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Hitoshi first noticed the petals when he coughed into his hand during class, their pale yellow edges trembling against his skin. They smelled faintly of ozone, like the way Kaminari’s laughter always charged the air around him. He shoved them into his pocket before anyone could see, chest aching as the roots began to take hold. He knew exactly what it meant: his feelings were no longer just a weight in his chest. They were blooming, invasive, and stronger with every laugh and grin Kaminari threw his way.
Denki had noticed that Shinsou had started coughing a bit during a lesson and wondered if he was getting sick or something. He figured once the bell rang for lunch he would go over and check up on him. He knew that sometimes he could be difficult and not want to go visit the nurse when he was getting sick.
However, once the bell rang, Sero made his way over to his desk and started chatting with him. He didn't want to brush him off super quick, so he smiled and listened to what he was talking about. Citrine eyes would look past him every few seconds to look over at Shinsou who was slowly starting to get up and gather his things.
Sero tilted his head in question and snapped his fingers in front of his friend's face, "Hey, man, you okay?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry, I just needed to chat with Shinsou real quick. Be right back."
Sero smirked, "It's fine, why don't you just meet us in the lunch room when you're done. You could always bring him along if he's inclined to join us this time."
Denki laughed, "I'll ask, I do enjoy him ragebaiting Bakugo."
Bakugo perked up hearing his name, "What'd you say about me!?" but Denki was faster to run past the group as he followed quickly after Shinsou who had just stepped out the classroom door.
"Hey, dude, are you good?"
Hitoshi stopped, his back still turned towards Kaminari. He had a hand in his pocket, feeling the petals there, things of beauty and death.
He schooled his face and turned. Kaminari was looking at him, lines of worry etched into his face.
"Sure, why wouldn't I be?"
Hitoshi forced himself to smile. He didn't want to raise any suspicion. He could feel new pressure build inside his chest and swallowed harshly. He just needed to get away.
"I don't know, you've been, like, coughing. Are you getting sick?"
Kaminari stepped forward and reached up, putting his hand on Hitoshi's forehead, the fingers cool and careful.
Hitoshi's throat itched but he was frozen in place.
"That doesn't feel like a fever though," Kaminari mumbled to himself.
"I'm fine," Hitoshi pressed out. Kaminari was touchy like this with all his friends.
Hitoshi had no delusions about this. He and Kaminari were friends. They could hang out and play video games and study - but that didn't mean that Kaminari was reciprocating his feelings.
Hitoshi didn't like to think about who Kaminari liked - too painful. He also flirted and laughed with everyone, so there wasn't much to go on.
Kaminari now looked him up and down, head tilted slightly, but after a moment of scrutinizing he nodded.
"Okay, if you say so. But you tell me if it gets worse, okay?"
Hitoshi nodded back, not trusting himself to speak around the ever growing itch. He pointed over his shoulder towards the bathrooms and thankfully Kaminari understood. He smiled brightly at him and Hitoshi balled his fist more tightly.
"Do you want to come to lunch with us? We can ragebait Bakugo together!"
The excited way his eyes sparkled left Hitoshi no choice. He nodded. Then he quickly turned before either of them could say anything else.
With quick steps he made his way into the bathroom, keeping his lips pressed together around the coughs that wanted to stumble out and instead filled his mouth with more petals.
Only when he was truly alone in a stall, he allowed himself to open.
The petals burst out of him in a cloud of yellow. Hitoshi coughed and coughed and coughed, heaving with the pain of expelling even a flower bud. It was stained red.
"Shit," he mumbled to himself. He felt shaky and sweaty from the exertion.
He shouldn't have ignored the pressure in his chest, the slight stings over the last few weeks. He had told himself it was nothing, just the pressure and stress of being in the hero course manifesting itself. But it was clear that that wasn't it. He had Hanahaki.
Hitoshi walked out of the stall after flushing the petals down when the door to the bathroom opened suddenly. Like a deer in the headlights, he saw himself face-to-face with his teacher and father, Aizawa.
"Who is it?" Aizawa asked flatly, crossing his arms.
"Who's what?" Hitoshi retorted, moving to wash his hands.
Aizawa reached forward and pulled a petal from the corner of Hitoshi's mouth. He pinched it between his fingers, holding it up to Hitoshi's eyes. Aizawa just stared at him, waiting for a response.
"It doesn’t matter," Hitoshi sighed.
"Hitoshi, you know the consequences of letting this go too long."
"I don't care, Dad. They don't even like me back."
Aizawa thought for a moment. "Kaminari."
Hitoshi's eyes widened, surprised his dad figured it out so quickly. "How did you--"
"It wasn't that difficult. I see the way you look at him in class, in the halls, at lunch."
"Yeah, well, he's not interested in guys. You see how he flirts with any girl that crosses his path."
"And yet you're the first person he talks to in class. He sneaks glances when you're not looking. Blushes sometimes, even." Aizawa paused for a moment, letting Hitoshi absorb his words. "How far along is it?"
"Chest aches. Coughing up buds."
"Blood?"
"A bit," Hitoshi looked defeated. "I don't want the surgery, Dad. I don't want to forget about how much I care for him."
"Then talk to him. I'm not letting you drag this on like some angst-ridden fan fiction trope where the protagonist waits until they're on their death bed to confess."
"No, I...can't. He'll laugh it off. He'll reject me."
