Archive of Our Own

There is something wrong with Seonghwa.

The first sign is a persistent cough that plagues him for over two weeks, which Seonghwa finds perplexing as he isn’t someone who falls sick often. It sounds terrible too, enough for Wooyoung—generous, loving, bleeding heart-Wooyoung—to reach out to his mother to drop by the dorm specifically to drop off some traditional blend of herbal medicine that is supposed to guarantee his recovery. The concoction, that somehow manages to be bitter and salty at the same time, does not end up helping, but Seonghwa tells Wooyoung it does, if only to see the sunny smile that lights up the younger’s face.

The second sign comes in the form of his ever-thinning physique. The stylists are worried—not even during the period of time when Seonghwa actively sought out weight loss did they find themselves making so many adjustments to Seonghwa’s outfits day after day. Even Seonghwa doesn’t understand what was going on with his body. He hasn’t been skipping meals, though he admits that his appetite has been somewhat diminished recently, and he hasn’t been placed on any strict diets, nor has he been pursuing one, not since he learnt that there was nothing more that ATINYs loved than watching him stuffing his face with food.

Looking back, the third sign was his general lack of energy. Seonghwa had chalked it up to the exhaustion that was commonplace for the life of an idol back then, but he should have found it odd how he had started falling asleep at any given opportunity, even on days where he had gotten a full night of rest. As much as he took his sleeping hygiene very seriously, Seonghwa was never that inclined to sleeping, unlike some of his dongsaengs.

The final sign, well, just arrived.

“Hyung?” Seonghwa breathes quietly into his phone, careful to keep his voice low so as to not rouse the two younger members sleeping in their rooms.

Their manager’s words are slow, slurring with drowsiness, “Oh, Seonghwa-yah. What’s wrong? It’s—” there is a brief rustle from across the line as Yunjae checks his phone, “2 in the morning.”

“Hyung,” Seonghwa’s voice wobbles as he attempts to stamp down the panic rising in his throat.

“Seonghwa? Are you okay?” Yunjae sounds far more awake now, alerted to the distress that underlies his charge’s plaintive whimper.

Was he okay?

Seonghwa stares unseeingly at the specks of red that stain the porcelain sink.

“Hyung, I think I need to go to the hospital.”

…

Hanahaki disease.

Yunjae had gotten to his dorm and whisked Seonghwa away to the emergency room in record time, all without getting a ticket somehow despite breaking all kinds of traffic laws and speeding limits. Looking at the sheer determination painting the older man’s face, Seonghwa thinks that even if the police had managed to stop them, Yunjae would have probably found a way to corral the authorities into escorting them to the hospital instead.

In some ways, Seonghwa was glad to have Yunjae as his manager.

The doctor hadn’t been overly worried upon learning his symptoms, except for the part about coughing up blood which had her immediately ordering for a CT scan. She was professional, but kind, taking the time to explain the possible causes of his condition, which ranged from a mild chest infection to more serious cancers, before a nurse escorted him to change. Regardless, she should be able to identify what exactly was wrong after the scan.

Surprisingly, Seonghwa found himself relaxing just a tiny bit while preparing for the procedure, despite the gruesome possibility of cancer—he was in the hospital now, surely they could fix his problem?

As it turns out, not even a building full of doctors could figure out how to save him.

The doctor from before, Dr. Yu, comes into his room, just as Yunjae is about to doze off, to break the news. She shows him the CT scan, pointing out the parts of his lungs where the disease has already started to take root. Seonghwa just blinks at the image in dazed confusion.

Yunjae gives Seonghwa a helpless look, “I’ll have to call the CEO. He needs to be here for this.”

Seonghwa can only tilt his head. The older man looks exhausted as he slips out of the room. There is an apology ready at the tip of his tongue but Seonghwa is afraid to open his mouth, afraid to see if flowers will suddenly start to spill out of him alongside liquid time the moment he lets his guard down.

Hanahaki disease.

It sounds pretty, poetic almost, to a foreign ear- except Seonghwa was an idol who promoted in Japan.

To throw up flowers.

To throw up his love.

To throw up his life.

… 

The conversation is moved to Dr. Yu’s office when his CEO arrives. He doesn’t catch much of the doctor’s explanations, but he supplements what he did with information he finds off the web later on.

It’s not a common disease, Dr. Yu reveals, but not rare to the point that there haven’t been prior cases that could serve as reference and guidance. The general opinion regarding the underlying cause was unrequited love, and the whole premise sounds so ridiculous to Seonghwa’s ears that he can’t help but think that he was being filmed secretly for a hidden prank.

The only reason he thinks what is happening might actually be real is the presence of his CEO who’s sitting next to him. Unlike Seonghwa, whose thoughts have started running wild like unbridled horses in a field, the older man appears to actually be absorbing all the information the doctor is throwing at them, albeit pensively.

Yunjae is in the room too. Gyuwook had asked Seonghwa if he wanted the manager to step out of the office for privacy, but Seonghwa declined. Yunjae deserves to know this much at least, after everything he has done for him. In his stupor, he nearly misses the question the doctor directs at him. 

“Do you know who it might be, Seonghwa-ssi?” Three pairs of inquisitive eyes land on him, and Seonghwa squirms in the surprisingly-plush chair. In this room, he feels like a child all over again, the way he had been when ATEEZ had just debuted.

“Congratulations to our debut!” Wooyoung screams as San pops a bottle of champagne, Jongho pouting in the corner with the glass of apple juice Seonghwa had poured for him so the youngest wouldn’t feel left out.

Seonghwa laughs, a full-body one that causes him to curl up on the couch when his stomach cramps, as Mingi yelps at the feeling of cold champagne splashing on his head. He catches Hongjoong’s eyes across the living room, the younger content to silently watch the chaos unfurl around them. The fondness on his face, rarely this open, this honest, is so revealing of the depths of Hongjoong’s affection for them that it knocks the wind out of Seonghwa’s sails.

“Congratulations,” Seonghwa mouths silently, knowing that any sound he makes would just be drowned out by the shouts and cheers of the kids egging on Yunho and San’s childish brawl. “You made it.”

Hongjoong blinks, eyes crinkling into a smile that kindles the flight of hundreds and thousands of tiny butterflies in Seonghwa’s stomach.

“You too.”

It is later on in the night during a lull in the festivities, all of them—even Jongho, who managed to sneak some beers from under his nose in between moments of inattentiveness—submerged in the throes of inebriation, when the question is asked.

“ Hyung,” San hiccups as he props himself off the floor using his elbows. Both Hongjoong and Seonghwa turn to look at him at the same time, sending San into a fit of giggles before he clarifies, “Hongjoong-hyung.”

“Do you—“ another hiccup, “—like anybody?”

A chorus of “ooh”s chime. Yeosang rolls off the couch to snuggle against Seonghwa. 

Hongjoong dithers slightly, before giving in with a resigned sigh at San’s drunkenly aggressive pouting, “Maybe.”

Another chorus of “ooh”s fill the air. Hongjoong covertly peeks up at Seonghwa through his unfairly-long lashes, affixing him with a complicated look that Seonghwa is way too intoxicated to unravel.

His heart flutters.

He leans forward in curiosity, murmuring a soft apology when the movement bumps his knee against Yeosang. He can still feel the burn of the alcohol in his bloodstream but Seonghwa finds himself more awake than ever, restless fingers rubbing gently at Yeosang’s head. 

“Date them!” Mingi cheers, beer sloshing everywhere from his can as he swings his arms up high and around, “Do they know?” Normally, Seonghwa would be upset at the sticky mess but it is the furthest thing from what's on his mind right now.

Hongjoong averts his gaze then, shaking his head, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not worth thinking about anyway. I’ll never date them.” 

Oh.

Seonghwa’s heart stutters.

The room is freezing all of a sudden, ice running through his veins, Seonghwa no longer feeling the heat that had enveloped him just moments prior. He stands up stiffly, still having enough awareness to remember to lift Yeosang’s head from his lap before stepping towards the kitchen.

Seonghwa’s heart cracks.

Despite all the alcohol he’s had over the course of the night, Seonghwa has never felt more sober in his entire life.

“Where are you going, hyung?” he hears San ask.

“Just going to get some water,” he hears himself respond.

“Huh? There’s water here though, Hwa—” he hears Hongjoong say.

Seonghwa’s heart shatters.

He no longer hears as he turns on the water dispenser.

At 20, Seonghwa experiences his first heartbreak.

“Yes.”

He meets Gyuwook’s eyes, and does not elaborate further. The man is strict, but not unkind, and he simply nods, turning back to the doctor to ask about treatment options. Dr. Yu hesitates, sympathetic when she checks, again, just to ensure all the bases were covered, “Is there really no possibility of reciprocation?”

