Day 7: Alternate Universe. I couldn't decide between doing Hanahaki Disease AU or Soulmate AU so I did them both muahahaha

Snufkin had honestly assumed the disease would pass him by.

It wasn't unheard of. There were plenty of people who never grew their flowers. Who never developed the symptoms and lived just fine. Who traveled the world and never found petals stuck to the corners of their mouth, the taste of iron on the back of their tongues. Who loved people and left people and weren't destined for that lasting connection that was spoken of so wistfully in pieces of romantic poetry and prose.

His father had been one of those people. Of course he had been, The Joxter wasn't one for sticking to one place or person, instead chasing his enjoyments wherever he went. For him to have a soulmate would have been absurd.

And with everybody commenting about how alike they were, how similar, it wasn't exactly strange that Snufkin had spent his entire life thinking he wouldn't be any different. He would come of age and nothing would change. He would never have blossoms tearing at the insides of his lungs.

Maybe that is why he didn't recognize the pain for what it was at first. It was a sharp throbbing inside his chest, uncomfortable for a while and then growing bad enough to make his eyes water. He hunched at the side of the river and tried to breathe through it with deep inhales of air that only made the pain worse. He coughed, feeling like he couldn't stop. Like something was ripping apart inside of him.

It forced its way up his throat, bitter and vile and he heaved into the river, trying not to think of the drops of red disappearing into the current. Or the similarly colored petals floating lazily on top of the water.

Snufkin blinked at them numbly. His chest still hurt, but it was more of a throbbing ache against his sternum. The small roots anchoring themselves into his flesh, he realized. And they would continue to do so, continue to grow, until he found-

No.

He shuddered, grabbing his own elbows as if that would hide him against the truth. This couldn't be happening. This was just a bad dream. There was nobody in the world who would love him.

He'd be stupid to think otherwise.

Moomin was probably the only person who was excited for the disease to develop inside him.

It was silly. Dangerous too. They had gotten ample warning of that, practically raised on the belief that those who never got it were the lucky ones.

The idea that there was somebody in the world, anybody, that was destined to love and cherish you so unconditionally was, of course, something to be happy about. But even as little kids they were put to bed with stories of those who didn't find their mate in time. Those in who the disease only festered, rotted, breaking through their tissue and eating them up inside.

When he felt the ache for the first time he put a paw against his chest and held it there, waiting, as if maybe if he tried hard enough he could physically feel the flowers blossoming inside his ribcage. It hurt a lot. It wasn't pleasant at all, not in any way the magical experience some wrote about.

And his mother rubbed his back in slow circles as he retched that first time, wheezing against the petals getting stuck in his throat, scratchy and wet and tasting like spring. But eventually it passed and Moomin wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Dear," Moominmamma muttered, pulling him close and Moomin smiled into her chest. "Oh, my Dear." And there were tears in her eyes too.

"Isn't it wonderful, Mamma?" He said. "Isn't it wonderful there is somebody like that out there."

Mamma shook her head but Moomin only gripped her tighter. He could understand her fright of course, but he was nearly light-headed with excitement.

Moomin had a soulmate. And he didn't have a single doubt on his mind that he was going to find them sometime soon.

There are some problems that, if you manage to ignore them long enough, they just fade away on their own.

This clearly wasn't going to be one of those problems.

The pain persisted, distant and constant and then when Snufkin least expected it shooting through him until he felt like he was suffocating. It startled him, how hard to ignore it became. For the first few weeks it maybe only happened once or twice a day, but after a while it happened so frequently it kept him from traveling as fast and far as he liked.

The flowers had grown considerably in size by now and when he started coughing up fully blossomed specimens he was able to recognize them for what they were. Red astilbe, soft and feathery and beautiful.

Snufkin didn't know what that meant, though he knew it was supposed to mean something. He never had much of an education, but even he hadn't escaped the exuberant stories that were told to little children about the disease and the way it manifested.

Every flower had a meaning, a language, and the ones blossoming in his lungs right now should mean something about his elusive soulmate. The one he was still sure didn't actually exist. There were people who had made a profession out of consulting the sufferers on what their flower might mean, willing to point them in the right direction for the right price.

Because if you didn't find them in time, well...

