CONJURE A BOUQUET (AND NEVER LET IT GO)

Part 1

"Do you believe in magic?" was a question that always set his teeth on edge.

To him, it was a question tantamount to "do you believe in yourself?", the answer to which was never simple. He often said that magic was altering people's perception: he was very good at it, in fact, so much so that he liked to think he is magic.

So yeah, he believed in magic, insofar as he believed in his capabilities on better days and doubted himself to the core on the darker ones, which – surprisingly – had dwindled to far less in number these days. He suspected that it had much to do with the fact that they were finally a complete act again, even if he thought that Lula got into his nerves most of the time.

He would have thought that Henley's departure would have been something that he would have difficulty bearing, but that wasn't the case: to his surprise, he found that while Henley leaving had not been a part of the plan, it didn't cut him up as badly as it should have.

But now, as he doubled over and crashed to the floor, uncontrollably coughing out soft yellow rose petals, J. Daniel Atlas thought of two things. The first was a thought on whether he was just in denial – was this life's sick way of telling him that he might miss Henley more than he thought he did?

The second thought was simply how ridiculous this was. What was this insanity? Who coughs up freaking petals a few days after the Horsemen are finally complete again, after months of being an imbalanced trio?

He was magic. Not this – this was just plain bat shit crazy.

Someone was gently tapping on Daniel's bedroom door. "Hey man, what's going on?" came the tentative voice of Jack Wilder, and Daniel smiled because he knew that Jack knew that he hated stupid questions like 'are you okay' when it was pretty obvious that he wasn't.

Violent coughing and retching ensued from the other side of the door, causing Jack to jump in alarm. The sleight shook his head. "You know what, I'm coming in. I hope you're decent, dude." Jack thought he heard the start of Daniel's protests, but it was immediately cut off by yet another round of coughing and retching, followed by the creak of the door swinging open.

The sleight stilled when he entered Daniel's room, which smelled strongly of a floral nursery drenched in blood, and as he looked around, it was indeed the case: bloodstained petals were everywhere. Dried yellow rose petals mixed with bright hyacinths on the floor, while on the bed, where Daniel was sprawled on, still violently heaving, were dead leaves and white gardenias.

The showman looked up at Jack with wide eyes, shaking his head. "Jack, no, I'm—"

Red carnations spilled out of his mouth, rendering him speechless and unable to continue.

Jack walked to their leader, sat on his bed, and gently rubbed his back as he heaved aching, dry breaths. He hummed lowly, as though comforting a child, and with his free hand, held on to Daniel's forearm. "You're okay," he said comfortingly.

Somehow, Daniel thought so, too.

As the days passed, Daniel began to think that maybe whatever-the-fuck was happening to him had little or nothing to do with Henley. He observed the patterns of the coughing fits: yellow roses and hyacinths would spew out whenever he was thinking of a time with the other three that was full of laughter; dead leaves and gardenia each time he would suddenly go into a melancholic mood; red carnations every time the others would come to him with concern in their eyes whenever he had these episodes.

On one such day, Jack had sent Lula and Merritt to get some takeaway for dinner and some fluids for Daniel, shaking his head as he continued to rub circles on Daniel's back. "You're really getting me worried, Atlas," he said gently. "Isn't there any way we can fix this?"

Daniel smiled weakly. "What exactly do you propose to tell the doctor?"

Jack shrugged. "I'm sure he'd understand that insane symptoms beget insane patients."

The showman quirked an eyebrow. "You have a problem with insane, Wilder?" he said in jest.

"Nope," the sleight countered immediately, his lips popping on the 'p'. Daniel wasn't sure if his judgment was affected by his fever, but he could swear that there was a perceptible softening in those dark brown eyes as he looked at Daniel. "Insane is absolutely perfect."

They stayed there for a split second before Jack's face broke into another grin. He stood up, ruffling Daniel's hair, saying, "You know what? I'm going to get some popcorn and maybe a decent movie."

"You aren't watching here?" Daniel said with wide eyes.

"Nope, not me," Jack said cheerfully. "We are! Be right back!"

When Jack had disappeared, Daniel gave a light cough, but surprisingly, it didn't hurt so much this time.

A beautiful chrysanthemum found its way into his hand, and he continued to gaze at it until the smell of popcorn wafted by the entrance of his room.

The attacks were never so bad, and for the next weeks, Daniel could almost live with whatever this weird disease was. Having the three around, Jack especially, made in reasonably tolerable.

But then Octa, Chase McKinney, and Walter Mabry happened.

He was on edge, confused, angry, and tired; waiting for a list of supplies in a dingy old magic shop in the middle of China. What was he even doing? He wasn't even sure would get them the results he needed at this point, but he had to try, at least for the rest of the team, at least for—

His chest area seemed to turn to lead as he spotted Jack and Lula huddled in the far corner of the shop. She was looking at him with a mischievous twinkle in her large blue eyes, holding up his wallet, little packets of sugar, his belt—

he cleared his throat, feeling a familiar itch coming up, but once he cleared his throat, he couldn't seem to stop what happened next.

The coughing was the most violent he's ever had, and Daniel felt involuntary tears streaming down his cheeks as he doubled over from the pain, a deluge of yellow rose petals, hyacinths, dead leaves, and fresh gardenia petals, all stained with his blood, making their way out of his body and onto the floor. He could hear Jack's voice particularly clearly as they ran to him.

As his strength failed him, as he started to feel his eyes closing, the last thing he saw was a perfect carnation, blood red in the middle of the bright sunshine and clouds, and the delicate chrysanthemum Daniel knew almost as well as himself, dying in the middle of the harsh light.

NOTES: I came across the Hanahaki Disease trope weeks ago, and found myself incredibly drawn to the idea of it. This is the first of two very short parts, just one I wanted to try my hand at, and I do hope you guys enjoyed this!

The usual disclaimers:

You know the drill – for feedback and brave volunteers for future beta purposes, leave a comment (or two or three) or email me directly at ficamaze .

This is primarily a Lover's Death story. I do not own anyone (i.e., characters, etc) or anything (i.e., lines, scenes, concepts, etc) from the Now You See Me series.

Absolutely no copyright infringement intended.

From .

Yellow roses: jealousy, loss of love

Yellow hyacinths: jealousy

Dead leaves: sadness

Gardenia: secret love

Red carnations: my heart aches for you

Chrysanthemums: cheerfulness, hope