—memorizing every detail: the curve of his jaw, the warmth threaded in his voice, the way the city lights seemed to dance in his eyes. He tried to carve it all into memory, because deep down, he knew… his time was running out.
Steven didn’t understand why, but something inside him snapped. He surged forward and caged the boy in his arms. Niyakap niya ito nang mahigpit, halos desperado. Hindi niya maipaliwanag ang biglaang bugso sa dibdib niya—parang pakiramdam niya, mawawala si Lawrence sa tabi niya sa oras na kumurap siya. So he held on tighter, one hand cradling the boy’s head, the other securing his waist as though to anchor him in place.
Mas lalong bumuhos ang luha ni Lawrence at mas lumakas ang kanyang mga hikbi sa balikat ni Steven.
Oh, to be held like this. To be embraced by Steven.
He vowed he wouldn’t forget this feeling—not even in the afterlife.
So he allowed himself to indulge.
To drown in Steven’s expensive perfume mingling with the whiff of his natural scent clinging on his neck.
To savor the soft brush of Steven’s breath against his ear, murmuring hushed words of comfort.
To surrender to the heat radiating from Steven’s body.
For the last time, Lawrence let himself breathe.
The dorm was quiet when they returned, their footsteps hushed by exhaustion. The other members had already fallen asleep. Lawrence trailed behind Steven down the dim hallway, his body weak but his heart still clinging desperately to the warmth of their night together.
“Thank you for tonight, hyung.” Lawrence whispered, voice soft as though the walls themselves might carry the sound and wake the others.
Steven’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Walang problema. Basta ikaw, Yence. I’m always here whenever you need me,” he answered, reaching up to smooth down his messy hair. Lawrence couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at the small, tender gesture.
“Well then, goodnight, Yence. Pahinga ka na. And please…” Steven’s voice lowered, almost hesitant, as his gaze softened. “Don’t think I don’t notice. Kahit paulit-ulit mong sinasabi na okay ka, alam kong may pinapasan ka na hindi mo kayang ibahagi sa amin. I—no, we—respect that. Pero gusto kong malaman mo na nandito lang kami. Nandito lang ako. Whenever you’re ready, Yence.”
His hand found Lawrence’s, holding it in the quiet space between them. Steven frowned faintly at the unexpected coldness in his friend’s skin.
“Yes, hyung. Thank you… Magpahinga ka na rin,” Lawrence replied with a smile that was far too soft, far too tender, like a candle’s last flicker before burning out.
“Alright. Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Steven asked, tilting his head with an encouraging grin as he made his way toward his door.
Lawrence didn’t answer. He only offered that same sweet smile, lingering in the hallway.
Steven hesitated for a heartbeat. Something about the silence felt strange, but he chose not to press further. He simply smiled back, gave a small wave, and slipped into his room, the door closing quietly behind him.
When Steven finally retreated into his room, Lawrence slipped away to the restroom to take a shower. He stayed under the water longer than usual, letting it wash over his trembling body, as if the warmth of the water could hide the chill of the flowers already blooming inside him. When he was done, he dried himself slowly, each movement heavy, like he was trying to delay the inevitable.
But his heart pulled him back.
He padded quietly down the hall, bare feet against the cool floor, until he reached Steven’s door. He cracked it open, just enough for the faint light from the corridor to spill inside.
Steven lay sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked beneath his head, his breathing steady. Sleep had him stripping away the weight of leadership, leaving only the gentleness in his features.
Lawrence’s chest constricted at the sight.
“Ang gwapo mo pa rin kahit tulog ka… mahal ko…” His whisper broke into the stillness, voice catching at the edges. His fingers curled into the doorframe, bracing himself against the ache tearing him apart. “Thank you… for everything.”
He drank him in greedily, memorizing every detail of his beloved’s face—the curve of Steven’s lashes, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint part of his lips. This was the man he loved. The reason he had lived. The reason he was now ready to let go.
Quiet as a shadow, Lawrence slipped inside. His knees bent beside the bed as he leaned closer, lips pressing the softest, gentlest kiss to Steven’s forehead. His lips were cold and shaky, but the touch was full of everything he couldn’t say. His thumb brushed Steven’s cheek tenderly, tracing the shape of the man who had unknowingly owned his entire heart.
“Mahal na mahal kita, Steven…” he breathed, the confession breaking like glass in the silence.
For a moment, he let himself stay there—so close he could feel the warmth of Steven’s skin, so close he could almost imagine a different ending. Then, with a trembling exhale, he forced himself to retreat.
He stood, backing toward the door, eyes never leaving Steven’s sleeping form until he slipped out into the hallway.
With a trembling hand, Lawrence quietly closed the door of Steven’s room, sealing the memory inside. Then he dragged his frail body to his own room.
