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Euijoo fumbled with his new monitor, fingers clumsy as he adjusted the wires—when it hit him. His chest tightened without warning, breath catching sharply as a familiar scent unfurled in the air around him. Roses, tinged with raspberry—rich and sweet.
His stomach dropped. The resemblance was too close, echoing Nicholas’s pheromones in a way that made his pulse stutter. The smell clung to him, intrusive and intimate, and Euijoo froze, acutely aware of how quickly his body had reacted before his mind could catch up.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
The pressure crept up his throat, nausea swelling until he had to grip the edge of the table, swallowing hard against the urge to gag. His vision blurred for a second, breath coming shallow and uneven, as if his body was turning against him from the inside out.
That was when Nicholas appeared in his room, placing his stuff on Euijoo's night stand, lightly announcing his arrival. But, Euijoo sensed him before he saw him—his presence was declared by the softer, cleaner scent of Fuma, woven together with Nicholas’s own scent. It drifted too close, wrapped around him, intimate in a way it had no right to be. The familiar smell settled deep in his chest, pulling at memories he didn’t want, tightening the strings of his heart until it ached.
“Jju-chan, you good?” Nicholas asked, one hand settled down on Euijoo's shoulder as he leaned down, brows drawn tight with worry.
Euijoo looked up and forced a smile. His lips were pale, the effort obvious no matter how much he tried to hide it. “Yeah,” he croaked, voice rough, throat burning. “Don’t worry about me.”
He barely had time to brace himself before it surged, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. Nicholas reacted instantly, reaching for a black plastic bag that just happened to be on Euijoo's desk and pressing it into the brunette's hands.
Euijoo gagged, then retched, his body finally giving in.
The contents hit him all at once—acid, bile, and the faint, sickening sweetness of roses. It felt like his stomach had been turned inside out. He clutched the bag tighter, silently thanking whatever mercy existed that the plastic was opaque, that Nicholas wouldn’t see what he expelled—what had been growing inside him.
When the worst of it passed, Euijoo peeked down, scowling.
This week has been worse.
At first, it had only been a petal. Then leaves. Now—thorns, sharp and unmistakable, tangled among the mess. Euijoo can see speckled blood across the thorns and leaves, and given deep pains in his throat, he knows it’ll only get worse.
If he didn’t fix this soon, the flower would finish what it had started—burst straight through his chest, leaving behind a permanent hole.
And a heartbreak that wouldn’t heal.
But he couldn’t.
Fixing the disease only ever led to one outcome—the one he would cling to until the day he died.
He refused to let something so cruel, so stupid, strip away his memories of Nicholas. His best friend. His soulmate. The one who pulled him out of his comfort zone, who stayed when Euijoo was at his lowest.
The love of his life.
Euijoo twisted the bag, wiping his mouth with the back of his hands. He hides it quickly, hoping Nicholas didn't notice the blood seeping through his pale lips. Nicholas asked about his condition again and Euijoo just nodded, offered him a small smile and a thumbs up before goes out of his room and into the bathroom.
It physically hurt Nicholas to see his best friend reduced to something like a walking corpse. Euijoo had lost a worrying amount of weight over the past few weeks. Around Nicholas, he still ate—normal portions, at a normal pace, nothing visibly wrong. But Nicholas knew better. Euijoo was hiding something.
Their friends noticed it too.
They sometimes asked Nicholas if something was wrong with the younger but left with no answers as Nicholas, himself didn't know anything.
The omega racked his brain, thoughts grinding relentlessly, gears spinning until they burned. Too busy with his thoughts to even realize the door to his room clicked open. A familiar scent of bergamot and rosemary entered his system and Nicholas looked up.
Fuma stood there, in the doorway, leaning against the frame, just watching him.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, Nico?” Fuma asked as he walked toward him, clicking the door shut behind him.
Nicholas scooted over on the bed to make room. Fuma sat beside him, long legs stretching out comfortably.
Nicholas looked down, cheeks warming at the sight of his alpha. Fuma reached for his hands, enclosing them in his own, then leaned closer, nosing at Nicholas’s cheeks in a quiet attempt to draw his attention.
