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Park Jungsoo has loved Kim Heechul for years.
From the first time he had laid his eyes on him, Jungsoo had always adored Heechul. He adored the way Heechul’s laughter spilled too loudly and too suddenly in quiet rooms, the sharp tongue when arguing with management, the way he walked into a space as if it had already belonged to him. Jungsoo loved the stubborn yet soft side that Heechul pretended not to have, the kindness that was only shown to a select few people.
Jungsoo loved Heechul quietly. It was never loud, never reckless, never something that he’d allowed himself to reach for.
Because why would he expect anything, if he figured that Heechul would never reciprocate those feelings?
Heechul’s form of love came with sharp words, with complaints that sounded like compliments if you figured it out, but whatever love he carried never settled on Jungsoo the way Jungsoo’s had settled on him. It brushed past him, fleeting, as if it was always meant for something and someone else, and Jungsoo was fine with that. He was fine with everything, really.
Jungsoo was fine living with the fact that Heechul would never see him in the way that he saw himl. He was fine knowing that his feelings would never be returned in the way he wished it would.
And then one day, he started coughing.
At first, Jungsoo thought it was nothing.
Super Junior were preparing for a schedule that week, running on too little sleep and too much caffeine, the members’ voices hoarse from practice rooms that never seemed to empty. Everyone was tired, and with the weather, it wouldn’t have surprised anyone if one of them was sick. Jungsoo had learned, as the leader, long ago, how to tuck discomfort into the corners of his smile and keep moving.
So when he had started coughing, he had waved it off, blaming the ‘flu bug’ going around.
But the cough came back. Again and again.
It clawed its way up his throat late at night, when his apartment was quiet and the world had stopped demanding things from him. Jungsoo sat up in bed, hand pressed to his mouth, shoulders shaking as he tried to suppress the coughs.
Something wet hit his palm.
Jungsoo stared at it, uncomprehending, until he turned on the bedside lamp to reveal…
Petals. Pale, pink cherry blossom petals, crumpled and faintly stained red.
Fuck.
The petals looked unreal under the warm light of the bedside lamp. They looked too soft, too delicate to have come from something as violent as his coughing. Jungsoo could only stare at the petals in his trembling palm, his stomach slowly dropping with the realisation he had come to.
“No,” Jungsoo whispered into the silence of his bedroom. “No, no, no…”
He coughed again, doubling over as more petals spilt into his hand, a few tumbling onto his bedsheets, looking too pretty for something that hurt this much.
Hanahaki Diesease.
Hanahaki Disease was the kind of thing people whispered about in green rooms and hospital corridors, spoken in hushed tones like you might catch it if you ever did mention it aloud. Unrequited love, feelings swallowed until they grew into roots in your lungs, flowers blooming in places where it shouldn’t.
Jungsoo had read about it once, thinking it was one of those urban legends that had suddenly turned real, passed down by seniors from before his time as an idol. He knew that it had only two cures.
Be loved back, or be cut open and have it ripped out, along with the feelings themselves.
Jungsoo pulled his knees closer to his chest, tears in his eyes threatening to form and spill over.
He knew which one he didn’t get to have.
──
The next few days seemed to blur together in a haze of schedules and suppression for Jungsoo.
Jungsoo found himself getting better at coughing into his sleeves, into towels that reeked of sweat, into the sinks of bathroom toilets in the SM building with the tap running at full blast. He learned to recognise the warning signs - the tickle at the back of his throat, the ache in his chest. He learned to smile through it all and brush the pain off, even when the members seemed to question why he had become increasingly quieter throughout rehearsals.
“Hyung, are you okay?” Ryeowook had asked one afternoon, his brow furrowed as Jungsoo pressed a hand to his chest a little too obviously.
“I’m fine,” he had responded. “Just tired, that’s all.”
Heechul scoffed from where he was sprawled out on the couch at the back of the practice room, scrolling through his phone. “You’re always tired, Teukie. Nothing new there.”
