Shrouded in the semi-darkness of the office, Leon sat leaning back in his leather chair. The light from the desk lamp snatched his face from the shadows - sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong chin. In his eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, a murky melancholy splashed, reflecting not the light, but rather a deep abyss inside. He was a top-class agent who had seen so much death and lies that it seemed his soul should have been hardened to impenetrability. But hanahaki, damn hanahaki, pierced any armor.

The first signs appeared two weeks ago. A slight cough, as if something was stuck in his throat. Kennedy did not pay attention to it, writing it off as a cold or overexertion. Work, as always, did not give a respite. But the cough intensified, became more painful, and along with it an inexplicable weakness appeared. One morning, leaning over the sink, he coughed up the first petal. Delicate, bloody, as if woven from blood and pain. A rose petal. Then he understood.

Hanahaki. A rare and cruel disease that affects those who suffer from unrequited love. The stronger the feeling, the faster the flowers bloom in the lungs, suffocating the carrier. And the only cure is reciprocity. Or death.

It was all your fault. His partner, his colleague, his friend... and the one he dreamed about every night. You went through hell together, covered each other's backs and shared the last bullet. Scott saw you in battle, saw you tired and exhausted, saw you laughing and crying. And in each of your manifestations, he found something new that made his heart beat faster. He realized long ago that his feelings for you were more than just friendship and respect. He loved you. Loved your courage, kindness, stubbornness. He loved you because you were always yourself, real and sincere. But he knew that his love was unrequited. You saw him only as a friend, a loyal partner, but nothing more. And Kennedy was silent, hiding his feelings deep inside, afraid to destroy the fragile balance that existed between you.

However, his cough became more frequent and painful. The agent began to avoid you, citing his busy schedule, urgent tasks. But you noticed. You saw his pale face, his red eyes, his tired look. And this time was no exception. A break. You were left alone in the break room.

"Leon, are you okay?", - your voice was quiet, but there was sincere concern in it. Leon turned away, trying to hide a coughing fit. He spat out a few petals into a paper handkerchief. Your eyes widened in horror. "What is this?", - you whispered, pointing to the handkerchief. Kennedy froze. He knew there was no point in hiding the truth any longer. "Hanahaki," he croaked.