Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It started with a tickle in the back of his throat.

He was sitting in the ancient-looking Oxford library, books laid out in front of him, dusty and heavy. The ones no one ever borrowed because no one ever really wanted to read. Why dive a bit deeper into your studies when you can just breeze through a textbook and write whatever you wanted without putting in any effort at all.

Oliver was honestly wondering why was he even doing this himself, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his time. That’s probably why.

Maybe Michael would've borrowed these books if they had anything to do with his major. He'd probably aggressively demand for Oliver to give him a page number, so he could recite a fucking citation for him.

So right now, Oliver was busy studying. Or busy pretending to study, that is.

He was studying at first, for a good hour or so, trying to find out as much as he could about the influence of foreigners on medieval English (he was expecting more from Oxford). Thus, the book thick enough to kill someone or at least give them a good dust-induced asthma attack. Unfortunately, his efforts came to an abrupt halt when one Felix Catton walked in through the door and sat a few tables away from him.

Felix was with a group of his friends, vaguely familiar faces mixing with the constantly rotating ones. Oliver mentally referred to them as Alpha Hotties for obvious reasons. Leaders of the pack, attractive, young and rich. The center of attention, with Felix as their leader - the world was theirs to claim. They all huddled up at the same long table, chattering too loudly for a library, but of course no one came to shush them. Even the librarian was carefully minding her own business. Oliver suspected that they came there to study, but apart from opening a few books (contents seemingly random), nobody seemed willing to study much of anything.

Oliver couldn't help but glance at that table every few seconds, sneakily trying to catch a glance of him, the one and only star of the show.

Felix Catton.

Oliver only recently found out his name. It wasn't all too difficult of a task, really. It seemed to circle around the halls, a fond whisper on everyone's lips, Casper the friendly ghost haunting the Oxford halls. An adornment of Hey Felixs followed by friendly Hey yous from the man himself.

Even if Oliver didn’t hear his name from his peers, it would’ve been hard to miss something like having an entire building named after your family right there on campus. Another thing he learned about Felix, he was apparently stupidly rich.

From what Oliver observed, Felix was a god among mortals and everyone wordlessly seemed to be aware of the fact, his name always spoken with an appropriate amount of worship and awe. Everyone seemed to be drawn to him, people always surrounding him like little ants desperate to get their hands on Felix as if he was the first sugar cube they had ever seen. Even Oliver, always detached from everyone, always the odd man out, felt Felix's pull from the moment they locked eyes through the window.

A shock through the system, a spear through the heart. Before, he wondered if he even had one. Empty like that Tin Man for The Wizard of Oz. And now he couldn’t get it to shut up - his heart constantly singing hymns bearing Felix’s name. And it hadn’t stopped doing so since.

Oliver wished for nothing more than to be one more ant to eat away at Felix's presence, but he was more of a praying mantis than an ant, and it was something everyone could plainly see. Maybe not actively, but something about Oliver made their fight or flight instinct kick in; his presence was an obvious discomfort, and they always chose flight. Oliver had no place among them.

Never had Oliver hated that fact more than since he saw Felix. If he were more like everyone else, he could've easily wiggled his way into the group, stay happily at Felix’s side until he decided that he was sick of Oliver gnawing on him.

Unfortunately, he was an Oliver, and an Oliver didn’t even live on the same planet as a Felix.

A tickle in his throat was almost an afterthought when he looked at Felix who was leaning back in his chair, laughing, completely unaware of Oliver watching him over the rim of his glasses. Oliver dismissively thought about buying some mints to bite on before his mind snapped back to Felix.

God, what a beautiful laugh he had. Oliver longed to hear it play again and again.

The coughing started a few days later. It was an annoyance at first, him randomly having to clear his throat and pause whatever he was doing just to scratch that itch. He started carrying a water bottle everywhere with him. Once it started, he couldn't stop it. He didn't feel sick, but he must've been at some point. Maybe it was one of those after-coughs that came after you’ve had a bug or something. It didn’t really feel like it, but Oliver didn’t really entertain anything else.

One day, when the cough was particularly persistent, and he couldn’t even hold it in for more than a minute, he finally decided to do something about it. He went home early, bought some cough syrup on the way to his room, and took a few gulps straight from the bottle. Convinced he’d done as much as he could, Oliver got undressed and crawled into bed. The cough syrup always made him drowsy.

As he dozed off, he sadly thought about how he didn't catch a glimpse of Felix that day. He always tried to arrange his schedule to pass by him at least once, but he was in too much of a hurry. It was too bad, really. Maybe Felix would've noticed him if he saw him coughing up a lung - a little look his way caused by a sudden loud noise. A lot of people he didn't know gawked at Oliver that day because of it.

His slow, drowsy descent to sleep was cut short when Oliver realized that he couldn't breathe.

He quickly sat up in his bed, feeling as if he had something lodged in his throat and another coughing fit rattled him, his body instinctively trying to get out whatever it was. He felt frantic in his desperate attempt to catch his breath. Spit was flying from his mouth as he pressed a hand over it. His eyes watered, his chest hurt, but mostly he coughed and coughed and coughed, almost sure he was going to pass out from the lack of air. Finally, his coughing stopped as something launched itself from Oliver's throat and right into the palm of his hand.

It was a single yellow flower petal.

Oliver had heard of the flower coughing disease before. Or hanahaki, as it’s best known. The first case was found in Japan, who knows how many years ago, where the person affected had flowers growing in their lungs. Symptoms included extreme coughing fits that wouldn’t go away, watery eyes, tightness in the throat, and many other inconveniences a person with a plant in their respiratory system might have.

The disease itself was very rare, only a handful of cases every year, but that didn’t stop it from becoming extremely popular. It was romanticized to hell and back. Countless books were written about it, and at least 10 new movies with the same premise were made every year. It was only natural due to the romantic, tragic cause of it.

