It started out as just a little tickle in the back of his throat, nothing he wasn’t either used to or familiar with.
Because of his work environment, the constant fans running; the air conditioning blowing out cold air and the different chemical fumes that lingered in the air of his laboratory, his throat would get irritated quite fast, so he wasn’t a stranger to a simple sore throat or other abnormalities.
And because of that, John simply brushed off the newly formed itch, not thinking too much about it.
He took a sip of water before popping a cough drop into his mouth and turning back to his work.
He wasn’t in the slightest bit worried nor did he really care at first, until the scratchy and tingly sensation became more violent and even painful at times, causing him to cough. A lot.
It started out relatively small at first, with having to turn away from the people he spoke to to cough into his armpit, having to clear his throat several times an hour and taking more cough drops to soothe the uncomfortable sensation. It stayed like that for a while until the day that made his health rapidly decline.
.
It was just a few hours he spent with you.
But these few hours were enough to cause his, almost a year already, existing condition to worsen rapidly.
.
It was a calm Friday evening, he had the late night shift and was huddled up in his lab working on equations and plans for the super-collider. He lost track of time as he got lost in his work and soon the clock struck midnight, signaling that he's pulled overtime again.
Johnathon leans back in his chair, a groan escaping him as he pushes his hand up his face to rub his tired eyes, pushing his glasses up in the process.
He jumps slightly as a knock came from the door, making him pull his hand down and almost throwing his glasses off his face.
“One moment!” He glanced at his clock while fixing his glasses, wondering who could still be in the building, and furthermore who of those would even spare him a single moment of their time.
He softly kicks the ground to propel his chair back, standing up, his back popping in several spots making him groan before making his way over to the door in long strides.
His nerves are on edge, the palms of his hands slightly sweaty making him curse the chemical reactions in his brain that cause him these issues. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before pulling the door open to you smiling up at him, two coffees in hand.
It catches him off guard, making his breath hitch as he stares down at you.
Out of everyone that could have been at his door, you were the last person he expected. He hears his name being called softly which snaps him back to reality and helps him ease the tension his body had built up.
His lips pull into a smile as he welcomes you in, letting the door fall shut behind you before starting to leap into the comfortable atmosphere that you always brought to him whenever he would cross paths with you.
.
.
The moment you left he rushed to one of the trash cans, emptying out the contents of his stomach, his throat felt like it was being slit open from the inside as the stomach acid caused the walls to feel like they’ve been set aflame.
His lungs burned and tears rolled down his cheek as he desperately clung onto the trash can, hands shaking as he coughed and hacked, despite throwing up there was still something stuck in his throat. And he wanted it out.
Tears streamed down his face as all he could do was spit up blood from his trachea and bile out of his stomach, the blood overwhelmed his taste buds and caused nausea to swirl in his stomach.
He was worried that someone could possibly walk in on him hunched over the bin like this, or even worse, that you had to return because you forgot something and found him in this pitiful state. His thoughts were interrupted as the blockage finally lifted and he spit out several flower pads.
John tried to blink away the blurriness of his vision, his lungs and trachea burning with each quick breath he took. He furrowed his brows as he shakily pushed up his glasses with the knuckles of his hand, staring down in disbelief at the white petals that were painted red.
Stained with his blood.
He swallows thickly, concern bubbling in his mind as he tried to process what the fuck he was looking at. His pain and discomfort was caused by flowers?
He pushes himself up onto shaky legs gripping onto the table before softly shuffling to his chair to plomp into. His long and calloused fingers worked the keyboard quickly as he typed in his symptoms.
´Coughing up blood and flower petals`
He was instantly bombarded with thousands upon thousands of results, while scrolling through them he noticed that they all talked about one and the same disease.
The Hanahaki Disease
He has never heard of that before. He swallowed softly, his throat stinging with every breath he takes as he pulls up an informational site about the disease, his brown eyes scanning the screen carefully as he takes everything in.
He opens up several more sites over the span of the next two hours, falling into a rabbit hole of the disease, but ultimately coming to a realization.
John let out a soft sigh, wincing at the slight pain and discomfort it brings to his raw throat.
He brings one hand up to rub at it soothingly, sinking into his chair more as he replays everything he has learned about his situation so far.
´A fictional disease..` he thought, scrunching up his face in pain as his lungs started to burn once more. ´It's known for its most frequent symptom of coughing up flowers.. starting out with only the petals and turning into fully formed flowers as the disease enters its final stages…` he turns his head softly to look down to the trash can, remembering the grim sight of white petals with blood that now rested in the can.