Snufkin hung his head, taking deep breathes through the throbbing inside him. He wiped his paws against his mouth and ignored the smear of blood that left behind. Astilbe didn't mean anything. Soulmates didn't mean anything.

Snufkin just wasn't going to think about it.

Moominmamma skimmed through the book anxiously, while Moomin tried to sit still on his chair. The pain had become more frequent, as had the need to expel the flowers. Mamma had tried to give him something to make it hurt less, but it hadn't helped much.

"Ah," She said, putting the book down on the table so he could look. "These ones maybe?"

Moomin looked at the picture on the page and nodded. "That's them for sure."

"Hydrangea," His mother read. "Purple ones mean-" She trailed off, furrowing her brow thoughtfully. Moomin tried to get a peek but it was hard to read upside down.

"What is it, Mamma?"

"It's gratitude," She said eventually, turning the book around for him. "Gratitude at being understood."

"So my soulmate is somebody who does not feel understood?" Moomin ventured carefully. Interpretations of the flowers were always difficult, because the description ended up being vague. But he felt a little more excitement at maybe finding out something about this mysterious person.

"Perhaps," His mother said, closing the book. "Perhaps they are somebody that feel they are difficult to get along with?"

"Not for me!" Moomin answered eagerly, leaning both elbows on the table and resting his face on his paws. "For me they will be the most perfect person in the world."

"I don't doubt it," His mother laughed softly, but her eyes were edged with worry still. It has been a few weeks now since the disease made itself known, and Moomin had been doing nothing but running all around the valley, looking for this mysterious person whose touch would instantly make the pain go away.

She remembered herself when she met his father and she wished nothing more than for Moomintroll to find that same happiness. But so far nothing had happened. Her son looked at this like he did anything: with unwavering optimism and expectation. But the reality of the situation was too hard for her to ignore.

There was always the chance of not finding your person. That the disease would fill your lungs with blood and chunks of flesh, shred you to pieces until you suffocated on love.

And if it came to that, she knew Moomin wouldn't be able to do anything but let it happen.

Snufkin knew he wasn't going to make it much further like this.

He laid on his side, curled in on himself involuntarily. He was biting his lip hard enough to break the skin, but there was already blood in his mouth. Sickly sweet petals clinging together, moist globs of them. It was disgusting.

He sat up with difficulty, trying to force oxygen into his torn lungs but it was useless. He could feel the roots clawing at the edge of his throat, tearing his insides apart.

"Have you come to watch me die?" He asked.

The Joxter crouched in front of him, head tilted to one side. His eyes were wide, but Snufkin couldn't read his expression through his own blurry vision. He coughed up another mess of flowers.

"Astilbe," His father said distantly, spitting out the word with apparent contempt. "The same as me even."

"The same as what?" Snufkin managed between painful inhales, the blood sticking to his chin. He was dizzy, nauseous, and now the Joxter was adding confusion to the mix as well.

"Me," He brushed some strands of hair from Snufkin's face, as a father should. Joxter had never been a father to him before.

"Don't lie to me," He tried pushing him away, but the lack of air was making it hard. The Joxter stopped of his own accord and stared at him. "You don't have a soulmate."

"I don't," He confirmed scrunching up his nose at the smell of bile and blood.

It was hard to concentrate so Snufkin closed his eyes instead. The pain was subsiding a bit, engulfing him in lazy waves that seemed to slowly wash over him less and less. But the next time might prove fatal. "I don't understand."

The Joxter didn't answer immediately, so Snufkin thought he might have left, his senses too muddled to tell. But when his father spoke again it was quietly, right by him.

"Astilbe is a cruel flower. It means 'waiting for somebody always'. I couldn't stand that thought. I didn't want somebody to have to wait for me, not even if they were my mate," His voice was low, gentle, but devoid of gravity. "So I did what was needed to get rid of it."

Snufkin was gasping for breath at this point, forcing his eyelids open just a crack and Joxter hovered over him. "I didn't think... people did that anymore?"

"It's frowned upon yes," The Joxter bend over him, his smile was a permanent feature on his face, but Snufkin could see it for what it was now, emotionless. "But for the right price you can always find a doctor willing to do what's necessary. I paid the price. And so did you, didn't you, son?"

Snufkin shook his head, the pain reduced to its dull aching once more, the garden burrowing deeper into his flesh every second. "You could never have loved me."