'“It’s not worth thinking about anyway. I’ll never date them.”'

Seonghwa inclines his head stiltedly. 

She heaves a sigh, one that carries wisps of pity, before looking down and away to thumb through some of the papers laid neatly on her desk. Seonghwa thinks he catches a slight shimmer to her eyes in the effusive first light that streams through the office blinds. Her explanation is subdued and clinical, and Gyuwook and Yunjae hang onto every word she says with single-minded attentiveness.

“Like I said when I showed all of you the CT scans, Seonghwa-ssi’s condition is still in its early stages. The scans show that the roots have taken hold in his lungs, but we don’t see any flowers blooming yet. The persistent cough, weight loss and fatigue are typical symptoms of his body trying to fight off an unknown infection, so we’ll proceed with treating them as we would with any other illness,” she slides a few papers and phamplets to Gyuwook, who carefully files them into his briefcase. 

“What about treatment for the hana? Hanahaki itself?” Gyuwook stumbles over the foreign syllables, Yunjae’s posture tense at his side. 

Dr. Yu takes a deep breath, folding her hands over each other. The look on her face is grim, and it weighs everyone in the office down with a foreboding sense of dread. The feeling is so oppressive that Seonghwa abruptly finds it hard to breathe, for reasons unrelated to the death buried in his chest.

Her answer starts off slow, “Hanahaki is not unheard of, but the medical community still doesn’t fully understand why and how it happens. There’s been some research done but—”

“There’s no cure, is there?”

It is probably rude, the way Seonghwa just interrupted her despite being the youngest in the room, but when there’s blood roaring in his ears and acid filling his mouth, he finds that he could hardly care less. 

“I’m sorry, Seonghwa-ssi.”

Seonghwa distantly hears Gyuwook pressing the poor doctor for more details, but all he can think about is his kids. He thinks about Mingi—sweet, loyal but anxious Mingi—who had, on more than one late night during his hiatus, confessed deep-seated fears of being left behind, never sounding smaller and younger through the phone. He thinks about Yeosang—reserved, mature but caring Yeosang—who hid his worries and injuries behind composed words and serene smiles, only allowing himself to fall into pieces when sure of his solitude. He thinks about Yunho, about San, about Wooyoung, about Jongho.

He thinks about Hongjoong, and the night of their first win on M Countdown when the younger had finally laid his soul bare to Seonghwa, breath trembling but voice as unwavering as the conviction that lived in his heart, when Hongjoong had confessed that he wouldn’t have been able to make it this far without Seonghwa.

Gyuwook is still wrestling information out of the doctor when Seonghwa interrupts them again, for the second time that morning, “We’re not going to tell them.”

A hand, warm and comforting, lands on his shoulder, and he looks up to Yunjae peering down at him with concern, “Wouldn’t it be better if they knew? They could support you-”

“No. They can’t—” Seonghwa’s voice cracks as he takes in a shuddering breath, “they can’t know.”

He looks up to meet Gyuwook’s scrutinising gaze, “It'll break them.”

He can’t fully discern the man’s expression beyond the tears that have welled up in his eyes, but Gyuwook must have seen something in his face, because he simply says, “Okay.”

Surprisingly, Yunjae cries out from beside him, “Daepyo-nim!”

Gyuwook raises a hand, effectively silencing the manager, “It’s Seonghwa’s decision for now. We’ll adjust as the situation proceeds. Let’s figure out our options, first.”

The doctor hands Seonghwa a tissue, who sniffles into it unabashedly. For some reason, despite having just learned of his impending death, Seonghwa feels almost… comfortable, surrounded by the three people around him. Perhaps it was because he is dying, but everyone is being so kind to him. 

Dr. Yu waits for him to recover some of his composure before answering Gyuwook’s questions, “We can help Seonghwa-ssi manage the symptoms, but if the disease is allowed to run its course, there is no other known outcome.”

“There is, however, the surgical option.”

Seonghwa perks up, “Surgery?”

She nods, sliding a leaflet over to Gyuwook to peruse, “We’ll cut open your lungs and surgically remove the roots and the flowers. It’ll get rid of the disease at its crux. The success rate is high, too. Complications that arise, if any, are usually uncorrelated to the disease itself.”

Seonghwa blinks owlishly at Dr Yu. He can’t help it- his mind is working, if it is even working at all, at a rate as slow as syrup dripping off a spoon but if what she says is true, the disease is not really terminal, isn’t it? They could just trim off the roots, he could continue to live, he could still have—

“There’s a catch,” Gyuwook slides the leaflet across the desk to him. His index finger is pointing at a couple of bullet points that have evidently caught his eye. Tension marks the knit of his brows, and Seonghwa nearly laughs, because how bad could the price he would have to pay to survive be—

• Loss of feelings towards object of unrequited feelings
• Loss of memories associated with object of unrequited feelings

Seonghwa pushes the leaflet away with a panicked shout, his heart dropping into the icy pits of his stomach, which is churning violently, way too violently—

“No!”

“I know it’s a difficult decision to make but you’re still so young-”

“No!” Seonghwa’s scream buckles into a labored gasp for air, as the exertion of the whole ordeal finally claims its dues because he’s sent into a coughing fit, blood dripping onto the carpet and past his fingers as he collapses out of the chair and onto the floor. 

Gyuwook sinks to his knees next to him, a broad hand rubbing circles against Seonghwa’s back as Dr. Yu steps out to call for a nurse to bring him back to his room.

“You’d rather give up on ATEEZ?” The words appear to carry a severe accusation, but there is no admonishment in his CEO’s smooth timbre. Seonghwa shakes his head furiously, but the bout of nausea that follows tears a whimper out of his throat. 

“I’m not giving up on ATEEZ, but I can’t. I can’t have the surgery,” Seonghwa pleads. There’s a dissecting glint to the look Gyuwook levels at him, but he does not push further.

A nurse pushes a wheelchair into the room. Dr. Yu stands to the side as Yunjae and the nurse lift Seonghwa into the seat. Before he is escorted out, he latches out to grab one of his CEO’s hands. Every syllable he utters rubs raw at his throat, but Seonghwa manages one final plea, a dying whisper that lingers in the air.

“Please don’t make me do this.” 

Gyuwook looks down at the crimson streaked across the back of his hand. It's already started to crust.

As Seonghwa is wheeled out of the room, the last vestiges of his consciousness catch an exchange of words.

“Is there any chance that Seonghwa’s condition could reverse naturally?”

“...It is exceedingly rare, but yes, I won’t lie and say that there have not been cases.”

“...”

“Gyuwook-ssi?”

“We’ll wait and see then. Thank you, for your honesty.”

…

Seonghwa’s schedules remain the same as before his diagnosis, except for a new blocked-out time slot dedicated to regular hospital visits.

As promised by his CEO, the members are kept in the dark. The cover story provided for his suddenly-divergent schedules is that the company had found a new vocal trainer for Seonghwa, who had unfortunately gotten into an accident recently and requested for house visits until further notice. The members had seemed generally convinced, except for Jongho, who would pester him with so many questions that Seonghwa thought he might just die from a stress-induced heart attack even before the hanahaki manages to claim his life. As it turns out, the younger had merely been considering if he should switch to Seonghwa’s vocal trainer but ultimately decided that he was content with his current one.

Given Seonghwa’s insistence to not have the surgery, the hospital visits were primarily to monitor the progression of the illness and ensure that the medication were up to par in managing his symptoms. 

Surprisingly, even though Dr. Yu had warned him that there was no stopping the hanahaki from worsening over time, Seonghwa felt that he was gradually getting better. He was coughing up blood less and less, and at some point, even had a two-week record without any coughing fits. Even the kids would mention in passing that Seonghwa was looking better these days. No longer looking sick to the point that he felt bad teasing him, was what Hongjoong had commented. 

Maybe she just made a mistake, Seonghwa thinks, oddly optimistic about the whole situation. 

He should have known that it was just the calm before the storm.

He wakes up one night to a coughing fit, worse than any other before. Tears well up and stream down his face as panic starts to set in alongside the pain—at this rate, he might just cough his lungs out, never mind the hanahaki disease.

A hand shoots out to grasp at his bedside table, curling around the bottle of water he’s taken to keeping in his room. The first sips go down well, soothing the aching dryness that always gets left behind after each cough as a taunting reminder. He chokes when he tries to take another sip, something rising up his throat and past his lips, bursting through in a cloud of red-tinged ivory, like feathers ripped out the back of an angel.

Flowers scatter all over his bed, dark red seeping into his bedsheets.

They’re still beautiful, Seonghwa can’t help but think, a detached sense of morbid fascination washing over him, as his fingertips gently trace the blood-stained edges marring soft, white petals.

Chrysanthemums.

