aw shit here we go again

He’s sixteen when it first happens. The funeral for his ma was years ago and it’s not even the anniversary of her death, but the first time he coughs up a lungful of petals, he knows. There’s a singular blossom in the middle of the handful, white despite the flecks of blood and shaped like a small star. Before anyone else sees, he flushes the petals and presses the star carefully into her favourite book. The one they always read together. There’s a flutter in his chest as he does, but no more flowers come up.

The second time it happens, he’s seventeen and in a school for huntsmen and he feels nothing but guilt coughing up new petals, the yellow of them so damningly different from the starflowers he’s grown used to hiding. Once again, he knows immediately who they’re for. He can’t help but feel it’s a betrayal, to have feelings for someone he barely knows with such depth his body has no choice but to respond with flowers. As if what he feels for the sun can compare to how he misses the moon. But his own feelings don’t stop it, only make it stronger, and when a Sheridan’s heart wants it wants. This time he keeps none of the small, yellow flowers, flushing all of them secretly.

It’s not so hard to hide while going to Beacon. Between classes and new friends, his siblings are too busy to pay him much attention at first and he can hide whenever they do, hide when he needs to, simply stating his duties as a leader or that he has to study. It helps, that they don’t know about the hanahaki. If they did, he knows they wouldn’t leave him alone like they do. So he hides and suppresses when he needs to. One additional flower isn’t so bad, especially when he avoids Jaune.

But time, perhaps, is the disease’s cruelest gift.

Hanahaki takes to time like any plant does, using the buried feelings as food and steadily growing. If it were just one plant, if it were just his ma’s, it would probably be alright. Or, at the very least, it wouldn’t get worse like it does. But with Jaune by her side, the hanahaki grows steadily, increasing every time they interact. In the hallways and lunchroom, Cardin ignores Jaune, but in the classrooms he has no choice. His eyes wander to Jaune in their leadership class and though Jaune seems confused, he always smiles at Cardin when their eyes meet. They get paired together in Miss Goodwitch’s class and stand on stage to fight, and Jaune calls him a good opponent when they’re done and seems sad when Cardin turns away without a word. Cardin’s insides clench, stems and roots tangled and squeezing. He ignores it. It’s easy to.

He knows it won’t be for long.

The flowers continue to grow, slowly filling his lungs. He starts to cough up full blooms and though he knows it’s messed up, he carefully cleans and presses each one so his family can at least have this after he’s gone. He remembers his ma dying, remembers the cyclamen petals falling away and the full blooms they sent down the river. It was pretty, in a way, even if it was sad. He hopes this is enough to make his death pretty, too. He hopes Russel and their parents aren’t too sad or disappointed that he never told them. He knows it wouldn’t make a difference— he’s just like his ma, he wouldn’t be able to get the surgery even if he wanted to.

Professor Peach puts him on a project with Jaune. Because they live in a world with hanahaki, though it is rare, she felt it was good for her students to know something about different plants and their meanings, and to get the experience of growing one. Cardin isn’t sure how he feels about the project, but anymore he’s not sure how he feels about a lot of things, and the group project certainly puts a wrench in his plan to ignore Jaune and his feelings until they graduate. Until they hopefully go away, and he only has the flowers he’s supposed to.

Despite her reasons, Professor Peach doesn’t actually make them do any hanahaki research. Cardin plans to use that, and not to go any deeper than what it’ll take to get the flowers to grow. Jaune, on the other hand, is curious and forces Cardin along with him on his research journey.

Jaune stares at the book he has, lying on Cardin’s bed with a foot propped high on the wall, going between twirling his hair around his finger and chewing on it. Cardin tries not to watch and watches anyway.

"You don't have to do all that research," Cardin says, startling Jaune like he'd forgotten someone else was in the room with him. Cardin gets the impression he probably did.

"I know." Jaune frowns, tilting his head back enough to look at him upside down. His hair fans over the covers, dark blonde spilling over dark red in a way which nearly covers Jaune's eyes, and Cardin's chest gives a funny little twinge. It's been days since Professor Peach put them together, and the proximity is damning. “But it’s interesting! Did you know some families are more susceptible than others, and that there are some that are basically immune!”

Cardin hums, but doesn’t say anything, returning to his paper. There’s a report due for Dr. Oobleck, and Cardin wants to finish it even if Jaune seems less concerned about his own report. The funniest thing is, Cardin knows he can just… not finish it. What will his grades matter, if he’s just going to die anyway? But he knows if he lets them slip, it’ll be the easiest way for Russel and, worse, maybe even their parents to realize there’s something wrong. And he doesn’t want them to know there’s anything wrong. So, he does the report. He does his other homework. He studies.

Anything for them not to worry.

Jaune doesn’t say anything else, but Cardin doesn’t ask anymore questions. The days go by relatively peacefully, with Jaune reading through books– then playing games, once he’s bored of the learning– on his bed as he works through his homework. He doesn’t bother Jaune about his own. After Jaune leaves, Cardin coughs up petals. Each day, there seems to be more. And every time he sees more yellow than white, he just feels guiltier. Until, one day, there’s more red than either yellow or white.

