Breathing Hurts - (Logicality) Sanders Sides

by leftabit-leftabit

Hanahaki disease, in definition, is an illness born from unrequited love. Love that will never be reciprocated. Love that can never be reversed. Love that is soon to become a death wish. It was accidental. It was never meant to happen like this. But now flowers once thought to be delicate and beautiful, burn and tickle the inside of Patton's throat with each day that passes.

2. Petals on my pillow

Delicate, little blue rose petals.

That's what they are.

There is no denying them.

Delicate, little blue rose petals make themselves comfortable on my pillow. Flecks of blood stain their edges, spoiling their beauty. My pillow ruined with specks of dark crimson liquid, seeping further into the cotton with each minute that passes, and I can't help but stare at them. My eyes fixed on the splodges, and clumps of petals mixed with red that have just forcefully left my lips.

Cough.

After cough.

I brush my shaking fingers to my lips, now wet, soiled with my own blood, tears threatening their way down my cheeks as petals tickle the back of my throat. Stomach churning, palms sweating as another cough demands to pass my lips. My fingers press against my lips, hard, trying to keep the force from leaving as petals crawl up my throat, my other hand clawing at the pillow to brace the pain.

Why?

Why is this happening? It hasn't ever before, why now? Have I done something wrong? Is Thomas ill? Oh Thomas! If Thomas is ill, the others will be too... right? It can't just be me... but what if it is?

Am I dying?

I can't die... I'm part of Thomas. He needs me. They all need me... please... they need me... right?

Cough.

The urge to cough my lungs out passes eventually...

Knock.

"Patton?" At just the sound of his voice the urge comes back. My lungs feeling like bursting balloons ready to pop any second. Heaving back a burning breath, wheezing, I drive the petals down with an agonizing gulp.

"Y-yeah, Lo?" I just barely manage to push the words from my blood covered lips.

"We're required to record a video in a few minutes. I'm just making sure you're organized."

"Of course! Happy Pappy Patton is always ready for filming with Thomas..." Each syllable is torture on my tongue. Every word burns my throat.

"I see..." His footsteps hurt my ears as he leaves... Mainly because I don't want him to go.

I take one last look at the blood covered petals, which rest so perfectly on my pillow as tears fall from my eyes, the back of my hand wiping at my lips.

I

Can't

do

this!