BURNING LUNGS, BROKEN HEARTS, moonlight chicken

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Major Character Death

Fandoms: Midnight Series: Moonlight Chicken พระจันทร์มันไก่ | Moonlight Chicken (TV)

Relationships: Kaipa/Alan Anantachai Lertwongsa, Heart/Li Ming Loetphong Nueangna-uam, Jim Jaruek Nueangna-uam/Wen Wongsakorn Thunapakarn

Characters: Alan Anantachai Lertwongsa, Kaipa (Moonlight Chicken TV), Li Ming Loetphong Nueangna-uam, Heart (Moonlight Chicken TV), Wen Wongsakorn Thunapakarn, Jim Jaruek Nueangna-uam

Additional Tags: Hanahaki Disease, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Healing, Alternate Universe — Canon Divergence, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush, Implied Sexual Content, i don't know whereabouts this is set in the timeline, major character death tag is for the second chapter

Summary: Wherein two boys struggling with Hanahaki Disease find solace and love with each other. But, of course, there are a third and a fourth who struggle with their own believed one-sided, love-born, Hanahaki Disease.

𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑠, 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 — 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑛

𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑛 𝑥 𝑘𝑎𝑖𝑝𝑎, ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑥 𝑙𝑖 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑤𝑒𝑛 𝑥 𝑗𝑖𝑚

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑣𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑠, 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠

i.

     Countless anecdotes are told of flowers.

     They are said to be the beauty that humanity has no hope of achieving; the desperation for beauty when there is naught but death and destruction. When one aspect of life is unable to produce or procure any semblance of beauty, flowers are said to bloom and be that which has been abandoned or unable to be discovered. It's a strange sort of beautiful thing, given that both humanity and flowers can, in some instances, share a similar toxicity. Flowers can be just as vicious and cruel as humans, it's just that it is far less well known by the race that clings to a plant's beauty for a form of bitter escape.

     Red spider lilies in particular have many beliefs concerning their potential and true purpose.

     In Japanese culture they are associated with final goodbyes, and some legends even say these ominous flowers grow when people part ways for the final time. These flowers were also planted around grave sites to prevent animals from desecrating the buried dead, leading to this flower to be distinctly associated with death. In Chinese mythology there is a legend of love and tragedy concerning the spindly red spider lily due to the way it blooms when its leaves shed, and the way that the flower wilts and decays as its leaves grow once more.

     Two elves, Mañju and Saka were asked to guard the flower's petals and leaves respectively. However, the two grew curious about each other, and arranged a meeting. It was love at first sight, but Amaterasu, the sun goddess, punished them for their disobedience. They were fated to never meet again, explaining why the leaves of The Flower of the Other Shore bloom without the petals. Because of this beautifully tragic legend, the flower is oftentimes referred to as Mañjusaka, and symbolises the tragic cycle of lovers.

     In old Buddhist writings, and in some Japanese tales, the red spider lily is said to guide the dead through Samsara, the cycle of death and rebirth, as it is believed the red spider lily grows within the depths of hell itself. Some cultural tales go as far to guide people into believing that, if you pick red spider lilies, terrible things will befall both you and your family.

     They are often used for funerals, but are also used for simple decoration with no such connotations attached to their usage. As this flower does not rise with the birdsong of spring, nor does it take the stage within the blistering summer, instead blooming in the decaying autumn, it is believed to be even more intrinsically tied with life and death — when one part grows, the other part dies. A flower is still blooming when autumn comes, when a person dies, when the leaves wilt.

     Amusingly, it's the flower that Kaipa knows is growing within the confines of his lungs, slowly suffocating him as it takes root and drains his life in order to live and grow itself. The dried petals and stamen that he's slowly piecing into a whole flower can attest to that. And, although he finds it rather morbid to be building one of the flowers that are slowly killing him, there's a certain beauty about the physical representation of what's slowly killing him that he cannot ignore.

     He knows that his feelings for Jim are killing him, and he knows that it's really only a matter of time before a fully-formed flower rips apart his throat and destroys the carefully crafted one on his cupboard. He knows that there's no chance of his love being returned, either within this life or the next, not with how he has seen Jim look at Wen, and Kaipa is alright with that. He's okay, watching the man that he loves be happy and be in love with someone that is not Kaipa himself.

     Or, at least, that's what he tells himself.

     It is, in a single word, agony to watch the honeymoon phase of their love while he is left with nothing but pity-filled glances that he has to pretend that he doesn't see. He doesn't know why he expected Jim to spare him the embarrassment of having his ridiculous crush revealed to Saleng and Li Ming, even though they must have had an inkling of Kaipa's feelings towards the older man — and Kaipa doesn't know why he expected Jim to be kind enough to not tell Wen about the childish crush. Jim can be cruel in that regard, without even meaning to be, but this is something that Kaipa cannot find within himself to forgive the older man for. Not this time.

     There's a tickle in his throat, eyes watering as he tries to hold in the wet cough that will give him away, turning his back to the customers inside Moonlight Chicken as he attempts to discreetly cough into his elbow. Kaipa knows that he has failed when smaller hands than he was expecting carefully guide him away from people, looking through his fringe to see the worried eyes of Li Ming as Kaipa tastes the first tang of blood upon his tongue. He can no longer hide the cough, and he doesn't miss the way Li Ming winces at the wet sound or the appearance of blood-coated, spindly red flower petals.

     "It's because of Uncle Jim, isn't it?" Li Ming asks, rifling through his pockets and pulling out a somewhat stained cloth for Kaipa to wipe the blood from his lips. There's no judgement in his voice, only bitter understanding. "The feelings you have for him are killing you."

     Kaipa laughs dryly, his voice raspy when he speaks. "Yeah, but it's alright. It's not long now before..."

     "You've coughed up a full flower too?"

     "Li Ming, what do you...?" Kaipa looks at the cloth in his hands, belatedly realising that they're blood stains on the material, horror cutting into him like a hot knife. "Who...?"

     The younger boy grins painfully. "Heart. Don't worry about it though. I'll be alright."

     "Li Ming, you can get it removed. You have to before—"

     "Fuck you. Like you're one to talk, standing here dying because of my uncle." Li Ming shakes his head, reaching for the cloth when he feels the tell-tale tickle in his own throat. "It's too late anyway."

     Kaipa curses, unable to do anything other than watch, wide-eyed, as Li Ming descends into a harsh coughing fit, the shorter boy using Kaipa as a crutch to stay standing as he covers his mouth, red seeping through the far too stained cloth. A small, bloodied bud tumbles free of the cloth and Kaipa's chest twists painfully at the sight of the furled orchid flower, knowing that Li Ming is right: it's only a matter of time before the flowers in his lungs end his life. It's no surprise when Li Ming breaks down a moment later, clinging to Kaipa as if the older boy could possibly be his salvation, and Kaipa feels his heart shatter at the desperate sobs.

     "While there's a chance it might not do anything, I think you should tell Heart," Kaipa says quietly, wincing when Li Ming tightens his hug at the painful thought of telling Heart. "You have a chance of having your feelings returned, Li Ming, no matter how small. Isn't it worth a try before it's too late?"

     "P'Kaipa..." Li Ming's broken voice makes Kaipa's chest ache in misery, because he knows how the younger boy feels: the overwhelming terror at the simple idea of telling someone that the feelings he holds for them are what's killing him. "How can I? He'll never forgive himself for this."

     "And will you forgive yourself for not telling him before you're dead?"

ii.

     Flowers are both a blessing and a curse, as contradictory and belying of the truth as they may be beautiful and enchanting.

     The tale of the asphodel flower is scattered and...choppy at best, its winding tale stemming mostly from the beautiful chaos that is known to all as Greek mythology. Within the mythology, asphodels are said to be connected with the dead and the Underworld, which is a partial reason as to why they have a history of being planted on and around graves, and why they are mentioned many a time within poems associated with death and the afterlife.

     It's said in many tales that the goddess Persephone, the wife of Hades and Queen of the Underworld, wore a garland crown woven of asphodel. This, undoubtedly, led to the pristine flower becoming associated with mourning, death, and the Underworld itself — and most likely has a hand in asphodels eventually being believed to be a favourite food of the dead.

