Taeyong spins his wedding band around on his finger, absent, as he waits for the water to boil. Gyunghui is coming to visit later today, so his parents are minding the shop. Taeyong would’ve slept in, but his brain woke him early, as it seems to like to do these days, so here he is, making coffee at 6:18am in the weak morning light.

Johnny is still asleep in their bed upstairs; they moved in together shortly before Johnny proposed last winter, just about a year ago. They had their wedding in the late spring, early summer, right around three years after Johnny had first come home from that year he spent abroad.

Some of their friends had moved away—Sicheng had eventually taken off overseas to pursue acting; he still writes frequently, and promises once he has the time and the money, he’ll visit whenever his schedule allows. Kunhang, Yukhei and Mark all graduated this past spring, just a few short days before the wedding. Yuta and Mark had moved in together, and Taeyong is honestly surprised they haven’t gotten engaged yet. Jeno and Jaemin are still dating, and Donghyuck had found a boyfriend at his college. Jaehyun is dating a girl from the next town over—tall, athletic, and pretty. They are all settling into adulthood, and things are peaceful.

There hasn’t been a hanahaki case in their circle of friends since Taeyong and Johnny. There’s been a few within their little town, but no one they knew well. In any case, there haven’t been any deaths. Still, once the horror had faded, and once Taeyong had settled into his new life, he couldn’t shake the thought of a cure. It’s been busy, with buying a house, and the wedding, and everything, but now, he actually wants to try.

So, Gyunghui is coming over for a visit, and Taeyong’s brain is constantly tripping over itself thinking of possibilities, waking him up at odd hours with ideas or just nervous energy.

Well, ideas, nervous energy, and nightmares. Taeyong doesn’t really know what’s triggered it—maybe he’s just been thinking too much—but he keeps dreaming that somehow, he has it again. Or he dreams that the past three years have been a dream, and he’s back in his stifling loft bedroom, Eunyong tearfully pressing a fresh towel to his forehead. 

He hasn’t shared this with Johnny, though he knows he probably should. He just doesn’t want the same thing to start happening to him—one breakdown is fine; two under the same roof is a bit extreme. Johnny knows that he’s hell-bent on finding a cure, and whenever he asks, Taeyong says that he just doesn’t want anyone else to deal with what they had to deal with, and throws in something about how if they have kids one day, he doesn’t want to worry that it’ll be a problem for them.

Taeyong sips at his coffee, swirling the foam around in his mouth as he contemplates breakfast. Normally, Johnny’s in charge of cooking, but Taeyong’s already up, so he pulls out some bacon and eggs and sets to work on the stove.

Johnny comes down the stairs around seven; his parents are opening today, so he could afford to sleep in a little bit. He makes a happy noise when he sees the food Taeyong’s set aside for him.

“Why are you up so early?” Johnny asks, settling next to Taeyong at their little breakfast bar. “This looks really good, by the way.”

“Thanks. And, um, I don’t know, I just couldn’t go back to sleep,” Taeyong says, shrugging.

“I was gonna say, I thought Gyunghui wasn’t going to be here until, like, lunch.” Johnny accepts the mug of coffee that Taeyong slides over to him. “I wish I could stick around to say hi.”

Taeyong smiles. “I’ll send her your regards,” he says, doing a little dramatic hand movement, making Johnny laugh. “She’ll probably be gone before you’re home.”

“Mm, probably.”

“Anything in particular you want for dinner?” Taeyong asks, taking Johnny’s now-clear plate and running it under some water in the sink.

“Something with pasta? Cream-base sauce, if you would.” Johnny stands and crosses the kitchen to Taeyong to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Gotta run, I’m sure my parents are swamped.”

“Have a good day,” Taeyong says, watching fondly as he digs around the cabinet by the door for his wallet and his keys. “Tell your parents hey.”

Johnny salutes wordlessly, his keys jingling in his hand as he slips on his shoes and steps out the door.

Taeyong cleans up the house a little, starting a load of laundry and then heading to the market to pick up some meat. Jaehyun has opened a stall today; he’s hired a couple of local kids as farm hands so he can afford to come into town more often. Taeyong stops by even though he doesn’t need anything from him.

“Morning,” Jaehyun greets him with his characteristic dimpled smile. “How are you?”

“A bit tired, but I’m okay,” Taeyong replies. “How’s the farm?”

“Shotaro and Sungchan are managing it well,” he says, grinning. “I’m glad they’re still able to come back from school on the weekends to help out.”

“Why don’t more of our kids do that?” Taeyong asks.

“Good question.” Jaehyun rolls his eyes. “Something about the full college experience? So, bull.”

Taeyong laughs, and they chat a little more before he heads on his way. He picks up some steak and herbs and heads home to get it marinating before Gyunghui arrives.

He’s just finished cooking some lunch—just some soup and bread with warm apple cider—when the doorbell rings.

“Taeyong,” she says warmly when he opens the door. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You, too,” he says, inviting her in and letting her engulf him in a hug when the door is shut. “I made some lunch, if you’re interested.”

“You’re too sweet,” she says. “Please, that sounds lovely.”

Taeyong sets the table and they sit down to eat, catching up a little. Gyunghui says her small yield of pumpkins and other crops were successful this year, and Taeyong tells her about business at the shop and the bakery.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and then Gyunghui gives him a sort of knowing look, and says, “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

“No, not really,” Taeyong admits with a laugh. “I just keep dreaming that I have it again. I don’t know why—why now, after all this time. But it won’t leave me alone, so…”

Gyunghui nods. “You want to try to find a cure.”

“Or, if not a cure, at least something to help?” Taeyong sighs. “I don’t know if it’s possible to unroot the flowers completely without all the adverse side effects. But… I don’t know. But would it be possible to wilt them, sort of—keep them weak, so that they can’t kill the host? It would at least buy them some time to think about it, or get over it. Hanahaki is a fast killer; if victims had more time, maybe they could get over the love. No one’s lived long enough for us to find out.”

“I think my grandmother had the same hypothesis.” Gyunghui pulls a notebook out from her bag. “It didn’t work with you, because no matter how we tried to cut your ties, the longing you felt wouldn’t go away. This sort of ritual would be more helpful for someone who was in earlier stages of the disease, I think, but you came to me rather late.”

“You think it’s possible, though?”

Gyunghui nods. “I’d given up trying to figure it out, but I think with you… maybe we could do something.” She points to a page in the notebook; there’s water damage over a large portion of it. “She had an ingredient list here for some kind of elixir or potion—I think it’s to weaken the flowers. It doesn’t mean they won’t come back; in fact, from what I can gather, it’s designed to ensure they do come back. That way, the treatment remains effective, because the flowers never feel threatened enough to adapt against it, but it also never allows the flowers to grow to full strength and kill the host. And yes, you’re right—the thought is, over time, the love the victim has will fade on its own, and treatment will no longer be necessary.”

“Did she have any successful cases documented?” Taeyong asks, leaning over to scan the pages.

“A couple, from what I can tell,” Gyunghui says. “Some just ended up choosing the surgery; others found out their love loved them back. There was only ever one death, but that was early on. I just wish…” She runs the pad of her thumb over the splotch. “My grandma died in a flood. I’m lucky this notebook survived at all. A lot of her work was lost then. It’s such a shame; if only the flood came later, she would’ve had the chance to share her remedy with others, and then maybe we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“I’m sure she’d be proud to know you’re continuing her work,” Taeyong says, and Gyunghui smiles faintly, nodding. “Let’s just do our best. I think we can start with listing herbs that might be useful? The first one that comes to mind for me is lavender.”

Gyunghui pulls out her own grimoire, and starts making a list on a fresh page. “Yes, lavender would be good,” she says, “for its cleansing properties. I was thinking goldenrod as well. And dandelion leaf.”

“What about parsley?” Taeyong suggests. Gyunghui makes a noise of recognition, and writes it down as well. “Looks like we might be here awhile. Can I interest you in some tea?”

“That would be wonderful,” Gyunghui accepts with a smile, and Taeyong goes to heat the water.

= = =

Gyunghui stays later than they originally intended, and it’s already getting dark when she finally insists she has to head home.

“You’ll be okay getting back by yourself?” Taeyong asks.

“I’m the most powerful witch in this town,” she says with a little grin. “I’ll be just fine.”

Taeyong sighs, trying to brush thoughts of hanahaki from his mind and lose himself in his cooking. He doesn’t really succeed, but at least dinner is made—a salad, and steak and fettuccine alfredo, which sounds odd but Taeyong has found is actually really nice—and Johnny’s unlocking the front door.

Taeyong finishes plating their dinner, and turns to see Johnny, multiple loaves of bread in hand, kicking off his shoes.

“Hi, baby,” he says when he realizes Taeyong’s eyes are on him.

“Hi,” Taeyong says, a little breathlessly. He didn’t realize how long a day it was until right now, but now all he wants to do is curl into his husband’s (husband! He has one of those! What the !) side until he falls asleep.

Johnny sets the bread down on the counter and engulfs Taeyong in a warm hug. “How was your visit with Gyunghui?”

“Good,” Taeyong says. “Productive. How was the bakery?”

“Busy,” Johnny replies proudly. “Did you make all this?” He notices the spread on the table. “You aren’t even the one with culinary school training.”

“Guess I learned from the best.” Taeyong tugs him to the table. “C’mon, sit.”

They laugh and chat through dinner; Johnny tells him about the tourists who absolutely lost their minds over his “flour bouquets” and bought, like, seven; Taeyong says he and Gyunghui might actually be getting somewhere with this cure. When they’re done eating, they do the dishes side by side. Johnny asks if Taeyong wants to watch something, but Taeyong shakes his head. 

“I’m kind of tired,” he says softly. “And I just—I just want to lie with you for a while, if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” Johnny says softly. “How about we run a bath?”

They use a pretty pink bath bomb, the big, hollow kind that has dried roses inside. Taeyong’s glad even suffering from hanahaki the way they did can’t turn them away from the beauty of flowers, and he swishes a loose petal back and forth between his palms while Johnny lights some candles. They just sort of lean against each other, talking softly. If this was another day, Taeyong has the feeling the night would lead elsewhere, but they both seem a bit tired tonight, so Taeyong is happy when the bath ends with a chaste kiss as Johnny hands him his towel. They cuddle up under the blankets together, lights off and shades drawn. Johnny presses soft kisses to the top of Taeyong’s head, hands running up and down his back, and Taeyong finds himself lulled to sleep.

When he dreams, though, it’s like it’s been these last few nights. Taeyong finds himself coughing up flowers again, and when he presents the marigolds to Johnny in confusion, Johnny just looks away and mutters an apology. Taeyong is alone once again, with only his parents to care for him. The fevers are back, and with it, terrible visions, and Taeyong wakes up gasping, near tears.

The dreams are getting worse and worse. He slips from the bed and pads into the bathroom, chest still heaving, cold sweat on his back. He splashes a little water on his face, tries to steady his breathing, but nothing works. He watches his eyes in the mirror—wide, terrified, and so sad. And then Johnny is there beside him, sleepy and worried, and Taeyong gives in to sobs, pressing his face into Johnny’s chest.

Johnny guides him down the stairs and into the kitchen, wrapping a robe around him as they go. He lights a fire under the kettle and then sits down beside him, taking his hands in his. “Taeyong, baby,” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”

It takes another couple moments for Taeyong to calm down enough to respond. “I’ve been having nightmares lately,” he whispers finally. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” Johnny says. “It’s not your fault. I figured, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been getting up at odd hours for the past couple weeks,” Johnny says.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” Taeyong repeats. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I always try to be quiet.”

“I know,” Johnny soothes, running his fingers over Taeyong’s knuckles. “I just always feel it when you leave.” He leans in and kisses Taeyong’s forehead. “Will you tell me about your dreams?”

Taeyong sighs shakily. “I dream… I dream that I have hanahaki again. That you don’t love me anymore. That I—that I die, alone.”

“Oh, baby.” Johnny folds Taeyong into his chest, rubbing his back. “I promise that’s not going to happen. I love you so much.”

“I know,” Taeyong says miserably. “I love you too. I know. It’s just—I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Johnny releases him; the kettle is boiling. “Is this why you’ve been so interested in a cure?”

Taeyong nods. “Partially. Just—just in case. Regardless, I think if I do it, I’ll be able to sleep at night.”

Johnny chuckles softly, placing a steaming mug of chamomile tea in front of Taeyong. “Drink it,” he says gently, taking his seat again. “If that’s what you need, then I’ll support it. But Taeyong, I’m not going to let that happen to you. I meant what I said. I’ve loved you my whole life, more or less. It would be silly to stop now.”

Taeyong takes a sip of the tea. It does its job; he feels warmed, and calmed. “I know,” he says again. “I just—I need to, I think.”

“That’s okay.” Johnny finds his eyes; his gaze is kind and loving. “You’ll be able to. But right now, why don’t you finish your tea so we can get a little more sleep? Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says. He sets his mug down and leans in to kiss Johnny; slow and sweet and soft. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For what?” Johnny sounds amused.

“For—all this,” Taeyong mutters, not really sure what he’s trying to say. “Putting up with me.”

“It’s not putting up with you, ,” Johnny says. “Loving you is not a chore.”

Taeyong’s heart is full; he has no idea how to respond to that. But Johnny just squeezes his hand and gives him a smile, and it’s all he needs. He drains the rest of the tea from the mug and stands. “Let’s go back to bed,” he says, and Johnny follows him back upstairs.