“It’s—it’s not a big deal—” Nicholas started, hesitating. Fuma only hummed softly, encouraging him to continue.
“Okay, maybe it is a big deal,” Nicholas admitted at last. “It’s about Euijoo.” He fidgeted with Fuma’s fingers as the older shifted, his nose brushing just behind Nicholas’s ear when he spoke.
“Is it because of his weight loss?” Fuma asked.
Nicholas startled, turning to look at him. “You noticed it too, right? He’s getting too thin,” he said, exasperation creeping into his voice.
Fuma nodded, sympathy softening his expression. “I tried to talk to him, but he just won’t open up,” he sighed.
Nicholas settled back into his original position, this time leaning into Fuma, resting his head against the older’s shoulder. Fuma felt Nicholas’s body slacken and instinctively drew him closer, arms wrapping around him as he pressed gentle kisses across his face. Nicholas giggled, squirming in protest, though he didn’t truly try to escape.
They fell into a quiet gaze before Fuma leaned in and brushed a soft peck against Nicholas’s lips.
“Talk to him, yeah?” Fuma murmured, placing another kiss on Nicholas's temple. “You’re the one who knows him best,”
Nicholas nodded before he surged forward, closing the distance between him and Fuma. Smiling through the kiss, Fuma reincorporated, pulling the younger's waist till he was straddling his hips.
They were so into the kiss to realize that Euijoo was walking in, Nicholas's phone charger in his hands.
He froze in the doorway, eyes catching on the way Fuma’s hands rested at Nicholas’s waist, how they moved in slow, familiar strokes along his back. The soft sound of shared breath and brushing lips was the only thing echoing in the room. Bergamot and roses hung thick in the air, suffocating Euijoo bit by bit.
He pressed his lips together, placing the charger slowly on Nicholas's desk and eased the door shut, painfully slow, careful not to disturb them. He turned on his heel and started to walk away, but stopped when he noticed a shadow lingering at the end of the hall.
His gaze lifted and met Yudai’s—the owner of that shadow. Yudai was smiling at him, but the expression faltered the moment Euijoo’s scent reached him.
“Euijoo,” Yudai called softly.
Euijoo didn’t respond. His scent soured instantly, sharp and wrong, and Yudai reacted without thinking, catching his wrist and pulling him into his own room.
Before Yudai could say another word, Euijoo clutched at his chest and crumpled to his knees. He covered his mouth, and then—roses spilled through the gaps between his fingers. Tiny, trembling blooms hit the floor one by one, followed by a wet cough. Blood splattered across the tiles, a few drops staining Yudai’s slippers.
Yudai stared, frozen in horror.
Euijoo looked up at him, tears streaking down his face, blood slipping from the corner of his mouth, dribbling under his chin, dirtying his shirt.
“I—I’m so sorry, hyung,” he rasped, his voice raw and torn.
Yudai flinched. He was at Euijoo’s side in an instant, lifting him gently and guiding him to the bathroom. It was a good thing that Yudai had his own bathroom because he couldn't bear the thought of the younger one facing their housemates in his most vulnerable state.
He didn’t speak as he cleaned him up. Yudai got Euijoo out of his stained shirt, softly wiped the younger's face, finger slightly trembling like he was handling a fragile object that was seconds away from breaking.
But again, maybe he was. Euijoo felt so delicate, so weak that Yudai felt tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. His fingertips ghosted over the hollow cheeks of Euijoo and Yudai was seconds away from breaking but he fought it.
While Euijoo sobbed the whole time, breaths coming too fast, apologies tumbling out between gasps. Yudai only hushed him softly, didn't believe himself to say anything, steady hands dressing the younger in his own pajamas when it was over.
When they returned to the room, the pile of roses on the floor had already begun to wilt, petals darkened, blood drying slowly into the surface beneath them.
Euijoo tried to apologize again, but Yudai cut him off with a firm look and guided him to sit on the bed. Yudai cleaned the mess quickly, urgency sharpening his movements—he needed to finish so he could focus on Euijoo.
By the time he was done, Euijoo had curled in on himself at the edge of the bed, knees pulled to his chest, face buried between them.
Yudai approached slowly, releasing his pheromones, trying to blanket Euijoo in comfort
“Euijoo,” he called.
