heathers-wig

[heathers-wig]

come & find me - heathney hanahaki au part three

note: please check out parts 1 & 2 before reading! this is the final part :)

## / ## / ##

So. It’s the Hanahaki Disease. Such bullshit. I sound delirious just writing it, but it can’t be helped, I guess.

I don’t know who they’re for, but I can’t let anyone find out. It would bring the bad type of attention, and no one can know of this weakness. Especially my “beloved”, seeing as how they’re literally the death of me. I don’t know who they are, but I already hate their guts. Maybe they’ve replaced Courtney as the Most Aggravating Individual of the Year.

## / ## / ##

Good news: I’m not the only one that has the disease! Bad news: Gwen, Eva, Harold, and Izzy know. Oh, and Gwen has it too, and over the idiot skateboarder, no less.

I guess I can’t judge, though, seeing as how I don’t know who these stupid flowers are for. “Pride” and “loyalty” — what type of hints are those? And Izzy was so out of line with the “I bet it’s Courtney” thing. Glad Gwen found it funny because I sure didn’t.

If it is Courtney, I have the worst taste. The worst.

But Izzy won’t be right. Courtney’s Courtney, and out of my league and I’m out of her league.

## / ## / ##

So. It turns out Izzy was right.

## / ## / ##

Courtney’s infuriating, still, but not in the same way as before. She’s so hard to look away from. I’ve observed all these things about her that I didn’t even know I noticed, and now they’re all resurfacing and it makes it so hard to ignore her. All the things I found aggravating before are weirdly charming now??

She’s just… really pretty. And sweet if she wants to be.

Shit, I really do love her.

Wait. WAIT NO THAT'S NOT WHAT I

…

No, I do love her. I really fucking love her.

She’s just?? Perfect. Every time she straightens her hair and every time she proves someone wrong and every time she does literally anything is so goddamn pretty I can’t even breathe around her. Literally. It’s selfish but I want to have all the couple-y things with her. I want the picket fence and matching rings and holding hands. I want her intimacy and love and affection. I want it all.

But… I’m too selfish for that. I’m just going to die, I’ve accepted it. It’s about time the Hanahaki Club does, too, or they’re just playing themselves as fools.

I am, too, by fantasizing like this. Dying is the only way for me.

## / ## / ##

Gwen’s in stable condition. She got in a coughing fit during a Hanahaki Club meeting, and now she’s literally fucking dying.

I’m scared, but I don’t know why.

That’s going to be me, soon, though. Whether or not Gwen lives to see is something I’ll just have to see.

## / ## / ##

Of course Courtney found out. Smartass.

But is it bad that I really, really liked having her attention and care?

Whatever. But, she held my hand today, and her hand was really, really warm.

God, how pathetic am I? I’m literally dying over here and yet I’m getting all flustered over a hand. I’m doomed.

I don’t know, I just wished I could have stayed like that with her forever. Her hand on mine. Her hand squeezing mine.

Together.

## / ## / ##

It got worse.

It hurts and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts to even fucking breathe with how much it hurts.

Am I dying? I think I am.

I hope I am.

## / ## / ##

She’s clueless. She’s so fucking cute when she’s clueless.

She keeps on trying to guess who my “beloved” is, and she’s fucking clueless that it’s her. Of course she is. Of course Courtney is smart and sharp at everything but identifying that it’s her I’m in love with.

Of course, of course, that’s just the universe playing “Heather’s Karma” at me.

She’ll fall in love, someday, and it’ll hurt like a bitch when she realizes who she’s pining for is a dense rock.

## / ## / ##

I want to hold her and kiss her and love her and I know it’s selfish but the thought of it is so good but I can’t indulge in it and it hurts.

… At least it’ll be over, soon. I can feel another cough coming.

## / ## / ##

I’m going to die today. I can feel it.

It’s a shame Courtney is going to beat herself up for not finishing the answer on time, though, but she’s going to hurt either way. Maybe I’ll leave her this so that she knows.

God, that’s going to be embarrassing, but at least I’ll be dead and not around to see her reaction, even though it’ll be priceless.

It’s time to go, though.

## / ## / ##

Good (?) news: I’m not dead. Bad (?) news: I will be in a few hours.

I’m high on pain meds right now. It hurts to write, but I gotta.

So I thought I was gonna die. Fucking Gwen n Eva ruined that though. They got me to a hospital. Caring assholes.

The doctors say the flowers are going to suffocate me. Good. I’m ready for this to be over.

My last request is that this, somehow, is given to Courtney Barlow. The doctors already know this.

So, Courtney, hey, how are you? In the event you have this, I’m dead. Sorry. You were the person I got Hanahaki for. Sorry for not telling you.

I’m running out of time but I love you. You already saw the other entries, you already know how much I love you and every part of you. Of course you do. Smartass.

Besides this, I have left you a lotus and an azalea taped in my journal. The azalea means “take care of yourself for me”, and I left you one because I’m going to beat your ass if I see you again too soon. The lotus means rebirth.

I don’t know what happens when you die, but come and find me when we’re reborn. In the next life or the one after that, just come and find me. I’ve never been patient but for you, I’ll wait.

Come and find me.

(Courtney goes to find her.)

❀

She finds her through a vase of flowers. Lotus flowers and azaleas, to never forget the promise Heather didn’t know she made.

And heathers. Especially heathers, year-round. The only difference was that she tossed them out before she could see them wilt, much like the original Heather had.

Over the years, Courtney found Heather in minuscule things. In flowers, of course. In libraries and in pain enduring manuals and in medication and in sickness and in health, Courtney found her.

The girl who lives and loves and cries eventually dies, knowing that she’ll soon be reunited with the girl who lived and loved and died.

❀

0. restart

past the blood and bruise / past the curses and cries / beyond the terror in the nightfall / haunted by the look in my eyes / that would've loved you for a lifetime / leave it all behind / and there is happiness

❀

vi. white heathers & red roses; ‘wishes do come true’ & ‘I love you’

It’s been perhaps a day or two since Heather had awoken from her state of dying that she had accepted with grace, and Heather hates everything about the situation.

She may be in stable condition, but she is in no way getting better. She still hacks out sweet peas and purple hyacinths, along with her own blood, and she still feels just as depleted, but Heather can’t bring herself to care. The hospital gown is stiff, and saying the medical equipment is unfamiliar and uncomfortable is an understatement at best, but still, Heather takes the treatment with little argument to be provided. She’s too exhausted to care anymore, and she knows that in a few days short her time will come for good.

Still, despite her denial of the surgery, that didn’t stop her friends from the Hanahaki Club and the doctors begging her in a gentle yet urgent tone to go through with the surgery. She’s not sure why she declines; had it been a few months ago, Heather would have leaped at the chance for treatment when Gwen first suggested it. Now, though, Heather found herself wrinkling her nose in distaste, shaking her head, refusing the treatment, company, and tray of food brought to her.

Maybe, Heather thinks, if she refused her medication and nutrients, she’d die faster, but it seemed even at the hospital she didn’t get the choice. Soon, both are injected into her, and all Heather can do is sigh and wish the blossoms would overtake her faster.

Her family never shows up, though, and Heather is unsure if that’s truly a good or bad thing.

Shaking her head and the thought away, Heather wordlessly looks to the vase of roses sitting next to her stand on her side with a cheesy Get Well Soon! card attached to the vase.

Momentarily, she wonders if she would be killed faster if she choked on the thorns of the roses, before falling asleep due to her own exhaustion.

❀

It’s around 7 PM when Heather expects her nurse to come around with her dinner — an unidentifiable lump of food that tastes like chalk — when the door to her quarters slams open, and a girl who is very much not her nurse stumbles into the room.

Upon identifying who her unprecedented intruder was, Heather felt her windpipes squeeze, a lump forming in her throat. All she can do is stare like an idiot at Courtney, whose face seems to be unable to choose between adopting overwhelming relief or fiery rage.

Momentarily, though, Courtney’s raw frustration creases her features, deepening a scowl and narrowing her eyes — had she always had those bags beneath them? — to slits.

“You… you absolute idiot,” the brunette seethes, fumbling over her words. “Why? Why did you make yourself suffer for so long over these stupid flowers over me? Why are you refusing treatment? God, you’re such an idiot…”

Just like that, concern and relief overwhelm her initial anger, allowing Courtney to sink to her knees next to Heather’s side. The brunette clutches the other’s nearest hand desperately as her face contorts, fighting back a sniffle. For a fleeting moment, concern overrides all else as Heather watches Courtney let out a muffled sob, but she’s powerless to do anything besides squeezing her hand.

“But if you’re an idiot, I’m the bigger one,” Courtney choked out a watery laugh. “All that time spent investigating, and I didn’t even notice who the flowers were even for — if I had just thought harder, or if you had just told me, I could have put an end to these flowers by telling you how I feel.”

At that, Heather opens her mouth to speak, but winces as the pain seeps in once again. She notices her heart monitor elsewhere spiking, and at this, Courtney gives her hand reassuring squeezes that feel familiar and comforting.

Shaking her head once more, Courtney sighs, a fond smile cracking past her exasperated exterior. “Idiot,” she says once more, smiling, “Did you really think I didn’t like you?”

Feeling herself inhale sharply, Heather blinks once, twice, and three times before deducing that no, she hadn’t imagined the words in a dying state. Courtney’s watery eyes and wide smile and hold on her hand are still there, and so is the pain, momentarily, before it subsides. After exhaling deeply, there’s no shakiness in her breaths, nor irritation in her chest or flowers itching in the back of her throat for release.

There was only air. No flowers, blood, or bloody flowers. Just fresh and clean air that she had been deprived of for months.

For the first time in months, Heather breathes, fully and truly, free of the deadly flowers in front of her beloved.

Courtney seems to have noticed as well (her sharpness is something Heather admired — no, loved about her) as her smile falls off her face as a look of blatant surprise overtakes her features. She presses a shaking hand to Heather’s chest, feeling her heartbeat and the even rises and falls of her chest, and laughs.

She’s still shaking, though, so in a moment of blissful selfishness that Heather finally allows herself to indulge in, she wraps Courtney in a hug, and when the brunette wraps her arms around Heather, she vows to never let her go.

The months of the floral disease have been a chilling winter and her touch feels as though she has provided a getaway from it. The snow has given away and has melted into spring, the season of rebirth.

The brunette's warm. She always was, she always has been, but her warmth was unlike Heather had ever felt before, especially in the cold and lonely hospital. Greedily, Heather takes in her heat and her love and breathes in her cinnamon perfume. She was here, and it was real.

Courtney laughs softly, her chapped lips pressing against Heather’s temple diligently. She gives Heather’s hand a squeeze when they disperse from the hug, smiling brightly. Heather smiles and looks to the roses next to her side and lets herself love.

❀

Later, long after they had dispersed from their initial hug and moved onto exchanges of gentle kisses and hand-holding, Courtney hands Heather a bouquet of flowers just before she is dismissed from the hospital. The brunette looks away from Heather’s inquiring gaze, seeming embarrassed and bashful for the first time since Heather had met her.

When Heather identifies the flowers, though, she understands the uncharacteristic flustered behavior, but finds it charming and amusing rather than embarrassing.

White heathers. She lifted a portion of the bouquet to the light for a better view of the white flowers. Symbolizing wishes coming true.

Whether or not Courtney knew of flower language — after this, Heather was unsure if she ever wanted to lay her eyes on the language of flowers, despite the fact it was seared in her head — didn’t matter to Heather. She smiles instead, brushing hair out of Courtney’s eyes to look into them better.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from all the time she spent talking with Courtney.

Predictably, Courtney opens her mouth to respond, but Heather cuts her off with a kiss.

She had been wanting Courtney and her love and affection for months, now, and now that she had it, she couldn’t help but feel the flowers and vicious coughing were nothing but a bad dream she had awoken from.

When they pull apart, Heather sucks in a breath and chuckles softly, just barely audibly, as their noses bump together.

“I love you,” Heather says. There’s no hesitation or stumbling with her words in her proclamation — only sincerity and assurance. She had waited a long time to even think of saying those words, and they had been pressing against her tongue for all of those months spent hacking up flowers. Still, throughout all of the time and suffering, all Heather had done was fall further, and the words were meant with her entire being.

Courtney’s smile in response was bright. Her eyes are just as bright, if not brighter; the words brought tears to her eyes, but thankfully, they were happy tears.

“I love you too,” Courtney murmurs, and this time, it’s her lips that find Heather’s with a smile pressed against them.

❀

END OF PART THREE - THANK YOU FOR READING! :)

[heathers-wig]

come & find me - heathney hanahaki au part two

note: please please PLEASE read part one first!

iii. acacias & carnations; concealed love & fascination

The flowers change again, but this time, Heather has adapted to it.

They’re yellow acacias, which symbolized concealed love, which was pretty fitting, and carnations, which ranged from every color, was generalized to fascination, which Heather supposed was fitting as well.

The issue was that, since her realization, Heather couldn’t stop thinking about Courtney and all the things she had observed but hadn’t even realized she had observed to begin with. For instance, the way Courtney’s eyes light up when she figures out an answer before anybody else, or how she has seven freckles dotting her face, or how she’s able to whip anybody in shape with just a few words. Her physical capability was able to rival Heather’s own flexibility, and her sharp tongue could keep up with Heather’s own quick-wittedness.