     In Homer's Odyssey, the flower can be found in the Plains of Asphodel, which is notable for being the final resting place for the mass of ordinary individuals who lived average or mediocre lives. Its relationship to other places in the Greek afterlife remains uncertain even to date, and some more note-worthy depictions describe it as a land of utter neutrality. That is to say, the inhabitants were in life neither good enough for Elysium with the heroes nor evil enough to be thrown into the pits of Tartarus, so they are treated within the grey area in the afterlife. Other depictions also state that all residents of the Plains of Asphodel drink from the river Lethe before entering the fields, thus losing their identities.

     In the language of flowers, the asphodel flower can signify regrets beyond the grave. The untouched, lovely, soft, and holy flower being can be used to say such painful words: "I will be faithful till death," or "My regrets follow you to the grave."

     For that reason alone, Alan finds it rather amusing that it's the bloodied petals of an asphodel that he scrapes off the roof of his mouth, fingers trembling as he holds one of the frail, white things up to the harsh fluorescent light in his condo's bathroom. Something so small and seemingly harmless, he has to laugh at the fact that this is what's killing him, because, if he doesn't laugh, he knows that the tears will make themselves known. And there will be no coming back from that breakdown.

     It's been several months since the tickle in his throat and the tightness in his chest made itself known, and it was only a matter of time before he started coughing up flower petals and blood. He ignored it for as long as he could, trying as hard as his slowly failing lungs would allow him to hold onto Wen and everything the man meant to Alan, but, looking back on it, he knows that he was just fooling himself. Although he hates to admit it, even in the solace of his condo to himself, the warning tickle was not the first sign that Wen no longer loved him.

     In the end, the blossoming flowers within his chest only became the physical representation of what he'd known for months before this day, and it still turns his stomach to know that the love he can't let go of is what's killing him.

     "Guess that we're not so different after all," Alan says with a rueful smile, thinking back on one of the many arguments that he and Wen had before the man finally gave up and moved out for good. "You said that I wasn't good for you, and now my feelings for you are killing me. Fucking hilarious, isn't it?"

     "As much as I'd like to, I really can't help you with this," Wen says with a sigh from where he's leaning against the doorframe, a worried frown twisting his face and something he refuses to call guilt writhing within his chest. "Alan, you know that there's only two outcomes to this. Make the right choice here, please."

     "Dying or never feeling anything again. Some fucking choices."

     "Don't make this more difficult than it already is. Do you really believe that I want any of this for you? Even if you never believe me when I say it, I really do still care about you."

     Alan turns his head to glare at the man's blurry body, glad that he doesn't have his glasses on to see the expression on Wen's face as the painful words are spoken once again. "And we both know that it's not enough to save me."

     Wen winces, hating that the words hold so much truth. "I have to go before I'm late for work, again. You still have more than enough time to save yourself, so consider it, please. If not for me, then do it so that you can still live."

     Alan waits until the door to the condo closes before he coughs, hunching back over the sink as pain stabs into his throat and lungs, swearing that he can feel the flower petals leave his lungs and fall from his mouth into the blood splattered sink with a sickening squelch. His eyes burn with tears, both as a bodily response from throwing up flower petals and from feeling his heart splinter further. Above all else, he knows that he's being selfish, holding on to what is no longer his, but it feels far more painful letting go of the happiness he used to have in comparison to holding it close to his chest in refusal of letting it go.

     Twisting the tap, he watches with bloody lips as the asphodel flower petals swirl around the sink before being sucked down the drain in bloody water, wishing that it was his feelings for Wen that drown in place of the petals. If only it were so easy. Rinsing his mouth out, Alan feels the tears burn anew, his knees feeling too weak to hold his body upright as painful sobs are ripped from his already painful throat and aching lungs. Finding it hard to breathe on a normal day, it's almost impossible to breathe with how he's crying, chest burning as he hyperventilates, black spots dancing in his vision as his head spins.

     The tiles are unforgiving beneath Alan as he half collapses, back pressed against the wall and hands gripping tightly at his shirt as if it is what's suffocating him, struggling to keep his eyes open. All that he can hear is white noise, which explains why he doesn't hear the front door to his condo open and close again; why he doesn't hear Wen's worried voice calling his name. Alan finds it wholly ironic that the last thing he sees before darkness eclipses his world is Wen's panicked face, and he's not sure whether he laughs at that simple fact or not.

iii.

     Kaipa doesn't know why he listened to Wen, and he doesn't know why Wen asked Kaipa of all people to do this. He doesn't really know the man, but, nonetheless, Kaipa accepted Wen's urging for the younger male to sit at Alan's bedside in the hospital while the older man hurried back to work. Sure, Kaipa does know Alan, in a way, but they're definitely not close enough for the chicken seller to be sitting at the banker's bedside — nor does Kaipa believe that they'll ever reach that level of closeness.

     The fact that Alan is in this hospital bed because of Hanahaki Disease only solidifies Kaipa's belief on the matter, and Kaipa's own Hanahaki Disease is yet another factor that helps close that argument. They're both slowly dying from unrequited love, and it's only a matter of time before they're choking on their final flower. Although, Kaipa has to wonder if it would be easier to die if there's someone at your side who shares the pain and struggle of the same affliction.

     Eyeing the lounge for a moment, Kaipa sighs and relocates, feeling exhausted as he gets as comfortable as he can on the amusingly uncomfortable hospital lounge. He's glad that he pinched one of the spare pillows from the cupboard earlier, because that at least gives him something comfortable to rest his head on. More than glad that the pillow in this room is more of an orange colour than the usual startling white, Kaipa coughs wetly, pressing a handful of tissues to his lips so that he doesn't get blood and petals all over the pillow, groaning in discomfort as he wipes his mouth once the fit dissipates.

     "Maybe it would be better to not feel anything," Kaipa tiredly mutters to himself before sleep hooks its claws into his consciousness and drags him into the comforting darkness. "Or maybe it'd be better to just give up..."

     Alan's eyes are heavy when he forces them open, and he's not surprised that it's the ceiling of a hospital that he first sees. What does surprise him, however, is seeing Mrs Hong's son curled up on the uncomfortable lounge in the hospital room, barely able to make out that the younger male is a) passed out, and b) far too pale to be healthy. Turning onto his side, Alan reaches for his glasses on the bedside cupboard, blinking several times for his eyes to adjust to the sudden clarity of the room, only for his stomach to drop in the instant that he sees a bloody tissue weakly clasped in Kaipa's pale hand.

     Mindful of the drip in his arm, Alan props himself up with pillows before reaching for the remote to adjust the bed, finally able to half sit comfortably once the head is partially elevated. It's not the first time that he's ended up in hospital from the severity of his Hanahaki Disease, so he knows his way around dealing with waking up after such a bad turn that Wen has had him hospitalised on several separate occasions. Truthfully, Alan knows that it is part of the reason that Wen stayed for so long, even though it probably only made Alan get so much worse so much quicker.

     He gets a few visits from passing nurses over the next few hours, bringing both himself and Kaipa more water, and Alan eventually asks one of the nurses to grab a blanket for the shivering boy on the lounge. He would have gotten one himself, but he knows better than to try stand, let alone walk, on shaky legs. Alan tries to ignore the spark of warmth in his chest as he watches Kaipa snuggle closer to the borrowed pillow and pull the blanket tighter over his shoulders, the chicken seller looking so small and fragile in comparison to the last time Alan saw him laughing and almost awkwardly flirting with the banker himself.

     Thinking back on it, Alan can't recall throwing up a single asphodel petal for a few days after that encounter, which opens a whole new can of worms, questions and disbelief flooding his mind. How did he forget that so easily? They were the most peaceful days of his life after the chaos of the past year, where he was captivated by the bright eyes, awkward flirting, and warm smile of the chicken seller. Half smiling in disbelief, Alan looks over at the younger male, wondering whether, maybe, just maybe, there might be a way for both of them to survive — but only if Kaipa is fully on board with it as well.

     It's just past sunset when Kaipa's eyes open once more, the smell of porridge and rice soup permeating the room, his stomach growling hungrily at the idea of eating. An amused chuckle sounds, Kaipa sitting up as he sleepily rubs his eyes, looking over at where Alan is sitting comfortably on the hospital bed with a tray of food in front of him, the setting sun washing the hospital room with golden light. Captivated by the way the sunlight changes Alan's face into something so mesmerising, Kaipa can't manage to do more than stare with wide eyes and lips parted in awe, and the grin on Alan's face falters slightly, becoming worried.