Unrequited love. Completely illogical and medically improbable, but there it was.

It didn’t take him long to realize who his unrequited love was. After all, there was only one person who occupied his every thought.

Oliver tried to deny it for a while. After all, he didn’t think he was in love with Felix. Yes, he loved him, admired him and worshiped the ground he walked on, but what he was feeling wasn’t comparable to a silly crush a teenager might have. He’d describe his love as almost religious in nature; Felix was a god, and Oliver was his humble servant. But it seemed that ‘deeper than love’ also counted as ‘in love’.

As an avid reader, Oliver could appreciate the poetry of the disease itself. There was something tragic about a physical manifestation of heartache. Dying love, taking its root and planting itself as close to the heart as it could when it failed to capture the one it truly needed. One heart for the other.

There was no known cause for why some people got it and some didn’t. No medical reason, at least. Some people talked about the type of love, the intensity of it, the level of delusion. And what is Oliver’s love if not extreme (the only kind Felix deserved)?

As much as his sisters crooned over it, deluding themselves with an opportunity for a happy end when it came to hanahaki (“I almost wish I had it!”) - movies always loved to give their viewers a proper happy ending. Oliver knew it was nowhere near that. He always liked to think of hanahaki as God's punishment for the foolishness of human feelings. Was this Oliver's punishment?
Was his devotion to Felix really so wrong that it deserved death?

That was the first thought that hit him after the initial, “Oh, so Felix really doesn’t love me” - his delusional little hope popped like a soap bubble.

He’s going to die.

From what he knew about hanahaki, it killed. As romantic as it was, it was practically a death sentence.

Oliver wasn’t even sure what to think about that. He felt nothing more than a dull ache, the same one that had always existed, ever since he was small. It was just slightly more irritated now.

Oliver didn't tell anyone about it. He didn't call his mother; he didn't tell a doctor. What good would they be, how would they be able to help? They’d only tell him things he already knew and try to force him to get better. He could practically imagine his mother introducing him to countless boring sons and daughters of co-workers. Choking to death might be preferable.

The only person who knew about his hanahaki was Michael, and Oliver didn't even tell him about it. The fucker just guessed. The day after the petal, as they were sitting in the library (Oliver pretending like it was just another normal day), Michael leaned in, his bony hand covering the page Oliver had been blankly staring at, and said, "You have hanahaki, don't you?" with that creepy grin of his, as if he were proud of himself. Directly to the point, no sugarcoating it.

Michael moved away when Oliver told him to piss off. He tried to ignore Michael, but he still heard him very clearly when he said, "He'll never love you," before they both went back to their reading like nothing happened at all.

So, Oliver was slowly walking towards the edge of a cliff, and the only way to stop was to either stop loving Felix (impossible) or to get Felix to fall in love with him.

It seemed so improbable, so unreachable. But Oliver wasn’t just about to lie down and wait for his demise; it wasn’t his way. Maybe if he met Felix and said all the right things, Felix would fall in love with him. The very thought made Oliver ecstatic. Even if it didn't work, having an excuse to meet and talk to Felix was a blessing on its own. In a way, hanahaki was just the booster he needed to set things into motion.

So, he orchestrated a meeting.

Oliver knew that he couldn't just waltz over to Felix. He’d just nicely brush Oliver off and forget that he ever spoke to him. He needed something memorable; he needed to get into his good graces and impress him. He needed to be a “savior”.

He found Felix's bike, put a pin in the tire, and let things play out.

“You alright?” Oliver asked as soon as he stopped his bike.

Felix looked up and Oliver felt all coherent thoughts leave him all at once. Felix’s eyes were on him, directly on him. The back of his throat itched.

“Yeah, I’ve got a flat tire,” Felix said, looking glum, like a petulant child, miffed and completely lost.

Oliver knew that he’d never be able to leave his side again. And he won’t have to if he plays his cards right.

Oliver's social life was at its peak. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this involved. If he was ever involved. Most of his school memories were of him on his own or reluctantly with his family. He lacked friends in all aspects. The only “friends” he ever were misfits, but not the cool, interesting kind. Misfits like Michael, and apparently Oliver, who people avoided in full circle for being overall odd or creepy.

Now he was invited everywhere, to every event and every party. Or Felix was, at least, but everyone knew Felix brought Oliver everywhere with him. Because he was Felix's best mate.

His favorite.

Oliver couldn't even think about the fact without being hit with an unrelenting wave of pure joy. He almost couldn’t believe how well things were turning out for him. He always walked around half expecting to wake up in his dorm room, Felixless. To discover it was all just a fucked up, self-hating dream. But it wasn't a dream, not in the slightest.

Being mates with Felix was spectacular and it was increasingly becoming more apparent why people wanted it so much. Felix had a way of speaking to a person that made them feel like he was really listening to them, holding eye contact and nodding along. Something about it made you feel warm and special, like you mattered. Like you were the center of the universe, and how could you not be, when the sun decided to grace you with its warmth.

Felix favored him above anyone else in his constantly growing group. It was so clear, with the amount of time they spent together, alone or with someone, between classes, during or after. Oliver started off as Felix’s savior, and Felix then became his.

Oliver liked to think that he was pretty good at reading people. He could tell what they needed, what they wanted, what they were trying to hide. Felix wasn’t an exception; he was actually a lot easier to read than the rest.

Oliver took pride in the fact that he saw Felix better than anyone else, that he knew him better than anyone else. Oliver saw who Felix really was once you looked past the charm and general perfection. Rarely anyone looked past it, satisfied with the pleasant and happy to ignore the rest.

Felix was selfish, a spoiled child used to the world spinning for him. He enjoyed the things he liked and discarded them when he got tired of them. His attention was fickle at best. He constantly needed to be amused, and nothing amused him more than the plights of the common folk. He got off on tragedy, Oliver noticed. It wasn’t really that Felix actively enjoyed other people’s suffering; it was more of an opportunity to play the big, shiny hero. It made him feel selfless, though he wasn’t aware of it. In a way, Felix was genuinely kind and sweet. He just did it for the wrong reasons.