It’s as admirable as it is — Heather was slightly embarrassed to admit she felt this way during high school, as high school romances were her personal taboo — hot with Courtney, and it took everything Heather had not to stare at her too much.

She did notice Gwen, Eva, Izzy, and Harold’s stares, however, with the former two being filled with empathy and the rest with sympathy, but she ignores them most of the time. During others, she stares back.

She’s aware of what their stares entail. Confess.

For Gwen, she shoots one look that makes Gwen break her gaze. Hypocrite.

Harold, Izzy, and Eva all get the same one. What are you, crazy? I’m not going to go up to Courtney and go ‘Hey, Courtney, so funny story: I’m actually so in love with you it literally hurts to breathe, and I know you hate my guts but I just thought you should know!’

Apparently, the message is not as clear with them as it is with Gwen, as they continue to stare and it’s actually Heather to break off their intense and unofficial staring contest.

Their request is clear, and Heather knows that they’re right. They were just three words — I love you — but they felt so wrong and unworthy on her tongue when she tried to practice them. They came out warbled and pathetic sounding, as if someone had their hands clamped around her neck, and Heather knew she’d never have the guts to say them to the brunette, even if it killed her.

The thought brings a lump to her throat, and a familiar hot and thick stuffiness too, but Heather keeps both the flowers and blood down, instead intently staring at the clock, waiting for lunch to come.

❀

Later that week, it’s their lunch period when the self-appointed Hanahaki Club meets next. The only noises in the library are the hustling of workers and students, the opening and closing of books, and keyboard keys hurriedly being typed, but in their corner of the library, it’s nearly silent excluding the regular clearance of either Heather or Gwen’s throats.

Gwen is fiddling with her pink bracelet when Heather makes another one of her mistakes. Something idiotic and foolish in hindsight, but something that seemed harmless in the present.

She asks, “What’s the deal with you and the bracelet? You’re always playing with it,”

Gwen looks surprised. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

Heather remains silent, unsure what to say, but Gwen smiles and looks down at the bracelet. “He gave it to me.”

Heather doesn’t have to ask for clarification on who the ‘he’ was, instead nodding and returning to peeling her orange.

However, the thing Heather hadn’t accounted for was triggering Gwen’s illness. So when the goth coughs, she doesn’t look up, but when she begins shrieking, that’s when Heather’s eyes widen.

Gwen’s hands were simultaneously switching between holding her throat at chokehold, as if to unlodge something from inside, and to covering her mouth in a vain attempt to hide the blood pouring out from her mouth. She was shaking, and beginning to shriek louder in panic as she choked, and all Heather could do was stare.

She registered Harold doing all he could to help the coughs as Eva called an ambulance. Izzy had already sprung out of her seat to alert a teacher, deadly serious. Still, Heather sat and stared at Gwen, whose eyes had fallen shut despite her body still contorting and twitching, and the trail of sweet peas that had fallen from her mouth and piled all around her.

Sweet peas, Heather finds herself thinking, the feeling of movement returning to her legs as Gwen is carried out the room to an ambulance waiting outside, they mean departures and goodbyes.

Heather’s ears feel muffled as if she were underwater. Her head is pounding, too, and she desperately wants to clear her throat of the scratchiness that was resurfacing, but feeling Harold, Izzy, and Eva’s stares, she doesn’t. Instead, she ignores the feel of their heavy and pitying gaze, and pictures herself drenched in her own blood, leaving a trail of sweet peas as she’s hauled in an ambulance, ridden to her presumed death. She’ll be choking on flowers and blood and her love for Courtney that was destined to be unreturned.

Heather staggers out of the library and drags herself to the second-nearest bathroom. Reaching the sink, she retches flowers, all while ignoring the aftertaste of copper on her tongue, instead washing the residue away and tossing the petals in the trash.

❀

iv. violets & marigolds; modesty & cruelty

There was only one outcome Heather hadn’t anticipated unfolding, which was Courtney finding out herself, so, of course, predictably and dreadfully, that is exactly what happens.

It was Study Hall, and Heather was reading in the library. The material was an outlandish, stupid comic about pirates in space that Harold had recommended, and so, Heather spent her valuable free time reading about the misadventures of space pirates targeted at 4th graders. At least there was no romance, though, or flowers, which was something Heather was grateful for.

She’s unsure how exactly Courtney had found her; all she knew was that she felt a single tap on her shoulder inflicted by the eraser end of a pencil, and that Courtney immediately leaped to her point as per usual.

“Are you sick?” She asks, voice uncharacteristically concerned instead of conceited. Heather decides that she likes it just as much as her pride — Courtney’s attention and concern were so wonderful to feel and have.

Heather blinks, realizing she had been staring for too long. She doesn’t know how to respond, so she just parrots back, “Sick?”

“Just like Gwen,” Courtney elaborates. Heather blinks in realization.

Word about Gwen had spread fast — after all, someone coughing up blood and flowers and leaving a trail of them while being hauled to an ambulance, all while showing symptoms of a fictional disease, was bound to get people talking. Heather hadn’t expected someone to connect the dots back to her, even less than by Courtney herself.

The back of Heather’s throat burns when she realizes Courtney’s confidence hadn’t wavered, but now she was gripping Heather’s forearm in concern. Her eyes were pooled with sympathy.

She can feel a wave of flowers — violets, meaning modesty and acceptance, and marigolds, symbolizing cruelty and grief — along with her own blood rising up her throat. Her lungs rattle and shake as she breathes quivering breaths, and it takes everything in her not to open her mouth and allow the blood and flowers to crack through and onto the clothes that fit Courtney like a glove.

Heather’s suddenly aware of how much she doesn’t want to cough up petals in front of Courtney.

And here is where Heather makes another mistake: she instinctively opens her mouth to reply in the form of a possibly blatant lie, but instead, the action makes her throat itch and by reflex, she’s coughing into the palm of her hand, instead of biting down the flowers and blood like she had intended to.

Heather screws her eyes shut as she sighs, lungs momentarily clear of the flowers that plague her. She can feel Courtney’s wide-eyed and appalled stare, but when she opens her eyes to the sight of the book drenched with blood, all Heather can bring herself to do is sigh and shut the bloodied book.

“Great,” she murmured. “Another book and set of clothes ruined,”

“You’re —” For once, Courtney is left flabbergasted and struggling with her words, and Heather hates that she finds it inexplicably cute. “You’re just like Gwen?” She says. Her disbelief makes the reaffirmation a question.

Heather can only bring herself to chuckling dryly, biting down the urge to point out that she was the one to make the accusation to begin with. She gives a feeble nod instead and smiles forcibly to Courtney to keep herself from crying from either the bitter irony or the pain. Or both. Most likely both.

“How long?” Courtney asks, taking a deep breath. She grips Heather’s forearm once more, and Heather hates that the simple touch sends an unpractical spark of excitement through her and heat to her cheeks.

Somehow, Heather finds herself shaking the thought off and shrugging. “A few weeks,”

Courtney stares at her with her mouth agape in exasperation and incredulity. “Why didn’t you tell anyone, you idiot? Do you want to die choking on flowers?” Heather looks away as Courtney sighs. “Why didn’t you at least tell me? We’re lab partners, after all,”

Heather wants to laugh. She wants to laugh at how cute it was that Courtney considered herself close enough to Heather to know about her fatal illness just because of an assignment. She wants to laugh because maybe she’s right — maybe, despite the pain, dying would be easier. She wants to laugh because of the cruelty that the girl of her affections was offering help despite being the cause of her suffering.

A marigold blooms from Heather’s lips. Cruelty.

It would be so easy to confess while she’s vulnerable and they’re alone. Courtney is sitting there, perhaps the most patient Heather had ever seen her, and it would be so easy, but when she opens her mouth to say the words that are already withering from the tip of her tongue, nothing comes out but the petals fighting their way up her windpipes.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

(Seven ‘I love you’s for all seven of the freckles dotting Courtney’s face.)

Instead, what leaves her mouth is none of the three words she needs to say.

“Don’t worry about it.”

❀

Ever since then, Courtney barely left Heather’s side. Others thought it was odd how she willingly stayed by Heather’s side, but the attention and concern made Heather’s heart swell.

(And her throat and chest burn, but that was unimportant.)

Currently, it was homeroom period, and Courtney had seated herself next to Heather. The brunette was flipping through a manual on different ways to ease pain in the stomach and throat. She occasionally asked for Heather’s opinion on a girl, attempting to find her crush. It was cruelly ironic, but Heather had already accepted she was as good as a dead man. Plus, Courtney looked really cute when her eyebrows were scrunched together in concentration even over something as measly as Heather’s crush. She didn’t have the heart to argue when Courtney even brought a small notebook to record her thoughts and findings in.

“Hmm, what about Sierra? You guys got along that one time in Sophomore year, right? Ooh, wait, is it Lindsay? You guys are pretty close.”

Heather hummed, giving a half-answer. Courtney frowns.

“It’s not them,” is all Heather can bring herself to say before the flowers welling up in her chest get the better of her.

Heather loves her, and she doesn’t know if she hates Courtney for it or if she hates herself. Worst of all, she isn’t sure if she wants to stop and have to look at Courtney in the annoyance and indifference she used to look at her with before her feelings spiraled out of control.

Maybe it would be better to love her quietly, Heather thinks, and then just peacefully die while Courtney remains none the wiser.

Courtney frowns, placing a gentle hand over Heather’s. The action makes her freeze, feeling heat rush to her cheeks, and all Heather can do is pray that she doesn't visibly blush.

“Hey,” she says comfortingly, giving her hand a squeeze, “We’ll find them, I promise,”

All Heather can do in response is cough once, twice, and watch as a violet and marigold flutter down from her mouth, a grave omen of what was to come.

❀

v. sweet peas & purple hyacinths; departures & sorrow

Heather rarely speaks anymore. When she does, the flowers and blood come up, and while many now have a good idea she’s sicker than feeling “under the weather”, she’d rather pretend for her own dignity that they don’t. And so, she doesn’t speak, so no one knows about the sweet peas and purple hyacinths that claw their way up Heather’s throat.

(The sweet peas she coughs up are the same as the ones Gwen had on the day she was rushed to the hospital while dying, and Heather knows her time is running out, but that doesn’t stop her from identifying that sweet peas mean goodbye and purple hyacinths mean sorrow each and every time she coughs one up.)

Gwen, however, has returned to school now that she has recovered, and the first thing she does is call a Hanahaki Club meeting during lunch. Now, Heather is the only one in the club who has the flower disease, and now, whenever she is shot a concerned glance, she scowls back until the original sympathetic look is disintegrated off of the owner's face.

“You know, they’ve developed a surgery for removing the roots from your lungs,” Gwen tells Heather during one of their meetings. “I nearly took it, and the medication honestly hurt like a bitch, but then Geoff showed up and we worked things out and… you know…” Gwen shyly looks away, and Heather just stares.

She’s not jealous of Gwen and Geoff or Izzy and Eva. She’s not — it’s better this way.

“Anyway,” Gwen continues, unaware of Heather’s inner turmoil, “You should check it out, Heather, especially since you’re hellbent on not confessing,”

“Whatever,” Heather murmurs, reaching for her water bottle. “It’s better this way. It’ll be over soon, and soon Courtney won’t be my ‘enamored’ or whatever.”

Gwen snorts half-heartedly. “And you seriously can’t confess? I mean, she rejects you, you move on and you don’t die. She returns your feelings, congrats, you have a girlfriend and you don’t die. Seriously, Heather, do you think this is really the way —”

Gwen gets cut off by Heather’s hacking. Revealing a purple hyacinth in hand, Heather sighs before crumpling it up.

“Rich coming from the person who did get the happy ending,” Heather mutters bitterly. She notices Gwen’s mouth opening to defend herself out of the corner of her eye, so she murmurs, “Look, I don’t think whatever it is I’m feeling for Courtney is going to go away overnight. But it’ll be over soon, I know it.”

Gwen blinks once, twice, three times when she realizes what Heather was implying. “Heather,” she says slowly, deadly serious. “Are you telling me you’re fine with dying when it’s preventable?”

Heather just gives a nod, unable to give words. She’s selfish like that, Heather thinks, that she’d rather die than confess and risk rejection.

Of course the thought of having Courtney’s love is tempting and wonderful. Of course the thought of staring into her eyes and being able to run her fingers across her freckles makes her hand twitch in longing, and of course the thought of doing all the things she wants to do with Courtney — going on dates, holding hands, going about their usual banter, kissing — is something that sends butterflies erupting in her stomach, but it’s something that she knows she can’t have.

The thought makes her crack a small smile, but even she can identify the sadness that lingers in her eyes despite not seeing them for herself. After so much time spent setting herself up for her own death, she’s still falling. She was still falling for Courtney, and the brunette was unaware that she was literally the death of her.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she announces to no one in particular, and this time, she just feels the group's saddened gazes following her.

❀

When Heather is out of earshot, Gwen takes the opportunity to make a sardonic quip accompanied with a chuckle that is anything but amused.

“And she calls me the goth,” she murmured, blinking fiercely before wiping a tear away.

