Work Text:
Humin was alone in his room.
Outside, the day carried on as quietly as ever. His father was at work, and he had been left by himself again.
Normally, he would have gone over to Gotak’s house by now. But today was different.
Today, something felt wrong.
It had started a few days earlier, during an ordinary afternoon at the movie theater. He had been with the others, arguing over what film to watch, their voices overlapping in playful complaints and laughter.
And somewhere between all that noise, he noticed it.
Juntae and Gotak had grown closer since the last time he had really paid attention.
He couldn’t blame them.
After all, it was his fault.
When he joined the Union, he had left everyone behind. Sieun had always been the type to keep to himself, but Gotak and Juntae had been different. Left alone together, they had naturally become closer.
At first, Humin had only felt a faint ache in his chest.
Then, suddenly, breathing became difficult.
His throat tightened without warning, as though something had lodged itself there. He doubled over, choking on air that refused to come.
Luckily, Humin had always been a decent actor.
With an awkward laugh and a quick excuse, he muttered something about needing the bathroom and hurried out before anyone could stop him.
The moment the door shut behind him, he collapsed against the sink and started coughing.
Dry, rough coughs tore through his chest.
Then he felt it.
Something stuck in his throat.
His fingers shot to his mouth on instinct, desperate to pull whatever it was out—
And that was when he saw them.
Petals.
For a moment, he could only stare.
They didn’t look like real flower petals. There was nothing soft or beautiful about them. Their edges were brittle, their color dull and lifeless, a sickly gray that made his stomach twist.
Dead things.
That was what they looked like.
His hands trembled as he dropped them into the trash.
He stared for another second, his pulse hammering in his ears, before forcing himself to breathe.
Then he straightened his back, fixed his expression, and walked out of the bathroom as if nothing had happened.
They still had a movie to watch.
════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ════════════
When Humin returned home later that night, he locked himself inside his room.
His father was still at the restaurant, which meant the apartment remained quiet except for the faint hum of traffic outside his window.
For the first time since the incident at the cinema, he allowed himself to panic.
He sat down in front of his laptop and started searching.
At first, the results were ridiculous.
Cancer.
Lung disease.
Internal bleeding.
One website even suggested stress-induced hallucinations.
Humin dismissed them all with growing frustration, fingers moving rapidly across the keyboard as he searched again and again.
Flower petals coughing blood.
Flowers growing in lungs.
Petals in throat.
Hours passed before he finally found it.
Hanahaki Disease.
Even the name sounded strange.
He clicked on the article and kept reading.
And reading.
And reading.
By the end of the second hour, Humin understood two things.
First, he knew exactly what was happening to him.
Second—he knew why.
Apparently, Hanahaki developed when someone suffered from one-sided love intense enough to destroy them from the inside out.
Which, honestly, wasn’t exactly shocking.
Humin had known for a long time that he was in love with Gotak.
How could he not be?
Gotak was loyal in a way that bordered on reckless. Strong, dependable, endlessly kind despite the rough edges he tried so hard to hide.
When Humin had fallen apart, Gotak had stayed.
Even when it hurt him.
Even when it meant sitting beside him through sleepless nights, listening to him cry over someone who had destroyed him piece by piece.
Gotak deserved the entire world.
If Gotak asked something of him, Humin would do it without hesitation. If Gotak told him to stop, he would stop. Anything Gotak wanted—Humin would find a way to give it to him.
But that wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that Hanahaki only bloomed from unrequited love.
It began with petals.
Then flowers.
And eventually, death.
Naturally, once he realized what he had, Humin searched desperately for a cure.
There were only two options.
Confess—and be loved in return.
Or surgery.
A procedure that would remove the flowers completely, along with the love attached to them. Every feeling. Every memory connected to it.
Some articles even claimed patients forgot the person they once loved entirely.
Neither option sounded appealing.
The idea of no longer loving Gotak felt unbearable.
But confessing wasn’t any better.
Because Humin already knew the answer.
He had seen the way Gotak looked at Juntae.
And even if his own fears exaggerated things sometimes, he knew one thing for certain:
Gotak had never looked at him that way. They had been friends since middle school.
Back then, Humin had already been fighting with Baekjin, already drowning long before anyone noticed. And through all of it, Gotak had remained beside him.
Helping him.
Supporting him.
Suffering because of him.
That was the part Humin could never forgive himself for.
Everything had fallen apart so quickly it barely felt real anymore. His dreams, his friendships, the promises he once believed in—gone almost overnight.
