Chapter Text
Hanahaki seemed idiotic in Katsuki's mind. It had been since he learned about it in preschool. He vividly remembered running home to his parents, scared that he'd one day develop the disease, only to be told it was a myth to scare children. Not even a quirk could give it to him. “You have nothing to fear,” Masaru promised him.
Then why was he here?
Katsuki groaned as he felt his nausea finally overtake him. He rushed to his bathroom, but inevitably threw up into the sink, unable to make it any further. He held onto the counter, trembling as his breath became ragged. He slowly opened his eyes to look in the mirror. He looked pale, exhausted, worse than he ever had in his life. Katsuki sighed, annoyed with himself, and looked down into the sink. He was surprised when he didn’t see anything but a couple of petals.
“What the fuck?” Katsuki muttered to himself. He scooped the petals into his hands, staring down at them, almost in awe. There were only two. They were yellow and orange, the colors bleeding into each other almost perfectly. His mind couldn't help but flash back to his preschool teacher. What she had told him about the deadly flowers that bloomed in your lungs if the one you loved didn't return your feelings.
Katsuki scoffed away the thought and turned on the water at a low pressure. He held the petals underneath to rinse away any remaining spit. His breath was still ragged as he struggled to calm down from the whiplash of coughing up flower petals. Katsuki wasn't even sure what kind of flower it was, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He returned to his bed, still staring at the petals in his hands. He ran his thumb over one of them and sighed.
“This is ridiculous. That stupid disease is a myth,” Katsuki muttered. He tried to think of any other explanation. Maybe a quirk similar to Kinoko's, but with flowers instead of mushrooms? There was a villain attack. It’s possible that he was hit with a quirk and didn't notice. Katsuki prayed that it was. A harmless quirk that made him occasionally cough up flower petals.
Katsuki opened the empty drawer in his bedside table and carefully laid the petals inside. He didn't want to get rid of them, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at them anymore. After pushing the drawer shut, Katsuki sank into his bed, slipping under the warmth of his blankets and the comfort of his sheets. He gently gripped his throat, suddenly realizing just how sore it was. He gulped, wincing at the pain it brought him. He grumbled to himself as he turned over to go to sleep.
Maybe he'd feel better by morning?
Katsuki tried to tell himself that again and again as he drifted off to sleep, but when his alarm blared in the morning, his throat felt as if it was closing, blocking off his air flow. He gripped his throat and coughed roughly, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand. He felt more petals fall from his mouth and into his hand. He counted them as they fell.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Katsuki shakily pulled his hand away from his mouth and stared down at the petals. He dropped them onto his bed, unable to wrap his head around the situation. This had to be a dream or some kind of hallucination. It couldn’t be real. He picked up the petals and shoved them into the drawer of his bedside table, trying to keep his condition out of his head. Katsuki forced himself to get out of bed and put on his uniform. His hands were shaking as he buttoned up the jacket and adjusted his collar. He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like a mess, more than usual, anyway. He ran his hands over his face and screamed at himself for letting something as inconsequential as flower petals get to him.
Katsuki yelped when someone knocked on his door. He cursed under his breath and reluctantly cracked the door open. Eijirou was there, his smile wide and toothy, just as it always was.
“Hey, man. Ready?” He asked. Katsuki gulped and rubbed his throat. It was sore, and some part of him knew his voice wouldn’t be there, no matter how hard he tried to keep it clear.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking. “Let’s go.”
“Whoa. You okay? You sound sick,” Eijirou mentioned. Katsuki groaned. He hated how much Eijirou worried about him, always questioning if something was even a little off. But his voice sounded so different, so weak and labored. It’d be hard for anyone to miss, even if you had never met him before.
“I’m fine. Just lost my voice,” Katsuki muttered. “Can we just go?”
“Yeah. Kaminari’s waiting for us downstairs,” Eijirou said as he started walking. The mention of Denki’s name made Katsuki’s chest feel heavy, but his heart rate picked up slightly. He pushed to move faster, strangely wanting to see Denki. He never looked forward to anyone’s company, except for Denki’s. Just the thought of him made his head spin. It was confusing, and Katsuki tried to fight it at first, but he gave up after it became a constant. Days turning into weeks, weeks into months of craving Denki’s presence. A craving Katsuki despised himself for.
