Chapter Text
Flame pondered. Why the fuck did he let his rival in? The question sat heavy in his chest, stubborn and sharp. Sure, Wemmbu barged into his home—fucking homeless, half-limping and still somehow carrying that stupid pride—but Flame could’ve just critted him out there and then. Not to kill him. Just enough to make him leave. Enough to remind him that they weren’t friends. That whatever this weird in-between stage was, it wasn’t softness.
But he didn’t.
Now Wemmbu was in his house. In his spare room. Bleeding. Coughing up flowers like some tragic curse chose the most inconvenient person possible. Flame ran a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. Why does he even feel obligated, bru? He’s not a nurse. He’s not a hero. He’s the guy people fight, not the guy they fall into.
There’s no point holding a grudge now. Their rivalry hasn’t even been real lately. It’s been dull. Half-hearted. Like both of them were pretending to care more than they actually did. Still, ego is higher than anything. Flame’s ego built him. It shaped the way he stood, the way he fought, the way he refused to bend. And Wemmbu’s pride? That’s what made him impossible to ignore. Insane, lwk. Two idiots defined by the same flaw.
He slouched into the couch, burying himself in thought. God this was happening. He didn’t really wanna think about it. The image of Wemmbu coughing earlier kept replaying. The way the flowers slipped past his lips—soft petals stained red. Flame’s breath tingled just remembering it. He felt tense, like something was closing in around him.
The way Wemmbu choked off flowers was too familiar and he hated it. Hated how fragile it looked. Hated how weak it made him seem. Why was this happening to him? to Wemmbu?? Flame doesn’t know what to do. He’s not the type of person to care. Was never destined to love. That’s what he always believed. So why does it feel like something
is clawing at his ribs every time he hears coughing from down the hall? Oh my god what am I going to do with you Wemmbu..
The library felt colder than it should’ve. Tall shelves towered overhead, dust floating in the thin beams of light slipping through narrow windows. It was quiet in that suffocating way—like the building had secrets and preferred to keep them.
Egg leaned against one of the shelves, arms crossed, watching Parrot flip through an old, worn book about Hanahaki. He didn’t look panicked. Not fully. There was still that nonchalant edge in the way he stood, like this was just another problem to solve.
“ what do i do bru. ”
He scratched the back of his neck, tone casual but eyes betraying him just a little.
“ i dont want wemmbu to die??” Egg exclaimed, though it didn’t come out hysterical—more frustrated than anything.
Parrot didn’t respond immediately. He kept reading, flipping pages carefully, like the book might crumble if he moved too fast. “ egg, we’ll find a way, plus ever so, theres still cures. ”
Egg gulped, but forced a shrug. “ .. i guess. but like. —” he exhaled. “ this is getting over me.” He pulled out a chair from one of the long wooden tables and sat down across from Parrot, spinning a pen between his fingers. He looked sideways at him, face neutral, but there was guilt in his eyes. Not loud guilt. The quiet kind.
Parrot closed the Hanahaki book slowly. “ i cant find anything else, it seems that those 2 were the only option. well 3 if your count death, but i doubt its a cure”
The word death barely echoed before the silence swallowed it.
For a moment, Parrot’s gaze drifted past Egg—to another shelf. His hand lingered there longer than necessary. Fingers brushing the spine of a different book. He hesitated. Then pulled it out slightly, glancing at the cover before subtly sliding it under the Hanahaki book.
“ do you know where flames base is?” parrot asked.
“mhm. i have it jn my book” Egg nodded, already flipping through his notes.
“well, we should get going then . ”
Egg stood up first, stretching like this was just another errand. “ yeah here. ” He tapped the page with Flame’s coordinates scribbled messily in ink.
As they walked out, chairs scraping softly behind them, Parrot lagged half a step. His hand moved quickly—too quickly—and the second book disappeared into his bag. The shelf where it once sat looked oddly empty.
The library remained silent.
Wemmbu stared at the bedroom ceiling as his mind was scrambled in thoughts.
“this sucks.”
He can’t sleep. It’s been two hours since he layed down and hasn’t been able to rest. God what if it’s more than 2 rn. He can’t keep track of time atp. His body feels disconnected, like he’s floating and sinking at the same time.
He turns his head slightly, scanning the dim room. Nothing helps. He tries sitting up and oh my god his body aches harder than it should. The throwing up shit is actually getting onto him. It’s not just dramatic anymore. It’s draining him.
He forces himself to stand anyway. Pride is stupid like that.
The walk to Flame’s bathroom feels longer than it should. The hallway stretches. His steps are uneven. Omigosh. He feels like he can barely walk bru this sucks omg.
His head hurts so bad.
He closes the bathroom door gently and looks at himself in the mirror. He barely recognizes the person staring back. Pale. Eyes tired. Lips stained faintly red.
He touches near his mouth, tracing the dried blood.
He’s been coughing up blood lately. And the strangest part is that it comes with flowers. Soft petals, delicate, almost pretty if they weren’t soaked in red. He doesn’t even know what’s happening to him. It sucks so bad. So so bad. There’s so much he wants to say—to Flame, to himself—but it just sits there, stuck.
His throat tightens again.
No. Not again.
He grips the sink.
“Cough—CoufOUFH —OSIDH. ohmy—..COUGH——”
It rips through him violently. His shoulders jerk forward, fingers digging into porcelain. Blood splatters against the sink. And then the flowers follow—blooming grotesquely against white ceramic like they’re feeding off him.
His reflection looks horrified.
He tries wiping the blood off his mouth—his legs buckle.
He trembles against the tiles, knees slamming into the cold floor. He feels so weak. He hates that. His ego hates that. He’s coughed up blood in fights before, laughed it off even. But this? This is different. This feels internal. Intimate.
He coughs again, smaller this time, petals slipping out.
It hurts. It hurts so bad. It hurts so bad. So so so bad.
A knock interrupts the silence.
“wemmbu?” Flame asked, muffled voice.
Wemmbu tries to answer but his throat burns.
Another knock.
“wemmbu i know ur there bro”
“F—Fla..me..” His voice comes out cracked, barely there.
“wemmbu?? you—are tou okay there bro??”
Can this guy stop asking questions.
“im coming in”
The door opens smoothly.
Flame steps in—and stops.
Wemmbu’s on the floor. Blood in the sink. Flowers scattered like a crime scene made of petals.
Flame crouches down to his height. Wemmbu looks up at him, vision blurry. And then he leans—falls into Flame.
“w—ha..bro??”
“shut up let me stay like this”
Flame stiffens. “okay..”
Wemmbu tightens his grip around him. Flame flinches—he’s not used to hugs. Not from anyone. Especially not his rival. Ex—sp rival. What are we doing bru.
They stay like that for a couple minutes.
“ so. you ok?”
“ i dont know.”
“huh”
“i dont rlly know whats happening to me”
Flame lets out a nervous laugh.
“heh.. well uhm. i dont rlly know how to help..”
“ just stay here for a while ”
“the floor is uncomfortable bru”
“stfu”
“… okay bro whatever.”
“mhm”