Jungsoo chuckled softly, his eyes flicking to Heechul without meaning to. He looked the same as always, sharp and brilliant and absolutely unaware of the way Jungsoo’s heart does a little flip at the sight of the younger man.
“But you have been coughing more frequently though,” Heechul continued, finally glancing up at Jungsoo. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I already told you,” Jungsoo replied quickly. “It’s just a little cough. I’ll handle it.”
Because of course Jungsoo would handle it.
Because leaders handle everything, even if it meant repressing their own emotions.
Heechul clicked his tongue. “Alright then, but if you collapse on stage, I’m getting Siwon to carry you out.”
And just like that, the moment between them passed.
It was always like this. Little moments between them slipping through Jungsoo’s fingers as easily as sand, each moment always dissolving into jokes and deflection. He learned not to linger on them. He learned not to hope when it came to this.
“I’ll be right back,” Jungsoo excused himself from the rehearsal, already heading out of the practice room much to the confusion of his members. “You can continue without me for now.”
He barely made it down the hallway of the building before the cough came back with a vengeance, barely being able to push the washroom door open before bending over the sink, fingers gripping the porcelain so hard that his knuckles had turned white. The sound that ripped out of him was raw and ugly - wet, broken, and nothing like the composed image of the leader that he had presented to the world for 20 years.
One by one, pale pink cherry blossom petals fall into the sink, their colours stark against the white porcelain. Jungsoo squeezed his eyes shut, his breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps. Why did this need to happen now? He thought to himself. Why now, of all times?
“Get your shit together,” Jungsoo whispered hoarsely to his reflection. “Breathe.”
He stayed there for a few seconds longer than he should have, forehead resting against the mirror, chest still aching with each breath he took. He waited until the petals stopped falling and rinsed the sink clean, watching the pink swirl down the drain, disappearing as if they havd never existed in the first place. He scrubbed his hands until his skin felt raw, until there was no trace of red left.
Jungsoo pressed his smile in the mirror.
It came easily, because of course these things came easily to Leader Leeteuk.
As he stepped away from the sink and towards the door, the handle of the door twisted.
“Hyung?”
Donghae stepped into the washroom, concern written plainly across his face. He must have followed Jungsoo out of the practice room without him noticing.
“What are you doing here?” Jungsoo asked lightly, forcing a chuckle. “Did rehearsals end?”
“Uh…no? I just needed the washroom, that’s all,” Donghae replied, looking the older member up and down. “Hyung… are you really okay?”
“Donghae-ah, I’m fine. Truly,” Jungsoo waved him off. “I just needed some time alone.”
Donghae hesitated.
Jungsoo had seen that look before, the one Donghae got when he knew something was wrong, but didn’t know how to bring it up without crossing a boundary. Jungsoo loved him for that, for the way he cared quietly.
“Hyung,” Donghae said softly, lowering his voice. “You’ve been coughing. A lot.”
Jungsoo’s chest tightened.
“I heard it through the washroom door,” the younger man continued. “It didn’t sound like a normal cough.”
Jungsoo opened his mouth to deny it, to laugh it off, to say it was nothing, but the words caught somewhere between his lungs and throat. The pressure built suddenly, violently, and before he could stop it, a cough tore out of him.
It was only once.
But once was enough.
Something slipped through and fluttered onto the floor.
The petal landed soundlessly, its edges curled with a single streak of red across its centre.
Jungsoo stared at it with horror.
Donghae followed his gaze.
For half a second, his expression was only confusion, brows knitting together as he crouched slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He picked up the petal, holding it between his fingers.
And then something shifted.
“...Hyung.”
Jungsoo swallowed hard.
“That’s not-” He stopped himself. Lying now would be useless. The evidence sat trembling in Donghae’s hand. “Donghae, please.”
The younger man looked up at Jungsoo, eyes wide, shock and understanding crashing together all at once.
“Teukie-hyung, this is-” Donghae’s voice cracked. “This is Hanahaki.”
The word hung between them, heavy and suffocating.
“You shouldn’t say things like that, Donghae-ah,” Jungsoo laughed bitterly, his voice not containing any humour. “You’ll scare yourself.”
