The trip to the doctor the next morning was solemn to say the least. I could tell how hard my parents were trying to fall back into our routine of inappropriate jokes and witty comments but none of us could do it. We all felt a bit empty. It almost felt like i could just pretend that I'd get to live if I didn't get an official diagnosis. Can't blame a guy for dreaming.

You know how when you're throwing up as a little kid at school they make you sit with a trash can next to you until your parents come pick you up? Thats how I sat in Ma's truck for the 45 minutes it took to reach Dr. Nagisa's office. Clutching a small trash can in case a coughing fit hit me. I realized that's going to be my life for... well what's left of my life.

It's still hard to realize that I have a year max. I don't get to think in terms of "on my 18th birthday" or "when I'm 21" because those days will never come for me.

I feel the knot in my throat tighten as I try not to sob into my own hands. Just in the 45 minutes it took to get to the doctor I've had 2 coughing fits. The first was when I got a text from Bakugou asking if I was ok and where was I. The other I was staring at the sky and saw a weird cloud. Bakugou and I had a game of basically cloud watching but coming up with the craziest and stupidest stories for what they were. I had turned to tell Bakugou that this one looked like All Might with a ponytail made of shrimp tempura only to remember that he wasn't with me.

Once we got to the office, we had to wait for another 30 minutes (which pissed Ma off royally. She ranted for most of the wait about what could possibly be more important than her sons damn life while Mom slowly rubbed circles on her back). The tests were a pain in the ass. They had to draw blood, which would have been easy if I wasn't terrified of needles and had a quirk that allows me to harden my skin. I took an MRI and an ultrasound before we were led to a stereotypical doctors office with anatomy posters plastered onto the wall.

Dr. Nagisa came in with a clipboard and I was surprised to see that he was a younger man. He seemed to be in his early 30s with lime green hair and scruff and yellow eyes. He was pretty skinny and super tall, probably only a little shorter than All Might. It relaxed me a little knowing I wasn't dealing with some conservative old guy when I have to talk about how I'm dying because I'm too gay for my own good.

"So you must be the Kirishima family! Nice to meet you I'm-"

"Nagisa Kai. 29 years old. Resident in Musafatsu. Quirk:Diagnosis. You can tell someone's illness or physical ailments by simply seeing them and can come up with various treatments by simply touching them. 3 PhD's and 5 Master's as well as a decade long internship starting when you were 15 with Katagawa Rei, one of the best doctors and surgeons in Southeast Asia. Trust me I know everything about you and I'd appreciate if you-"

Suddenly Mom slapped Ma in the back of her head, forcing a smile at the doctor while Ma pouted and rubbed her new injury. "Sorry about her. We're both very concerned over our son and would like to know what treatments, if any, are available and how we should incorporate this into our lives."

Dr. Nagisa stares at the three of us, nervously scratching his green stubble. I think he catches a glimpse of the old gang tattoo peeking out from under my mom's long red-orange hair and clears his throat.

"I apologize about the formalities," he says, bowing before pinning up pictures of the MRI and ultrasounds. "As you've probably figured out by now, your son has Hanahaki disease. Although your statements say this began very recently, Young Eijirou's flower seems to be growing at an almost exponential rate. If a life weren't on the line, I'd say this would be a remarkable study."

He pauses and coughs out an apology once he catches sight of Ma's glare. "Given the rate of growth of the disease and the fact that Eijirou has frequent contact with the stimulant of his disease, I regret to inform you that untreated this disease will take his life within the next 4 months."

I let my breath catch in my already sore throat. 4 months. That's about 120 days. That's a lot less than the 365 that I've been telling myself I would have. I want to cry but I just feel numb now. Detached. This isn't happening to me. I was supposed to be a hero. Not a victim.

After the sniffles and choked sobs of my parents calms down, the doctor proceeds. "As you know the treatments for this are both basic yet incredibly risky. The simplest being a confession yet considering your already... extensive research on me, I take it that you understand that should Eijirou confess and not get a positive response, the flower will immediately react to the chemicals produced by his brain in that moment and seize his entire cardiovascular system, contracting until he dies, which typically happens within 5 minutes of a failed confession."

He pauses to catch his breath and point to the MRI that shows the already blooming camellias in my alveoli as well as their roots that curl around both of his lungs. "The second option is an invasive surgery that would essentially uproot the plant from his organs. This procedure is typically not chosen however because of the huge risks that come with it. Not only is there the risks that come with any invasive surgery dealing with organs as delicate as the heart and lungs, but also the very plausible chances that this could forever change Eijirou's emotional state. The roots of the flowers are tapped into the bloodline of the patient and are able to intercept and read chemicals and hormones related to love. About half of the time this procedure is done and the flower is removed, so is the patient's ability to feel love and some other strong emotions."

He takes a deep breath before locking eyes with me, knowing that it's my life and the decision is ultimately up to me. "If you decide against both options, the flower will gradually grow and consume your cardiovascular system. It will kill you. I know that I said you have about 4 months, but that is a maximum. The earliest, unless in the case of a failed confession, should be about 2 months. It saddens me to be telling this to such a young man, but you now have a time limit on your life. Live how you want, because if you don't pursue either option, you won't have much life left."

That night I go immediately to bed after dinner. I stare at my ceiling, grasping the petals I just coughed up, and think to myself whether or not it's worth it. I could live alone. I would be fine without feeling love again. I would be fine to express my love to an animal or a TV series instead of another person. I would never have what my moms have, but I could learn to live like that.

I can't learn to live without him though.

I don't want to live if it means I can't love him. That I can't see his scarlet eyes or glistening champagne hair the same way again. That I won't get butterflies every time he gives me a genuine smile or snorts in an attempt to fight back a laugh at something one of us in the Bakusquad said.

Sitting there, thinking of him and feeling the growing itch and discomfort in the back of my throat, I decide that it's worth it.

He's worth it.

And if I have to die to love him, I'll choose death every time.