“The Hanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love. Patients who suffer from it throw up and cough out flower petals. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings for those they love disappear along the petals. It can be cured without side effects only when the feelings are not returned.” (Matsuda, 2009)

            He sat quietly next to the small pot of African violet sprouts, peeking out a little through the window. The girl was still there, spinning with glee, white, flowy fabric spreading out around her like a blooming lily. The heavy corners of his lips unconsciously rose up as the girl’s laughter echoed throughout the small, dense neighborhood.

            “I’m disowning you, Mr. Byun Samuel.”

            Without turning his back, he knew it was Minsoo, who barged into his room for the fifth time today as if his warning about knocking on the door did not exist.

            “What the hell are you doing here anyway?” He snapped grumpily, the tips of his ears turning a light shade of pink.

            “Uh, watch you drooling over your neighbor for thirty minutes straight, as always.”

            Minsoo walked over; the smirk on his face screamed “loser” at him. Samuel quickly reached out to wipe his mouth, only to find out that he was played again. He threw whatever he could grab at that obnoxiously handsome face of his friend, and, as always, Minsoo swiftly dodged the three-hundred-page English textbook that was flying straight to his neck and slid into the rocking chair beside Samuel.

            “Frankly, I don’t think she’s even as good-looking as me.” He bent over the window sill, and almost fell over when a veined hand slapped his back ruthlessly.

                                                        *      *      *

            It all started when an old, angry van parked in front of his neighborhood, endless smoke rising from its tail. His mom kept yelling his name from the kitchen, saying something like “Samuel get your butt out of your room,” “We have a new neighbor,” “Time to socialize,” blah blah blah. He ended up holding two trays of home-baked cookies and standing awkwardly next to his mom. It was chill; autumn winds blew his soft bangs to the side, revealing a clump of pink, oily acne on his pale forehead. He had the urge to dump the trays in his hands so he could pull up his hood and kindly cover the stupid pimples. Standing in front of him, of his ugly acnes, was a girl with dark doe eyes that would turn into twinkling moon crescents whenever she smiled and soft, rosy cherry-blossom lips. For the first time in his life, Samuel desired to kiss someone, which was totally creepy, he later reflected with shame—he just met her, and she was completely oblivious to his corrupt thoughts.

            So she said, “Yoojin,” and extended her hand towards him. Her delicate face was bathed in the sunlight; for a good three seconds, Samuel could not stop staring, eyes tracing over her elegant nose bridge, and her round cheeks yet pointy chin. He panicked a little after realizing what he had been doing and reached out his sweaty palm. But he forgot the trays he was still holding, and the steaming hot chocolate-chip cookies on them.

            Later, when Minsoo tried to convince him that it was stupid for Yoojin to try to shake his hand in the first place, he just mumbled a tiny “no” and collapsed onto his bed. Maybe she was expecting him to give the trays to his mom. Maybe she wasn’t even trying to shake his hand. His mind was a tangled mess. But either way, he screwed up.

            Rest in peace, Yoojin’s first impression of Byun Samuel.

                                                       *       *       *

            Great. Awesome. Amazing. He cackled bitterly at the scene in front of him, not knowing what was going through his mind. For an entire minute, he stood there still, frozen, not moving a single muscle.

           There were these snow-white pedals, floating peacefully and aimlessly in the toilet water. He stared at them. The Hanahaki Disease. The dry, irritating feelings tickled at his throat, and he bent over the toilet again, coughing, gagging, till he couldn’t feel his lungs anymore. There were even more pedals in the water now, overlapping each other, slowly diffusing out the sweet scent of lilies.

            How beautiful, he thought, yet so cruel.

            His feelings for Yoojin were growing stronger over the years, but apparently, not Yoojin’s feelings for him.

            He fidgeted around with the dead skin around his fingernails, pulling it so hard that blood smeared over his pale hands. The heavy poundings of his heart immersed him in a dark ocean of hideous thoughts. Then he felt something wet on his cheeks. For a second, he refused to wipe it away.

            Uh, is he, the grumpy and carefree Byun Samuel, crying? He sniffled softly and tried to stand up, yet his legs were numb and clumsy. There followed an unpleasant melody of bottles of moisturizers, glass jars filled with green gel, and Minsoo’s facial cleansers dropping one after one to the ceramic floor tiles.

            Oh hell, he did not just trip over the sink. Samuel was dumbstruck on the ground, surrounded by a pile of glistening broken glass pieces and gluey skin-care products when a screaming Minsoo with an Ironman facemask barged into the bathroom.

            “Byun Samuel, you did not just bre-”

            The wrinkly face of the Ironman fell to Minsoo’s heaving chest. He stared at Samuel; there was surprisingly more caring than anger in his eyes. The latter raised his eyebrow, amused, but panic took over his face in a split second.

            “Get out.”

            He stood in front of the toilet, demanding coldly. But Minsoo did not budge a bit. Instead, he effortlessly pushed Samuel to the side as if he was brushing dust off his shirt.

