Requested by: Ochako-Uraraka
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Coarse petals scratched at the bottom of your throat - a constant reminder that you were seriously ill. It happened more often around the object of your one-sided affections: Katsuki Bakugou. You honestly thought he was so incredible; he was strong (you tended to eye his muscles often), hot-tempered, breathtakingly handsome, but stylish and cool, all at the same time. You didn't have fantastic memories with him, to be honest, since you grew up together. His quirk manifested many months before yours, despite the proximity of your birthdays, and he used this as an excuse to torment you. It wasn't something you necessarily minded, but you weren't too happy when he started bullying Midoriya for the exact same thing. It was hardly his fault that he didn't have a quirk yet.
He seemed to grow enraged when you stuck up for your green-haired friend. You supposed that was your first heartbreak. Afterwards, he refused to so much as acknowledge you. Midoriya frantically apologised, not wanting to be the cause of your dispute. It didn't matter, though, because that crimson light you loved no longer shone your way. You still heard his voice - he had always been a rambunctious child, but now, it sounded foreign and distant. You would reach out a hand, give a desperate plea, but nothing worked; he always ignored you.
To him, you stopped existing. You, being so very young, weren't able to comprehend just why this was happening. He still spoke to Midoriya, even if it was in his usual, condescending manner, telling him how worthless he was without any power to his name.
That would have been so much better - you wanted to hear him shout at you for something stupid, because it meant that he still recognised you. Whenever your teachers made you pair up for an assignment, he would mutter something akin to "(L/n)? Who's that?" or "Don't know them!" or "Didn't they die or something?" He laughed like he was at a gathering with friends. He never talked about you. Soon, he stopped addressing you by name in class, despite many attempts at reconciliation by your teachers/peers.
Eventually, they began leaving him alone. They looked towards you, watched you shake your head sadly, and that was the end of it. Nobody dared mention the distinct, malicious atmosphere surrounding him when he was forced to be in your presence for upwards of two whole seconds.
Nobody questioned your divide.
Eventually, you stopped questioning it as well.
It was around that time you noticed a strange, uncomfortable, unknown sensation, like a wild animal clawing at your throat, as if it were trapped and attempting to escape. It happened in the solitude of your home, the first time, thankfully, but in the dead of night. You had been lying awake in bed, too mentally exhausted to sleep. You grabbed your neck, trying not to choke yourself, and ran into your parents' bedroom. You flung the door open so harshly that your mother bolted upright. Before she could ask what the problem was, you had clambered to her side of the bed, tears streaming down your face, yelling that you didn't understand why it was hurting so much.
Your mother implored you to remove your hands, as they were restricting your oxygen intake. The second you complied, that sickening feeling amplified, displaying itself in the form of dozens upon dozens of delicate flower petals, erupting from your mouth, in place of regular vomit.
Your mother, horrified, shook your father awake. She had no immediate answers. Neither did he. You sat on the floor, holding your mouth, not wishing for any more pain, or any more petals. You wanted whatever curse this was to recede that instant. If not, you feared it would kill you.
"(Y/n)," Your father started, reading the illuminated words on the laptop screen thoroughly. "Apparently you have the Hanahaki disease?"
He sounded incredibly uncertain - like he was seeing and comprehending the words at a sensory level, but was failing to process them. His brain just did not appear to be complying. Your mother sighed, taking the device from her husband. She read over the information carefully, then faced you.
"It says that the cause is unrequited love. You cough up flower petals a lot - probably for the rest of your life. I don't want to scare you," She paused, "but I think we should take you to a doctor. You need surgery, honey."
You swallowed. "Surgery?"
You mother nodded gravely. "Nothing too dramatic or painful. The doctor will remove the petals, but it will also take away any feelings you have for the person."
"It can stop the hurting?" You asked, innocently.
"Yes. Do you know who you have feelings for?" She asked.
You nodded. "It's this boy in my class. He picks on Izu-kun, and he used to pick on me too, but he stopped. Now he just ignores me." The last sentence was little above a whisper.
"Do you think you could live without loving him?"
"I just want the pain to go away."