Gwen didn’t understand just why she was crying. She and Heather had barely gotten along before, but after all of this, it felt too wrong to leave it at that. She sighed and rose.

“I’m going after her,” Gwen mutters, already knowing which bathroom Heather was heading to.

❀

As soon as Heather slams into the bathroom that’s the second-closest one to the library, she feels the roots digging into her chest and, specifically, her lungs. Her breaths feel jagged and rough, but she has gotten used to the feeling, though the shortness of them as they shrink while she breathes is unfamiliar.

Oh, Heather thinks, stumbling to the sink as she desperately clutches the edges of the porcelain, so this is what dying feels like.

It was already unbearable, but Heather knew that the worst was soon to come. It was time.

Heather tried to cough, as it seemed her mind was ready to go yet her body hadn’t accepted it, but all she got was blood and a few stray petals stained with her blood. Still, she kept trying, despite the fact that the action wore her out more than saved her.

Her vision swam as her head pounded, and she staggered as she attempted to stay balanced. Her body burned all over, but especially her chest; Heather gasped and heaved as she writhed on the ground, her body fighting for a bit of oxygen.

It hurts. It hurts like a bitch, as Gwen would have put it.

(She hates being in love, but at the same time, she had brought this on herself, so how much did she really hate being in love?)

As she felt her eyes flutter shut, her body laying in a pool of her own blood and petals, Heather notices the door kicked open by Gwen. The goth’s eyes flick across the room, before landing on Heather.

“Heath— shit!”

Immediately propping Heather up in her lap, Gwen stares down at her with terror filling her features.

“It’s okay, just hold on a little longer — don’t you dare close your eyes, Heather,” Gwen instructed, somehow giving instructions despite her panicked state. Then, she looked up and away from Heather, and shouted, “EVA! I found her, call an ambulance!”

The last thing Heather remembers before her memories flicker in and out of consciousness was Gwen squeezing her hand. It was so similar, yet so different than the way Courtney had squeezed her hand.

She had wanted to live in that moment forever, and now it seemed she’d be dying with that memory.

Heather smiled and, against Gwen’s wishes, shut her eyes.

❀

(Lots of blood on tiles. Staggering out the school doors. Being laid on a stretcher. Cold, hard, unwelcoming hands that don’t squeeze her own. Hustling and bustling of a hospital. Stiff beds and IV machines. Courtney.)

❀

vi. lotuses & azalea; rebirth & ‘take care of yourself for me’

It starts with a text. Well, if Courtney were being honest, it started far beyond the first initial text, but the notification is where everything fell into place.

It was English class right after lunch. There was no teacher, as the teacher ran out hastily and gave no explanation. Mr. McLean had just called over his shoulder that it was “quiet reading time”. Of course, many students took the opportunity not to read or be quiet, but Courtney paid them no mind as she flipped through her copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Her copy was filled with folded-over pages, highlighted passages, and various sticky notes. Many would think that, because of her perfectionism, she would be opposed to marking and folding pages, but Courtney found it soothing — just as long it was a personal copy, of course.

She had raised her highlighter to highlight a passage when she felt her phone vibrate from her bag. Carefully looking around to make sure no one was looking, Courtney carefully slid her phone from the pocket and switched it on.

Bridgette - 12:37 PM: have you heard about heather?

Courtney frowned at the words. Hiding her phone within her book — she had learned a thing or two from her peers, after all — she quickly typed a response back.

To Bridgette - 12:37 PM: No, what happened?

Her response is quick.

Bridgette - 12:38 PM: she got hauled to the hospital. gwen and eva loaded her in the ambulance but weren’t allowed to come with. heather wasn't visible, but gwen had a bunch of blood and flowers on her, and since she and eva are in relationships, they’re from heather.

Courtney felt herself pale. She had known about her illness, of course, but she didn’t know how Heather would react to everyone else knowing if she came back.

(When. When she came back, Courtney corrected, though the hammering in her heart did not calm down at the forced reassurance.)

Fingers shaking, Courtney sent one last response.

To Bridgette - 12:40 PM: Oh my god, is she going to be okay??

The question seems to throw Bridgette in loop, as Courtney watches as the blonde types and re-types her message, the little bubble with the ‘...’ symbol appearing, disappearing, and reappearing.

Bridgette - 12:41 PM: they don’t know.

Courtney shuts off her phone, closing her book as she stares defeatedly at the ceiling.

They don’t know.

They don’t know.

Releasing a shaky breath, Courtney rushed to her feet and hastily left the room without offering an explanation to her peers. Instead, she goes down to the office to excuse herself, and goes straight to the hospital without looking back.

❀

At the hospital, Courtney arrived before any of Heather’s family did. She found it strange, admittedly, since an hour had passed since Heather had been hospitalized, but she didn’t pay it much mind. Instead, she was the only one waiting for Heather in the waiting room; the silence was deafening, and was further punctuated by how stiff and awkward the taps of Courtney’s feet were. The brunette was scared and impatient, and that combination unveiled tics she forgot she even had.

Eventually, after many hours spent bored after finishing her homework, a doctor in a white lab coat enters the room. His face does not give away if he is about to give away good or bad news, but his entrance makes the room smell heavily of chemicals.

“Ma’am, you’re going to have to go home,” He says to her, not looking up from his clipboard. “Ms. Wilson is under stable condition and won’t be accepting visitors.”

Ms. Wilson, Courtney realizes, is Heather. Instead of arguing, like she so desperately wanted to do, the brunette gave a stiff nod, rising from her seat with her heart sinking further in her stomach and a lump forming in the back of her throat. A scratchiness bubbles in the back of her throat, but Courtney can’t bring herself to clear it while she feels she’s choking on unidentifiable emotions.

❀

On the ride home, Courtney takes a lot of time to think.

She thinks about many things — Heather, mostly and predictably. She reflects on how intimidating and powerful Heather had been just months ago, and how she was now reduced to a hospitalized girl due to the growing pains and flowers in her lungs. They had been rooted from Heather’s love for somebody — the only issue was that Heather didn’t know who it was.

And so, being the wonderful friend Courtney was, Courtney heavily researched everything she could find on the Hanahaki Disease. It was near impossible since it was deduced to be a fabrication of fiction, but Courtney knew better than anyone else that the blood and flowers Heather hacked up were very real.

In her research, Courtney found that the flowers produced gave telling signs on the type of person the beloved was and the dynamic the beloved and victim have. And so, she had gathered the information from Heather and did the very thing she did best — make a list.

Meanings of Heather’s Flowers: Unrequited love, secret love, pride, loyalty, concealed love, fascination, modesty, cruelty, departures, sorrow

She had also made a list of the people that were definitely not Heather’s enamored, though there wasn’t as much progress as she would have liked:

Eliminated: All boys (Heather’s a lesbian), Ella, Eva, Gwen, Lindsay, Leshawna, Sierra, Izzy, Dakota, Dawn, Zoey, Sky, Amy, Samey, Jasmine, Sadie, Katie, Bridgette, Anne Maria, Jo, Staci, Scarlett, Sugar

That left two people: herself and Beth.

And suddenly, Courtney realized a particular mistake she made long ago, and felt very, very stupid.

The object of Heather’s affections, the very reason Heather had been suffocating on her own flowers and blood for the past few weeks, and the cause of Heather’s death if the doctors at the hospital slacked off was her. Beth wasn’t as prideful as she was, and certainly not as loyal — and besides, she and Heather had had a falling out years ago.

It was her. It had to be.

Courtney barely registered her car pulling up to her house while she was lost in thought — the rest of the night was spent in a dizzy daze that, thankfully, her lawyer parents were not there to witness due to a business trip.

It felt surreal to finally know the truth. After so much time spent worrying and interrogating Heather, Courtney finally had the truth in the palm of her hands, but she couldn’t even do anything because of the visiting hours.

Sighing, Courtney resolved to check in with Heather the next day, before shutting her eyes and sliding in bed, too exhausted to even change in her pajamas.

❀

At first, when Courtney awakens, she’s confused.

She’s confused as to why her cheeks feel sticky as if tears had been dried on them, and how she can feel bags underneath her eyes as if she had been crying, and how she was in her clothes and how her hair was undone, before everything came back to her in a sudden fit of realization.

Heather. Hanahaki. Hospital.

Still, though, even as she hastily pops a breath mint in her mouth, for once uncaring about her appearance, Courtney can’t stop herself from foolishly smiling. Heather loves her, she really does love her, and with her smile widening, Courtney realizes that she loves her too.

Her drive and ambition had always been admirable. The way the corners of her lips would twitch when she made a dry remark at someone else’s expense was something Courtney found herself seeking out as she spent more time with Heather; her laugh was as damning as it was enchanting to hear. Her hair was mesmerizing to look at — it was long and flowy and the exact color of ravens, and swayed with every movement she made gracefully.

Above all, Heather was someone Courtney had unknowingly become infatuated with, and she couldn’t keep her schoolgirl-like grin off her face as she entered a florist shop with only one certain flower in mind.

A bundle of white heathers for Heather.

Maybe it was a bit cheesy, and maybe Heather would scoff at the corniness when she saw them, but even the thought of that couldn’t rain down on Courtney’s mood.

❀

At the hospital, the staff are taking forever.

Courtney thought she would have been prepared for it, except, she finds out, she wasn’t. Every second that passes are seconds that Courtney thinks would be better spent informing her on Heather’s condition, but no matter how much she silently hopes and asks, the doctors in white coats and the nurses in scrubs don’t stop by. Instead, they bustle forth and through the halls, passing papers and exchanging hushed words as they navigate from room to room.

The waiting room was unbearably quiet. It was so silent that even as Courtney picked at her nails, tapped her feet, cleared her throat, and played with her hair, each movement would make a noise that was deafeningly awkward and suffocatingly unbearable. Occasionally, the secretary would shoot her a settle-down now look that reverberated in her soul, but not even the nasty glare managed to calm her nerves.

Courtney was unsure why she was panicking, really. Last she checked, Heather was in stable condition but she was fine. Why wasn’t she herself fine?

She had to ask for a piece of hard candy to keep from chewing on the inside of her cheek in her own fit of nerves.

The flavor was lemon, making Courtney outwardly wince. Still, she chewed, and the grating sound was awful, but it kept her mind off of Heather for long enough. She didn’t even have the mercy of homework to distract her in the waiting room, this time.

The clock hits 7 PM — long after when Courtney should have left to eat dinner — when a nurse timidly approaches her with nothing but a box. Not even a clipboard or name tag is on their person — just a cardboard box that had been sloppily closed.

Courtney felt a sinking feeling in her gut, but swallowed it down and forced herself to smile politely.

The nurse nodded to her. She was dressed in plain scrubs, Courtney noted — there were no vibrant colors or even a flicker of joy in the nurse’s eyes, doing little to settle Courtney’s nerves.

“You’re Ms. Courtney Barlow, correct?”

She found herself nodding, and the nurse took a shaky breath, looking from the box to Courtney’s confused eyes.

“The patient you were here for, Ms. Heather Wilson, she —”

Courtney abruptly stood, desperate to overpower the thoughts that were screaming at her that something was very, very wrong. The nurse may have been speaking at a normal pace, but it was still too slow for Courtney.

“She’s what?” Courtney chokes out. The question became chillingly still, making it seem more like a statement rather than an inquiry.

The nurse sighed heavily as if the weight of the world was contained in the box she was carrying.

“Ms. Wilson has died during her stay. She requested that this box was to be left in your possession. I’m going to have to ask you to leave, though…”

Courtney drowned out the rest of the nurse’s explanation, only staring numbly at the box that had been passed into her hands that felt clammy and cold. She mumbled a thanks she didn’t mean, and soon enough, rose out of her seat and out of the hospital before someone could escort her.

In the comfort and solitude of Courtney’s clean but cold car, it’s only then that the brunette realizes that tears were running down her face at an alarming speed, and upon that realization, they rushed down at an even quicker one as she heaved for the girl that was alone, cold, and deceased in a hospital room.

The bouquet of white heathers sat in the passenger's seat, wilting as if it knew that the reciprocator was gone.

❀

Inside of the box was a journal. It was dated and old, Courtney could tell; the pages were old and bent, and lead was smudged inside the pages from writing so much. She didn’t have to be a genius to realize that the thing Heather had left her, for whatever reason, was her diary.

Hesitantly, as if the owner was still alive and had privacy to be protected, Courtney opened the diary and began reading the highlighted words of the girl who lived and loved and died to herself — a girl who lives and loves and cries.

❀

## / ## / ##

It could be worse, I guess, but that doesn’t make it any better. I could have been partnered with Ezekiel, the sexist slug, or Justin, who would be too busy looking at himself in his compact mirror to do any work, but I got Courtney.

Courtney Barlow. The most uptight, infuriatingly prideful Know-It-All to ever walk the halls of Wawanakwa High.

And I know it’s only one project, so it’s not even bad, but something tells me that this is going to spiral out of control. Knowing my luck, Courtney’s going to lose it and have us both sent to the principal’s with a few points off our lab assignment.

That’s not a bad idea, actually. That will show her.

I’ll break Courtney, one way or another. Just you wait, Barlow. Just. You. Wait.

## / ## / ##

We got a new seating chart today. I don’t know why, seeing as how the next marking period isn’t close, but whatever. My seat isn’t that bad.

