Chapter Text
Aloha sighed, setting his phone aside and staring aimlessly at the ceiling. It was late afternoon and he ought to be up and about by now, but the time on his phone was not wasted, as this time he was not scrolling through Squidstagram or texting.
He opened his phone again, checking further on the Squoogle search. Most of the results were fictional descriptions, short stories, fanfiction, or the like.
Aloha coughed violently, and a few, soft, perfect petals tumbled from his mouth. He couldn’t identify them, and they all varied in size, shape, and color, but one thing stood out to him. Some were a shade of bluish teal, some were purplish, and the rest were orange.
He felt a flush rise to his face and continued scrolling. All of the articles were the same.
Hanahaki . They all read. There were so few cases of it that it was mostly disregarded as a myth.
Aloha felt the tension rise again and coughed once more. More petals of the same colors as before made an appearance, as well as something wet and warm dripping down his face. Aloha wiped at it irately.
His finger came away vibrantly pink. Aloha’s heart sank. That’s blood .
—
Army retched into the sink once more, as a mixture of blood, ink, and petals forced their way up his throat. To call it painful would be an understatement.
There was… nothing , to be frank, in his manual that could have prepared him for this. Agitated, Army yanked a botany book out from his shelf, flipping through it brusquely.
He found a page with purple flowers on it that resembled the ones in the sink. Morning Glory was what the page read.
Symbolizes life, death, and even lo-
Army slammed the book shut, shelving it right away. He did not need any of that nonsense in his life.
Glancing in the mirror, he rubbed at his face to rid it of the orange flush. He had a Turf War to attend soon and could not be hacking up gore and flowers for the match.
Army switched the sink on, the faucet releasing a rush of squid-friendly water that pushed the residue down the drain. He splashed his face, rinsing away any trace of blood, ink, or petals, and replaced his hat, trying to recall where he’d left his trusty N-Zap.
—
“Mask!”
Mask was startled out of his reverie by Jersey, who peered at him curiously.
Full Moon chimed in “Dude, are you alright?”
Speaking around the flowers clogging his mask was awkward, but he managed.
“I’m fiiiiiiine.” He mumbled. Designer blinked slowly at him.
“You… don’t sound fine.” They replied shortly.
Mask rolled his eyes, hoping his team wouldn’t pry too much. “It’s spriiiiiing. My hay feveeeeer is wack as shit right noooooow.”
Full Moon hummed. “Will you be fine on your own?” She asked as they reached his apartment.
Mask rolled his eyes once more. “Duuuuuuh. I’ll call you guys if I start… dying, or somethiiiiiiiiing.” He muttered.
Better call ‘em His mind taunted him. He groaned, bid his friends goodbye, and began the arduous climb to his apartment. Mask didn’t have very good stamina anyways, and the added pressure of flowers in his lungs did not help. By the time he reached his door, he was already hacking more of the wretched plants into his mask.
He unlocked the door and staggered over to the bathroom, dislodging his mask and dumping the contents into the toilet. A sickly mixture of blood, ink, and flowers fell, and Mask leaned over the bowl for a moment, contemplating whether he needed to vomit.
The swirling colors of the petals caught his attention, the hues familiar to him. Shades of purple and orange and pink-
Mask flushed the contents down the toilet, feeling dizzy and sick. Hanahaki . A disease that shouldn’t exist.
Mask pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his namesake, and began to make his way to the door.
He had just placed his hand on the doorknob when he felt something rise to the back of his throat.
He scrambled back over to the toilet, retching pink, orange, and purple.
—
“You can’t hide it! Hell, we should be at the hospital right now !” Aviators hissed. Skull groaned and readjusted his bandanna.
“I know. It’s just-” He cut off to cough, and he could feel the petals force their way into his mouth. He spat them out. These ones were pink. “It’s complicated.”
Aviators nearly screamed. “What is complicated about this ?!”
Skull glanced around. “Keep it down. You’re the only squid who knows about this.”
“Ugh. Listen. We need to go to the hospital and get these fuc… stupid plants removed.” Aviators said, leaning back and crossing his legs.
“I know,” Skull muttered. “I know we need to but… I’ve done my research. Hanahaki, it’s… well…” He began to gnaw at his nails. “If you get the plants removed you… you lose all of your memories of, y’know, whoever.” He sighed. “I’m… not even sure who it is but… I don’t want to lose my memories of the-” He was cut off by a harsher, longer round of coughing, accompanied by its complimentary blood and petals.
Aviators let out a strangled cry. “And I don’t want to lose my best friend !” He snarled. Then, the enraged look on his face softened as the coughing slowed. “You really don’t know who it is?”
“No.” Skull managed, catching the petals that fell out from under his bandana. Beautiful shades of bluish-teal, pink, and orange, dotted with purple blood, lay still in his hand.
Aviators peered at the offending items. “Well, while they probably symbolize something , I, no offense, don’t think it’s that much of a mystery.”
Skull groaned. “That’s one’s... not exactly...” He offered weakly. Aviators shot him an amused glance.
“Skull, those are cyan, I’m telling you.” He said simply. He pulled out his phone and took a photo of the flowers, before starting to tap things. “Let’s see… the pink ones are… carnations. Symbolize love and captivation. The orange ones are dahlias. Symbolize love and devotion. And lastly, the cyan ones are forget-me-nots. Guess what they symbolize?” He shot Skull a devious grin. “Respect and true love. How romantic.”
Skull flipped him off, wiping blood away from the corner of his mouth. “There’s nothing romantic about this.”
Aviators’s face darkened. “Of course there isn’t. So we’ve got two choices. Either you’re gonna have to man up and tell them how you feel, or you’re gonna get that surgery and lose ‘em forever.” Then he suddenly looked away, not meeting Skull’s eyes. “Or you could die. And I’m not letting that last one happen. Why not just… schedule a Turf War with them or something, and tell them how you feel afterward?”
“That’s a good but very awkward idea,” Skull mumbled. Aviators shot him a sharp glare.
“Just do it.”
Skull rolled his eyes but took out his phone, opening the group chat he was in.
The S(us)4
sans: uh
sans: you guys wanna team for a turf war
sans: like uh…
Skull thought. It was Wednesday, so Friday could give him a few days to think.
sans: friday?
Army: That sounds nice, I’ll come.
sickly victorian inkling: if i feel up to it idk.
Party boy: your coming Mask
Army: You’re*
Army: Also, who keeps changing the group chat name?
Army changed the group name to “The S4”
sickly victorian inkling changed the group name to “The S(us)4”
Party boy: that joke is dead Mask
sickly victorian inkling: 🖕
Party boy: be sure to be there on Friday, I have sum to tell you guys
sans: kk
Skull switched off his phone and pocketed it, the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, and though it was hidden by his bandanna, Aviators noticed the mood shift.
He grinned smugly. “It went well, huh? Are you meeting them?”
Skull nodded. “Friday. Aloha says he has somethin’ to tell us.”
“Sweet. Maybe you’ve already lucked out.” Aviators said, seeming relieved.
Skull opened his mouth, about to respond, when yet another coughing fit wracked his body, accompanied by yet another shower of unwelcome flowers.
“Don’t-” Skull coughed out one last petal, before wincing and reaching down to collect the blooms. He dumped them unceremoniously in the trash can.
“Don’t get your hopes up just yet.” Was all Skull said in reply.