A wry smile twists his lips, bloodless and pale sans the specks of crimson dotting the corners of his mouth.

How fitting.

The flowers for mourning.

The flowers for a man born in November. 

…

His doctor ups his dosage of medication, and gravely asks him to consider surgery before it becomes too late.

The company reduces the schedules that may further tax his waning body as much as they can, and cautiously asks if he would reconsider surgery.

Seonghwa refuses every time the issue is raised. He knows they mean well, but it doesn’t stop short-lived irritation from flickering up in his chest whenever they press the issue, not when he is determined to take the secret to his eventual grave.  

It spirals out of his control during one of their dance practices. 

Seonghwa is scheduled to meet with Gyuwook after the practice to discuss how they should go about arranging his promotional activities. The frequency of his coughing fits has been steadily increasing, as Dr. Yu cautioned it would, and it wouldn’t be feasible for Seonghwa to complete the whole promotional cycle without his body giving out at some point.

The choreography—if it could even be considered one—was considerably easier this time round, since a slow, crooning ballad had been chosen for their comeback. They hadn’t chosen the accompanying b-side for promotions yet, but the members were leaning towards one of the groovier, more upbeat songs to serve as contrast. Seonghwa was sure that the company would figure out a reason for him to sit out on the stages when it came down to it.

It doesn’t matter anymore, though, as Seonghwa’s body seizes up halfway through practice. The now-exceedingly familiar feeling preceding one of those coughing fits overwhelms his senses, and Seonghwa nearly shoves Yunho out of the way in his desperation to make it out of the room before he threw up in front of everyone. 

Seonghwa dimly hears panicked shouting behind him as he stumbles through the hallways in search of the nearest washroom, heavy footsteps trailing behind him as the members rush to catch up with his frantic pace. When he does slip into an empty washroom, he barely manages to slam the door behind him before yellow petals are strewn all over the floor. It sends him into blind hysteria when he nearly chokes on an errant petal, and the ensuing round of coughing and hacking sends a mist of blood across the linoleum tiles. 

His eyes drift to the mirror as he props himself against the wall, a humourless chuckle escaping his lips. Under the harsh liminal light, his face reflects ashen, starkly grey against the red that dribbles down the side of his mouth.

Seonghwa doesn’t know how long he stares at the walking, breathing, living corpse in the mirror, but he’s shaken out of his dazed stupor by Yunho slamming the door wide open.

“Hyung, are you— oh my god,” Seonghwa catches sight of the other members crowding behind Yunho, and he’s never been more appreciative of Yunho’s height as it now blocks the others from seeing the state of the bathroom. 

“Close the door, Yunho,” Seonghwa whispers, unwilling to cause any more trauma to the people he loves the most.

He is already the cause for too much hurt. Seonghwa does not know how much more he could bear to cause. 

“Please.”

Shaky fingers reach out to pull at Yunho’s sweater, and the younger staggers into the room at Seonghwa’s lead almost effortlessly in his state of shock. Even so, some part of him latches onto the tremble that runs along Seonghwa’s gaunt frame—so thin, when did Seonghwa-hyung get so thin?—and he locks the door behind him instinctively. A chorus of affronted shouts ring out from past the door, but Yunho barely pays them any attention. He doesn’t have any to spare, not when all he can see is the mess of honey-yellow and cherry-red that paints the floor.

His eyes are filled with trepidation and distress when he finally turns to look at Seonghwa, “Hyung, what’s- what’s going on?”

He sounds terrified and so, so small.

It breaks Seonghwa’s heart. All he can offer are apologies.

“I’m sorry, Yunho. I’m so, so sorry.”

…

They come clean to the members. Seonghwa doesn’t remember half of the conversation that ensues.

They know.

They tell them about the hanahaki disease. Seonghwa sees the moment Jongho’s curiosity becomes conflicted with guilt on his face.

They know.

They tell them about Seonghwa’s prognosis. Seonghwa hears a couple of the members—likely San and Wooyoung—burst into tears.

They know.

They tell them about the surgery. Seonghwa feels the confusion and betrayal bearing down the back of his head. Seonghwa feels the question of why? that lingers in the air, unspoken but deafening nonetheless.

Why have you not done the surgery?

They know, and Seonghwa has ruined everything.

…

“Why won’t you get the surgery?” Seonghwa doesn’t look up. Hongjoong sounds composed, his voice level—almost unnervingly so—but Seonghwa has breathed and lived with the other for far too long that he immediately sees through the forced calmness. He hears the undercurrent of frustration and ire colouring the other’s words, and Seonghwa doesn’t have to look up to know that there would be an expression to match on his face. 

Hongjoong always wore his heart on his sleeve, if nothing else.

The apartment was quiet, empty except for Seonghwa. San and Mingi had decided to sleep over at Wooyoung and Jongho’s dorm, and before leaving the van, Seonghwa had caught hushed whispers covering the tail ends of plans for Yeosang and Yunho to stay the night as well. It’s good that they’re all together, Seonghwa thinks, they’ll need it.

Seonghwa hears a short huff of air, before Hongjoong sinks into the chair next to him at the dining table. The declaration is clear—Hongjoong isn’t going anywhere until he gets the answers he wants.

Seonghwa doesn’t like fighting (especially not with—) but this is a battle he can’t afford to lose.

His non-answer comes out shaky, every word bordering on a confession that he has vowed to never make, “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

Seonghwa glances up, fleetingly, and he catches a brief glimpse of Hongjoong’s face. It is almost endearing, the way the younger’s brows are furrowed in fierce concentration, the intense smoulder in his eyes as he watches Seonghwa, picking him apart like a difficult math problem to be solved. It is an expression that Seonghwa is intimately familiar with, having seen Hongjoong direct it on numerous occasions to whatever song or choreography he was working on. 

Hongjoong’s eyes lock onto his, and Seonghwa finds himself a captive audience, unable to look away as the younger reaches out for one of Seonghwa’s hands. His hands still mid-air, however, when Seonghwa flinches away. Seonghwa doesn’t mean to, the movement almost imperceptible, but Hongjoong notices anyway.

Seonghwa used to think it was a blessing, the way the two of them could read each other like a book, a mutual understanding that dispelled the need for words, allowed the two oldest to work together like a well-oiled machine. But perhaps he had been ignorant.

Perhaps, it is also a curse.  

Hongjoong’s hand drops limp to his side. Seonghwa doesn’t know what is running through the other’s mind anymore, not when Hongjoong’s head hangs low. There is nothing but the quiet whirring of the fan above their heads, and Seonghwa’s hands twitch where they’re resting in his lap, wanting nothing more than to reach out to Hongjoong and close the gap between them.

But he doesn’t, because Seonghwa thinks he doesn’t have the right to do so anymore. Not when he’s lied to him, not when he’s hurt him, not when—

Not when he’s the reason that Hongjoong’s eyes are wet and shiny when the younger finally tilts his head up into the light. 

“I’m asking you to choose ATEEZ, to choose m- us.”

Seonghwa doesn’t respond, not immediately, and Hongjoong takes the window of opportunity to slide off his chair, knees hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Before Seonghwa even gets the chance to react, Hongjoong is there, lacing his fingers between his own, his forehead pressed against their intertwined hands. This close, Seonghwa can feel the tension that seizes at Hongjoong’s body, the tremors that run through his frame. 

Seonghwa hates it. 

Seonghwa hates himself even more, for being the cause of it.

“Don’t give up on us,” Hongjoong’s lips part in a soundless plea.

Seonghwa can’t look away, not when Hongjoong looks at him like that, like he was the sole star that illuminated the whole universe Hongjoong existed in.

How ironic.

Here Hongjoong was, his captain, his friend, his world, on his knees, begging for Seonghwa to pick the surgery so that they wouldn’t lose him.

Naively clueless to the fact that if Seonghwa does undergo the knife, he would lose them.

The realisation of the irony nearly makes Seonghwa go mad. Seonghwa wishes he did, if only so that he didn’t have to live with such cruel knowledge.

“I can't,” give you up, Seonghwa doesn’t say.

Hongjoong falters, and Seonghwa sees flickering embers of anger light up his eyes. He stands up, hands curling into a fist by his side as he pulls away from Seonghwa, still so gentle despite his mounting frustration. Seonghwa doesn’t say anything, silently mourning the comfort that vanished with Hongjoong’s withdrawal. The rage that must be simmering within him is barely concealed when Hongjoong finally bites out, “Are they so important?” 

Important enough for you to give everything up? Your dreams? Your life? Us? 

There is no hesitation this time, the answer falling out and past his lips as naturally as breathing.

Unfortunately, it is not an answer that Hongjoong wants.

“Yes.”

Because you are all those, and still so much more.