            “It’s not like I haven’t seen your sh-”

            There was a minute of pregnant silence. Samuel could hear his friend’s uneven breathing. The goofiness in the younger one’s aura was immediately gone, replaced by stifled emotions that he was unable to recognize.

            “Shit,” Minsoo stammered, hazel pupils dilated in realization.

            Another minute of silence passed by.

            “Yoojin, isn’t it.”

            It was more a statement than a question. Samuel simply nodded and reached over Minsoo’s shoulders. The noise of water flushing down the toilet again drowned him in an endless spiral of pain. He breathed heavily, vision dark and blurry, and buried his head in Minsoo’s warm chest.

            “Don’t tell anyone,” He quietly mumbled out the words, misty-eyed, leaving tiny damped spots on the other’s black shirt.

            “Don’t tell anyone?” Minsoo abruptly pushed Samuel away. His voice was loud with disbelief, echoing around in the cramped bathroom. He looked up; the rims of his eyes were pale red. It was Samuel’s first time seeing his best friend cry.

            “Samuel, you wanna die?”  Minsoo finally burst into tears; his small, delicate face twisted in anger, “There are clusters of lilies growing in your chest. Yes, they are beautiful,” he stopped yelling for a second and sobbed faintly like a little kid, “but they are going to choke you till you can’t breathe.”

            Then it was quiet again, except for the noises of Minsoo sniffling and clumsily wiping his wet, salty hands on the back of his pants. Samuel clenched his fists tight, eyes glued to the sharp glass pieces on the floor. He could simply get the surgery. The Hanahaki Disease was so common nowadays that the process of removing the flowers from his chest cavity would be as easy as getting a tooth pulled out.

            “But…”

            “But what?” Minsoo took a big step towards Samuel, hands gripping his shoulders so hard that he winced in pain.

            But with these blooming white lilies gone, his feelings for Yoojin would also disappear.

            “You need the surgery.”

                                                             *       *       *

            It turned out that he didn’t have a choice. He ended up coughing pedals everywhere, leaving trails of white lilies from the bathroom floor to the driveway in front of his house. He woke up in a single bed, grimacing at the white ceiling of the hospital and breathing heavily through the oxygen mask that covered more than half of his face. The throbbing pain remained dully in his chest. And he immediately felt that something was missing. Something that accompanied him for three years, embellishing the blank days and nights he endured in that small, dense neighborhood.

            “You feeling better now?” It was the voice that he had always longed to hear, the voice that had been in thousands of his dreams.

            “Yeah, thanks for visiting me.” He looked up, tone cold and plain. Yoojin was sitting on a chair besides his bed, looking angelically in her white, flowy dress. He could smell the sweet scent of lilies coming from her. Yet his heart wasn’t fluttering, rosy blushes weren’t rising up in his pale cheeks, his breathing was even and undisturbed.

            The feelings are gone.

            After all these years.

            He started crying like a little kid. Endless tears rolled down his tiny face in various directions and all ended up silently in the white sheet beneath him.

            “It’s alright now, Samuel,” Yoojin softly wiped away the glistening droplets at the corner of his eye, “The person was lucky to have your love.”

            It was you, idiot. His heart yearned to yelp it out loud. For three years, he had been in love with the most oblivious idiot in the world.

            But not anymore.

                                                              *       *       *

            Minsoo stood outside of the operating room, holding a pot of pale violet buds cautiously in his shaky hands. For five hours, his blood-shot eyes had been on the huge, red “In Progress” sign, yet he refused to look away. He slowly craned forward, feeling his aching neck coming apart, and winced in immense pain.

            Samuel relapsed.

            It seemed like just a minute ago, the stitching on his chest was healing nicely, and the thin, pale boy was giggling fondly at Minsoo’s cheesy dad jokes. The latter babbled on and on, head resting on Samuel’s lap, eyes crinkling with glee as he successfully annoyed his friend with the corniest pick-up lines in the world.

            “You old man, don’t even tell people that I know-”

            Then they came. He bent over the bed, shaking, coughing, limbs trembling in excruciating pain. A cascade of blood-smeared white pedals spilled past his thin lips, landing softly on the alcohol-smelling comforter and Minsoo’s wide-opened eyes. Samuel collapsed among the lily petals. His bloodless cheeks faded into the serene snow-white background with sporadic red stains.

            Minsoo didn’t have time to think. Gasping, panicking, he screamed for the doctor, desperately tumbling out of the room, grasping every single passerby’s sleeves.

            Why, his feelings for Yoojin were strong, stronger that Minsoo thought they would be.

                                                           *       *       *

            How many times had he woken up to the white ceiling and the dense alcohol-smelling air? Samuel lost track. His eyes were sunken deeply into his tiny face, losing the soft sparkles that they used to have. His skin was no longer pale, but a shade of light grey with greenish tint.

            “Samuel?” A pair of turbid hazel eyes appeared on top of his face, staring intensely into him.  He struggled to lift the corners of his lips and smiled wearily.

            “Hey.” The dry little noise was barely squeezed out of his throat. He looked around, finding himself in a much bigger room and dozens of different tubes plugged into his wrist.