No response
“I’m going to come closer, okay?” Yudai said gently, crawling toward him, his face tightening at the sour scent of rotten mandarin thick in the air.
He wrapped his arms around Euijoo and pulled him in.
Euijoo broke again—his sobs sharp and broken, like something had split him open from the inside.
Maybe it had.
Maybe the pain was so deep that even Yudai’s ocean breeze and sage couldn’t reach it at all.
Yudai holds the younger one until his sobs are reduced to sharp and deep breath, showing signs of Euijoo getting to the right head space.
“It wasn’t that bad before,” Euijoo said after a long stretch of silence, broken only by the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the sound of Yudai’s breathing.
“What is that—” Yudai exhaled slowly. “What’s going on with you, Euijoo?” His arms tightened a bit around the omega, a quiet, irrational fear settling in his chest—that if he loosened his hold, Euijoo might simply come apart.
“The consequences of being an omega,” Euijoo let out a wet laugh.
“A cowardly one, too,” he added.
Yudai’s breath caught.
“I’m sick. Very sick,” Euijoo continued, voice steady. “And it’s been growing rapidly too,” He paused, then said, flat and certain, “I’m going to die, hyung.”
It wasn’t a question. He spoke like it was already decided.
“All because I couldn’t be a man and shoot my shot.” Humor flickered in his tone, thin and misplaced, and Yudai felt sick with it—each new truth piling on too fast.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Euijoo went on. “But after all of that, you deserve the truth.”
He spoke as if he’d been holding these words back for a long time. No labored breaths. No sobbing. Just a terrifying calm.
Euijoo pulled back slightly to look at Yudai. The older alpha didn’t manage to school his expression in time, but Euijoo only gave a small, tired laugh before tucking his face back into Yudai’s chest.
Yudai’s eyes had said enough.
They told him Yudai wanted to know—needed to know—what had been killing him so slowly.
“It’s called hanahaki,” Euijoo said.
And everything clicked.
Yudai knew about the disease, he had read about it before but never in his life ever knew it was so close to him.
It explains the mysterious pile of rose petals that appeared in their trash bin—where Taki had joked that someone must’ve been taking floral baths these days. Little thorns that had pricked Jo's foot once, and the intense scent of roses lingering around the dorm, which Maki had blamed on Nicholas’s perfume.
Nicholas.
Yudai grabbed Euijoo by the shoulder, forcing the younger one to face him. The brunette’s eyes were half-lidded, dull with exhaustion, utterly devoid of spark.
“Are you in love with Nicholas?” The question tumbled out before Yudai could stop himself.
Euijoo’s silence answers enough. Yudai's jaw fell open.
“Oh my god—oh my fucking god, Euijoo.” Yudai pulled him in again, even tighter this time. His voice cracked; he completely lost his composure.
“I’m so sorry. Shit, I’m really sorry, Euijoo. It’s my fault—it’s all my fault, oh my god—”
His words dissolved into broken breaths as tears streamed down his face. He buried his face in Euijoo's neck.
“Hyu-hyung… why? Why are you apologising—” Euijoo tried to pry Yudai off him, but the older boy only wrapped his arms around him more tightly.
“It was me,” The alpha choked out. “I’m the one who asked Fuma to court Nicholas. God—fuck—if only I’d known. If only I’d really seen you.”
Yudai’s confession made Euijoo go limp in his arms.
“Hㅡ how long, Euijoo?” he asked again.
“Since the day he presented,” Euijoo answered, and Yudai cursed shakily under his breath.
That night, they both cried until both of them are exhausted in Yudai's bed, the elder held him so close that he felt like they're about to merge into one person.
Nicholas managed to coax Euijoo into going out to have dinner with him.
Well—coax might be generous. He had burst into the brunette’s room and immediately started yapping about this newly opened Italian restaurant, apparently serving an incredibly good risotto that everyone on social media had been raving about.
Euijoo—who is tired and half-asleep—only nodded weakly, waved Nicholas off, and let his head fall back onto the pillow. He was out cold moments later. Nicholas merely snickered before practically skipping out of the room.