     Before he can say anything in the form of an apology for staring, Kaipa feels the familiar tickle in his throat, panic rising in his chest as he covers his mouth and coughs, feeling the fully-formed flower in his mouth before he gets the chance to see it in his bloodied hands. He feels his stomach drop as he stares at the red spider lily, hands shaking and tears stinging his eyes as fear burns through his veins, knowing that he has less time than he originally thought, and Kaipa isn't sure whether that little fact is a blessing or a curse. Jolting when Alan's warm hand gently covers the flower, Kaipa stares at the older man through tears, so caught up in his own emotions that he doesn't realise that Alan really shouldn't be out of the bed.

     "Don't think about it right now, okay?" Alan prompts, carefully taking the blood-soaked flower from trembling hands and giving Kaipa tissues to clean his hands with. He sets the spider lily on the bedside cupboard and grabs a bowl of porridge and rice soup, exchanging it for the bloody tissues. "Eat something, and then, if you want to, we can talk."

     Kaipa can only nod and accept the bowl from the older man, feeling horrified that he has finally coughed up a full flower, not just petals and stamen — and that he has done it in front of someone who most likely has not reached that stage yet. But, a moment later, his mouth full of porridge and rice soup, Kaipa realises that they're both in the same boat anyway, so there's no point in hiding any of it — at this rate, Alan is going to reach the stage of throwing up a fully-formed flower sooner rather than later.

     It's a terrible thought, really, and Kaipa mentally berates himself for daring to even think it, hesitantly looking over at where Alan is sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed, eating his own bowl of porridge and rice soup looking as though he doesn't have a care in the world. Kaipa cannot help but wonder just what kind of person the banker truly is behind the front he puts up to placate everyone, and the chicken seller wonders whether he'll get the chance to see who Alan is before they both end up dead.

     Morbidity seems to follow Kaipa around like a lost puppy these days, so he's not entirely surprised at his current train of thought. Then his brain catches up to everything, Kaipa realising that, instead of throwing the spider lily in the bin, Alan has it on full display in the hospital room, the red petals seemingly on fire in the burning sunset light. Maybe, just maybe, he is not the only one with the morbid tendency to keep what's killing him, and that thought makes his chest ache.

     "You, uh, hid it well, you know," Kaipa says softly, stirring his bowl of food and avoiding looking at Alan, not fully knowing whether his words will upset the older man. "I never would have guessed that you had Hanahaki, at least not this severely."

     Alan huffs in amusement, raising an eyebrow at the younger boy. "I could say the same about you. How long?"

     "Almost a year. So, it's only a matter of time."

     "Why haven't you had the surgery?"

     Kaipa laughs dryly, meeting Alan's eyes. "Why haven't you had the surgery?"

     "Wen asked me the same thing," Alan says, his faintly amused smile becoming a grimace. "I don't have an answer for either of you. There are many things I could use as excuses, but none of them are quite right. You understand what I mean, right, Khun Kaipa?"

     "Drop the 'khun,' will you? Look at us: we're way past the stage of formality, Alan. But, you're right, I get what you mean," Kaipa sighs, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, fingers snagging on a few stray knots. "So, yours is Wen, yeah? He's the one that you can't let go, even though he's happy with Unc... With P'Jim."

     "And yours is that chicken rice seller," Alan mutters, feeling his chest tighten at the very mention of Jim. What surprises him, however, is that it's not simply the bitterness he feels for Jim having taken Wen, but the burning anger he feels for Jim being the reason that the young male by Alan's bedside is dying. "Neither of us have a chance of surviving this fucking disease without the surgery, but neither of us want the damn thing."

     It's somewhat amusing, to say the least. Their situations are damn near identical, the roots of their tales intertwining only slightly to begin with, but now they have reached the point where the overly fragile roots of their respective flowers have melded into something akin to codependency. It feels as though it would cause much more harm and agony than can be deemed as "good" or "necessary" to separate the tightly entwined roots than to let them consume the pitiful amount of life from one another in order to stay alive for as long as possible.

     The thought that tickles in the recesses of Kaipa's mind is one of dying somewhat comfortably alongside someone who knows exactly what he's going through. He can't help but think that it would be far less scary than dying alone, to be found by Jim or Saleng days later when they got worried enough — finding Kaipa either on the cold floor of his bathroom, on the hardwood floor in the lounge room in front of his mother's lounge, or curled up in his bed.

     Even though he is someone he doesn't know well, Kaipa finds that he wouldn't mind choking on spider lilies with Alan by his side.

     On the complete opposite end of the spectrum of thought process, Alan wistfully wonders if there's the possibility of them both being able to heal and not have to face their certain deaths in only a matter of months. Death, in a morbid kind of way, could quite possibly be a blessing; an escape from what they're enduring right now, but Alan wants to know whether there truly is a chance of both himself and Kaipa being able to live despite the hand they've been dealt by Fate.

     Even if, in the very end, they can't save each other, then, at the very least, neither of them will die alone.

     "Phi, can I ask you something?" Kaipa murmurs, setting his half empty bowl to the side, stomach rejecting the thought of consuming anything substantial after the flower he's not long coughed up. Looking over at the banker, the chicken seller's lips curl in amusement at the expectant look, the older man having a mouthful of food preventing him from speaking. "Shut me up if I'm crossing the line, but... Phi, could we spend more time together?"

     Caught off-guard by the younger's question, Alan swallows harshly and dissolves into a coughing fit, covering his mouth with a few tissues and inwardly cursing himself for not having expected the younger male to share a similar thought process to his own. He's more than prepared to answer once he takes the tissues away from his bloody lips, but his body goes cold at the sight of a nearly pristinely white asphodel flower decorating the tissues in his hand, all words fleeing his mind as he stares at the flower with growing horror. It was only a matter of time before he reached this point, but he didn't expect it to be now of all times.

     Kaipa's worried eyes spot the flower a moment later, horror for Alan settling into his stomach alongside the horror he holds for himself. "Phi... Your expression... Is this the first flower that you've coughed up?"

     Alan jerkily nods, unable to speak as the younger male stands and gently removes the flower from the blood splattered tissue, placing the delicate flower on the table beside Kaipa's own first fully-formed flower. It's only then that he can formulate any kind of response to either of the questions that Kaipa has asked. "We're both at the same stage, it seems. I am...not opposed to spending our remaining time together, if that's what you wish."

     "Phi, I have to ask: are you hoping that we heal each other?" Kaipa asks hesitantly, staring at their contrasting flowers sitting together atop the cupboard, wondering whether he's crossing another line. "Or am I...am I overthinking?"

     "Yes, that is partially the reason." Alan smiles slightly at the surprise that dances across Kaipa's face, the younger's head swinging to face the older in disbelief. "Although, whether we heal each other or not before it's too late, I'm not overly worried. If we don't, at least, when we die, we won't be dying alone."

     "What's the other reason?" Kaipa pushes, something that Alan can only call hope flickering to life in the younger's eyes. "Do you have a crush on me or something, Phi?"

     "Something like that," Alan shamelessly admits, knowing that, given the lack of time either of them have left, there's no point in dancing around the truth when he knows the answers to Kaipa's questions. "I'm not sure what it is just yet, but I do have a good feeling for you, Kaipa."

     "Good. Because I have one for you as well, Phi."

     "Just 'Alan' is fine."

iv.

     Alan wakes to the gut-churning sound of Kaipa coughing wetly and struggling to breathe, the sound echoing in the bathroom of the chicken seller's mother's house in a way that makes the hair on the back of Alan's neck stand on its end. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he forgoes his glasses and stumbles out of bed, coughing slightly at the tickle in his own throat, and silently praying that he doesn't trip over anything they've left scattered around the house. This happens more often than not as of late, one of them waking in the middle of the night to the painful sound of the other trying not to choke on the flowers in their lungs, but it doesn't make it any less terrifying.

