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The moment Kaelix started vomiting flowers, he knew he was a dead man walking. Everyone knew what hanahaki was, and what it entailed. Unrequited love, was its meaning, a sign that the person infected was unloved. And of course, Kaelix knew just who his heart yearned for. His three closest friends! The flowers would plant roots in one’s lungs, growing with each day the person’s love wasn’t returned, until eventually the flowers would slip past their lips, a sign of no return.
It hadn’t been something sudden, honestly. Kaelix had been feeling the buildup, but he had just refused to admit it. The signs were all there, looking back at it, a message of his inevitable end at the hands of his own heart. He had been in the bathroom when it happened, trying to brush his teeth and forget the feeling of heaviness weighing in his chest. He should have realised that it wasn’t just a feeling, but a plant taking root.
“Ack!” He coughed, feeling something unfamiliar slip past his lips. He glanced down and cursed silently under his breath. Petals. Pale pink and white petals in the shape of hearts lay on the floor, coated with blood, his own blood. “Oh god, oh god,” he muttered, bending down to collect the petals. He couldn’t let the others see this. They didn’t know, they didn’t need to know. It was better that they didn’t know, he couldn’t put that burden on them. He would rather just die peacefully, in a field of the very flowers that consumed him.
He recognised those flowers, his mother had been a botanist and had taught him the meanings of flowers. Bleeding heart flowers, lamprocapnos spectabilis, flowers that were usually found in Asia. They symbolised unconditional love, and heartbreak. Perfect for Kaelix, weren’t they?
There were two ways to cure hanahaki. The first was to have your feelings returned, which Kaelix doubted would happen. The second was the surgery, to remove the roots within Kaelix’s lungs, but doing so was not only risky, it would permanently remove all feelings he had for his friends, good and bad, and he would never be able to love them again. He didn’t want that. Even if he were to die, he would never want to lose his love.
He quickly disposed of the bloodied petals, praying the others wouldn’t notice them.
Then he slipped back into his bed, shutting his eyes and trying to drift off to sleep. He knew the odds of his feelings being reciprocated were low, and he didn’t hope for the flowers to die. He could only hope that when they took his life, he would at least be a pretty sight. He didn’t want his loves last look of him to be an ugly sight.
When the roots broke through his chest, he smiled. It was a symbol of his love. He loved them so much he died for them, and wasn’t that enough for him?
~
When Seible started spitting out daffodils, he started looking for signs he didn’t know existed. It was difficult, knowing he was dying because his heart simply didn’t want to let go. Seible had fought his hardest trying to live the life he wanted, away from the pressures of the life he had been born into. And thanks to his pathetic, stupid heart, all his efforts were going to waste.
He hadn’t been doing anything in particular when it had happened. He had simply awoken amidst a sea of petals, yellow daffodils that were covered in his own blood, his throat feeling scratchy and painful. He hadn’t blinked for a moment, as if only just registering the pain before he took action. He swept away the petals with a methodical ease, making sure that no one saw them.
He knew what those flowers were. It had been his mother’s favourite. Daffodils. They represented resilience, but they too meant unrequited love. And he knew just why they were the flowers that took root in him. Hadn’t Seible fought harder than anyone else? Had he not clawed his way up from the depths of hell? Was he not the epitome of resilience?
He didn’t wait for death, it wasn’t in his nature. Death would have to wait if it wanted to sink its claws into him. He was thankful that that day the other three happened to be out that day, so he snooped. He knew it was wrong, and if the other three ever found out, they’d probably never forgive him for going through their stuff, but he needed to. He needed a sign, anything really, that they reciprocated. He knew of the surgery that could cure him, but he didn’t want to never love them again. A large part of his life had become synonymous with them, and to not love them would be dying in another form for him.
So he had to. He had to try, because his love was worth trying for. He dug through their stuff, carefully of course, and he found what he needed.
A journal of Kaelix’s, detailing his feelings in full, a photograph of Zeal’s, featuring all of them with hearts drawn around their faces, and a box of the gifts Kaelix, Seible and Zeal had given Freo over the years, meticulously stored and kept.
While Kaelix’s journal was upfront, Freo’s box and Zeal’s photo was less obvious, but Seible knew his friends well. He knew what it meant. His feelings were returned.
