Seasons ✧ A Jinkook One Shot Series

✾ Love Maze

Hanahaki Disease

3,679 Words

...

It had been such a small thing then. Nothing more than a single petal. Had been so easy to write off as something else. As an anomaly. As a coincidence. To fool himself into thinking that he wasn't actually as sick as he was. That the unreturned feelings that had been buried deep within him weren't starting to manifest themselves in dangerous ways.

Someone had almost caught him. He could still remember that too. Running off stage at rehearsal, leaving a trail of inky colored petals in his wake. Barely making it to the bathroom and on to his knees, where he could spill his shame in peace. In solitude. And maybe he should have expected it. The concerned looks everyone gave him when he finally felt well enough to return. The way Namjoon's gaze seemed to carry some edge of pity. Yoongi's understanding. Hoseok's concern.

But there was nothing that could be done about it. Because he had tried to change his own feelings. Had done everything within his own power to make them stop. To ruin them. Had placed himself into situations where he knew he would get hurt just to try and force them away. Had let himself become bruises, damaged and broken. Had watched as the object of all of his misplaced affections wondered off with someone who wasn't him. Let his imagination wonder, his own mind playing tricks on him until he was a mess of tears and regret.

Yet it did nothing. Didn't change how he felt. Didn't stop the vines from growing within his chest, wrapping around his ribs and using them to climb. Until it felt as though the entire cavity was filled with them and he could barely even breathe anymore.

This sickness was going to be the end of him. This love was going to be the end of him. Was slowly killing him from the inside out. And he could do nothing to stop it. Could do nothing to slow it's progression.

Because the truth was that he loved having this feeling inside of him. Loved those brief moments where a glimmer of hope would break through the clouds and it felt like maybe this wouldn't actually be the end.

But it always ended the same way. With him on his knees, spilling beauty onto the floor.

...

Everything ached.

It was a truth that he had come to accept. That this was just his life now. That everything was always going to hurt. Because it had begun to rapidly progress in the late stages, until his limbs were filled with vines instead of bones.

Sometimes he would wake to a mass of petals staining his once perfectly pristine pillow. It was one of the reasons he refused to share a room with anyone anymore. Shame would fall over him and all he could do was sweep them up and pour them into the trash. Once upon a time he had hid them, had still had the energy to try and keep his sins secret. But it had taken even that from him. Had taken his pride.

He didn't care who knew anymore. It wasn't like it would actually change anything.

...

There was something to be said about ones survival instinct. About how it kicked in at the strangest of times. Because he knew, rationally, that he had to be nearing the end. The unavoidable outcome of this illness that had taken over his life and ravaged his body. Knew that there was only ever going to be one way all of this was going to go.

And he had accepted it. Had come to terms with it. That he was going to perish until a rain of black petals. Hoped that there would be a bed of them to catch his frail and aching body. That maybe he could be surrounded by the false memories of his unrequited love as he drew in his last breaths.