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Assistant: Title: Lungs Full of Petals
        Author: ginbread_art ginbread_art 
        Chapter: 1/5 
        Summary: Before him, covered in thick, sticky blood, was a rose petal. A Navy rose petal.Shoto stilled, panic slowly returning to his shoulders. He picked it up with shaking fingertips, almost like he was afraid of it and stared at it in disbelief. He could feign ignorance and lie to himself; telling himself that this was the delayed result of a quirk accident, but he knew better. He would be a fool to dare lie about what this was.Hanahaki disease.----ORShoto is suffering through life post-war and discovers he has contracted Hanahaki's Disease. He Isn't even certain he knows who his unrequited love could be, but whether he ignore it or not, he was going to have to come to terms with his feelings.
            
            Please dive in with me as we watch our beloved Air Conditioner hero go through blissful denial :)
        Contents: Chapter 1: Navy Rose Petals
    

    

        
          
          
            Please dive in with me as we watch our beloved Air Conditioner hero go through blissful denial :)
          
        

  

  
  
    
    The air was brisk, frigid and unforgiving with its frosty bite in the wind. Shoto didn’t mind it much, of course he could always warm himself up even on the most painful of winter days; it was his friends that he worried about. The atmosphere was deeply ambient and one brimful with a quiet aesthetic that any introvert would dream of capturing in a bottle and keeping close to their heart. Lights were strung around telephone poles and street lamps, the ground was adorned with thick snow, pushed to the side for pedestrians to walk without concern and even though it was hardly past six PM, the sun had long since made the hills its grave.  This was the aesthetic Shoto found himself longing for on a constant basis, he loved the Winter and Autumn seasons for this very reason. He knew, however, Iida was more of a summery person; the work-out type who looked forward to early morning runs in the warm wind and cooling down underneath water in either a swimming pool with friends or serene beach. It wasn’t Shoto's style, but he appreciated that his friend could be antithetical to himself; it broadened his horizons.  Friend. Him and Iida crossed the boundary of that line long ago, at the end of their first year at UA. Nothing romantic, but certainly not platonic. Everyone cheered Shoto on when he came out victorious during his first round with his estranged older brother; Iida was the only one to comfort him, knowing what it was like to lose a sibling, even if the circumstances were different. Iida knew there was nothing to celebrate in the vastness of a victory such as that.  It didn’t help that he felt like the sole reason Iida may have stalled his engines in the midst of a war; yet despite his large build, he knelt down and with hands more gentle than snow, cradled Shoto and reassured him that he owed no one an apology. He would never forget the way Iida did not hesitate to protect him with his armor and break the sound barrier at mach 1 to get him across the country in the span of a few minutes. If either of them could be granted the title of incredible; it was Tenya Iida. He had been Shoto's biggest supporter and most cherished companion.  Post-war, Shoto could almost be ashamed to admit that he was more than traumatized. It wasn’t something he could so easily dive into, even on his own, without full-fledged panic attacks ripping its malice through his aching lungs. He clung to Iida when they were free from the war. They went through Spring, Summer, Fall and now Winter – their entire second year – with Shoto reaching to Iida like a refreshing gasp of air after being held under the water a few seconds longer than his respiratory system could handle.  Maybe it wasn’t fair to Iida, but he never complained once. If He fell asleep in class, Iida directed other students away and insisted he sleep; which was not like the class representative and his ideals. He knew just how much sleep Shoto could lose at any given point and he wouldn’t dare let others risk burning his one chance at rest -- to ash.  He took extra notes for Shoto, begged Aizawa and other teachers to look the other way; in a world where they had won a war, a student with raging PTSD and a developing sleeping disorder was the least of their concerns. He would make it a point to give Shoto notes every evening after dinner, making sure he really understood the material; during test taking weeks, he was more committed to his teacher-role he proudly gave himself. His company was more than welcomed to Shoto. His room – which once felt like a sanctuary – felt like a dark closet hosting the most malicious of skeletons. When Iida graced Shoto with his presence, the atmosphere morphed into what sunshine on cold skin felt like. Iida was a sunbeam and Shoto's skin was icy.  “I can warm your hands for you,” Shoto offered as the two walked down the street of the city, making their way to the train station. He was carrying a medium iced coffee – a borderline psychotic choice for the winter time – and Iida had his hands in his pockets. On days where Shoto felt the most awake, like sleep was avoiding him as if he were the ex to an un-amicable break-up, he allowed himself caffeine after dinner. It would at least ward off painful yawns that stung his eyes with sleepy-tears while he tried to be productive. If he couldn’t sleep, he would at least study.  Tonight felt like it was going to be one of those nights and Iida offered to take him to his favorite coffee shop as a treat. He had been working hard and felt like the air-conditioner student deserved to get out of the dorms for a while. He didn’t get anything for himself, not allowing caffeine to poison his body so late into the night, but he seemed to make exceptions to his own morals on behalf of Shoto.  “You noticed,” Iida chuckled, almost awkwardly. He pulled out his hands from his pockets, they looked chapped and his fingertips were pink; he was cold.  “I noticed a while ago. I feel bad. Can I help?”  “Don’t feel bad, I’m the one who invited you out! I knew what I was getting into,” Iida waved a hand dismissively. Regardless, Shoto held his iced coffee with his right hand and offered out his left.  “The wind is particularly brutal tonight,” he commented, left palm igniting with a small flame. They were around a corner that wasn’t particularly busy, so no one should bother them too much about the potential misuse of quirks.  “It is.. I appreciate it. Sorry you have to light a literal flame to warm my hands, I know you're tired.” Iida offered a small, wholesome laugh and lifted his hands to the flame. His pink fingertips seemed to ease at the warmth and something about the way Iida’s skin blended and diffused the light of his fire on his flesh made Shoto's heart leap to his throat.  “A small price to pay for the victory of warmth,” Shoto gave a small smile, still figuring out how to converse on a casual level. He thought he was replying to conversation in a normal way most of the time – but every now and again his  normal responses earned a laugh from Iida and half the time, Shoto didn’t know what was so funny. Iida’s laughter was a suture to his sliced up heart; he didn’t mind if Iida was in on a joke that he wasn’t. If Iida was laughing, the world was spinning.  The two of them made their way back to the train station, Shoto having long since finished his iced coffee. He tossed the plastic cup into a trashcan and boarded the train with his friend.  “Thank you for taking me out, Iida,” He spoke in a hushed voice so as to not disturb the other train-goers, “I didn’t know I needed it, but it was nice to get out and walk around.”  “I’m glad you were able to relax!” Iida placed a soft hand on Shoto's shoulder, a thing he does frequently. He has never admitted it out loud, but Iida’s touch was grounding to him and even though he wasn’t a touchy person, he welcomed the contact.  “I’m sorry I kept you out late. I know you like to study right about this time.”  Shoto dared to meet Iida’s eyes, which he was maybe regretful for. Iida was wearing a smile, but not like before, it was laced with something somber, like he had reminded Iida of a heartbreaking memory.  “You don’t need to apologize to me, Todoroki,” Iida squeezed his shoulder, this time it was more firm and it felt serious, “you’re not a burden on me, I can lose one evening of studying to spend time with you!”  Now his smile was fresher, less melancholy. It made Shoto look to the ground, a neutral look on his features, but internally he felt warm.  “Thank you, Iida.”  “You’re very welcome, Todoroki.”  Their ride back home was mostly silent, which Shoto was always okay with. It was like this between the two of them, they could sit and talk for hours or co-exist in a comfortable quiet; Shoto named that feeling as something he held special to his heart – deep comradery. One not found with anyone else but Class A’s representative.When they had made it home, Iida dismally informed Shoto that he needed to attempt to get one subject’s worth of studying in, but if he needed anything, to not hesitate to come get Iida. He was kind to offer up his time, even when he was trying to balance his own education. Shoto was secretly mourning the loss of his comfort person, Iida could probably tell because he always chose to walk Shoto to his room, even though they were on different floors and Iida’s came first. He knew he  must  be asking too much of the taller student, there was no way he could bleed himself dry for Shoto and the rest of his class, but he never backed down from the chance to guide someone’s heart to the light.  On several occasions, Shoto considered biting the bullet and getting therapy to relieve his poor friend of grief and trauma duties, but something about that warm smile felt like an SSRI to his misplaced chemicals. He was selfish and he knew it. Whenever he could give all of himself back to Iida, he planned to repay the debt. How? He didn’t know, but he was going to do it.  Here they stood at Shoto's dorm room and he could already feel his chest grow tighter with painful anticipation. In fact, this tightness was a little unfamiliar and he noted it in the back of his mind. When Iida would leave and Shoto had to broach the line between hallway and the closet of his room, he would be left in the silence to ponder all of the things that haunt him. If Iida hadn’t set that gentle boundary earlier – about needing to go study – Shoto would ask him to stay.  “I’m serious, Todo, if you need anything, please let me know.” Iida put a reassuring palm onto his shoulder and turned Shoto to meet his gaze.  “I’ll be alright,” he attempted reassurance, “good luck studying …” There was something lingering in the air, something familiar and there was a line they’d both wondered over several times, yet Shoto never knew how to ask.  He wanted the ginger affection of a hug.  They’d hugged on several occasions, but each and every time, Shoto wasn’t sure how to ask without sounding needy or desperate. He looked at the ground, at their feet, trying to find the right words to attempt stringing together the question, but Iida beat him to it.  Out of the corner of his vision, he watched Iida’s arms reach up and extend – Shoto breathed a sigh of relief as he pushed forward and accepted the hug graciously. He took a steady breath in and recalled Iida’s familiar scent, logging this experience to recall when he felt the loneliest. Iida embraced him, giving a tight squeeze to the heterochromiac’s shoulders. Shoto had grown comfortable enough to squeeze back and rest his cheek onto Iida’s shoulder. Iida didn’t dare pull away, he always let the other boy determine when he felt fulfilled.  Shoto, not satisfied, but not selfish enough to take up more of Iida’s evening, pulled away and reached for his doorknob.  “At least attempt to sleep, promise me you’ll try?” Iida patted his back affectionately, a worried smile on his lips. Shoto smiled back at him, feeling elated at the concern.  “I promise I’ll try.”  – He had long since felt it in his lungs when they returned to the dorm rooms. His chest was tight, like sucking in air was a poorly paying job than it was a necessity. When Iida gave him a kind embrace was the only time since making it back home did he feel at ease. Now, two hours into being alone in his bedroom, he felt down right nauseated.  His lungs felt like they were doing the opposite of their job, suffocating him with every breath he took. He couldn’t even will it out of himself to pant and heave to attempt oxygen. His heart rate was picking up and it forced him to sit up out of his bed. He had tried for over an hour now to rest, despite having caffeine less than three hours ago. He promised Iida and he was going to make good on that promise.  Though, sitting here on his bed and finally choosing to acknowledge the concerning physiological distress, he felt worry grow in his spinal column.  He got to his knees, the symptoms feeling more like a panic attack that he wasn’t familiar with. He attempted breathing exercises that called for deep breaths, but when he breathed in, a sharp knife drug down his trachea and only the hack of a cough would return. He fell into a coughing fit, grasping at his throat like he needed air. He could still take in air, but his lungs felt like they were squeezed so tight they may combust underneath his ribcage.  