Donghae frowned. “Don’t joke about this.”
Jungsoo finally turned to face Donghae, and the younger man could out how pale his hyung looked, the way his chest rose and fell a little too aggressively, the way his eyes looked tired in a way that was too hard to fix.
“How long?” Donghae asked quietly.
Jungsoo hesitated.
The silence was already enough for Donghae.
“Shit, hyung,” he ran his fingers through his hair, his concern growing into slight panic. “Do the managers know?”
“No.”
“Doctors?”
“No.”
“... does anyone know?”
“I didn’t want to be a burden to the group,” Jungsoo admitted, making Donghae’s eyes go wide with disbelief at the confession. “And if I did tell anyone, it might affect Super Junior.”
“But Leeteuk-hyung, this is serious!” Donghae snapped. Jungsoo was almost taken aback by the younger man’s reaction - Donghae wasn’t one to snap easily. “You should’ve at least told someone! Fuck, you could’ve-”
Donghae didn’t dare finish the sentence.
There was silence between them.
“...who is it, hyung?”
Jungsoo leaned back against the sink, not responding immediately. His chest ached, but not from the disease, but rather from the pressure of telling the truth.
“You don’t have to know, Donghae.” He finally responded gently.
Donghae shook his head. “That isn’t fair.”
Jungsoo couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. “Since when was love ever fair?”
Donghae had no answer to that. His jaw tightened, lips pressed together as if he was trying to hold back everything he wanted to say.
“Hyung,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet. “At least let me help.”
Jungsoo shook his head immediately. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is,” the older man insisted softly. “You can’t force someone to love me.”
Donghae flinched as if Jungsoo had struck him. “You don’t know that!”
But Jungsoo did, because if Heechul had ever felt the same toward him, Jungsoo would’ve known. He would have felt it in Heechul’s teasing, in his fleeting touches, in the love that he shared with everyone. It would’ve found Jungsoo and chosen him.
But it didn’t. It never had.
Jungsoo looked away, unable to meet Donghae’s gaze. He didn’t trust himself to hold his gaze and not crumble.
“Please,” Jungsoo’s voice was almost pleading. “Don’t tell anyone. Not even Super Junior, and especially… him.”
Donghae’s shoulders sagged. “Teukie-hyung-”
“Donghae-ah. Please. ”
The way Jungsoo said his name made Donghae fall silent. It was quiet, tired, carrying years of leadership and sacrifice.
“...Fine,” Donghae finally said, though every part of him looked like it hurt to agree. He took both of Jungsoo’s hands in his. “But hyung, promise me one thing.”
Jungsoo hesitated. “What?”
“If it gets worse… you’ll tell someone. At least me.”
Jungsoo nodded. “I promise.”
But he wasn’t sure if he was able to keep that promise.
──
Jungsoo lasted another week before the coughing got worse.
The petals had changed. They were no longer just pale pink, but rather it came out in a darker shade, its edges bruised purple, its veins streaked with red like cracks in porcelain. Jungsoo’s chest burned constantly, like something was clawing at the inside of his lungs, desperate to bloom.
Sleep became a luxury he could no longer afford, his body forcing him upright as the coughing came harder, as if lying down would drown him with flowers. He learned to sleep sitting up, arms wrapped about himself, a towel or tissues always within reach.
It didn’t take long for Heechul to notice.
Of course Heechul noticed. He always did, even when Jungsoo tried his hardest to disappear into the background.
It started with the smallest things, like the way Jungsoo lingered a little longer after rehearsals, shoulders slumped like he was carrying the weight of the world and more. The way Jungsoo drank water like it was air, his throat working too hand, hands trembling fainting. The way his laughter had grown softer, thinner, like it took too much effort.
Heechul also noticed how Jungsoo’s eyes sometimes lost focus mid-conversation, noticed how Jungsoo had stopped joining them for meals after rehearsals, noticed how Jungsoo always claimed he was ‘too tired’ but never looked rested the next day.
And Heechul wouldn’t stand for this.