´The disease is contracted because of.. unrequited love...` John chuckles to himself, sighing softly as his hand comes up to rest over his face. His mind goes over every single encounter he has had with you, with how he felt during it. He felt another itch rising up his throat the more he thought about you, it confirmed his suspicions about you being his person of interest.
And also terrified him altogether.
With a defeated sigh he turns back to his PC, scanning over the open site once more, ´There's only two ways it could be cured.. either having the feelings reciprocated or.. surgery..´ He closes all the tabs that have to do with the disease, coming to the conclusion that absolutely no doctor is going to know how to treat it, let alone do surgery as this is supposedly a fictional disease.
He shakes off his train of thought, returning back to his research to distract himself, forgetting that he should probably head home now as it's 2am in the morning.
.
The following day just seemed to really have it out for him. First he had passed out in his lab once more and woke up at 9am, frantically shoving his papers and laptop into his bag to head out to a 10am meeting with another fellow scientist.
After he was finished with that he went and grabbed a Bagel from the cafeteria, taking note of how his lungs started to sting once more and the familiar feeling of needing to cough something out arose.
Second, through the next five hours Johnathon forced himself to work through his horrible health condition. One that another scientist took note of since John looked a lot paler and sweatier than usual.
And third, he researched the type of flower that he spat the petals out of. Apparently it was a Gardenia, a white flower that sorta, kinda reminded him of roses. Even if they do not look like them at all, he just wasn't good with flowers.
His research also showed that the language of flowers was an important aspect of the disease, as cheesy as he thought it was.
His long fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as he pulled up a site that explains some of the meanings behind different flowers, his eyes carefully and slowly scanned the screen as he looked for what he was searching for.
“Gardenia.. Gardenia.. ah! Here we go!” he exclaimed almost proudly, bringing his hand up to softly brush over his lips with the ends of his fingers as he fell into concentration while skimming over the paragraphs.
He hummed to himself as he took the information in, starting to talk out loud to himself once more, as he would usually do when he was alone.
“The Gardenia.. the Gardenia symbolizes purity and sweetness, they indicate… secret love..” He halted, his brain laughing at him and how true that statement seemed, this was indeed secret love, forbidden love maybe too.. he never thought too highly of himself and in such a low, unlovable category that he believed every girl would find him disgusting.
He groaned as his mind drifted off into the self-condemnation again, not even while reading an article about the language of flowers.
Shaking his head softly he decided to turn back to his work, the day was starting to wear on his nerves and the last thing he needed as of right now was having Dr. Octavius on his ass for not getting his report done in time.
.
The report took him longer than he had planned, his mind kept drifting back to you and the Gardenia meaning, looking for the parallels, thinking about previous interactions. It all distracted him, and even caused several errors within the report.
Johnathon simply scoffed at it, his whole body hurt from sitting like a shrimp in his chair while his mind tired itself out.
He was starting to get immensely tired of the disease and his body, going over his options of dealing with the sickness.
A surgery was very out of question for him, he didn't trust others enough with his body and especially not with treating a ´fictional disease´. And performing the surgery on himself, like they did in those fan stories was even more out of question.
He also didn't want to die yet, he still had so much he wanted to experience and see, despite his lack of going outside besides heading to work and the store. So just simply sucking it up and dying alone in his dark gloomy lab or home didn't appeal to him…
Which left him with the third and last option, he had to tell you.
After turning his report in and starting to head home he thought about how, where and when to do the whole confession thing. He practiced lines while on his drive home, going through every possible scenario to try his best at preparing himself. For once, his lungs didn't burn and cause him knuckle biting pain as he thought about you, but rather a warm and pleasant feeling to spread through his lower abdomen.
Maybe, just maybe this could work.
.
The next day he showed up to work he went straight to your lab, walking down the long hallways to where he knew you resided. He had a slight kick to his steps as he was both a nervous wreck and pretty excited about talking to you.
Yesterday, when he arrived home, he was overthinking everything he had till that point and even had to change up planned phrases as to best explain his feelings without sounding creepy or desperate. Even if his current situation is very desperate.
His fiddling and nervous hands would switch between bunching up the fabric of his shirt and picking at his fingers. His heartbeat would pick up speed the closer he came to your lab until he was situated right outside the door.
At this point he was pretty sure every part of him that could sweat was working overtime to make him as uncomfortable as it possibly could. He ran his tongue over his lips to moisturize them while wiping his sweaty palm on his pants. He didn't really want to leave behind a sweaty handprint on the door, he would die of shame if that were the case.
