Ya girl Dani is v tired but has decided on which scenario! Ahem! Both Bernard and Elle have the flower petal vomit thing due to unrequited love for each other, but don't realize it. One of them (I'll let you decide which of them) decides to get it surgically removed; the other one realizes it's for the other part of Bernelle and rushes to tell them. But it's too late, the surgery has finished and the petals are gone--along with the romantic feelings for the realizer. (i reasearched tf out of it)
Warnings: angst for the sake of angst. There isn’t a happy ending to this one, guys. It’s very bittersweet. Not a happy version of this au, but Dani was specific! Maybe I can do a version with a happy ending sometime, but for now, here’s 5k of bernelle pain and unresolved feelings. Also apologies if it’s rough, I’m still getting back into the swing of things asjjdkshl
Some mood music to listen to while you read:
AlmostIs Never Enough —Ariana Grande ft. Nathan Sykes
You Don’t Know Me by Michael Buble
Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병(Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese))is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they sufferfrom one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romanticlove only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. It can becured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim’sromantic feelings for their love also disappear.
One thing was certain: Elle knew thiswasn’t how flowers were supposed to work.
They came in bouquets and posies and corsagesand arrangements, they grew in gardens and window boxes and out from thesidewalk when you least expected them. They were something happy, andbeautiful, and bright.
Not something to dread, because theyweren’t supposed to grow out from your lungs when you couldn’t find a way totell your friend that you were in love with him.
She wasn’t sure when it had started. Infact, she suspected it had begun because of hissituation. They’d been walking towork together one morning, chatting and having a conversation about something funny BuddyClaus had done the day before. Elle couldn’t help but laugh, and that’swhen it happened. Bernard had been smiling, but the next moment he was coughinginto his fist.
“You okay?” She’d asked, clueless to whatwas happening, unaware of what happened to those who felt a little too much forsomeone they shouldn’t. He’d straightened, staring at something in his hand fora moment before slipping his hand into his pocket and continuing on their way.
“Yeah, absolutely fine.” He’d smiled at heragain, but he seemed troubled, almost pained somehow. The subject had droppedfor the time being, seeing as Elle didn’t like to pry.
But the cough didn’t seem to go away. Hemade the excuse that he had probably caught some sort of cold—unlikely, for anelf, but not completely unheard of. Elle worried about him and kept an eye onhim in order to help in any way she could. It was that same vigilance thateventually led her to understand what was happening.
Petals in the trash can in his office. Thescent of flowers always lingering on him. He’d caught what she’d heard Cupidcall in its simplest form lovesickness, and as soon as she’d realized that, atiny seed of jealousy sprang up in her heart. Or was it jealousy? Because itdidn’t feel sour and angry, but rather, longing. An ache blooming in her chest when she sawhim try to hide his affliction.
Maybe it wasn’t surprising then when shebegan to cough up petals of her own. She wasn’t sure when or how it had shiftedfrom friendly concern to a pain in her heart when she thought of him sufferingfor want of someone else. And the most terrible part of it all was realizingthat she dreaded the day he arrived to work with lungs free of flowers, becausethat would be the day that he had finally confessed his feelings. The day she’dofficially lose her chance forever—a chance she was too afraid to take in thefirst place.
It was stupid, Elle decided one morningwhen, after breakfast, she found herself coughing up rose petals into thekitchen sink. Why should he feel so alone in his situation? Clearly he thoughthe needed to hide it—which made sense, since if the lovesickness went untreatedyou could in theory die from it.Maybe he didn’t want to show weakness. But the ache in Elle’s chest when shesaw him looking sad, when he didn’t realize she was watching, tore her heart topieces more than the problem in her own chest, and her silence had to bebroken.
“It’s okay, you know.” It was a quietThursday evening, the workshop was slow and they were both in his officetogether sorting out invoices and inter-departmental memos. He looked up, mouthstill hidden by a handkerchief after yet another coughing fit. She could hearthe wheeze in his lungs, a sure sign of the disease’s progression. He wasfurther along than she was. He looked mildly confused, but also as if afraidhe’d been caught. She was quiet, sliding the trashcan towards him. “I know.”
“What? I don’t…” He watched as Elle turnedher pockets out, an array of softly colored petals falling into her lap. Sheoffered him a small, bittersweet smile, and his heart broke a little as herealized what she was trying to say.
