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It started as soon as he woke up. He was still in hospital, broken hearted, full of guilt and his mouth dry. He tried to reach for the water set near his bed and felt something shift in his throat. He suddenly couldn’t breathe and a hacking cough rose from his throat. He shifted onto his side despite the pain and a few soft petals fell onto the pillow next to him. He peered at them in confusion and spat out a few more. Even in the low light the colours were vibrant and varied against the white sheets and the scent of roses still lingered on them.
Violent scarlet red. Bright golden orange. Soft pale Lavender. Deep shocking Violet. Gleaming pitch black. Sweet purest white. All splattered with droplets of his blood.
His breathless coughing fit had drawn the attention of a nurse. He stuffed the petals under the pillow before she could see them, hiding his shame. When the sheets were changed they found hundreds of crumpled petals hidden in the pillow case and below the mattress. Strange, since the young man had almost no visitors, just a young pair of men who had opted for fruit instead and one woman who brought nothing but a heavy bag with her and left nothing behind.
The doctors were suspicious when he claimed the pain in his stomach was still almost unbearable and made noises about pain addiction. Will insisted that it was a high tolerance for pain meds and was given a little more. It did not help. The pain left behind by Hannibal’s knife slowly lessened but the agony in his chest didn’t. Will felt like his heart had been skewered and the pain radiated outwards, getting worse everyday.
He eventually went home but the pain only got worse. Breathing became harder and harder and soon his weight began to fall off as he struggled to catch enough breath to eat. The coughing kept him awake every night and soon enough he was back in hospital again, this time with a diagnosis.
He was lucky to be alive, they told him. The petals came up frequently, with almost every breath he felt more gather in his mouth, the colours so bright they hurt his eyes. His lungs felt heavy and full and he felt the sensation of being crushed every time he lay on his back, while his lips were sore and littered with cuts from the thorns that came up with the petals. It wasn’t long till he wasn’t just bringing up petals and stray thorns but full buds with short stems still attached. More than once he had to reach into the top of his throat and pull the blooms out so he could breathe.
It was a huge open bloom that put him in hospital. Jack had recovered fastest but Will did not want to see him. Alana called often but was unable to come physically visit him and he noticed the shame in her voice when she called him. As if everything could have been avoided had she listened to him when he told her Hannibal was not safe. Abigail’s death had convinced Will that everything that had happened that night was pre-destined. Nothing would keep Abigail from dying that way, throat slit by one parent while the other bled out, helpless to stop it.
Will expected to be left to suffer in self-imposed isolation but it was not so. Driven by sympathy, or guilt, Zeller and Price made a point to visit him often. They rarely talked about Beverley and all three of them were careful never to mention Him. They joined him as he walked the dogs, relaxed and listened to music, sometimes they just shared a bottle of whiskey each lost in their own sadness but at least not alone. After pushing away the most important person in his life Will was grateful for the company. He broke his pattern and began to welcome their visits. It was that personal growth that saved him.
He was half dozing on the couch, smiling as Price and Zeller bickered about something meaningless. They agreed on a truce and Price drunkenly announced that Zeller was his very best friend and he loved him before dragging him into a hug. The dull ache in Will’s chest surged and for a second he couldn’t breath through the searing pain that blinded him for a few seconds, tears filling his eyes. He tried to draw in a breath but couldn’t, his throat stuffed full. He bent forward trying to cough up whatever was blocking him but he couldn’t. It was too low down for him to pull it out and Jimmy’s tipsy attempt at the heimlich manoeuvre did nothing. He blacked out as Zeller called an ambulance.
He woke up with a tube down his throat to keep his airwaves clear. The nurse carefully removed it and helped Will to sip a little cool water before more petals came up, littering the hospital floor.
When the doctor arrived to discuss the result of his x-rays, the nurses had given him a bowl and it was filled with colourful petals and a few small blooms that Will had spat out. His lower lip had been split by a nasty thorn and every breath was painful.