The confirmation made his chest ache, and he realised with a start that the heaviness in his chest was slowly easing. Then he coughed, and a final petal escaped his lips, no longer bloody. And Seible smiled. It wasn’t a symbol of pain anymore, but a symbol of love.
Wasn’t the heart just a funny thing?
~
When Zeal saw the petals, he closed his eyes and accepted it. He was no stranger to unrequited love, but he had never known of one of this magnitude, one that could kill him. Love had always been something most important to him, he held it like a precious gem in his heart.
He had realised rather early on he liked them, he had always been one to fall hard and fast. And yet, he knew he couldn’t confess. Whether it was out of fear of rejection or the worry of ruining their friendship, even he wasn’t quite sure, but he kept his heart to himself.
Even when the words nearly slipped past his lips, even when they treated him like he was already their lover, he never let himself falter. It was so easy to say it when it was casual, but when it mattered? His words failed him, his heart would clench and everything would go wrong.
He had simply been relaxing behind the bar after hours, the other three had gone off to rest while he was clearing things up. Suddenly, it felt like bile was coming up on his throat, and he hunched over, feeling some things spill past his lips onto the mahogany floor. He glanced down, expecting to see vomit or something, but froze when he saw the magenta upswept petals laying on the ground, blood soaking them. Cyclamens, he realised, flowers that symbolised devotion. Ironic, wasn’t it? His devotion, which should have bloomed into pure love that would last a lifetime, was killing him.
But that was fine, he didn’t mind. If love wasn’t something you were willing to die for, could it really be called love? He didn’t panic, didn’t have a realisation nor did he plan to remove his love, instead, he simply cleaned up the mess he had made. Freo never did like it when people made a mess of their shared space. He made sure to wipe away all the blood, leaving no trace that he had ever bled his heart there.
He composed himself before heading to their upstairs apartment, walking carefully to not disturb the other three. He knew Seible would complain if he disturbed his sleep. He slipped into his room and sat at his desk.
He grabbed some paper and picked up his pen. If he was going to die, then at least they should know who it was that his heart had beat and stopped for.
The flowers came quietly, as if appreciating his acceptance. Even when they tore through his skin, growing through his veins, he felt nothing but quiet serenity.
How funny, his heart bloomed with the love he could never speak.
~
The moment Freo coughed up the flowers, he booked a surgery. Freo was a logical person, he knew the risks, knew what he was giving up, but didn’t he want to live? He had grown up alone, and unlike others who had been afflicted with his condition, he had never truly learned the value of love. He didn’t understand it, couldn’t comprehend those that would lay down their lives for it.
So when faced with a decision that bordered between logic and emotion, he chose logic. He wanted to live, and statistically he had a higher chance of surviving a surgery than getting three separate people to return his feelings, so he would take his chances.
He knew the flowers that he had coughed. Purple hyacinths. The ultimate symbol of unrequited love. Freo thought back to the legend of the flowers’ origins, of innocent Hyacinthus, who was unfortunate enough to be loved. Wasn’t Freo the opposite? He was unfortunate enough to fall in love.
He thought of the gods in the tale, of Apollo’s mourning and Zephyrus’s jealousy, and he couldn’t help but think he resembled them too. After all, was he not a jealous person, watching the other three treat each other so tenderly? Was he not already mourning his feelings, mourning his friends who would never see the him that loved them again?
But it was okay, it was better him be alive and not love them, than for him to die with his love. In the end, wasn’t it him that suffered more?
When he awoke from the surgery, the roots in his lungs were gone, and so was his love for his… business partners. They weren’t friends anymore, because what kind of friends didn’t love each other?
It was pathetic, in the end, his heart survived, but at the cost of his feelings for those that made it beat.
~
At Kaelix and Zeal’s funeral, Seible wailed and sobbed, but Freo could only stand coldly at the side. He could no longer feel his love for them, no longer even develop new feelings for them. He felt like a stranger standing in someone else’s life.
Seible couldn’t blame him for his decision, but with the decision came the realisation that Freo didn’t care for him anymore.
And By the Beat broke.
~
There are rumours of an old livehouse, one that used to be popular. It is said that the old owners went their separate ways, and now it is said that the old building has been overtaken by vines that couldn’t be breached. Vines that had flowers protruding from them. Purple hyacinths.
How romantic, in the end, Freo’s love preserved the place where his love had born and died for eternity.