But Felix was the type of person who’d immediately make you forget anything bad that he might’ve done to you. It made you forget how he could just as easily fuck off the next moment as if you didn’t even exist. It was so contradictory, but the more dismissive Felix was towards you, the more you felt like you had to earn his affection. It made you think Wow, Felix is so kind. I must’ve been too dull for him to leave me, I’ll try harder next time. Everyone wanted to be the person Felix sticks to.

And Oliver was close to succeeding in that. Well, as close as anyone could get. Felix was still very flighty.

So Oliver’s idea to switch over from playing the knight in shining armor to playing a damsel in distress was a massive success. Little Norman-No-Mates Oliver and Felix, his savior who introduced him to society. Oliver knew that he was in since the night he ‘didn’t’ have enough money to pay at the pub. That night was also the first time that Oliver was faced with how violently nice Felix was, but he was also faced with the fact that the man could lie without batting an eye. A small, but interesting detail that made him think that he and Oliver were more alike than he originally thought. It made Felix oh so more alluring in Oliver’s eyes.

Oliver had a feeling that Felix genuinely liked him. Well, Felix genuinely liked all of his friends until he didn’t, but Oliver knew that he was special. Felix spent more time with Oliver than he did with anyone else. Yes, Oliver manipulated the situation to get it where it was, but he didn’t expect that Felix would get this attached to him after only a few short months. Of course, he still had to make sure that Felix didn't lose interest even after spending so much time with him, so eventually Oliver fabricated a sob story about a drunk mum and a druggie dad to keep him entertained. Felix got off on playing the savior, after all. So when Oliver told him his fabricated tale, Felix ate it up, on the edge of his seat and it brought them closer than ever before.

But as much as Felix liked him, he didn't love him. Not in the way Oliver needed him to.

Oliver's hanahaki persisted, but it seemed to stay mostly consistent. Coughing fits with an occasional stray petal, but no fully formed flowers. That was good, according to the books he borrowed from the library. It meant that the flowers hadn’t taken over his lungs just yet. It was also an official confirmation that Felix actually did like him. Just enough not to kill him, it seemed.

It's been the same ever since he officially met Felix, and a part of Oliver hoped to remain just like that. He honestly doubted his ability to make Felix fall in love with him, though he did try at the beginning. He tried to watch Felix flirt; he tried to imagine what someone might say to Felix for him to fall head over heels, but he was coming up blank. He knew Felix liked to be a savior, but it still wasn’t enough. It lacked a personal touch. But Oliver couldn’t figure out what kind of touch it was. Maybe Felix didn’t even have a touch. Maybe fucking people was as far as he’s ever going to get to intimacy, though that didn’t have anything to do with love.

So Oliver just wanted it to stay the way it was. With Felix loving him just enough to keep him from choking on his own feelings.

He couldn't hide his coughing though, he tried at first, but there was no use. Once it started, there was no stopping it. Felix noticed, it was hard not to, but he didn't mention it until about two months into their friendship.

"You cough a lot," he said one day while they were lounging lazily in Felix's room. Oliver had just finished coughing up a lung, but thankfully there were no petals in the midst. Felix pointed his unlit cigarette at him, "You should get that checked out, mate. Doesn't sound too good."

The simplest thing to do at that moment would’ve been to say, "Yeah, I'll get it checked out. Thanks for worrying, mate," but simple was never Oliver's way. He had to play it smart; he could turn this into an opportunity if only he tried. Everything could be turned into an opportunity if you dedicated yourself enough.

Part of him wondered if he should just confess that he had hanahaki. Oh, Felix. I’m just so hopelessly in love with you. Yeah, he couldn’t imagine that one going over too well. As sympathetic as Felix could be, Oliver wasn't convinced that upon finding out how someone's dying because of him, Felix wouldn’t get uncomfortable and just fuck off immediately. He did prefer the easier route.

Oliver could always say that he was in love with someone else, but somehow he wasn’t a big fan of that idea. Felix might try to question him about this brilliant person Oliver was so in love with, but he just didn’t have the strength to talk about his feelings with Felix. It felt a little too much like rubbing salt into the wound and he was getting tired just thinking about it.

Better to lie then, he decided, but Oliver should still keep a kernel of truth in there somewhere. It would be good to have some explanation for his cough, and, after all, Felix would just love if the cough turned out to be more serious than he originally thought. Poor, dear Ollie, in need of someone to take care of him.

Encouraged, Oliver faked a cough that turned into an annoyingly real one, and then pointedly cleared his throat.

"Oh, I have had this since forever," he started as he awkwardly scratched his neck. He wanted his performance to be good enough. Sheepish and small, a baby bird. "My lungs are all fucked." He had to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, like he was used to it. Made it seem all the more pitiable. “Apparently, drinking and smoking while pregnant might be bad for the baby. Wish my mum knew. Though I doubt she'd care either way."

As expected, Felix's face lit up with interest. "Fucked up? Fucked up how?"

Better not to say anything specific if Felix decides to do his research. He wouldn’t, of course, but he’d tell Farleigh. Felix liked to gossip, even though he didn’t really think of it as gossip (Farleigh was his cousin, after all, so it didn’t really count). The problem was that Farleigh didn’t really like Oliver, and the feeling was, frankly, mutual. And who knows what that little imp could do? Oliver wouldn’t put it past him to check Oliver’s supposed medical conditions purely out of spite. Or sheer boredom.

"Oh, it’s just a bunch of medical jargon,” Oliver settled on. “Fucked up just about sums it up.”

"Is it bad?" Felix asked as he scooted closer to Oliver, his attention completely consumed by Oliver’s spun tale. He relished in it.

