"Hey. Did you hear that Itsuka Kendo from Class 3-B came down with Hanahaki?" Katsuki's eyes narrowed seditiously as the whispers of the girl passing behind him fluttered into his ears. "Yeah. She was just sitting at her desk, then next thing you know, she's coughing up narcissus petals!" The girls' quiet gossip faded as they walked out of earshot, but the words continued to bounce around in Katsuki's brain long after their forms disappeared out of the lunchroom.
Hanahaki Disease. It was an illness sweeping the world's teenage and young adult population and had been the topic of much research for the last decade. Supposedly, the disease formed as a result of unrequited love. One minute you were pining like an everyday Joe, the next you had lungs full of flower-like structures. Some variants were deadlier than others; some could be removed with a surgical procedure, while others were incurable. Incurable with modern medicine, that is- supposedly, if one's feelings were reciprocated, the disease came to a screeching halt and sprinted into remission. There was an entire discipline of medical science devoted to it now, and scientists knew more about the affliction than they did much older ailments of the body. Not that Katsuki particularly gave a lick about any of the medical advancements.
Only pussies succumbed to Hanahaki, after all.
The girls' conversation left a sour taste in his mouth that he attempted to drown with his water. The metallic, chlorine-tinted flavor of the liquid only punctuated the acidic sensation. High schools, in particular, were hotbeds for Hanahaki, so not a day went by that he didn't overhear somebody or another gossiping about it. "So-and-so got Hanahaki for so-and-so," "This person got surgery," "Did you hear so-and-so died? Their funeral is this weekend." It was never-ending, and Katsuki despised it all. Only weak fools fell in love so hard they died for it. Just get over it, extras, he would always think. Love is for the weak anyway.
His vermillion eyes flickered as a cheerful round face and bouncy caramel hair appeared in his peripheral vision. Ochako Uraraka, fellow third-year, was smiling animatedly as she conversed with one Izuku Midoriya. It was almost a poetic addition to the melodrama currently playing out all over the lunchroom.
Ochako had developed Hanahaki for Izuku in the second trimester of their first year. It had been a dreadful variant, too, one they called Orange Blossom Hanahaki because it produced little white flowers with a citrusy aroma. It was considered the second-deadliest serotype, supposedly, with a surgery survival rate of a mere 1%. Luckily for Ochako, Izuku had whole-heartedly returned her feelings, and the disease had cleared up by the time they moved on to their second year. They had been a constant item ever since and were the darlings of U.A. Everyone was already predicting they would be voted the Prom King and Queen, though they had only just begun their first week of their third year. The whole saccharine atmosphere of it all made Katsuki sick to his stomach.
Hanahaki bullshit aside, for some reason, it just bothered Katsuki that Ochako had fallen madly in love with Izuku of all people. Seriously, Deku? Katsuki's blood began to simmer just thinking about it. His stupid dorky personality, his incessant babbling tangents, his insistence on being friendly even though Katsuki made it absurdly clear that he was just not interested- it all made his blood pressure skyrocket to critical levels. He would always wonder, What the hell does Ochako see in that hopeless dork?
Ochako deserved so much better. Ochako was sunlight, illuminating everything around her with her radiant smile, but not in an annoying way like Izuku. Her brown hair swayed like gossamer, and Katsuki's eyes could always catch the thin threads of auburn highlights even with the shitty fluorescent lighting. Her round cheeks constantly shone with a faint hue of pink, bursting to the brim with happiness. Though they wore uniforms, she always added a cute flair to her outfit, whether it be the cute little Saturn charm that swung on her backpack zipper or the colorful hair clips. Ochako was the epitome of the girl next door and crappy dorky Izuku sure as hell didn't deserve her. She needed a real man, like Katsuki.
Katsuki suddenly lurched forward as fiery pain blossomed in his chest. His breath rattled in his throat as his chest muscles constricted impossibly tight. What the fuck is happening to me?! He thought wildly at the foreign sensations assaulting his body. Something began to tickle at the back of his windpipe, spurring him to cough violently into his hand. He had the strangest feeling of something forcing its way up his trachea, causing him to furrow his ash-blond eyebrows in angry confusion. What the fuck? What the fuck?! He enveloped his whole mouth with his palm as he hunched over the lunchroom table, shoving his tray to the side to keep from splattering food all over his face. Distantly, he could hear Denki and Eijirou inquiring if he was all right.
Suddenly, the coughing ceased, but he was left with the unsettling realization that something was resting on his tongue. He muttered something about going to the bathroom, hand still splayed over his open mouth, before gruffly shoving away from the table. He pushed the mystery item off his tongue into his palm, closing his hand tightly around it, and stalked to the closest boys' restroom. He didn't open his hand until he had bundled himself into a stall, locked it, and plunked down on the toilet seat. Slowly, he pried open his fingers to see whatever the hell he coughed up.
There, bright against the flushed skin of his hand, rested a single pink cherry blossom petal.
It was in that decisive moment that Katsuki Bakugo realized that he was a dead man.
A/N: This story has a Spotify playlist! PM for details or search "Cherry-Orange Blossoms" in Spotify.