And in the middle of it all, Gotak had gotten hurt trying to reach him.
Because of him.
Humin felt sick just thinking about it.
Gotak deserved someone better.
Someone who wouldn’t drag him into pain.
Someone who would protect him instead of becoming another burden he had to carry.
So confessing was impossible.
Because if he did, Gotak would reject him.
And then Humin would die.
Honestly, dying itself didn’t scare him that much.
A world without Gotak hardly felt worth living in anyway.
But Gotak—
Gotak would blame himself forever.
Even if he didn’t love him back, he still cared. Humin knew that much.
And the last thing he wanted was for Gotak to spend the rest of his life carrying guilt over a corpse.
So Humin decided to do what he did best.
Pretend.
Pretend he was fine.
Pretend nothing was wrong.
Pretend the flowers inside his lungs weren’t slowly killing him.
But the truth was that things were getting worse.
Humin kept coughing up petals, and they remained just as gray and wilted as before.
It was almost as if his love lacked the strength to bloom properly.
Little by little, though, the petals began to change color.
Just not into the color he wanted.
They turned red.
Not because of the flowers themselves, but because they were soaked in blood.
Every coughing fit brought up more petals than before, and now a constant metallic taste lingered in Humin’s mouth twenty-four hours a day.
He looked terrible.
Paler.
Thinner.
Dark circles settled beneath his eyes, and the strong, charismatic boy everyone knew seemed to disappear more with each passing day.
Naturally, his friends noticed almost immediately.
Sieun tried talking to him first, but Humin brushed him off with a lazy smile and insisted he was fine. Surprisingly, Sieun didn’t push further.
Juntae handled it differently.
Without saying much, he started giving Humin medicine whenever he could. Painkillers, vitamins, random cold medicine—it was simply Juntae’s way of taking care of people.
Even Suho, who barely knew him, looked concerned.
“Dude, I don’t know you that well,” he admitted one afternoon, staring at Humin carefully, “but from the pictures Sieun showed me, you definitely didn’t look this awful before.”
He paused before adding with an awkward laugh, “And honestly? Right now you look even worse than me. Which is saying a lot considering I’m the one who woke up from a coma.”
Humin ignored the comment and kept doing whatever he had been doing before.
Not because he wanted to be rude.
He just didn’t know what else he was supposed to say anymore.
But hiding things from Gotak was the hardest part.
Honestly, it was only a matter of time before he noticed.
════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ════════════
Gotak was already irritated with him to begin with.
First, Humin disappeared after joining the Union.
Then he suddenly came back acting like nothing had happened while looking half dead.
At first, Gotak assumed it had something to do with Baekjin.
But eventually, he realized that wasn’t it.
Because Humin didn’t actually seem sad.
He still smiled.
Still laughed.
Still acted like himself most of the time.
And yet, for some reason, he kept avoiding him.
Ignoring him.
Pulling away every time Gotak tried getting closer.
Then there was the physical aspect.
Humin had always been strong. He trained constantly, spent hours exercising, barely got tired no matter what he was doing.
Now he looked like he was wasting away.
Someone who used to run ten laps without blinking could barely finish one before looking ready to collapse.
Hell, even Sieun could outrun him now.
Gotak was worried.
Worried enough that it kept him awake at night.
And things only became stranger from there.
Everywhere Humin went, petals kept appearing.
At first, Gotak thought someone was playing a stupid prank.
But eventually, it stopped feeling funny.
He found pale gray petals inside Humin’s backpack.
On the basketball court.
In the bathroom sink.
Once, he even found them tangled in his own bedsheets after Humin slept over.
That was when something cold settled heavily in his chest.
So he confronted Humin about it.
For the briefest second, Humin went pale.
Then he laughed nervously and claimed it was just some dumb prank.
But something about his expression felt wrong.
Gotak didn’t believe him.
And, as always—Gotak turned out to be right.
That night, Humin stayed over at his house again.
One of those nights where Humin’s father came home drunk, which usually ended with Gotak dragging him away from that apartment before things got worse.
The two of them fell asleep side by side like they always did.
At some point during the night, Gotak stirred awake and instinctively reached toward the other side of the bed.
Empty.
Still half asleep, he assumed Humin had gone to the bathroom.
He almost rolled over and went back to sleep.
Then he heard it.
Soft sounds.
Uneven sobbing coming from down the hall.
Slowly, Gotak sat up.