"Well, I get coughing fits sometimes. A proper bother. Sometimes I choke a bit in my sleep, but I manage it. You have to sleep on the side," he explained. The symptoms he was describing were actually real. For hanahaki at least.

But it seemed like that wasn’t interesting enough since he noticed how Felix's shoulders sagged, probably expecting something grander, so Oliver quickly continued, "It's mostly something to worry about in the future. Doctors say that it's a matter of time before I finally choke. Cough’s more of a nasty reminder than anything. But I reckon I'm fine for now. I'm taking my meds, so..." Oliver made a mental note to check what meds you take for lung problems, or if you even do take meds.

"Jesus," Felix said, his eyes filling with worry. "That sounds terrible, mate."

Oliver shrugged, a proper little trooper. "It's no big deal."

"It is. It's so fucked you have to go through that. I mean, you’d think your parents would try and get clean after doing this shit to you." He actually sounded frustrated on Oliver’s behalf, which was sweet. “I want you to know, mate, if you ever need any sort of help, I'm there, okay? If your cough is bothering you too much or if you can’t sleep because of it. Who are you calling?"

Oliver rolled his eyes affectionately. "You, Felix."

"You better," Felix said with mock firmness as he put a cigarette between his lips.
Suddenly self-aware, Felix plucked it out again and said, "Wait, does smoke bother you?” Before Oliver could even respond, Felix immediately continued with, “I am so inconsiderate. Smoking is probably bad for you, yeah? You should've told me."

"It's really fine, Felix," Oliver said sheepishly. Smoke bothered him a bit, that’s true, but with the amount of time they were spending at smoky pubs and clubs, he was honestly starting to get used to it.

"You know what?" Felix said and threw the ciggie behind his back. Oliver watched it silently land on the bed. "I'm quitting," he proclaimed, crossing his arms and looking determined. "If my best mate has lung problems, I'd be a proper tosser to smoke."

Oliver felt touched at Felix's heartfelt promise, but he wasn't too surprised when, later that evening while they were in the pub, he saw Felix pull out a cigarette without a second thought.

His friendship with Felix wasn't a long-term solution, it seemed. As consistent as his coughing seemed to be most of the time, it still became worse from time to time. His cough turned as fickle as Felix, which seemed very fitting.

Every time Felix ditched Oliver to go fuck another girl, he found himself coughing more violently than before, until he had to go to the bathroom and spit out clumps of petals all at once, usually over a toilet bowl. Nobody really cared; they all just assumed he was sicking up from drinking, which suited Oliver just fine.

Oliver wasn't even concerned about the girls, not really - he knew that Felix didn't actually care about them.

Felix was a bit of a slag, if he was completely honest. Oliver had never heard him say he actually liked any of the girls he oh so casually brought back to his room. He even made it a game with Oliver, where he let him pick who he’s going to sleep with that night. Felix didn’t really care who it was, as long as she was hot enough. Oliver even had a hunch that Felix only did it because he was bored and shagging people was fun. There wasn’t really anything to it.

(Oliver even watched him while he was at it a couple of times; he couldn’t help himself. He just wanted to see all sides of Felix, and these were some of the few he had no access to. When Oliver started, he was a bit worried he’d get caught with the amount of coughing he was doing, but Felix never noticed. Sometimes Oliver even wanted him to notice, wondering what Felix would do if he saw him.)

So it wasn't the girls that bothered Oliver; it was the fact that Felix would ditch him for them - a very obvious reminder that Felix could easily discard him when he was bored over some short-lived, mind-numbing fun. Oliver honestly didn’t mind it too much; he knew what Felix was like, but his sickness obviously did. It screamed at him, cried at him, mourned the loss of Felix, who was always right there but so out of reach.

On one such occasion, Oliver fucked up. In his hurry to get the petals out, he forgot to check if the bathroom stalls were empty. Of course, they weren't. Of course, Farleigh was there and Oliver barely even made it past the sink.

"Well, well, well," he heard a voice say as he stood there dry-heaving with his hands on his knees, an assortment of colorful petals on the filthy floor beneath him. Oliver looked up at him, panting. Farleigh had a malicious grin plastered on his face, the bluish flickering bathroom lights casting sharp shadows over his face.

"What do we have here?" Farleigh said it as if he was a cat that just stumbled onto a defenseless mouse. Without waiting for Oliver to say anything and without looking away from the sad display, Farleigh exited the bathroom, leaving Oliver all alone.

Oliver took a deep breath, trying to brace himself for what might await him. He kicked the flowers into the corner of the bathroom and, trying to keep his panic at bay, got out. But he underestimated Farleigh to think that he'd spill this little piece of gossip in a crowded pub, where it wouldn't get the attention it deserved.

It was while they were at a party of who-knows-who two days later. The entire group, sitting in a circle on the floor, passing a bottle. Oliver nested himself next to Felix, who had his arm casually wrapped around Oliver's shoulders as always. Oliver could barely properly enjoy the closeness due to his nerves. He had been stressing about Farleigh spilling something (that wasn’t really any of his business) since he got out of that bathroom. Oliver didn’t expect him to stay quiet for long, he knew he wouldn’t and a part of him just wanted to get it over with. He was even considering just telling Felix himself, ripping it off like a band-aid. That way he could at least control the narrative, make Felix hear only what Oliver wanted him to. But it seemed like Farleigh was finally going to act, from the weird glances he’s been throwing at Oliver all night. It was a perfect opportunity to raise some hell, and Oliver was dreading it.

Oliver coughed a bit in the back of his hand, no more than usual, but India of all people asked, "Are you sick?" in that saccharine tone of hers.

"Yeah," Farleigh said, and Oliver paled. "He’s loveeeesick." The word felt as if Farleigh slowly dragged a knife across Oliver's face, the blood coating his eyes and making him see the other in a reddish hue.

