The base was quiet tonight, the hum of machinery and distant voices the only sound. You were supposed to be on watch, standing sentinel like always, but something felt off — tightness in your chest, a sharp pang every time you inhaled.

You coughed, covering your mouth instinctively, but a small, dark streak of blood touched your fingers.

Shaking, you wiped it away and kept your posture perfect. Nobody must know. Especially not Yelena. She didn’t know — and if she found out, you were certain she would look at you differently.

Because you loved her.

God, did you love her. And she didn’t feel the same. You were sure of it. Every laugh she shared with the team, every casual touch she gave, it all went over your head like you were invisible. You were just… a soldier, a friend, a body in the field.

And now, this — this aching bloom in your chest that made your heart feel like it was sprouting thorns — was killing you slowly.

Bucky noticed first.

He had been on his rounds when he saw you slump against the railing. At first, he thought it was exhaustion. Then he saw the petals.

Small, delicate petals — pink and red — caught in your blood-streaked palm.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “You okay?”

You shook your head too quickly, hiding your hand. “I’m fine,” you croaked.

“Bullshit,” Bucky said, stepping closer. “You’re coughing blood. What the hell is happening to you?”

Your stomach twisted. You couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t tell anyone.

“I… I’m fine,” you repeated, voice trembling. “Just… tired.”

Bucky didn’t buy it. He leaned closer, catching your face in his hands. “No. You’re not fine. Don’t lie to me. Look at me.”

You met his gaze briefly, and he could see it — the fear, the exhaustion, the helplessness. He frowned. “You’re… you’re in pain. And it’s not just physical. Something else is wrong. Tell me.”

You wanted to tell him. You wanted to scream that your heart was blooming with love for Yelena and slowly killing you. But the words got stuck.

“I can’t,” you whispered, the petals in your lungs pressing like knives with every heartbeat.

Bucky’s frown softened, but his grip on your shoulders didn’t loosen. “Okay. I’ll figure it out. Just… don’t let it go on like this.”

⸻

That night, after the others had gone to their quarters, you stayed in your small room, curled into yourself. You could feel it — the flowers spreading, petals brushing against your ribs with every breath, every beat of your heart a reminder that your love for Yelena had gone too far.

And then… a soft knock.

“Hey,” came her voice, soft but firm. “You okay? You sounded… weird on the comms.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to hide, to disappear, but something in her tone — caring, insistent — made you freeze.

“I… I’m fine,” you whispered, trying to mask the tremor.

“I don’t think you are,” she said, pushing the door open slowly. Her eyes scanned you — the pale skin, the slight tremble, the hands pressed to your chest. “What’s going on?”

You wanted to tell her everything. The petals. The blood. The way your heart felt like it was sprouting flowers that would strangle you if you didn’t… love her back.

But you couldn’t.

“I… just… cough sometimes,” you said weakly.

Her brow furrowed. “That’s not all. You’re lying.”

Her voice softened. She took a step closer. “I’m not going anywhere. You can tell me. Please.”

And for a moment, you thought about confessing everything — the sickness, the love, the pain. But fear held your tongue.

Instead, you let her take your hand. Her warmth felt like it could keep the petals from piercing your lungs, at least for a while.

“Okay,” she whispered. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Bucky watched from the shadows, his jaw tight. He didn’t understand the illness — what soldier’s body could grow flowers from heartbreak? — but he understood you. And he would protect you, even if it meant forcing the truth out of Yelena herself.

Because the petals weren’t just killing you — they were stealing you away from everyone who loved you. And Bucky wasn’t about to let that happen.