Then, a nauseating pressure pounded at his sternum, he felt like he couldn’t get oxygen in anymore. Instincts kicked in and he darted for his bathroom, coughing into his sink. He coughed as hard as he could, convinced that there was something lodged in his windpipe. Blood sputtered out of his throat and contrasted against the white ceramic basin and this only caused his lungs to swell. Finally, after a few more seconds of this hacking hell, Shoto coughed out something thick and tangible. It wasn’t liquid like blood, it was a solid.  Relief washed over his ribs and the ache in his chest died down to a dismissable throb; a huge relief compared to the mysterious fit his body had just thrown. He panted, brow dripping sweat and chest heaving. He let his head clear and adrenaline before he dared to look down into the sink to see what the hell it was that had planted itself into his lungs.  Before him, covered in thick, sticky blood, was a rose petal. A Navy rose petal.  Shoto stilled, panic slowly returning to his shoulders. He picked it up with shaking fingertips, almost like he was afraid of it and stared at it in disbelief. He could feign ignorance and lie to himself; telling himself that this was the delayed result of a quirk accident, but he knew better. He would be a  fool to dare lie about what this was.  Hanahaki disease.  No.  Shoto Todoroki wasn’t a victim to unrequited love, he didn’t have anyone that could come to mind at this stark realization.  Well, okay, he  did love his friends, like Midoriya, Iida and even Bakugo heavily grew on him. He loved his siblings too, even Touya. Romance, though, was the last thing dawning his psyche. He was hallucinating. Sure he could feel the blood trailing down his fingertips and he could recognize the waxy texture of a flower petal, but this was a dream or some breach in reality.  He dropped the rose petal into his trashcan and cleaned the blood from his sink. If this was real, then tomorrow before school, the petal would still be there, right? Then he could go to the nurse and see about options; it wasn’t real yet.  Maybe he should call Iida and –  no. Why would he call Iida for something not real?  Shoto sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair, red and white melanin strands mixing together. He took a deep breath now that he had the chance. He washed the metallic copper from his tongue and drearily made his way back to his bed; he thought maybe now he could get some sleep.  It was on and off for him that evening. He fell asleep quickly, body rejecting and denying reality before it would deny him anything else; despite how easily he could suddenly drift off, he was awake within hours. He would stay up for half an hour and attempt to sleep again, but it was a fruitless cycle.  Finally, at five AM, he called it quits and decided he would just get ready for his day.  –  At the very least, despite painful tossing and turning, he could pay attention in class today. He had gotten through half of the day, the hour right before lunch, decently awake. He refused to look in the trash can that morning because he wasn’t going to entertain his delusion anymore; it wasn’t healthy. Throughout the duration of their classes, Shoto would notice – from the edge of his vision – that Iida would occasionally look back to ensure he was awake.  He often flashed a small smile to reassure him that today, he was okay.  Though, during his last class before lunch, he felt that familiar pull of drowsiness begin to fog his vision, like if movement didn’t come soon in the form of consuming cold soba at a table full of chatter, he would drift off to sleep.  He could feel it coming, eyes pulling and straining to remain open, there was a pressure at the front of his face and his head felt too heavy to hold up. Iida would see that he was resting and tutor him, right? A little nap at the end of class could probably be acceptable… even though he knew he should try harder to stay awake.  Turns out, he didn’t have to try, because a small tickle in his throat turned into an aching burn from a fire that he didn’t ignite. Without warning, he coughed and sputtered into his fist; immediately drawing in the attention from his classmates and his teacher as they all looked back to him with concern washing over their features.  It was the same as yesterday; his lungs throbbed and the pounding in his chest turned into broken shards of glass slicing into his tissue like it was butter, he gasped for air, but found little-to-none. He could only suck in enough to continue coughing. This was bad, his classmates were witnessing the disturbing sight of their beloved candy cane coughing and sputtering up blood. He stood to turn and make his way to the nurse, but weakness drew over him; a weakness that was not present last night.  He fell to his knees and spat up a blood clot from his esophagus. This swift display was enough to call everyone to action, students surrounding him jumping up, now realizing just how serious this was. Classmates surrounded him and through the edge of his clouding vision could he see the familiar school-shoes of concerned students racing to his aid. He couldn’t put names to voices as he was too distracted with heaving for one good, deep breath.  “Give him some space!” A familiar voice, he thinks maybe Midoriya, demanded.  “F@ck, Icyhot  that’s a lot of blood!” “Yo, yo let him breathe!”  “Someone call Recovery Girl!”  “ Todoroki !”  The last voice to call out to him was instantly distinguishable and tore through all of the others. Upon hearing that familiar voice, he instantly knew it was his trusted comfort person. He heard Iida shuffling past the others, with footsteps Shoto had long since memorized and he dropped to his knees; placing a warm, desperate hand onto his back.  At Iida’s touch, he felt that painful strain, that tight pressure, at his sternum, like something was blocking his airway. He wasn’t coughing anymore, he was downright choking. Blood dropped in a line mixed with saliva down his chin and before he knew it or anyone had time to attempt to help, he coughed out what he was deeply dreading about this entire display.  Navy rose petals. Several … rose petals.  Last night there had only one petal, right? Shoto chose to lie to himself in the midst of his sleep deprivation as opposed to acknowledging the truth. Now, instead of one, there were a handful. He could finally breathe, he took a deep, shaking breath and leaned backward from his knees. He leaned back too hastily and toppled backward; lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Some of the students gasped and Iida was there to steady him.  Murmurs filled the room about the rose petals on the floor, begging questions such as; 
  "Are those Rose Petals?"
 