“You’re dying or something,” he muttered to Jungsoo one evening as Super Junior wrapped up their rehearsals for the day. “You look like shit.”
Jungsoo smiled automatically. “Wow. Thanks for the concern.”
“I’m being serious,” Heechul said, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been coughing for the past week like an old man. It’s starting to get annoying.”
Jungsoo laughed, and immediately regretted it.
The cough tore out of him without warning, violent enough that he almost lost his balance as he bent forward, one hand bracing against the wall. He turned away instinctively, covering his mouth, but the sound sounded wrong, like something tearing in his chest.
Heechul was on his feet instantly.
“Yah, Jungsoo-!”
Jungsoo staggered up, moving too fast, already heading out of the practice room and into the hallway. “I-I’ll be right back.”
“Teukie-!”
The practice room door slammed behind him.
Jungsoo had barely made it to the washroom sink before the coughing overwhelmed him. He gagged, eyes watering, his lungs burning as something forced its way up and out. Dark petals spilled into the sink, bruised purple and red, sticking to the porcelain like they were always a part of it.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, fuck-”
The doorknob rattled.
“Park Jungsoo!”
The door opened just enough for Heechul to peer inside, his eyes dropping to the floor.
To the stray petals scattered around Jungsoo.
To the blood in the sink.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Heechul stepped inside slowly, as if any sudden movement might shatter something fragile between the two of them. “What the hell is all this?”
“You shouldn’t be here, Heechul-ah,” Jungsoo straightened slowly, dread pooling in his stomach. He wiped his hand on a nearby tissue automatically, a useless gesture.
Heechul let out a huff, sharp and disbelieving. “Are you kidding me? I absolutely should be here.”
He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving the sink. “Is that…”
Jungsoo didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
“... you have Hanahaki,” Heechul breathed.
He fully turned to Jungsoo then, eyes wide, searching, furious and terrified all at the same time. “How long?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Of course it’s my fucking business,” Heechul’s jaw clenched. “How long, Jungsoo?”
“...a few weeks.”
“A few weeks? You’ve been coughing up flowers for weeks and you didn’t think to tell anyone? Do you know how stupid you are?”
“I didn’t want-”
“Don’t,” Heechul snapped, his voice echoing off the walls. “Don’t you dare say ‘I didn’t want to worry anyone’. Don’t do that leadership bullshit with me.”
Jungsoo flinched despite himself. “I didn’t want to make it a problem. We already have enough going on. Schedules, tours-”
“Stop it,” Heechul cut in, stepping closer. “Stop talking like you’re already gone.”
The words slipped out harsher than Heechul probably meant them to, but once they were out, he couldn’t take them back. His hands curled into fists at his side, nails digging into his palms as he stared at Jungsoo like he was trying to memorise him.
“You think you get to decide this alone?” he said. “You think you get to just… fade out and hope that no one notices?”
Jungsoo laughed weakly, a breathless sound that ended in a cough he barely managed to suppress. “But you always notice, Heechul.”
Heechul froze. For a split second, something flickered across his face, something dangerously close to guilt.
“That’s not the point, Jungsoo,” he said, softer now, but no less intense. “The point is you’re sick, and you’re acting like it’s acceptable.”
“It’s not contagious,” Jungsoo tried to joke. “You don’t have to look at me like that.”
“I’m not worried about anything else,” Heechul shot back. “I’m worried about losing you.”
The words hung there, heavy and unsteady.
Jungsoo turned away quickly, gripping the edge of the sink, shoulders trembling just slightly. “You don’t get to say things like that.”
“Why the hell not?” Heechul demanded. “Why do you get to decide what I care about?”
Because if you knew, Jungsoo thought desperately. If you knew that it was you all along, everything would break.
“You should go,” Jungsoo said instead. “The others will start to wonder where you went.”
“I don’t care about the rest of Super Junior right now.”
“But I do.”
Heechul stared at Jungsoo’s back, at the way the leader seemed to fold into himself, smaller than he had ever looked on any stage. He had seen Jungsoo exhausted, overwhelmed, furious with the world, but he had never seen him look so… fragile. Fragile in a way that felt like one word might shatter him completely.