I have a good vantage point, at least. I’m in the back with Tyler, and he never bothers me, so at least I have that. Beth used to blab away about how immoral it was to observe everyone in the middle of class. Whatever. Now I get to observe how hideous and lopsided her side-ponytail is and she can’t say squat about it.

I can see Bridgette and Geoff well, though, but apparently Geoff himself can’t see Bridgette’s looks in Alejandro’s direction. I’ll have to do something about that.

I also see Courtney the best. I can see her stupid Star Student, light academia aesthetic clothes and I can see her perfect hair and posture from behind her. It’s infuriating how perfect she is. At least she makes up for all of that in an annoying personality.

## / ## / ##

Something weird happened today.

I had the urge to cough in science, but I waited it out. Then, Courtney went to check to make sure I was paying attention and, as soon as I was alone, I coughed. I coughed up a petal.

I know, it sounds like something stupid from one of Harold, Tyler, Sierra, and Cody’s mangas, but whatever. I plan on doing more research later.

Maybe if I’m sick I could be excused from that project with Courtney?

END OF PART TWO

[heathers-wig]

come & find me - heathney hanahaki au part one

synopsis:

“Who’re the flowers for?” Eva interjects.

The question dances around in Heather’s head and leaks out of the others’ imploring glances, but Heather finds herself faltering as she struggles to answer.

“I don’t…” Heather frowns, thinking of the flowers welling up in her lungs that she’s sure will snuff out her life. Her frown melts into a scowl when she thinks of whoever her enamored was, and how they doubled as her soon-to-be inevitable murderer, along with how she didn’t even get the privilege to know their identity. “I don’t know.”

❁

Or: Heather contracts the Hanahaki Disease. Other than the fact that she’s quite literally slowly but surely dying due to flowers rooted to her lungs, she has a problem; she doesn’t know who exactly her unrequited love is for, or how to prevent the disease from worsening. Can she figure out who her “beloved” is and snuff out the floral illness before it claims her for once and for all?

pairings: heathney (heather x courtney), BG gweoff (gwen x geoff), BG izva (izzy x eva)

word count: 15,226

warnings: suicidal thoughts implications + descriptions of coughing/vomiting

A/N: there are two endings, happy and sad! feel free to choose which you deem as the true ending :) thank you for reading!

READ IT ON AO3 HERE!

i. daffodils & gardenias; unrequited and secret love

It starts with a petal. Well, if Heather were to be honest, it had started far beyond the first initial petal, but all the pieces fell into place when the very first petal fluttered from her lips.

Her science teacher was going on and on about the instructions for their next lab — something about carefully dissecting a pufferfish that had long since died, but Heather paid no mind to it.

Instead, she observes.

One of her favorite things to do was observe those around her. It was like dissecting them, similar to how her science teacher was now demonstrating on one of the pufferfish, and their internal thoughts and behaviors. Who they unconsciously drifted to, who they repelled and fought with — or, to be more precise, where the weak links in her class were located. With this frequent and diligent studying, she knew exactly how to break certain students and their allegedly tight-knit friend groups.

Take Bridgette, Geoff, and Alejandro, for instance; all Heather had done was slightly insinuate to the gullible, blonde girl that Alejandro liked her, and she was putty in her hands. Of course, Heather noticed Bridgette stare and stare at Alejandro nearly around the clock, but Geoff, Bridgette's actual boyfriend, hadn’t. She did him a favor, really — all it took was her to mastermind him walking in on Bridgette and Alejandro during a Halloween party, and Heather was satisfied.

Currently, Geoff and Bridgette were sitting awkwardly and stiffly next to one another — a huge mistake on their parts, in Heather’s opinion, to choose to sit next to one another after only beginning to date during the summer, but Heather had never had the patience for high school romances. Bridgette had tried to slide apology notes to Geoff’s direction, but for once, his eyes were glued to the board and the notes went unnoticed.

Heather noticed them, though, and she had to stifle a laugh.

The rest of the class is more or less the same. Some were pointedly looking away from the experiment their teacher was performing, and some were sketching in their notebooks, like Gwen.

There had to be three people genuinely paying attention — Geoff, for obvious reasons, Beth, because she currently had a B in the course and thought it was the end of her small-minded world, and Courtney, because she was, well, Courtney.

It’s when Heather’s eyes stay on Courtney’s head of hair that didn’t have a single strand out of place that it happens.

A scratch in the back of her throat digs into her, but Heather swallows it down instead of clearing her throat. If she did it too loudly over something so mediocre and unimportant, her classmates would just assume she was trying to stir something seeing as how it was the end of the last period of the day and, while Heather loved the occasional entertainment at the spite of her peers, she wasn’t in the mood that day.

And so, Heather waits and makes stray sketches in her notebook — repeatedly writing her name in cursive, drawing hideous illustrations of her peers, anything to pass the time until the bell rings. When the bell finally sounded off, punctuating the end of the day, students unceremoniously gathered their lump of notebooks and textbooks and scoop them in their arms, leaving the classroom in a cluttered, chatty, and hurried mess.

The first one out the door is Geoff, followed by Bridgette on his heels, Heather notes, but she can’t bring herself to follow and eavesdrop and what would possibly be one of the most interesting breakups Wawanakwa High had seen since Courtney and Duncan’s infamous split. She’d probably overhear the details of the split from somebody else, anyway.

The devil seemed to have spawned at the initial thought, as a prickly voice accompanied with a light tap on Heather’s shoulder made with the eraser end of a pencil is what tears Heather’s eyes away from the door. She has half the mind to berate whoever it was for pestering her at the end of the day, but falters when her eyes meet the other’s.

Courtney’s narrowed dark brown eyes are unamused. When Heather rises from her seat, Courtney tilts her head up to meet her gaze — Heather was taller than Courtney, even with the pair of wedges the brunette had on that day.

“I expect you were paying attention,” Courtney’s tone is sickeningly sweet and mocking, the specific one she uses around people she thinks are below her in terms of intelligence, or just in general. She has seen Courtney use it around the young kids she tutors, Duncan, jocks, Heather herself, and practically any student in their school who has managed to sour her mood, which was mostly everyone. “We are partnered for the lab, after all —”

“We are?” Heather questions dryly. She had expected Courtney to pick up on her sarcasm — Courtney had made it her job to scribble Lab with Courtney on every available space in her planner on the days leading up to the experiment, after all — but judging by the brunette’s eyes narrowing further, she either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.

“Yes,” She hisses through clenched teeth, before frowning. “Whatever, I actually paid attention —”

“And I thank you for your service,” Heather remarks just as dryly as before, sauntering out the door.

“Wha — hey, where are you going?”

Heather snorted softly. “Come and find me,” she chastised sardonically. She had figured the answer to be obvious, but Courtney never failed to surprise her in one way or another.

Courtney scoffs and follows her, falling into place next to Heather. She fixed the headband on her head that matched her clothes as she rolled her eyes so far back Heather couldn’t help but wonder if they saw the back of her head.

“Haha, very funny,” The brunette doesn’t laugh, which makes Heather crack a smile in satisfaction. Winning with Courtney was always exhilarating and thrilling. “See you tomorrow, Heather,”

Heather hummed, waving a lazy and half-hearted hand over her shoulder, already bolting in the direction of the student parking lot. “See you,”

When Heather is finally in the solitude of her sleek, black car — her parents wasted no expense when it came to spoiling her, despite neither being the affectionate or loving type — the thing building up in the back of her throat is finally released into the palm of her hand, and all Heather can do is stare at it.

She’s coughed up bile and phlegm before, and she’s heard of blood being coughed up as well, but the tiny, dainty and crumpled thing laying in her hands was unheard of and felt unreal as it rested in her palms. She was suddenly aware of how dry her hands were as she felt the thinness of the soaked object, given that it had been resting in her throat.

Rifling it in her hands, Heather scoffs when she realizes just how ridiculous it was to believe she had just coughed up a flower in the school parking lot. However, she blinks harshly and firmly, and when she opens her eyes, the yellow petal is still there.

A foreign feeling of confusion and uneasiness settles over her like a blanket, but she instead scoffs once more and crumpled the petal, wrapping a tissue around it to keep it from dirtying her leather seats, and rolls out of the parking lot, avoiding any acknowledgment of the flower petal she’s convinced she imagined coughing up.

(On the ride home, she coughs up two more additional petals, too — one white and curved to perfection, looking much too angelic and innocent for having just been lodged up in her throat just moments prior, and the other the same shade of yellow as the first. Heather ignores both, and tosses them out the window to sink further in denial, similar to how she felt her stomach sink as she watched the petals flutter aimlessly to the ground, destined to be run over or stepped on.)

❀

That night, after finishing both her math homework and leftovers for dinner, Heather switched off the lights and settled into her bed before impulsively flicking open her laptop. It was for school purposes, her parents insisted, and was to never be used at night when she should be asleep, but quite frankly, Heather hadn’t cared much for her parents’ opinion of her considering their clear distaste for her.

Her fingers mindlessly fly across the keyboard, the same feeling of dread from when she was stunned upon the initial discovery of the petals resurfacing.

why am i coughing up weird shit

Healthline - Signs of Lung Illness

If any of the following symptoms apply to you, be sure to contact your health agent and schedule an appointment to discuss your symptoms and possible diagnosis. If you experience a burning, aching, or squeezing sensation in your chest, illnesses such as Lung Cancer, Pleuritis, etc. may be at play.

why am i coughing up petals and how do i stop it

Derrit - r/AskDerrit, in an old manga I read today, the Hanahaki disease was a plotline. Is it real? I can’t find any research indicating an answer.

BlaineleysBitch: no. the entire premise of the disease doesn’t even make sense. it’s not real.

Mr.CocoNutty: tbfh i haven’t heard anything about it? i’m sure if it were real there would be some coverage abt it considering how unbelievable it sounds

KittyKat16: yea, i don’t think it’s real, but it would be really cool if it was!!

what’s the hanahaki disease

Wikiresource - List of fictional diseases

Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated. The flowers in particular symbolize the specific love and relationship the patient has for the enamored, as told through flower language. Hanahaki can be cured through the confession of the victim's feelings. The response of the enamored is unimportant. The victim may also develop Hanahaki Disease if they believe the love to be one-sided but once the enamored returns the feelings, they will be cured.

how to get rid of hanahaki disease without having to confess shit

Making sure to groan inaudibly — her parents were under the impression she was asleep, after all — Heather pressed her finger down on the backspace key with a familiar scowl on her face, her finger remaining in place atop the key long after the words had been removed. The feeling of resentment and annoyance was familiar, but the overwhelming confusion and petals she felt building up in her throat were not.

Sighing, Heather rubbed her eyes gently yet urgently. Mindlessly, she resorted back to her idle habit: observing.

Assuming she had the disease that was supposed to be fictional, somebody had swooped Heather off of her heeled feet without her even realizing it. That had to be impossible, as Heather wasn’t dense enough to not realize something as obvious as feelings for another. After all, she read people and their infatuation with others as easily as one read magazines — who was to say she couldn’t do the same for herself?

Recalling the wiki page, Heather sighed as she began to re-type. The article had said that the flowers she had coughed up symbolized her love for whoever her crush was in flower language, and seeing as how it was her only lead on whoever her supposed enamored was, Heather wanted to crack down who it was exactly and quickly exterminate any and all contact with them to execute any possible feelings.

how do you identify a flower

PlantCapture - What Flower Is This? How to Instantly Identify Flowers

If you already have a photo of a flower saved on your phone, you can also instantly identify it by uploading the photo to PlantCapture. Once you've instantly identified a flower, PlantCapture stores it in your library. You can easily go back to see how many flowers you've identified.

Heather whipped out her phone with another sigh as she begrudgingly began downloading the app. Watching the small icon load, she scowled even deeper. Even the smallest inconvenience in the entire situation was enough to dampen her mood even further, despite the fact her own alleged feelings brought this on herself.

Remembering she had tossed out her only petals, Heather just barely resisted another groan before a familiar scratchiness formed at the back of her throat. Being sure to cough quietly, Heather slipped the petal out of her mouth as she winced at the taste of copper rolling down her tongue. The article hadn’t mentioned anything about blood, Heather bitterly notes, before shaking her head at her own stupidity. Of course there wasn’t a full list of symptoms for a disease that was believed to be fictional.

Switching flash on, Heather got the results of her flowers instantaneously as promised: the yellow and white flowers she had been hacking up all day were daffodils and gardenias, respectively.

Heather’s fingers flew to her keyboard once more automatically. With bated breath, she hoped that the results would be specific enough that she could put an end to the investigation that night and stomp out whatever ties she had with her “enamored”.

But, as noted from Heather’s luck that day, things rarely went her way.

what do daffodils mean

FlowerDictionary - Flower Meanings: Flowers A-K

Daffodil symbolizes regard and chivalry. It is indicative of rebirth, new beginnings and eternal life. It also symbolizes unrequited love.

what do gardenias mean

Flower Dictionary - Flower Meanings: Flowers A-K

The gardenia is a flower that symbolizes purity and gentleness. However, this symbolism often depends on the color of the gardenia. ... Another symbol of the gardenia is secret love between two people and also joy.