He stares at his hand, and bites his lip. His chest and ribs ache. He wonders how much longer it will be.

“So why did you pick starflowers?” Jaune asks one day while he’s watering the plant. Cardin looks at him, feeling a little wild, like he might be the flowers growing inside him. Is he the flowers growing inside him? At what point does an inner thing become the same as the outer? When it roots, or when it starts affecting what he does?

It’s been affecting him for months now.

How does he even answer, when it’s such an unknowingly personal question? When it feels like his words will reveal what’s inside, will turn his skin clear like a window, baring him to the world like a human terrarium.

Still. Jaune is quiet, not prying, just curious.

“They remind me of my mam,” Cardin says, also quiet, with some hesitance. Jaune nods like he understands. Cardin can tell he doesn’t, not really, and he feels himself start to breathe once more. (As much he can, petals fluttering with each inhale, roots keeping his lungs from expanding fully.)

“You miss her?” Jaune asks, and Cardin nods. He misses her more than anyone knows. Like a missing limb, like whole flowers filling his lungs and choking up his throat. Sometimes he wonders how Lazuli and Simin deal with it. Jaune smiles slightly. “I miss my m’man, too. But break is only a few months away.”

Cardin swallows and nods. It’s easier not to correct the misconception. He doesn’t want to see the pity he’s sure would be there, if Jaune knew even half of the truth.

It gets harder to hide as time goes on. The coughing hurts worse. There’s more blood. Each time he breathes, his lungs and ribs twinge.

He’s started to cough up full flowers again.

He’s started to cough up cyclamen, pink blooms he hasn’t seen since his mam coughed them up before she died.

Not knowing what else to do, he starts to clean them and press them like he did with that first starflower. He thinks it might be a little messed up– maybe even is messed up– but he wants Russel and their parents to have something after he’s gone.

It’s late and out of nowhere when Cardin wakes up, copper on his tongue and flowers crowding his throat. He swallows it all down, grimacing as he does from the taste of copper and pollen, fumbling out of bed with the struggle not to fall into a coughing fit so he won’t wake his teammates. There’s a bathroom in each dorm, but Cardin doesn’t want to risk it. He walks briskly to the communal bathrooms instead, ducking into the first one and locking the door behind him. The second the door is locked, the first cough breaks free from tight lips and the hand covering them; Cardin feels the splatter of blood and wet bits of flower. It’s all he can do to scramble to the toilet before the coughing not-so-dry heaves start. He coughs for what feels like a long time, throwing up blood, plants, and the soup he’d managed to get down last night.

He hasn’t been eating a lot, lately. It feels harder to eat, like the roots have wrapped around his ribs and dug into his stomach, making him feel constantly full without giving him any nutrition. The inability to breath properly likely doesn’t help. Cardin takes a short breath, coughs half of it out. Blood speckles on the pure white toilet seat. Cardin’s too exhausted to wipe it away so it doesn’t stain the seat pink; he slumps next to the toilet, resting his head on the edge of it. It’s cool and for the first time, Cardin is aware of how hot and sweaty he feels. It reminds him of the few times he’s gotten the flu. His eyes close and he drifts.

On the edge of his consciousness, Cardin hears his name, frantic and warbly. He blinks, slow to wake. The warble isn’t in the voice itself, but rather in how his ears process it, and his brow furrows as he frowns in confusion. It takes longer than he thinks it should to wake up. When he does, he blanches. When he does, he feels a little faint, and his stomach curdles for just a moment before he’s forced to hunch back over the toilet. As he coughs, voiding his body of whatever else it deems it must get rid of, he can just make out Russel’s voice getting frantic along the edges of his awareness.

There’s pleading when he wakes next, blurry and confused, and a hand brushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead. He opens his eyes and finds himself not in the bathroom, but rather in the dorm. He tilts his head, ignores the rush of dizziness, and sees Russel sitting on the bed beside him. His brother’s hair is an absolute mess, mohawk flat with sleep and sticking up in several places. There’s blood at the corner of his lip, where Cardin knows he must’ve chewed it open in his worry. Guilt settles in his chest.

“S’rry,” Cardin says, half-formed and painful and sending him into a brief coughing fit. It scrapes against his throat, but at least no blood or flowers come out this time. Russel’s eyes snap to his, watery and red-rimmed. The breath Russel takes his watery.

“You fucking idiot,” Russel says, anger softened by relief. He’s shifting away before Cardin can say anything else, which is probably a good thing. He doesn’t know what else to say. Anything he did say would hurt, anyhow, and Cardin doesn’t know how many more coughing fits he has inside of himself. Cardin takes the opportunity to sit up. When Russel moves back, it’s with a small cup of ice in his hands and he presses one to Cardin’s lips so he doesn’t have any choice but to suck on it. When Russel speaks again, his voice warbles, and Cardin holds his hand as tightly as he can. “You almost died, you know? I- You were passed out, you weren’t moving! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cardin looks away and shrugs. “There’s nothing you could’ve done, even if I did.” He says, voice quiet. The ice has helped a little, at least. His throat doesn’t feel so dry, even if it still hurts. Russel frowns, grip on Cardin’s hand tightening till he hisses and Russel loosens the hold– only slightly– with an apologetic noise. But he doesn’t argue, and he doesn’t look at Cardin. They both know he’s right.