            Minsoo fidgeted around on the visitor’s seat. Half of his face was covered by a green mask, yet the streaks of tears were still visible under his huge eye bags. He carefully held Samuel’s hand, stroking his long fingers softly.

            “You are in the ICU. Only one visitor at a time,” he paused and glanced quickly at the small glass window on the other side of the room, “I refused to leave… Sorry, you would probably prefer Yoojin.”

            “No, I want you, Kim Minsoo.”

            The pair of hazel eyes widened. Somehow, Samuel couldn’t find the puzzling mist in them anymore.

            “Remember? It’s gone.” Samuel laughed drily, pointing toward his scarred chest.

            Minsoo looked down again, staring at the bony, trembling fingers in his hands.

            Yah, but not for long.

                                                                *       *       *

            “It is a simple process, but it still involves cutting his chest open. He’s getting weaker and weaker each time we operate on him…”

            Minsoo watched an old woman in front of him slowly collapsing onto the ground. She grasped the doctor’s ankles, tears dripping onto his shiny leather shoes. He turned away, hands curling into tight fists.

            How cruel it is, that innocent people are being punished for simply falling in love.

            He looked into the tiny glass window. In the ICU, Yoojin was kneeling besides the emaciated, unconscious boy, head buried in his lap. Her whole body was quivering violently. Minsoo let out a heavy sigh and slowly sank down the cold, icy wall.

            Yoojin found out. It was after Samuel’s fifth surgery, when he was being pushed out of the operating room on a stretcher, still numb and paralyzed from too much anesthetic. He whimpered weakly, and everyone scurried closer to him, trying to make out the tiny, inconsistent syllables he was mumbling.

            “Yoo…”

            Minsoo froze, gradually letting go of Samuel’s fingers.

            Isn’t it gone, for at least now?

            Yoojin seemed to understand. She immediately bent over the boy and grasped his shoulders.

            “I’m here, Sammie. Yoojin’s here.”

            He whispered a few more words to her ear. Minsoo couldn’t hear them, but he saw the girl abruptly standing up. Her lips became an ill shade of gray, trembling unconsciously as she backed out and sprinted towards the gate of the hospital.

            It’s not her fault. After all, love can’t be forced.

            Yet after that day, he often found Yoojin crying desperately, mumbling shaky apologies besides Samuel’s bed.

            But if it were him, he would have fallen head to toes for Samuel

                                                               *       *       *

            The pot of African violets was blooming gaily on the nightstand, adding bits of blue and purple hues to the monochrome room. Minsoo stood in the corner of the room, face pale with exhaustion. He hadn’t stopped picking at his nonexistent nails for an entire hour.

            “Min, cheer up. Don’t be sad because of me,” Samuel coughed softly; a few white petals landed on his sunken chest, “Not worth it.”

            Minsoo seemed to be immersed in his own world and completely ignored what the patient just said. He looked up, seeing Yoojin cautiously collecting the lily petals from Samuel, one by one.

            “Samuel,” he shuffled his feet around, hands in his pockets, “if someone falls in love with you, what kind of flowers, do you want them to cough out?”

            The elder frowned, “Why, I don’t ever want that to happen.”

            “But like, what if.” Minsoo repeated, emphasizing on the last two syllables.

            “Well,” he tilted his head towards the pot of violets, “violets? They are small, and don’t hurt as much.” His voice became smaller, and the whole room fell in silence.

            “Weird topic,” Yoojin broke the still atmosphere, squeezing out a few giggles. She suddenly stood up, her eyes avoiding Samuel’s face.

            “Samuel, what if, what if I kiss you, will that make the flowers disappear?”

            There was a loud crash on the other side of the room as Minsoo dropped into his corner, but both of them ignored it.

            “You-you already know?” Samuel squirmed in his comforter, eyes widening in confusion and panic, “But you don’t love me.”

            “I don’t know, idiot.” That was all she said.

            Then Minsoo heard the sound of a chair scraping across the ceramic tiles as Yoojin dragged it closer to Samuel’s bed.

                                                              *       *       *

            It didn’t surprise Minsoo that the flowers did disappear after Yoojin kissed Samuel. His mom was babbling on how the girl forced herself to fall in love with him, but Minsoo wasn’t too sure about that. Yoojin had always been a little more gentle, a little more cautious, and a little more gleeful when it came to Samuel. Maybe the fact that Samuel was on the edge of his life made her realize that the soft corner of her heart had always belonged to the awkward, grumpy boy who somehow lighted up the small, dense neighborhood.  

                                                               *       *       *

            Minsoo looked happily at his reflection in the mirror, his right hand curling slightly into a fist, but tight enough to not let the precious thing drop into the sink.

            “Well,” he whispered to himself, a weary smile spreading across his face, “I can keep the secret to myself. They are happy. Samuel is happy. And, I guess, I’m happy.”

            He cautiously opened his palm.

            There rested a tiny, bluish-purple petal, exactly where he had coughed it out.

            A violet petal.