The closer he got to the bathroom, the clearer the sounds became.
Coughing.
Crying.
Choking.
Pain.
His chest tightened immediately.
He would recognize that voice anywhere. With growing panic, he shoved the bathroom door open…
And froze.
There, on the bathroom floor, Humin was crouched over the toilet.
His whole body was shaking.
His face was wet with tears, and his mouth—
His mouth was stained with blood.
Petals were everywhere.
Some clung to his lips.
Others were scattered across the tiles, soaked and crushed.
And more kept coming.
Gotak couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. It felt like his body had stopped working entirely.
“Baku…!”
His voice came out sharp, broken. Humin flinched violently at the sound.
“Gogo…” he whispered, hoarse. “You shouldn’t have seen me like this.”
He tried to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but it only smeared the blood further.
He couldn’t even look at him.
Instead, his gaze dropped to the floor.
A mistake.
Because the floor was covered in petals and blood, a mess so overwhelming it almost made it hard to breathe.
Gotak stayed silent for a long moment.
He didn’t know what to say.
He didn’t know what to do.
But he knew one thing.
He couldn’t just leave him like this.
Slowly, he stepped forward and knelt down in front of him. Then he lifted Humin’s face with both hands.
Humin’s eyes widened immediately, startled by the touch.
Gotak wiped his tears away gently with his thumbs, careful, like he was afraid he might break him.
Then he ran his fingers through his hair.
“If you don’t want to tell me,” Gotak said quietly, “then don’t. But let me help you, please.”
Humin didn’t respond.
But he nodded.
Small.
Barely there.
Gotak helped him up and guided him to the bed, cleaning his face as best as he could before going to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
When he came back, he placed it carefully into Humin’s hands.
“Go lie down,” he said softly.
And Humin obeyed.
Silently, Gotak cleaned the bathroom. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he knew Humin wasn’t going to tell him—at least not yet.
And that meant he would have to find out on his own.
When he finished, he returned to the room and found Humin already in bed.
Gotak lay down beside him, staring at the ceiling.
Then, after a long silence— “Since when has this been happening?” he asked.
Humin hesitated.
“Gogo, I—”
“I know,” Gotak cut in softly. “I just… need to know how long.”
A pause.
“About two weeks,” Humin admitted.
Gotak’s expression tightened.
“So you’ve been like this the whole time… and you’ve been hiding it from me.”
“I didn’t know what it was,” Humin whispered. “At first I really didn’t.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Gotak’s voice cracked slightly. “You don’t have to explain everything. You just… you should’ve told me something was wrong.”
“I’m sorry…” Humin said quietly. “I promise I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
Gotak shook his head immediately.
“No. This isn’t fine.”
He exhaled shakily.
“Is there anything I can do? Have you seen a doctor?”
Humin hesitated again.
“They can’t help me,” he said.
Then, after a pause—“But you can.”
Gotak’s head snapped toward him.
“What do you mean? Tell me. I’ll do anything.”
Humin opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
He couldn’t say it.
Not yet.
Not when it might ruin everything.
Not when he still wanted a little more time.
A little more Gotak.
So instead, he whispered:
“Just… don’t leave me alone. Please.”
Gotak went completely still. Then he frowned.
“Baku…” he said softly. “Was ever a time… when I wasn’t by your side?”
And something in Humin cracked.
The petals in his chest suddenly felt lighter.
His breathing steadied just a little.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he was drowning.
They didn’t speak after that.
There was nothing left to say.
So they simply stayed like that.
Side by side.
Until sleep finally pulled them under.
Outside, the night was quiet.
And the stars looked down at them like silent witnesses, watching a love that refused to be spoken out loud—slowly destroying and saving them at the same time.
════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ════════════
Morning arrived quietly.
Humin woke up still tangled in Gotak’s arms.
For a moment, he simply stayed there, staring at the ceiling while warmth pressed against his side. Gotak was still asleep, breathing softly against his shoulder, holding onto him like he was afraid he might disappear during the night.
Humin carefully tried to move away.
It was useless.
Gotak only tightened his grip instinctively and buried his face deeper into his chest.
Humin almost laughed.
A few minutes later, Gotak finally stirred awake.
Sleepily, he lifted his head—and immediately locked eyes with Humin.
The realization hit him instantly and his entire face turned red.
With a startled noise, he practically launched himself out of bed and disappeared downstairs at full speed.
“I-I’ll make breakfast!”
Humin blinked slowly as he watched him flee.
