More petals surface in the morning. It’s only two, right when he first wakes up, trapped in his throat while he slept. He tosses them the same way and hopes his parents are already gone so they don’t hear him coughing. He has time, still. There’s no blood yet. The petals are small, almost premature. Maybe—maybe he can find a returned love, and it will be okay.

The worst part is, he doesn’t quite know who it’s for. Surely not Jaehyun—he’d seen him all summer. Most of his other friends wouldn’t fit the bill, either. The only thing that’s changed is that Johnny was back. It couldn’t be Johnny, because he’d known him his whole life. If he loved him, it would have set in long ago. It wasn’t contagious or anything, so it couldn’t be connected to the death of that girl. Perhaps it was a boy he’d seen in the shop a week prior? He had, now that he thought about it, seen him out of the corner of his eye when he and Johnny were at the market the day before. But how could it be love when he didn’t know him?

Then who? Taeyong mulls it over as he gets dressed. The sky is clear and it’s fixing to be warm. He wonders if Johnny is up as he heads down to the kitchen to brew some tea. Maybe he’ll make some hibiscus lemonade for them to enjoy at the beach.

His phone rings, and Taeyong picks up. “Hey Johnny,” he says, wondering vaguely if Johnny can read his mind.

“Hey! We still on for the beach today?” Johnny’s happy voice comes over the speakers of his phone, and it distracts Taeyong from his worries for a moment. “It’s gorgeous out. I’ll bring some fresh pastries and things.”

“Yes to all,” Taeyong says, giggling. “I can make lemonade, and I’ll bring blankets and towels and stuff.”

“Awesome,” Johnny says, fainter this time, like he’s far away from the phone. “I’m putting the bread in now, so how about I come get you in an hour?”

“Works for me.” Taeyong turns the fire off under the kettle. 

“Okay, see you then!” Johnny hangs up, and Taeyong sets his phone down on the counter with a soft clack.

The looming worry is back as soon as he’s alone again, but his lungs are still, so he goes about his morning, packing towels and sunscreen, and plenty of water. He’s searching for his sunhat when Johnny texts him that he’s outside, so he forgoes it, grabbing a baseball cap instead and carrying all his things out onto his front porch.

Johnny’s sauntering down the path, car parked on the road, one arm outstretched.

“Let me take something,” he says, lifting the picnic basket from where it’s hung on Taeyong’s arm before he can argue. “Anything life-shattering happen in the 12 hours since we last saw each other?” he asks, jokingly, as they stroll to his car.

Maybe Johnny really can read his mind. Taeyong looks at him curiously, but Johnny seems blithe, and his comment holds no weight. “No,” he says, forcing himself to laugh. “Well, I couldn’t find my sunhat.”

“Oh, devastating.” Johnny puts the basket on the floor of the backseat next to his own and slides into the driver’s seat. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Taeyong agrees. Johnny pulls away from the gate, wheels crunching over the dirt, and heads for the coast.

Johnny tells him about how they’ve placed an order for new menus, and how he’s gotten a friend to redo the signs that hang behind the counter. “I think it would be cute,” he says. “If I made bread shaped like flowers. And then, when people comment on them, I’ll point them across the street to your shop.”

A sweet ache blooms in Taeyong’s ribcage, pure joy that makes the hair on his arms stand on end. “That is really cute,” he mumbles. “And then I can tell all of my customers about you.”

“Right? It would be nice.” Johnny smiles, squinting at the horizon. “I’m so excited for… for my life, I don’t know. I love the certainty—I’ll get to wake up and do what I love every day, surrounded by my friends. What else could I ask for?”

Taeyong bites his lip and doesn’t respond, just hums. How can he respond? What can he say? It would be cruel to pretend everything will be just fine, forever and ever. It would be cruel to promise he would always be there when he knows he’s only got six months, if that. And he can’t tell him. He can’t tell anybody; they’d only worry and try to convince him to get the surgery, even when Taeyong’s mind is already made up. It would be nothing but painful; it would only make it worse.

“Taeyong?” Johnny says. “Are you okay?”

Taeyong plasters a bright smile to his face. “Yes, yeah. I just haven’t quite woken up yet.”

“Well, maybe if I throw you in the sea, it’ll help.” Taeyong realizes they’re pulling into the parking lot. 

“You don’t have to throw me, I’ll go willingly,” Taeyong says. “You don’t have to prove you’re stronger than me; I already know.”

Johnny just laughs, turning the car off and stepping out into the sunlight. “Well, I’ll hold you to that. C’mon, help me grab these things.”