On his desk sat a blank sheet of paper. He took up a pen, his fingers weak and shaking, but determination guided him. Slowly, he poured everything he couldn’t say aloud: gratitude for his parents, admiration for his members, and his heartfelt confession for his love.
He wished to the heavens above that Steven would go on to live brightly, even without him. Every word he wrote was stained with tears.
When the letters were done, he folded it carefully, pressing them to his lips for a moment before laying it atop the desk, where Steven or the members would surely find it.
Just then, the pressure he’d been suppressing all day clawed up his throat, violent and unstoppable. He staggered to his bed, clutching his chest as the first petals spilled from his mouth. Carnations. Steven’s carnations.
He coughed and heaved, his body convulsing as more and more poured out, drenched in blood. The bed sheets bloomed red and white beneath him, the flowers scattering like confetti of sorrow. His vision blurred, his strength leaving with every ragged breath.
“Steven…” he rasped, voice hoarse, as if calling his name might tether him a little longer.
With the last of his strength, he gathered a handful of petals to his trembling lips, pressing a soft kiss to them as if it were Steven himself he was kissing goodbye to. Then he let them scatter across his chest.
He sank back into the mattress, the bed now a garden of carnations encircling him like a fragile halo. His breaths grew shallow, each one weaker than the last. Yet on his lips was a faint, bittersweet smile.
Because even in death, he was wrapped in Steven’s flowers.
And with that, Lawrence exhaled his final breath.
Hushed, tender, and filled with love.
The next morning, Steven was the first to wake up among the members. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stretching before deciding to check on Lawrence. There was just something in him that urged him toward Yence’s door.
He knocked softly. No answer.
Baka natutulog pa.
“Yence?” he called, voice gentle. He turned the knob and stepped inside.
At first, it looked like Lawrence was just sleeping. He lay there on his bed, pale but peaceful, surrounded by a sea of carnations. Red, white, and pink blooms encircled him, scattered across his chest, his hands, the sheets like some kind of art. For a split second, Steven almost smiled—until his eyes caught the bloodied petals that clung to his lips, dried at the corners, and the letter propped carefully on the desk.
“No…” Steven’s knees buckled. He rushed forward, shaking him by the shoulders. “Yence… Lawrence! Yence! Wake up!”
But Lawrence’s body was limp, already cold.
“Fuck… No, no, no… Yence, please… Wake up, baby…” Steven’s voice cracked into sobs, his tears falling unchecked as he pulled his friend—his brother, into his arms. “Please… Yence. Please, bumangon ka na diyan oh… T-tama na biruan, bunso…”
When Steven saw how pale Lawrence was in his hold, his whole body seized with horror. The warmth he once knew from him was gone, replaced by a cold stillness that made his heart shatter.
“NOOO!” Steven’s scream tore out of his chest, raw and strangled, a cry so broken that it rattled the walls of the dorm. His voice cracked under the weight of anguish, echoing down the hallways like the sound of something beyond repair.
The members, alarmed, rushed out of their rooms one by one, their steps hurried and frantic. When they reached Yence’s room, they froze at the doorway—each of them struck by the same devastating sight.
Steven, their strong and dependable hyung, was on the bed, cradling Lawrence’s lifeless body in his arms as if trying to will him back to life. His sobs were violent, shaking his entire frame, his tears soaking into Yence’s cold skin. And even in death, Lawrence was still heartbreakingly beautiful—his face serene, as if merely asleep.
The first to gather the courage to move was Woongki. His voice trembled as he stepped closer.
“S-Steven hyung… W-what happened? A-anong nangyari kay Yence?”
But Steven only wailed harder. His throat constricted, his chest tightened until every breath was agony. He cried so hard it felt like his ribs would cave in, like his body couldn’t contain the sheer grief flooding through him.
It was then the members began to piece it all together.
The carnations scattered across the sheets, some petals still damp with tears.
The blood that stained Lawrence’s lips.
The envelopes neatly laid on his desk.
The way he had always run to the bathroom, coughing until his body shook.
The way he was always short of breath even after small exertions.
The weight loss, the paleness, the way his eyes dimmed though he smiled through it all.
Their knees buckled under the realization. Hanahaki.
Denial clawed at Woongki’s throat. He shook his head, stepping back, voice cracking into disbelief.
“W-who…”
Sino nga ba? Sino ang tarantadong nagbigay ng sakit na 'to kay Yence?
Who cursed him with this cruel disease?
Woongki’s gaze landed on the desk. His trembling fingers reached out, brushing across the stack of letters.
One addressed to the members.
One addressed to his parents.
And one… with a shaky handwriting that read—
“My beloved… Steven Kim.”
Woongki’s lips quivered as he read it aloud. The words tasted like glass in his mouth. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks, dripping onto the paper, until his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the floor, clutching the letter, and the others rushed to catch him.