     Spitting blood and petals into the once pristinely white sink, Kaipa looks over his shoulder when he hears the door squeak open, a pang of relief striking his chest when he realises that Alan has left his glasses, because he doesn't want the banker to see the amount of fully-formed flowers in the sink. Turning the tap on before Alan can get close enough to see the damage clearly, Kaipa washes down the drain what he can, scooping the rest from the sink and dumping them in the bin, hating the guilt that settles in his gut. They've promised not to hide the severity from each other, but Kaipa wants to keep Alan in the dark as much as he can; he doesn't want the older man to see that their attempt at healing each other isn't working.

     And Kaipa wishes desperately that the love he holds for Alan could be reciprocated.

     It's been almost a month since they moved in together, Alan selling his old condo and moving in with Kaipa for a fresh start away from the place that still holds the memories of Wen only days after leaving the hospital. Kaipa wishes that he could say it was a terrible decision to do such a thing, but, if he's to be completely honest, it's been anything but such a thing. If he were to sum up their relationship and the odd dynamic that they've built over the past few weeks, Kaipa admits that it has been pretty damn close to perfect.

     They don't fight, and rarely do they argue over something that isn't minor — like what they're having for dinner, or, on the very odd occasion, who's having the first shower after a long day at work. It's domestic, almost too domestic, and Kaipa feels like he's walking along a frayed tightrope waiting for it to snap beneath his unsure feet.

     "How long do you intend to keep hiding how bad it really is?"

     Kaipa laughs slightly. "When are you? I've seen the flowers too, Phi."

     Alan sighs, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. "Tell me honestly, Kaipa: do you even want to live?"

     "I don't know."

     "That's not an answer."

     Hackles rising, Kaipa spins around and stalks over to Alan, twisting the taller man's sleep shirt in his fists, glaring up into dark and defeated eyes. "I don't have a fucking answer for you then. Live or die, I don't fucking care anymore. I just want this over."

     Alan smiles slightly, amused at the sudden flip of emotion, knowing that he's finally hit a nerve. "We're both dying, and we're both in pain. It's not just you, Kaipa. You think I don't want this over too?"

     "You're a fucking asshole!"

     "And you're no ray of fucking sunshine either!"

     Emotions clashing dangerously in his chest, Kaipa feels everything bubble over after so long of repressing what he could, and he is partial to placing the blame of his next actions upon those emotions. Using the leverage of his hands in Alan's shirt, Kaipa drags the taller man down, lips and teeth meeting in a furious kiss. It's only momentarily that Kaipa forgets the blood still coating the inside of his mouth, but, from the way Alan groans and pulls Kaipa against him, hands burning against the skin of Kaipa's waist beneath his own sleep shirt, the younger has a feeling that Alan doesn't mind too much.

     There's not much finesse in stripping the clothes from each other's bodies as they stumble back to the bed, both Kaipa and Alan running on the desperation of wanting skin against skin, and also a severe lack of sleep from long shifts over the past week. The frustration that has steadily been building is finally finding its release amidst stuttered curses, harsh grunts, and panting moans, sweaty bodies moving together in tandem to chase a pleasure and release long since promised to both broken souls.

     While it truthfully isn't the worst way to let off some steam, it's also not one of the more healthy ways.

     Reality settles back in to find Kaipa on his back, Alan curled up against his side, ear pressed to the younger's rising and falling chest above his still thundering heart, the air thick with heat and sex. Squeezing his eyes shut, the younger boy murmurs out a curse, absently running his fingers through Alan's sweaty hair, wondering how they let it get to this point; how they have let everything build up for so long that this became the better option to beating each other bloody and black and blue.

     There's a pleasant ache already settling into Kaipa's body, and it's at war with the flurry of emotions stirring inside the young male's chest, warning him that sleeping with Alan may possibly be a mistake. But he doesn't want to think of it being such a thing, not when he holds such potent and damning feelings for the older man. Even if Alan doesn't feel the same right now, or ever, Kaipa is far happier to die because of this man instead of the previous one he had been dying because of.

     Thrumming beneath his skin, Alan feels the adrenaline and ecstasy slowly begin to settle, his heart still thundering away in his chest and showing no signs of slowing any time soon. He is far too close to Kaipa for his heart to beat normally, and his mind is reeling from the fact that he's just fucked Kaipa of all people in a way that's going to leave plenty of bruises. Now that he's finally had a taste of Kaipa's skin beneath his teeth and tongue, Alan knows that he's never going to be able to let the younger boy go.

     He was more than content to simply have the chicken seller's attention and affection without crossing that unspoken line, and, now that it's been crossed, Alan knows that there's no going back to what they had before. Previously, he could pretend that Kaipa didn't affect him in any sort of way, but now Alan knows that has no chance of hiding any of what he feels from Kaipa.

     "I'm sorry, Kaipa."

     Kaipa huffs out a laugh. "You didn't do anything wrong. We were bound to end up here sooner or later."

     "It shouldn't have been like this," Alan mutters, absently tracing his fingers across Kaipa's bare skin. "We should have talked about this before anything happened."

     "We'll talk next time, if that's what you want."

     "Next time? You... You want to be with me like this?"

     "Alan, we're living together, and pretty much dating. I like you, and I'm pretty damn sure that you like me too." Kaipa peers down at Alan's vulnerable expression. "You're older than me. Why am I the one comforting you about this, hm?"

     Alan grimaces, regret panging inside his chest. "You're right, I do like you. And that's why I don't want to lose you, Kaipa."

     "I'm not going anywhere, promise. You better not run away from me either, Phi."

     "I won't. We're in this together."

v.

     The first sign that he's no longer dying is the slow regression from fully-formed spider lilies tearing his throat to barely unfurled buds feeling like too-large tablets caught in his throat to coughing up only a few petals at a time.

     Staring at the furled bud only tinged with red cradled gently in his hand, wondering whether he's hallucinating as a result of his lack of proper sleep over the past few days, Kaipa doesn't know whether he wants to scream or to cry or even to laugh deliriously. What he also doesn't want is to think that his Hanahaki Disease is fading, only to viciously return once he fully realises and accepts that Alan has only been playing along with him; pretending to have feelings for him and waiting for the day they both die, together but unloved. It's a thought that has been knocking around in the dark recesses of his mind, and Kaipa hates that, when all is said and done, he holds such a low and cruel opinion of the banker.

     Alan has been nothing short of kind and, dare Kaipa say, loving over the past month and half they've been living together, looking happier and healthier than Kaipa has ever seen the older man as the banker shamelessly spoils the chicken seller, catering to almost every single whim. In Kaipa's opinion, it feels as though Alan is purposely burning through his savings, and Kaipa has to wonder whether Alan is doing it because he believes, in some small nook of his mind, that he is going to die; that there is no point in leaving behind money or anything of the sort because there will be nobody to pass it on to when he's gone.

     It's horribly morbid and depressing, thinking that, if they can't heal each other, they're going to die side-by-side in only a matter of weeks — possibly three months at most if they're to be considered in any way lucky. At this rate, given that Kaipa really does not have a clue about how Alan's Hanahaki Disease is, Kaipa fears that it will only be himself to live on, suffering under the crushing weight of loving someone who... Kaipa's heart physically aches at the thought, feeling as though his lungs are too small to breathe properly, and that is how he knows what he feels for Alan far outweighs whatever childish variation of feelings he once held for Jim.

     It terrifies him more than anything he's felt before, the thought of losing yet another person he loves.

     Stomach twisting uncomfortably, Kaipa drops the flower bud into the bin and rinses out the messy sink, watching, almost hypnotised by the sight, as petals and blood alike swirl amidst the water before being sucked down the open drain. It's a sight that he has grown more than accustomed to over the past year, but the sight of blood, though only slightly it may be, still turns his stomach — and it's not so much his blood, but more so Alan's that does it. Leaning over the sink, Kaipa sighs in defeat, staring into his reflection's own eyes and wordlessly praying that both himself and Alan get out of this alive and well.

     Glancing briefly at the clock, Kaipa leaves the house, turning the outside light on and locking the door, not sure whether Alan is going to have another late night after putting in more than enough overtime over the past few days, but knowing that it's better to be safe than sorry. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Kaipa lets his feet lead the way, having no particular destination in mind, only wanting to get out of the house before he lets the darkest of his thoughts consume him and send him spiralling down another dark hole. The streets of Pattaya City are nearly empty given how late in the afternoon it actually is, and, for a change, he's glad for the lack of familiar faces and polite greetings as they pass each other in the setting sunlight.

