Could I request a hanahaki reader with aizawa, with a happy ending? Thanks for all the match ups and everything, you're really talented! The hard work you put into your prompts is super appreciated! Thank you so much!
A/N: Tbh I am happy you guys appreciate all I do.
Ah, there it was again.
She just threw up daises.
She wondered if it had any meaning that instead of white they were now yellow.
[Name] picked herself up from the cold hospital private bathroom floor. She had, thankfully, managed to fly to the toilet just in time so as not to make a mess others would have to clean because of her, again.
It had already been four years. Four years since she got her first flower puke. As she learnt later on, she suffered from the hanahaki disease.
The disease caused by a broken heart.
It was funny, at least to her. She had been drinking quite a bit after he left her one day, so she expected to have a problem with her kidneys, if she had one, that is.
But it had to be her throwing up freaking flowers, innocent, pretty, white daises.
After she made sure she could stand on her own two feet she flashed the toilet and washed her hands. The water was cold, but it was okay; it made her feel kind of… alive.
She wouldn’t, no, couldn’t call the nurses for help. Those poor women, full of life, had to watch her exist pathetically, not even living, just surviving.
Surviving for nothing. To live is to thrive, while to survive is to be in pain and agony.
She walked slowly towards the bed, her stomach extremely upset and mind void of any thoughts or emotions. She laid on the soft matress, it doing nothing in curing any of her pain, emotional or physical.
“[Name]…” Someone breathed out her name from the hospital room door.
Her breathe hitched. She hadn’t heard that voice in four years.
“It’s not your fault, Aizawa,” she muttered, her face turned to the opposite side, looking out to the spring scenery.
She used to love springs. Springs were full of life, the sun was shining, the earth and animals were thriving, and the flowers bloomed.
But in these four years she learnt to love winters instead. Winters were full of decay, the sun was sick and melancholic, the earth and animals were sleeping under layers of coldness and snow, almost not existing, and the flowers… The flowers were dead.
She hated them the most now. Throwing them up for four consecutive years could do that to a person.
How could she do it to herself? How could she love someone so much that she developed a sickness like this? How could she put her own life, in someone else’s hands?
Even now, she wanted to protect him from everything. From the guilt, from her withering, fragile form, from her hybernating wrath.
She wanted him to leave, since he knew how to do it oh so well. She wanted him to leave for his sake.
Instead of leaving though, the man came inside the room. His soft footsteps were almost ringing in her head, her heart beating uncontrollably.
He took a seat next to her bed, seating on a stool. He didn’t speak.
He didn’t speak, but she knew exactly what was going on in his head, even after all those years.
“Sincerely, it is not. I am fine, Aizawa. I mean, I am breathing, so it’s all good.”
“I love you.”
Her head immediately turned around to his direction, eyes wide. His face was the usual apathetic one, however tears had soaked his cheeks.
He must have been crying for a long, long while.
“No…” She whispered, touching his cheek powerlessly, the movement done mostly because the hand remembered this motion, an instict if you’d like. They had spent many sleepless nights together, just like this.
“You don’t… want me to love you, anymore.” His question came out more like a statement
[Name] shook her head weakly, smiling slightly up at his tired and tear-stained face.
“I want you to love me because I am selfish, but I also don’t want you to. I am… dying, Shota. Why would you want to love a dying woman?”
“Please don’t be so calm about this, [Name].”
“I am calm because I have accepted it. It’s been four years since I was diagnosed.”
“I should have never left you. You were in danger… I had to…”
“It’s okay. I am so… glad you didn’t leave because you didn’t love me,” the [hair color] woman said, a relieved sigh escaping her pale lips.
“You are not dying on me,” he told her sternly, wiping his tears away. “You are not dying on me, do you understand? We will go through this, together.”
“Eh?” The girl with the dull [eye color] eyes asked herself as she felt the all-too-familiar feeling of salty droplets on her cheeks.
“I am so… relieved,” she cried out, hugging the black-haired man as tightly as her small and weak arms could.
“All I ever wanted was you to be here with me,” she cried harder, sobs wrecking her whole body.
She cried and cried, releasing the pent-up frustration she had bottled away all those years.
“I will… live.”
And so she did.