LILACS AND DAFFODILS
MARK LEE
[PART 2 to BLUE HYACINTHS]
GENRE: hanahaki au, angst, some fluff, some comfort, more angst
WARNINGS: mentions of death, obviously. more than once. unedited
TAGLIST: @danoolah @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @jising-jisang-jisung and that one anon from May
A/N: at no point did i know where this was going, and umm yeah. but a long awaited part two that i hope gets y’all to feel something <3
Flowers started arriving for you two days into your hospital stay. Every day, 8am. Sometimes it was pink and abundant peonies, sometimes sweet and small bouquets filled with lilacs and baby’s breath between. You didn’t know who they were from, but the little notes held poems that lifted your mood for the rest of the day. They helped you forget, for a little while at least, the reason you were in the hospital.
Your mind couldn’t help wandering back to that night. When you found out your long-term boyfriend had fallen for someone else, one of his coworkers. It was like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on you. And then came the aftermath.
The tearful confrontation in the car after the party, calling up your friend to stay with her, the shortly thereafter admission to the hospital when you could hardly function. You still refused to get the surgery that would save your shortening life, despite everything you still treasured the near two years you spent with the man that still held your heart in the palm of his hand.
A knock on the door brought you from your misery; it was one of your day nurses, the one that usually brought up your flowers. Today was a mixture of sunflowers, yellow roses, and delphinium. A soft smile tugged your muscles as you took them in, holding them up for a deep smell as you received them.
“You have quite the admirer,” Amy said, relieved that the flowers lifted your mood so much. Most Hanahaki Disease patients withered away in their beds, refusing the life saving surgery and passing away in their sleep from broken hearts and torn lungs.
You hummed. While the flowers were indeed lovely, it still confused you to no end who was sending them. Your friend every day reaffirmed that Jaemin had no idea you were even in the hospital, so it couldn’t be him. You didn’t want it to be anyway, it would just make you more miserable.
“What’s the note today?” Amy asked, peering over the top of the bouquet. You opened the card, silently reading over it first, furrowing your brows more and more.
‘I hope this isn’t out of line, but can I buy you a drink? To replace the one I spilled that night’
-M
“Oh, a hint!” Amy exclaimed after you read it aloud. “So you do know the one sending the flowers.”
You tilted your head. “Not really. Not personally anyway. I think I do know who it is though…” you trailed.
“So? Are you gonna agree to it?”
You lifted a shoulder. “Even if I wanted to, how would I let him know?”
Amy hummed. “Maybe let the flower shop know. They keep track of regular customers, and it seems like he picks the flowers out himself rather than ordering online.”
The next day another bouquet came, but the note was back to the usual poem. There wasn’t any theme to them, like they were selected as if they were his favorites. They were all lovely, as any form of art held a special place in your heart.
You brought up the request first thing when your friend came by for her daily visit. She thought the same as Amy, that you knew him, until you told her about the small incident at the party that night. You thought back on his behavior. He had been very kind, and he had been concerned about your appearance even back then. You wonder if he knew Jaemin.
Regardless, you figured that if you were gonna die in a couple months anyway, what was the harm in meeting ‘M’? So you sent an email to the flower shop with your message, and waited.
The next day, your flowers were late. Amy didn’t bring them in, and every time she came to check on you it was the same. Around noon, a knock let you know it was lunch time. Except, the door opened to a bouquet, behind which fluffy dark brown hair half covered dark brown eyes. It was weird seeing someone again that you’ve only met briefly before. A tentative smile greeted you, to which a corner of your own mouth couldn’t help quirking up with in response. That, and the flowers that made you smile no matter what.
“Hello again,” his deep voice filled the quiet space.
“Hello,” you murmured. You couldn’t take your eyes off his as he walked slowly up to your bedside. You motioned at the chair nearby so he could sit, at the same time he held the flower— daisies, carnations, yellow roses— out to you. The bouquet hit your hand with a hollow sound, as ‘M’ stuttered out an apology.
“O-Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! He-here these are for you.” You watched in fascination as his ears grew a deep red and his eyes fell to your scratchy hospital blanket in embarrassment.
A hand flew to cover your mouth as you giggled. But when he looked back up at you, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you.”
The silence was a little awkward as neither of you were sure what to say while you stared lovingly down at the flowers. But then he seemed to start. “Oh. My name is Mark by the way. I… hope you don’t mind I brought the flowers myself this time. Or that I’ve been sending them at all,” Mark chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his now free hand.
“No I… I like them,” you whispered. “They’ve all been so lovely. Thank you. For sending them. Although I’ll admit I’m not sure why you’ve been doing it.”