"Never. Though if it's any consolation, I wasn't a very good person to begin with."

With a grunt, Snufkin forced himself upright. Joxter looked at him a moment more, before turning away again, shrugging his shoulder carelessly.

"I recommend you take care of this," He threw back over his shoulder. "Or you could always head to the valley. A little birdie told me there is somebody there suffering quite the same fate."

Snufkin watched him go, trying to stop shaking so badly. The flowers smelled strong, sweet with the scent of summer, but sour like they were already rotting inside him. He had no more time to think about this. If he didn't decide fast enough-

He didn't want to die.

Moomin threw back the blankets as soon as his mother had closed the door behind her.

He had been too sick to be allowed out for a few days now. His friends came to visit sometimes, but he saw it just made them sad, seeing him like this. And the way his mother and father whispered together made him scared.

He knew they meant well, the disease had gotten bad enough that it was hard for him to walk or talk or even think really. But how was he going to find his soulmate if he wasn't allowed to look for them?

He staggered to the window, opening it and feeling the cold air brushing against his face. He climbed out, trying not to fall off the ladder with how light-headed he was. He almost lost his footing on the last few steps though, landing ungracefully on his back. Coughing, he got up, swallowing some of the purple petals down again.

Moomin didn't know where he was going. He had been all over the valley already, searching every nook and cranny, but he hadn't found what he was looking for. Maybe his soulmate wasn't in the valley at all, he thought. Maybe he would never find them.

It was a frightful thought, so he walked into the forest instead, keeping close to the winding river. The stories said that you and your soulmate were just destined to meet. Destined to be together.

But now Moomin wasn't so sure anymore.

He had to stop from time to time, resting against a tree or large rock. He knew he was getting too weak, his vision dark around the edges. He wished he was back at home.

"Oh," He breathed, flower stems closing his throat up too tight to speak properly. He blinked at the sight before him. "H-hey, are you ok?"

The boy didn't stir, though as far as Moomin could tell he wasn't sleeping or unconscious. His face was scrunched up in pain and his breathing was unsteady. Moomin tried to get closer, but his legs were a bit wobbly, and he had a hard time getting there. He crawled the last few inches, looking down at the boy curiously despite his own predicament.

"Did you get hurt?" He asked, reaching out one paw to shake the boy's shoulder.

The change was instantaneous. Like magic.

It felt strange, as if something inside him was shriveling up and growing smaller. But as it did so it took the pain with it, shrinking down into small pinpricks before disappearing completely. He sighed, and as the last few petals fell from him it was like breathing for the very first time.

The boy groaned softly, blinking his eyes open and staring up at Moomin. They were almost brown, but with small flecks of bright sunlight along the edges. They were beautiful. The most beautiful thing Moomin had ever seen, and he never wanted to look away again.

Oh.

"Are you ok?" He asked again, sitting back a bit when the boy struggled upright, one hand clasped to his chest like he couldn't quite believe he was still alive.

"Uhm," He looked away at their surroundings, then back at Moomin himself. "I believe so."

The sun didn't shine down with heavenly light from the sky. There was no music playing, birds serenading them or fireworks. The earth kept spinning and time refused to stop in its tracks for them. None of those things Moomin had read about in the stories happened.

And yet he couldn't be happier.

"Does this mean?" The boy asked reluctantly, and he seemed embarrassed by the situation, hiding his face behind an old green hat.

"Yes," Moomin held out his paw to help him up. "I'm Moomintroll. I'm your soulmate."

The boy looked pained, despite the disease having withered in his lungs as well the moment they touched. "Snufkin."

"Do you want to come to my house?"

Snufkin sighed, finally taking the offered paw and getting up himself. He let go again immediately though, instead occupying himself with brushing the dirt off his pants. "I uh, I don't really- I mean, I don't like sleeping indoors. I travel a lot and I have a tent."

Moomin blinked at him for a second before grinning wildly. "You can set it up by the bridge then while you're here. It's a really lovely place, you'll see."

For some reason Snufkin looked relieved at those words, and he nodded. "That'd be lovely."

They walked home together. Moomin couldn't stop thinking of how happy his parents would be that he had found Snufkin. His very own soulmate who slept in tents and traveled the world and had the most beautiful brown eyes.

Maybe it wouldn't be exactly like in the stories, but he was sure it would suit them just fine.