In a World Where I Didn't Love You {Platonic Hanahaki AU}

Paternal Love

He hated dahlias. Their wide blossoms mocked him endlessly, their lavender petals tormenting his tongue. He couldn't even tell what color they were really supposed to be. Were they a light purple, or a pale pink? Perhaps they'd had no color at all and were simply stained by the blood that filled his lungs. Sighing as he sat on the cold stone of Pogtopia, he rested his head on the stone lip. 

It was just so tiring. Hiding the cursed flowers and finding ways to excuse himself from conversations when he felt them tickle the back of his throat. Retreating to his room guiltily before choking up beautiful bursts of pale pink and purple. The dark red and the pastel colors made a grisly palette inside of the metal bucket. He'd have to figure out how to sneak it out later.

He remembered the first time that he'd discovered the petals lodged in his lungs. He remembered it well. The same stone walls had surrounded him as he sat on his cot, fiddling with his communicator. He'd been trying so hard to find a way to reclaim L'manberg, and he'd wanted to collect as much information as he could on Schlatt. Tubbo was a wonderful spy, but any extra information he could glean was valuable. Finally the crackling of the speakers gave way to a familiar voice. He'd been so happy that he'd been able to get into the channel. Then he'd heard what they were saying.

"What's your relationship with that man?"

"He was just the president. Nothing more."

It felt like his world had collapsed, leaving him trapped in the rubble. The words were etched into his brain, stinging like a thousand needles in his heart. He'd thrown the communicator then. Nothing mattered at the moment except the fact that his son, his own flesh and blood had spoken about him as if he'd been nothing but a stranger. Just the president. He gasped clutching at his chest as he began to hyperventilate.

The warm days spent together in the town, the times they'd played in the fields and building the walls together. Did it mean nothing? He'd done his best to give him everything he could have wanted, done it all to just keep him safe! They'd had arguments before about treating him like a child but he never thought...

He'd never thought that his own son  would disown him. 

Not even to his face. He'd spoken to someone else over a private call about it. If Wilbur hadn't broken into the channel he never would have known. Fundy chose not to talk to him about it.

  He'd betrayed him.

Suddenly he keeled over, coughing violently. His lungs burned as he hacked, clutching his chest as it jolts of pain echoed in his chest. He'd lain there, wet coughs wracking his body  for hours before he could stop. The cold, musty air of the ravine had never felt so good in his lungs after the coughing fit. He sat up weakly, bringing a hand up to shakily wipe his face. 

It came away stained with blood and pretty petals. 

That was the first time he'd cried after Sally had left him. Exile, the tearing down of the walls, and now this? It was too much. It was suffocating. 

Just like the flowers he knew were probably killing him from the inside out. He shook as he curled into a ball and leaned against the stone wall.

Never before had the ravine felt so cold.

Every day since then, the flowers had only dug deeper into his chest with their choking roots. First, it had been petals. Those were the easiest to hide. He could brush them off or hide them in his pockets. But then it began to get worse. He'd hack up whole flowers, with their petals intact. They were round and about the size of his palm. Not big, but large enough to be noticeable if he tried to hide them. Then came the blood. The dark, viscous rivulets of pain. He'd given Tommy such a fright when he'd first started with the blood. The disease always had the most inopportune timing. They'd been talking in the wood and he'd begun to cough violently. He tried to brush it off but the casual wave of his hand was negated by the blood stains. He'd seen a flash of deep concern in Tommy's eyes that day. His younger brother had insisted that he sit down for the rest of the day and luckily he'd been able to convince the boy that it was only a particularly nasty irritant that had gotten into his lungs when he'd gone mining a few days ago for supplies.