He took a deep breath before knocking softly, listening to the shuffling of papers and a soft “Come in!” from the other side. ´Now or never..` and with that he softly opened the door to the sight of you hunched over your desk with a bunch of papers scattered around. You smiled up at him, making his breath catch in his throat, and a dangerous cough started to scratch at the back of it.
He tried to swallow down the petals that were clogging up his trachea again, which did not work, at all, so instead he tried to clear his throat before saying your name as softly, and without as much strain as he can muster. As to not sound suspicious. “I.. uhm.. I was wondering if it was alright to talk to you for a bit..?” His hand came up to softly scratch at the nape of his neck, showing just how nervous he was about this. "It's kind of important..”
He almost whispered the last part causing you to catch onto the seriousness of the topic. You quickly nodded your head before spinning in your chair a bit, standing up and motioning over to the couch you keep for bad, long days.
Johnathon followed closely, he was so close that he could smell your shampoo radiating off of you, it caused his heart to flutter and his cheeks to burn up. `Pervert´ he thought to himself.
The two of you sat down, you pulled your feet out of your shoes and up on the couch to overlap them with each other, leaning back and relaxing in a cross-legged position.
He felt your eyes on him, the attention making him even more nervous.
His hands started to fiddle with the fabric of his shirt as he swallowed thickly, his throat raw and burning from the constant irritation, causing him to cough into the nook of his elbow.
You waited for him to collect his thoughts, for him to start this as it clearly bugged him.
John took a deep breath before looking at you, his chocolate brown eyes making contact with yours, and you swear you saw them soften just the tiniest bit more.
He opens his mouth to start, his voice coming out very quiet and soft, causing you to lean forward a bit.
“I uhm.. I was wondering something..” his hand comes up once more to rub at the back of his neck, his fingers threading into his soft, brown locks. “I keep seeing you with Dr. Light, ya know- it's not that I watch you or something! I just noticed that whenever I do happen to see you! A-and I was just curious you see, however I also don't wanna assume that that is the-” his rambling got interrupted when you laid a soft hand onto his bigger one, it caused him to instantly shut his mouth and watch where you touched him.
His skin started to heat up and he was pretty certain that you could also hear his heartbeat now, it's like his heart wanted to escape the confinements of his chest.
You looked up at him, brows slightly furrowed as you softly brushed your thumb over his knuckles. Johnathon felt like he could stay like this forever, the relaxing silence got interrupted as you decided to speak up.
“Johnny..” oh god, his heart felt like it could erupt right then and there.
“There is nothing between Dr. Light and I.” Johnathon thanked the heavens, you weren't with them, John may actual-
“Dr. Light is just someone..” you sighed, “Who is very persistent at trying to get with me.. and into my pants.” You rolled your eyes, missing the way his expression dropped for a second.
He licked his lips, scanning your face carefully to not miss a single detail with his next question.
“So.. they are just annoying you-?” “God yeah-” you practically moaned out in annoyance, pulling your hand away from his and dragging it down your face. “They think that, just because I am single, they can just waltz into my life and get with me.. no matter how many times I had to tell them off or no..” He saw how your shoulders sagged in defeat, an expression adorning your face that was unreadable to him.
“I just.. don't want anyone right now.. but apparently no one understands or respects that..”
Your gaze dropped to the ground while his stayed on you. He suddenly didn't feel like telling you anymore.
He didn't expect this, he didn't think it could go like this, he spent all day yesterday going through all the possible scenarios and how to react. But this one, this one wasn't part of it.
His heart felt like it was about to rupture, his throat clogging up more as it became a struggle to breathe.
He tried to muster up the most authentic smile he could, softly resting his big hand on your shoulder and squeezing softly, “You.. obviously are in a bit of distress.. maybe you should head home..? I'll be having a talk with Dr. Light to get him off your back, yeah?”
He felt himself reply almost automatically, he just wanted to get out at this point, the more he stayed in your presence the less he could breathe.
You looked up at him, smiling softly as you rested a hand over his, squeezing it softly back. “Thank you Johnny.. I know I can count on you..”
John only nodded before pushing himself up to his full height, bidding you a soft “goodnight.” before making his way out of your lab.
He ignored the puzzled looks of the other scientists as he forcefully made his way back to his lab, bumping shoulders every now and then and even -softly- shoving a younger coworker out of his way. He should have expected this, he should have known and just sucked it up and withered away in his room without risking his nerves getting damaged even more by forcing himself to confess.
