The worst flowers to cough are larkspurs, because they always seem to come on the branch, scratching at Yoobin’s throat and tinting the purple of the petals with blood. She splashes water on her face, watches it fall back on the sink, tinted pink.

Love hurts, she reminds herself. Love hurts, especially when you’re forced to vomit out the remains of it down the drain every day, forced to watch the petals crumble the moment they leave , leaving a strong aftertaste of ashes in her tongue.

It’s fine. It’s fine. She finishes washing her face and leaves the bathroom after throwing away the flowers in toilet paper inside the trash, putting on a smile and going back to the living room, where Handong is still fast asleep, taking a well-deserved nap on the couch after her late shift. Yoobin smiles at the scene and kisses her forehead.

Her love isn’t corresponded. That’s alright. And Yoobin knows that being rejected will kill her - literally; she’s seen the warnings, the gory films burned into the backside of her eyelids telling anyone that could hear that when a Hanahaki sufferer got rejected by their love, all the flowers seeds, running in the bloodstream and flowering on their lungs, would spontaneously bloom and cause immediate death via the several holes they left behind -, so this silence, this quiet acceptance of a slow, agonizing death via flowers, is her only fate.

And besides, she refuses to tell. She knows Handong would blame herself for Yoobin’s death, so silence is easier to both of them.

When her lips leave Handong’s forehead, the girl smiles in her sleep, Yoobin’s heart seizes, and she walks a step back, then another. It’s too much. It’s - 

“Mmh, thanks.” Handong yawns, still fast asleep, but for how long? Yoobin can feel the flowers forming in her lungs, blossoming, scratching her insides. Not larkspurs again , she prays. Daffodils or narcissus or anything else but larkspurs.

She makes a run for the too small bathroom of the too small apartment they share - easier on the bills, harder on Yoobin’s heart -, turns on the sink to cover the noise and coughs herself up more ing larkspurs.

It’s not enough; Yoobin’s moving must’ve woken Handong up, because next thing she knew, in between having scratched and the color of purplish red, it was the warmth of Handong’s hand on her back, soft cooing noises from an unhurt throat and her hair being held in place. Tears spill into her face and mix with blood. If Handong notices, she doesn’t say.

When the flowers are done leaving her lungs, she cleans with the back of her hand and straightens her back, looking into Handong’s worried eyes.

“Hanahaki?” Handong asked, in a quiet, small voice. Tears seemed to be ready to jump off her eyes, and it broke Yoobin’s heart to see it. “You - you should’ve told me.”

“I… I didn’t want to worry you.” A lie, small and benign. “Sorry.”

“How long?”

However long as I stay quiet, Yoobin thinks, bitter. She does not say this; she just grabs Handong’s hand and holds it for a long moment.

“Is it… Is it too late to say I love you?” Handong declares, shyly, almost, and as Yoobin feels, rather than see, the flowers and seeds on her body dying, she has no reaction. “I guess it’s not me, then. Sorry. I’m surprised I don’t have Hanahaki myself! I hope this doesn’t…”

She’s rambling, and Yoobin’s barely hearing it, grabbing Handong’s hand and trying to anchor herself to it. She feels so light without the blossoms and seeds and flowers on her body, like a weight she did not know she was carrying. Was this love, corresponded? Was this how it should have felt ever since Yoobin realized, all those months ago, instead of the long cough that ended up with petals in and blood in her hands?

Yoobin doesn’t think;  to be free of a curse is so relaxing that she just grabs Handong and kisses her like the world is going to end tomorrow, unthinking. Handong corresponds, which is better than expected, after a brief moment of surprise.

When they separate, Handong is flustered, face bright red, and Yoobin is ashamed of herself.

“Sorry?”

“You - You should’ve told me!” She says, and then smiles, shy. “So, can we go out?”

“Of this bathroom? Yeah.” Yoobin jokes, grabbing Handong’s hand as the two smile.