     He doesn't realise where his feet have carried him until he hears Wen call out his name, both as a greeting and in surprise, Kaipa smiling slightly at the older man, blatantly ignoring the heavy gaze of shock that Jim places upon the younger's shoulders. Kaipa really isn't surprised that he's ended up in front of the food van, because, to him, 'Moonlight Chicken' is still one of his safe places, no matter whether it's a stationary building or a mobile van — and, really, it was only a matter of time before he came back to it. Wen hangs out of the service window, handing the customer in front of Kaipa a bowl of their infamous chicken and rice, smiling warmly as they say their thanks and leave.

     "What brings you here, Kaipa?" Wen asks, briefly looking around for the chicken seller's nearly constant shadow, frowning slightly when he doesn't spot Alan. "You're usually not alone either. Where's Alan? Is he okay?"

     "He's okay, P'Wen. He's still at work."

     "Overtime again? He's meant to be taking it easy before..."

     Kaipa raises an amused eyebrow at how Wen trails off, laughing softly when the older man's eyes flicker over to Jim for a second. "You haven't told him about Alan, or about me. You're an odd person, P'Wen, because anyone else would have."

     Wen smiles slightly. "I have made some shitty decisions, but I'm not a complete asshole, Kaipa."

     "Change my mind about that," Kaipa teases, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Take a break while it's quiet and tell me about yourself, and about Alan."

     It's a blatantly obvious challenge that falls from Kaipa's lips, and the chicken seller wonders whether the older man has the guts to take up the challenge, watching with amusement as a plethora of emotions fly across Wen's startled face before settling on hesitant agreement. Kaipa doesn't take "no" for an answer, ordering both himself and Wen food before laying claim to the seat furthest from the food van, knowing better than anyone that Jim has a tendency to eavesdrop without really meaning to — and it's a habit that Kaipa himself has, irritatingly, picked up from the older man as well. 

     It's not that he doesn't trust Jim with what he and Wen are going to be talking about, but there are many things that Kaipa prefers to keep between himself and whoever it is he's speaking with.

     Kaipa honestly expects their conversation to be weighed down by hesitantcy, distrust, and awkwardness, but he's quick to learn that Wen has, much like Kaipa himself, the uncanny ability to make anyone and everyone in his presence feel at ease, his laughter and smile almost too infectious. The chicken seller should be surprised at that silly little fact, but, because Kaipa knows exactly how both Alan and Jim can act like when they're around both new people and strangers, Kaipa isn't even remotely surprised at the aura of comfort and trust that Wen gives off without even seeming to realise. 

     It's comforting, to say the least.

     The sun is far below the horizon when Alan finally gets the chance to leave the office, a dull throbbing pulsating at the back of his head and behind his eyes, formed from stress, overworking himself, and fear. He doesn't know when his last day is going to be, or when Kaipa's last day will come, and yet Alan is finding himself stuck in the office for longer than he'd prefer at the moment. It's exhausting and condemning, the weight they're putting upon his shoulders even though they all know that he's slowly being killed by the star-like flowers within his lungs.

     With that being said, the strain of it all has lessened, and Alan, with his mind currently fogged with exhaustion, thinks back on the last fully-formed flower he coughed up over a week ago — almost two weeks ago, if he gives it a little more thought. He's more likely to be spitting out bloody petals than buds as of the past few days, and that's something he hasn't had much of a chance to reflect on with the overwhelming amount of work he's suddenly been given at the bank. But in the soon-to-be silence of his and Kaipa's home with the weekend starting the instant he walks through the door? Alan finds that he will have the chance to simply sit and think about everything.

     He's not surprised to find the front door locked, Kaipa having started to lock the door over the past fortnight after a series of break-ins across the neighbourhood, so Alan finds nothing amiss as he digs his keys from the pocket of his slacks to open the door. Even him having to turn on the light doesn't call for worry, because he knows better than most that prices for electricity are rising to ridiculous levels, and it's easier to light a few candles or use lower wattage lamps instead of the ceiling lights. Not even the lack of cooking food has Alan uneasy, because he knows that Kaipa prefers it when they cook together, so that they can poke fun at each other for the differing ways that they cook certain foods.

     "Kaipa, I'm home," Alan calls, dropping his bag onto the coffee table and loosening the tie around his neck with a relieved sigh. He is far more tired than he used to be after working overtime several days in a row, and that is something he blames upon the flowers clogging his lungs and sapping his strength. "Did you want to go out for dinner, or order in? Kaipa?"

     Not hearing a response, uncertainty and worry pools in his stomach, hands trembling slightly as he heads towards the bedroom, fearing, more than anything, that he's about to find Kaipa cold to the touch on their bed. It's almost worse when Alan finds their bed neatly made, a black hoodie carelessly thrown atop the cover and no sign of Kaipa. Stomach flipping violently, Alan scurries to the bathroom, flipping on the light and praying that he's not about to find Kaipa motionless on the tiled floor, the relief of an empty room almost knocking him clean off his feet.

     He almost misses it, the flower bud on the bathroom floor, but, in hindsight, he wonders how anyone could possibly miss a bright red flower bud on pristine white tiles. Picking it up with trembling fingers, Alan's stomach swoops as his paranoid mind slowly catches up with the fact that Kaipa has seemingly regressed to coughing up spider lily buds instead of the morbidly beautiful fully-formed red spider lilies that Alan has become accustomed to finding in their bins. Tears sting his eyes, whispering pleas that he's right; that Kaipa is also beginning to heal, and that both their Hanahaki Disease will be gone sooner rather than later.

     Phone vibrating in his pocket, Alan pulls it out to read a text from Wen of all people, a disbelieving laugh echoing in the bathroom as the banker's sluggish brain absorbs the characters on the screen. Kaipa is with Wen of all people, which, in itself, isn't overly surprising when Alan really thinks about it, because the banker can see them eventually becoming friends despite the rocky start they've had. What unsettles Alan the most is that Jim is no doubt hanging around as well, and Alan doesn't want to see Kaipa fall back into wishing for the chicken rice seller to love him.

     It both pisses Alan off and scares the fuck out of the banker, the thought that the one he loves is anywhere near the man who has essentially driven Kaipa to the point of death.

     Alan doesn't give it much thought before replying to Wen, telling his ex to keep Kaipa there for as long as he's physically able to, the banker flipping off the lights and locking the door behind him as he hurries from the house. He curses the younger male up and down, side to side, as he hurries through the dark streets of Pattaya City, ignoring the faint jeers he distantly hears from drunk people, far more interested in getting to Kaipa before Alan loses his nerve. It's better to say and do what he wants while he has the courage, even if that means revealing that both himself and Kaipa have been suffocating on flowers for almost a year.

     Spotting Kaipa and Wen sitting at the furthest table from the food van, Alan feels a sting of relief in his chest. "Kaipa!"

     Kaipa's head snaps around, staring at Alan with disbelief. "Phi, what are you doing here? I thought you were still at work."

     "Finished earlier than expected. As for what I'm doing here, take a fucking guess."

     "Phi, what...?" Realisation dawns on the younger's face, almost tripping over himself as he stands and hurries over to the older man, regret shining in his slightly teary eyes. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Phi. I didn't even think—"

     "Clearly," Alan growls out, dragging Kaipa into a hug. "I came home, expecting to find you, and you weren't there. There was a fucking bud on the bathroom floor, and I thought that you had died."

     "I'm right here. I'm okay, I promise."

     "You promised me, Kaipa... I don't want to lose another person I love."

     Kaipa stiffens and carefully pulls out of the hug, staring up at the taller man with disbelief and hope warring for dominance as he wonders whether he has heard Alan correctly. "Phi, you... You love me?"

     "How can I not?" Alan smiles sadly, reaching up to cup the younger's face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "Kaipa, we've been through so much together, and we've grown so close. How could I not love you?"

     "You're not just saying that to make me feel better?" Kaipa asks, the brokenness of his vulnerable voice making Alan's heart ache painfully. "You're not just saying it because you know how I feel about you?"