Hongjoong only stares at Seonghwa for a few seconds, before he starts to laugh, disbelieving and bordering maniacal. A hand tears through his hair, roughly tugging at the strands as Hongjoong laughs at the absurdity of it all. Seonghwa averts his eyes. 

Hongjoong quietens eventually.

“You’re selfish, Park Seonghwa.” The words are biting and incisive, laced with poisonous intent to hurt, and Seonghwa lets them cut to his core. 

He allows himself a short look at Hongjoong, and instantly regrets it.

All he sees in the younger’s red-rimmed eyes is horror and disgust.

He wrenches his gaze away, his throat constricting as he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. Seonghwa doesn’t deserve reprieve, not after everything he has done. 

A shuddering breath fills the air hanging still between them, and then a door slams.

The apartment is quiet, empty except for Seonghwa. 

…

They put him on hiatus. 

Seonghwa supposes that some part of him should be glad, that the announcement could have been about a withdrawal instead of an indefinite leave of absence, that the company could have decided that he was too much of a liability and the fleeting backlash from the fans would be eventually outweighed by the long-term benefits of his removal.

But it mocks and hurts at the same time, knowing that the hiatus was a result of the company banking on the sliver of a possibility that Seonghwa might change his mind on the surgery after all, despite all his protests against it.

Seonghwa does not pay much attention to the details of the announcement. The company likely provided some health-related reason to explain his upcoming absence, which would be more than convincing given the slew of injuries typical of somebody in his field. It is, however, hard to miss the responses from the fans when a different hashtag, accompanied by a surprisingly immense outpouring of love and support, trends every other day.

Seonghwa spends every night scrolling through the never-ending posts and threads until the still hours of twilight, icy numbness curling home deep in his chest.

It’ll pass, soon, like all trends do, Seonghwa convinces himself as his phone falls from his fingers, his mind slipping into yet another bout of fitful sleep as the rays of dawn stream softly into his room. Their- the fans would miss him, yes, but they would eventually grow used to his absence, and then later, his withdrawal, until he became nothing more than a fond memory.

Until then, Seonghwa wakes up to salt, carrying the faint remnants of guilt, staining his pillows every day. 

…

He requests to go home to Jinju.

There is no point in staying in the dorms—the kids have taken to tiptoeing around him after the reveal of his diagnosis, uneasy and unsure of how to act around him, and it wasn’t like he had schedules that tied him down to Seoul. 

The company agrees, and sends Yunjae to drive him home. Seonghwa is apologetic, not liking how the older man was now burdened with the task of a seven-hour drive to and fro because of Seonghwa, but Yunjae is quick to dismiss the profuse apologies that spill out of him when he sees the manager.

“Don’t worry, Seonghwa-yah,” he says, patting the younger on the cheek before dropping him off at the dorms. “Don’t tell the others I said this, but I’m glad it’s just the two of us this time. The kids can get a bit noisy.”

He informs the rest of the group of his departure the next morning through their Kakao group, and the replies from the rest come pouring in almost instantly despite their awkward countenances in real life, wishing him a safe journey and good rest. 

It doesn’t escape Seonghwa’s notice that Hongjoong reads the message, but sends no response.

He spends the rest of the day packing. When approving his leave, the company didn’t provide a date by which he should return. Seonghwa doesn’t know how to feel about that, if he should even feel anything. His room is rather bare when he is done, which makes for a strange sight to Seonghwa’s eyes. 

It hasn’t been this empty since the day they moved in. 

San and Mingi are there, waiting at the doorway to their dorm, when he leaves his room the next morning 15 minutes before Yunjae is set to arrive. From the way they’re dressed, they’ve been up for a while. 

Seonghwa despises how stiff his cheeks feel, the expression on his face surely strained when he smiles at them. He couldn’t help it. Since the reveal of his… ailment, Seonghwa is pretty certain he’s seen San and Mingi’s shadows more than he’s seen the boys themselves.

It’s not like they didn’t care. Seonghwa has noticed them staring at him, just staring—it was kinda unnerving, to be honest—a few times now, but it was like playing a game of cat and mouse. If Seonghwa showed the slightest hint of awareness, they would take off, scuttling back to their rooms. 

So, Seonghwa doesn’t blame them, not even for a split-second, but he couldn’t help it. Their self-consciousness has rubbed off on him, alright? You couldn’t blame him for being the slightest bit awkward when this was the first time the boys hadn't bolted the second Seonghwa laid eyes on them.

“Are you guys heading out? I’m sure Yunjae-hyung could drop you off before— oh!”

Mingi whips out a scarf from who-knows-where, wrapping it around Seonghwa and making sure to tuck in the ends neatly before grabbing his luggage from him wordlessly. Before he can even react, San is pressing a sandwich into his abruptly-empty hands, then pressing his cheek against Seonghwa’s shoulder as he wraps himself around his arm clingingly just like the cat he embodies. 

Seonghwa smells the cologne that Mingi favours with every breath he takes.

The others are already waiting downstairs when they exit the elevator, huddled together in the lobby to hide from the winter chill. Seonghwa can’t hold back the sharp sniffle that escapes him when he sees them all, which makes San cling onto him even tighter. Wooyoung is the first to notice their arrival, immediately rushing over with a small cry. He almost bowls Seonghwa over when he throws his arms around the older in a tight hug, burrowing his face deep into Seonghwa’s jacket. 

There are two dark spots against his coat when Wooyoung finally looks up at him, and the younger warbles against his chest, “Stay safe and healthy, okay, hyung? Eat your meals on time, and text me every night— no, morning and afternoon too— text me every other hour, hyung!”

Seonghwa gently runs his free hand through Wooyoung’s hair, electing to ignore how nasal and stuffy his own voice sounds when he replies, “Okay, okay, Youngie. Hyung will text you every hour, okay?”

Wooyoung whines something indiscernible to Seonghwa’s ears, as muffled as the younger sounds pressed against his coat, until Yeosang peels him off without care. He quickly takes  Wooyoung’s place, though, wrapping his slender arms around Seonghwa’s shoulder in a brief hug before stepping away just as fast. His arms linger around Seonghwa’s body, the tip of his nose already rosy. Neither of them draw attention to it.

“Have a good trip, hyung. Bring me back some snacks. If you can. No pressure—”

“I’ll buy some just for you,” Seonghwa chuckles, reaching out to ruffle at the younger man’s hair. Yeosang pouts, but he doesn’t make any move to stop him, “Thank you, Sangie.” 

Yunho is there to sweep Seonghwa into his arms the second Yeosang steps out of the way. Through the cashmere of his sweater, Seonghwa can feel the slight tremble wrecking through Yunho’s body and he runs his hand down Yunho’s spine the way he knows always helps to calm the younger down. Sweet, strong, sensitive Yunho. Seonghwa sighs, equal parts fondness and contrition, from where Yunho has him pressed against his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine, Yunho,” Seonghwa murmurs quietly, “Don’t worry.”

There is a slight snuffling pause before Yunho pulls away, a watery smile on his lips. His eyes lock onto the scarf wrapped around Seonghwa’s neck. His smile is a tad bit brighter when he says, “I see Mingi lent you his scarf. He spent a lot of money on that, you know?”

Seonghwa grins, turning to look at Mingi who has since moved to stand a bit to the side of the group, “Really? Thank you, Minmin. I’ll take care of it, promise.”

Mingi ducks his head into his coat, the tips of his ears tinged red, as he mumbles, “Don’t worry about it, hyung. It’s no biggie.”

Yunho lets Seonghwa go, cooing at Mingi who is already dodging behind Yeosang to avoid Yunho’s grabby hands. Seonghwa giggles, before locking eyes with Jongho, who is fidgeting on the spot. “It’s alright if you don’t want to give me a hug, Jongho— oof!”

Seonghwa gets the air knocked out of him when Jongho rushes into his arms, but his hands fall automatically into place to wrap around the younger’s shoulders. He doesn’t hear it immediately, too busy trying to catch his breath, but Jongho is rambling apologies against his chest.

“I’m sorry, hyung, I didn’t mean to ignore you but I didn’t know what to do— the disease— you— I looked it up online— it sounds so scary— I’m scared—”

“Hey.”

Jongho breaks off into a shuddering sob that sounds so guttural it must hurt. From the corner of his eye, Seonghwa can see Mingi hiding his face in Yunho’s chest.

“Hey,” Seonghwa rubs at Jongho’s shoulders in soothing, repetitive motions, pressing his lips against the crown of his head, “None of that, alright? It’s not your fault.”

Jongho shakes his head, “Still, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” Jongho stills, “No apologies from you. From any of you, for that matter,” Seonghwa glances up to note a few sheepish looks before he turns his focus back onto Jongho. “Just let me hug my little gummy bear for a while before he wishes me a safe journey, hmm? It’s not often he lets me hold him like this.”