And so, here they were, walking into the night. Their faces were buried in thick scarves, and Euijoo even had his earmuffs on—it was practically snowing. He was exhausted, his throat still aching from throwing up tiny roses again, but he had already said yes. And with the way Nicholas had stood in his doorway earlier, already dressed and glowing with excitement, Euijoo had given in.
Besides, this might be his last dinner with Nicholas.
He would never know. They would never know.
Once seated, Nicholas eased them into the night with lighthearted conversation, reminiscing about moments of their freshman years to the day they graduated.
When the food arrived, Euijoo dug in, ignoring the tight ache in his lungs. He just had to make it through the night—just one night—he had prayed.
Before they realized it, it was time to go. Still, Nicholas insisted on taking a walk through the park before heading home. Euijoo agreed. He couldn’t bring himself to say no to something so simple, so domestic—something he didn’t know when he’d ever get to experience again.
They settled onto a bench that wasn’t heavily dusted with snow, simply staring up at the night sky.
“Are you really okay, Euijoo?” Nicholas asked.
Euijoo froze. The world seemed to stop, the mood plunging like a sudden dive into deep water.
“Yeah, I’m fine. What are you on about?” Euijoo let out a soft laugh, trying to lighten the moment. Nicholas remained silent.
The quiet pressed in on Euijoo, suffocating. Then, Nicholas turned to look at him.
“You do realize how thin you’ve gotten, right?” Nicholas said at last. “Something isn’t right. You’re hiding something—from me. From us.”
He wasn’t asking. He was stating the obvious.
Euijoo bit his lip, his gaze darting away from Nicholas’s pierced eye, as if looking down at the snow-dusted pavement was easier. Nicholas's pheromones soured at that, clearly doesn't like how avoidant Euijoo had being.
“Euijoo—whatever is going on with you, I want you to know I’ll always be here.” Desperation seeped into Nicholas’s voice as he took Euijoo’s gloved hands in his own. “I don’t want to pressure you, but please—reach out to me if you can. Don’t hide from me.”
“The kids are worried. The hyungs too. If you can’t open up to them, at least open up to me.” Nicholas scooted closer, pressing their foreheads together. Their cold breaths mingled, blooming into soft clouds between them, their scent lacing together in between them.
“Please. Talk to me. I don’t want to lose you,” he said again, quieter this time, as if meant only for Euijoo.
Euijoo closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Nicholas’s breath brush his cheeks. Nicholas mirrored him. Then Euijoo intertwined their fingers, prompting Nicholas to open his eyes.
Euijoo was already smiling at him—this time, genuine and warm.
“Okay. Thank you, Nico.” Euijoo pulled away, lifting his hands to tighten Nicholas’s scarf. “I’ll come to you when I’m ready. Thank you for being here.”
He paused, then added softly, “You know I love you, right?”
Nicholas nodded, Euijoo's grin widening.
Still, an unspoken unease settled low in Nicholas’s stomach. Something wasn’t right—Euijoo didn’t feel right. But the smile on the younger boy’s face along with his citrusy scent of mandarin and hyacinth, gives Nicholas a small, fragile peace of mind,
“That’s enough for now,” Euijoo said, standing and tugging Nicholas up with him.
They ended the night with warm tea and quiet goodnights after getting home, but Nicholas couldn’t shake the unease curling in his gut.
He watched Euijoo disappear into his bedroom before retreating to his own. Nicholas collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, utterly still—yet unable to rid himself of the feeling that something was wrong.
It had been raining all day when Nicholas and Fuma finally arrived at the house, soaked through in their work clothes. Nicholas shook the water from his hair, droplets scattering everywhere and making Fuma giggle.
Yudai and Taki arrived soon after, neither of them looking any better. Shoes were kicked off at the entrance, wet soles thudding softly against the floor, when Yudai paused and frowned
“Is it just me, or is the house really quiet?”
Taki muttered something about Yuma and Jo still not having clocked out yet, while Maki and Harua were probably still on campus, buried in their studies.
“What about Euijoo?” Fuma asked
They all shrugged.
Then one of them stepped into the hallway leading to the bedrooms—and a sharp, overpowering scent of roses slammed into them like a truck. Nicholas felt his head swim, dizziness creeping in almost instantly.