“At least tell me who it is.” Heechul said suddenly.
Jungsoo stiffened.
“The person you’re in love with,” the younger man continued. “Whoever it is, they deserve to know that you love them.”
Jungsoo couldn’t help but let out a sad chuckle. “You don’t need to know.”
Heechul laughed once, sharp and humourless. “Yes, I do.”
Jungsoo turned to face him, eyes glassy but steady. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Something twisted painfully in Heechul’s chest. “Is it someone that I know?”
Jungsoo didn’t answer, and that in itself was answer enough.
Heechul let out a resigned sigh, running a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into something raw and uncertain. “You’re so unbelievable, Park Jungsoo.”
“I’m sorry,” Jungsoo said.
For a moment, it looked like Heechul would say more, like he was about the demand the truth, drag Jungsoo to a hospital itself, and finally cracked whatever wall Jungsoo had built around him. But instead, he turned sharply towards the door.
“This isn’t over,” Heechul said, his hand already on the handle.
The door shut behind him with a dull click.
Jungsoo slid down against the sink, his strength finally giving out. His hand pressed to his chest as another cough wracked through his body, petals spilling onto the floor once more. This time, he didn’t bother to clean them up.
Outside the washroom, Heechul stood frozen in the hallway, staring at the door like it might open again if he willed it hard enough.
Neither of them moved.
And the truth remained trapped between them, unspoken and slowly blooming.
──
The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway were cold, sterile, and mercilessly bright. Jungsoo walked slowly, each step heavier than the last, though no one was there to notice. His chest felt tight, his lungs burning as he pressed a hand against it as a habit. He was used to being in the hospital - for illness, meeting someone, but today it felt alien.
The gurney waited at the end of the hallway, gleaming and empty, waiting for him. The nurse’s quiet instructions drifted past him like echoes in a distant room. “Change into the gown. Remove any jewelry and lie back slowly.”
Jungsoo obeyed mechanically, stepping into the hospital gown, tying the thin fabric behind his back, his fingers lingering on the knot. The petals hadn’t stopped coming since that morning. They were much darker now, almost black at the edges, torn in a way that made him shiver when he thought of them lodged in his chest.
The anesthesiologist smiled at him. A polite, professional smile. “You’ll be fine. It’s just a routine procedure. Just relax.”
Jungsoo wanted to laugh. None of this was routine. His feelings were anything but routine. Every day of silence, every night of coughing up flowers that he could not confess, had led him to this moment. The petals had almost grown to be a part of him, and now, to cut them out meant cutting a part of himself.
As he laid down on the gurney, he wondered fleetingly if Heechul would ever know. Would he find out what Jungsoo had felt towards him? The quiet longing, the love that had bloomed into something so dangerous and beautiful at the same time?
The mask was lowered over his face, and the anesthetic scent seeped into his senses, heavy and sweet. His vision blurred, the edges of the world softening, and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, Jungsoo allowed himself to breathe.
He woke hours later in the recovery room. The hospital was quiet now, with only the sounds of machines and air conditioning filling the space. His chest felt empty, lighter than it had been in months, years even, and yet that emptiness was strange and echoing.
Jungsoo took a breath. It came out clean, no petals and no choke. Just pure air filling his lungs.
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, of flowers faintly pressed into the corners, but they weren’t his flowers anymore. They belonged to the world now. He had been freed from it all, but freedom was hollow without anyone to share it with.
Jungsoo imagined the petals once again, soft and pink, blooming where they had been. He had loved too fiercely, too quietly, and now the proof of that love was gone.
And for the first time in weeks, Jungsoo allowed himself to cry.
Silent tears, unaccompanied by petals or coughs, falling freely down his cheeks. He thought of Heechul, his laughter, his teasing, the fact that he would never know what Jungsoo had felt, and Heechul existing just out of reach.
Park Jungsoo has loved Kim Heechul for years. And now, finally, he was free.