Dangerous fellows x reader

Love Me Not - Harry

I'm sorry for not posting regularly, I've been busy with school and over all not motivated to post. That and I've been very focused on the quality of all my work being as good as I can get it without spending an ungodly amount of time on it.

There's not a lot of talking in this.

Also super angsty because yuhhh.

Harrydf

Go check them out, they are taking requests for writing too! (Hope you don't mind me shouting you out, df writers gotta support each other, especially the smaller writers so they can get a following of readers.)

Thanks for the request bestieee

Word Count:

Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated, either by medical procedures, or by the feelings be reciprocated.

Harry looked helplessly down at the mixture of petals on his bed. He have rather them wilted on the ground than looking healthy and strong.

As cold and brutal as that may sound because they were just poor petals off flowers, why would he wish them dead? It was really because they were coming from within his own body.

He tightened his grip on his knees, willing tears that threatened to fall away. It wasn't around for a few days, why did it come back?

Harry tilted back his head to look at the ceiling above him, trying to stop gravity from dragging the heated tears down his dirty cheeks so pathways where they were wouldn't appear.

Why. Why. Why. WHY.

He thought he was over it. He thought he was done. That the flowers wilted up and died because he finally moved on. But there those petals were, laying on the mess of blankets, daring him to cry.

Maybe if he just told them. Told them that he liked them it would go away. However he knew that wouldn't happen, they brushed him off when ever he complimented them or made any attempt at flirting. They didn't feel the same way, they were too busy watching everyone else to ever notice him.

Then he'd just know that they didn't like him and wither away, knowing he could never be saved.

A few months back his doctor - the only person who he ever told - mentioned a surgery. One that could remove the plants by the roots and get rid of it. However it was expensive and came with many risks - He could forget all about them, he could never feel love again.

Then there was another problem, his father finding out. How else was he supposed to pay for it otherwise? Besides he couldn't have it done without his father finding out what was wrong with him. He couldn't have that either.

None of that really mattered now anyways. He was in the apocalypse and completely helpless. Memories of collapsing from lack of oxygen while running away from zombies still fresh in his mind, when he closed them he could still see the sun being covered by their broken, bloody faces.

His body shuddered as a few tears fell from the corners of his eyes. He would one day not be able to take a breath at all. Sooner before later. He knew that. He knew that he had to cherish every breath he took right now.

Some internal part of him whispered that he didn't know for sure that they didn't like him. They might just be too shy to say anything. And knowing that they didn't like him was better than dying wondering if it could have all went away if he just said three simple words.