Written by @realityphantom

⌒➴。NOTES:

• Requested by @Marcheese0628
• Rengoku Kyoujurou X Reader
• Gender neutral reader
• Angst
• No manga spoilers
• 2nd POV

—Modern + Hanahaki AU. Note: Boom you live in America now for this one shot. I've never written for gender neutral before, and I tried doing it in 3rd POV, but I couldn't, so this is in 2nd POV.

—Note(s): I've never written for Rengoku before and guess what? I never wanna do it again!!! I was so conflicted that I had to look up a Modern AU prompt list on Tumblr via Google for this. Tumblr. I added more story onto it, but still. Because what is Rengoku going to do, work at a fast food restaurant and shout at costumers to enjoy their greasy, heavily salted food? Or maybe a donut shop?? Anyways, say goodbye to Rengoku! I hate him! I never liked him anyways! I'm personally cancelling him! I'm sending him off on a train! The only thing that is getting me through writing this is building off the Tumblr prompt. Sorry this is so shit; the Tumblr user @/officialtribble proposed an "Internet friends AU."

CAMELLIAS
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"Did you get the flowers I sent?" he yelled through call. Yellow eyes were lit in excitement—excitement you found yourself admiring through the screen of your laptop.

All you could ever see of Rengoku Kyoujurou nowadays was his pixilated face plastered on an electronic device. A friendship separated by the vast ocean between you in the States and him in Japan sprouted to online communication.

"Yep!" you replied, holding up a bouquet of fresh-looking flowers to the camera in confirmation. "They came in. I'm surprised they're still intact?"

"Oh, I didn't send them from here!" Kyoujurou wholeheartedly laughed. "I saw this international service thing where they can send flowers, so I tried it on you!"

Telling him your address was probably the dumbest, yet best mistake you've ever made in your life, but it hasn't always been like this. The two of you met in high school when a team of Japanese foreign exchange students visited your campus. Kyoujurou was your exchange student for the time being, and it made things all the more easier that he was already fairly decent in speaking English. You two clicked that day, and you kept in touch online since then.

Sighing at your red and yellow haired friend across the screen, you looked down at the bouquet of flowers.

Camellias. How awful.

A symbol of love, devotion, and admiration—oh, how you wished. Kyoujurou didn't know the symbolism of flowers, but you very well did.

How could you possibly be ignorant, when those red petals of camellias were the same ones that clogged your lungs?

Yes, you fell for him; it was stupid. You fell in love with your past foreign exchange student who lived all the way across the ocean. And with his oblivious, happy-go-lucky nature, there was no way you could hint your interest at him other than full on confessing.

But that wasn't the problem, either: Rengoku was not interested in love.

He talked about it on call with you one late, dreary night, in which he confessed he was not interest in dating. The man seemed dead set on wanting to keep his life the way it was now, for he deemed himself not ready for a relationship yet. In his words, he was "having too much fun with life right now to look for someone."

So after that talk, there was no way he'd be interested in you, hence the deadly flowers in your body.

"Thank you," you genuinely smiled at him. "To what do I owe the flowers?"

"Nothing!" he replied. "I just wanted to send you something. Thinking of you being so far away from me is depressing, y'know? So I wanted to show that this barrier of ours isn't a problem for us!"

That shouldn't have made your heart flutter.

It's platonic. All the words he spoke were platonic, and you knew that very well.

But your damned heart was trying to insist that maybe—just maybe—there was some underlying tones of romance in there.

You didn't even have time to reply before falling into a sudden set of coughs, and your hand immediately flew up to cover your mouth to catch the petals flying out before Kyoujurou could see. When you parted your hand from your mouth, you couldn't even hide your grimace from seeing the bright red camellias now coated in a much darker red.

Blood had never been coughed out along with the petals before, so this was something new. It filled you with a more serious sense of horror that made you realize this situation was not just some silly little dilemma. Your life was on the line because of these damned petals.

"(Y/N)?" Kyoujurou's face was filled with curiosity and even a hint of concern. "Are you alright? Did something happen?"

But due to your hesitation from your shock, Kyoujurou had seen a quickly glimpse of what was on your hand before you could fully pull it out of view.

"(Y/N)..."

His face held a sense of worry and heavy confusion. But that then contorted into horrored realization when he finally got what it all meant. His eyes quickly met yours in fear of your well-being, but you couldn't tell if he knew the full extent of it.

Did he realize that he himself was the object of your unrequited affections? Was he going to ask if he was?

Dear lord—the embarrassment you felt in this moment was one that was almost as worse as the literally flowers stemming up your throat.

"Do... Do you...?"

The conversation was already awkward in itself. Divided by a digital screen or not, you couldn't meet his eyes. You knew he wasn't one to ridicule you, but still—you wouldn't take the chance of finding out.

"Yes." Your voice was hoarse from the cough of blood and flowers, and you silently prayed that Kyoujurou was smart enough to fill in the blanks. You were painfully in love with him; hopefully, he knew that.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled into the mic. His voice was quiet, but the headphones on your ears did not make it any less audible. "I..."

Kyoujurou's words sputtered for a little, but it was clear he did not know that to say. But there was no way you would be able to start this conversation—not when you were already feeling this humiliated. Just, please—let it end already.

"(Y/N)," he pushed forward, and he seemed more firm now to keep a conversation going. "Listen, I—"

You hung up. Dear God, it was too much. Maybe if he texted you, then it'd be easier, but you couldn't do this on call.

Choking out a sob from the pressure and sickness of love itself, you stood up, and clutched your flower-filling throat as if it would stop the illness. How long until it's over?

A glass of water may not clear your throat, but it distracted you as your device continued to ring on the table of your room.

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Written by @realityphantom

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夢の店
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