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“Pro Hero Deku, you are the longest living person with Hanahaki, correct?” An interviewer asks. The man, Izuku Midoriya, also known as Deku, freshly 23 and at the top 5 of the hero charts, smiles at the woman.
“Ah, yes. It’ll be twenty years this year.”
The woman’s eyes widen, “Wow! That’s incredible! How do you do it?”
Deku hums, turning his head slightly, “Frankly, I’m not sure. I believe it’s because my love started so young- at three- that the flowers rooted into my lungs and I have grown sort of- acquainted.
The worst of my flowers were in middle school, and I almost died! But luckily, I made it through. The doctors figured out that they can trim my flowers back enough without uprooting it completely. I went almost twice a month in middle school, and by the time I started high school, I went once a month, to every 3 months, to every 6, and now I’m able to go in just once a year.”
“That’s incredible- why have you never considered getting the surgery?”
“Well,” Izuku started, “I’ve never been a role model in self-preservation for one. I have loved the same person for 20 years and he’s in almost every memory I have. Every single thing I’ve gone through, he was there.
It would mean forgetting who I am. And I would rather love and die young, make a difference while I can, than forget myself and die old because I forgot who I loved. There’s no other option for me.”
The Interviewer smiled sadly as she flipped a page in her notebook, “Admirable. It seems like you’ve thought a lot about it- tell me, why not confess?”
“He loves someone else,” Izuku says softly, letting out a cough and smiling sadly down at the petal, “I could never take that from him. After all, it’s okay if he never loves me, it just gets a little harder to deal with every year.”
Katsuki stares at the TV. An engagement ring sits heavy on his left hand. It’s been years since he had last seen Izuku, as himself and Kirishima moved to Seoul, South Korea soon after graduating to get more experience and training as heroes. He had been convinced convinced himself that Izuku could never love him back, only to find out Izuku had Hanahaki over twenty years? And the only one he had truly known for that long was Katsuki himself.
It seemed outrageous, but the beautiful red petal that sat so stark against Izuku’s hand was proof enough. He picked up his phone and searched for Deku’s name, finding a post on how his agency released x-rays of his lungs.
Most importantly, what did he do now? Of course he loved Eijirou, so he shouldn’t visit Deku, but he wanted to so bad. His heart hurt and an uncomfortable feeling settled within him.
Katsuki hurried to change the TV and deleted his web history as he heard the door unlock, with a familiar chime of ‘I’m home!’ from his soon to be husband. Right.
He's getting married to this man. The one he loves. Not Deku, because Deku can’t love him back. No. And he doesn’t love Deku.
“How was work?” Katsuki asked, settling into the couch as Eijirou came behind to press a kiss to his head. A hand comes up to run through Katsuki’s spikes and he lets out a content sigh.
“Not bad, it wasn’t too crazy, a mugging and a car crash was the worst of it.”
Katsuki hummed and nodded, tilting his head back to accept a kiss pressed against his lips. Yes, this was his place.
Eijirou walks off to their room to get undressed and take a shower and Katsuki glances back to the TV, deciding quickly it was time to start dinner for them both.
Easier to forget than to face what was in front of him.
Izuku glanced down at the headlines he was sent. A deep dread settled in his stomach.
‘Dynamite and Red Riot to be married?’
Ah, of course. He’s happy for them, truly. Izuku sits in front of a waste bin with tears streaming down his face as he feels his lungs tear apart with what he assumes are roses. After this vomit session, he’s going to make a hot chocolate and some leftover katsudon his mother brought him and cry to the newest All Might movie.
He forces himself to cough up the familiar, tickling feeling of a carnation and sobs at the yellow colouring. Izuku long ago studied the language of flowers to understand that despite the soft, beautiful yellow colour of the flower, it simply symbolized rejection.
The idea of a second trimming this year crosses his mind, after all, roses are painful in their indiscriminating thorns, tearing the lining of his lungs. He coughs up some more petals, coated with a layer of fluid and chunks of viscera, glistening in the low light of his bathroom.
Disgust wells up inside of him as he stares inside the bin. He actually pukes into the bin as well, residual petals and his breakfast floats around with the carnation.
Blood dribbles from his lips along with an ungodly amount of saliva. It drips down slowly like honey into the bin. Despite twenty years of this, Izuku can never get used to it.
The idea of surgery crosses his mind as the thorns tear up his esophagus, his cough splattering blood on the yellow carnation. A black rose forces its way out, laying limply in a pool of vomit, tears, and blood. Another one quickly follows and Izuku grabs a glass of water.
It burns as the water runs down his throat. He takes a shaky breath, the action bringing even more pain to his body. His hands dial the doctor as he struggles to breathe. Voice raspy, he knows he sounds like he just crawled out of hell.
“I need another trimming.”
He hacks up another rose immediately after, being informed that there’s an opening in the next week.