Even so, the craving for stronger every time Katsuki’s gaze met Denki’s bright eyes, filled with so much joy that Katsuki couldn’t stop himself from smiling with him at times. Yet, when Katsuki’s eyes met Denki’s this morning, his chest just felt heavier, almost filling him with a sense of dread, and his smile only made it worse.
“Hey, guys!” Denki beamed. He waved his hand high in the air and jogged to be beside his friends. Katsuki had to force himself to keep his gaze on the ground as Denki talked about anything that came to his constantly running mind. Eijirou would respond any time Denki gave him a gap to speak, but Katsuki stayed silent, not wanting anyone else to hear his shot voice.
As the three neared the school, Denki draped his arm over Katsuki’s shoulders. Katsuki’s eyes widened, and he fell into a coughing fit. He covered his mouth, and he felt his heart stop as more petals fell into his hands. He didn’t want anyone to know about this. It made him feel weak in isolation—he could almost imagine how much worse the pity of his peers would be.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Eijirou asked. “You don’t look well.”
Katsuki shook his head and cleared his throat once the coughing stopped. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hiding the many petals flooding them. “I told you, I’m fine. It’s just because it’s getting cold out,” he tried to dismiss it. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. He could feel it getting worse, and hiding it would be impossible with how many petals were starting to come up.
“Just try not to push it today, yeah?” Eijirou said as he started walking again. Denki stayed by Katsuki’s side, his eyes filled with worry. He had never seen Katsuki sick. The blonde had claimed it “never happened to him.” Maybe he was good at hiding it every other time, but seeing him look so exhausted and hearing his struggling breaths made Denki’s stomach churn.
“Maybe you should head home?” He suggested. “What’s missing one day?”
Katsuki scoffed. “Yeah, right. I’m not missing a day unless they force me to.”
Denki sighed and moved his hand to rub Katsuki’s back. He smiled gently, and it made Katsuki’s throat close up. He cleared his throat and rushed to get away. He didn’t understand why Denki made the symptoms worse. He wasn’t special—it was just Denki. Even thinking about him made Katsuki’s chest get heavy.
He winced as he stepped into U.A., the school’s heating a stark contrast to the outside’s cold that made his head spin. He gulped, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, and forced himself to keep going. Getting into Classroom 1A felt like a relief. Katsuki sank into his seat and dropped his head into his hands, struggling to keep his eyes open. He shakily gripped his throat. He couldn’t breathe, not consistently. Every breath he managed to take felt like knives in the back of his throat, stabbing him as he desperately tried to get oxygen into his lungs. He couldn’t focus on anything else.
“Bakugou?” A familiar voice spoke. Katsuki lifted his head, his eyes meeting Kyouka’s. He groaned and forced himself to sit up.
“What do you want?” He asked, his voice still cracking and weak.
“Wow. You sound like shit,” Kyouka said bluntly. Katsuki rolled his eyes and scoffed. It irritated his throat. His eyes widened as he started coughing again. “Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to cough into your hands?”
Katsuki glared at Kyouka and shoved the petals into his pockets. “What do you want?” He repeated.
“I was just checking on you. You look awful,” Kyouka answered. It annoyed Katsuki. How many people were going to say that to him? He knew he looked rough, but he didn’t need to hear it from everyone.
“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Katsuki barked. “I don’t want your pity or concern. Go flirt with Yaoyorozu or something.”
Kyouka rolled her eyes before she walked away. Katsuki sighed and looked around the room. People were still arriving, and eventually, Izuku walked in. Katsuki groaned and looked down at his desk. He knew Izuku would notice he was acting differently and possibly question when he put his hands in his pockets after he coughed. Izuku was annoyingly observant, and Katsuki hated that part of him.
He lifted his head, and Izuku smiled at him, giving him a small wave. Katsuki groaned and dropped his head into his hands again. Izuku’s smile dropped, turning into a small, puzzled frown. He walked over to Katsuki’s desk and leaned against it.
“You okay, Kacchan?” He asked.
Goddamn it.