"Suit yourself. Shall we start planning your funeral?"
"Dad!"
"Then stop being a fucking idiot."
Aizawa stared at his son one more time, annoyed at his stubbornness, then turned and left the bathroom.
Maybe he's right. Maybe I should talk to him. What's the worst that could happen? Rejection. Then what? Maybe I will get the surgery.
Hitoshi heaved in a deep breath, forcing him into another coughing fit. Two more yellow buds fell from his mouth.
"Shinsou?" Kaminari's voice whispered from behind him.
Hitoshi froze in place.
He froze breath caught in his throat. He thought he’d have a bit of time to prepare the right words to say, thought he’d have time to psych himself up and get rid of the anxious swirling feelings in his chest, but, no, there was no time for any of that.
No time at all because standing behind him was the sun to his moon, the day to his night. Yeah there’s no way he could tell the other he was fine even if he wanted to because he couldn’t hide it anymore. Denki had more than likely already seen the yellow buds that now lay in his hands. No more hiding. This was it, his moment to either be cured or still be doomed by the flowery disease.
The yellow petals in Hitoshi’s trembling hand looked obscene against the stark white of the fluorescent lights, fragile proof of everything he had buried in silence. Denki’s eyes stayed fixed on them, wide and unblinking, until he finally whispered, voice cracked, “Who?”
Hitoshi’s throat closed. His chest seized as if the flowers themselves were climbing higher, strangling the truth before it could escape.
“Who?” Denki asked again, softer this time, as if coaxing an answer from a frightened animal.
Hitoshi’s lips parted, but nothing came. His fear tasted like iron. His pulse roared louder than any words could.
Denki gave a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, the sound catching in his throat. “Of course… of course it’s like this. We’re so alike.”
Hitoshi blinked at him, startled. “What do you mean?” scared he was found out.
Denki’s mouth tilted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. His hand slipped into his blazer pocket, slow and deliberate, before pulling free a trembling handful of crumpled, violet petals. They spilled between his fingers, fluttering to the floor between them.
Hitoshi’s breath caught, his eyes going wide as the world seemed to tilt.
Purple and yellow petals scattered across the tiles, their colors mixing together in a quiet, devastating confession neither of them had dared speak aloud.
“Y-you too?” Hitoshi found his words whispering.
Denki nodded, “I had a sore throat the past few days. I didn’t say anything cuz I didn’t want to make you worry.” He blushed a bit looking down at the mix of their petals, “These are my first petals. I left the cafeteria when I thought I was going to throw up and they just came out.”
He was in the early stages. Hitoshi had been there, knew how sore his throat must be. But instead of asking if he was alright he swallowed the lump in his raw throat and asked, “Is it…” He paused, unsure.
“You can ask.” Denki stepped closer, “We shouldn’t have secrets between us now.” He didn’t seem put off by the situation, in fact he seemed like he was getting resolve from something based on the slight smile now slowly coming to his face.
“Is it… Jirou?” He whispered.
Denki’s smile faltered, his cheeks pink as he shook his head quickly.
“No,” he said, soft but certain, eyes flicking away.
Hitoshi’s mind spun, desperate for another name, another possibility, because it couldn’t be what he hoped.
A small laugh escaped Denki, almost breathless. He lifted his eyes again, and there was something new in them now, something Hitoshi couldn’t quite hold without trembling. “Hitoshi…” Denki stepped closer, until he stood right in front of him, almost touching. The petals between them felt like a warning. “Who else do you think my flowers are from?”
Hitoshi’s throat tightened again and his palms went clammy. He wanted to speak, wanted to name the most unlikely answer, but doubt gnawed at him, cruel words he told himself. Denki’s eyes caught his, holding him still, sparkling even under the harsh hallway lights.
He swallowed, his voice so fragile it barely stirred the air between them. “Me?”
Denki’s smile widened, not teasing but gentle, like he had been waiting for Hitoshi to believe it. He gave a slight nod and Hitoshi’s eyes widened.
“Wait, really?”
The blond chuckled sweetly, “There’s no one else they could be for.” He stepped up with his hands resting on Hitoshi's chest, “Even though it hurts, you’re the only person that can make something so painful look so pretty and worth growing in my chest.”
“I-I feel the same.” Hitoshi said, his face turning more and more red.
Denki giggled standing up on his tip toes barely touching his lips to Hitoshi’s, “I know now” He whispered before sealing it with a kiss.
Though the kiss lasted only a few seconds, to them it felt like years. Pulling apart, they sighed and inhaled deeply. For the first time in months, Hitoshi breathed freely. No ache. No cough. No petals.
He closed the distance and kissed Denki once more, slower, deeper. He savored the feel of his lips and the warmth of his mouth. Too absorbed in the feeling, neither of them heard the final bell ring, signaling the start of class.
Unaware of the time and their surroundings, they nearly had heart attacks when the bathroom door burst open. Aizawa's glare was red and threatening. "The bell rang 3 minutes ago. Get off each other and get to clasbefore I take your quirks and shove them up your asses!" he spat out.
Denki, now flushed red in embarrassment, squeaked and ran out the door.
"Dad, I just found him! Why did you have to go and scare him off?"
"You know this isn't the last time you'll see each other, right?"
Hitoshi rolled his eyes as he brushed past Aizawa and headed to class.
"Oh, and Hitoshi?" Aizawa added. "Remind me to warn you about loud blonds."