Hanahaki, the doctor called it a disease so rare he had never seen it before. It was mentioned only briefly in medical school and was considered by most to be a myth. Chewing gum would not wrap around your heart, poprocks and coke would not make your stomach explode and unrequited love could not cause roses to grow in your airwaves. But here it was, clear as day, an x-ray that showed a whole garden growing in his lungs, crowding the spaces where air should be and slowly suffocating him.
“There is an operation to cure it but it is invasive and comes with a long recovery time,” the doctor told him. “Therapy has been known to reverse some of the damage but at this point, I’m not sure there is time. We can delay the surgery for a month if you wish to try and heal without surgery, then we can x-ray again and go from there” Will let out a bitter laugh and spat out a black rose, blood gleaming on the dark petals, beautiful in a way.
“No therapy,” he said. “I want the operation.”
“There are some very side effects,” the doctor said carefully. “There is no point in performing such invasive surgery if it is only going to happen again. Thus the drugs used during surgery will attack parts of your memory and remove all memory of the woman you loved, you will not be able to remember her.”
“Him,” Will corrected him. “ And I don’t want to remember him,” he said firmly.
“Hanahaki is a very rare disease and the majority of people who suffer do not know what is happening until it is too late. Consequently we don’t have a wealth of solid statistics. Studies are rare but the most recent revealed that roughly fifty percent of those who opt for the surgery report an inability to love as they did before. Not just romantically but at all,” the doctor said, his voice grave.
“I want the surgery,” Will repeated. “I don’t want therapy and I don’t want to remember him. Even if it means I can’t love my dogs. I won’t let him kill me,” Will whispered to himself.
“Very well. We do require one session with a qualified therapist before we can schedule the surgery,” the doctor replied.
“Do I have to talk?” Will asked.
“No, but it is advised.”
“Fine. I’ll see the therapist,” Will said. “Then schedule the surgery,” the doctor nodded and left Will with his thoughts and a bowl full of flowers.
He saw a therapist the very next day. Will could not remember the woman’s name or hair colour or anything else about it. He was actually surprised that he even noticed the doctor’s gender. There was one part of the appointment that stayed crystal clear in his mind.
“Tell me about him, this man you are so determined to forget,” she asked, voice annoyingly calm. Hannibal was different but he still had a ‘therapist voice’.
“He stabbed my boss in the neck, had our adopted daughter push his girlfriend who I once kissed out of a second story window, gutted me, then slit our daughters throat right in front of me,” Will replied, holding her gaze definitely, hoping to see her flinch. “That was in one night, there was more before that.”
“Do you want to talk about that?” She asked.
“No. I just want him out of my life,” Will said.
“Hanahaki disease is the physical manifestation of unrequited love,” she stated.
“I know.”
“You are angry, it is very understandable. However, before you decide to go through with this operation there is one thing you must consider,” Will tilted his head, indicating he was reluctantly listening. “You would not be suffering if you did not still love him.”
“I never said I stopped loving him,” Will said, white petals falling from his lips. “He stopped loving me. I never want to hear his voice in my mind ever again. He gets to move on so do I.”
“Regret can be a terrible thing, Will,” she warned.
“How can I regret something I don’t remember?”
Her notes read that Will Graham had already made his decision before the session began. It was true but the operation was scheduled for two days later.
Will was still sure of his decision when the mask was placed over his face and he began to count backwards.
“One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven…”
Good bye Hannibal.
**********
Will woke up with a heavy pain still in his chest and Hannibal’s face at the forefront of his mind. Every hospital horror story he’s ever heard leapt forward. He focused on moving his arm, terrified that the anaesthesia had not worked properly and he would be operated on while conscious and paralysed.
He was able to move quite easily and seconds later he opened his eyes. He was still in the operating theatre but he was not attached to any machine. He looked around the room and saw his surgeon unmoving on the floor, still breathing but unconscious. “He is not dead. Doctor Marriott worked in research before moving into obscure surgery. He is a lifesaver and he did not see my face,” he heard the voice of Hannibal Lecter and slowly turned his head to see Hannibal sat next to the gunnery in full scrubs, minus a facemask. “Hello Will, I have missed you.”