Yudai coughed, as the smell penetrates deepers in his system before straightening up—then froze, like he just figured out something
An alarm blared from Euijoo’s room, muffled by the walls but echoing down the hallway.
Before any of them could react, Yudai was already moving—so fast the others barely registered it
A beat later, came Yudai’s scream, piercing and raw, followed by the sight of their oldest dropping to his knees, screaming Euijoo’s name.
They rushed forward.
And froze.
Fuma stumbled back, hands clamped over his mouth. The others gripped the walls for support. Taki slid down to his knees.
Nicholas—he just stared.
He stared as if his mind refused to accept what lay before him, as if it were a cruel joke waiting to unravel itself.
He stared as if his brain had severed itself from his body, as if blinking might make the scene rearrange into something survivable.
Euijoo lay on his bed.
His chest had been torn open from the inside, ribs pried apart like broken gates. Roses had erupted through him—thick, pulsing stems forcing their way out of torn flesh, petals matted dark with blood and something wetter, slicker. Thorns dug deep into muscle and tendon, anchoring themselves as if his body were soil meant to be ruined.
Vines slithered around his arms and wrists like a viper, tightening until his skin flush into an ugly lines. Blood dripped steadily onto the sheets, soaking them through, pooling beneath him, while the roses continued to bloom—fed by him.
His body twitched faintly, or maybe it didn’t.
Nicholas couldn’t tell.
All he could smell was rot and roses.
The funeral came two days later.
None of them could function properly—not after witnessing such a gruesome death. Not after losing a friend, a brother, someone who had been part of their lives for so long.
That night, shock hollowed them out. No one could process it fast enough, so they remained seated beside Euijoo’s body for a long time, unmoving, silent, as if leaving him alone would make it real. It wasn’t until Harua and Maki came home that anything changed.
Maki was the first to break.
His mind seemed to shut down entirely as he fumbled through a call to 911, his voice barely holding together before it shattered. The moment the call ended, he collapsed into sobs.
Harua didn’t cry at first.
He asked questions—too many of them—his voice tight and frantic, looking from one face to another, as if someone might give him an answer that made sense. When none came, frustration finally overtook him, and he broke down beside Yudai, crying into his shoulder.
Jo and Yuma were the last to arrive.
They stopped short at the sight of everyone lingering outside Euijoo’s room, the air thick with something unsaid, something final—
—and they knew.
It was hard to watch Euijoo’s body being lifted into the body bag.
It was hard to sit down and give statements to the police.
It was hard to do anything at all—handling funeral arrangements, signing papers, making decisions—without ever being given the time to grieve, to mourn.
Everything blurred together.
The eight of them sat together in the living room after the funeral. It had been a long time since they last gathered like this, yet now a vast, unmistakable absence—Euijoo’s—sat between them.
Euijoo’s room door was left ajar. None of them had the courage to close it. None of them had accepted it. None of them had moved on.
“What was the thing he had?” Fuma spoke first, finally breaking the silence.
Everyone shifted uncomfortably. No one had an answer—except one.
Yudai leaned back into the couch, his head falling against the cushion as he stared up at the ceiling.
“Hanahaki,” he said.
All of them turned to look at him.
“He told me himself,” Yudai continued quietly. “Two weeks ago.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes before one finally slipped free.
“So you knew.”
It was Nicholas’s turn to speak, and his tone wasn’t friendly. Anger dripped from every word as his sharp gaze locked onto Yudai, who finally lifted his head.
“You knew, and you didn’t tell us?” Nicholas asked again, his hands curling into fists against his knees.
Before Nicholas could say anything else, Yudai cut him off sharply. “Don’t.”
“You don’t get to be angry with me when all of this is because of you!” Yudai burst out.
“Hyu—”
“Do you even know how he got that disease in the first place?” Yudai continued, his voice rising as he sat up straight. “Because he was in love with you—and you were too blind to see it! He suffered because you couldn’t see what was right in front of you!”
“You’re such a hypocrite, hyung. Weren’t you the one who asked me to court Nicholas?” Fuma shot back. “You didn’t see him either, did you? So why blame it all on Nico?”