     "You silly brat."

     Uncaring of the eyes they've no doubt drawn by now, Alan pulls Kaipa into a kiss, the younger boy whining softly in protest at first but soon after being the one to deepen the kiss, clinging almost desperately at the rumpled light blue button-up shirt that the banker insists having several of for work. Kaipa knows that the banker only owns so many of the same shirt because Alan knows that he looks good in that shade of blue, and he has a hunch that Alan is fully aware of the effect the older man can have on the younger when he's wearing said shirt — especially with a few buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

     Kaipa feels his lungs struggle sooner than he'd like, forcing their mouths to separate as a coughing fit irritates his throat, covering his mouth as best he can, eyes widening with horror as he feels the familiar tickle of flower petals and flowers rising up his throat. Croaking out Alan's name when he hears the older man coughing as well, Kaipa forgoes covering his mouth to reach for the other man, not wanting to choke on the spider lilies without having Alan's comforting touch. Alan accepts the warmth of Kaipa's hand without complaint, but he knows that it's not going to be enough to hold them both upright — especially given how weak their legs feel.

     Neither of them are surprised when hands help hold them upright, but Alan is slightly thrown off when he sees that it's Wen holding both Kaipa and Alan himself without any help, the eclectic male glaring over his shoulder at whoever is daring to come closer than they need to be. Wen doesn't let them go, even when spider lily flowers and petals spill from Kaipa's lips onto the ground at his right, or when the same happens with Alan's asphodel starry flowers and their white petals to his left. He holds them as they gasp for air, able to fill their lungs properly for the first time in over a year, heads spinning at the sudden emptiness of their once cramped lungs.

     Even though he's unsteady on his feet, Kaipa wiggles free of Wen's gentle but firm hold, wobbling as he moves closer to Alan, pulling the older man into a hug, both of their bodies trembling from the aftershocks of the disease in their lungs being expelled. Kaipa closes his eyes when he feels Alan return the hug, both of them holding on for dear life, their shocked minds struggling to accept the fact that they have found a love strong enough to destroy the physical representation of the unrequited loves that were killing them for the better part of a year.

     "We're so stupid," Kaipa murmurs against Alan's shoulder. "This could have been over before today, but we were both too scared to admit that we were in love again. We would have really died, Phi..."

     Alan laughs, throat feeling raw as he does so. "We're alive now, and we have each other. That's what matters."

     "I'm happy for you both," Wen says, a wide grin on his face as the two males pull apart. "I really am. But we are standing in a pile of blood and flowers, which isn't an overly comforting thought."

     Sharing a look, both Kaipa and Alan laugh.

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜: 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑦 (𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔)

i.

     Kaipa isn't too surprised that he is still dying, seeing no signs of regression within the realm of his Hanahaki Disease, fully-formed spider lilies still tearing his throat and barely unfurled buds still feeling like too-large tablets lodged in his throat.

     Staring at the bloody flower cradled gently in his hands, Kaipa doesn't know whether he wants to scream or to cry or even to laugh deliriously, because he feels so stupid for, even a single moment, childishly believing that the love of someone else could ever possibly heal the damage done by someone else. It's purely painful to think that Alan and himself have charged head-first into trying to heal and save each other, having nothing to lose except their own lives — which are forfeit even if they very well failed to destroy the flowers clogging their lungs and taking their lives. And Kaipa hates the knowledge that they've done just that: failed.

     The vicious and bitter part of Kaipa wants to blame Alan for it all; to lie and say that the banker has only been playing along with him, pretending to have feelings for him and waiting for the day they both die, together but unloved. But that's something the chicken seller cannot bring himself to accept, the dark thought that the older man hasn't been giving his all, when the Kaipa knows that Alan has been going above and beyond in a futile attempt to save both himself and the younger man. Kaipa hates that, when all is said and done, he actually has the capacity to hold such a low and cruel opinion of the banker.

     Alan has been nothing short of kind and, dare Kaipa say, loving over the past month and half they've been living together, looking happier and healthier than Kaipa has ever seen the older man as the banker shamelessly spoils the chicken seller, catering to almost every single whim. In Kaipa's opinion, it feels as though Alan is purposely burning through his savings, and Kaipa has to wonder whether Alan is doing it because he has always believed that he is going to die; that there is no point in leaving behind money or anything of the sort because there will be nobody to pass it on to when he's gone.

     It's horribly morbid and depressing, thinking that, if they couldn't heal each other in the bitter end, they're going to die side-by-side in only a matter of weeks — possibly three months at most if they're to be considered in any way lucky. At this rate, given that Kaipa really does not have a clue about how Alan's Hanahaki Disease is, Kaipa fears that it will only be himself to slip away into the darkness, no longer suffering under the crushing weight of loving someone who... Kaipa's heart physically aches at the thought, feeling as though his lungs are too small to breathe properly, and that is how he knows what he feels for Alan far outweighs whatever childish variation of feelings he once held for Jim.

     It terrifies him more than anything he's felt before, the thought of losing yet another person he loves.

     Stomach twisting uncomfortably, Kaipa dumps the red spider lily flowers mostly filling the sink into the bin and watches, hypnotised, as scant petals and blood swirl amidst the water before being sucked into the endlessly dark drain. It's a sight that he has grown more than accustomed to over the past year, but the sight of blood still turns his stomach — and it's not so much his blood that does it, but more so Alan's. Leaning over the sink, Kaipa sighs in defeat, staring into his reflection's almost dead looking eyes and finally admitting that neither himself or Alan will get out of this alive. They are to die, that much is certain — but they will not be dying alone, and they will not be doing so unloved either.

     Glancing briefly at the clock, Kaipa steels his nerves before digging the phone from his pocket, stomach churning with anxiety as he calls Alan. Kaipa has the terrible feeling that neither of them will last the night, and, call him clingy if you will, Kaipa is desperate to have Alan at his side for as long as he possibly can before they die. He can feel tears beginning to burn his eyes, chest feeling tighter than usual as he starts to hyperventilate, vision swimming with dark clouds and glowing with silvery, pin-prick sized stars. All he wants to do is curl up into a ball and cry, but he feels unsafe in doing so without Alan in the vicinity; feeling as though there are countless eyes watching as he suffers.

     "I'm so sorry, Kaipa," Alan says as soon as he picks up the phone, Kaipa feeling a small shot of relief at the simple sound of the older's voice. "They want me to work overtime again, and I'm trying to get out of it, but they're being really fucking insistent. I'll—"

     "Come home, please," Kaipa whispers brokenly, hating how his voice trembles and breaks. He hears Alan suck in a sharp breath, no doubt panicked, but Kaipa currently has nothing in his vocabulary to calm the banker. "Please, Alan... There's not much time left. I'm... I'm so scared."

     "Kaipa, how many flowers? Tell me how many." Alan begins to pack up his work, cursing when he almost drops his phone in his hurry. "Kaipa, talk to me, please."

     He sobs, sliding down the bathroom wall until he's sitting on the cold tiles, shaking his head even though he knows Alan can't see him. "Too many. Alan, please... I need you here."

     Alan swallows down on the irritating tickle in his throat, eyes watering as he tries to fight what he knows will be the worst thing for Kaipa to hear right now, but there's not much he can do. His throat and lungs convulse with a coughing fit, feeling the flowers rise up his throat and spill onto both his desk and the carpeted floor below, the white asphodel flowers bathed in blood. Alan curses painfully and stares down at the blood and flowers painting his work desk, faintly hearing Kaipa's worried voice echoing in his ears, and then he sees the terrified expression on his boss' face, the older man standing frozen in the doorway.

     Lifting his phone to his ear, Alan breathes out a steadying breath. "I'm on my way, baby."

ii.

     The sun is barely grazing the horizon when Alan finally reaches his and Kaipa's home, a dull throbbing pulsating at the back of his head and behind his eyes, formed from stress, overworking himself, and fear. He holds no certainty when his last day is going to be, or when Kaipa's last day will come, and yet Alan is more than terrified at the thought that their final night alive — their final night together — will be this night. With that in mind, all he wants to do is hold the younger male until the final darkness lays claim to them.