“I’m fine, Deku,” Katsuki muttered, trying to keep his voice down so Izuku wouldn't notice how sick he sounded. He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from coughing. It made the scratching and stabbing in the back of his throat worsen, getting harder and harder to fight through.
“You should go to Recovery Girl. You look pale,” Izuku suggested. Katsuki groaned and winced as he forced himself to hold back a rough cough.
“I’m fine.” As he spoke, he remembered something his preschool teacher had mentioned. Something about the flowers you cough up having meaning, whether it be significant or trivial. “Do you know what flowers Sparky likes?”
“Kaminari?” Izuku repeated. “Um. I think he said something about Marigolds, why?”
Katsuki jumped out of his seat and rushed out of the room, leaving Izuku bewildered. Katsuki pushed past anyone in his way and slipped into the boy’s restroom. He locked himself in one of the stalls and pulled out his flowers and the petals in his pockets, praying he wasn’t right. He looked up Marigold flowers, and his heart dropped. The first image was a perfect match. The yellow and orange bleed into each other perfectly, the curve and ripples in the petals. Katsuki started hyperventilating. He dropped his phone and the petals and collapsed into the stall walls.
“Fuck!” Katsuki screamed. He dropped his head into his hands and tugged at two handfuls of hair. He didn’t know what to do. This was real—Hanahaki was real. Why did he have to get it? Why not anyone else? And why did it have to happen the first time he felt he truly loved someone, even if he wasn’t sure what kind of love it was.
Katsuki couldn’t handle this. He knew the risks of having the disease, and he knew there were only two ways to get rid of it: tell your beloved your feelings and have them reciprocate them, or get a surgery to remove the flowers that will wipe any memories of them. Both sounded like hell in Katsuki’s head. He could never tell Denki he loved him—he didn’t even know how he loved him—but he couldn’t forget him either. And what if he fell in love with him again? Would he have to live through this torture again?
Katsuki felt tears come to his eyes, and it only made him feel even more pathetic. He winced and silently sobbed into his hands. He put his hand over his mouth as he coughed up more petals, the crying irritating his throat and making him cough more and more. Eventually, he was surrounded by the cursed Marigold petals, a painful reminder of what he may never have. Katsuki slumped against the walls that felt like they were closing in on him. Usually, he would panic and try to get out as soon as possible, but now, he just wanted to disappear and forget about this sickness he was stuck with.
Katsuki was trapped. He didn’t know how to fix this without going against his pride or risking losing Denki, and he couldn’t go to anyone for this. He’d be sent to the hospital—he knew he would be—and that would be set in stone if his parents found out. The only person he could ever go to was Izuku, but Katsuki would rather let the flowers kill him than do that. Katsuki sighed and scooped all of the petals into his pockets. After that, he couldn’t bring himself to move again. He was too exhausted. Maybe he should have just gone home?
It took him forever to get off the floor. He stumbled out of the stall and gripped one of the many sinks. Luckily, the restroom was empty, giving Katsuki the privacy he so desperately craved. He looked into the mirror, his eyes swollen and bloodshot from his violent crying, and there was a little blood smeared at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with his thumb and winced. He felt so defeated, like death was the only option.
“Maybe I should just get it over with,” Katsuki muttered to himself. “Killing myself seems better than a slow death… or losing Denki. Fuck, Denki. What have you done to me?”
Katsuki pushed himself from the sink and slowly left the restroom. He swayed side to side with each agonizing step he took. There had to be a way to manage the pain, right? Katsuki wondered if he even needed to manage it. He was sure that if the roots in his lungs didn’t kill him, he would do it himself. He was sure it would be better that way. He would no longer be the angry burden he had always been on his family, his peers, his family… on Denki.
Denki.
He was the only thing that made Katsuki hesitant to go through with it. Would Denki be upset at his death? Or would he be indifferent about his absence? Would it push Denki to his breaking point? The thought of it made Katsuki’s heart burn. He didn’t want to be the reason for Denki’s downfall, but going on with this disease, silently dying, only to be able to be saved by the very reason for it, seemed worse than hell, worse than dying, even to his own hands. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to die by something Denki loves, surrounded by it in his final moments.
Maybe Denki would love him then.