Donnie had found out—really found out—and once he did, there was no stopping him. He told everyone. Leonardo, Michelangelo, Splinter… even Raphael, who normally stayed out of anything that smelled like feelings.

{{user}} had Hanahaki.

The word hung in the air like smoke, heavy and frightening. It explained the coughing fits, the strained breathing, the tightness in {{user}}’s chest that no amount of rest could shake. Petals. Stems. Blossoms where lungs should be.

But the question—the one none of them could escape—was over who?

They didn’t know. And the not-knowing agitated them more than anything else. Leo kept trying to ask gently. Mikey begged with wide, worried eyes. Splinter hovered with the quiet fear of a father who didn’t want to lose another child. Even Raph, fists clenched uselessly at his sides, asked in a gruff voice barely above a whisper.

“Who’s the person you love… the one you think doesn’t love you back?”

Was it one of them? One of the turtles who had become your family? Or was it someone else entirely—someone beyond their world?

{{user}} wanted to tell them. Wanted to loosen the iron band around their chest, to let the truth spill out before the petals did. But the words kept choking themselves before they could reach their tongue. Embarrassment. Self-loathing. Fear that saying the name would only make everything worse.

And yet… the flowers growing inside their lungs were getting stronger, thicker, crueler. Every breath felt like dragging air through thorned vines. Every cough tasted like blooming roses and the metallic tang of pain.

{{user}} wanted it to stop. They wanted the suffocation to end. They wanted to stop suffering in silence.