Jongho tightly clings to him for a couple minutes—longer than Seonghwa has ever held him—before stepping back. His nose is still bright red, but he’s collected himself enough to say, “Rest well, hyung. Have a safe trip home.”

“I will.”

With all the kids settled, Seonghwa naturally seeks out the one person he longs to hear from the most. He can’t help but be disappointed when he notices Hongjoong hanging behind the others, eyes darting nervously in every direction but Seonghwa’s.

Suddenly, Wooyoung is there, pushing Hongjoong towards Seonghwa. The myriad of colourful curses. already ready at the tip of Hongjoong’s tongue, falter when he stumbles straight into Seonghwa. Without thinking, he pulls Seonghwa into a firm embrace to stop the both of them from crashing into the floor.

“Thank- thank you,” Seonghwa stutters, pink high on his cheeks. Hongjoong’s body is tense, pressed against his, discomfort apparent in the strain of his muscles. Seonghwa begins to pull away, sorrow at the state of their relationship forming icy tendrils that start to settle in his chest.

So he’s taken aback when Hongjoong pulls him back in, pressing himself even tighter against Seonghwa’s frail frame, powerful arms wrapped securely around the dainty waist.

“Rest well,” he hardly notices how Hongjoong’s breath tickles the side of his neck when a low whisper fills his ear. “Come back home, soon.”

Home.

Warmth blooms where Seonghwa’s heart beats.

He rests his head in the crook of Hongjoong’s neck and nods.

“Wait for me.”

…

The ride to his parents’ house is mostly quiet. The other members stay with him while he waits for their manager, and the conversation flows like water, like nothing ever changed. In those precious fifteen minutes, a knot deep in his gut that Seonghwa hadn’t even realised had taken root slowly began to unravel itself. There is some commotion—Wooyoung almost starts bawling again had Hongjoong not intervened (that is to say, Hongjoong smacked the back of the younger’s head to stop him from crying)—that draws the attention of passersby when Yunjae arrives to pick him up but otherwise, Seonghwa finds himself cozily tucked under piles and piles of blankets in the backseat of the car and driving away from his apartment building.

Hongjoong watches him leave with an intense, unwavering gaze, and Seonghwa doesn’t avert his eyes until he’s so far away that they’re nothing more than specks in the distance.

“They’re good kids,” Yunjae remarks, as they exit Seoul onto the expressway.

Seonghwa beams, catching a whiff of Mingi’s cologne as he snuggles further into the blankets. 

“The best.”

Yunjae smiles back at him through the rearview mirror, “Get some rest, Seonghwa-yah. I’ll wake you up when we’re closer.”

Seonghwa shuts his eyes, and quickly falls asleep.

He wakes up to a fitful bout of coughing, barely registering the sudden swerve of the car as Yunjae stops to park on the expressway’s shoulder. A plastic sheet is placed on top of the blankets under him, just in the nick of time for orange petals to force their way up Seonghwa’s throat. A small amount of blood splatters onto the plastic, which thankfully prevents it from staining the blankets underneath.

When it is clear that Seonghwa was no longer in danger of expelling any more contents in his body—blood, flowers, or otherwise—, Yunjae swiftly removes the plastic sheet, wrapping and disposing them in a manner that so obviously screamed of experience that Seonghwa’s curiosity was piqued, even as nausea and dizziness pulses through his body.

Yunjae clambers to the back to help Seonghwa sit up properly, grabbing a thermos from the front seat. He pours Seonghwa a small cup, helping Seonghwa wrap his shaking fingers around the tea, “Here, take small sips. It’ll make your throat feel better.”

A slight tinge of doubt in Yunjae’s claim clouds Seonghwa's mind—not out of malice, but past experiences have taught Seonghwa that nothing worked to alleviate the burn that followed these episodes. He takes a sip, regardless, for the tea would still help to quench his thirst, if anything.

His eyes fly wide open at the soothing feeling that encapsulates him as the honeyed tea slides down his throat. The surprise must show on his face, because Yunjae chuckles, hand already reaching out to take the cup from Seonghwa to pour him more.

“How do you know?”

The question gives Yunjae pause, and he doesn’t answer, opting to finish refilling the cup. Seonghwa takes the cup from him gratefully, but continues his line of questioning.

“The plastic sheet, this tea,” Seonghwa pointedly looks at the amber-coloured liquid that fills the cup. “None of these come from the pamphlets provided by the hospital. And as much as you care for us, there’s no way that you would go the extra mile just for me.”

The expression on Yunjae’s face is indecipherable, the sheen of his eyes betraying a complicated wealth of emotions.

Seonghwa’s voice softens, “Was it somebody you knew?”

Yunjae exits the backseat door to get into the driver’s seat, starting the car up again to continue their journey. Seonghwa sip gingerly on the tea, quiet shame sinking into him with each passing moment of silence. 

Stupid, stupid Seonghwa. It’s obviously a personal matter—why would you press about that?

“I’m sorry, hyung, I shouldn’t have—”

“It was me,” Yunjae confesses quietly. Seonghwa can’t stifle his shock. 

He has so many questions, but he knows that this isn’t a tale he could just ask about. He stays silent, waiting, hoping for Yunjae to continue.

“I started coughing up marigolds in college,” Yunjae begins, his voice cool and unaffected. “I don’t remember much, but I do remember it hurting a lot. My friend found the recipe for the tea online trying to help me.”

'“I don’t remember much.”'

“You got the surgery,” Seonghwa exhales, breathless in light of the realisation.

Yunjae nods, glancing at him through the rearview mirror, “I lost my memories.”

“Why? ” Incredulity practically drips off the question; as soaked as it was in bewilderment. Seonghwa shrinks back, “Sorry, hyung—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yunjae shrugs, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel, “I can’t say I know, now, since I don’t remember most of what happened. I suppose that the me of the past must have thought my life was worth more than any feelings I harboured.”

The words are so effortless, the story so logical, but there is an intrinsic part of Seonghwa that just can’t accept the ease with which they flow out of Yunjae, completely bereft of any regretful yearning and lingering “what-if ”s. Call Seonghwa foolish, but he couldn’t resonate with younger Yunjae’s sensibilities at all, willing to exchange all the feelings and memories he possessed of the person he loved for his life. 

Yunjae continues, entirely oblivious to his inner turmoil, “Some of the people around me said I changed, after the surgery. Not necessarily in a bad way, but not necessarily good, either. Just… different . Not unexpected, of course, considering I lost something I probably considered important.”

A note of wistfulness is present now, likely triggered by memories of concerned family and friends asking after his well-being resurfacing.

“It’s why I worry so much about you, Seonghwa. You’re making a choice that the younger me would’ve certainly found ridiculous, but I’ll trust that you are doing what’s best for yourself.”

Yunjae’s eyes are fixated on the road, but Seonghwa hears the fond grin in his words nonetheless. His throat tightens and he hastily takes another sip of the tea, eyes blinking rapidly, “Thank you, hyung, for sharing this with me. And the tea.”

“I’ll Kakao you the recipe, later.” Yunjae’s eyes crinkle in the rear view mirror.

The rest of the ride is mostly quiet, punctuated by the occasional, thankfully bloodless, cough Seonghwa nods off again surprisingly quickly, his previous episode and the ensuing conversation exhausting him more than he thought. The next time he wakes up, it is to Yunjae gradually shaking him awake outside his parent’s house. He stumbles into his parents’ arms, his mother’s shoulders shaking with mute sobs, calloused hands frantically patting him down as his father presses chapped lips against the side of his head. 

Yunjae unloads his luggage from the boot, and Seonghwa’s father disentangles himself to take them off Yunjae’s hands, concurrently extending the man an invitation to stay for dinner. Yunjae declines, preferring to head back to Seoul to spend the night with his wife and daughter.

Before his manager can leave, Seonghwa calls out to him, his voice carrying wispily in the balmy late afternoon air, “Hyung!”

Yunjae looks at him over the roof of the car. His lips part at the radiance that blossoms on Seonghwa’s face, like a sunflower blooming in golden light.

“Thank you.”

…

Seonghwa survives all of two weeks in his parent’s house before he decides to go back to Seoul.

It’s not that he isn’t comfortable—he is—physically, at least. His parents had always been caring and doting towards him and his brother growing up, prioritisng their comfort and wellbeing above all. Throughout the two weeks since he returned home, they made sure to keep him well-fed and well-rested every single day.

But Seonghwa inherited his sensitive nature from his parents, and it shows in the way they look at him when they think he isn’t paying attention. His father, stony-faced as he cleans up bloodied pink petals off the kitchen floor as Seonghwa wheezes, leaning against the doorframe, the edges of the facade cracking away to shimmering wetness as he turns away to dispose of the wilting chrysanthemums. His mother, entering his room to sit vigil in the dead of the night, her unseeing gaze transfixed on the back of Seonghwa’s head as though he would just disappear if she looked away for the most flitting of moments, before slipping away at the first rays of daybreak, only to offer Seonghwa his favourite breakfast without the slightest sign of exhaustion later that morning. 