Upon quickly searching them up, the results did little to ease the dread pooling in her. The test was definitely correct, as it seemed, but was entirely unhelpful when it came to figuring out the identity of whoever it was that Heather had unknowingly developed an unreturned love for.

Slamming her laptop closed — a bit too loud for her liking, but beats pass and she doesn’t hear the annoying patter of her mother’s footsteps reach her room, so she assumes she’s in the clear — Heather grunts one final time, unceremoniously moving her laptop back on her desk. Raising the petal to her line of vision, Heather has to squint to make out some of the details. This one was white, identifiable even in the dark. It was a bit crumpled from having been clutched so tightly, and still wet from her own coppery blood.

A gardenia, Heather recalls with another scowl that was deeper and more ferocious than the last were. Meant to symbolize a “secret love”... so much for a clue.

She wonders, her last coherent thought before succumbing to sleep, how big of a secret her love must be for it to have left Heather herself in the dark on who her loved one was.

At the thought, Heather wrapped her blankets tighter around herself, lulling herself to an uneasy sleep of blood, thorns, beautiful but deadly flowers, and a figure in the distance who looks so comforting and familiar whose name is on the tip of Heather’s tongue, but can’t be reached.

❀

ii. amaryllises & white chrysanthemums; pride & loyalty

Despite Heather’s praying to a God she didn’t believe in, the flowers didn’t disappear overnight. Instead, they bloomed rapidly in her lungs, and at times when she felt the familiar tickle in the back of her throat, flowers in full-bloom were coughed up.

They would be beautiful, if not for her own blood staining them, a grim reminder of what would become of her if she did not find a fix, and soon.

Still, Heather was nothing if not quick on her feet. She managed to keep her illness under the wraps — of course, her second in command was Lindsay, so it wasn’t difficult to conceal her bloody bundles of flowers as just “feeling under the weather”; any other person would be suspicious of the foreign scratchiness and hoarseness her voice now had, the way she would breathe shakily as if her lungs were rattling and about to give out, or the way she barely restrained the flowers from being coughed up after a gym class, but since it’s Lindsay, Heather can get away with her lie.

When Lindsay sweetly wishes for her to feel better, even dropping off a bowl of badly homemade chicken noodle soup, Heather couldn’t help but scoff as she shook her head at the feeling of guilt lingering in the back of her head, and the feeling of bloody flowers in the back of her throat.

❀

With every fistful of the flowers beginning to stain her clothes, Heather took responsibility for her own laundry, for the first time in her life. Her parents put on a spectacle of overexaggerated joy and relief when she announced it, saying that, oh, thank goodness their darling was beginning to take responsibility instead of pooching off of them; Heather had just forcefully smiled and nodded, as she always did now, and excused herself to hurriedly put in the first load.

Her clothes were stained red in her own blood. Some petals began to stick onto her clothes, as well, and the last thing Heather wanted was the intrusion of her parents and their nosiness as she deciphered just who she was coughing flowers for.

Interestingly, the flowers she was now coughing up were different. Amaryllises and chrysanthemums, as she had identified — the red flower was the former of the two and symbolized pride. The white chrysanthemums, wide with many intricate petals, symbolized loyalty and the truth. Thankfully, they were more of a clue than the daffodils and gardenias with their meanings of unrequited and secret love.

That still didn’t mean that Heather had any clue of who they were for, though — she just knew that they had to be high-maintenance, and part of her refused to believe she would unconsciously fall for someone who had to be so pretentious, but seeing as how the thought sent her into another bout of coughing sloppily disguised, it had to have been the truth.

Heather was beginning to hate the sensation that arose when she felt a coughing spur coming on. She hated how she could feel a crumpled lump form in the back of her throat, squirming its way up her throat and nearly out her mouth. It feels hot, sticky, and suffocating, and when the flowers come up, Heather hates them too, and especially whoever her beloved is. However, the disease doesn’t cease even just a little, and so Heather finds herself heaving, coughing, and puking chrysanthemums and amaryllises in the middle of the night as she ponders on who it is she’s supposed to be loving.

Still, she manages to keep herself from hacking during class in front of her peers, and that’s all that matters to her, even when the flowers she chokes on splinter into her like thorns in her side.

❀

It’s here that Heather messes up. Well, to be fair, she messed up as soon as she began feeling things for whoever it was that had captured her sight unknowingly, in Heather’s opinion, but that was irrefutable and couldn’t be helped.

This, however, could have been helped.

Like many things, it started at school. Like the first petal that had been coughed up weeks ago, it started during science class, when she felt the feeling of hot bile, blood, and petals rising in her throat as Courtney bent over their lab report. She didn’t notice Heather’s discomfort, as her eyes were fixed on the report, her brows scrunched together in concentration.

At least, that’s what Heather thought, until Courtney suddenly looked up from the report and eyed her curiously. “Are you feeling alright?”

Heather barely contained her surprise at the sudden inquiry. The only person to ask that was Lindsay, not even her own parents, let alone her (unofficial) rival and (official) lab partner.

Upon seeing her confusion — had she done that bad at a job of hiding it? — Courtney sighed and looked back to their work. “To be honest, you’re quieter than normal and you look kind of sick — you look like you’re going to pass out at any time now.”

“Thanks,” Heather mutters coarsely, finding her voice. Despite her calm exterior, she could feel her heart racing, and the flowers itching their way up her throat.

Courtney squawked indignantly. “Hey! I’m just being honest!”

“Mhmm,” Heather hums absentmindedly as she rises from her seat. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She barely hears Courtney’s grumpy and hesitant “Fine,” before stalking out the room, grabbing a hall pass on her way out. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, out of sight from her peers, Heather dashed as quickly as she could to the solitude of the nearest bathroom. She slams the stall door closest to her open noisily, thankful there was nobody around, and heaves into the toilet as the blood and flowers bloom from her mouth.

They hurt more than the daffodils and gardenias, now that they’re coming out as full flowers accompanied with a few stray petals rather than just petals, but Heather shoves the thought to the side in favor of pulling her hair away from her face. The toilet bowl is filled with a hideous mixture of blood and petals, and Heather feels like a decaying corpse as the energy leaves her, crumbling to the ground as she heaved from the aftermath of the coughing fit.

Picking petals from her backmost molars, Heather spits once more, the remaining drops of blood falling into the sink. Her chin is wet and sticky with her own blood, and she’s sure her teeth are stained red as well; Heather half-heartedly debates asking her parents to pick her up as she flushes the toilet, whisking away most of the evidence excluding the blood dribbling down her chin from her mouth and a few stray petals, before deciding she’d rather vomit flowers rooted to her lungs for the rest of the day than be with her family.

As she rinsed water from the sink in her mouth, Heather nearly spits it out in surprise when she notices a bathroom stall crack open from the mirror. Then she actually spits the stained water from her mouth, whirling around to threaten whoever it was to secrecy. When her eyes meet a head of blue hair, she falters slightly, and that’s all it takes for the other to take control.

“You too?” Is all Gwen asks, having recovered from her initial surprise. She doesn’t look grossed out by the blood, and instead joins Heather by the sinks.

Narrowing her eyes, Heather recoils to what she knows best around Gwen: defense. “Excuse me?”

Gwen laughs, sardonically and self-deprecatingly, with a hint of amusement. It’s the most Heather’s seen her laugh to her since, well, ever. Then, still in astonishment, Heather felt herself stagger back and her eyes widened when pale pink roses, white carnations, and yellow coreopsis flowers fell from Gwen’s blue-lipsticked lips, gracefully fluttering to the tiled floor.

Suddenly, Heather understands, but Gwen still unnecessarily elaborates. “The flowers. You too?”

Heather only hesitates for a split second before sighing and staring down at the sink bowl. “Yeah,”

“Didn’t expect it from you of all people,” Gwen chuckled humorlessly. “Didn’t think the Queen Bee Heather knew what emotion was, let alone be stuck in unrequited love,” she mocked bitterly. She turns to Heather, gaze softening. “So, who is it?”

Heather blinked. “What do you mean?”

Gwen snorted and gestured to the petals and trail of blood on the tiled floor. “The flowers, honors student,”

Ignoring the sarcastic remark, Heather paused before admitting, “I don’t know,”

Gwen grunted disbelievingly. “Come on, I know you don’t like or trust me, but really, who am I going to tell?”

“Hey, I’m actually being honest here!” Heather snapped, glaring at the goth. Of course, I’m told I’m lying when I’m actually being honest… she thinks with a scoff as her scowl returns.

“Whatever, have you tried…” Gwen trails off, frowning as her brows scrunch together. “I don’t know, I just knew who mine was for—”

“Who?” Heather asks curiously, having not picked up on Gwen displaying any of the usual symptoms of a horrid teenage crush. No staring, attention-seeking, stuttering, or blushing — it was the same behavior for everyone with Gwen.

The goth hesitates only for a split moment before sighing and giving one name: “Geoff,”

Heather hums, unsure what to say. Gwen narrows her eyes, seeming to just remember who she was talking to.

“Seeing as how we’re one and the same right now, if I catch you telling anyone, I will spread the news of your diagnosis, okay?”

“Don’t worry, Weird Goth Girl, your secret is safe with me,” Heather promises, the corners of her lips twitching up at the use of the old nickname. “Just help me clean up all this before someone walks in,”

Gwen nods once, before bending over the sink and coughing a few more flowers and petals in the sink, blood spilling from her mouth. Awkwardly, Heather pats her back, unsure what to do, before realizing she should probably hold her hair back.

“Thanks,” Gwen murmurs, her voice even more hoarse and tired than normal. Heather just gives her a nod before crouching down to pick up the flowers trailing the ground; Gwen hurries to grab a mop from the back closet to clean the blood.

It’s when Heather comes across the petals of the pale pink roses, white carnations, and yellow coreopsis flowers that a pang of empathy spurs in her. She turns to Gwen.

“Those type of roses specifically mean joy, the white carnations mean purity and loveliness, and the yellow coreopsis means cheerfulness.”

Gwen looks up from her work and blinks, taken aback, before smiling slowly and softly. “That fits him,”

Wordlessly, the two set off to finish the cleanup of their shared death sentence in the form of flowers and blood, when the bathroom door flies open once more. Both Heather and Gwen look up, eyes wide in surprise. Before either can communicate, a thunderous voice and a ticked-off Eva enter the area.

“Get back to class, we have to clean up —” she gets cut off from her own demand, faltering at the sight of Heather and Gwen bent over the floor, cleaning blood, flowers, and bloody flowers. Her eyes flit back to the duo who are too frozen and flabbergasted to speak. “What happened?”

Heather opens her mouth to bullshit her way into an explanation as she always did when Eva’s eyes suddenly narrow dangerously, intercepting the unsaid lie. She spits out one last order before turning on her heel, leaving the bathroom.

“Meet me in the library after school. Come alone, and hurry up and get back to class so no one else walks in on you.”

After her departure, all Heather and Gwen could do was stare at one another, wide-eyed and depleted of the fluttery itchiness of their lungs and throats, for once, before resolving to hurriedly finish garnering the crumpled flowers and washing the blood down the sink.

Heather goes back to class for the remaining minutes of the day, her mind elsewhere even as Courtney berates her for the long bathroom break. Her mind drifts to Gwen’s sardonic laugh, the goth's utter defeat after finishing hacking, and the way her eyes are avoiding Geoff’s direction, instead fixated on a pink charm bracelet Heather had noticed her fiddling with on multiple occasions before.

The image of Gwen choking on her own blood and petals momentarily and the sound of her warbled snort had been seared in Heather’s memory, and all she could do was wonder. Wonder if, in due time, her own condition would mirror Gwen’s when she inevitably lost to the disease that was slowly but surely suffocating her.

❀

When Eva had instructed her and Gwen to meet with her alone, Heather had assumed that that applied to Eva as well.

What she had not expected, however, was for her and Gwen to be seated with Eva and two of the most arbitrary (personality-wise, that was) redheads Heather ever had the pleasure (?) of meeting.

She scowled. With herself, Gwen, Eva, Izzy, and Harold, they had practically formed their own little Losers Club. Brilliant.

Harold awkwardly coughed, having declared himself the unofficial leader.

Gwen scoffed, leaning back into her seat. She leaned her chair, balancing it on two legs at a dangerous angle. “What is this, Hanahaki Club?” Gwen mockingly questioned, mirroring Heather’s thoughts.

Harold guiltily smiles. “Well, no. See, Eva here —” Eva glared at the boy, scowling. Harold faltered for the fifth time that meeting, gulping — “had Hanahaki awhile ago. Last year, I think. She confessed to Izzy, and the rest is history.”

Izzy nodded enthusiastically. She grabbed Eva’s hand, making the latter blush furiously at the unprompted gesture. “Yup! Our getting together was actually like this one Romanian film —”

“Anyway,” Harold interrupted. “I noticed Eva’s symptoms and helped her, which we intend to do with you two. Now,” he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, casting a pensive look to Heather and Gwen, who exchanged glances. “Which one of you has Hanahaki?”

Before Heather can think to lie and save her own skin, Gwen answers truthfully. “Both of us,”

“Gwen!” Heather hissed. The mentioned shrugs.

“What, you think you’ll be able to resist coughing up flowers during this?” At Gwen’s words, Heather felt her face twist as she felt an itching in her throat. Satisfied, Gwen nods and turns to the others. “Thought so.”