The phone call ends, letting Izuku let out the pained sobs mixed in with wet coughs and normally velvety soft flower petals turned into mini torture devices drag through his throat. It feels like middle school all over again, roses tearing through him at every opportunity.
Maybe this is it.
Katsuki and Eijirou go back to Japan to have their wedding. Their whole class is invited of course. It took a little more to goad Eijirou into letting Izuku attend, but who else would Katsuki want to be his best man?
After all, Izuku brought out the best in Katsuki.
“Do you, Katsuki Bakugou, have Eijirou Kirishima to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The officiator had asked.
“Of course, I do.”
“And do you, Eijirou Kirishima, have Katsuki Bakugou to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do!” Eijirou’s smile was bright, zeroed in on Katsuki’s face. His gaze didn’t even venture to the green haired man who’s barely rubbing his throat to not cough. Nope. No way.
The officiator smiles, “Then with the power vested in me, you may kiss the groom!”
The two men smile as they lean in to deliver a searing, passionate kiss to the other. They don’t notice the pain in Izuku’s eyes as he desperately wishes that it was him. He can't help but long for Katsuki's lips on his, and can't help but curse fate for the roots in his lungs.
The ceremony continues, because of course it does, and Izuku attempts to ignore the feeling of the flowers growing in his lungs, much faster than before.
Izuku always knew Katsuki would be the death of him. The blond seemed so happy, so carefree, as he kissed his newlywed.
A few flowers are stuffed into his pocket.
When Katsuki grins and turns, throwing the bouquet he held at the wedding. Izuku catches them, laughing at the irony. He doesn't notice Eijirou glaring daggers at him.
“Why couldn’t you just hate him?” Inko sobs into the hospital bedsheets, “Why didn’t you fall for someone who loved you back? Why would you love someone you could never be happy for?”
“Of course, I’m happy for him, Mom,” Izuku spoke softly, stuck on a ventilator, curved, pink petals of what he recognizes as cyclamens sticking to the clear mouthpiece. Inko sobs and grips onto his hand. Even with the most recent trimming, the recent wedding made the flowers flare right back up, and Izuku thought maybe it was time to let go.
His mother still thought he should have the surgery, but Izuku refused. So, there he sat, waiting to die, with a ‘do not resuscitate’ note on his file.
He could feel the roots of the flowers crawling through his lungs, making the ventilator strapped to his body work double the time. Every breath feels like the end of a root pricking through the lung, wanting to rip through the muscle to spread throughout his body.
Izuku can feel the exact moment it happens, smiling sadly at his mother.
“I love you, Mom, I need you to know that.”
When Inko looks up, she screams as Izuku’s eye blooms into a carnation with a loud squelch, the edges dipped a deep red. Blood mixed with clear liquid runs down his cheek, flowing around the edge of the mouthpiece of his ventilator.
She watches as a dark colour grows through his veins and she draws a horrified conclusion that those are plant roots.
It’s only solidified by the flowers piercing through seemingly random points of his skin, little buts quickly flowering and rapidly growing in pursuit of the sunlight. Every single wound that sprouts come with its own trail of blood oozing downwards almost like syrup leaking from a freshly made waffle.
Inko didn’t know what to make of the scene in front of her.
Within seconds, Izuku had turned from her loving son, sickly but full of life, into a garden of roses, daisies, carnations, and asters. Blood stained the hospital bed he was lying in, something akin to rust permeating into the room, and she found the nurse's button and pressed it as quickly as she could.
She could only sit and stare as her only living relative was taken from her.
‘Number Two Hero Deku, Dead at 23’
The Hanahaki had gotten him. Katsuki had felt the seeds planted within his lungs long ago.
Time was meaningless as he stared at the headlines. A soft cough came from his throat, then another, and he watches as a purple petal flutters down to his phone.
“Oh, Kats,” Eijirou said softly, running his fingers through his hair. Katsuki almost didn’t hear him. Everything in his mind felt clouded with a sort of deep-rooted regret in his chest. The hand in his hair soothed him somewhat.
“Ei- I-”
“Don’t speak, baby. I knew.”
Katsuki looked up to his husband with wide eyes, but Eijirou just gave him a warm, reassuring smile. The gesture made Katsuki relax, letting out a soft hum.
“What do I do?” Katsuki asked quietly. Eijirou smiled again.
“The surgery, of course,” He said, “It doesn’t make sense to pine over someone who could never love you back.”
Katsuki lets his eyes flit over to the purple petal, “Yeah, okay, that makes sense.”
Another kiss is pressed into his temple. It feels like something concrete, something that’ll turn Katsuki’s life into something different. He feels a brief fear of- without Deku, who is Katsuki? However, he ignores it in favour of turning to his husband.
“I’ll make the appointment for you, darling, you won’t need to worry your pretty little head.”
Katsuki hums as a kiss is pressed to his lips. Yes, this is his place.