  "Could it be a quirk accident?"
 
  "Todoroki, are you okay?"
 
  "That looks like Hanahaki disease!"
 His vision steadied, blurriness clearing from the corners of his field and his chest was still tight, but much more tolerable than just a moment ago. His throat was throbbing with the pain of objects that shouldn't be there and he lazily accepted the offer of a tissue from Yaomomo, who had pulled one out of her arm. He spat the remainder of his blood into the tissue and wiped his lip. He hadn’t realized it until now, but Aizawa was kneeling on the other side of him, helping to steady him to his feet.  “Mr. Aizawa –” he cleared his throat, “m-may I-”  “Yes,” he answered instantly, a firm confirmation to his cadence, “I’ll have someone go with you —”  As soon as he was given permission, now being steady on his feet, he bolted out of Iida and Aizawa’s hold, pushing past his classmates and running out of the classroom door. Now that he was lucid, it was settling onto his shoulders what had just happened and he needed to  flee. Adrenaline sponsored his movements and aided his aching chest in breathing so he could dash as quickly as possible.  This was all a bad dream, right? He did  not just embarrass himself in front of his classmates, his respected teacher … Iida. Shoto could lose even one hour of sleep and Tenya Iida was stressing; now he’s over here coughing up bl@@dy rose petals in the middle of class and absconding without answers? Iida was probably so worried.  He had no time to think about how embarrassing that was, he was running to Recovery Girl to gain some sort of answer or affirmation that he was lucid and this wasn’t a dream. He sprinted down the hallway, past students going about their day and making their way to where they needed to be. Answers, he needed answers. Who the hell was he in love with so painfully deep that he had contracted a disease?'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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