“I’m going to be honest,” Eva begins. Her tone is softer than before, but just as commanding. “Hanahaki… it’s hell. But just ease your suffering by confessing. I didn’t want to risk my life when a few words could save it.”

At Eva’s words, Heather can’t help but feel a surge of jealousy at her words, her sureness. At how she and Gwen just knew who their flowers were for, and how Eva had the mind and courage to confess.

If she did know who the amaryllises and chrysanthemums that were rooted in her lungs were for, would Heather confess? She wasn’t sure, and she hated the uncertainty.

“Yeah, but, he just broke up with his girlfriend,” Gwen murmured, tracing a finger on the table as she spoke in a low voice. She seemed fascinated with the intricate design of the wood, now, refusing to meet the eyes of her peers that were softened with sympathy. “And… he just sees me as a friend. ‘One of the guys', you know?”

A beat passes before Harold frowns, a hand on his chin like some wannabe Sherlock, Heather notes, face expectedly contorted in pensiveness. “Is it Geoff?”

“Bingo,” Gwen says dryly.

Izzy turns to Heather, the hyperactivity from before dulled as she looks serious for what had to be one of the few times in her life. “And you?”

“What about me?” Heather sighs, though she knows that they know she knows what’s being insinuated.

“Who’re the flowers for?” Eva interjects.

The question dances around in Heather’s head and leaks out of the others’ imploring glances, but Heather finds herself faltering as she struggles to answer.

“I don’t…” Heather frowns, thinking of the flowers welling up in her lungs that she’s sure will snuff out her life. Her frown melts into a scowl when she thinks of whoever her enamored was, and how they doubled as her soon-to-be inevitable murderer, along with how she didn’t even get the privilege to know their identity. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Eva echoes. Her face is not contorted in anger, like Heather assumed it would, but rather thoughtfulness. Neither is her voice thunderous or disbelieving — Eva seemed to seriously be contemplating the likelihood of it. She turns to Harold. “Is that even possible?”

The redhead looks just as lost in thought as Eva. He shrugs. “Maybe…” He shifts his attention back to Heather, who is beginning to feel as if she were being prodded at, dissected, and inspected by her peers. “Have you tried thinking about it?”

“Excuse me?” Heather asks, taken aback. Her scowl diminished momentarily in her surprise, before it fell back into place, more intense than before. “What do you think I’ve been doing? Analyzing the flowers and flower language like I’ve gone insane —”

“I mean,” Harold interrupts, “have you tried… I dunno, fantasizing about the people in your life? Like, placing yourself in your ideal date with them to see if the flowers spur in your throat? It worked in this one manga —”

Heather droned out the rest of his rant, frowning to herself. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“Anyway,” Eva cut Harold off with a silencing glare. The boy in question audibly gulps, shifting in his seat and indiscreetly glancing away to the opposite direction. “What do your flowers mean?” She looked to Gwen and Heather.

“The first round were marigolds,” Gwen admits carefully. “They mean jealousy. The second had mistletoe and yellow tulips — they mean affection and longing, and the tulips meant good friendship, or something like that. Now, I have pale pink roses, which mean joy, white carnations, which mean purity and loveliness, and yellow coreopsis flowers, which mean cheerfulness.”

“My first flowers were daffodils and gardenias.” Heather found no reason to lie now. “They mean unrequited and secret love. Way to spell it out,” she chuckled dryly, and humorlessly, and pretending to not notice the varying amounts of sympathy from the group. Her throat stings. “The ones I have now — amaryllises and chrysanthemums — mean pride and loyalty.”

Eva raises her eyebrows. “High-maintenance? Wouldn’t have expected that from you,”

Heather grunted. “Shut up,” Her throat hurt too much for a better rebuttal.

“You know, it’s probably Courtney,” Izzy hums half-jokingly with a grin. Gwen barely stifles a laugh.

Feeling her face flush and a lump form in her throat, Heather opens her mouth to argue, but is silenced when Harold shoots her a look.

“So, to recap,” Harold draws their attention back in, “The flowers represent who you love and/or your dynamic with them. Heather, try finding some privacy and think of your ideal date with people you know who are prideful and loyal, okay? We’ll meet up here on Monday. Hopefully you’ll have figured it out by then.”

“Fine,” Heather agrees, clumsily gathering her things. Her throat is burning, along with her chest and she’s sure her eyes are stinging, and she desperately wants to cough, but not now, and certainly not here with this audience. “See you Monday, Hanahaki Club,” she mutters sarcastically.

Half-hearted laughs register in Heather’s ears, but she’s already out of the library and dashing to the second nearest bathroom, not wanting to be walked in on. Her focus had been shifted from her illness momentarily, but now that it had been remembered, it was all it took for her to cough up the familiar flowers to the bathroom floor, unleashing a familiar strangled and warbled choking noise, accompanied by foreign tears.

❀

At night, when Heather’s parents and siblings are fast asleep, Heather lies wide awake in bed, tossing and turning. Whoever her beloved was was causing her to be unable to sleep at night, and when she was awake, she would cough on petals and blood, and she just craved to sleep.

Part of her wondered if it was possible for her to choke on the flowers in her sleep, before concluding that it didn’t matter. She was going to die, anyway.

Her mind wanders back to the secret meeting in the library, and of Harold’s advice. She had never wanted to date any of her classmates, but seeing as how she had the disease, it was a waste of time groveling in defeat. Instead, she shuts her eyes, and thinks of her fantasy.

Intimacy is what comes to mind first. She doesn’t like intimacy with her family or friends, but maybe she’s a sucker for looking into someone’s eyes and holding hands and telling someone I love you and meaning it. It doesn’t make her a sap; it just means that her needs are impossible to fulfill.

Eyes still shut, the image of her perfect date materializes in Heather’s head. Limbs entangled around one another as she and her mysterious person cuddled on a couch while watching an arbitrary film. Sharing a cup of hot chocolate and blankets as the chilling air from outdoors was kept out from inside by the heater. Talking animatedly about their interests and such over the movie, gazing into one another’s eyes; no judgment was to be found in either. It was peaceful and isolated, and perfect to Heather. Her parents never showed affection, and couples in high school never lasted — that type of love wasn’t real, but Heather allowed herself to fantasize, still, for the sake of finding who her enamored was.

Thinking it was best to start with the girls Heather was acquainted with that fit the bill, Heather sighs before imagining the ambiguous person as her classmates.

Leshawna. She’s the most faithful person Heather knows of, and she’s certainly proud. The flowers remain still and unmoving in her lungs, and so, she decides to move on.

Gwen. Unsurprisingly, the flowers don’t itch. The goth was more of someone Heather could respect, anyway.

Eva. Still, no reaction. Part of her is grateful, as she didn’t want to face the wrath of Izzy ever.

Dakota. One of the least likely, but it was possible, Heather supposed. They had some things in common, after all.

Court—

Her dark brown eyes were the only thing that had materialized in her mind when the flowers came out roughly and swiftly. Her blood is hot and thick in her throat as she tries in a daze to not suffocate on it, but still, she chokes on it. She can feel tears springing in her eyes and the sweat piling on her back and under her armpits; she can feel her chest burning in indescribable pain that was unlike any of the other coughing fits. It’s worse than anything she’s ever endured which is, granted, not quite the resume, but nevertheless, Heather feels as if her body is tearing and ripping itself apart while simultaneously hastily stitching itself back together by the amount of pain unleashed from her floral disease.

She scrambles to the sink of the bathroom attached to her bedroom, retching into the basin. The blood and flowers look like an artful arrangement, though Heather barely registers its appearance through both the pain and the unwavering amount of hatred coursing through her at the thought of Courtney unknowingly inflicting this upon her. Somewhere, she’s sleeping peacefully, while Heather is choking on her own blood and the flowers rooted to her lungs from just the mere thought of Courtney’s eyes.

Finally, mercifully, after a few minutes, the coughing fit ceases, but all that’s left is Heather’s heavy heaves as she attempts to retain her breath. Her vision flickers as black dances across her vision, and all she can smell is an overwhelming smell of metal and cleaning supplies. Her sink looks like the delicately painted masterpiece of an artistic sacrificial seance scene with all the blood and flowers. With a sigh, Heather strips of her bloodstained clothes, tossing them in her hamper to wash in the morning. After changing into a new acceptable and clean pair that Heather is sure will be ruined in a few hours, she brings out the cleaning supplies from under her sink and begins to clean at a feverish pace in a dazed state.

Ah, Heather thinks bitterly with a crazed and forced smile on her face, scrubbing extra hard on the sink as the thought flits in her mind, I get it now.

❀

“It’s Courtney,” Heather admitted to the group with a scowl present on her face. None had to ask her to elaborate, and none mention her scowl or her cough at the name. Heather’s scowl deepens further when she notices Gwen and Harold sighing in unison, sliding money to Izzy and Eva, who gladly accept them, with defeated sighs. “Wha —! Did you guys seriously bet on this? I’m literally dying over here!”

The words silence the group before Gwen snorts, and with that, the rest join her and laugh. Heather has half the mind to tell them that they’re in a library, but realizes she sounds freakishly like Courtney. Plus, for once, Gwen is choking on her laughter rather than flowers, so Heather allows it just for once with her own small smile and laugh.

“You know,” Harold manages to choke out, eyebrows raised in either surprise or amusement, “I didn’t take Courtney as your type.”

“Me neither,” Heather mutters. “Who did you think my type was?”

He shrugs. “Alejandro was my main suspect. I thought Justin was Eva’s crush, at first, to be honest.”

The laughter dies down momentarily as the group stares at Harold in confusion. Gwen, cracking another smile, mutters, “Harold, they’re lesbians,” before collapsing in another fit of laughter.

This time, Heather joins in more easily, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The flowers momentarily disappear, along with Courtney and thoughts of her love.

❀

END OF PART ONE

[heathers-wig]

last kiss oneshot aka a sad heathers-wig making a duncney oneshot at 1AM and getting emotional over the duncney parallels because i’m THAT bitch

listen,,,,, i know. i have no shame. making duncney content in 2020? to old taylor swift songs? my pride has evaporated, so please td tumblr, have mercy. 

also @ my few non-td mutuals and non-writer mutuals: do not judge me more than you already have please i’m begging.

available on ao3 here

I still remember the look on your face

Lit through the darkness at 1:58

The words that you whispered

For just us to know

You told me you loved me

So why did you go away?

A somber reflection of her own face stared back at Courtney as the brown eyed girl stared, saddened, outside one of the jet’s windows. The Jumbo-Jet had been flying for hours, to wherever the show’s next location was, and the rest of her team was fast asleep; even Cody, who was terrified of Sierra rubbing his feet at the dead of the night. Sierra herself had been worn out after hours of cutting out perfectly shaped pieces of paper of a Gwen silhouette and then destroying it — she had taken so much joy out of it, and had done it so flawlessly, that Courtney was sure it had become a routine over the few years Total Drama had been airing on TV. After today, Courtney would gladly join Sierra, if she wasn’t so busy making a list on how much of a back-stabbing, helio-phobic goth-loving liar that Gwen was. 

God, Gwen; just the name made Courtney want to let out one of the most pathetic sobs that had ever been seen on television. She knew it was stupid, she honestly did, that she trusted Gwen — it wasn’t anything she said, or really anything that she did, that deemed Gwen as untrustworthy, it was more like the feeling of being unsettled that came after every time Duncan’s name would worm its way into the conversation, and the way Gwen had tensed and how the goth’s cheeks would become slightly pinker, yet her skin somehow paler; in hindsight, it was so dreadfully and painfully obvious that this would happen, and how inevitable it was that this sad, beautifully breathtaking destruction would crumble down on the fragments of happiness in Courtney’s life, but maybe that’s why Courtney and Gwen were drawn together in the first place. To prove the paparazzi wrong, or maybe because Courtney really believed that Gwen wouldn’t stoop as low and confirm the public’s suspicions. However, time had slowly gone by and Courtney learned the hard, cruel way that they were absolutely right.

Chef, who had never taken any sort of liking or pity on Courtney — except when she had sued Chris, he had begrudgingly admitted that he was impressed — had been nice (or cruel, Courtney couldn’t decide which one was more accurate,) enough to show the brunette the clip herself. Herself hugging Duncan (who she now nicknamed Dumbcan in her own mind — ugh, the jerk!) so lovingly after being separated for what felt like ages, and feeling her heart soar when he said he thought of her while he was gone —

— But that was all a lie. A lie that made Courtney feel secure in her deteriorating relationship, a lie that allowed Duncan an easy way out, a lie that filled Gwen’s stomach to the brim with fluttering butterflies. Courtney had to watch, with something that felt all too familiar to horror, as Duncan and Gwen embraced and slowly leaned towards each other, all while knowing and ignoring the brunette outside who was just so happy that she had her boyfriend back and someone she could call the closest to a best friend was still in the game with her. It was almost ironic how that ended. Almost.