     It's condemning, the weight they've put upon each other's shoulders over the past month and a half, as they hold the knowledge that one is slowly being killed by the star-like flowers within his lungs while the other is being killed by the blood-red flowers most associated with death. Alan finds it just a little more than amusing that both himself and Kaipa have the flowers most tightly knit with death filling their lungs and suffocating them. In retrospect, the banker knows that he should have taken that little fact at more than face value; that he should have accepted the similarity of their flowers as the red flag that it truly is.

     There is much about them that is far too similar, and the flowers in their lungs only solidifies that fact.

     He's not surprised to find the front door locked, both of them having started to lock the door even during the day over the past fortnight due to a series of break-ins across the neighbourhood. However, given the current circumstance, Alan curses that little fact as his hands continue to shake, keys rattling obnoxiously in the otherwise nearly silent evening as he attempts to unlock the front door several times before succeeding. He doesn't bother turning any of the lights on, throwing his work bag onto the coffee table with little care before almost tripping over his own feet in his hurry to find Kaipa before something heart-wrenching happens.

     With uncertainty and worry pooling like acid in his abdomen, hands trembling as he heads towards the bedroom, fearing, more than anything, that he's about to find Kaipa cold to the touch on their bed. It's almost worse when Alan finds their bed neatly made, a black hoodie carelessly thrown atop the cover and no sign of Kaipa. Stomach flipping violently, Alan scurries to the bathroom, flipping on the light and praying that he's not about to find Kaipa motionless on the tiled floor, thoughts tormenting with the idea that he's too late; that Kaipa has already died before Alan managed to get home.

     The relief of finding the Kaipa crying on their bathroom floor, fully-formed red spider lilies and splatters of blood decorating the tiles, fresh blood painting the younger boy's lips red, almost knocks Alan clean off his feet. The instant that Kaipa sees Alan, the younger boy sniffles and reaches for the banker, Alan, uncaring of the blood and flowers, kneels in front of the chicken seller, pulling him into a hug he hopes is comforting. Breathing out shakily, Alan closes his eyes and lets Kaipa move closer, chasing what little comfortable warmth that he feels coming from the banker.

     Kaipa's throat feels raw from both coughing and crying, but he knows that he at least has to say something to Alan, even if it's muffled against the banker's body. "I'm sorry, Phi. I'm so sorry."

     "Why are you apologising? Hmm?" Alan asks, tightening his arms around the younger male as he feels tears sting in his eyes, hating how much pain Kaipa is in. "You didn't do anything wrong."

     "You were at work, and I—"

     "Hush. You did nothing wrong, Kaipa. Absolutely nothing."

     Kaipa sniffles, pulling back to look at Alan through teary eyes. "We've failed, haven't we, Phi? We're both going to die, and there's nothing we can do anymore."

     Alan wishes that he had something comforting to tell the younger boy, but there's nothing that he can think of that will calm Kaipa. "I wish it was different for us, that we had more time, but we don't. I shouldn't have pushed for us to do any of this, because it wouldn't be so hard right now. I am so sorry, baby."

     "Don't you dare say that, don't you fucking dare." Kaipa weakly hits his fists against Alan's chest, hating how the banker is trying to take all of the blame upon himself once again. "I'm here with you for a fucking reason, and it's not because we're both dying, you asshole."

     "Kaipa..."

     "I fucking love you, you jerk. We promised that we'd try to heal each other, and we promised that, even if we were to fail, that we'd stay together until the end. You promised me, Phi..."

     "I know, baby, I know. I'm right here." Alan closes his eyes, trying to fend off the tears he feels stinging his eyes; trying to be the strong one even though he's on the cusp of breaking down alongside Kaipa. "We promised each other, Kaipa, and I intend to keep that promise. I just... I don't want to lose another person that I love."

     Kaipa stiffens and carefully pulls out of the hug, staring up at the taller man with disbelief and hope warring for dominance as he wonders whether he has heard Alan correctly. "Phi, you... You're not just saying that to make me feel better? You're not just saying it because you know how I feel about you?"

     "How can I not love you, you silly brat?" Alan smiles sadly, reaching up to cup the younger's face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. It stings, the brokenness of Kaipa's vulnerable, youthful, voice making Alan's heart ache painfully. "Kaipa, we've been through so much together, and we've grown so close. How could I not love you?"

     Uncaring for the blood still on Kaipa's lips, Alan pulls the younger into a kiss charged with desperation, Kaipa whining softly and clinging almost desperately at the rumpled light blue button-up shirt that the banker insists on having several of for work. Kaipa knows that the banker only owns so many of the same shirt because Alan knows that he looks good in that shade of blue, and Kaipa has a hunch that Alan is fully aware of the effect the older man can have on the younger when he's wearing said shirt — especially with his tie gone, a few buttons undone, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

     Kaipa feels his lungs struggle sooner than he'd like, forcing their mouths to separate as a coughing fit irritates his throat, covering his mouth as best he can, eyes widening with horror as he feels the familiar tickle of flower petals and flowers rising up his throat. Croaking out Alan's name when he hears the older man coughing as well, Kaipa forgoes covering his mouth to reach for the other man with a bloodied hand, no longer wishing to choke on the spider lilies without having Alan's comforting touch, Alan accepting the warmth of Kaipa's hand without complaint.

     Blood-covered red spider lily flowers and petals spill from Kaipa's lips onto the ground and their laps, the feeling of something wet and warm soaking into their pants making their skin crawl. The usually almost pristinely white, star-like asphodel flowers and their petals that come from Alan's lips to join the spidery flowers drenched in enough blood to be mistaken for red themselves, and the sight makes Kaipa want to cry. They're so close to the end, sitting there on the bathroom floor, covered in flowers and blood, and that in itself is enough to make both men feel uneasy.

     Kaipa sobs and clings to Alan's now ruined work shirt, distantly hearing the tear of fabric, the metallic taste of blood making his stomach turn and threaten to expel what little it holds. He's been dying for almost a year and it hasn't ever really bothered him, but now, feeling as though he is on the cusp of everything ending, Kaipa feels absolutely terrified of dying. It's rather amusing though, the fact that the knowledge that you're dying barely has an effect until the moment you know that you're about to die.

     Alan sighs out a shaky breath and slowly stands, pulling Kaipa's trembling body up with him, knowing that now is going to be the only time he'll be able to coerce the younger into the shower. They've showered together countless times over the past month and a half, but there's something about this particular shower that feels different and far more intimate to Kaipa, the younger male unable to hold in his whimper whenever Alan's hands would leave his skin to grab something from the shelf. He wants. If this is to be their last night, Kaipa wants nothing more than to have Alan simply touching him at all times, fearing that, if they're not connected in some way, they're going to slip out of reach from each other.

     Only when they're curled up under the blankets, the chicken seller's head nestled into the join of the banker's neck and shoulder, does Kaipa sigh softly. "Phi, are you scared?"

     Staring up at the blurry ceiling, Alan nods slightly, not trusting his voice to remain steady if he dares to try speak aloud.

     "I am too. But, with you here, it doesn't seem so bad." Kaipa twists and grabs his phone, squinting at the brightness of his screen until he turns it down to the minimum brightness. "I'm gonna message Li Ming, tell him and Heart that..."

     "That we're dead? You've still got your sense of humour, Kaipa."

     "Unless you want it to be P'Wen and P'Jim that...that find us tomorrow morning," Kaipa says, opening LINE and trying to type out a message with his trembling fingers. "I don't want the ones who drove us to this point to be the ones to find us, Phi. At least with Li Ming and Heart, there will be no judgement."

     Alan hums softly. "They healed each other, didn't they?"

     "Hmm. The difference between us and them is that, with Li Ming and Heart, the cause of their Hanahaki was each other, so they had the higher chance of being saved." Sending the message, Kaipa turns his phone off and chucks it back onto the bedside cupboard before nestling back into Alan's warmth. "I had a dream that we saved each other, Phi, and I wish it was real."

     "Call me by my name, Kaipa. There's never been any point in formalities between us, not even when we first met at your mother's funeral — and fuck knows that we both tried to keep it as professional as we could before the hospital."

     Kaipa's eyes sting with tears, a smile curling his lips. "I love you, Alan."

     Alan breathes out shakily, holding the younger boy tightly. "And I love you, Kaipa."

iii.

