Welcome back!!! Ask 5, #33 or #37, have u ever thought abt a hanahaki au? ;)
one day you will regret the things that you ask from me. i’m not sure today is that day, but i’ll try to make it so. since there’s no pairing stated, i’m gonna sprinkle in some of my fave ship with my fave boi and make it an ot3 for extra pain.
i’m gonna cram in a little hipster cafe au too, because why not.
#37: “Don’t! Don’t come near me!”
The first petal that falls from Seungkwan’s lips is yellow.
It’s yellow and its scent is mild. It looks almost pristine, innocently sitting in his palm after a cough that rattled Seungkwan’s insides. He stares at it – half in dread and half in confusion – before snapping out of it when Jeonghan calls for him. They’re in the middle of rehearsals, Jihoon handing them a new song to learn. There’s a duet for Jeonghan and Jisoo, a duet for Seungkwan and Seokmin and a solo for Jihoon. There is no time to ponder the petal, so he crushes it in his hand and prays it’s a mistake.
But of course it’s not a mistake.
It’s a chrysanthemum – yellow, for slighted love.
Seungkwan has chrysanthemums growing in his lungs, all for Jihoon.
It’s Jihoon – it has to be. Seungkwan has been nursing a crush on Jihoon, since the first day the elder set eyes on him on the streets of Hongdae and said, “You have a voice I’d love to write songs for.”
(Honestly, who even says that to people? Sure, Jihoon has this unnerving ability to be stupidly blunt all the time and have absolutely no shame about the things he says.)
It starts with a crush – a little spark of a crush that started because Jihoon is a songwriter and accidentally says pretty words to unsuspecting men. It’s a spark that bursts into a flame because Jihoon writes pretty songs that match Seungkwan’s pretty voice and Jihoon says cutting words but soothes them with cake and hot chocolate after.
The flame blazes and burns, scorching Seungkwan from the inside out. With every touch and gentle word, with time in the studio where it’s just the two of them and rehearsals where Jihoon’s focus is solely on Seungkwan, he aches and he longs and he loves.
Seungkwan always knew that falling for Jihoon would end in pain. He just didn’t expect it to end in petals filling his lungs.
In a way, it’s poetic; it’s a death that fits the artistry that encompasses every bit of Jihoon’s life. Of course he’d kill Seungkwan with pretty flowers too.
It’s when the white petals join the chrysanthemums that Seungkwan knows he’s well and truly fucked.
It takes him a moment to understand why the white poppy petals (consolation) join the chrysanthemum he’s still coughing out. He’s watching Seungcheol and Jihoon flirt in their unique way – Seungcheol calls Jihoon short and Jihoon calls Seungcheol an idiot, then they exchange secret grins that belie just how much they care about each other.
Seungkwan watches Seungcheol and his heart aches just as another cough wracks his entire body. He coughs out a handful of petals – and the first couple white petals mixed amongst the yellow sends shivers down Seungkwan’s spine.
He spends too long staring at the handful of petals – still a handful, because it’s been three days since the first petal – and jumps when Seungcheol wanders over, concern in his eyes.
“Hey, are you okay?” Seungcheol asks.
Seungkwan immediately shoves the petals into his pocket, plastering a smile onto his face. “I’m fine, just a tickle!” He coughs again, a light fake thing to throw him off the scent.
Seungkwan nearly jumps again when Seungcheol leans in close and presses a warm hand to Seungkwan’s forehead. “Hm,” the elder hums, “you don’t feel warm.”
“I’m fine,” Seungkwan croaks, the lie as bitter as the petals are sweet when they rest on his tongue, right before he spews them out.
Falling in love with Seungcheol is like sitting in a pot of cold water being heated over fire. At first, their relationship is strictly employer/employee. Then, Seungkwan stumbles his way into the cafe after a shitty blind date Seokmin forced him on and Seungcheol is there. He’s there, with his warm smile and even warmer hugs. He offers Seungkwan coffee and a listening ear and suddenly, they’re friends.
They’re friends and Seungcheol hangs out with Seungkwan. They text and they have inside jokes. The next thing Seungkwan knows, Seungcheol is always there, with a quick smile and even quicker skinship.
Seungkwan doesn’t notice the water is boiling until he’s in too deep and he’s daydreaming of caramel kisses and quiet I love yous in the back room.
The thing about Jihoon and Seungcheol is that they’re the love story. They’ve known each other since high school and stuck together through college. They even set up a cafe together – Sweet Notes – and anyone with eyes can tell they’re in love with each other (even if they’re both oblivious fools).