"What do you mean?" India immediately asked as her head snapped towards Farleigh. Sharks knew how to smell blood. Or an opportunity for gossip, in this case.

"Oliver..," Farleigh said slowly, letting the tension build up and keeping his audience captivated. A perfect storyteller. "...has hanahaki."

It was like a bomb went off. Immediate murmurs and gasps rattled the circle.

"What?!"

"Really?"

"I never met anyone who had it!"

All heads immediately snapped in Oliver's direction, and Oliver found himself shrinking under the intensity of it. Farleigh was smirking as he set his dogs at him, letting them do the dirty work.

"Is that true?" India was the first one to ask.

"I..," Oliver started, but before he could even consider his answer, Felix came to his rescue.

“Come off it, Farleigh,” he said, convinced that Farleigh was making it up. Oliver would’ve been honored to know that Felix chose to believe Oliver’s words over Farleigh’s if they weren’t absolutely lies.

Farleigh raised up his hands, palms out, as he said, "Don’t get defensive, dear cousin. It's the truth. I saw it myself. He was coughing up flowers in the pub bathroom. Not a pretty sight.” He looked over the group. “Definitely not as sexy as the movies make it out to be."

Another wave of excitement rippled through the group. Too much excitement, Oliver thought bitterly, over someone having a disease that would probably be the end of him.

Oliver was all too aware of Felix's lack of response and the way his arm seemed to press against him a little firmer. Was he angry? Disappointed? Upset that Oliver lied?

Oliver's own silence was damning for him. A million questions were hurled his way, and he found himself the center of attention for almost the first time since he sat down.

"That thing's real?"

"Do you really cough up flowers?"

"Does it hurt?"

His head was spinning.

"So," Annabel was the one to finally ask, "who is it?"

"Who?" Oliver played dumb. A reflex, an easy way out.

"Who are you in love with?" Annabel repeated, more insistent. Fuck Oliver’s privacy, right?

"I'd rather not talk about it," Oliver said lamely, officially confirming that what Farleigh was saying was true. He debated if he should get up and run or wait it out.

"I bet I know," Farleigh smirked from across from him, but no one was listening to him anymore. Oliver had the spotlight now and he had to tell them whowhowho - gossipy pleas from all around him. Oliver sure as hell wasn’t going to say Felix. (Maybe they already suspected?)

Suddenly, someone asked, "Are you going to die?" and all the questions died out all at once. It was almost comical.

The heaviness of it finally seemed to land on their tipsy shoulders. There was an apparent dent in the atmosphere, an awkward silence after a steady conversation and now they all seemed eager to get away. Oliver almost felt as if they were annoyed by the fact that Oliver was there and they had to be tactful about it. Go away, Oliver. We want to talk about your untimely demise and you’re ruining the mood.

"Come on, guys," Felix finally said, and Oliver's eyes snapped towards his face. "Give him a break."

Felix was smiling, but there was a tense pinch between his brows. Always having Oliver's back even when he was visibly upset with him. Well, it was visible to Oliver at least. He knew him better than anyone, after all.

After that, the circle quickly fell apart, everyone both eager to get away from Oliver and eager to share the news. Even Farleigh fucked off, bored with the lame conclusion of the story.

“Felix..,” Oliver started, but Felix just let go of him and got up without a word, getting lost somewhere in the crowd. The message was clear: Don’t follow me.

Instead, Oliver stayed in the same spot, just to ensure that Felix could find him if he wanted to talk. Like a dog obediently waiting for its master. Felix probably needed some time to process it all. Or not process it - get away and forget.

Hoping that Felix might come back seemed to be wishful thinking, Oliver realized after two hours had passed and the crowd had reduced to a few people who were too drunk to remember to leave.

Oliver finally gave up, picking up his jacket and getting off the floor. He'd talk to Felix tomorrow, hopefully. No, not hopefully. He’d find a way. He’d make something up.

He was just at the door, shoulders slumped and feeling glum, when a hand on his shoulder abruptly stopped him from getting out. Oliver looked back, and there Felix was, larger than life as always.

Oliver was so relieved to see him. It seemed like Felix wasn't done with him just yet. The thought brought him overwhelming joy.

"We're going together," Felix said, his voice casual but firm. No room for argument. Not that Oliver would argue.

The walk to the dorms was quiet without Felix’s usual drunken babbling. Oliver missed it, but he was all jitters and nerves and he just couldn't force himself to say anything. He was running all the ways this could go through his head. Is Felix going to be more upset about the lying or the why? Did Farleigh tell him that he suspected that Felix was the object of Oliver's devotion or did Felix piece it together himself?

Oliver followed as Felix guided them towards Oliver's room. Though swaying a bit, Felix still seemed okay enough to know his way around the campus. Going to Oliver's room was probably a bad sign. This way, he could leave any time that's convenient for him.

After reaching Oliver's door, Felix moved away to let Oliver unlock it. The silence was really starting to grate on Oliver's nerves. Felix was rarely silent.

Oliver went in and Felix quickly followed, closing the door behind them. Oliver didn't even get a chance to turn to face him before Felix was loudly exclaiming, "What the fuck, Ollie!"

Oliver faced him completely, raising his hands in a plea, "Felix, listen..." He had enough time at the party to prepare a few possible explanations.

"You have hanahaki and you don't even tell me? I thought we were friends. Is that what the coughing was about? Was the thing about your lungs a lie?”

“Not completely. My mum did drink when she was pregnant,” Oliver lied, trying to soften Felix up.

It threw Felix off a bit, but he continued nevertheless, “But you don't have a condition, do you? It’s hanahaki. Why would you lie about something like that?"

"Can you blame me?" Oliver said immediately, "It isn't something I want people to know. You saw how everyone reacted to it tonight."

"Yeah, but you could've still told me," Felix said, looking angry and hurt. So that’s what it was about. Felix was upset because Oliver lied to him. Oliver almost regretted the lie for a moment, seeing how much it upset Felix.