     Cheery birdsong and warm sunrise fill the morning skies, acting in a complete contradiction to the shocking silence and bitter cold filling the home once full of laughter and life. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking out the new day's dawn, and the dark kitchen is deprived of its usual early riser making coffee before heading out on their run. The ghostly halls are silent, no half-hearted, half-asleep humming echoing from the bedroom as the second inhabitant makes the bed, dark hair still messy from tossing in their sleep, or from absent and aimless fingers running through the strands.

     The house is silent, not a creak or a groan to be heard, as if the brick and mortar is itself in mourning for those which it has housed for such a long time; for the ones that have loved the house as their home for decades and decades. If any a home were to have feelings, it would be this home, one formerly so full of light and happiness, protecting a mother and her son from the disasters of the outside world; protecting the son and his chosen lover after the mother's passing. And, now, this home has become a broken-hearted house, standing silent in mourning for the boy who has all but leaped after his mother, pulling his other half in tow with a warm smile.

     In a vain attempt to continue protecting its wards, the home tries to keep out the boy's friends, almost shifting enough to prevent the front door from being pushed open and allow sunlight and birdsong to enter the place where such things no longer exist. The home hears tearful pleading as its door is wiggled back and forth, the shorter boy calling out in vain for the ones the home protects even now, and, if the home were a living being, one should be certain of its heart breaking at the tears and begging. No longer fighting to protect its wards, the home sighs in defeat and allows the door to be forced open, surprised when it's gently closed and patted by the young boy's companion.

     Li Ming is careless — selfish, even. He doesn't bother to take off his shoes before running through the house, leaving Heart standing in the entryway, despite the severity of the situation, still polite in taking off his shoes before following after his boyfriend. To Li Ming, the house feels haunted and empty; far too silent to be a good sign, and he can feel his stomach twisting in fear before he even reaches the bedroom, heart aching in his chest at what he knows he is about to see before his own eyes. For Heart, he has not had much to do with either inhabitant of this house, but he can still feel the loss panging within his chest because, if the truth is to be told in full, without one of the house's wards, Heart and Li Ming would be sharing the same ending to their wild story.

     Entwined together on the queen-sized bed crowded against the wall beneath the curtained window, flowers of red and white preventing their lips from ever touching again, lie Kaipa and Alan, their hands tightly clasped together as if they're afraid of being torn apart in death. It's a morbidly beautiful sight, seeing how close the males are pressed together, the minute space between their bodies filled with a hypnotising bouquet of red spider lilies and white star-like asphodels. The meanings of the flowers painfully strikes whoever is either fortunate or unfortunate enough to see the sight, and there's no arguing that their meanings make everything feel so much more agonising.

     They're not to be parted, even in death.

     Li Ming doesn't have the strength to hold back his tears, a pained sound being torn from his throat as he feels his legs become weak and struggle to hold up his meagre weight. Even though he wants nothing more than to shrug them off, he doesn't fight the arms that gently wrap around him in a hug, pulling him back against a skinny body. A head gently rests against his and Li Ming feels himself crumble, turning in Heart's arms and hugging the deaf boy tightly, somewhat glad that his painfully pitiful sobs cannot be heard by the one he holds dear.

     Li Ming doesn't want to burden Heart with his troubles and emotions right now, not when the other boy has much more terrible things to deal with in his life. He wants to protect the boy as much as he possibly can without smothering him; without ending up acting just like Heart's own mother and father. While Heart may not be able to hear his boyfriend crying, he can see and he can feel the trembling of Li Ming's shoulders, he can feel the heaving of Li Ming's chest against his own, and, against the skin of his neck, Heart can feel how his boyfriend's lips part almost painfully with each gut-wrenching sob.

     Heart looks over Li Ming's shoulder at the boys decorated with flowers, silently thanking them for helping himself and Li Ming, but also cursing them for not thinking of themselves instead of others. Even if the alternative is to never feel anything for anyone ever again, because there was never a chance of them having their feelings returned by the ones who could have saved them, Heart is firm in the belief that Alan and Kaipa should have had the surgery to save themselves. Opportunistic as the older boys were, Heart feels as though they themselves must have known that they wouldn't be able to heal each other from the damage done by someone else.

     Pulling free of Heart's hug, Li Ming sniffles and wipes his eyes, a watery smile playing upon his lips as he looks over at Kaipa and Alan. "They were together in the end, at least."

     Frowning slightly as he's unable to read Li Ming's lips properly at the angle, Heart taps his boyfriend's shoulder. 'What did you say?'

     'Oh. I said at least they were together in the end.'

     Heart smiles slightly, chest aching, knowing how romantic his boyfriend can be at certain times, albeit rarely. 'Do you think they were happy?'

     'Yes, they were.' Li Ming doesn't hesitate in his answer. 'They loved each other, and they died together. I can't imagine P'Kaipa and Khun Alan being anything but happy, even before they died.'

     It's beyond painful, thinking about the last moments that Alan and Kaipa would have spent together, grasping at the hands of someone they love as the morbidly beautiful flowers living within the confines of their lungs burst into bloom and sapped the life from their hosts. Li Ming wonders whether they were frightened until their final breaths, hearts thundering within their chests as they struggled to breathe. He wonders if, maybe, just maybe, they accepted their deaths with a smile as they looked at the one they will always love above all else for the last time. There's a twisted sort of beauty about it all, if Heart would allow himself to think about it for more than a second, but it sickens him just that little bit too much to do so.

     It's terrifying to both think about and see the finality of it all, because, if Kaipa had of not pushed for Li Ming to confess his feelings to Heart before it was far too late for anything to be done, whether it would have been before or after Alan and Kaipa dying in their bed, both Li Ming and Heart would have ended up in this exact same position.

     Wiping his eyes, Li Ming smiles slightly at the forever entwined men. "Thank you, Kaipa."

iv.

     Rain is pouring from the ominous grey skies above on the day of their funeral, as if the heavens themselves are weeping from the loss of two beautiful souls. There's an unmistakable chill in the air despite it being the middle of summer, enough so that long sleeves are dragged from the backs of cupboards and donned for protection from the unruly elements, and those present at the joint funeral cannot help but feel as though the dour weather is more than fitting. They have lost two people who feel more like family than simple friends, and it's only right that the world mourns with them.

     Since the death of his mother, Kaipa has no family to speak of, and, as such, there was no one other than Jim and Li Ming to take in the chicken seller's body and take the family's stead in the bathing ceremony. It was hard, seeing the bright boy so lifeless and cold, his hands wet from the water and the sacred, white string tied around his wrists and ankles.

     For Alan, there was no one that could be considered as family other than his sister-in-law and her children, who were too far away to make the preparations leading up to the funeral. In the end, Wen ended up taking up the torch and caring for his friend's body, unable to stop himself from both crying and feeling guilty as he did so, because, after everything and despite everything, he does still care for Alan, and it's painful to see the usually cheeky man so still and unmoving.

     Funerals, within the Buddhist religion, are seen as a time to celebrate, due to the belief of the deceased person's soul being reincarnated into another life; a chance at a better life if their karma is right. However, it is undeniably hard to summon even a watery smile as the heartbroken mourners look upon the caskets holding the bodies of Alan and Kaipa upon the high table, surrounded by the very flowers that took their lives away. Voices cracking and tears unavoidable, beatific eulogies and countless prayers are spoken for each of the men, the words somehow managing to coerce scattered, wobbly smiles.

     And, despite the absurdity of the request, their bodies are cremated together.

     If the higher powers protest at such a thing, the heavens cry hard enough and loud enough that their words of condemnation go unheard by the mourners below. If the higher powers try to prevent the rightful reincarnation of the two souls, they surely have a fight upon their hands, for their souls will refuse to be held back in death as they were in life. If the higher powers try to separate the two souls, the heavens will wage a war spanning eternity if they must, for the wholly broken souls belong together no matter the life in which they are reborn.

     It's within the constraints of archaic rules in which the souls reunite, one as a cheeky troublemaker and one as a lost rule keeper. If they find each other familiar within the first seconds of meeting, who would deny them such a truth? Reincarnation is a strange thing, after all, and who's to say that certain events will not be a trigger of past memories?