Together, they carry all their food and supplies down onto the hot sand, trudging and trying not to slip and fall as their footing grows unsteady. Johnny picks a nice, even spot a good few meters away from the water, and helps Taeyong spread the towels, plunking their baskets down on top so they don’t blow away. 

“One of us has to stay here and watch our stuff,” Johnny says, kind of wistfully. “You first, or me first?”

“Sunscreen first,” Taeyong says firmly, fishing the bottle out of his bag and brandishing at Johnny. “No skin cancer.”

“Right, right.” Taeyong can’t tear his eyes away when Johnny tugs off his shirt, balling it up and throwing it into the open mouth of his backpack. The lean muscles of his back and his arm ripple under his perfect skin, and for some reason, Taeyong wants to reach out and touch. Why? He’d never looked at Johnny like this before. He doesn’t do it, though, just squeezes some sunscreen into Johnny’s now-outstretched hands, and then takes some for himself, ducking his head so he won’t have to watch Johnny apply it to his chest. “Can you get my back?” Johnny asks, and Taeyong swallows.

“Yeah, sure.” He moves behind him, shuffling awkwardly on his knees, and spreads sunscreen between his shoulder blades, hand splayed. Johnny’s skin is already warm, and Taeyong doesn’t know why he wants to sink his nails in. He schools the impulse, rubbing the lotion in until there’s no trace save for a pretty glistening sheen.

Johnny returns the favor, and then shoos him to the water. “You first, you seem like you need it,” he says, lying back on the towel and blindly digging around in his picnic basket for a pastry. 

There’s clearly no arguing with him, so Taeyong just kicks off his flip flops, folding his sunglasses neatly and placing them next to his bag, and trots off towards the sea. The water is cold against his toes—it’s still early summer and the chill hasn’t disappeared yet—but he pushes forward, wading in until he’s up to his chest, letting the foam tickle his chin. It’s nice; it almost feels like an embrace. He’s a green witch, yes, mostly working with the earth and the things that grow in it, but he’s always had a deep love for the ocean, a deep respect. The water makes him feel safe, and for one split second, he forgets that he’s dying.

After a few minutes of floating, he swims back to shore, figuring he ought to give Johnny a chance. The sun is high and powerful now, beating down against his skin and drying him almost instantly, the salt from the water crusting in his hair and in streaks down his arms as he makes his way back to their towels.

He sits next to Johnny, tapping him on the leg as he gets settled. “You go,” he says when Johnny raises his eyebrows. “I want lemonade.”

He watches fondly as Johnny springs to his feet, dusting crumbs and powdered sugar from his hands, quickly making his way down the beach. Taeyong takes a glass from his basket, uncorking the bottle of lemonade and pouring it in, almost to the top of the rim. He finds a metal straw—pink for him, the blue one reserved for Johnny—and drops it in, then takes a long sip. It’s good, sweet and cooling, and Taeyong closes his eyes.

Not a minute passes before Taeyong hears approaching footfalls, and he cracks an eye open to see Johnny running up to him. He manages to steal a sip of Taeyong’s drink, even though he can just grab one for himself. Taeyong gives a little shout of protest, but Johnny’s already back on his feet, laughing, head thrown back and mouth wide open, halfway down to the water. Taeyong laughs, too, but it turns into coughing.

Quickly, he turns his back on the ocean, pretending he’s rummaging through the picnic basket, and cups his hands around his mouth. He heaves, and feels the flowers shoot up from his trachea. 

Again, as soon as the petals are up, the coughing fit disappears instantly. He peers cautiously into his hands, and is surprised to see not the yellow of a daffodil, but a cluster of little white bell-shaped blossoms. They’re lilies of the valley, pure and sweet.

Taeyong’s heart drops to his stomach at 100 miles an hour. This tells him two things. One: he’s much worse off than he thought he was. If the flowers change, it means his feelings are strong. He probably has even less time than he originally thought. This realization is both terrifying and relieving—at least he won’t have as long to wait. Two: he’s in love with Johnny.

It’s heartbreaking, and the instant he realizes it, it becomes the most true thing in the world. It’s a punch to the gut. How could it be anybody else? How could he have dismissed the option without a second thought like that this morning? Johnny, and his gentle hands, his broad shoulders and long legs, his sweet smile that he can never hide, the way his eyes nearly close with it but there’s still a sparkle to them. Johnny and his baking, Johnny and the way he cares about people, quiet but sure. Johnny. His best friend.

Yes, Taeyong thinks as he lets the wind snatch the little blossoms away, the beautiful, terrible manifestation of this truth, I could die for him.