Another blush lightly dusted the tops of his ears as Mark shifted subtlety in the chair. “I don’t really know myself, I just thought you were so pretty that night, and then I found out what was going on with your…. boyfriend,” he winced. “I have a friend that works here and while I was visiting him I happened to see you walking the hall with a nurse. The next day I walked by a flower shop and just thought you might like some flowers.” Mark shrugged. “That’s basically it. I hope you didn’t find them creepy, I didn’t really think that far ahead.”
You shook your head. “No, they were lovely. And besides, even if you were a stalker, it’s not like i’ll be here much longer.”
Mark shook his head hard. “Don’t think like that, you’ve still got a while, you don’t know how things might change.”
Your sad smile stabbed Mark through the chest. He wanted to hear your laugh again instead. He scrambled to change the subject. His whole purpose was to make you happy, not remind you of the situation. “I know I offered a drink, but i brought lunch instead. Hope that’s okay?”
On time, your stomach grumbled and you covered it with your hand, and a lightly embarrassing laugh. “That would be fantastic actually. What did you bring? Hospital food isn’t that bad but I’ve been deprived of a real meal for so long.”
Mark started coming every few days at lunch, until it turned into nearly every day. You could tell which days it was gonna be because he brought the flowers himself when he did. They still had poems in the card, and he started sharing with you which books they came from. Quite a few of them had been on your TBR list.
Some days he brought lunch with him, and others he ate the hospital’s food with you. Amy was all too happy to bring up two plates of food those days, and made sure you knew with the wink she sent you when Mark wasn’t looking. You just scoffed and waved her off. The amount of flowers you coughed up hourly hadn’t gone down a bit so you didn’t understand her excitement.
But you did feel better.
You found yourself being cheery for longer, and you even started considering the surgery. Jaemin wasn’t the only good thing the world had. And you were still 100 percent convinced he hadn’t hurt you on purpose. It wasn’t in his nature, never would be. Sometimes you wondered how he was doing, if he might have gotten the disease too after you left. You weren’t sure if you could hold feelings for two people at once, or if the stronger one determined if you got the disease or not. Maybe there was a study on it, but maybe you’d feel better not knowing. Despite it all, you didn’t want him to feel the pain you were going through.
“Do you not have anything else to do during your lunch break?” you asked Mark one day. He’d brought spaghetti from the Italian place you’d wanted to go to for months and months, and it was divine.
“Did… you not want me to come by anymore?” Mark asked carefully. He was avidly staring at his food.
“No! It’s not that at all,” you admitted looking down at your own plate, before looking back at him. All you could see was his brown hair. “It’s just… do you really want to spend all this time with me, when I… when I might not be here by the end of the year?” you asked around the lump in your throat.
You startled as Mark shot to his feet, setting his food aside quickly. You opened your mouth but nothing came out, watching as he walked briskly out the door, shocked by his display. You stared at the closed door, your bottom lip wobbling. Head hung, a tear dripped from your eye onto your food. A loose fist wiped at your tears in shock, hand shaky as you tried to wipe the offending water away.
Your knees came up against your chest as you laid your head down, upset at yourself for upsetting Mark. You hadn’t meant to, you just forgot to bite your tongue sometimes. Now he might not come back.
The creaking door brought your teary eyes up, widened in surprise as Mark walked back inside, his eyes downcast. “Sorry for running out so suddenly, I just- Oh my god why are you crying,” Mark exclaimed, horror written across his face.
A muffled sob escaped from behind your hand but you didn’t take your eyes off him as he rushed to your side, taking your face in his hands. Thumbs wiped the tears from under your eyes as he checked you over before crushing you to his chest. Your arms wrapped tightly around him, as if scared he would leave again.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m so sorry, I just needed to step outside for a minute,” he frantically explained. “I don’t like hearing you talk like your life is a candle about to go out, and I needed to get some fresh air. I’m so sorry Yn.”
You felt every word against your hair, his hold tightening around you every time a cry escaped your body.Eventually your tears subsided into hiccups, but he kept holding you and stroking your back.
You gasped and pulled away as much as you could in his strong hold when you became aware of how much time had gone by, your head turning to the clock with difficulty. Definitely past the time he should’ve left by now. “You’re late for work!” you cried.
Mark turned to the clock as well, standing silently for a long moment before he shrugged.
“They can do without me for the rest of the day. I’m this late anyway. Look, your food is cold. Are you still hungry? I can have the nurses heat it up,” he offered. The plate and Mark were out the door before you could protest, leaving you more confused than before he’d come back.
