"Fucking pathetic" he wheezed out, rubbing his chest in hopes that it would soothe itself. "Imagine getting a disease that will kill you because you're not strong enough to handle some one sided feelings."
The trip to the doctor had been both enlightening and terrifying.
For one, this disease was a death sentence.
At some point, his lungs would produce more flowers than he could cough up, causing them to start piling up. Once that happened, it would be game over. His lungs would fill with flowers, and he would suffocate, choking on the physical manifestations of his regret and emotions. And that's only if the vines didn't tighten around his lungs and heart first—a possibility that could occur any day if he wasn't careful with regulating his emotions. If he tried to suppress the crush too forcefully, his body might rebel against him. His choices were either being internally crushed or slowly suffocating on flowers.
Secondly, if he confessed and got rejected, his body would go into overdrive from stress, jump-starting either the overproduction of flowers or the tightening of vines—whichever brought a more painful death first if his luck was anything to go by.
Adding these problems to the ones he already had from his job created the perfect recipe for disaster.
"So basically, it's a toss-up on what will cause me to kick the bucket first," he mused. "Didn't think I'd see the day when I could place a bet on how I'd die. For someone who bets his life on almost everything, it's almost poetic."
Unfortunately, he couldn't appreciate the poetic nature of that—not while he was hacking up his next batch.
He wiped his mouth from the blood, observing the newest clump of florals. They had graduated from petals to fully blossomed flowers, a sign that his condition was worsening. According to the doctor, once this happens, it's going to go downhill. The rate in which the flowers form will start to slowly increase until it overwhelms him.
"They were right," Don groaned as he flopped back into his bed, examining the flower. He held it to the light, ignoring the slight dampness from the blood. "I never do things by halves," he huffed slightly. The entire situation was somewhat hilarious in a depressing, hysterical way.
His mind flashed over to Ian and their old conversation in the bar, the catalyst that started this entire debacle.
"I guess to me, there's no point in dating."
"I would prefer to hunt down dangerous criminals in the wilderness than getting dragged to date nights that I probably won't enjoy."
"I'm not built for that kind of thing."
Don let out a hollow chuckle at those memories, putting his arm over his eyes as he felt tears slowly roll down his face, the pain in his chest intensifying for a moment.
"I never stood a chance, huh?"