Jason has never been so aware of the flowers in his lungs as when he tries to convince himself that he doesn't love you. He repeats in his head again and again as your concern starts to feel overwhelming. He doesn't love you, he can't love you. You deserve better than him.

"I'm fine," he says, shifting his foot to hide a couple of petals under his boot, "it's just a cough. It's not like I'm immune to getting sick." He knows that he's lying, but he can't bring himself to say the truth. That would mean admitting something to you that he's not yet ready to admit to himself.

He doesn't love you. The words are getting repetitive, but he can't bring himself to be selfish enough to say the truth. You're so normal compared to him, a civilian that somehow wormed your way into his life. It's risky enough that he's friends with you in the first place, but the idea of getting even closer? It scares him more than he can say. You could get hurt because of him.

After his moment of introspection, a sudden wave of nausea flows over Jason as he starts to feel the flowers force their way up his throat once more. Retribution for his thoughts, he muses as he turns his back on you. He leans on the kitchen counter for support and starts hacking into his hand, praying you won't step closer to check on him.

Once the coughing fit is over, Jason looks at the petals in his hand. A brilliant white stained red. Somehow, that feels fitting in a way that he can't describe. "I'm fine," he says again, his voice a little weaker this time as he empties his hand into the sink, "I promise. You trust me, right? You know I wouldn't lie to you."