There’s no space for Seungkwan between them.
He doesn’t even pretend there is. Seungkwan can’t bring himself to be that delusional. It’ll hurt him more in the end.
Of course, he can get corrective surgery. All it’ll take is one little procedure and the flowers will be gone. He can breathe and he can stop the pain – but it’ll mean he’ll never feel romantic love again. He’ll never feel the flutter of his heartbeat when Jihoon and Seungcheol walk in, the warmth that spread through his body when Jihoon smiles at him and tells him a job well done, the silent joy when Seungcheol wraps an arm around his shoulders.
Seungkwan has a brochure lying on his bed. A little brain surgery and he’ll never have to worry about unrequited love again.
It takes him a week before he throws it into the trash can.
It progresses fast. Too fast.
The body isn’t meant to withstand so much heartache. Unrequited love from one person is already bad enough. Most people can last maybe three months with hanahaki disease.
Seungkwan’s doctor says it’s a miracle if he’ll see the end of the month.
The chrysanthemums and the poppies grow in his lungs, feeding off his misery. It scares him, but he supposes it’s not really all that different from knowing the two men you love will never love you back, all because they’re too wrapped up in each other. Seungkwan can’t even resent them for it, because he’s stupid and in love. At least when he’s gone, they won’t mourn him. They’ll have each other, after all.
Seungkwan leans against the toilet bowl. He reaches up with a shaky hand, flushing the yellow and white petals down. His head hurts, a headache building behind his eyelids. He hasn’t been able to sleep, the coughing keeping him up. He’s stopped cleaning up the petals, the yellow and white scattered amongst his bedsheets. The crushed flower petals lend a sickly, floral scent to his home. He leaves them as a reminder – of his sentimentality, of his stupidity.
He can’t go to rehearsal today. He just can’t.
It takes him twenty minutes to drag himself out of the bathroom. Seungkwan collapses into bed and types a bleary message to… well, he’s not sure who. Probably Seokmin, who’s been nagging him about taking care of himself. Seokmin doesn’t know – no one knows, and he’d like to keep it that way. He hasn’t even told Hansol, who’s his best friend in the whole world.
Maybe he should. The doctor said he might not see the end of the month. He’s already two weeks in. Seungkwan toys with the idea of sending in his resignation and spending the next two weeks getting his affairs in order. He doesn’t have a will written up, but… well. It’s about time he thought about it.
He lets his eyes flutter shut.
The pounding at the door doesn’t wake him. The sudden bout of coughing does. He coughs and coughs, the cloud of petals that emerges enough to almost choke him. He’s drowning in petals and the door opens.
Seungkwan looks up, trying to make out the figure through the film of tears. He tries to cover his mouth, but the petals slip through his fingers, fluttering innocently in front of him. Crimson stains the yellow and white.
“Hyung,” Seungkwan croaks, curling in on himself as Seungcheol watches in horror.
“What the hell is going on here?” Seungcheol demands. He takes a step into Seungkwan’s room – his room with the flowers and the blood and evidence of his own failure.
“Don’t! Don’t come near me!”
“Seungkwan – ”
“Please,” he croaks. Copper and chrysanthemum rests on his tongue. He lets out a rattling breath, curling into a ball. “Please. Don’t come near me. I can’t – ”
“Can – is there anything I can do?” Seungcheol asks, a hint of desperation in his voice. He’s still in the doorway, keeping a respectful distance.
All Seungkwan wants is to burrow himself into Seungcheol’s arms and cry and cry. He wants to let himself be comforted, but Seungcheol’s isn’t his to have and he can’t stop thinking about (wanting) Jihoon too.
“No,” Seungkwan answers, burying his face in his hands so Seungcheol can’t see him cry. “Just – go away.”
“Kwannie – ”
“Go away! I don’t want to see you or – or Jihoon hyung. Get out!”
Those are lies. They tear at his throat and he’s not sure if the pain is from the flowers slowly killing him or the words he’s spitting out. He wants to see them. He wants to tell them the truth – I’m so in love with both of you that it’s literally killing me – just so they can pretend to love him for a little while.
Seungcheol stands in the doorway for a good long while, watching Seungkwan curl into a ball on his petal-covered bed. Then, he walks away. The door shuts behind him quietly and Seungkwan cries and cries.
Feel free to ask me more of these ship asks here!
