Floriography

Another shorty. The Broken Vow AU gave me IMMENSE Hanahaki Disease vibes, and this came out. Really this was just an excuse to gush about floriography and the language of flowers.

Song of the story is Voilà by Barbara Pravi, which deservedly won second in Eurovision 2021, though tbh I think it should have won first! No beta; we die like men.

Edit 15 Jul 2021: One of you guys done popped off and composed a whole piano piece for this fic and it's BEAUTIFUL! Please do listen along, it's so atmospheric and lovely. Many thanks Zhad! :)

https://soundcloud.com/faceimplosion/flowers-of-the-heart-original

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  It began innocuously enough.

  Ruv was watching Sarv as she cut flowers in the garden and coughed, feeling something come up into his mouth. Spitting it into his palm, he saw it was a single trumpet-shaped hosta lily, white darkening to blush pink at the ends of the petals. His brow furrowed, and he let the bloom drop to the greenhouse floor as he crushed it under his boot.

  Sarvente was walking the cloister, a book in hand, and peeked into the kitchen where Ruv was sharpening his knives with careful precision. She opened her mouth to greet him and ended up coughing hard, a geranium petal falling from her lips and drifting gently to the floor. Startled, she ran off to the library.

  This wasn't normal.

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  The second time, Ruv was hiding in the cloister while two brats were harassing Sarv, fists clenched in anger and a dark feeling pressing on his chest and crawling up his throat. The feeling was suffocating, choking, and he coughed roughly until he felt something in his mouth. He pulled it out: a tansy head lay crumpled and wet from his saliva, the button-like flowers clumped together and the stem twisted. He hurled it away from him and began to feel the first twinges of genuine concern.

  Pulling his hoodie closer around him, he loped through the hall and made his way out. If it was a battle they wanted, it was a battle they'd get.

  Sarv was panting, her whole body struggling for breath. He sat down on a pillar and she smiled bitterly at him.

  "So you finally came by."

  She hacked, a wet and forceful sound, and fumbled a handkerchief from her pocket. Another horrible wet cough and a splutter, and she wiped her mouth and wiped her pale face. "I'm sorry for the trouble, Ruv...But it looks like you have to see me like this."

  "It's k. It's my job to handle stuff like this anyway..."

  As he stood and faced the teenager in front of her, she discreetly closed her handkerchief around a single azalea blossom, and she felt her heart thud harder with panic.

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  It got worse from then out. Ruv left the cloister to chase down another group of punk kids, and she could feel the vines of morning glories choking her throat and the petals falling from her lips as she coughed. She would lay awake beside him at night, listening to him breathe, and felt bluebells rising in her throat. Eating dinner with him brought the flavor of delphiniums to her tongue.

  He found he'd reflect on the Vow, and how it kept him alive and by her side, and he'd spend the next five minutes vomiting and coughing up paperwhites. She would be singing to herself in the garden and the sepals of hellebore would climb up his throat. Queen Anne's Lace pieces would rise and spill from his mouth when he'd hear the sound of her laugh echo from somewhere in the church. Purple hyacinth would lay on his tongue when he lay awake beside her at night and heard her talk in her sleep about the awful things they'd done to one another when they'd first met.