He wonders vaguely why it only started now, but it would make sense that his body hadn’t even realized how in love he was until now. They had been young before, and busy, and now that they are both finally beginning to settle, it’s given Taeyong the chance to actually do something ridiculous like catch feelings. And it makes sense that finally having him back would jumpstart something like this, too. 

You know, maybe you do get a happy ending. Maybe he’ll love you, too , a little voice in his head pipes up, but Taeyong quashes it under his heel, grinding it into oblivion. He can’t afford to be hopeful. It’ll make him let down his guard, and if he lets down his guard, Johnny will find out, and then it’ll all be over.

Johnny’s circling back from the water again, but he slows and drops down beside Taeyong this time, stretching out on the towel and catching his breath. 

“It’s so nice today,” he comments placidly, blissfully unaware of Taeyong’s inner turmoil. “We should do this more, whenever we can get away. Just us. Or with other friends. But also, just us.”

Taeyong nods his agreement. “I’d like that,” he says, busying himself with a piece of bread so he doesn’t say anything else.

They’re there for hours, diligently reapplying sunscreen, taking turns in the water, slowly but steadily finishing their food. Taeyong feels blind from the sunlight, and sluggish from how much he’s eaten, but he doesn’t mind. He might as well enjoy himself while he can.

Taeyong’s dozing when Johnny touches his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, voice soft as always. “We should probably head home.”

Taeyong lifts his head and he sees that Johnny’s already packed everything up, except for the towels they’re lying on. He’s propped up on one elbow, and Taeyong has to rip his eyes from the curve of his waist. His hair is wavy and it’s fallen in his eyes and Taeyong wishes he could kiss him.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing himself up. “Thank you for cleaning up. You should’ve woken me.”

Johnny just smiles. “I don’t mind,” he says easily. They shake out their towels together and fold them, picking the rest of their items up off the sand. “You could come stay at mine tonight,” Johnny offers. “We can share the bed like when we were kids. We can watch a movie. I just got everything moved in upstairs.”

And Taeyong thinks, why not? Johnny’s a heavy sleeper; if he has to slip away in the night to vomit up the flowers he’s growing for him, he probably won’t notice. And he doesn’t feel like going home and being alone, not after today. That would probably be the smart thing to do, but he can’t bear it. So he says, “I’d like that a lot,” and Johnny’s smile spreads wider. 

They shove everything in the car, and Johnny turns the A/C up high so they can cool off as they drive back to town. They stop at Taeyong’s so he can drop off some dirty dishes and get a change of clothes. His parents are home, and they immediately shoo him off when he tries to ask for permission.

“You’re almost twenty-three,” his mom says, mirth in her eyes. “Just go.” She presses a bottle of aloe into his palm. “You’re red,” she explains when Taeyong just stares at it. “I know you probably don’t feel it yet, but you will tonight. I’m guessing Johnny’s even worse.”

“Probably,” Taeyong mumbles sheepishly. 

Johnny drives them to the bakery, and parks out back. The store is dark but the smell is still there, sweet and consuming, welcoming them inside as they hover at the bottom of the stairs while Johnny quickly sets the alarm.

Once they’re in the light of Johnny’s little apartment, Taeyong can see their sunburns clearly. It’s almost laughable, the red that stretches across the tops of his cheeks. “We ed up,” he says to Johnny as they examine themselves in the mirror.

“We did our best,” Johnny protests, making a sad face, then wincing. “We reapplied every hour!”

“I think we need to invest in something more waterproof.” Taeyong sighs. “You go ahead and shower first. I’m gonna unpack my things and set up the movie. Is Totoro ok?”

Johnny meets his eyes in the mirror, his lips curled up sweetly, indulgent. “Totoro sounds good,” he says. They hold each other’s gaze for a second, and then they both move away; Taeyong, back to the bedroom, and Johnny deeper into the bathroom.

Taeyong s his bag and looks around. Johnny’s done a good job of cleaning up. There’s spare supplies and a few boxes in the corner, stacked to the right of the closet doors. His mattress is against the wall, perched on a large wooden pallet, clean, cream-colored sheets tucked neatly around the corners. There’s a window on the opposite wall that looks down onto the street. The door where they entered that leads to the stairs is adjacent to the door to the bathroom. Taeyong remembers when they were younger, the bathroom had been smaller, but Johnny’s dad decided to renovate it, punching the wall out so that it was a clean line down the room from the door instead of pocketing out halfway through. Johnny’s pushed a large, but short dresser against the new wall, and situated his TV on top. A small couch sits facing the TV in the center of the room, and a tall bookshelf leans against the wall behind it. Taeyong goes to the bookshelf, searching through Johnny’s collection of DVDs for the one he wants. He pops the disc into the player and navigates to the opening credits, then sets the remote down and takes out his toiletries and change of clothes. 