His heart was thumping dangerously hard in his chest, the vibrations sending painful shocks through his lungs as they stabbed and burned with each breath he took.
He just wanted to get back to his lab as fast as he could.
He just wanted to get back to cry and never come out again.
He felt so stupid for believing that he even had the slightest bit of a chance, that you were looking for someone and that he could be that someone.
He reached the doors of his lab almost in record time, slamming his shoulder aggressively into the door to open it, turning around on a spinning foot before slamming it closed with all the strength he could muster.
The doors clashed together with a banging sound, vibrating and echoing throughout the hallway. He wanted to scream, to let out all the emotions he had to keep to a minimum on a daily basis. He bit down on his lip to suppress that urge, balling his fists together and digging the nails of his fingers into the palms of his hand.
As much as he wanted to, he couldn't scream, not here at least. Tears started to blur his vision as he looked around his dark and cold lab. It felt colder to him..
He tried to suppress a sob that wormed its way to the surface, continuing to stand in front of his lab doors with tense shoulders for a few more minutes before he brought the sleeve of his lab coat up to his face and wiped the tears away. He sniffled softly before making his way back to his desk, swallowing thickly as he sat down.
He knew that he didn't have much time left, from the knowledge he gathered, his case was progressing fast. Just yesterday he was vomiting up fully formed flowers along with blood, and this morning even parts of the stems came out.
Plus he was feeling absolutely horrible. Everything in his body ached and screamed, his breathing was becoming increasingly more restrictive with each passing minute, he felt the effects of fatigue from sleep deprivation, lack of food and the disease seeping into his every bone.
He didn't have much time left, if he's lucky, he would survive long enough to at least make it back home. He didn't want to die in his lab of all places.
Tears streamed down his face once more as he pulled out a piece of paper from underneath the desk, grabbing his favorite pencil that could even make his horrendous handwriting look lovely.
He wiped his tears away again, sniffling as his shaky hand pressed the tip of the pencil down. If he wasn't able to confess to you in person, he would at least write down what he wanted to tell you after he died. You two were good friends, at least that's what he believed, you deserved to know what exactly happened to him in case Alchemax would spewed some bullshit.
For a while the noises in his lab were those of his pencil scratching on the paper, his labored breathing and the soft tabs of his feet.
He got about halfway done before a fourth noise joined the mix, ´tick plop´, that sounds suddenly became the loudest in the room as the stingy, metallic taste of blood hit his tongue.
HIs eyes widened in shock at the spots of red that started to line the letter below him along with the ink and tears, swirling together to make a gruesome scene of black, red and white.
He pressed his eyes shut as a choked sob made it out, his whole body started to shake in agony and grief.
Grief that this had to happen to him, grief that he's losing the career of his life, his life itself! Grief that he won't be able to see the future of his collider, his work, of being able to travel upon the multiverse. He grieved all the good times he could have had, he wasn't even 35 yet and was doomed to die.
And he especially grieved that he wouldn't be able to see you again.
His forehead hit his desk as he hid his face in his arms, stronger sobs hitting his body as the whole situation finally crashed down on him. He's going to die, die horribly by lack of oxygen, by being choked to death because of his own feelings. Because he was a coward and couldn't even tell you the truth.
He dug his fingers into his arms, making dark streaks of blood run down his pale and sickly looking skin, pooling at his desk, soaking into his lab coat and the papers strewn about.
He was so tired, so so tired of pretending he's alright, that he wasn't actively dying and practically rotting away in his own mind. He was tired of keeping up the facade that his body was fine, that his lungs were not getting ripped open from the inside with every second that passed.
He started to cough violently, bringing his hand up to his neck to claw desperately at it. He couldn't breathe- he couldn't breathe anymore.
Panic flooded his system as his body desperately tried to pull oxygen in. He dug his fingers into his throat, ripping the soft flesh as he gasped and fought to breathe.
Blood streamed down his arms as tears pricked at his eyes, he could hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears, almost deafening him.
He could feel his life slipping out of his grasp as every attempt at unfolding his lungs stung and felt heavier. His vision blurred as everything started to spin around him, his stomach lurching into an uncomfortable feeling of nausea.
His body slipped out of his chair, slamming into the ground with a hefty ´thud` as he curled into himself. His vision started to blacken and blur as his rapid attempts at forcing in air started to calm down.
His eyes landed on the singular pad of the Gardenia, it was almost ironic, to have the very thing that killed him be the last sight he sets his gaze upon.
His eyes close fully as his heartbeat comes to a halt.