Oliver, feeling cornered, decided to turn this against Felix. "Oh, and you wouldn't have told anyone?" he said snidely.

"I-," Felix said, but paused, unsure. "I wouldn't."

"Yeah, right," Oliver said, doubt apparent in his tone.

"You're acting like I'm a bad friend," Felix said, crossing his arms defensively. He was obviously pouting now. He wasn’t a fan of people pointing out his flaws.

Oliver sighed. "I’m not saying that. Look, it's too messy and I hate talking about it since basically nothing could be done with it. I tried."

A moment of awkward silence passed before Felix said, "Who is it?”

Oliver stared at him, so Felix stumbled out, “You didn’t answer back at the party." He was staring a hole in the floor, looking disgruntled, but obviously interested in Oliver’s answer.

You, Oliver thought fondly, but he said, "You don't know them. Someone from Prescott."

"And you're what?” Felix continued, his pissy mood not subsiding. “In love with them?"

“I’m not lying about it,” Oliver said defensively. “Really, Felix…” Oliver was starting to get a headache.

“I know you’re not. Farleigh confirmed it, didn’t he?” Oliver didn’t miss the implication. It seemed like Oliver’s word didn’t count for much anymore. “It's just, I can’t believe you wouldn’t even mention this..,” he gestured with his hands, trying to find the right words, “person. I talk about birds all the time, I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Felix. Why wouldn't I mention this person?” Oliver said sarcastically, “Maybe because I love ‘em and they don’t give a shit about me. It’s embarrassing.” But mostly painful. Oliver wasn’t going to say that though.

“So, you are in love with them?” Felix said as if it were the only part that mattered.

"Yeah," Oliver said firmly, eyes fixated on Felix, who wasn’t looking away anymore, “I am.”

Felix held his gaze for a moment more before looking away again, and Oliver suppressed his disappointment. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Felix to say. To fall to his knees and tell him that he’s only angry because he’s jealous? Ideally, confess his undying love to Oliver? He didn’t, of course.

"And they really don't love you back?" Felix asked warily.

Oliver huffed out a laugh. "Obviously not."

"Then why are you still in love with them?" Felix asked with genuine curiosity, his mood seemingly lighter.

Of course, Felix wouldn't get it. Oliver doesn't think Felix has ever been in love in his life. He had a few girlfriends, sure, but he was never in love. He didn't know the clutch it could have on a person. He didn’t know how much of yourself you’re willing to give away for love, how much you’re willing to destroy yourself. But, to be fair, Oliver didn’t think much about love until Felix. Weird, considering his parents were still very much in love. It always seemed so hollow to him, exchanging sugary words, trying to model your life to fit around someone else’s. Well, he understands it well now.

"It's not that simple, Felix," he said, trying to wrap his every single thought in that one, weak summary.

"But you're going to die because of them," Felix said, insisting, "Doesn't that make you hate them at least a little bit?"

"It does," Oliver agreed with a nod, "but it doesn't change anything." He did hate Felix, sometimes so unbearably much. How he treated Oliver, how Oliver was dying over someone who didn’t care that much about him. But it still never changed how much he loved Felix. His hate couldn’t even hold a candle to his love. If anything, it just made him more aware of it. Maybe that’s why his parents’ love seemed so shallow to him. There was nothing to compare it to. How could you properly love someone without wanting them to burn at least a little bit?

Felix seemed deep in thought for a moment before a look of determination set on his face, and he started walking towards Oliver. Oliver suppressed the urge to nervously take a step back, unsure what Felix would do.

Finally, Felix was in front of him, and he clamped Oliver’s shoulders with his hands, startling him slightly.

"Well, I may not get it, but I'll help you, mate." Oliver's heart sped up a little bit, wondering what Felix might mean by that, mind running straight to his wildest fantasies. "I'll help you get over your who-the-fuck-cares, I'll find you someone much better. Annabel or India or whoever peaks your fancy."

Well, that was slightly disappointing, but at least Felix wasn’t angry anymore. Oliver laughed, "Whatever you say, Felix."

“And I forgive you for lying, by the way,” Felix said with a path on his shoulder, “But don’t do it again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Oliver said with ease.

It was incredible how much more attractive you became once you developed a flower coughing illness. You’d think there’d be an opposite effect.

Before, people could barely stand Oliver. They only tolerated him because of Felix. He was a nuance at worst, invisible at best, and now he couldn't even walk into the pub without someone sticking themselves onto him. People of all genders coming on to him with various propositions in various states of drunk. It was as overwhelming as it was absolutely flattering.

Oliver could understand it, really. People seemed to be more attractive the less obtainable they were. Nothing said sexy as unattainable. It was a natural phenomenon, really. Fuck a celebrity, fuck someone who’s married, fuck a priest. It was all the same idea. Turn their heads, make them want you. There wasn’t anything more hot and powerful than changing or fucking up someone’s life.

Everyone wanted to give “saving” Oliver a shot; it became sort of a game, really. It wasn't really about saving Oliver, of course. It could’ve been anyone. Hell, it could’ve been fucking Michael. Having hanahaki just turned you into a sex symbol.

It was about people trying to prove to themselves and others how special they were. Special enough to save someone from certain death by sleeping with them and having them forget that they ever loved anyone else. All it took in their minds was one good shag and a few compliments. And then they could hopefully go around and say, “Yes, I cured that hanahaki lad, I guess I am just that good. I just hope he doesn’t fall in love with me now, the little creep”.

The “plan” to cure Oliver hadn't worked for anyone yet, of course not. How could any of them compare to Felix? It was honestly becoming almost off-putting how hard they tried. Maybe this was why Felix got bored with it so easily.

As for Felix, he was very excited about the latest trend. He encouraged it wholeheartedly, throwing women at him left and right. Oliver couldn’t even leave his room without Felix pointing someone out and trying to convince Oliver to shag them, listing all the reasons why it would be an easy task.

"What about Annabel?" Felix would whisper across the table as they watched her and the guys go pick up their drinks.

"I'm not sure Annabel likes me that much," Oliver said while squinting at her. He wasn’t exactly lying about that. He heard her gossip about him to Felix, but after finding out about his hanahaki, she became a lot more friendly. Acknowledging his existence, laughing at his jokes when he hadn’t even meant for his words to be funny.

"So?” Felix replied easily. “Hate sex. Even better."

"It's not just about sex, Felix," Oliver sighed, feeling as if he was talking to a kid. This was something Felix had a hard time understanding, no matter how many times Oliver tried to explain it to him. It seemed like he really did think, like everyone else apparently, that Oliver could shag his way through this problem. It was sweet that Felix was trying, but it wasn't going to work.

Oliver did try it out with a few people though, fumbling around here and there with random faces, trying to form some sort of connection, but it was useless. Even when he had another body pressed against his, he couldn’t help but compare everyone to Felix. Too short for Felix, too thin for Felix, too female for Felix. Hooking up just seemed to make him cough up more petals and nothing else. But it passed the time while Felix left him to fend for himself. Felix never asked about his little rendezvouses; it was apparent that they didn’t work anyway.

Oliver honestly wished Felix would just go along with the latest campus challenge and press Oliver up against a wall somewhere. He probably would eventually, Oliver almost expected it to happen. It was a very Felix-like thing to do. Out of all the people who wanted to turn out to be Oliver’s savior, Felix probably wanted it the most. He was his little charity project, after all, so it was only a matter of time before Felix realized his methods weren’t working and tried a different approach. Of course, it wouldn’t actually do anything unless Felix finally saw how devoted Oliver was to him and he decided that he’s the only person in the world who could give him everything he wanted in the palm of his hand. But the chances of that were slim.

After one night of drunken debauchery, Felix decided to return to his own room instead of finding someone to shack up with and, of course, since there was no one to shack up with, Felix dragged Oliver along. So they ended up in Felix’s room, trying to sober up by chewing up dried marshmallows from a half-empty bag they found on Felix’s nightstand.

Oliver was sitting cross-legged on Felix’s bed, feeling an overwhelming urge to nod off as he pulled another marshmallow from the bag, and Felix was pacing the room, tripping over the same wrinkle in the carpet every time he passed it. Oliver had no idea why he was doing that, but it was making him dizzy.

“Hey, hey, stop,” Oliver finally said when Felix tripped again, “Stop for a second, Felix, eat a marshmallow.”

Felix perked up at that, apparently forgetting that the marshmallows were his idea. He stumbled towards Oliver and plucked the one he was holding right from his hand, popping it into his mouth. Felix moaned in exaggerated delight as he ate the stale treat. “You are so smart, Ollie. These are so good.” They really weren’t.

“Give me another,” Felix said as he sat on the bed next to Oliver.

Oliver fished out another one, but before he could pass it over, Felix leaned in and plucked it out of Oliver’s, simultaneously planting a loud kiss on Oliver’s cheek. “Thanks Ols,” Felix exclaimed as he popped the marshmallow into his mouth and lazily rested his chin on Oliver’s shoulder while he chewed. Oliver could feel every movement of his jaw against his shoulder.

“You don’t want any?” Felix asked innocently.

“I’m good,” Oliver said. Felix's obliviousness to personal space was going to be the death of him, but he wasn’t complaining.

“More for me then,” he said and instead of asking for another, he leaned over Oliver and took one on his own, his arm and chest pressing up against Oliver. It was almost like Felix was doing this on purpose.

Instead of moving back again, Felix just repositioned himself so that his head plopped into Oliver’s lap. Felix moved a bit so that he was lying on his back, his head snugly cushioned in Oliver’s lap. Then he pulled the entire bag of marshmallows from the nightstand and placed it on his chest to continue his snacking. “You sure you don’t want any?” he asked casually, and Oliver shook his head.

They were positioned like that for who knows how long, Felix chewing his stale marshmallows, purring like a happy cat and Oliver just sitting there and trying not to shift too much. With this much pressure of Felix, Oliver hoped to god he didn’t move or things might get really awkward.

It’s not like Felix never cuddled up to him before. Felix was a touchy sort of person, constantly hugging Oliver, brushing against his arm, putting a hand on his leg or his shoulder, kissing him on the cheek. It was just how he was. It didn’t take him long to figure that one out and that he wasn’t getting special treatment when it came to this. Well, he did seem to be a bit more clingy when it came to Oliver, but Oliver concluded that it’s because he was Felix’s best mate. Felix obviously didn’t mean much by, but Oliver still couldn’t help but memorize every single touch, soaking in Felix’s warmth as he stopped himself from begging for more.

So even though Felix never used Oliver’s lap like a pillow before, he tried not to read too much into it.

He listened to Felix talk about this thing or another, enjoying the fact that he could directly look at Felix’s face from this new vantage point. The curve of his mouth, the shape of his nose, the shiny piercing Oliver just wanted to sink his teeth around. At some point, Oliver’s hand found itself in Felix’s hair as he absentmindedly twirled it around his fingers, combing through it and occasionally grazing his nails along Felix’s scalp. He wasn’t sure when he started doing it, but Felix didn’t seem to mind at all. Oliver even thought he noticed Felix arch his head back towards Oliver’s hand when he moved it too far away.

Having finally finished chewing up the last marshmallow, Felix balled up the plastic baggie and threw it in the general direction of the trash can. It didn’t land even close.

Oliver contemplated whether he should move his hand away now, when Felix casually and out of the blue asked, “Do you want to make out?” Oliver’s hand froze. Felix’s voice gave nothing away, his question as if he were asking Oliver about an unfinished essay. If Oliver had been eating, he would’ve choked.

“You’re drunk,” Oliver stated, unsure what to do about this.

Felix turned his head a bit, so Oliver had a better view of his profile. An extremely dangerous thing considering how close he was to Oliver’s crotch. “Is that a no?” Felix leered, his words turning flirty. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Oliver wanted to yell out a fuck yes, but even in his drunken state, he knew that it’d be a bad call. He had to turn Felix down if he wanted to cling onto any feeble hope of getting him to fall in love with him. Eventually. Maybe.

If he took Felix up on his offer, they’d undoubtedly end up having sex because Oliver didn’t trust his self-control (he already knew that Felix barely had any when it came to these things). And if they had sex, Felix would probably pretend like it never happened.

Besides, Felix was probably only doing this to “fix” Oliver, just as Oliver expected him to. And also probably because he ran out of marshmallows and was bored. Definitely a blow to Oliver’s ego, but under any other circumstances he’d still throw himself at Felix at light’s speed.

Oliver had to muffle a smaller cough against the back of his hand at the thought.

As if that broke the moment, Felix huffed out in disappointment and sat up, away from Oliver’s lap and then his bed altogether, just to throw himself on the floor, splaying his limbs like a starfish. Oliver watched him in wonder.

“I really don’t understand how you can be this hung up over a bird,” Felix said in sudden annoyance, and it took Oliver a moment to realize he was talking about the hanahaki.

“How do you know it’s a bird?” Oliver asked daringly, testing the waters. He always wondered how Felix felt about these things, even though it should be a bit obvious with how he practically propositioned Oliver just now. Oliver did find it strange though how, apart from the first time, Felix always assumed that Oliver was in love with a she.

“If it were a bloke, you wouldn’t even have this problem right now,” Felix said immediately.

“How so?” Oliver asked, genuinely curious.

“Then you’d just be in love with me right now instead,” Felix said, his voice casual and completely sure of himself. It wasn’t a love confession, far from it. Just Felix impartially sharing his strongest belief without knowing how dead on he was. Oliver couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing.

“What makes you so sure?” Oliver finally said as he calmed down.

“Well, most people end up falling in love with me. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever had a girl friend who I didn’t sleep with. Accidentally fingered my cousin one time because of that. It’s like I’m cursed.”

There was a smile stuck on Oliver’s face. Felix was really ridiculous, he thought fondly. “Maybe you should stop doing that then. You’d have a lot more girl friends. And besides, I wouldn’t fall in love with you,” Oliver lied through his teeth. “You’re not that good-looking.”

Felix immediately perched his upper body on his elbows and looked at Oliver. The look of genuine offense he wore was absolutely hysterical. “That’s so harsh, mate,” he said, sounding fully hurt by Oliver’s statement.

Oliver laughed some more, his body shaking from humor and upcoming coughs.

Felix snapped at him. Oliver tried to clean his room and Felix snapped at him.

Oliver should've known better. He pushed too hard, thinking that he and Felix were close enough for Oliver to exercise some control over him, but he was wrong. Felix didn't like it when people pointed out his lackings, not even Oliver. He really should’ve known not to push his luck.

Felix pulled the trash can out of Oliver's hands, looking completely ticked off, like a child throwing a tantrum. Eventually, Felix said, “I’ve got some revising to do. I think I might catch you later, yeah?” He was looking everywhere but at Oliver.

It was an obvious excuse, Felix always said he had to study when Oliver started to bore him. It was his go-to excuse, but Felix was usually at least trying to be less obvious about it. Now he looked like he was completely done with Oliver, it was written all over his face.

Oliver felt panic bubble up in his chest. He was doing so well, why did he have to slip up now? And over something stupid like the cleanliness of Felix's fucking room.

His own panic, combined with Felix's obvious look of disdain, made his chest constrict until he felt like he was choking, and it spilled out in the form of another cough. It hasn't been this violent in more than a month and for it to act up in such a way and in front of Felix of all people was embarrassing. He only imagined how he must look, red faced and falling apart after a little argument. He tried to pull himself together, but eventually he doubled over as he coughed and tried not to wheeze. He could distantly hear Felix fretting over him, maybe grabbing his arms, but he was too out of it to properly register it. God, it would’ve been better if he just got out of the room sooner. His eyes were filled with tears, and not just from the strain. He fucked up; everything was so fucked up.

White petals fell from his mouth and Oliver watched them land on the floor like wet snow. There were definitely enough petals to grab a fistful and throw them in the air to make a pretty little shower. Almost a full flower, he’d say.

Wildly, Oliver wondered if Felix would remember to clean this up later or if he'd just leave them there. Maybe he'd press them between pages of a book he didn't read, leave them to dry. That's what Oliver would've done if Felix coughed them up. Maybe he'd even be able to make tea with them, get himself a cup full of Felix. No sugar, no milk to ruin the taste.

Felix wouldn’t do that, of course. He’d probably just cover them with a carpet or wait for Oliver to feel embarrassed enough to silently get rid of them himself while Felix wasn't watching.

With the petals out, the coughing stopped and Oliver was left there panting, blinking away the dampness from his eyes. He finally looked up and he saw Felix a step away from him, frozen in place with his eyes wide. Oliver must’ve looked so off-putting just then.

"Sorry about that," Oliver said as he cleared his throat. There was a petal stuck to the roof of his mouth, but he ignored it.

Felix swallowed, and Oliver followed the movement with his eyes. "I never saw you cough them up before," a moment of hesitation, a flash of worry, "Does it hurt?"

"A bit," Oliver responded. The worry on Felix’s face brought Oliver a small sliver of satisfaction. He didn’t seem so eager to throw him out anymore. Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all.

"I'm so sorry," Felix said and he sounded like he meant it. He knew that Felix didn't mean it like that, but all Oliver could hear was Sorry for not loving you.

And Oliver forgave him.