I met up with Gavin and Anna online to play videogames as soon as I could. It was for my health, of course. They wanted to play a new game, however, and I was less than impressed with their choice.

“BloomCraft?” I said. “Really?” It was a game about commanding an army of soldiers infected with hanahaki, or something like that.

“It’s appropriate, don’t you think?” asked Anna. “Besides, Gavin was trying to get us to play it a few months ago.”

“A new update dropped,” he said. “Now’s a great time.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit… insensitive, to ask someone to play a game about their major health issues?” Like asking someone with sepsis to play a zombie game, or a veteran to play a first person shooter.

“Wuss,” said Gavin.

“We don’t have to play if you don’t want to,” said Anna, “But I thought you might appreciate a game where having hanahaki makes you more powerful.”

“You know what, sure, let’s give it a go. What are the mechanics?”

Gavin launched into an explanation. You’d recruit units to fight monsters that attacked every night, and every day the units would produce resources that you could use to upgrade your base and your army. The units ‘produced’ these resources by literally hacking them up on request, with a cooldown. As he explained the game I, regrettably, started to get excited about the gameplay.

“We’ve actually been playing for a few days,” Gavin said, causing my enthusiasm to wane again. They’d be far stronger than me on their server.

“But we’re starting a new server right now,” added Anna. “So we’ll all be on the same level, and we’ll be able to help you pick it up fast.”

“Nice,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

After I’d connected they gave me a tour of the controls and some things to know. Which monsters attacked at what frequencies, what resources I’d need right away, that sort of thing. I laughed when my first little gremlin coughed up a solid iron bar.

“This game is ridiculous.”

“Just you wait!” said Anna. “The monsters are next level.”

She wasn’t lying. Most of them were plant themed, covered in thorns and vines and weird numbers of eyes. My gremlins swung little swords against googly-eyed shambling tumbleweeds. Ranks of blocky shrubs and wooden stick-men came to attack in the next wave. One of my guys had a torch and was setting all of the plant monsters on fire.

“Fire is OP, isn’t it?” I said. The torch guy was doing the most damage.

“Don’t use a torch on the shrubs,” said Anna.

“Don’t ruin the surprise!” said Gavin.

“Why not?” But it was too late–the shrub exploded and sent all my guys flying. One of them let out a little ghost. “Ah! That’s random.”

“Yeah, they’re the worst,” said Anna. “You gotta pay special attention to them.”

“But they give you gunpowder, which is hard to get otherwise,” said Gavin.

“What’s gunpowder good for?” I asked, and the answer was pretty obvious: explosives.

We kept playing the game. As I was harvesting resources, my very first gremlin made a hurk-ish sound and fell over.

“Wait, what happened?” I asked. It was kind of disturbing to watch the gremlin grab its throat and choke to death as all the other gremlins stood around and did nothing. A cute little ghost left his cute little body.

“Ah, if you collect resources too often, they die,” said Gavin. “You gotta strike a balance.”

“That’s lame,” I said. “How much can I take?”

“It varies randomly,” he said. “Four resources a day is a good balance between getting rich and keeping your units. The less productive ones will die, but you don’t want them anyway.”

“Or you could only take three, like I do,” said Anna. “Then they all get to live.”

An argument followed about what would be more effective; apparently, the time spent collecting resources eventually became the bottleneck of the game, and tracking how much you’d collected was tricky. I tended to agree with Gavin, at least in terms of strategy. Having more weak units was less efficient than a few strong ones that you didn’t have to worry about as much.

On the other hand, the gremlins made pitiable noises when they died. When I played videogames I tried to take the premise as seriously as possible. In a roleplaying game I treated urgent problems as though they were actually urgent; I didn’t wander off to explore the map. I seldom took the ‘evil’ route in games, even on the second play through. I even played some survival games as a vegetarian when circumstances permitted. Some habits die hard.

And if I were a leader of gremlins, and a gremlin myself, I would not dispose of them so ruthlessly. So even though it was less effective, I tried to find ways to spare the unproductive gremlins.

Gavin started giving me shit, of course.

“True strength is playing the way you want to play,” I told Gavin.

“Yeah, we’ll see how much that helps you when I invade,” he responded.

“I got your back,” said Anna. “Gavin can’t kill both of us.”

“You’re just siding with him?” whined Gavin. “C’mon, that’s not fair.”

“Get fucked, dude,” she said. “You’re an evil dictator. You must be defeated.”

We played games late into the night, and I paid for it the next day, but I felt like my health was already recovering.

—

Diana and I went for a walk. It was very pleasant along the riverside. Trees grew from the riverbank, and their vibrant green leaves covered everything in cool shadow. I found myself having to slow my steps. The scent of the river made me want to run, as was my habit, but I held back.

“It’s a beautiful day,” I said.