Then, despite everything, a small smile appeared on his face.
Even now, after everything that had happened the night before, Gotak still managed to be painfully easy to read.
But Humin knew the conversation wasn’t over.
Gotak was far too stubborn to let something like this go.
Eventually, he would ask questions again.
Eventually, he would demand answers.
Still… for now, Humin allowed himself to breathe.
Just a little.
While Gotak cooked downstairs, Humin took a shower and changed into clean clothes.
He kept spare outfits at Gotak’s house by this point.
That was what happened when you spent more time at your best friend’s house than your own.
Eventually, without even realizing it, you ended up with your own toothbrush in their bathroom, extra clothes folded in their drawers, and a favorite mug nobody else was allowed to use.
By the time Humin came downstairs, breakfast was already waiting for him.
The two of them ate quietly.
Not awkwardly.
Just quietly.
Like both of them were thinking too much to properly speak.
Once they finished eating, Humin stood up slowly.
“I should go home,” he murmured.
Truthfully, he was exhausted.
Mentally.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Gotak looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end he only nodded reluctantly.
“Text me when you get there.”
Humin smiled faintly.
“Okay.”
The moment Gotak was left alone in the house, he grabbed his laptop and started searching.
Because yes, he had promised not to force Humin to talk.
But that didn’t mean he was going to sit there and do nothing.
Six hours later, Gotak finally understood everything.
Hanahaki Disease.
Unrequited love.
Flowers growing inside someone until they died.
And suddenly, all those gray petals made horrifying sense.
For several long minutes, Gotak simply sat there staring blankly at the screen.
Shocked.
Heartbroken.
Angry.
Then he remembered something his mother used to say.
“When things get serious, panicking won’t help anyone.”
So Gotak forced himself to calm down.
Then he started preparing.
He packed medicine.
A first aid kit.
Jasmine tea.
Extra blankets.
Humin’s favorite manga.
And a hundred other things he thought might help.
By the time he finished, he had somehow packed an entire suitcase.
On the way to Humin’s apartment, he passed by a toy store.
And there, sitting in the display window, was a giant red teddy bear.
Gotak stopped walking.
Then, without thinking too much about it, he bought it immediately.
Maybe it was stupid.
Maybe it was too cheesy.
But this was serious.
And somehow, the bear reminded him of Humin.
════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ════════════
When he finally arrived at the apartment, he knocked gently on the door.
No answer.
Five seconds later, he knocked again—much louder this time.
A few moments later, the door creaked open.
Humin stood there rubbing sleep from his eyes, clearly half awake.
“Gogo…?” he mumbled. “What are you doing here?”
Then his eyes dropped to the suitcase.
“…Why do you have so much stuff?”
Gotak pushed past him without hesitation and dumped everything onto the table.
“Don’t think I don’t know what’s happening to you,” he said immediately. “I spent the entire afternoon researching.”
Humin blinked.
“Oh.”
A pause.
“…That fast?”
Gotak narrowed his eyes.
“What do you mean ‘that fast’?”
“I mean, I knew you’d figure it out eventually,” Humin admitted. “I just didn’t expect it to happen this soon.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood for your nonsense right now,” Gotak shot back. “From now on, I’m staying here with you.”
Humin stared at him.
“…Excuse me?”
“I’m taking care of you.”
“Wait, what? Are you planning to live here or something?”
Gotak crossed his arms.
“Wow. I’m impressed your ninety-nine IQ brain figured that out.”
Humin blinked again.
“…You’re serious?”
“I have never been more serious in my life, Park Humin.” Gotak pointed at the suitcase dramatically. “I am not sitting around while you literally die in front of me, so hurry up and help me unpack.”
Humin couldn’t even argue after that.
Not when Gotak looked at him with that stubborn expression that meant he had already made up his mind.
So, with a tired sigh, Humin helped him unpack.
Most of the suitcase contained practical things.
Medicine.
Tea.
Bandages.
Blankets.
But buried between all of it was something much softer.
A giant red teddy bear.
Humin stared at it for a second before slowly picking it up.
“…What is this?”
Gotak suddenly looked weirdly embarrassed.
“I saw it at the store,” he muttered. “And it reminded me of you.”
Humin blinked.
“Me?”
“Yeah.” Gotak rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “So I bought it for you.” then, quieter “Keep it. I got it specifically for you.”
For a moment, Humin genuinely didn’t know what to say.
Something warm spread painfully through his chest.