They did not expect this. Not at all.
The dorm was suddenly a place of unbearable silence, except for Steven’s heart-wrenching cries that refused to stop echoing through the air. His grief clung to every wall and every corner, as if the dorm itself was mourning with them.
And in the middle of it all was Lawrence, their Yence.
Surrounded by the soft blush of carnations, their fragile petals framing him like a crown. He lay among them, still and cold, and yet—he remained the most beautiful flower of them all.
The wake was held in a quiet hall lit by the soft glow of candles. White drapes hung along the walls, and the air carried the mix of incense and flowers from the many wreaths. Friends, family, fellow artists, and fans came in muted clothes, their faces heavy with grief.
At the center lay Lawrence. His body resting in a polished casket. His face looked peaceful, almost angelic, as though he were only sleeping. His lips held the faintest trace of a smile, like he had finally found rest. In his hands, folded neatly over his chest, was a bouquet of carnations—Steven’s carnations. The very flowers once blooming in his lungs had been taken from him, placed as a final token of his love.
The members stood together near the front, their eyes swollen from days of tears. Some clung to each other; others stood rigid, as if holding themselves together was the only thing keeping them upright. Woongki’s hand never left the casket lid, as if he could will Yence to come back by touch alone.
And then there was Steven. He hadn’t moved from his seat since the vigil began, his gaze locked on Lawrence’s still form. His expression was empty, yet beneath the emptiness was a storm no one could name.
Hours passed, visitors came and went, but Steven remained. At last, when the hall had quieted, he pulled the envelope from his pocket—the letter Yence had written for him. His hands trembled as he broke the seal, the paper already damp from the sweat of his palms.
His eyes scanned the first lines, and almost immediately his throat constricted. The words blurred from the tears welling in his eyes.
“My beloved Steven Hyung, if you are reading this, then I am already gone. Don’t be angry with me for leaving. I carried this love silently because I knew it was never mine to claim. But know this: every breath I took was for you. You were my home, my joy, my reason for holding on as long as I did...”
Steven pressed the letter against his lips, a sob breaking free from his chest. His shoulders shook, the paper crumpling slightly under the force of his grip.
Then, that familiar itch began. Subtle at first—like a tickle deep in his throat. He coughed lightly, thinking it was just the incense in the air. But the tickle grew sharper, painful, spreading like thorns digging into his lungs. His breathing grew ragged, and he clutched his chest, trying to steady himself.
It was then he felt it. The unmistakable sensation of something blooming within him. A swell in his ribcage, a tear in his breath—like roots were clawing their way into his lungs.
He gasped, eyes wide, staring at Yence’s still, beautiful face inside the casket.
Too late.
Too late, he realized.
The love he had buried, the love he had refused to name, had finally surfaced—violent and unforgiving. Steven’s carnations had been cut away from Yence, placed in his hands as he lay in death. And now, inside Steven, sweet peas were beginning to bloom.
Sweet peas.
Lawrence’s birth flower.
He stumbled back into the pew, choking, his tears spilling freely. The words of the letter blurred as his vision clouded, but one line shone clearly in his mind:
“Mahal na mahal kita, Steven Kim. Even if I had to love you from afar.”
Steven buried his face in the letter, weeping so hard it tore through the silent hall. The world blurred around him. All he could see was Lawrence—angelic, forever beautiful, but gone.
Now, with every cough and constriction of his chest, Steven felt the cruel truth. His love had come too late, and it was eating him alive.
“Tita! Tita, si Steven hyung po!”
“Ano’ng nangyari?!”
“Mr. and Mrs. Kim, please sign this form to give your consent as guardians of the patient. We need to proceed with the surgery to remove the branches in his lungs.”
“Please, Doc… do everything you can for our son. Please save him.”
“Steven? Anak?”
“Po?”
“Bakit tulala ka? Ano yung tinitingnan mo?”
“Ah… wala, Ma. Just the sweet peas on my desk.”
“Hm? What about them?”
Steven’s gaze didn’t leave the small glass jar on his desk. His eyes were distant, flat, as if they were staring at something far away rather than the flower before him.
“Nothing. They’re just… beautiful.”
They really were. Beautiful, vibrant, impossibly alive—kahit tatlong taon na mula nang tinanggal iyon sa kanya.
“Maayos ka na ba, anak? Halika na. Bibisitahin natin yung kaibigan mo.”
Right.
Today is his death anniversary.
His sweet pea.
If only he could turn back time. To feel love again. To feel Lawrence in his arms once more. To see him smiling that wide, radiant smile—the one that used to make his heart stumble.
But now, all he could feel was a hollow indifference that scared him more than grief ever did.
With one last lingering look at the jar, Steven finally stood and followed his mother out of the room.