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Fandom: KPop Demon Hunters
Rating: Teen and Up
Characters: Celine, Ryu Miyeong, Original Characters
Pairing(s): Celine/Miyeong (one-sided)
Content Warnings: mild body + medical horror, internalized homophobia, sad ending
Summary: Celine has been quietly suffering Hanahaki disease for years, and now must accept that if Miyeong can't love her back, there's only one way forward. [One-sided Celine/Miyeong. Angst. Oneshot. Title from "Sunflower" by Post Malone and Swae Lee.]
AO3 link here.
Celine has been coughing up petals for years. Hers are golden, crumpled remains of sunflowers, and the first petals appeared mere months after she met Miyeong. She'll never be able to forget the horror and utter humiliation of waking up to see petals laying next to her on the pillow, of having to discreetly do away with them before anyone could see, and realize what they meant.
At first, she planned to simply ignore it until it went away. These feelings for Miyeong, the feelings that made her insides curdle with shame and disgust every time she was forced to acknowledge them, they had to be fleeting. Everyone knew this was something girls all eventually grew out of. She'd meet a nice boy, and she'd love him, and he'd love her, and then she'd be cured.
But it never happened. She's never come close to being able to smother the intense desire she feels for Miyeong, or been able to redirect it towards someone appropriate. Even so, she's done her best to ignore it. She's never spoken about it with anyone or let herself hope. Maybe if she refuses to nurture her love, it'll die.
Miyeong makes flowers grow and bloom inside of her, and she wishes she could put it to music without giving herself away.
For the first few years, the symptoms could be downplayed and brushed aside. Coughing up petals and having to hide the evidence in wads of tissue and handkerchiefs, playing it off as allergies or a passing cold to anyone who was concerned. Celine can still breathe, still function, still sing—until, suddenly, she can't anymore.
Until, suddenly, she vomits up a full sunflower, and it's the first of many.
She knows what the diagnosis is, of course. Anyone would. Still, Celine goes to see a doctor at her manager's insistence when her breathing worsens to the point where they're forced to cancel a show, and her bandmates express concern about how often she's running off to throw up. There are only so many times Celine can claim she ate something funny.
Celine wonders if they all know. Even if they can't guess the exact cause of her affliction—God, she hopes they can't—surely they all know of the disease that turns unrequited love into flowers, and those flowers into a cause of death. Maybe that's why her manager gives her a look that could be concern or could be pity when the nurse calls Celine back to the examination room.
The doctor orders some x-rays as a formality, but is quick to reach the obvious (the only) conclusion.
"Hanahaki disease," he says, brows knitting together. "And from what you've told me, you've been afflicted for awhile."
Celine nods. She's told him everything he needs to know.
"Does anyone else know?"
"I'm not sure."
"This boy, whoever he is—have you spoken with him?"
Celine turns red, and she's sure the doctor mistakes it for the normal sort of embarrassment every girl gets when asked about her romantic troubles. She'd rather he continue thinking that. She knows he can't repeat anything she tells him, but she couldn't stand the look of judgment, of disgust. She gets enough of that when she looks in the mirror.
"No," she says. "I'd rather not. I know… I know his feelings. They won't change."
The doctor sighs, but nods. "You're doing well to accept that," he says, touching her shoulder gently. "So many stories and poems and songs about Hanahaki disease being cured when unrequited love turns requited—I'm not saying it doesn't happen, it does occasionally. But usually not. I understand why everyone likes hearing about the happy endings, but I do worry people who get the disease are set up for disappointment by what they hear of it on TV. People's feelings can't usually change so quickly."
"I know," she says, and as much as she wants to cry, some part of her appreciates his candor, just as he appreciates her pragmatism. "I've made my peace with that, I just—I just need to fix this."
"Well, I assume you're familiar with the treatment?"
She nods.
"Good. We'll do the x-rays to see how advanced your case is, and then we'll schedule a surgery to remove the flowers." He gives her a small, kind smile. "It won't be easy, but you came to me in time that we should be able to avoid permanent damage."
