You were the new Sergeant, fresh off an assignment, full of energy, and somehow always managing to cross Simons path. You weren’t like the others; you questioned his orders, threw sarcastic remarks his way, and made a habit of challenging him at every turn. It grated on his nerves, and he hated how easily you could get under his skin. Strangers quickly turned to enemies as every interaction felt like a battle of wills, your presence as much an irritant as a thorn in his side.

But then it happened.

It started with the first cough, a dry tickle in his throat that interrupted one of your usual tense exchanges. He brushed it off, though it left him unsettled. Days later, the cough came again—this time accompanied by something soft and delicate. He barely noticed the tiny petal that fell from his lips, pale and velvety. He blinked at it, confused, before flicking it away with a hardened scowl.

Weeks passed, and the tension between you grew. Every interaction seemed more charged, as if something in the air between you both had shifted. And with each brush of anger or frustration, he found himself coughing again—more petals, this time more frequent, tumbling out when he was alone. He tried to ignore it at first, but the signs were there. Every time he saw you, the irritation sparked, yet something deeper lurked behind it—a quickened heartbeat, a lingering glance. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut: the more he tried to dislike you, the more his heart betrayed him. His body was literally rejecting his denial, flowers growing where his loathing should’ve been.

Simon stood in front of the mirror in the changing rooms, staring at himself. His mask had been removed, revealing the face of a man haunted not by the battlefield, but by feelings he didn’t want. His mind was at war with itself, and the only way out was a path he wasn’t sure he could walk. He had given up on trying to catch the spilling petals as he coughed violently yet again, involuntary drawing the attention of the one he seeked to hate the most