“Takes one to know one, right?” She saidwith a slight laugh. Now that he listened, he could hear the telltale gratebehind her voice that betrayed her condition. “It’s not anything to be ashamedof, really. They say love is beautiful, right? Even if it is tearing you apartinside—quite literally.”
Shehad it too. She had it too, his mind kept chanting at him, as if it meantsomething good for him. A slight bit of hope sprouted in his chest.
“How did you…I mean, you’ve done a betterjob hiding it than me,” he admitted sheepishly. She chuckled, and he watchedher scoop the petals into the trash. What a fitting metaphor for theirsituation: wasted potential, to love for nothing. “How long?”
“Oh about a month now. Not as long as you,but not by much. Did you know,” Elle said with a laugh, “that at first Ithought it was contagious? That I’d caught it from you. I had to read up on itto realize that it doesn’t work that way.”
“No, Elle.” Bernard reached over and set ahand on top of hers. There was a moment of heavy silence between them, and thenhe continued. “I shouldn’t have tried to hide it from you. We’re a team, youand I. We shouldn’t keep secrets like this, not big, life threatening ones atleast, not from each other. And even worse, I made you feel like you needed tokeep yours a secret too.”
“Forget it.” She gave his hand a gentlesqueeze, unable to meet his eyes for the fluttering she couldn’t stop in herchest. “We know now, that’s all that matters.”
He smiled, and she finally got control of heremotions enough to look him in the face. His eyes were warm, kind. She felt amiserable hollowness in her stomach at the thought that his love was already sostrong for someone that it manifested physically. God, she wished that were her. “No more secrets, okay?” He said,and she swallowed her feelings down before replying.
“Yeah, no more secrets B.” No more secrets, except that I love you.
It was so much worse after that, because hewas so much kinder and more caring for knowing she was ill too. He made effortsto check in with her more often, to make sure she was taking care of herself.He was the one who made sure she went to see Hismus so that she could get allthe help she could. She made sure he did the same. But pills could only do somuch to help the garden growing in their lungs, or what was growing in theirhearts.
Every day, Elle choked on the confessionshe wanted to make. But the timing was never right, or she’d see him speakingwith another elf and reality would strike her like a slap to the face. It wasn’t her. He was in love, and itwasn’t with her. He had been the one to say no more secrets, right? If he’dfelt anything for her he’d have said it then.
She just wished it were easier to stopfeeling the way she did for him. Because every little smile and every littlesideways glance and every passing touch left her hunched over the sink when shegot home, coughing for hours and crying with anger at her own stupidity. Cryingbecause she hated her own stupid broken heart.
It was two and a half months later that thegrowth had spread throughout both of their lungs. The secret was officially outnow, for both of them. Elle’s condition had progressed more quickly than hisand was near surpassing Bernard’s in severity. Quentin and Curtis had teamed upunder Santa’s orders to run the workshop until Bernard and Elle figured outwhat to do. It was late, past 1 am, and she was sitting in his house, on hiscouch in a mostly dark living room.
“I’m going to do it,” she told him, theache in her chest feeling empty in spite of the blooms she knew were trying toclaw their way out. She didn’t have to explain, he knew what she meant. “I…Ican’t take it, anymore. It’s too much. It’s not even what’s in my chest, it’s…”she trailed off, coughing. He passed her a tissue; by the time she’d stoppedcoughing, it was speckled with blood. “It’s what’s in my heart. The weight ofit makes me wish I was dead.”
“Don’t say that.” Hearing her say that somatter-of-factly tore at Bernard’s conscience. If he’d told her by now, maybe she wouldn’t feel this way. Thenagain, maybe if he’d told her, she wouldn’t be sitting next to him either. Thatwas what had been keeping him silent:the fear of losing her altogether.
“I know, I know.” Elle gave a shaky sigh. “I’mnot thinking clearly. Hell, I haven’t been thinking clearly for a long timenow.” Her pulse was racing just from sitting beside him, but she still feltthat sense of belonging that toyed with her hopes all too much. “I have to dowhat my head tells me is right. My heart has been in control for too long now,and look what it’s done to me.”