He loves his parents, but he can’t continue staying with them for another minute when they keep looking at him like he is a dead man walking. 

(He kinda is, but that’s irrelevant right now.)

He messages Hongjoong first, even though he knows that there’s a very high chance the younger wouldn’t see his text until hours later. Seonghwa is pleasantly surprised at being proven wrong, when he receives a reply almost instantly whilst drafting his request to the company for a ride home. 

The message is short, but it still fills Seonghwa with bubbly, effusive joy like the lovelorn fool he is.

“I’ll see you soon.”

He informs the rest of the group only after the company confirms that Yunjae will pick him up the next afternoon. The announcement is met with fanfare, his phone buzzing incessantly with notifications as they plan for his return, despite Seonghwa’s insistence that there was no need for any form of celebration. When San jokingly chastises Hongjoong for his repeated lack of response to Seonghwa’s messages, the leader simply replies that he already knew, which instead sends Wooyoung barrelling into their private messages to whine over the fact that he hadn’t been the first person Seonghwa texted. 

His parents are unhappy to see him go, but not upset, knowing how much the group means to him. They load the car with so much banchan that it overflows to the passenger seat after filling up the whole car boot. Yunjae peeks awkwardly from the side as they rearrange his belongings to make sure that all the containers are secure, but some of them are going to the man, so Seonghwa surmises that it is alright. He can’t bring himself to be exasperated at his parents—after all, the banchan were the only way their love could be carried back to Seoul with him. 

The members are all gathered in his apartment with San and Mingi when he arrives, the dining room decorated with Animal Crossing balloons and even featured a themed banner declaring ‘Welcome Home!’ The journey had tired him out a little but the sight of a tiny party hat featuring Tom Nook sitting on Jongho’s head is enough to send Seonghwa into a fit of giggles. 

The party lasts well into the night, though it is cut short when San notices Seonghwa stifling a yawn. He is graciously sent to wash up while the rest wrap up and tidy the apartment. Yunho even takes to manhandling Seonghwa towards the bathroom when the older attempts to stay and help out. A couple futons are laid out in the living room when Seonghwa exits the bathroom, the members having decided to stay over. 

Seonghwa’s drying his hair in front of his vanity when Hongjoong appears, hovering uncertainly at the door. The younger had seemed peppy throughout the night, more than willing to engage with and indulge Wooyoung and San’s senseless goading he otherwise would have ignored earlier. Now, though, a slightly subdued air envelopes him, a sight so out-of-place for the usually-confident man.

“Hey,” Seonghwa smiles, setting the hair dryer down, his hand already reaching out for Hongjoong so instinctively like it was nothing but second-nature. Hongjoong’s eyes follow the movement of Seonghwa’s hand, but he makes no indication to step closer. 

“Joongie?” His hand wavers, and in less than the blink of an eye, Hongjoong is there on his knees, grasping Seonghwa’s hand with both of his own. It almost sends Seonghwa straight into a state of panic, the parallels between their current position to that of that night- the night that he lost Hong—

“I’m sorry, Hwa, I’m so, so sorry,” Hongjoong can barely breathe through the tears and the snot, hiccuping for air with every desperate word, his forehead- again- pressed against where their hands are interlaced, “I never should have said that, never, you’re not selfish, I’m sorry—”

“Oh, Joong,” Seonghwa breathes, sinking to his knees next to Hongjoong. He slowly pulls his hand away from where it's held in a death grip between Hongjoong’s, the younger terror-stricken for a split second before he realises that Seonghwa is just trying to wrap his arms around Hongjoong’s shoulders. The tremors wreaking through his body don’t relent, even as Seonghwa presses Hongjoong’s face into the crook of his neck. He can feel the dampness on his shoulder growing through the thin fabric of his cotton pyjamas, as Hongjoong quivers in his hold.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa murmurs, “We probably should have talked this through before I left. It was naive for me to think I was the only one hurting.”

Hongjoong mumbles against his shoulder, “I don’t deserve the right to hurt—”

“No, you do. I’ve hurt you. The kids, too,” the admission carves out a bleeding void in Seonghwa’s heart, knowing that he had failed in at least one of the promises he had made to himself all those years ago, back in their youth when he had found out that he was their eldest—Hongjoong may be their leader, but Seonghwa had wanted all of them to feel like he could be someone they could rely on,  “I hid things from you. I should’ve been honest.”

“Is there still a chance to explain myself to you?”

Hongjoong lifts his head at that, almost bumping into against chin as he nods vigorously. “Of course! You always do, you don’t even need to ask-” the younger grits his teeth, chiding fiercely.  “Park Seonghwa, you pabo.”

Seonghwa doesn’t tell him that Hongjoong’s teary eyes completely ruin any intended effect the insult is supposed to have.

Instead, Seonghwa tells Hongjoong of the first bloody coughs that led to a hospital visit, of the odd CT scans, of the life-changing diagnosis. He tells him of Dr. Yu’s suggestions, of his insistence against the surgery, of their CEO’s yielding to his will. He tells him of the constant monitoring, of the ever-changing dosages of experimental medication, of the first bouquet of crimson and ivory that bloomed from his throat. 

He tells him of Yunjae’s lived experience, and how it had birthed a changed man. 

Hongjoong holds his hands throughout it all. 

“You weren’t wrong. I am selfish,” Seonghwa presses two fingers against Hongjoong’s lips when he sees the beginnings of protest. “Shh, you know I’m right. Don’t fight me on this, please.” Hongjoong slumps in defeat, but not without a half-hearted glare.

“I’ll live with the surgery, but I’m scared that it’ll no longer be me.” Seonghwa shakes his head. “No, I just know it’ll no longer be me that comes out of that operating theatre if I go through with it.”

He tilts his head to the side, roving eyes pausing at the Lego figure proudly displayed on the top shelf of his cabinet, fairy lights basking the red gunship with a hazy glow. The gift had been so fun to build, but the memory feels so distant now, almost out-of-reach.

“You see, the person I love… without me even realising, he’s become such a fundamental part of me. If I lose that, if I lose him, I don’t think I’ll be ‘Park Seonghwa’ anymore.”

“That night, you asked me not to give up on you, not to give up on ATEEZ. That’s why I’m not going to have the surgery. At least now, even if the ending is an unhappy one, I’m able to spend the rest of my time with all of you, as the ‘Park Seonghwa’ I know. The one I want to be.”

“You think it’ll change you that drastically?”

Seonghwa hears the disbelief in the other’s voice, and smiles sadly, shaking his head.

“I know it will.”

Hongjoong’s breath shudders upon his answer. The younger closes his eyes, head tilting upwards, lips parting as though in a silent prayer.

“Can I be selfish for once?” Seonghwa whispers, vulnerability dripping from every uttered syllable as for the first time since sealing his fate, Seonghwa has finally placed all his cards on the table. 

“Will you permit it?”

He didn’t know it at the time, but in that brief moment between question and answer, Hongjoong held Seonghwa’s life in his hands. 

His eyes flutter open, pained resolve shining through his tears as he pressed his forehead against Seonghwa’s.

“I trust you.”

And that was all there was to it, wasn’t there?

Seonghwa rubs at Hongjoong’s tear-stained cheek, adoration tugging at his lips. Even after all that bawling and blubbering, the man was still somehow beautiful. “You should go wash up.”

Hongjoong winces, fingers tracing over the sticky skin where a phantom of Seonghwa’s touch lingers, “Yeah, I should. I probably look like a wreck.”

No, you don’t. You never do.

Seonghwa follows suit as Hongjoong stands up, getting under his covers as the other heads to the door. Just as Hongjoong is about to leave the room, Seonghwa calls out to him, gaze glued to the ceiling.

“Hey, Joongie?”

“Yeah, Hwa?”

“Stay the night?”

From the corner of his eye, Seonghwa sees the initial confusion that clouds Hongjoong’s features melt away into cautious understanding, then euphoric relief.

“Of course. Wait for me.”

Seonghwa smiles into his pillow.

…

All the members become infinitely more sticky after he returns from his parents’ house. The group had historically always been an overly-affectionate bunch, but the clinginess has truly ramped up to unseen-of levels these days. It’s gotten to the point where it is as though their dorm arrangements has reverted to their debut days, eight men squeezed into an apartment meant for three. It didn’t matter that their own dorms were less than fifteen minutes away—the members would weaponize Seonghwa’s weakness to their whines and pouts whenever he dared suggest that they should rest in the comforts of their own beds instead. 