“Yep.” Diana was staring out at the water. Some kids played in a pool behind a piled dam of rocks. She was breathing a bit hard; she had a heavy ruck on. There was a plate of metal high on her back.

I was halfway to buying one myself. Rucking was this whole domain of exercise I’d never heard of, but it had been popular for a long time. A heavy weight increased your calorie burn without increasing the strain on your joints. More weight meant more intensity. For someone recovering from chronic hanahaki type A, it would be a tuneable compromise between cardio and walking.

Walking was slow, but it was something I could do without endangering myself.

I stepped over an orange line in the pavement, a place where a stone had heaved up. To me the line meant that there was a needed repair, but after a moment I realized the orange was actually a warning for cyclists, not some kind of marker for a repair crew. It was something I usually ran right over without noticing.

Further on, I caught sight of a piece of cement that had been polished smooth at the edge. The polishing exposed little bits of gravel, a kind of mosaic. Even the concrete was full of secrets.

I remembered I was supposed to be figuring out if I was enamored with Diana. I asked her about her major in college. She had graduated about the same time I would have, if I had kept going, with a degree in classical studies. I was learning all kinds of things about her that I’d never had a chance to ask about during our runs.

“So like ancient Greeks?”

“Romans too,” she said. “I studied all of antiquity.”

“Do you work at a museum, or a library perhaps?”

Diana was quiet for a moment. “No. I work as an editor.”

“Ah, I see. Writing is a very valuable skill.” That was another thing that I put on my resume.

Part of me wanted to ask if she had aspired to be a teacher, at one point–she’d taught some classes at the gym–but I held my tongue. I’d been a tutor, so I empathized a little bit. I enjoyed tutoring when it came down to it, and part of me was excited to tutor Bella, so a willingness to teach might be something we had in common. Even so, I didn’t want to step on her toes by talking about failed aspirations.

“Did the ancient Greeks have anything to say about hanahaki?” I asked, a way of changing the topic.

“The stoics had some things to say.” She didn’t elaborate. Was she testing my interest, or just out of breath? I found that I didn’t really know what Diana was thinking at any given moment.

“If I had to guess, they thought it was a sign of weakness?” She nodded.

“They mostly denigrated it. You have to understand, the ancient Romans thought of hanahaki as a curse inflicted by the gods.” She paused to take a breath. “A person ruled by their emotions would be punished by one of Pandora’s ills.” That made me wonder if she thought I was weak.

“What did they do when they got it?”

“Most of them hid away, until it went away on its own. The practice is depicted in a few plays.”

“That seems so backward,” I said. “Didn’t it kill them, if they ignored it?”

“Sometimes. The Romans also had treatments for it, of course, not all of which were completely ineffective.”

“Such as?”

“Brothels.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” she said. “We don’t talk about it, in modern times, but getting laid probably also makes hanahaki go away.” I put that fact away for future reference.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Brothels, though? Seems like a distraction. Weren’t they all about bravery? Why wouldn’t they just face their crush?”

“Strength,” she said. “The appearance of such. Having a crush meant they were beholden to a woman, or a man I suppose.” She resettled her pack. “Did you know that some ancient cultures didn’t recognize homosexuality?”

“I did not,” I said. “But that changed with the Romans?”

“Yeah. Their philosophers saw men enamored with other men, and paid attention to the physical evidence of it, such as hanahaki. It was one of their beliefs that survived the Dark Ages unscathed.”

“Huh!”

“They didn’t do so well with the other sciences, however. Particularly anatomy.”

“You said men with other men. What about the women who got hanahaki?”

“Lesbians?” she asked.

“Well, any woman, really.”

“Whatever they did, it was mostly lost to history,” said Diana. “That happens when you don't teach an entire group of people how to write.”

“That's… sad.”

“Perhaps she’d go cough on a man and see if he’d respond by bedding her.”

That made me cough, myself. “That sounds like something that a playwright would make up.”

“It may sound that way, but there is good evidence for it. Marriage came with a lot of benefits.” We walked up a short set of concrete stairs, and she kept talking after we got to the top. “Women didn’t get hanahaki all that often.”

“I read an article that men are getting hanahaki more than women in modern times, but that it was the reverse in the past.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit,” said Diana. “Men got it more then, too. It’s just that men wrote the history books and they had reasons to lie about who was weak.”

Our conversation continued, and I found I was learning as much about ancient Greece and Rome as Diana. I completely forgot to ask her out on a real date.

—

“That went well,” said Chloe as we walked back toward the company car. We had just finished our customer meeting.

“Are you sure?” said Graham. “It was pretty painful.”

“You’ve a lot to learn,” she replied.