He’d worried she’d say that, dreaded theday it would come to that decision. He’d sworn he’d be brave, that he’d tellher before she had to make such a terrible choice. Maybe even a selfish part ofhim wanted her to have the surgery;if her feelings for whoever she loved were gone, maybe she’d have room in herheart for him, and all he was carrying in his. “That’s one way of looking atit,” he admitted, leaning back and slowing breathing in. It was excruciating,but the slower the better.
“You don’t agree?” He didn’t reply. A noteof desperation came into her voice, a dread. “B…no. Don’t tell me—“
“I don’t think I need to tell you. You seemto already know.” He leaned his head to the side, a gentleness in his gaze. “Idon’t want to let this go, Elle. I’ve never felt something like this forsomeone before…who knows? I might never feel anything like it again. It meanstoo much to me to cut the flowers out and throw away everything I feel withthem.”
“But you know what happens…” she trailed off, her throat tightening as tearsthreatened to spill out of her eyes. She took a deep breath and forced herselfto continue. “You know what happensif you don’t get them removed. If you don’t tell them.”
“If I don’t tell her,” he clarified, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behindher ear. Elle felt her stomach twist bitterly, her cheek leaning subconsciouslytowards his palm. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “I know. But Elle.” Hesmiled and she felt the tears spill out and down her cheeks. She could tell bythe feeling of his thoughts that he’d made up his mind as much as she had abouther decision. “I’ve been around long enough. If this is how I go out? Fromloving someone? Then that’s not the worst way to go, now is it?”
She couldn’t find words. Everything wasblurry and her lungs ached and the next thing she knew she was pulledtight against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat against her ear.
“What am I supposed to do?” She sobbed,hiding her face in his shirt. “I—if you’re g-gone what am I supposed to—“
He shushed her, stroking her hair. “Itmight not come to that.”
He didn’t reply. Elle knew right then andthere that there was no turning back for her. If he was willing to die for hisfeelings, then she would cut hers out. Because if she didn’t, and he died, thenit wouldn’t be long before she was in the dirt with him.
“You though.” She hadn’t expected him to goon. His voice was low near her ear, comforting and soft. “You’re very young,Elle. You have time to love again if you want to. If you were very brave, you could even tell the onewho’s made you so sick.”
“Do they even know that they’re the reasonyou’re sick, Elle?”
“Don’t you think they deserve to know?”
She shook her head, the motion sharp andtight. “No, B. He loves someone else.”
“What if you just told him—“
“Why not?” There was a desperateexasperation in his voice. He knew it was going against his best interest toargue for Elle to tell this person how she felt, but his feelings for her made theurge to see her happy, and safe, and loved and well again overrule his own needs. “If you just explained, maybe—“
“B!” Elle pulled away from him, a fieryanger in her eyes he’d never seen from her before in spite of the tears stillstreaming down her face. “He’s more than I deserve,” she said, tremblingly. “Ishouldn’t have dared to feel what I do, and now I’m paying the price for mychoice.” Her shoulders sagged, and she looked down at her lap. “He’d never wantme. Please, just take my word for it.”
It tore at him to let her think somethinglike that, but he knew arguing would just hurt her worse. “Okay,” he conceded,and her body slumped in relief. “But only because I don’t want to stress youeven more by trying to change your mind.”
She leaned back against his shoulder, limpand hopeless. “Thank you,” she whispered, and he nodded. “You know there isn’tanything I wouldn’t do for you,” she said quietly. “But to change my mind onthis is too much. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Elle. I’m sorry for making things worse.” She had noidea how much he meant by that.
No more was said that night about thematter, nor in the days that followed. They became less and less functional,but for some reason nearly always found themselves at one another’s places; ifnot one, than the other. Only one day Bernard showed up to her loft and foundit empty.
“Elle?” Worry ran through him, panicbuilding in his pulse even though he knew he shouldn’t let himself. It was badenough that he couldn’t stay away from the girl who would be the end of him,but he had to let the small things bring him closer to that demise? Maybe shewas just out for groceries, but the severity of their situation made him worrytoo much.
He found no sign of Elle, other than asheet of paper and a book on the kitchen counter. The paper was from theelfirmary, he realized, and knew he should stop reading right there. Hisstomach sank when he saw that it was an appointment date—for that day. So shewas finally going through with her decision. He felt sick to his stomach andsat down, scanning the page for more details against his good judgment.