The thought of dying still hurts, but he finds that it does not hurt as much now, not as he watches Mingi somehow flip a pancake onto the ceiling, Jongho rolling his eyes in exasperation, not as he pushes the door to a cat cafe open with two cats of his own, Wooyoung and San hanging off his arms, not as Yeosang drags him into starting a new video game he just bought, Yunho bounding behind them excitedly like an overgrown puppy.

It does not hurt as much now, not as Hongjoong, tender and indulgent in his drowsiness, pulls him flush against his chest every night when they tuck themselves under the covers of Seonghwa’s bed.  

A couple years ago, Seonghwa, marginally more delusional, would have been over the moon, thinking that Hongjoong’s presence in his bed could lead to something more, that it could be an indication of something more. Now, though, a couple years older and with chrysanthemums flowering in his chest, he knows that it is nothing more than a sign of Hongjoong’s compassion, a gift borne from kindness bestowed to a dying man. Even so, Seonghwa is happy to receive it. It is not often that Hongjoong is so obliging, after all.

Perhaps they were making up for lost time, or trying to stay ahead of the time they were about to lose. Whatever may be driving the desperation that seemed to constantly fuel the members these days, Seonghwa welcomes it with open arms. 

Wooyoung is especially clingy, even compared to the other members. The younger is practically joined at the hip to Seonghwa now, the only times when he wouldn’t be seen with the oldest being when he had schedules or when they were asleep (Seonghwa’s bed couldn’t fit Hongjoong and Wooyoung, after all, unless he himself moved to the living room couch). Seonghwa doesn’t mind it that much; Wooyoung’s good at keeping the mood up, and always willing to bundle Seonghwa up in a hug or pepper him with kisses all over. 

But even the brightest of days get cloudy sometimes, and there are occasions when Wooyoung just sits in his lap, trembling arms wrapped around Seonghwa’s torso. Seonghwa just holds him quietly in those moments, and lets the silence wash over them. It is on one of those afternoons when Seonghwa tells Wooyoung something he’s not told anyone else.

“ Hyung?”

Seonghwa hums against the side of Wooyoung’s head, loose hair tickling the side of his cheek.

Wooyoung chews at his bottom lip unsurely, “Are you sure the person you like doesn’t like you back?”

The fingers rubbing circles into Wooyoung’s back stutter for a second, before resuming the mindless motion.

“I’m pretty sure, Young-ah.”

“But you’re my Seonghwa-hyung,” Wooyoung mumbles, a wisp of melancholy slipping into his words, “Who doesn’t love my Seonghwa-hyung?”

“Well, I can think of one person who doesn’t,” Seonghwa smiles wryly as Wooyoung glares up at him. There’s no trace of resentment or sadness in his voice when he speaks again, only cool acceptance, “He said he never would, that I- it wasn’t worth it.”

Wooyoung watches him with a careful, contemplative gaze, before snarking into Seonghwa’s sweater, “He sounds like an asshole. I don’t like him.”

There is a short huff of laughter, “I think you would.”

“No way!”

Seonghwa is reminded of the conversation as Wooyoung snuggles against his chest, somehow having managed to doze off in an uncomfortable hospital chair. Wooyoung had been adamant in accompanying Seonghwa to his regular appointment, even though the younger was definitely running on fumes after a schedule that ended late into the night the day prior. With his arm steadily growing numb from being used as a bolster, Seonghwa was definitely regretting acceding to Wooyoung’s stubbornness this afternoon before they left the dorms. 

“Seonghwa-ssi?” A nurse calls out.

Dr. Yu is studying some of the scans intensely, and so doesn’t look up immediately when he walks into her office with Wooyoung in tow, who trudges along blearily. 

“Good evening, Seonghwa, sorry for the wait but— oh. Hello,” she directs a warm smile to the unfamiliar face, “Are you Seonghwa’s friend?”

Uncharacteristically shy, Wooyoung steps slightly behind Seonghwa as he gives a small wave. “Hello, uisa-nim. I’m Jung Wooyoung, Seonghwa-hyung’s group mate.”

“Nice to meet you, Wooyoung-ssi. Feel free to take a seat,” she greets kindly. Wooyoung sinks into one of the cushioned chairs, barely stifling the moan that leaves his lips.

Absolutely mortified, Seonghwa hisses, “Wooyoung!”

“I’m sorry!” the younger pushes himself up in the chair, “It’s just—they’re so comfy compared to the chairs outside!”

“Oh my—”

Dr. Yu suppresses a laugh, “Don’t worry about it, Seonghwa. I chose these chairs because of how uncomfortable the ones the hospital provide are. I’m glad your friend likes them.”

Seonghwa lightly slaps the back of Wooyoung’s hand when the younger sticks his tongue out at him. The corners of Dr. Yu’s lips curve with fond amusement as she observes them.

“You look better, Seonghwa. More colour in your cheeks, some weight on you, too,” Dr. Yu remarks, shuffling through some of the reports to look at his chart.

Seonghwa nods, slightly more serious now that the conversation has turned towards the main topic of discussion. “I’ve been throwing up less too.”

She asks a few more questions about his current routines, eating habits and coughing fits, all of which Seonghwa answers truthfully. Wooyoung takes in the conversation silently with rapt attention.

“I think you can keep it up,” Dr. Yu concludes, pleased with his responses, “In fact…”

She slides two scans across the desk for him to look at, pointing at the one on his left first. “This was your scan from last month”—her index finger moves to the right—“and this is your scan from this afternoon. Do you see any difference?”

Seonghwa scrutinises the scans, groaning when Wooyoung elbows him in his side to squint at them as well. They exchange looks, Wooyoung raising one inquisitive eyebrow at him.

“Uh, not really?”

Dr. Yu rests her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers together in rumination. “Exactly. There’s been almost zero progression in the month since you’ve last been here. Some, of course”—she points at a couple spots that look just the slightest bit different, where buds have unfurled into blooms—“but effectively none.”

Seonghwa’s breath stutters in his chest. 

“How?” Wooyoung demands incredulously. “Didn’t you guys say that it was incurable?”

“Wooyoung, don’t be rude,” Seonghwa chastises by reflex, though he can’t deny that he didn’t have the same question. 

“It’s alright. It is still incurable, Wooyoung-ssi, it’s only the progression that has been slowed. Unfortunately, as your hyung is aware, the research on hanahaki is woefully limited. The only explanation I could offer right now is exposure. Seonghwa, have you been in contact with the cause of your disease recently?”

“There’s no way. Hyung hasn’t even gone out with his friends in a while, he’s always with us—” Wooyoung turns to look at him, cutting himself off abruptly.

No.

“No.”

The lie rolls off his tongue so naturally that he almost believes it himself. “I’ve only been home—I mean, the dorms, these days,” Seonghwa continues, outwardly composed but internally scrambling for an alternative equally as convincing. “Do you think it could be the change in medication? We started the new course last month, too.”

Dr. Yu takes pause at that, musing quietly, “We did. That’s possible, I suppose. Every hospital prescribes medication for hanahaki differently since there’s no consensus regarding the cure.” She offers him a tentative smile, “We’ll put a pin on that and continue to monitor the situation, alright?”

Wooyoung latches onto his arm as they leave the hospital, unusually somber. It’s only after they get into the car and he sinks into Seonghwa’s side that he finally speaks, tiny and hopeful. 

“Today was good news, right, hyung?”

He slips his hand into Wooyoung’s and squeezes tightly, “Yeah, Youngie. Thank you for coming with hyung- you’re truly a good luck charm.”

Wooyoung barely manages a dopey smile before his eyes begin to flutter shut, his voice slurring into snores, “Then, I’ll… come with… hyung… every… every time…”

Mingi and San are waiting at the entrance to their apartment building when their car pulls up. To avoid waking Wooyoung up, Mingi decides to piggyback him upstairs, though Seonghwa picks out some regret on his face when Wooyoung starts drooling all over the new coat he bought. San reaches for Seonghwa’s hand, exchanging mischievous looks as they try their best to hold in their giggles at Mingi’s swelling distress. 

Hongjoong has already made himself cozy under Seonghwa’s covers when Seonghwa is done washing up, lying on his side to watch as the older starts his skincare routine. He’s lightly patting moisturizer into his skin when Hongjoong asks, without any preamble.

“Is it Minho?” 

Seonghwa whirls around to level a scathing glare at the other man, “Do I look like a homewrecker to you?”

“No, but, see, it would explain why it would be unrequited,” Hongjoong complains.

“Sungie and Minho were already together by the time Minho and I became friends,” Seonghwa states drily, “So, Kim Hongjoong, let me ask you again. Do I look like a homewrecker to you?”

