A few weeks pass this way. Taeyong’s condition doesn’t worsen much, and the flowers don’t change, still the little lilies of the valley. He thinks it’s supposed to be commentary on the sweetness and purity of his love for Johnny, maybe some leftover puppy love from being children together. It doesn’t always feel pure—sometimes, he catches himself thinking about him in ways he would never dare admit, and if he wasn’t so worried about his health, he’d probably be thoroughly mortified by it.

And for the most part, his routine isn’t really disturbed. He wakes in the morning, makes breakfast. If it’s a day the shop is open, he goes in to help. He goes to the market, comes home in the evening to help with dinner. He hangs out with his friends, spends a lot of his days off at the beach with Johnny. If he’s free but Johnny’s needed at the bakery, he goes over to help. Johnny does the same for him. It’s summer. It’s like every other summer. 

It doesn’t mean Taeyong isn’t getting fed up with it, though. He’s angry at everything. He’s angry at himself for letting this happen, angry at the disease for existing, angry that there isn’t an easy cure, angry that he can’t tell anybody. It’s not fair that he has to pick through the flowers he throws up to check for blood, alone on the floor of his bathroom every night. It’s not fair that he’s not allowed to pine in peace. He’d be happy to love Johnny secretly, quietly, and without getting anything in return, if it wasn’t killing him.

Still, though, he finds himself grateful. He arranges flowers every day, cupping the giant blooms of lilies, hibiscuses, dahlias, peonies, and he’s glad for the little lilies of the valley that work their way up from his lungs every night. It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt that bad. He worries that someone will notice them in the garbage, but they could be more noticeable. It would be harder to hide if his parents weren’t florists. It would be scarier if he hadn’t grown up around plants and blossoms, if he wasn’t so familiar with them. It would be worse if he hadn’t always been a person so dedicated to love, if he hadn’t always been a bit of a bleeding heart. In a way, it fits him perfectly. There is no death more suited to a person like him.

He spends a lot of his time with Johnny, partially because he’s the only person he wants to see, but also because he knows this way Johnny will be able to say he saw him often before he died. He won’t feel regretful for not spending more time with him. They’re in the bakery today, Taeyong doing various chores so that it’s easier for Johnny to work, and Johnny is singing as he preps a few loaves for baking. Taeyong has tea cooling on the windowsill, and Johnny’s parents are popping in and out of the kitchen as they fill orders for customers. 

“You should try being out front,” Taeyong comments. “Your parents know your recipes. People like you.”

“I don’t want to deal with people,” Johnny replies, rolling his eyes. “Besides, people like my parents.”

“Well, of course, but you would invite… a different demographic,” Taeyong ventures as he swipes flour and drying pebbles of leftover dough into a garbage can. 

“Are you suggesting I try to pull customers with my striking good looks?” Johnny asks, turning around and giving him a scandalized look. “You want me to sell my body?”

“I—that’s not what I said,” Taeyong says, exasperated. 

“Sure sounded a lot like it. I wonder if—” But Taeyong doesn’t get the chance to know what Johnny’s wondering, because Johnny’s hand slips and he presses his forearm to the inside of a very hot oven. Because he’s Johnny, of course he screams, but he still manages to slide the bread in, safe and sound, before pulling away.

“,” Johnny mutters, going over to the sink to run it under some water, Taeyong trailing behind unhelpfully. 

Johnny’s mom sticks her head into the kitchen. “Everything okay, kids?” she asks, mild concern painting her features.

“Johnny’s burned himself, that’s all,” Taeyong says quickly. 

“I’m okay,” Johnny says without looking up.

“Go take a break,” his mom says anyway. “We’re okay here. Your dad can check on the bread when it’s done baking. You too, Taeyong. Make sure he gets some treatment on it.”

Johnny sighs, the noise turning into a hiss of discomfort when he turns the water off. “I’ve got burn ointment upstairs in my bathroom,” he mumbles. 