When Mark returned, he was kinda quiet, lost in his own thoughts. But you still wanted his company so you didn’t say anything about it. When it came time for your afternoon walk outside, he accompanied you. There was a small garden outside the building that you liked to walk through. The benches half in the sun and half in the shade were your favorite places to spend your time.
A little while into your time outside, Mark loosened up a bit again and started reenacting a Shakespeare skit he’d seen recently while you giggled and clapped your hands. He promised to take you to a play some time in the future, and you found yourself agreeing to go with little hesitation.
The days continued on. Mark spent every lunch with you now, and he’d even met your friend a couple times. Together, the three of you planned a date with your doctors for your surgery. It was a big step, a huge one. Jaemin had once been the entire focus of your life, still was to the extent of your disease. But you had things to look forward to now. You’d never seen Romeo and Juliet in person, and one afternoon as you opened the card to read the day’s poem, a pair of tickets fell into your lap. Your mouth fell open as you looked down at them, unexpected tears gathering in the corner of your eyes.
“I tried to pick a date later in the year so you’ll be recovered but… I hope it’s okay,” Mark said tentatively.
Your lips turned into a pout from uncontrolled emotion. “I love it. Thank you Mark.” You pulled him into a hug, the bouquet and tickets on your lap between you. You laughed as you pulled back to wipe your tears away. “I cant believe I’ll get to go with you. I’m so excited!“
Mark grinned at you as you chattered on about the clips you’d seen on the internet, and what part you thought would be your favorite. You had your favorite moment from reading the story, but seeing it in person was bound to bring out different emotions for different scenes.
Harsh coughing interrupted your thoughts, looking over to find Mark practically doubled over. “Oh my gosh are you okay?” you exclaimed, swinging your legs off the bed to reach over to him.
Mark held up a hand, nodding even as he continued coughing. “Fine, I just need a glass of water,” he wheezed, stumbling out the door. He returned a few minutes later with a sheen of sweat.
“Do you need to see a doctor?” you asked worriedly.
Mark shook his head. “I think it’s just my allergies.” You furrowed your brows but you let it be for the time being. Eventually the whole incident left your brain, especially as your surgery date drew closer and closer.
The day of, Mark showed up with a bouquet of roses. Your face split into a bright smile, a warm feeling spreading through your chest.
Mark watched as your face lit up, his chest feeling light as air for the first time in weeks. Even with the surgery cap on your head you looked as beautiful as ever. The first time he laid eyes on you he thought you an angel, and he swore you got prettier every day, inside and out.
It was no wonder he’d fallen for you.
The relief he felt when you agreed to get the surgery was beyond words. It wasn’t that he thought you’d never love him back without the surgery. He just wanted you to live life without a broken heart once again, and enjoy it. He wanted you to live a long and happy life. And if by the hopeful chance you’d fall for him too… well who was he to complain?
So he kept his own flowers a secret, hiding the way his throat burned when he talked, making jokes that his bladder was small when you realized he left to the bathroom often. He’d kept it quiet for half the time he’d known you, and he could continue to do so for the rest of his life if he had to.
Mark promised to hold your roses for you while you went into surgery, assuring you he’d be waiting for you when you woke up.
Those three hours went swiftly by, so distracted was he on seeing you again he didn’t even cough up his daffodils. In fact, he hadn’t at all that day. He turned that realization over and over in his mind, until the doors opening caught his attention. He rose on leaden legs.
“She’s doing great,” the doctor smiled. “She should be conscious in the next half hour or so, if you’d like to wait for her in the room.”
Mark heard the words, but he wasn’t listening. Blood rushed through his ears as he walked the familiar hall to your room, quietly turning the handle to the door. You lay motionless on the bed, hair combed gently to the sides of your face. Mark’s hand trembled as he brushed a strand off your cheek. As his fingertip stroked your skin, he felt a flower rising up his throat. He stumbled into your bathroom, tears burning the corners of his eyes as he retched up daffodils.
Mark remained knelt by the toilet until the onslaught of flowers ceased. He fell back to rest against the cabinet, an arm over his lifted knee. The bouquet of roses sat an arms reach away, and a tear slid down his cheek. Mark remained that way for a while until he brought himself up on shaky legs to sit by your bedside where he held your hand until your eyes fluttered open.
Mark sat up straighter, the words ‘please let me be wrong, please let me be wrong’ a broken record in his mind. Your eyes found his, and he strained hard to see the spark your eyes always held when he walked into your room with lunch.
His stomach dropped and he felt the clawing of flowers in his throat again, as you uttered your first words.
“Who… who are you?”