Bernard didn’t know if he should feelrelieved or concerned. Since he didn’t know who she loved, he didn’t know whoto feel sorry for, and he couldn’t help but feel nervous jitters at the thoughtof her maybe, just maybe having roomfor him in her heart when it was over. Maybe she was right, maybe the surgerywas her best option.
But then his eyes glanced down at thecounter and saw the book on the counter. It was a journal, actually; well used,with many of its pages filled—maybe a little less than half of the pages leftuntouched. It had a strap around it, which served to keep it relatively flat. Asoulmates journal, he realized, something that those with lovesickness oftenused to funnel their emotions into one place in case they never got the courageto speak to the object of their affection. Elle’ssoulmate journal. It looked full of secrets; ones that belonged to her andtold what was really inside her heart. He knew he shouldn’t touch it but at thesame time, it was like it called out to him in a language he could only hear.Then again, maybe that was just the ache in his own heart speaking. Unable toresist the urge, he pulled the book closer and removed the strap.
The pages were filled with writing, Elle’s writing. Her distinct handwritingcovered the pages; little doodles in some of the margins, other slips of paperfolded and tucked between the pages along with a wide array of petals of allsizes and colors—and later on, some smaller, complete flowers. His eyes grazedover the pages, almost not daring to read words not meant for him. It made hischest sore, and more than once he had to take a break to cough into his sleeve.
But at last he flipped back to the first pageand found her starting point, an inscription on the inside cover dated early onthat year.
Wow,I really don’t know how to start this.
Notthat I expect you’ll ever lay eyes on these words, since I’m terrified of youeven knowing how I feel. You didn’t ask for this—you love someone else. I seethe signs all over you and it breaks myheart, but that’s not your fault, or your problem. I just hope that maybe, if Iwrite down the things I wish I could say to you every day, this will hurt a littleless and my lungs might give me a little longer before choking me out with myown feelings. A little more time to spend by your side.
Doyou mind if I address my entries to you? I hope not. You’re always the person Igo to first, the only person who makes me feel safe when I speak my mind. Hereare all the things I wish I was brave enough to say to your face, all thethings I bite back when you ask me what I’m thinking.
Her initial was at the bottom of the page,and the entries began on the next. Starting with…with…
I’mso sorry, but I’m terribly in love with you.
Bernard looked up, hands shaking, heartstopped in his chest. No, he couldn’t have missed…he couldn’t have missed this,could he? Had he been so blinded by his own fears that he couldn’t see herbeing just as in love with him as he was with her?
The entry went on fromthere, leading into the rest of the journals contents. Day after day ofentries, sometimes multiple entries a day. And then he noticed what the slipsof paper were. A photo of them at last year’s Christmas after party. A ticketstub from the time he’d taken her to the movies. The birthday card he’d givenher that winter. A note he’d left her asking her to make sure she got enoughrest. A few petals of his, glued to the page with the caption, does she know how lucky she is for you tolove her this much? He stared back down at the page, tears stinging hiseyes as they trailed back to her first sentence. Dear B…I’m so sorry, but I’m terribly in love with you…
Next thing he knew he’d sprung to his feet,eyes still blurry with tears and a sob half hanging in his throat. He snatchedthe journal off the table and ran for the door, hoping against hope that itwasn’t too late.
Moments later he appeared outside the elfirmary,bursting into the lobby so winded he was nearly doubled over. Any attempt tohurry nowadays left him short of breath, but that didn’t stop him from hurryingtowards the nearest nurse. “Elle,” He wheezed out, feeling petals at the backof his throat. “Where’s—“
“Bernard?” Her voice. Her voice, but toocalm, too clear. His stomach sank like a stone, his eyes almost refusing tolook up. He slipped the book behind his back and turned to see Elle, standingin the doorway with Dr. Hismus just behind her. “Are you looking for me? What’shappened?”
“You’re…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.He’d spent so long used to seeing love in her eyes but not understanding whatit meant; now that it was gone, her expression seemed all wrong.
And then it hit him. He was the reasonshe’d done this. He was the one she’d been talking about all along. He’s more than I deserve, she’d said. I shouldn’t have dared to feel what I do,and now I’m paying the price for my choice. He’d never want me. Please, justtake my word for it.