It had spilled over into the second day. Twelve hours total, filled with meetings that went in circles where everyone repeated themselves unnecessary, with a lot of angry demands and posturing. Sometimes I found people to be contemptible monkeys–I shook my head, stopping that line of thinking.

I had a list of changes to make that was eight pages long. Honestly, we were lucky. It had both been painful and had gone well. The customer meeting could have lasted two whole days, or a whole week.

“Now comes the hard part,” I said. “We need to email all the important people, asking for clarification.”

“Covering our asses,” Graham said.

“That too,” I said, “but the main thing is getting clear objectives.” I straightened out the papers. “In general, saving everything and imagining how it will look from a future perspective is wise.”

“Covering our asses is what it is,” said Chloe. “Don’t be too obvious about it, though, that makes people defensive.”

“Got it. Subtly cover my ass, or my ass is grass.” I couldn’t help but chuckle. Graham practically sang it.

“Make sure you’re extra modest, Graham,” said Chloe. "Wear more than grass.”

“Of course,” he said, making a big show of trying to look over his own shoulder as though he’d forgotten whether he put on pants. I shook my head.

Graham had seemed unmotivated when I first met him, but he’d shown another face when we’d been in the meeting. He’d been just the right mix of casual and deferential that made people–and therefore the customer–open up. Perhaps we owed the fact that the meeting went so well to Graham’s social skills.

However, I imagined he’d struggle with writing specific and precise emails. Writing was a rare skill. I’d be there, CC’d and ready to step in, and to write any other document we ended up needing. Chloe would be on the email chains as well, so that she could apply her authority when necessary.

I was looking forward to getting home. I’d used every biobreak; the bloomycin played havoc with my stomach.

—

The reminder from my past to prioritize my time came that evening. I didn’t ignore it; ignoring alarms would set a bad habit that I didn’t want. The second part of the strength of reminders is always following them, but the first part is only setting alarms when you know you’ll be able to follow. I didn’t want to short-circuit that process from either direction.

I sat down to consider my priorities. For me, that was making a spreadsheet about each of my activities and how it benefited my goals. The spreadsheet was meant to help me sort through the information my intuition would have picked up, but it wasn't strictly accurate accounting. I had things like lower bound on utilons generated and potential future growth written down as benefits.

By the metrics I made up on the spot, working hard for money and going on dates were my greatest priorities. Unfortunately, the soup kitchen just didn’t rank very well in terms of goodness generated; money would better serve for that purpose. As for what happiness I could have from volunteering, it seemed dwarfed by the amount of happiness I’d find if I figured out who should be my romantic partner.

I also considered that the soup kitchen didn’t have enough bathrooms. Maybe it would be better to take a break from there until after my bloomycin course.

Exercise also didn’t fair well on my metric (prioritizing recovery was of greatest importance). However, I was cautious about the possibility of getting stuck in a feedback loop of ever-worsening health. First you skip workouts; then you eat poorly; then you stop taking the stairs; finally your health falls so far it depresses you and you can’t get out of the hole. I’d read about it happening.

Fortunately, I had synergistic activities planned: another walk with Diana. I’d cut back on working out, but I would not cut it out entirely.

As I considered the plan I made, I felt a small note of disquiet. Something didn’t seem right about it–however, I had used the entire hour to plan, and I needed to get to bed early for work the next day. I decided I would revisit the issue later. I could trust the numbers, couldn’t I?

I really couldn’t.

My first mistake was not taking my reluctance seriously. The numbers weren’t the point of the exercise, they were a tool for pumping my intuition. It was a warning I should have listened to, but unfortunately my subconscious doesn’t consider whether I’ll be able to respond to its alarms. should have paid closer attention. It only rang once, if at all.

The second mistake was much more mundane. I didn’t schedule time to think about my plans again, and failed to revisit the issue at all. It’s often the case that two concurrent mistakes are necessary for things to go completely off the rails.

—

Diana and I went for another walk. She was already having an easier time keeping her breath while carrying the ruck, and I’d like to think that I was wheezing less as well. I tried to ignore the effect of the straps on her chest, and ended up staring at the pavement again.

We talked idly about how things were going at my work, for a bit. Then I angled the conversation toward a topic I preferred.

“You are a stoic,” I said, and she made a small smile.

One time I’d seen Diana smash her finger between a pair of weights. I’d offered to get her a bandage, and she had made a pained grin before saying ‘Does a stoic care about bandaids?’ From then, I knew she was a stoic.

I was delighted that she had noticed that I had remembered.

“I try to be,” she said.

“Would a stoic think that my serious hanahaki makes me weak?” I found myself bothered by the possibility that Diana held me in contempt, probably because I admired her strength and work ethic. If she looked down on me… well. I’d be sad.