Now, staring out the window, Courtney couldn’t help but wander how this could have possibly happened. Of course, she knew the actual answer; Gwen falling for Duncan after her public and awful breakup with Trent, and Duncan losing interest in her as Courtney thought more and more of their relationship as long-term versus until one of them had gotten a sudden sweep of common sense and dumped the other. Whenever Courtney had tried to construct the words in her head of what she would say to Duncan when she eventually had to actually face him, the thoughts that were so carefully balanced on the tip of her tongue would come tumbling back down to the pit of her stomach. Throwing a pity party and tantrum when breaking up with Duncan would be inevitable — she knew it, as much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it — but the feeling of dread she felt when looking back on their initial relationship was too much to bear. 

It was ironic, wasn’t it, how she was the first to lean in, while Duncan had took the final lean out? And how he didn’t even have enough guts to breakup with her to begin with? Sure, it would definitely hurt, but she was almost positive that it would be nowhere near the amount of heartache she felt while watching that clip.

What killed her the most was that she could still remember the electric blue eyes of his that seemed to illuminate the darkness of night that day she rebelled, the very day she would now do anything to erase from history. The look of initial shock on his face when Courtney grabbed his face and smashed their lips together in one electrifying kiss... it was painful to remember such a time. If Courtney tried hard enough, she was sure she could hear the slight chatter of their friends behind them and the crickets around them and maybe even the humming of porch lights next to them. Possibly even pick up on the slight smell of cigarettes that followed Duncan everywhere (like his criminal record, as Courtney would snidely berate him, though those days were left to wither in the past), or unfortunately the resting puddle of vomit next to the porch. 

“Enjoy a peanut butter-less life,” he had remarked, the words still ringing in Courtney’s head almost two years later.

“Thanks,” Courtney herself had quipped, leaning up against him. “Enjoy prison,”

“I will,” the juvenile smirked. It all felt like such a long time ago. Had it all meant nothing? Maybe it had been broadcasted around the world, but it was such a private and intimate moment between them that felt like it was for them and them alone — and yet he cheated? He turned around and kissed up her best friend with little to no remorse? Did it mean anything to him? She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer. 

If it did, wouldn’t he had stayed? Wouldn’t he had wanted to talk things out, instead of hurting her in the worst way possible? Wouldn’t he have meant every ‘I love you,’ he said while they were still dating with no second thought? Did he even mean every ‘I love you’? Or were they just lies that tasted as sweet as honey on his tongue, that he spoon-fed to Courtney every now and then to keep her from leaving him.

She wasn’t sure what haunted her more; knowing that Duncan felt no regret for what he did or having a last kiss with no knowledge of its significance. 

I do recall now

The smell of the rain

Fresh on the pavement

I ran off the plane

That July ninth

The beat of your heart

It jumps through your skin

I can still feel your arms

As odd as it felt, a few weeks have gone by since her nasty breakup with Duncan. She finally got to shove Gwen (who was swelling up from her allergic reaction at a concerning rate, but Courtney had no pity left for Gwen in her heart that the goth and Duncan were responsible for breaking) off of Chris’s jet, but to her disappointment it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she hoped it would be. Sure, seeing Gwen’s falling figure struggle to open the parachute brought a smile to her face and earned a chuckle from Heather (and a maniacal laugh from Sierra), but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to personally shove Duncan off the plane herself, but she wouldn’t be as kind to him as she was with Gwen; she’d be taking the parachute right before she shoved the fatal push.

The feeling that came after Gwen’s elimination was hard to describe — of course, sheer joy immediately after, but after the cameras stopped rolling and Chris instructed them all to head to bed, panic took its place. Courtney knew she was a target from her fellow teammates — Heather probably wanted to chop all her hair off for flirting with her dear Alejandro; Courtney almost wished the two would get together and save Courtney the heartbreak she’d have to face that there was no one left for her. Duncan would of course crave Courtney’s elimination, and Alejandro and Sierra would probably agree to anything so as long as it wasn’t them, or Cody, in Sierra’s case. Just about everything seemed to be going her way, wasn’t it? 

Courtney wasn’t even sure if she cared at this point. Should she? Of course, winning would be a great payment for everything she’s had to put up with on Total Drama, this season in particular, but at the same time, with Gwen officially out of the running, following her and going back home would feel even better. 

Home. Courtney hadn’t been there in ages, and at this point she wasn’t sure what she considered home to be. There was the pristine mansion she was raised in by her lawyer parents, and while that place might have looked like the front of a magazine cover, it felt like an empty ghost of a home. Not a single thing was out of place — not a throw pillow or piece of silverware. Her parents were either always at work, travelling for a case, or holed up in their respective offices; there was rarely “family time”. Courtney was fine with this, though; that’s just how things were for the Castillo family. 

There was Camp Wawanakwa, as evil and ironic as it was. For a few weeks, she lived with teenagers, not the reality stars they were now. When her friends from debate club sometimes dragged her to a rewatch of the first season, it was odd to see how different they were all back then, but at the same time, they really hadn’t changed at all. Though Courtney was unsure if she would ever step foot on that island ever again, it would always hold a place in her heart — good or bad? She hadn’t decided yet — for the beginning of whatever her life was now. 

Her apartment was an option, as well. It wasn’t as much home as just the place she so happened to live in. No emotional attachment whatsoever; some boxes were still stacked in a spare coat closet, all neatly labeled in a thick Sharpie. It wasn’t that Courtney was disorganized or lazy, more like there was no use in unpacking all of her belongings in a temporary home. She moved out of her parents’ mansion as college crept closer and closer, and she hadn’t lived with her parents since last summer. 

That summer felt alien at this point, looking at old photographs that were neatly organized on her cellphone. She remembered her family went on a month-long vacation in Europe, and Duncan had come to pick her up from the airport, much to her parents’ displeasure. The Castillos and Duncan did not get along, but tried to be civil for Courtney’s sake — they knew how much it could upset her when they were constantly at odds. Being civil was nowhere easy for either parties, but seeing Courtney’s happiness and hope that there was just maybe a hope that she and Duncan would be able to have a future together made it worth it.

However, seeing his arm around her waist with easy smiles on both of their lips made Courtney’s stomach lurch, just knowing what he would do a little more than a year later. It brought back too many memories that were painful to recall, and came all at once with no warning, much like a band-aid being harshly torn off the surface of a child’s knee.

That day it had been raining all afternoon, and there was still a slight drizzle and mist in the air when Courtney’s family had landed. Duncan was there, at the pickup area, with brunch for herself and her entire family from some local cafe — as much as he would deny it, deep down she just knew he was a sweetheart — and as soon as he could, he wrapped his arms around Courtney, which Courtney had gladly returned. 

The smell of rose and cigarettes, a smell that had become the twisted combination of the aromas surrounding Courtney and Duncan, filled Courtney’s nose, and she couldn’t help but bask in how glorious it felt, to simply be embraced by Duncan. No bickering, no making out, just a simple sign of affection was all it took for Courtney to feel at peace. They were so close, she could’ve swore she could feel the faint beat of his heart underneath his t-shirt.

It was such a quick, and rather insignificant moment, of their relationship, that Courtney couldn’t figure out, for the life of her, why it stuck with her. Maybe because it was insignificant in the long run it was so cherishable to her — a quick, stolen moment of sweet nothings that was caught in the middle of the timeline of her rather messy and confusing relationship with Duncan. 

Did Duncan still remember that July ninth? Probably not. Realistically, not. In fact, he was probably busy daydreaming making out with his new girlfriend in another all new spot on Gwen’s neck that made them feel something new that they never felt with Trent or Courtney. Not at all reminiscing on Courtney unwillingly falling in love with Duncan that July ninth in front of her parents, not at all remembering the imprint he left on her heart (though it did give her a sense of satisfaction that all Duncan could do was wish, as Courtney could gladly say she heard Gwen’s shrieks of terror as she plummeted towards the Earth at a rapid pace with a broken parachute).

Feeling a sudden chill in the air, Courtney runs her hands up and down her upper arms. As much as she hated him for it, she could still feel Duncan’s arms wrapping themselves around her, and she felt less colder. 

She doubted Duncan remembered the smell of lingering rain on the pavement that July ninth, or the hand squeeze and smile she gave him, or her parents finally warming up to him when he remembered their favorite brunch meal. 

She doubted he would even want to remember any of it.

But now I’ll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is

I don’t know how to be something you missed

Never thought we’d have a last kiss

Never imagined we’d end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

Courtney wasn’t sure what to feel; upset? Angered? Humiliated? Robbed of winning, yet again? Maybe even a little relieved? They were all emotions she had felt before on the previous times she had been eliminated from Total Drama, but considering the circumstances... Courtney decided a combination of all would be the most appropriate. 

She was upset she allowed herself to cheat for Alejandro, who she was only really using to spite Duncan (not like Duncan had even batted an eye, which admittedly really stung), and she was fully aware Alejandro didn’t return her feelings, but God, she hadn’t felt any joy in what felt like ages, maybe she felt Alejandro would, what, reward her? All she got was a kiss after she freshened up, and it wasn’t even that good to begin with — too much tongue for her liking. 

Duncan knew how to kiss me just right. Crossed her mind, but as soon as it surfaces, she shoves it far, far down.

And she was angry, so angry that she had allowed herself to be used and manipulated, on International TV no less! She looked like exactly what she was, and she did not like it in any way, whatsoever — weak. And with that, humiliation; being cheated on, blanked, used and then sent packing with that trashy, gossip-craving Blaineley of all people was such a huge hit to her pride, Courtney was unsure if her pride would ever be able to recover, even five years from now. God, that was pathetic, the thought of still being sensitive to her Total Drama World Tour experience as a full-on adult. Definition of embarrassing. Her ego was massively bruised, and had taken such a fall that Courtney was sure she would never allow herself to get close to anyone ever again. Was it selfish? Maybe. But a businesswoman has to do what she has to do to be successful and strong, and if that meant ghosting everyone and plunging herself into her work — so be it. 

However... a small, incredibly fragile fraction of herself was so relieved. Of course, she wanted to win, to show to her ex-friend and boyfriend she was more than capable of destroying them, but she had already endured so much humiliation during that season that she felt her shoulders relax a little rather than tense up before she jumped off the plane. Though the cameras didn’t show it, Courtney found herself smiling like a lunatic — like Izzy, as she had now come to realize, not that she enjoyed acknowledging it one bit — as she dived off the jet, finally free from Chris, the cameras and most of all, Duncan. 

But now that she was back at her bleak apartment, she realized that cruelly ironically enough that he was more present in her own dorm even when he was across the world, with no thought or emotion to spare in her direction. The couch reeked of him, where he had spent New Years’ Eve and where they ended up falling asleep at 4 in the morning; the coffee table underneath her bare fingers felt like him, where an engraving of D+C was proudly displayed on the corner; the fridge seemed to still have him traced all over it, where she and Duncan had a huge argument in front of before he had slipped out the words “I love you” for the first time, and even the coat racket was imprinted with Duncan, where one of his jackets still hung, firm from months of not being used. Though a part of her wanted to reach out for it and wrap it around herself for some source of comfort, Courtney knew she shouldn’t — she couldn’t. But... 

It was ridiculous. A stupid, humiliating and reckless idea that would take the mere shreds left of her ego, dignity and pride and bury them six feet under. But right now, nobody would know... there was no paparazzi or roommate around to expose her, and she did feel awfully cold....

Grabbing the collar of the jacket, Courtney wrapped it around her shoulders and (shamefully, she couldn’t believe she was allowing her pride to stoop even lower than it already had) dashed in her pristine bedroom and immediately opened one of her drawers; Duncan’s drawer, which was filled with even more memories, both good and bad. To be fair, they were once all good, but now they left a sour sting on Courtney’s tongue. She tore through the drawer, before fixating on one item and pulling it out — one of Duncan’s many copies of his infamous skull t-shirt.

Without even meaning to, Courtney found herself crumbling like a piece of wet gingerbread. How pathetic are you? She mentally scolded herself, but at that moment she found herself realizing she simply didn’t care. After a lifetime of being as cold and emotionless as she could be, a boy of all things is what broke her down. After being rid of Total Drama — for now, Courtney had to remind herself — and the travel, the cameras and the clothes, and now just in her pajamas and dreadfully Duncan’s jacket, Courtney couldn’t help but unleash the full power of the sobs that had been building up in Courtney since the breakup. 

How was she going to get past this? Would she always be remembered as the bitch that a criminal cheated on on TV? What about her future? Would this all affect her chances in office? How could her ego possibly come back from this? Most of all, how would she cope knowing that Duncan, the nuisance criminal she’s despised for around two or three years, was gone for good and was never, ever coming back, no matter how much Courtney craved for it? 

Would Duncan even miss her? Would he ever, someday in the future, when things with Gwen were rocky? Would he remember Courtney, and think of her as something he missed? Was that even a title Courtney had the chance of claiming?

Courtney craved Duncan. She wanted his presence in her apartment, she wanted his arms around her, his lips pressed on her own; she hadn’t, didn’t and probably would never have wanted a last kiss, and knowing that they were as good as done with no chance of having another stolen kiss — it was too much. How could she have let them end like this?

“D... Duncan,” The name forces itself out of Courtney’s throat and through her lips, crumpling his shirt in her hands and bringing her knees to the ground, where she continues to sob. Tossing one more item from the drawer — the wooden skull, with D+C engraved on it, looking as new as it did years ago — she hurls it at the mirror in the corner of her room, its impact cracking the glass. 