Too warm.
Way too warm.
His heartbeat stumbled violently.
Then agony crashed into him without warning.
Humin grabbed at his chest immediately and doubled over, coughing harshly.
Gotak spun around instantly.
“Baku?!”
Before he could react properly, Humin collapsed onto the floor.
The coughing only got worse.
Flowers spilled from his mouth one after another, falling shakily into his hands.
But these weren’t gray anymore.
They were small blue flowers without stems.
Delicate.
Softly colored.
Beautiful.
And stained with blood.
Gotak froze the second he recognized them.
Forget-me-nots.
His favorite flowers.
Under different circumstances, he would have thought they were pretty.
Now he hated them.
Because something so small and fragile was causing unimaginable pain to the person he cared about most.
“Easy, easy…” Gotak whispered immediately, kneeling beside him.
He rubbed slow circles against Humin’s back while waiting for the coughing fit to pass.
Eventually, the flowers stopped.
Humin sat there trembling weakly, blood smeared across his lips and fingers.
Without saying anything, Gotak cleaned his face gently before disappearing into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying a cup of jasmine tea.
Humin’s favorite.
While researching Hanahaki, Gotak had found article after article claiming emotional comfort could temporarily ease the symptoms.
Warmth.
Affection.
Familiar things.
People the victim loved.
Gotak had no idea whether any of it was scientifically true, but he wrote everything down anyway in a small notebook.
Anything that might help Humin even a little was worth trying.
“Careful,” Gotak murmured softly as he handed him the tea.
Humin’s hands were shaking too badly to hold the cup properly.
So Gotak held it for him instead.
One hand wrapped around Humin’s trembling fingers while the other carefully tilted the cup toward his lips.
And somehow, that hurt worse than the flowers did.
════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ════════════
The next few days passed quietly.
Neither of them went to school.
Instead, they stayed together almost constantly.
Taking care of each other in the strange, silent way they always had.
Humin’s father barely noticed anything was happening.
Honestly, he probably wouldn’t have cared even if he did.
Gotak’s mother worried a little more.
Every couple of days, Gotak stopped by home just long enough to reassure her he was okay before returning to Humin’s apartment again.
Their friends visited sometimes too.
Sieun.
Juntae.
Even Suho.
They stayed for a while, talked about random things, tried to make the atmosphere feel normal.
But eventually they always left again, claiming they needed to study or take care of something else.
Mostly the studying part.
That one was definitely Sieun.
And through all of it, nobody brought up Hanahaki again.
Something Humin appreciated more than he could explain.
So for a little while, they pretended everything was normal.
Pretended Humin wasn’t dying.
Pretended Gotak didn’t look terrified every time he coughed.
Pretended the flowers weren’t slowly turning bluer with every passing day.
But time kept moving forward.
And Humin kept getting worse.
One night, he had his seventh coughing fit of the day.
Seventh.
Gotak was beginning to lose count.
The routine had become painfully familiar by now.
Hold Humin steady.
Rub his back.
Clean the blood from his mouth.
Make tea.
Whisper soft reassurances until the shaking stopped.
Over and over again.
But tonight felt different.
Because now Humin wasn’t just coughing up petals or tiny flowers anymore.
He was coughing up entire blossoms.
And Gotak couldn’t take it anymore.
“Baku…” he said quietly, voice trembling. “I think it’s time we talk.”
Humin looked away immediately.
“I don’t know what you mean. It was just another coughing fit.”
“No,” Gotak snapped. “It was your seventh one today.”
Silence.
“And they’re getting worse.” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence. “You’re not coughing petals anymore. You’re coughing up whole flowers now.”
“Gogo, I—”
“No.” Gotak shook his head hard. “No, now you listen to me.”
His hands were trembling.
“I can’t keep watching this happen to you.”
His breathing became uneven.
“Please, Baku… just tell me who it is. Tell me what I’m supposed to do because I can’t—”
His voice broke completely.
“I can’t stand seeing you suffer like this anymore.”
Gotak was right.
Humin wasn’t getting better.
A month had passed since the first petals appeared, and now things were worse than ever.
The flowers had changed completely.
No longer gray and lifeless, they bloomed in shades of soft blue—as if the closer Humin stayed to Gotak, the more alive they became.
His physical condition had deteriorated rapidly.
Some days, he barely had enough strength to get out of bed.
And at night, sleep terrified him.
Because part of him feared that if he closed his eyes for too long, he might never wake up again.
