“Dying from unrequited love sounds like some cheesy make believe fanfic type shit. Yippie. Flowers will suffocate you cause you were stupid enough to fall in love. Great fanfic material.”

Chaos Universe

The walls of the clinic were too white. Too sterile. The kind of place that made hawks itch to leave the second he walked in. Hospitals weren’t his thing—too many bad memories, too many rules. But even he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Not when the coughing had gotten worse.

He sat on the edge of the exam table, one leg bouncing, fingers tapping against his knee. His wings were tucked in tight, feathers ruffled with agitation. He hated waiting. But when the doctor finally walked in, holding a clipboard and wearing that unreadable professional expression, something in Hawks' gut twisted.

“Takami-san,” the doctor started, voice calm, too calm. “We’ve run the necessary tests, and I have your results.”

Hawks smirked, tilting his head. “Lemme guess, doc. I’ve been working too hard? Need more rest, more water, a balanced diet?” He flashed an easy grin, but his fingers curled against his knee, knuckles white. “C’mon, gimme the bad news. What’s trying to kill me this time?”

The doctor didn’t return his smile. That was a bad sign.

He cleared his throat, glancing at the chart before speaking. “It’s Hanahaki disease.”

Something in Hawks' mind stuttered. His thoughts caught, snagged, like a record skipping. His smirk didn’t drop—not right away—but it froze, just for a second. “Huh?”

The doctor sighed, setting the clipboard aside. “Hanahaki disease,” he repeated. “It’s rare, but not unheard of. It occurs when someone experiences deep, unreciprocated love. The emotions manifest physically, causing flowers to grow in the lungs. Over time, if left untreated, the disease becomes fatal.”

hawks stared.

His chest felt tight, like the petals were blooming right now, wrapping around his ribs, crushing his breath. His fingers twitched, but he forced himself to keep still. Act natural.

“You’re serious?” he asked, voice lighter than it should’ve been. “Man, that’s some real soap opera bullshit.”

The doctor’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Takami-san—”

“So what’s the fix?” hawks cut in, leaning back on his hands, wings spreading just slightly. “You got a pill for this, or am I just supposed to—what? Confess my feelings and poof, all better?”

A pause.

The doctor adjusted his glasses. “Essentially... yes.”

Hawks' heart slammed against his ribs. He laughed, sharp and breathless, shaking his head. “Oh, that’s rich.”

Because now it made sense.

The tightness in his chest, the way his throat burned whenever he saw you. The way your voice softened when you were focused, the way you bit your lip when you concentrated, the way your laughter—God, your laughter—made his whole damn day.

It was you.

The realization hit like a freefall, feathers ripped from his wings mid-flight.

But his smirk stayed in place, sharp, almost lazy. Because this? This was fine.

So what if he had Hanahaki? So what if he was coughing up petals because of you? That didn’t change anything. He wasn’t going to say a damn word.

Not now. Not ever.