[ The boy coughs up his first flower when he's three or four. A perfectly shaped lotus, green like his eyes, sitting in the palm of his small hand. Over the years, the boy continues to produce flowers and flower parts.
(It stops the day his father dies unbeknownst to his son.)
When he's twelve it starts again. This time it's handfuls of nemophilia, tiny and vibrant blue. Shortly after, chrysanthemums join them. Megumi is in denial about it, pushing the adults away, his sister. None of this means anything and he doesn't get his hopes up that he'll be cured.
His own parents didn't want him, after all. Hoping to be loved by strangers despite his own feelings would be foolish.
Then pink flowers join the fray and he allows himself to be foolish for a little while until he sees the way Itadori looks at Nanami. Oh. Makes sense, of course.
So the boy locks up his foolish heart again, ignores the scratch and suffocating feeling he gets when he's around the people who mean the most to him, and carries on as if nothing's wrong. The flowers? They're flushed down the toilet or hidden in the trash.
He tells himself to get over it. All of it. There's no hope and nothing good will come of it. Pushing through like a good little soldier until he ends up passed out in the shower after a mission, petals crushed in his palm, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. ]
hanahaki setting - ota
(It stops the day his father dies unbeknownst to his son.)
When he's twelve it starts again. This time it's handfuls of nemophilia, tiny and vibrant blue. Shortly after, chrysanthemums join them. Megumi is in denial about it, pushing the adults away, his sister. None of this means anything and he doesn't get his hopes up that he'll be cured.
His own parents didn't want him, after all. Hoping to be loved by strangers despite his own feelings would be foolish.
Then pink flowers join the fray and he allows himself to be foolish for a little while until he sees the way Itadori looks at Nanami. Oh. Makes sense, of course.
So the boy locks up his foolish heart again, ignores the scratch and suffocating feeling he gets when he's around the people who mean the most to him, and carries on as if nothing's wrong. The flowers? They're flushed down the toilet or hidden in the trash.
He tells himself to get over it. All of it. There's no hope and nothing good will come of it. Pushing through like a good little soldier until he ends up passed out in the shower after a mission, petals crushed in his palm, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. ]