“I’ll fill a bag with ice for you and meet you up there,” Taeyong offers, nudging him towards the door. 

He’s up the stairs only a minute later, and enters Johnny’s room to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, frowning as he applies the medicine with shaking hands. 

Taeyong gives a little amused sigh, setting the ice pack down on his bedside table, and sitting next to him. “Let me,” he says softly, taking the container from Johnny.

“I’m fine,” Johnny says, but he lets him take over anyway.

Taeyong pats on the gel with his fingertips, gentle as he can, making little apologetic noises when Johnny inhales sharply. “You should be more careful,” he chides softly. “Baking isn’t supposed to be dangerous.” 

“You don’t have to give me a lecture,” Johnny says. “I’m probably going to get one from my parents tonight.”

“Sorry,” Taeyong says with a light laugh. For a moment, it’s like they’re twelve again, and he’s helping Johnny clean up a scraped knee before their moms get home and yell at them for being reckless.  “It’s kind of my fault, anyway. I was distracting you.”

“You always distract me. That’s nothing new.” The words send a shiver down Taeyong’s spine, and he looks up to find Johnny looking back, just inches away, and he freezes. Johnny’s gazing at him so intently, so earnestly, and there’s something in his eyes that Taeyong doesn’t know how to name. They stare for a moment, just a couple of breaths, and Taeyong’s about to open his mouth and say something when Johnny takes his hand, the one that’s still hovering over his arm, and places it back in his lap. “That should be enough for now.” His voice is soft, and he doesn’t break eye contact. “I’ll take that ice pack, please.”

“R-right.” Taeyong puts the lid back on the container of ointment and reaches behind him to retrieve the ice, handing it over. “Um, is it really bad?” he asks, just for something to say, so they don’t sit in awkward and unremitting silence.

“No,” Johnny says, shifting the ice pack. “I probably should stay away from cooking for, like, a day though. It’ll hurt too much to be around heat. I’ll probably end up breaking something.” He sighs. “I guess I will have to work out front.”

“It won’t be so bad,” Taeyong encourages. “I meant what I said. You’re good with people.”

“Thanks,” Johnny says wryly. “I suppose it’ll be good experience. I, uh, I was gonna tell you later today, but I got accepted into a month-long training program abroad. It starts in a couple weeks. It’s, like, business management. It’ll be good to have some fresh customer service before I go.”

“Oh,” is all Taeyong can find to say. A month? Will I last that long? Should I tell him now? But he can’t. He can’t tell him, because then he won’t go, and Taeyong doesn’t want that.

“I know,” Johnny says. “I just got back. It’ll be short, though. I’m not leaving until after your birthday, and I’ll be back just in time for Mark’s. I know—this summer, we were gonna do everything together. I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Taeyong says quickly. “It’s only a month. I’ll just have all kinds of fun without you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Johnny feigns offense, and they both laugh.

“It won’t be the same without you,” Taeyong admits shyly. “And poor Sugarfoot’ll miss you.”

“That damn horse,” Johnny says fondly, shaking his head.

They’re silent for a moment. Taeyong goes to put the burn cream away, and brings back a hand towel to help soak the perspiration from the ice bag. It’s like it always is—hands on arms, heads bent together, knees knocking, hair brushing. Taeyong breathes out, Johnny breathes in. 

“Taeyong,” Johnny says softly as Taeyong pulls the towel back, now thoroughly damp. “I—”

Taeyong feels the telltale constriction in his chest. “I told you, you don’t have to apologize.” He stands quickly.

“That’s n... okay.” Johnny lets out a long exhale. “Okay,” he repeats, standing too. “I’m gonna grab some lunch. Do you want to join me?”

“My—my mom actually wanted me home for lunch,” Taeyong makes up quickly, draping the towel over the side of Johnny’s hamper. “I’ll see you this afternoon?”