“There has to be something,” Russel says. “Who is it for? Maybe if you confess!”

“There’s no one to confess to,” Cardin says, frowning at the wall and pretending the words don’t make the other flowers in his heart flutter in protest. He can practically feel the way Russel’s eyes narrow at him. Examining him. He refuses to look.

“I saw the flowers, as well as I could. It’s not just one person,” Russel says.

“It doesn’t matter.” Cardin shrugs again. “Getting rid of one won’t get rid of the other.”

“But wouldn’t it be good, to get rid of at least one?” Russel says, playing with Cardin’s fingers. “It might give us more time, at least.”

“Russel…” Cardin says softly, looking back, feeling guilty at the way Russel’s eyes have gone shiny. This is part of why he’d never said anything, why he’d hidden it. There’s simply nothing they can do. He’s destined to die like her. “It’s already too late. The cyclamen have started.”

“No,” Russel says firmly, eyebrows lowering till the sad frown turns more into a sad glare. He tightens his grip on Cardin’s hand once more, lacing their fingers like he expects to be dragging him somewhere. “No, we have time. Jaune used his semblance, he healed what damage he could, and we had the nurse check you out while you were still unconscious. There is time. There is help, if you’ll only take it instead of being a stubborn jackass.”

Cardin opens his mouth, but he’s not sure what he wants to say, and closes it to continue frowning at Russel instead. The only treatment he’s ever heard of for hanahaki is surgery and even if his aura was strong enough to get it, he’d never be able to bring himself to get it and forget his mam. “... what help?”

Russel brightens a bit, and Cardin can just bring himself to roll his eyes. He thinks that’s the only reason Russel is comfortable slipping his hand away and leaving the dormroom. Russel’s not gone for long, only a few seconds. Only long enough for Cardin to take a breath, and wonder a little at how his lungs feel clearer than they have in weeks.

When Russel returns, it is with two girls and Jaune. He has no idea who they are– doesn’t know most of the people he goes to school with, actually– and Russel smiles, introducing them before he can make a fool of himself. “This is Ruby and Yang, from RWBY. And this is my brother, Cardin.”

Cardin nods respectfully, and Ruby does the same.

“Russel says you have hanahaki,” Ruby says, moving a little closer. Cardin nods again, feeling his expression go a little sour at the idea of going from no one knowing about it to five people knowing, more than half of them strangers. But Ruby doesn’t respond negatively to it, only smiles. “I do, too. White roses.”

Cardin’s eyes widen a little and he looks at her, like he might be able to see the truth in her words. Might be able to see the thorns he imagines must be growing, tearing at her lungs. But he can’t see anything, and her breathing seems normal. “You do?”

“Mm-hmm!” Ruby nods with a smile, sitting down on the bed next to him. Yang pulls up the desk chair, sitting in it backwards. “I have mine for my mom.”

“But you…?” Cardin’s eyes are drawn in question. At how she seems so okay, so bright, knowing she’ll die. Russel said they could help, but what help is one person with hanahaki to another?

“Seem okay?” Ruby finishes with a smile. “I wasn’t, at first. But talking helps.”

“Talking?” Cardin asks doubtfully, raising an eyebrow. Never once did his mam talk about the hanahaki— at least, he doesn’t remember her talking about it, but maybe she did with mamma and papai. He was so young when she passed; it’s not really something to share with a child, Cardin thinks.

Yang nods. “Yeah, we'd lost our one mom when we were kids. Our dad suggested it, when Rubes started coughing up petals one day. So we just talk about her, how we miss her and memories about her. It doesn't remove the disease, we don't think anything ever will, but it stops the petals from growing.”

“So?” Ruby prompts and Cardin looks down at his hands. He twists the ring on his finger.

“My mom died, too,” Cardin admits, looking back up. Ruby and Yang give him understanding looks he’s not entirely sure he’s comfortable receiving. Jaune, after a moment of surprise, gives a guilty look he knows he’s not comfortable having aimed at him. It’s not like he corrected Jaune’s assumption when he made it. He looks back down, looks away.

“Do you want to tell us about her?” Ruby asks, but just admitting it was enough to clog Cardin’s throat. It’s more vulnerable than he’s been with anyone, scraping along his skin, the flowers squeezing his ribs tight as he stays quiet.

“I’d like to,” Russel says, sitting on Cardin’s other side, filling the space he can’t. Cardin is grateful to Russel, not for the first time, for it. He launches into telling them about their mam, about how stubborn she was and how much she loved them. About how she had hanahaki, too. Russel doesn’t tell them it killed her when they were young, but Cardin doesn’t think he has to. Cardin chimes in a little, mostly to correct Russel, and he finds the flowers easing a bit. Finds his next breath is even easier to take than the last before it. Ruby smiles at him encouragingly, and he says a little more. Feels a little better.