Celine swallows. "And will I still be able to perform?"
"So long as you take it easy until we can get the procedure done, and follow your recovery instructions closely, I think you'll be back onstage sooner than you'd expect."
Celine lets out a sigh of relief, and slips off the examination table, shaking the doctor's hand. Before she goes, she forces herself to ask one more question.
"Is it true that… that after the surgery, I won't… I won't be able to love anymore?"
"No, not exactly," he says. "You won't love this particular boy anymore. But you'll be able to feel love for others, find someone else eventually. I know it may not feel like there's anyone else for you right now, but there always is."
She tries to believe him.
"Don't tell anyone but… I'm seeing someone."
Miyeong whispers it into Celine's ear as they sit in the back of the tour bus, as Celine tries to hide her coughing and gasping. When she chokes, she feels a petal tickle the back of her throat, and forces herself to swallow it.
"Who?" she whispers back, her eyes darting nervously to where their manager sits, mere feet away. Idols aren't supposed to date, especially not them.
"I can't say," Miyeong says, "it's still new. But it's exciting. I really like him."
Celine can tell she's telling the truth from the pink flush on her friend's face, and the way her eyes sparkle. She tries not to hang over that one word too much — him — because it's not like she ever really expected anything different.
"How have you been able to see anyone?" she asks. "We're always so busy—"
"I know, it's been a nightmare. But it's worth it. I… I don't know if I can ever tell the fans, but he says he'd be willing to keep it secret until we retire."
At that, Celine wants to snort. Miyeong has always been the most optimistic about their ability to turn the Honmoon gold, about the possibility they'll be able to walk away from all this and have a normal life someday. Celine knows better. There's no getting away from this, any more than there's any getting away from her own feelings and the way it's stealing the air from her lungs.
"You won't tell, will you?" Miyeong asks, sensing Celine's displeasure, but mistaking it for outright disapproval.
"No," Celine says, as vines curl and tighten around her airways. "Of course not."
She tells her manager, and then she tells her bandmates. They're all horrified. Hanahaki disease kills at least a dozen people in Korea each year, and there are cases where people left it untreated for too long—over a decade, in some cases—and the surgery wasn't enough to save them. Celine tries to soothe their concerns—the doctor said she sought treatment in time, yes, she knows she should've said something sooner, no, they don't know who it is—and eventually, the explosion of questions and shock peters out, leaving only a cloud of worry.
"We'll have to tell the public you're having a medical issue, but we can't—we can't tell them it's Hanahaki," their manager says. "People will panic, or worse, speculate."
"I know." The last thing Celine wants is for her diagnosis to become public. "I think some people have noticed my breathing issues, though. Maybe we can say it's respiratory. It's not like we'd be lying."
The conversation shifts to matters of PR and scheduling, an arena with which Celine is vastly more comfortable.
Miyeong holds it together pretty well during the initial conversation. But that night, as they prepare for bed, she throws her arms around Celine and begins to cry, apologizing for not noticing her pain, and begging her to promise not to keep such a big secret ever again.
Celine promises, and as soon as Miyeong leaves, extracts three sunflowers from her throat.
The surgery is scheduled to take place the next week.
Celine doesn't want to stop loving her. That's her main thought as they put her under and have her count backwards from "ten."
She thinks of Miyeong's eyes, and her laugh, and the way she feels whenever they sing together, like she can fly and lift mountains over her head.
And then she thinks of the flowers choking her from the inside out, and the grief Miyeong would feel if Celine were to die a perfectly preventable death, and the joy on Miyeong's face whenever she speaks of her mystery beau.
And she goes to sleep.
Celine arrives home from the hospital. She's doing fine, she says. The doctors say she should be ready to sing in a few weeks. Yes, she says, of course she can put out a statement letting the fans know she's alright and she'll be back in action soon. Yes, she feels much better now. And it's true. Mostly.
"Better" isn't how she'd describe the sensation of looking into Miyeong's eyes, and having an empty space where her love once resided.