The shower is still running, so he crosses the room to the window. Johnny’s set up a small table and a couple little stools beside it, so Taeyong slides onto one, gazing down at the street below, absently running his finger along the cool, smooth handle of Johnny’s French press. There’s a little shelf to the right of the window and Taeyong sees mugs and a few bags of coffee, along with an electric kettle stored away. He smiles, imagining Johnny sitting in that very seat as the sun rises, waiting for his coffee to brew, mug cradled in his hands.

Taeyong faintly registers the water shutting off and a few moments later, Johnny emerges from the bathroom, humming softly, a fluffy blue towel slung low on his hips. He crosses to his closet and rummages for a moment, producing another towel, this one pure white, and holds it out to Taeyong.

“Here,” he says.

Taeyong stands, accepting it, trying to look anywhere but at Johnny, scoops his clothes up off the bed and quickly retreats to the bathroom before he can do something stupid.

Johnny’s fixed up the bathroom, too. Taeyong had only stood in the doorway earlier, where the full-length mirror was, so he hadn’t seen the extent of the change. He’d gotten a new sink installed, and cleaned up the frame of the little mirror above it. The tub was new, too, nestled in the corner opposite the shower. It was large and rectangular, with ample counter room and a pretty silver faucet. Maybe one day Johnny’d let him use it.

He tugs off his sandy clothing and steps into the shower, keeping the water cool to soothe his sunburns. He kind of doesn’t want to leave because he knows there’s going to be a little awkward barrier between him and Johnny tonight that Johnny won’t understand.

That’s the worst part of this, he thinks as he steps back out and wraps himself up in the towel. It’s not the fact that he doesn’t love me back. It’s not even the fact that I’m dying. It’s that before I die, it might put such a wedge between us that I lose my best friend along the way.

He looks over his reflection. He still looks healthy—and he didn’t expect anything else. It’s only been a day. He knows in time he’ll grow emaciated, the flowers making it hard for him to eat and draining him of nutrients. He’ll get perpetual dark circles and his knees and knuckles will get bruised and cut up from the time he’ll spend kneeling, coughing up petals and blood, and scrubbing the debris from his hands.

But right now, he just looks like a normal boy, sunburnt but healthy, cheeks full and red. He dresses gingerly, fabric brushing against sensitive skin and sending splotches of pain across his body. 

Johnny’s still shirtless when Taeyong comes back out into the room, though thankfully he’s found shorts, at least. His back is a bright, angry scarlet and Taeyong stifles a giggle.

“Can you help me?” Johnny holds out the aloe to him with a pleading look, and Taeyong nods. They help each other get hard-to-reach spots, tapping the gel in with their fingertips. It’s warm, even despite Johnny’s air conditioning, but Taeyong shivers anyway, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

Once they’re treated, they settle on the couch and play the movie. The sun is working on setting, and it lights the room with a gorgeous orange glow. Taeyong is tucked into Johnny’s side, head resting on his sturdy shoulder. Even though he napped on the beach, Taeyong is still tired, and he feels his eyelids growing heavy.

When he opens his eyes again, the room is dark. There’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he blinks rapidly, trying to peer into the dim light. He realizes that Johnny’s stretched out behind him, one arm slung carelessly over his waist, the other bent back for his head to rest on. He’s fast asleep, Taeyong sees when he twists around, lips barely parted. 

Taeyong feels his chest tighten, and he quickly slips from the bed, trying to hold back a cough, going as fast as possible without being disruptive, and slips out the door and down the stairs. 

As soon as he’s far enough away, he lets go, letting the coughs wrack his body. Even through the fear and the misery, he gets an image in his head of his cat when she’s about to vomit, and the next cough comes out accompanied by rasping laughter and flowers.

It’s the lilies of the valley again, five or six blooms, scent cloying and wet. When the fit passes, he pads into the kitchen and throws them away in the trash. One stays stuck to his palm, and he rolls it between his fingers for a moment, watching it flash in the moonlight, almost blindingly white. It’s such a pretty flower. In a way, he’s glad that his flowers will shift and change. He never much liked daffodils, and Johnny deserves the best and most beautiful flowers in the world. 

He finally tosses it with the rest of them, and heads back upstairs. Johnny doesn’t wake when he crawls back into bed, only shifts slightly, drawing Taeyong close again, wrapping his arm back around him. Protective, even in his sleep. His hand is mere inches from where Taeyong’s love is strangling him, and there’s something almost poetic about it. Taeyong’s too tired to find the words, though, and he quickly drifts back off to sleep.