But even then, he still couldn’t confess.
He couldn’t do that to Gotak.
Not after everything.
Not after all the pain he had already caused him.
“Gogo…” Humin whispered weakly. “I can’t.”
Gotak’s expression twisted.
“Why not?”
“Because the person I love…” Humin lowered his gaze. “He deserve someone better than me.”
His fingers curled tightly into the blanket.
“I’ve already hurt him too much. He's suffered because of me for years, and I can’t condemn him to even more pain.”
“God, Baku, stop talking about yourself like that!”
Gotak’s voice came out harsher than intended. His eyes were already wet with tears.
“It pisses me off that you can’t see what I see when I look at you.”
Humin froze.
“You’re an amazing person,” Gotak continued shakily. “You’re always there for everyone even when nobody asks you to be. You keep smiling even during the worst moments, and you’re strong and brave and—”
His voice cracked.
“And you’re my best friend.”
Silence filled the room.
“My favorite person,” Gotak whispered.
Humin’s chest hurt so badly he could barely breathe.
“That’s exactly why I can’t do it,” he admitted softly. “Every time I try to help people, I just end up hurting them instead.”
He laughed weakly, bitterly.
“And besides… he doesn't love me back anyway.”
Gotak immediately shook his head.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
The answer came too fast.
Too certain.
And that terrified Gotak more than anything else.
Humin closed his eyes slowly.
“I already made my decision.”
Something cold settled in Gotak’s stomach.
“…What decision?”
A pause.
Then—
“I’m getting the surgery.”
The room went completely silent.
Humin forced himself to continue speaking.
“It’s scheduled for next week.”
His voice sounded small.
“I’m sorry for hiding it from you, Gogo… but I can’t keep living like this.”
For several seconds, Gotak said absolutely nothing.
Then the words finally reached him all at once.
Surgery.
Forgetfulness.
No more love.
No more memories.
Humin forgetting him.
The thought hit him like a punch straight to the chest.
Suddenly, breathing became difficult.
“No,” Gotak whispered immediately.
Humin looked up weakly.
“Don’t do it.”
“Gogo—”
“Don’t.”
Gotak grabbed his arm desperately and pulled him into a tight embrace before he could stop himself.
His entire body was trembling.
“If you do this…” his voice broke, “you’ll lose your memories. You won’t be able to love anyone anymore.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t!” Gotak snapped, tears finally spilling down his face. “You don’t understand what you’re saying!”
Humin stayed silent. And somehow, that hurt even more.
“I don’t want you to forget me,” Gotak admitted shakily against his shoulder. “I don’t want everything we’ve been through together to disappear like it meant nothing.”
Humin’s eyes widened slowly.
“So please…” Gotak whispered. “Don’t do this.”
“Why?” Humin asked quietly. “I can’t take this anymore.”
And then Gotak said the words before he could stop himself.
“Because I love you, idiot!!!”
Everything stopped.
“I don’t care if I’m not the person you love,” Gotak continued through tears. “I don’t care about any of that. I just—”
His voice shook violently.
“I don’t want to lose you again.”
Humin stared at him in complete silence.
Gotak laughed weakly through his tears.
“So Park Humin,” he muttered shakily, “you better tell me who the asshole is, because I seriously can’t understand how anyone could look at you and not fall in love.”
And suddenly—Humin started coughing again.
Violently.
Gotak panicked instantly, trying to steady him—but this time, something was different.
The flowers that spilled from Humin’s mouth didn’t choke him.
They crumbled apart.
Softly.
Turning into blue dust between his trembling fingers before drifting into the air like spring pollen caught in the wind.
Gotak stared at the scene with tear-filled eyes, completely speechless.
He didn’t understand what was happening.
But before he could say anything—warm lips crashed against his.
Humin kissed him desperately, like someone terrified the moment might disappear if he waited any longer.
The kiss wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t graceful or perfect like the ones in movies.
It was clumsy.
Messy.
Desperate.
A kiss filled with every feeling Humin had spent years trying to bury inside his chest.
And Gotak kissed him back immediately.
His hands gripped the back of Humin’s shirt tightly, afraid to let go.
Between broken kisses and uneven breaths, quiet confessions slipped between them.
Soft whispers about love.
About fear.
About how badly they wanted to stay together.
And beneath the pale light of a spring evening, two people finally stopped running from each other.
From that moment on, their fate belonged together.
And neither flowers nor fear would ever tear them apart again.
The end ♡