Hanahaki Disease Meme

[misheard]

HANAHAKI DISEASE

The Hanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love, where the patient coughs up flowers or flower petals. The only cure is to have that love reciprocated, or to somehow wipe away all one’s memories of their beloved person. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals.

1. Post your character with name, canon, and ship preferences in subject line. Also include whether you'd prefer your character to be the one suffering from the disease or not.
2. Tag other people.
3. Pain.
4. If you need help choosing specific flowers, this flower meaning chart might be a good starting point.

Comments

[ghostfromthemachine]

[ huffs... oh, look, time for complicated feelings about her general state of being. it must be a day that ends in "y."

dropping the attempt to breach the topic in favor of cuddling. he should rest, anyway. ]

[goatsongs]

[He should rest. And he's tired, but not sleepy. He doesn't like the quiet.]

...Sorry. About this.

[ghostfromthemachine]

[ hums, low with a raspy edge ]

"The heart wants what it wants— or else it does not care."

...I'm sorry, too.

[goatsongs]

You've got nothing to be sorry for. You can't blame the heart for not wanting something, either. But you're indulging me anyway.

[Because he's literally dying, but still.]

[ghostfromthemachine]

I'm not doing this just for you. And it isn't that I don't—

[ her voice cracks, and she stops for a moment ]

...it's old habit to think of myself as something nobody would want. So it's also habit not to let myself want, either. ...I didn't think about it.

[ it's more complicated than that; an entire tragedy's worth of complications and a year's worth of avoiding thinking about any of them. it gets the point across, though. ]

[goatsongs]

...Alright. You already know what I think of that.

[That people do want her, and love her. She has the right to want and love in return.]

Can I ask you for something incredibly selfish?

[ghostfromthemachine]

[ briefly tightens her hug by way of acknowledgement. she doesn't really disagree with him, either. ]

What is it?

[goatsongs]

Can I kiss you? Just once. Before...

[Well, before he dies. He's aware, incredibly, how selfish a request that is.]

WHEN YOU HIT POST BUT IT DIDN'T GO THROUGH :T

[ghostfromthemachine]

[ the fact that he's lying on her means he can feel the way she goes still as his request sinks in. it's a few moments before she even starts breathing again ]

...you want me to...

D:

[goatsongs]

[He can feel it. He should regret asking in the first place.]

I know it's not something I should ask. And you don't have to say yes.

[ghostfromthemachine]

[ her fingers twitch, and then she reaches up aaand covers his mouth. ]

I don't particularly give a damn about "should," and I know I don't have to say yes. Give me a moment to sort myself out, Chuuya.

[goatsongs]

[Well, okay then, if you insist. He nods with his mouth still covered.

While she's sorting herself out, he's just going to set his hand on top of her other hand. He doesn't like silence much, so it gives him something to focus on, even if it's just that point.]

[ghostfromthemachine]

[ look, she is acutely familiar with asking for a thing, deciding you shouldn't actually have the thing, and immediately attempting to bully the other person into saying no as a result. she's also not particularly interested in having her mind made up for her in either direction.

...it isn't not a difficult decision to make, anyway; not when she actually takes a good look at her reasons for wanting to say no, and what her regrets might be. first time panic she can do nothing about, but the half-formed, quiet desire to somehow give that first to someone she'll never see again...

she turns it over a few times in her mind, and then folds it up and tucks it away along with all the other what-if's she hasn't quite been able to let go of, but refuses to pointlessly worry threadbare. (there'll be more where that came from soon.) ]

... all right.

[goatsongs]

[The surprise on his face is obvious, but it fades into something a little softer. She said yes. He doesn't have to try to change her mind, if she decided that for herself.]

Okay.

[Chuuya sits up properly, turning to face her. Sets a hand on her cheek, gently, slowly. Hesitates, all nerves and tumbling thoughts.

It's far from his first kiss. But it's his last one.]

[ghostfromthemachine]

[ she shifts with him, lets her hand drop from his mouth as he moves with a carefully steady inhale of breath. it's a struggle not to let the full extent of her own nerves show, and there's nothing at all she can do about her blush.

the touch helps, though. her face had been one of the few places her old, broken body had any working sense of touch, and even though she'd been freed from it over a year ago the significance she'd given to being touched that way hasn't faded. she's nuzzled into the hand cupping her cheek before she's even realized it, eyelashes dipping low. ]

[goatsongs]

[The kiss, when he works up the nerve to tilt her face forward and press his lips to hers, is soft. Lingering, but chaste. Exactly what someone's first kiss should be, except for the part where it's with someone who's going to die soon. Other than that, it's perfect.

...Chuuya doesn't want to pull away, which is why he's the first to pull back. This is enough.]

[ghostfromthemachine]

[ enough for him, maybe, but years worth of touch starvation has her thoughtlessly following after him before she catches herself

so when he pulls back, she thoughtlessly follows, only to catch herself and flinch back a moment later. ]

[goatsongs]

[She followed after him. And maybe it's just touch starvation, maybe it's reflexive. It doesn't mean anything. He knows if it meant something, he wouldn't be here in this room with flowers covering the floor.

He reaches for her shoulders to pull her closer again - though this time it's only a hug.]

...Sorry.

[ghostfromthemachine]

[ she lets herself be pulled, leans into the movement to press her face into the crook of his neck and wrap her arms around his back to cling. the situation is upsetting, her own reaction is upsetting— and there's still that quiet dark part of her that thinks in cycles and symbolism that just wants to tighten her arms that last little bit and replay out her own personal tragedy. it would be satisfying, in a twisted way. it would be better than letting him suffer. (it would let her keep something of his, permanently— his blood on her hands is the poorest substitute possible, but she isn't a good enough person not to prefer it over nothing left at all. she's the sort of person who would steal ashes from a grieving family out of nothing more than glorified possessiveness, after all.)

what a mess, she thinks, almost absent-mindedly under the weight of of everything else, and that is such an understatement that she nearly laughs. instead, she manages, cracked and wobbly: ]

I'm sorry.

[goatsongs]

You didn't do anything wrong.

[except consider killing him just now, but he doesn't know that]

...Thank you. For being here.

[For being here now, even if she's speeding things up. For caring enough to find him, even if she doesn't care enough to stop the disease. For being his friend, even if he'd still likely be in good health if they'd never met.]