“Caring too much about whether others consider you weak, makes you weak,” she said. I felt my frown deepen, but then she went on. “You are one of the strongest people I know. I think your hanahaki happened to you, through no fault of your own. You can demonstrate virtue by withstanding it.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I kicked a pebble. “The doctor and just about everyone else thinks I’m pining for someone, but I disagree.”

“Oh?”

“He can’t see how things look from my perspective. He’s running a script for the typical victim of hanahaki, rather than listening to me.”

She nodded once, then adjusted the heavy ruck. “People think they know the cause of a thing. They forget to examine their assumptions.”

“I don’t want to make that sort of mistake,” I said. “With that in mind… Diana, would you like to go on an actual date, sometime?”

“Excuse me?” she said as she stopped short. I hadn’t seen plain confusion on her face before that moment, that I could recall. The fact of her confusion made me think I’d made a mistake, and as I watched her brow furrow, my certainty only increased.

“The doctor recommended that I ask people out,” I hastily said. “It’s supposed to help me de-stress even if I don't already have a crush. I don’t think I have a crush on you, but I’m willing to check my assumptions.” She just stared at me. “Also, you are … ” smoking hot, I thought, but I went with “...someone I might want to date. You were the first person I thought it might be.”

“I see.” She looked away. “Sorry, Milo. I’d rather not.”

“That’s okay,” I said. I felt sad, and even ashamed, but also just a bit relieved that I’d been brave enough to get past such an obstacle. I could withstand shame, and I could withstand sadness.

I had been rejected. I was looking forward to being healed. We continued to walk. Diana had a troubled look on her face.

“Did I cause your hanahaki?” she quietly asked.

“No.”

“If you needed to confess to recover–”

“I am trying to recover, but I don’t think it was your fault.”

“That’s good. But does that mean there’s someone else?” Bella had warned me not to mention that I had made a list.

“I don’t think anyone caused it,” I said. “I’m sorry I asked, I didn’t want to impose on you! I was just… looking for a cure, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry I can’t provide one.” I remembered her comment about brothels, involuntarily.

“It’s really fine,” I said. “I mean, even a rejection can be a cure, I’ve heard. Also, I’ve got medicine for it, and, I do enjoy being your friend. I don’t need anything else from you.”

We kept walking in silence for a bit. Our silences weren’t usually so awkward. My face felt like it was burning. The sensation would go away, then come back randomly. I hated it.

I wanted to ask why I wasn't a good enough person to date? She said I was strong–did that not impress her? I mean, beefier guys frequented the gym, but I had force of will, the kind of strength that mattered.

However, Bella had advised me to take a rejection as immediately and casually as possible. That would make it less uncomfortable for Diana, she’d said. Asking people out to get over your illness was a known thing, something that appeared in TV shows if not terribly frequently in reality. Diana would probably take it in stride. I wondered if she’d gotten any confessions before.

Even so, I was regretting not waiting until the end of the walk. I was so embarrassed, more than I’d expected, and my embarrassment kept growing. Like the ancients, I wanted to run away and hide until I got better. My stomach gurgled.

Supposedly hanahaki gave you the perfect excuse to ask someone out, but it was a very imperfect one for me. The trope was that morally-compromised people would fake it–’I’m only asking you out to feel better,’ they’d say, while not ill in the slightest. That was kind of like my situation, but inverted. My goal was to actually get better. The part I’d been faking was the attraction.

Part of the attraction was fake, anyway. Diana was very pretty. I was blushing again.

“Well, I’m looking forward to being able to run again,” I tried to say, but Diana interrupted me.

“I’m gay.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

I stared at her for a moment, then I laughed. “I’m relieved, I suppose! Also I’m really sorry I didn’t already know that.”

“It doesn’t often come up,” she replied. “I, well, I tried to talk about it last time… it’s just really awkward.”

“I’m glad you told me.” I thought about it for a bit more, and realized that she might be trying to spare my feelings. “But even if you were straight as an arrow, I’d be able to accept your rejection.”

“I’m not,” she said. “I don’t lie to people.”

“I know, but–you don’t have to give me any reason. You don’t owe me a reason.” Bella had used those exact words, when telling me what I should do if I were rejected. Following that script made me feel like I was on solid ground.

She half-smiled. Maybe assuring her that I’d accepted the verdict without excuses really did help her feel better. I also believed people should be given time to figure out how they felt about things. I liked to give people an out if they were embarrassed or uncomfortable. Diana could take as much time as she wanted to think things through, as far as I was concerned.

Not that she would need much time to know she didn’t want to date a man, if she were a lesbian.

We continued to walk. We talked a bit more. I felt better, knowing that no particular deficiency of mine caused her to reject me. Diana didn’t linger at the end of our walk, instead going straight to the gym to continue her workout. I got in my car and drove home, then ran to the bathroom.

I texted her an apology later, and she assured me it was no big deal.