This was his fault. Elle’s heart was empty,and it was his fault.
“I’mfine,” she reassured him, coming over and setting a hand on his arm with asmile—but it didn’t read genuine like it should have. “You didn’t think youneeded to come and check on me, did you? I asked Abby to let you know I’d be byonce I was done.”
“I guess I didn’t run into her in time.” Hecouldn’t help but search her face for any signs of her still feeling the wayhe’d read, the way he’d been feeling for her all this time, but…
“Her surgery was a complete success,”Hismus explained with a smile that felt cruel, even though it wasn’t meant tobe. Bernard felt numb to his toes, devoid of any feeling with the sudden senseof overwhelming loss. He’d had everything at his fingertips, for just a moment,and just as quickly, it was gone.
Elle walked him home. She might not havefelt any love for him anymore, but as his friend she still felt obligated tomake sure he got out of the cold safely. There was an emptiness between themthat her small talk couldn’t fill, and he couldn’t bring himself to try and fixit. He was too deep in thought, searching for some way to ask if she reallydidn’t have any of her feelings anymore. It was like he couldn’t fully comprehendthat what he wanted was forever out of his reach, that that hope he’d had ofher finally having room for him in her heart was completely gone.
“How are you feeling?” Bernard asked Elledirectly, maybe a little too directly even. They were on his front porch, snowjust beginning to fall in gentle flurries. Elle took a deep breath of the chillair, her exhale a cloud of steam. A smile crossed her lips, but when she lookedat him there was still that hollowness behind her eyes.
“Like I’m finally thinking clearly for thefirst time in a long time.”
She left him at his own house, alone. Forthe first time in weeks it seemed that she didn’t feel the need to be therewith him. It was only when she’d gone that he realized he was still holding herjournal, surprised that she hadn’t noticed him carrying it. Maybe it justdidn’t matter to her enough anymore to warrant saying anything.
It was too quiet with just him and hisfeelings for company.
The ache in his chest was constant, now. Ifhe’d thought he was heartbroken before it was nothing to the wavering, wiltingsensation crushing him from within. He spent a good portion of the eveningcleaning bloody petals up off of his floor, wondering why he was evenbothering.
But at last, he came back to the journal.He sat on the floor in his living room and read the whole thing from front toback, reliving every moment they’d spent together, every laugh, cherishing everysweet thing she’d wished she’d said aloud but had written down instead. Thelast few entries were wishes, things she despaired she’d never had the courageto do with him, and then apologies, apology after apology for her decision. Thepages were tear stained before he’d read them, but they were much worse forwear after he had. And then he sat, surrounded by petals and tissues, staringat the remaining blank pages spread out before him.
He’d never kept a soulmate journal of hisown, but maybe…maybe he could finish their story.
And so he sat there well into the night,writing replies to the words she’d never said. Penning more moments they’dshared, regrets of his own, words of comfort that she didn’t need anymore.Telling her things about himself he’d been too afraid to share, making his ownwishes that would never come true. But the last thing he wrote was an apology.
Iknow I told you that I would rather die than lose the way I feel—lose the way Ifeel about you, Elle. But now I know that I love you too much to do that. Ilove you too much to leave you alone.
A few days passed. Elle showed up to work asshe always did first thing in the morning, bringing some fresh departmentreports to his desk with a cheerful smile yet still calm and cool andcollected, her telepathy still down and out from the anesthesia from her surgeryseveral days before. She looked around, finding his office rather cleaner thanusual. There was even a vase of roses on one of the side tables, without apetal out of place. She wasn’t exactly sure why that mattered…the explanationseemed foggy, and far away. Unimportant, even.
“Good morning, sir.” Elle said. “I didn’texpect to see you back so soon. Are you feeling better?” She’d never called himsir before. It wouldn’t be the last time, either. Maybe their friendship hadgotten lost along the way with their other feelings, too.
If he noticed, he didn’t seem to care aboutthe change. Bernard looked up from the book he was reading, and smiled—but therewas a void behind the eyes. A lack of feeling that would never quite heal, asign of something that had been taken away. He got up, closing the journal andsetting it on the bookshelf directly behind his desk.
“Thank you Elle. I’m feeling much betternow.”