Yudai scoffed, his mouth already opening to respond, but before he could say another word, Taki stood up. His eyes were glassy, his hands trembling at his sides.
“Stop it! All of you—stop!” Taki cried, his voice shaking. “You’re just going to hurt each other more! Euijoo-hyung just left us, and you’re sitting here blaming one another?
The older ones fell silent at that.
Moments later, one by one, they drifted off to their rooms, leaving behind the three who had argued moments before. No one spoke. No one fought. They simply sat there in heavy, suffocating silence.
Eventually, Fuma stood up. Without a word, he reached out and dragged Nicholas away with him.
Yudai broke down right there in the living room.
“Taki owns a café now,” Fuma said, his voice low, almost careful. “Crazy, right? Who would’ve thought our little chick would become a chef.” A weak smile tugged at his lips. “And you know who helps him in the kitchen? Jo. Remember when he tried grilling meat and kept getting oil splattered all over him?” He let out a breathy laugh. “Now he knows how to caramelize onions.”
The laughter faded as quickly as it came.
His hands stayed busy, fingers tugging at the stubborn weeds around the grave, as if keeping them moving would keep his thoughts from settling too deeply.
Before he could speak again, small arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
“Papa.”
The single word was light. Warm. Alive.
“Natsu-chan,” he murmured, lifting her into his arms. He pressed their cheeks together, breathing her in, before his gaze fell back to the stone before them.
In loving memory of
Byun Euijoo
2002 – 2025
Five years.
Five years had passed since that day—five years of waking up and remembering. Euijoo had been resting here all this time, and Fuma had never once missed an anniversary. Usually, he came alone, bearing hyacinths and mandarins, sitting in the silence to update Euijoo on their lives. But today, he finally found the courage to face reality. He brought his family with him, ready to introduce Euijoo to the life he had built, including the tiny new addition they had welcomed just two months ago.
“Who’s this, Papa?” Natsume asked softly, her voice muffled against his cheek.
His throat tightened.
“This,” he said after a moment, “is Papa and Mama’s dearest friend.”
“Is it true, Mama?” Natsume asked, turning to look at her mama, who was holding her little brother close to his chest.
Her mama smiled—but it was the kind of smile shaped by loss, by something precious that never quite stops hurting.
“It is,” he said gently.
“Euijoo,” Fuma continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “this is Natsu-chan—Natsume. And this is our youngest, Yuto.”
He reached for his husband’s arm, guiding him to sit beside him.
“Nicholas, it's okay,” he called ever so softly.
Nicholas hesitated, every step toward the grave feeling like reopening an old wound.
But eventually, he sat—because avoiding it had started to hurt more than facing it.
“Euijoo,” he called.
His voice shook.
He felt his husband’s arms wrap around him, holding him together when he couldn’t do it himself.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to face this.” His breath hitched. “I missed you. I miss you so much.”
Tears slid down his cheeks, silent at first, before his body finally gave in. He hugged Yuto closer, as if grounding himself in the warmth of someone still here.
“I wish you were here,” he sobbed. “Fu-Fuma hyung said that Natsume would adore you. You’d be so gentle with Yuto—you would’ve been such a good uncle. You should’ve been here. You were supposed to be here.”
Fuma said nothing, only held him tighter, rubbing slow circles into his back, letting him break because it was finally safe to do so.
Natsume just watched her parents before her eyes locked onto somethingㅡ or someone. She was looking at something, her eyes sparkled before she nodded enthusiastically.
Then Natsume shifted in his arms.
She pointed, her small finger hovering just above Euijoo’s tombstone.
“He says it’s okay, Mama.”
They all looked up.
“He said that as long you were happyㅡ” Natsume paused, seemingly focusing on whatever, whoever in front of her was saying.
“He didn't regret anything,”
A breeze passed through them—soft, careful, almost apologetic. It brushed against their faces, tangled briefly in their hair, and then slipped away.
For the first time in years, the ache in his chest didn’t feel quite as sharp.
For the first time, grief loosened its grip just enough to let something else breathe alongside it.
They cried again—quietly this time—holding their children close, standing between what they had lost and what they were still living for.
And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough.