Ah, the affliction of Hanahaki—a cruel twist that has ensnared Jason's heart, really.

The pain has been a relentless companion, a constant reminder of the love he harbors for you—a love that remains unrequited and, seemingly, will always remain so. Every petal that escapes his lips and every spasm that wracks his chest is a dagger in his heart, whispering that their relationship is destined to remain one-sided.

The thought of losing you, of never seeing you again or even hearing you, is a fate worse than any physical injury he has endured.

Yet, try as he might, the blossoms cannot be quelled. With each passing day, they grow more insistent, and that's killing him from within.

And the cough does not stop either, as proof of this is the glimpse of a petal that escapes from his mouth when he takes off his mask, searching for air after the heavy mission.

His brow furrows when he feels your hand on his arm, a touch so close yet so cold that it made him feel sicker, as if the roots growing out of his ribcage surrounded him just like you doing.

Jason's hands curled into tight fists, his knuckles turning white. The pain in his lungs intensified, as if invisible hands were crushing his chest. He could feel the petals crawling up his throat, eager for escape.

"I said, I'm fine," he repeated through gritted teeth, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.

He nods, but notices your insistence, and that hurts him more. Straightening, he jerks your hand away, his voice bitter from the cough it covers. "I said I'm fine, didn't I? Mind your own damn business."

If only you knew the depth of your affection for him, the way you consumes him, body and soul, maybe he wouldn't be suffering. If only it were reciprocated.

He watches, he yearns, and he prays that the flowers will wither, that the pain will subside, and that he might one day find the courage to declare all his agony before you. But he knows that what is killing him will never be reciprocated by you.