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Yesterday evening Tommy coughed up an allium and went to bed.
He woke up early in the morning from a coughing fit. Flower petals and blood splattered on his hands, but he washed them off in his bathroom sink.
Tommy doesn’t have hanahaki, because he can’t. He just can’t.
Hanahaki was rare, but it wasn’t so surprising to see. And very rarely is it fatal, mostly just embarrassing. It’s just revealing to the world that you care about someone who you know doesn’t give a shit about your well-being.
Because hanahaki is a specific, fantastical disease that is about how someone views the world. Some would argue it’s a mental illness more than anything.
If you don’t think you're capable of being loved, but you love anyway, flowers will rise out of your throat. That is what hanahaki is. It’s about how you perceive the emotions you feel.
It’s usually easier to cure than what most people believe. At least, that’s what Tommy has seen in his life. Someone develops hanahaki and they either tell somebody or they get discovered by the sickening smell of flowers and blood. It’s not discrete, with the lines of roots digging into the afflicted person’s skin and a constant cough followed by petals. The blood is scary (to some, not to big man Tommy of course), but mostly it’s a result of surface-level cuts inside the chest and throat.
To cure hanahaki, the person needs to accept either that they are loved despite the insecurity they feel- that can be helped with therapy and a lot of honesty. Hanahaki is a punishment, a mental illness, a magical curse- it’s whatever. It’s all about perception.
Therapy usually does the trick. That or medication.
The stupid thing about hanahaki, then, is that because it’s all up to perception, if you believe truly that everyone loves you, then you will never develop it. Even if nobody does.
By this point, Dream is the perfect candidate for hanahaki. He’s a fucker who’s been abandoned by all his friends and is hated by everyone. He even-
“We’re friends, aren’t we, Tommy?”
“No, you dumb fuck, we’re not.”
-even when Tommy keeps saying they’ll never be friends again. Dream believes they still are, so no flowers grow in his throat. Even when they should.
He had been so certain the fucker would start coughing up flowers the moment he started spewing the “best friends” bullshit, but his breathing remained calm and even. Dream should know everyone hates him, but instead he’s convinced he’s a fucking god.
It’s not fair.
Because flowers have started growing in his chest.
He doesn’t want to acknowledge them. Tommy knows he’s a big man loved by everyone. He has nothing to be insecure about.
(But school is hard, and Tubbo hasn’t talked to him in forever, and everyone likes new student Ranboo over him, and his family thinks he’s just annoying and-)
There’s no way Tommy has hanahaki. So he doesn’t need to worry about dumb things like being honest with his friends.
He just wished Dream would leave him the fuck alone. Dream is an egotistical bitch who is nothing more than a big bully. He skips classes, makes fun of the underclassmen, and still always ranks number two in his class at the end of the year.
And his victim is, you’ve guessed it, Tommy. The upperclassman has been hunting down Tommy during all of his frees, skipping his classes to pester Tommy, and even spending lunch with him. And Tommy doesn’t want to be his friend. Dream is probably trying to worm his way into his skull just to pull the cover from his eyes and say, ‘Psych! You really thought we were friends! How gullible can you be?’ He might even be trying to learn more about Techno. Techno always ranks number one in their class.
Tommy’s alone a lot more.
“You look like that math homework shot your dad.”
“Shut up, Dream. I don’t have time for this- this assignment is due in twenty minutes and I can’t- ugh.” He erases at the paper violently, trying to rework the first problem.
“I can help if you want. I aced that class.”
He hums. Usually, he’d ask Tubbo for help, but he was off studying with Ranboo for some biochemistry test. He’s fucked if he doesn’t get this done.
“Fine. But you better be serious or I’m just gonna make you leave.”
“Of course, of course. What’s giving you trouble?”
(It’s the first assignment he aces that year. He excitedly tries to say so over dinner, but Techno just won another tournament so they’re all celebrating that. And sure, maybe Techno wins every tournament, but it’s more important than just one homework assignment.)
Dream is annoying. Tommy doesn’t like people like him. Big bullies who think they’re the big shit. He always liked how Tubbo and him were the underdogs.
Now Tubbo is best friends with Mr. Popular Ranboo.
What sucks the most is that there’s nobody he can turn to for help. Tubbo’s been busy with his engineering club duties and helping out club president Schlatt, Wilbur is busy with his music and upcoming performance, Phil is always busy with work, and Techno has been busy with his fencing and training Ranboo. Fucking Ranboo. What’s so great about Ranboo? That he’s some new exchange student that somehow gets the best grades and excels at every club he tries out in? He’s probably a cheater. Yeah.
