your happiness means the world to me

i

“Hanahaki
/ha-nah-ha-key/
disease
Hanahaki is a disease caused by unrequited love. The disease causes flowers to grow in the victim's lungs, clogging up their respiratory system, forcing to cough up flowers until the disease is proven fatal. The disease may be cured if the love is returned, or through surgery. Unfortunately, this has unpredictable results based on the persons psychological reaction to the surgery. These can range from memory loss, removal of romantic feelings towards the one that caused it, hostility towards said person, or inability to feel romantic feelings.

Symptoms include-“

Michael shut the laptop, staring at the violet in his hand, one he’d just pulled out from his mouth. Gross- in his opinion. Reading up on the disease did not seem to make things better. Coughing up flowers until he died? No thank you. Apparently, he didn’t have much of a choice.

He coughed again, staring at the violet petals in his hand. He frowned, immediately dumping them into the trash. It was no surprise who this was for. Jeremy had been over earlier that day. Friday’s were always their days, no matter what. His throat was itching the whole time Jeremy was over, nothing seemed to soothe it. As soon as Jeremy has left, he found himself hunched over the trashcan in the basement, hacking up violet petals.

This led him to where he was now, having just finished researching why the hell he was coughing up flowers.

Maybe he should tell someone about this. Instead, he put the flower on his set of drawers. He wasn’t going to tell anyone. He couldn’t.

Months had gone by. Michael had thought that maybe his feelings, and this stupid disease, would go away on its own. That was not the case. The more time he spent with Jeremy, the deeper in love he fell, and the worse this disease got. It was no longer just petals, but full-on blooms and leaves. His chest ached constantly like the roots were digging deeper into his body.

‘It’s just a bad cold, I’ll be fine.’

Somehow, everyone believed the same lie. Over and over again. Of course, Jeremy was growing worried. Of course, he was getting worried. That’s what made this hurt more. Not that he had fallen for his best friend, or that he wasn’t available, or that he was head over heels in love with Christine. It was the fact that Jeremy cared, Jeremy still gave a shit about him. Jeremy could almost, almost see through his lies. But no one had figured it out yet.

Which is how he managed to get away with this. Hunched over a toilet, hacking up blood and flowers and leaves. His throat scratched raw, his chest heaving, eyes swelling with tears that he had to remove his glasses, the pain in his lungs, his head spinning, and he was still choking and gagging. He let out a pained sigh once he’d finished, leaning back against the wall. He glanced at the pathetic mess as he wiped his mouth. Thank god his hoodie was red. The colour would hide the bloodstains. No one would notice them unless they paid close attention to his sleeves.
He hated himself for letting his feelings come to this. He hated Jeremy for being so… Perfect. (Although, clearly he didn’t hate him enough if he was still throwing up flowers). Don’t get him wrong. He was happy for Jeremy. Jeremy was happy, he was dating Christine, the love of his life. And she was nearly impossible to hate. She was so sweet and perfect for Jeremy. She made him happy. And Michael wouldn’t change a thing about that. He’d put Jeremy’s happiness before his own any day. Jeremy was much too important to him.
After all, isn’t that why he fell in love with him in the first place?

Jeremy was happy and he could not ruin that for him. I mean, Jeremy went through hell to get to where he was. And he deserved to have a little bit of happiness after everything, right? There was no way in hell Michael was going to add his issue to Jeremy’s plate. Besides, what would Jeremy way if he found out? Jeremy would feel guilty. He’d try to fix this, drop his relationship with Christine to at least try to fix Michael. Michael didn’t want him to do that.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as someone knocked on the door.
“Micah?” Jeremy asked. “Are you okay?”
They’d promised no more secrets. And maybe one day he’d follow through with that promise. Not today. “I’m fine, Remy. Promise. You go ahead, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”

He made his decision.

--

It had been a few weeks since his surgery. The doctors and nurses had constantly talked him through the risks and the consequences and how they wouldn’t know for sure how Michael would react to it. But he was firm in his decision. He was getting rid of these damn flowers and Jeremy would never have to know. Of course, he’d never be able to fall for Jeremy again. It was not an easy choice to make. But it was better than the alternative. Better than dying and better than Jeremy finding out that it was all his fault.

He’d forgotten all about the lone, bloodstained violet that sat on his drawers. It had wilted by now.

It was another Friday, another day for just him and Jeremy. While Michael was setting up the gaming console, ready to attempt yet another level of Apocalypse of the Damned, Jeremy was snooping around Michael’s room.
“I have no idea why you keep looking around like that. You’ve seen this room, like, a million times already,” Michael said, not looking up.
“I know, I know, but still-“ The small flower caught Jeremy’s attention. “I didn’t know you collected flowers.”
“What are you talking about, Miah?”
“There’s a purple one of your drawers. It looks like it’s been here a while.” He picked up the flower, taking a good look at it. He failed to notice how Michael tensed up at that. He hadn’t moved from where he was in front of the TV. Jeremy frowned, noticing a few spots on the flower. His eyes widened once he realised what it was.
“Michael-“
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing- It has blood on it!”
“It’s nothing,” Michael repeated.
Jeremy frowned. “I’m not stupid, Mikey- Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve helped you fix this…” He sat down next to Michael.
“Jeremy, it’s not a problem. Don’t worry about it.”
“Who is it?”
“I said it’s not a problem!”
Jeremy frowned, staying quiet.
“I got them removed. I had the surgery.” Michael tugged his hood over his head and stood up, walking over to his bed. Jeremy turned around to look at him.
“Why didn’t you say anything? We could have talked to whoever made you feel that way. I could have helped you so you weren't going through it alone- Me or Chrissie or Rich or Brooke- Any of us…”
Michael didn’t say anything. He sat down on his bed, looking anywhere but Jeremy. He took a shaky breath.
Jeremy frowned. “Micah, talk to me…” He said softly.
Michael was silent.
“You…” He finally said.
Jeremy froze, swallowing down an itch in his throat. “What?”
“You made me feel this way, okay? It was you and your stupid laugh and your stupid hair and the way you made me laugh and how you still fucking care! And I didn’t say a word. To you or anyone because you were happy. And goddammit, Jeremy, your happiness meant more than my own. Your happiness meant the world to me. You were dating Christine, you were happy, you had everything you ever wanted and I couldn’t tell you that I was coughing up flowers because I knew you would through everything away. I loved you too much and now I won’t be able to love you again. So, yeah, that stupid flower isn’t a problem.”
Jeremy stared at Michael, shocked. Michael had never gone off at him like this. He felt his eyes water. His best friend was hurting and he didn’t even notice.
Michael looked back at Jeremy and frowned. “I-… I’m sorry…” He said quietly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you…” He watched as Jeremy looked down. “Can you… Can you leave me alone? Please?”
Jeremy looked back at Michael, wiping his eyes. He nodded. “Y-Yeah…” He stood up, walking to the door. He stopped, hesitating for a moment.
“Chrissie and I broke up today…” He said quietly. “We thought we were better off as friends. I was going to tell you later…” He quickly left.
Michael laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He took off his glasses, angrily wiping his eyes. “Fuck…”

Jeremy barely said a word to his father when he got home, just heading straight to his room. He sat on his bed, wiping his eyes. He hurt his best friend, he hurt Michael. All these emotions, the guilt, the sadness, the uncomfortable itch in the back of his throat was all too much. He covered his mouth as he let out a sob. The sobbing soon turned into choking.

He looked down at the blood splatters and red petals that lay before him when he could finally breathe again, pulling out a red poppy from his mouth. He dropped the flower, curling up on his bed. He was too late.