Maybe in the morning Courtney would care, but at that moment, all she wanted was to be comforted by the one person who couldn’t, wouldn’t and would never comfort her ever again. All she knew was that she would never stop craving Duncan, no matter who was by her side or made her smile and laugh and shower her with kisses — the whole time she would be wishing it was Duncan instead, sharing a kiss that would be far from their last. 

I do remember

The swing in your step

The life of the party, you’re showing off again

And I roll my eyes and then

You pull me in

I’m not much for dancing

But for you I did

Because I love your handshake

Meetin’ my father

I love how you walk with your hands in your pockets

How you kissed me when I was in the middle of saying something

There’s not a day that I don’t miss those rude interruptions

Courtney despised the nights that followed post-World Tour elimination; they were filled with nightmares of happier times that mocked Courtney, nightmares that were dressed like perfect, safe and welcoming dreams. Nightmares that felt like incredible dreams at first, until Courtney woke up and remembered how alone she truly was. 

That night it was a random, and rather insignificant, memory of a wild party that Duncan had dragged her to. It was hosted by the cousin of a friend of Geoff’s friend, and of course Geoff and Duncan insisted that Bridgette, Courtney and DJ to come with, as much as Courtney was opposed to the idea. Duncan always made impacts, for lack of better word, on the guests, that would usually result in him adding a hundred followers to his Instagram, starting a riot and Courtney having to bail him out of jail or being kicked out by the host; it was a gamble each time. 

That night, Duncan had chosen to boast in front of a group of guests on all the laws he had broken and tattoos he had gotten — just Duncan’s usual load of shit. 

Courtney had rolled her eyes and sneered in disgust — just Courtney’s typical reaction to said load of shit. “God, Duncan, those tattoos are disgusting, I don’t see how you put up with them,” She had scowled. Duncan shrugged and wrapped his arm around her, leaning into Courtney, intently watching her incredibly dark and hypnotizing (at least, they were to him) eyes widen in surprise. 

“You’re just no fun,” Duncan lamely insulted, poking his tongue out at her and showcasing his tongue piercing that made Courtney’s nose scrunch up.

“I am plenty of fun!” Courtney snapped.

“Really? Prove it,” Duncan challenged, jerking his head toward the dance floor. Courtney gave him a withering glare that would have turned anyone else to a mere pile of dust, before gripping his wrist and dragging her with him, determined to prove him wrong. Unbeknownst to her, he was grinning like an enamored puppy behind her. 

As a slow song came on, Courtney wrapped her arms around Duncan’s neck while her wrapped his around her waist as they slowly swayed around to the beat of the song. Just as Duncan dipped her down, and Courtney felt a glamorous sensation as they both leaned toward each other and —

— suddenly, Duncan impaled a hook through Courtney (that looked all too familiar to the one he had spooked her with a long time ago) that Courtney hadn’t even noticed he had, before dropping her on the dance floor, her white dress staining with red blood like wine, as everyone else continued dancing to the romantic melody, paying no glance to Courtney.

She felt light headed while her eyelids felt like three tons, and as she fell on her knees, hunched over from the wound, she couldn’t help but notice as her eyes began to flutter shut no one spared a glance at her way; not even Duncan, who was back with his friends, showcasing the book like it was a trophy. As Courtney knew she was breathing her last breath, Duncan glanced her way and gave a crooked smirk, his eyes flashing hot with satisfaction at her pain. The ocean blue in his eyes had become a ferocious storm.

Courtney had jarred awake, hot, sweaty, emotional and desperate with the time of 2:34 staring back at her from her alarm clock. Courtney sighed with relief upon the realization it was just another nightmare about her ex-boyfriend, one that was rather cheesy anyway — what she would give to not be haunted by him as she still was. Unfortunately, as much as she hated the fact, she knew he still roamed her consciousness, subconsciousness and unconsciousness because of the fact she still loved him, even after everything, and a fraction of that love would probably live on for years to come until Courtney was on her deathbed.

With that comforting thought, Courtney groaned and turned away from her clock and towards the wall, studying the plaster like her life depended on it; anything to get her away from the angry electric blue that followed her even when her eyes were sealed shut.

It was plain annoying how she knew that she still loved Duncan, no matter how many times she was forced to re-live the brutal truth that he no longer loved her whenever she came face-to-face with a tabloid at the checkout line when she would occasionally get groceries, or search his name on the Internet to see how he was coping; maybe Courtney couldn’t face the truth, couldn’t face that maybe she was no longer in love with Duncan but instead with the memories of him that were scattered about her life.

It felt odd going to her parents’ and not having to deal with her father staring Duncan down, and for Duncan to stare right back, passive-aggressively. Not to watch both men clench each other’s hands firmly while looking at the other dead in the eye when Courtney introduced them. Now whenever she went to her parents’, all she felt was the sore reminder that in the end, the Castillos were right — Duncan was nothing but trouble and pain in the end.

It was painful going to the mall without Duncan to lean on, or his hand to clutch as they would lazily walk around the shops. Or how Courtney no longer had to unfold each of Duncan’s clothes from being inside-out in the laundry or hand a mountain of objects found in Duncan’s pockets to him before stuffing his pants in the washer. Duncan used to (or maybe he still did, Courtney would have no idea,) stuff anything and everything he possibly could into his pockets — keys, empty wrappers of gum, cigarettes or small things he’d pick pocketed, even spare change (though Courtney used to mock him for still carrying pennies around — who does that? She’d tease).

“That’s what you get for always walking with your hands in your pockets,” Courtney used to barate. “Someday, you’re going to end up washing your wallet if it isn’t for me,”

“Yeah, well, you’ll always be here, so that’s not a concern,” Duncan had winked back.

All Courtney could do now was scowl at how that had aged.

Hell, Courtney found herself missing their arguments — mostly over the small and rather unimportant things, they were ironically some of her fondest memories. Half the time their arguments would end up with the two making out after Duncan had silenced her with a kiss, and Courtney was now well-aware no one would ever interrupt her in such a way ever again.

Duncan was the only person who Courtney would allow to interrupt her, though now he wouldn’t want to even listen to her, let alone care enough to plant a kiss on her lips when she was in the middle of talking. Courtney had never wanted someone to interrupt her more than she wanted Duncan to.

And I'll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is that

I don't know how to be something you miss

Never thought we'd have a last kiss

Never imagined we'd end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep

And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe

And I'll keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are

Hope it's nice where you are

( TIME JUMP: 4 Months after TDAS )

Two months after coming home, Courtney found herself slowly healing from the damage that Duncan had caused on her heart. Two more months after that, Courtney found herself genuinely able to smile after that without the desire for Duncan and Gwen to be by her side; a year after that, Total Drama All Stars has been done for four months and Courtney lived day-to-day life without thinking of either Duncan or Gwen.

Courtney had been laying low for that time; obnoxious, gossip-hungry tabloids had asked for a “statement” from her whenever Gwen or Duncan or one of her ex-contestants found themselves on a headline, but Courtney shot them down every time — her ego might have taken a huge hit from World Tour and that episode from All Stars, but she wasn’t desperate enough to willingly make an appearance and be interviewed by Celebrity Manhunt.

The questions for “statements” seemed to blur over time; do you have any words of advice for Heather, who suspects Alejandro of cheating? Have you heard Trent’s new single? Rumor has it it’s about Gwen and Duncan! Speaking of Gwen and Duncan, if they were reading this, what would you say to them?

It was an endless and rather tiring cycle of the paparazzi trying to lure a reaction out of her, which Courtney refused to give into.

However, one day as Courtney was loading her groceries on a conveyor belt at the local grocery store, a headline from a tabloid caught her eye. All Courtney read were the words Totally Dramatic, and Courtney knew she should look away — they were the same magazine that publicly called Courtney a bitch a few months ago, which she would never forget. Though she had self-control in public, she found that at 11PM on a Friday night she had little to no self-control and found herself pulling open her laptop and typing Totally Dramatic in the search bar on Safari.

Almost immediately, the faces of her ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend take over her screen, with the text underneath that’s all too hard to miss — Gwuncan Engagement Rumors Confirmed!?

Courtney could feel her the pit of her stomach drop and her heart shatter as it crashed to the ground below her.

It wasn’t that she missed Duncan — she didn’t! It was just that she so good at her job of avoiding Gwen and Duncan’s names like the plague she was blissfully unaware that they had gotten back together.

She would be lying if Courtney said she hadn’t thought of reaching out to Gwen — and shamefully, it would be a lie if Courtney swore she never considered sending a drunk text to Duncan (thankfully, she never had; it was a nightmare just thinking of the embarrassment that would cause) — but always decided against it because of three reasonings; there was no way either would want to hear from her, they hated her guts and Courtney would never allow her dignity to stoop as low as it had during the third season ever again.

But now — now Courtney was sure she would never reach out. Not even a quick Congratulations! text, not a gift basket, not even show up to Gwen’s bachelorette party if she felt bold enough. Courtney was positive that she was reduced to the stalking ex, browsing through both of their Instagrams, watching them mature and fall back in love through their own photographs. It was... strange, to say the least.

What was this feeling that was erupting inside her? It wasn’t jealousy, she had gotten over Duncan months ago, but it wasn’t sadness, resentment or anger, either. It was like the feeling of realizing that, as ironically and unbelievable as it was, the two had grown up without Courtney, and all she could do was watch from a distance. Watch them slowly move on from their memories of Courtney — both bad and good — until the mention of her left both indifferent; Courtney was almost positive that being hated by the two would be less painful than knowing that at one point, they were the closest and best people in her life and now they couldn’t care less on how Courtney was.

Courtney used to watch Gwen paint and draw with such concentration that she was sure she would be held accountable for messing her art up if she just so much as breathed too loudly. The furrow between her brows would deepen and the stormy gray of her eyes would be clouded over with concentration and care, and Courtney found herself wishing that she was as passionate about something as Gwen was of her art. Sure, she had her studies in law, but Gwen’s skills — they were truly beautiful. She used to watch Gwen’s head very thrown back a little when she laughed a little too hard, and how tears would leak from the corner of her eyes from laughter so easily. Or how whenever Gwen dyed her hair again, she would unintentionally run her fingers through it all of the time, leaving Courtney wandering just how soft her hair could possibly be with her double-conditioning. But now she would witness all of Gwen’s happiness through her phone’s screen when she would look up her name on Instagram.

Courtney also used to watch Duncan do so many miscellaneous things that it would be impossible to list them all; like how his eyes would glint with joy whenever he would successfully break a law, a small shot of success and pride to keep him going. Or how, as much as he stated he hated them, always showing great amounts of concern when his friends or family were stressed and immediately began brainstorming how to make them feel better. Or how no matter how tough he pretended to be, when he slept, he just looked so peaceful that it was impossible to find yourself able to avoid falling for him. But now all she’d be seeing of him was his face plastered on a tabloid, probably with his arms around Gwen’s waist.

Maybe she was being overdramatic, but it really was ironic how at one point, she had held them both so close she could feel them breathe but now all she felt was herself slowly becoming more and more insignificant to the two of them, until she was nothing more than just a blurry memory and a face that was hard to recall among others.

Someday in the future, she could already picture herself casually asking Bridgette how Duncan was, since he was still friends with Geoff and DJ, afterall — what would she be expecting? For him to be struggling to make a living and pay rent? For Duncan to be unhappy with his life and relationship? For Gwen and Duncan to experience as much pain as they inflicted on her?

Deep down, she knew the real answer; no matter how many times they’d backstab the other, Courtney just wanted Gwen and Duncan to have the best, even if it killed her to admit it.

A small part of her couldn’t help but wonder if they felt the same about her, too.

And I hope the sun shines

And it's a beautiful day

And something reminds you

You wish you had stayed

You can plan for a change in weather and time

But I never planned on you changing your mind

Maybe one day Duncan would look back on their relationship like Courtney had been doing for months — or maybe, a small part of her hoped, he had been.

All Courtney could hope for was that someday in the future, when Courtney had found peace and Gwen and Duncan were happily moving on to whatever chapter of their lives lied ahead of them, something small would catch Duncan’s eye — a picture of her on the news, a box that reeked of memories of her, even the mere mention of her name — would send him back in time to when they were sixteen and still in love and clueless to the cruel world around them, and maybe a small part of him that he thought died when he was a teenager would blossom again with the wish that he had stayed; they would always be their own biggest what-ifs.

Courtney had planned anything and everything in her life ahead of time; one thing she hadn’t ever expected? Duncan to give up on her and leave her with a last kiss while she still craved for more. And while he had moved on, Courtney was stuck in the past, but that was okay — if he could move on, so could she, and her while that may take time, she was fully prepared to wait it out; she may have been painted as the villain of the story, but she also deserved her happily ever after.

So I'll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is that

I don’t know how to be something you miss

Never thought we'd have a last kiss

Never imagined we'd end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

Just like our last kiss

Forever the name on my lips

Forever the name on my lips

Just like our last

[heathers-wig]

welcome to my blog!

hey td tumblr!! i’m heatherswig on ao3 and my own td blog is @heathneys !! i honestly made this out of boredom & i didn’t want to bore my other followers out with my writing so i made a sideblog. hopefully my writing isn’t too shit to not enjoy 😳😳😳

also let’s ignore i made two td blogs,,,,,, the embarrassment