Johnny nods, and Taeyong makes it out back, away from the view of the windows before he can’t hold back the coughs anymore. It’s more violent today, and the flowers drag against his throat as they come up. He turns them over in his hands. It’s the thick, white petals of a gardenia. He balls his fist, crushing them. Secret love . I ing know! He wants to scream it. 

Instead, he hurls the balled-up petals into the bushes and half-walks, half-stomps across the street to see if his mother needs any help with lunch.

= = =

Another week or so passes, and it’s the night of Taeyong’s birthday. Johnny’s done an absolutely horrible job hiding the fact that he’s been put in charge of getting him to a surprise party that evening. It’s endearing, and Taeyong stifles his laughter as Johnny nonchalantly suggests they go visit Jaehyun. He doesn’t want to ruin the fun, and either way, it’s sweet that he’s trying.

Johnny chatters somewhat nervously as they get close, and Taeyong lets him, amused. He feigns surprise when he sees other cars parked outside, and pretends to be shocked when their friends jump out from behind them with balloons and kazoos, shouting.

Yuta slings an arm over his shoulder, tugging Mark along with his other hand, while Johnny gets accosted by Chenle and Donghyuck. Jaehyun’s laughing from his doorway, Jaemin and Jeno bickering cutely behind him. Kunhang falls into step on Taeyong’s other side, Yukhei walking backwards in front of them, chatting as they near the door.

They all spill over the threshold, laughing, and for the first time in almost a month, Taeyong’s lungs feel clear. He allows Doyoung to guide him into his seat, watching as Jaehyun and Kun transfer more dishes from the stove to the table. He spots a cake hiding behind a vase of flowers and laughs.

“Sicheng helped Johnny bake it earlier today,” Kun tells him when he notices him looking. “He says he’s sorry he can’t be here, by the way.”

“He already texted me happy birthday,” Taeyong says. “I was wondering why no one else had.”

“Oh, that’s kind of a dead giveaway, huh?” Kun laughs. “Oops.”

They all barely manage to cram around the large table, but it’s comfortable, even if they’re bumping elbows every few seconds. The air is rich with laughter, and Taeyong eats until he feels like he’s going to explode. Johnny catches his eye from across the table from time to time, and his smile makes Taeyong’s heart leap into his throat. 

Donghyuck leads them in a ridiculously elongated rendition of happy birthday that somehow gets steered into the “why were you born” territory. Taeyong has to hand it to him for his creativity. He doesn’t take the time to count, but it looks like whoever put the candles on his cake actually fit twenty-three of them on it, so it takes a second to blow them all out. Yukhei laughs at him for having weak lungs and Taeyong just sticks his tongue out in response, saying, “I’ll your slice so you can’t eat it,” to which Yukhei responds, without missing a beat, “I’ll still eat it, I’ve had your spit in my mouth before.”

“That’s not a very polite way to say you used to share water bottles when you were on the track and field team in high school,” Kun says, trying to do damage control while Chenle and Jisung scream their indignation.

They all stay for another hour or two, ending up on the front lawn with Jaehyun’s dogs frolicking around their legs as they watch the stars. And then, they’re piling into cars and saying their goodbyes.

“Happy birthday,” Johnny says as they drive off into the night.

“Thanks,” Taeyong says, giving a sleepy laugh. 

“I’m glad I could be here for it,” Johnny says.

“I’m glad too,” Taeyong agrees.

“Tomorrow’s my last day before I head back overseas,” Johnny continues. “What do you wanna do?”

“Mm,” Taeyong hums, shifting in his seat. “I don’t know. I don’t care. As long as I’m with you.”

“Okay.” Johnny nods. “I’ll think of something. How was tonight, though? Did you have fun?”

Taeyong looks over at him, drinks in the crease of his eyelids, the plush of his lips, the attractive curve of his neck, the way his hands look on the steering wheel. “Yeah,” he says softly, closing his eyes. “I had fun.”