--
Days passed without incident. The surgery had been successful - you didn't remember ever having it, and you certainly didn't remember your feelings for the aggravating, explosive blonde. He gazed towards you, immediately sensing a drastic change. You looked so much happier, and while you often took fleeting glances at him (which he always noticed, because why wouldn't he? You were obvious, and he was a genius), you weren't doing that anymore. It was like something had happened overnight.
He wasn't aware that you had ever experienced the Hanahaki disease. He didn't even know what it was. Not until he had his own agonising experience with it. A crimson hue crept on to his features, teasingly, as if asking why he had bothered to ignore you in the first place, if his face was going to flush and his heart would flutter nervously. He couldn't afford to seem weak around other people, especially not those who followed him for being quite so awesome. When you stuck up for Deku that time, and all the subsequent times, he was just really annoyed. He didn't want to get angry at you, and he didn't know how to fix his mistake.
So he didn't.
"Hey, Katsuki! What'cha starin' at?" One of his friends called, a great big smirk plastered on to their features.
He grinned. "Nothin'! Mind your own business!"
He opted to join in an ongoing conversation about heroes, just to take his mind off you, if only for a few moments. He wanted to say something, but his pride would be shattered. It was one or the other, and unfortunately, he chose himself, yet again. He knew that would happen. Everybody knew that would happen.
He got home that day, having been picked up by his mother, and headed straight for his bedroom. He slammed the door shut behind him, jumped on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling. He thought about that day, and the previous one. When had he started seeing a change in your behaviour? When had you stopped looking at him? He couldn't pinpoint an exact day, since he made a vow with himself not to interact with you, so it wasn't as if you had suddenly stopped talking to him - this he would have noticed.
No, he had distanced himself on purpose, yet he refused to accept the blame.
He would not be responsible for his own actions.
Pouting, he mumbled, "Why would she like Deku, anyway?"
He coughed, and coughed, and coughed. This was confusing - he never got sick. He hadn't gone anywhere near another sick person (he made sure to steer clear of them), and it wasn't raining outside. There was no possible way he could have caught a cold, or an infectious disease. Not wanting to appear vulnerable, he didn't inform his parents straight away. He wanted to brave this as best he could on his own first.
However, as soon as one cough was particularly loud and painful, he felt something unusual travelling up his gullet. It was a soft sensation, like flower petals? That couldn't have been the case though, he laughed, because he wasn't idiotic enough to ingest petals. He knew what could be consumed by humans, and despite flowers being edible, they weren't advised as a meal or light snack. Plus, he would have likely remembered if he decided to eat a flower. He would have been egged on by his friends, because they were too cowardly to undertake the daunting challenge. Except, he didn't recall any of that, so he reasoned that it never happened. But if it never happened, then how could he now be feeling those soft petals?
That was definitely what he was feeling - he was sure of it.
He remained splayed out on his bed, wondering what was going on, and making no attempt whatsoever to find his parents. He coughed again, and a disturbing mixture of blood and pink petals fell out of his mouth.
--
"Hanahaki? I can't believe he had that. He never said anything to us." Mitsuki sighed, leaning on her elbow.
They had questioned their son, and received the name (L/n) (Y/n). Naturally, they called your parents, asking if anything similar had happened, and what the basic procedure was. They told them that you had been given treatment for the exact same disease only a few days prior, and now had no memory of ever loving the boy. Katsuki's parents drove him to the doctor's. He neither agreed nor refused to have the surgery, so they went ahead.
However, no matter how much someone tries to change your heart, if your feelings are genuine, they will always find a way back. A doctor's job is simply to relieve pain - they can't change fate. No less than a week passed after his surgery, when you once more developed an unbridled love for the blonde. Every time, it was unrequited, and every time, you would need treatment.
This happened a number of times throughout your life, and it also affected him. He would catch your glances, see your blush, and immediately fall back in love with you. Then, he would require the surgery again. It happened so frequently that the doctors unanimously agreed to schedule appointments, and give the surgery for free.
When the two of you were of high school age, you both, alongside Midoriya, entered into the most prestigious hero school in the whole of Japan - the same one you had been literally dying to attend for so long. Katsuki was his usual, angry self, and Midoriya was an angel. He never mentioned anything to do with your feelings, but he never tried to get in-between you. When you wanted to talk to the blonde hedgehog, you would talk to him. Or at him, it depended on whether or not he was actually listening.
Most of the time, that was a decisive no.
[Word Count: 1830]