So he has no one to complain to.
“How was your day, Tommy?” Dream asks.
He’s already miserable. Both his brothers had after-school activities so Phil won’t come to pick them up until seven, but Tommy doesn’t even have any homework to distract himself with. He’s just sat in the library, alone again.
Well, Dream was here.
“I don’t understand why you upperclassmen are such bitches.”
Dream scoffs, “I don’t like any of them either, don’t lump me in with them.”
“You’re a bitch, too. And you used to have your whole trio thing with Sapnap and George.”
“Yeah, used to. What, did they do something today?”
This is the kind of stuff he used to rant to Tubbo about. It’s the kind of stuff he’d tell Wilbur looking for advice.
But there’s only Dream.
“Sapnap was making fun of me in physics because I couldn’t solve any of the problems on the board.” He grumbles.
“Yeah, but he’s the one who’s retaking the class. It’s normal to struggle while learning new things. We can’t all start perfect.”
“We’ve been learning this shit for forever, though. Maybe I’m just dumb.” He hunches over, pressing his chin into his arms.
“Hey, you’re smart, Tommy. You wanna know a secret?” Dream whispers.
He looks up from his spot, “... What?”
“I nearly failed physics when I took it. Was barely able to salvage it by the end of the year- but I did.”
He sits up straight, “Really?”
“Really. So, just believe in yourself. I’m always here to help.”
He stares at the upperclassmen. He’s the one who’s here. Not his best friend, not his family, not even his dumb classmates.
“Yeah. You are.”
The flowers in his throat dig their roots deeper.
He starts spending more nights waking up in coughing fits than not. More towels and T-shirts get bloodied, and he sneaks them into the wash. He skips more meals, spends more time in his room.
Tommy steels himself that if his family pesters him, to deny he has hanahaki. Because he doesn’t have it. He knows he’s the coolest guy ever and nobody could ever hate him- so it must be some other flower-related disease. One nobody has heard of.
But no one asks him why he’s pulling away.
During PE, he asks to go to the bathroom. Instead, he sneaks out to the back parking lot only used by teachers and the students who smoke. He coughs, chokes, and spits out flowers.
“Woah, that looks nasty.” Dream says, startling him.
“This isn’t what it looks like.” He rushes to say, hands covered in crimson and purple.
“C’mon, it’s obvious you’ve got hanahaki. What has your family been doing to help?”
“... I haven’t told them.”
“You smell like somebody died in a flower shop, Tommy. There’s no way you’re just ‘hiding it’ now.”
Nobody cares. Nobody else has noticed.
“I’m good at hiding it. How the fuck did you find me back here?”
He shrugs, “Intuition.”
Tommy laughs drily, “That’s creepy, man. You’re like a stalker.”
He coughs again, gagging over a flower bulb.
“You’re not okay.”
“I’m just peachy. Fuck off, green bitch,” He growls.
“The important thing with hanahaki is communication. So, Tommy, tell me who you think doesn’t care about you?”
“Why would I tell you that?” He steps back.
Dream follows, taking a step forward, “You know we’re friends, right? I hope I”m not the cause of your infliction.”
He shakes his head, “I don’t give a fuck about you, and we both know you don’t give a fuck about me. I don’t like your- your mind games, dude.”
“Ahh. I see. You really don’t believe we’re friends. Well, I’m going to do my best to convince you.”
Blue eyes stare into green. Tommy is afraid.
Tommy starts skipping classes. His health is dropping too fast to spend his energy there. He turns in all his homework, always doing well. Dream helps him study. He gets 100s on all his tests, so his teachers don’t complain. Tommy was always a loud, annoying, disruptive student.
None of his old friends text him. They must have moved on.
Dream has shown him all the best places to hang out on campus. The secret ladder to the roof, trees to climb, and alcoves between stairwells.
“You don’t need your father, your brothers, or stupid Tubbo. They don’t care about you.”
He sniffs, eyes burning. They really don’t love him.
Dream continues, “But it’s okay, it’s okay. Because we can be friends, and you only need me. It’s killing you to love them like this.”
“You’re right, Dream.”
That night, Tommy sits over the toilet, coughing up more flowers. As rapidly as the fit started, it ended though. He clears his throat, still slimy and metallic, but he doesn’t feel the usual rustle of leaves and roots and petals.
There are no more flowers in Tommy’s chest.
There are no more flowers in his chest.