Seonghwa doesn’t remember why or how this… “game” started, but every night, before they went to bed, Hongjoong would try guessing who the person Seonghwa had feelings for was. He had tried his luck at the beginning, listing out as many names as he could, but eventually figured out that Seonghwa only had enough patience to play along with one of his guesses each night. 

Some nights were sensible, if not a tad ludicrous, like tonight (though Seonghwa didn’t appreciate the insinuation that he would develop feelings for an attached man). Other nights, unfortunately, were a lot less logical, like that one night when Hongjoong had suggested their CEO.

Their CEO.

Seonghwa hadn’t had the heart to kick Hongjoong out of his room, not after the younger had gotten on his knees and cried repentance, but somebody slept on the floor that night. 

With a futon, of course. Seonghwa wasn’t that mean. 

He still thinks the punishment had been reasonable considering he hadn’t been able to look Gyuwook in the eyes for a week straight after that. 

Hongjoong’s cheeks puff in annoyance at another one of his guesses foiled, shuffling in closer to the wall as Seonghwa switches off the lights and gets under the covers. One of his arms drapes over Seonghwa’s waist, resting against the curve of his hip. Seonghwa is right about to drift off when he hears a voice. It doesn’t take him long to realise that Hongjoong’s words are not meant for an audience, and he keeps his eyes shut. 

“I just don’t understand,” Hongjoong admits in a hushed whisper that lingers in the silence. His hand cups the side of Seonghwa’s face, tracing circles against the smooth, porcelain skin.

“You shine so bright, Hwa. Even amongst the stars, I’ll bet that you’ll still shine the brightest.”

“How does anyone look at you, Park Seonghwa, and not fall right into your orbit?”

Seonghwa waits, but Hongjoong falls silent. When he finally opens his eyes, Hongjoong’s chest rises and falls evenly in slumber. In the silvery haze of moonlight, his lashes glisten with crystalline dewdrops, wet against the arches of his cheekbones.

Bitterness ties itself into a knot that weighs heavily in his chest. Seonghwa’s eyes sting with pinpricks of salt.

The brightest…

but still not bright enough for you.

…

“Seonghwa-hyung~!” Wooyoung comes swinging through the door, arms full of goodies that he had picked up along his way to the apartment. Seonghwa looks up from where he’s seated at the dining table, a forced smile taut against his lips.

“Young-ah.” He winces as the migraine, which had graciously decided to take up residence in his head for the day, pulses against his temple whenever he speaks. “I don’t think it’s a good day today. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Wooyoung quietens down immediately, making a beeline for the windows to tug down the recently-installed black-out curtains. The darkness that swamps the apartment is an adjustment greatly appreciated. Wooyoung hands him an eye mask retrieved from his room, earning himself some well-deserved words of gratitude.

The younger can’t stop fidgeting around Seonghwa, nervous energy so abundant in his system it’s practically radiating off him in waves, “Would lying down help, hyung?”

Honestly, Seonghwa is not sure if anything would help but he nods anyway. “The couch will do just fine, Youngie.”

Wooyoung helps him to the living room, and adjusts the eye mask to fit snugly around Seonghwa’s face before stepping away. Faintly, he can hear the soft clattering of pots and pans as Wooyoung busies himself in the kitchen. He’s afraid he would be disappointing the younger today, though, already aware that the nausea sitting solidly at the bottom of his stomach was not leaving anytime soon.

He gets maybe half an hour of rest before he is overcome by the urge to be sick, and he rushes to the bathroom, ripping the eye mask off his face in the process. Footsteps thud anxiously behind him as he bends over the toilet, retching and heaving white petals into the bowl. When it’s over, he spits crimson into the sunken bouquet sitting at the bottom of the toilet.

“Hyung,” Wooyoung whimpers from the doorway. 

Seonghwa wipes at his mouth using the back of his hand, streaks of red staining the skin. “Sorry, Wooyoung, but could you get me a towel from one of the cabinets? I don’t think I have the energy to move right now.”

Despite his obvious fear, Wooyoung springs into action quickly, getting Seonghwa one of the fluffiest towels available. As he gets closer to the older, though, he catches sight of the contents in the toilet. He barely notices the blood, gaze locking onto the furled, white petals.

“Chrysanthemums…”

The towel drops from his grasp as he takes a step back. Seonghwa can only watch in trepidation, dread freezing his insides into ice, as the cogs in Wooyoung’s head turn—always so smart, almost too smart—, the pieces of the puzzle he had slowly hoarded over time slotting together to present the story that Seonghwa has tried so desperately to hide. 

Wooyoung’s never seen the flowers he throws up before, not before today.

“Hyung, you— chrysanthemums, November— exposure— no surgery, for us—” Wooyoung is stammering, face ghostly-pale, as he stumbles back and out of the bathroom. Seonghwa pushes himself up, attempting to follow after him, but he collapses onto the floor, again.

Wooyoung looks at him, looks past him. 

“It’s not what you think, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa pleads, beseeching the world for one final miracle.

Determination fills the younger’s eyes. 

“I’m getting Hongjoong-hyung.”

Seonghwa weeps.

He doesn’t know how long he just sits there, waiting, shivering, dreading, but his shirt is soaked with his tears when Hongjoong bursts through the door. He allows the other man to help him up, but shoves him away when Hongjoong tries to dry his tears.

“Go away. I don’t know what Wooyoung has told you, but go away.”

Hongjoong tries to reach out to him again, but Seonghwa bats his hands away. “Go away! I don’t want you here.” 

His sharp nails accidentally scratch red streaks into Hongjoong’s skin, and the realisation causes him to burst into tears again.

All Seonghwa does is hurt, hurt, hurt—

Through his tears, he can see the blurry outline of Hongjoong’s lips moving, the younger clearly trying to say something but Seonghwa screams, choking on his wails. His hands claw his arms as he grips at them too tightly, too afraid that he might hurt Hongjoong again—

“Leave me alone!”

Hongjoong manages to grab hold of his arms, pulling them against his body to stop Seonghwa from hurting himself further. 

When the fuck did he get this strong?

It's so cold. He can’t stop shaking.

Or maybe it was Seonghwa who has grown weak.

“No. I’m not going anywhere, Hwa. Not anymore.”

He struggles against Hongjoong’s grasp, but the fight quickly leaves his frame when he realises that it was futile. Hongjoong watches him carefully, before letting him go. Seonghwa turns around, leaning against the sink cabinet heavily. He knows Hongjoong is looking at him—he can feel it—even without looking at the mirror.

“I can save you, Hwa.”

“No, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa grits out, gripping at the porcelain edges of the sink. “I’m not going to force you to do this.”

His fingers slip off the counter as he chokes on a sob that sends ripples throughout his body, “I’m not going to force you to love me.”

“Tell me, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong steps closer to him, arms reaching out to circle around Seonghwa’s waist, gently turning him around. They’re so close that Seonghwa can feel the warmth of the other’s breath on his cheek when he asks, “You’ve done your research—I know you have, because you’re Park Seonghwa—can the affection be coerced for recovery?”

Seonghwa trembles, “Don’t kid yourself—don’t kid me. You don’t love me.”

“Does coerced love work, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong ignores him, patient now that he knows that he has all the time in the world. His hand reaches up to cup Seonghwa’s cheek, brushing away tears that have again started to stream down his face.

The answer he desires arrives as a whisper.

“No.”

“I love you, Seonghwa.” 

Fresh tears spring up in his eyes, unbidden as a sob tears through his throat.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I’ve loved you for a long time now, and I’m sorry that I hurt you like this,” Hongjoong apologizes, guilt darkening his face.

Seonghwa shakes his head, trying to push the younger away but Hongjoong stands firm, clutching onto him with the contradictingly tender resolve of somebody who had just found their most prized treasure and was now never letting go.

“You said you would never- could never—”

“I was already in love with you back then,” Hongjoong confesses, “but I thought I didn’t deserve you. Not when we were still so young, having just made our debut. As our captain, how could I covet so selfishly when I hadn’t led us to the success I owed you all?”

Oh.

That… was it? All that suffering, all that pain and regret, just because stupid, stupid Kim Hongjoong decided for Seonghwa that he wasn’t good enough?

A sudden surge of anger courses through his veins. 

“You should have been more greedy. What kind of useless, stupid, cowardly, useless pirate isn’t greedy?” Seonghwa wails, fists weakly barrelling against Hongjoong’s chest as he cries and cries.

Hongjoong doesn’t flinch, doesn’t step away, doesn’t let him go. He simply smiles, so honest and loving it brings forth a fresh wave of tears, until Seonghwa exhausts himself and drops his head into the crook of Hongjoong’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” the ghost of a kiss land against the crown of his head, dainty as the fluttering flight of a butterfly, “I love you.”

“So, please, live.”

Somehow, Seonghwa feels like it just became a little bit easier to breathe.