“You can’t be here,” Will said, eyes filling with tears. “I was supposed to forget you when I woke up.”
“I know,” Hannibal said. “Hanahaki disease, you continue to fascinate me,” he words were kind but his tone tinged with ice.
“You’ve been watching me?” Will accused.
“Yes, ever since I left,” Hannibal said.
“Why are you back now?” Will said, spitting out dark purple rose petals.
Hannibal looked around the room before gripping Will’s chin and forcing him to keep looking at him as he leaned in close. “How dare you?” He asked coldly. “How dare you try to cut me out of you? Was it not enough to break my heart once?” He asked, his grip tightening for a moment. Will whimpered in pain and he let go.
“This was not about you,” Will answered.
“Do you want me to hate you?” Hannibal continued, eyes wild and full of pain. “Impossible.”
“I thought you already did,” Will said, a lavender bud filling his mouth. He pulled it out and crushed it in his hand, letting the crumpled remains fall to the floor.
“How could you think that?” Hannibal asked.
“BECAUSE YOU LEFT ME! YOU ABANDONED ME YOU FUCKING EVIL BASTARD! YOU KNEW I NEEDED YOU, YOU MADE ME NEED YOU AND THEN YOU LEFT ME! I WANT TO HATE YOU BUT I CAN’T SO LET ME FORGET YOU!” He roared. “LEAVE ME AGAIN, PLEASE, LEAVE ME ALONE! YOU DON’T GET TO STOP ME BECAUSE YOU LEFT ME!”
He could have continued screaming but Hannibal sealed his hand over his mouth silencing him. “Not because I did not love you,” he said softly, voice full of sorrow. He slowly removed his hand from Will’s mouth, tenderly stroking his lower lip.
Will lurched to the side, coughing violently. Petals coated in blood covered the floor and bedding. Fully bloom buds forced their way free, half broken stems and thorns still attached. He was flat on his stomach, fingers digging into the sheets as his strength fled and tears rolled down his cheeks. Hannibal’s fingers slid into his, letting him squeeze to handle the pain as thick vines fell to the floor. Finally there was nothing left in his chest. He rolled onto his back and took in a deep lungful or clean fresh air.
Hannibal gently cleaned the tears from his red face and leaned in close. Will parted his lips and let his eyes fall shut, accepting his loving kiss and responding in kind. “I cannot stay here, Will,” he said, voice full of regret. “I would not do well in a cage, separated from you.”
“You want me to come with you,” Will said.
“It is all I have ever wanted,” Hannibal said softly.
“Don’t ask me,” Will pleaded. “I won’t forget you, I won’t ever want to or try to. You changed the very core of me, so let me find out who I am. I deserve to experience my own becoming, on my terms, not yours.”
“Then?” Hannibal asked with baited breath
“Then I will come to you,” Will promised, pulling Hannibal into an almost chaste kiss. “I promise.”
Hannibal pressed his forehead to his Will’s, a couple of stray tears landing on his face, “Never ever doubt that wherever and I go and whatever I do, I am still in love with you, and I always will be. My every heart beat and my every breath is for you,” he promised, voice low and heavy with sincerity. Will believed every word and his chest was filled with something much more pleasant than roses. Something warm and undefinable.
“Wait for me?” Will asked.
“Forever,” he said. The respected doctor began to stir and Hannibal scowled at him, pulling the surgical mask back over his face. “Rest now my love. I will see you again, as long as it takes.”
Will’s eyes began to droop, a serene smile on his face.
Hannibal bent to gather up some colourful petals and wrap them in his handkerchief. He kissed Will’s unresponsive lips and left, as though he’d never been there.
Will insisted on a new x-ray that showed his chest completely empty, healthier than they had been before. He gave no explanation and became the first case of a miracle cure of hanahaki disease.
He never told them how it had happened and just a year later, Will Graham vanished completely. His becoming complete.