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    Summary

    For a second - just one - he considers that maybe it’s a fluke. That maybe this is something else. An irritation in his chest. The beginnings of the flu. Too dry air, stirred up by the brewing autumn storm. Asthma… anything.

    Anything but this. Not again.

    But the petals are in his hand, and that’s all the evidence he needs. His stomach drops so hard it feels like the ice has given out beneath him, but it’s not the ice giving out, it’s his knees.

    ________________

    Or, Ilya Rozanov is no stranger to the sensation of flowers growing in his lungs.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    23,819
    Chapters:
    3/3
    Comments:
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    Kudos:
    315
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