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i. gardenia; secret love
It starts with a petal. One petal on a perfectly normal day in a perfectly normal week. There’s a tickle in the back of her throat that’s making it really hard to pay attention to whatever the teacher is saying. She would attempt clearing it, but if she clears it too loudly then that will attract unwanted attention over something so simple and annoying. Instead, she sits in the back of the classroom, wilfully letting the itch hinder her ability to focus.
The end of class and the beginning of lunch break is punctuated by a bell, and in the commotion of the rest of the class leaving the room, Maki finally clears her throat. Something flutters up her windpipe to rest on her tongue, and when she plucks it out it is not anything she could dream of seeing. She’s had phlegm, blood, water, bile, and poison come back up her throat before, which is why this strange object is so novel.
A single white petal speckled with red rests in the palm of her hand. Initially, she thinks she must be hallucinating, but the petal is very much still there after she pinches herself. Which means that she coughed up said petal. Somehow. As if that’s supposed to make any sort of sense.
“Harukawa-san!”
At the sound of Kaede’s voice she curls her hand into a fist, crushing the petal, but hiding it from view. Maki looks up upon the class rep’s approach, noting that Shuichi and Rantarou have tagged along with her this particular lunch break. Kaede holds up a wrapped box, as if the gesture alone is supposed to answer the unsaid question as to why she’s here.
“Mind if we eat lunch with you?”
Kaede had made a habit of eating with her after the first few weeks of school passed and Maki still hadn‘t spoken a word in class since her name at the beginning of the year. Maki can still remember the first time Kaede had asked the question and the way the entire class had held their breath. She can still hear her own voice replying, unbidden, in a warbled ‘yes.’
Snapping herself back to the present, Maki shrugs, and while the others are busy arranging the desks into a table, she shoves the petal deep into her pocket. By the time Kaede turns back to her, she is perfectly composed and perfectly fine and perfectly able to shrug the matter off for the time being. Lunch passes in a cordial affair, with both Rantarou and Shuichi being mild and amiable people.
Somehow, she manages not to think about it all day, only pulling the petal out again after her midnight training with Kaito and Shuichi. Uncharacteristically nervous, she plods over to her computer and opens up the search browser.
[flower symbolism]
Flower meanings by type, color, specimen…
Have you ever wondered if there’s any deeper meaning to flowers? Looking for peace in your life? Well, wonder no further! Immerse yourself in the world of symbolism of these beautiful and diverse blossoms…
Yahoo answers: what kind of flower means ‘love?’
hey so i wanna get my girl some sort of bouquet for our anniversary but roses are too cliche. are there other flowers that mean love or smth?
Top Answer:
You can probably just bullshit some sort of meaning but generally violets, gardenias, tulips, the other colors of roses, azaleas, and lilies are all p romantic. But honestly I’d just go with the prettiest assortment and make something up lmao
Flowers and their meanings— get the perfect gift for your significant other…
There’s nothing more romantic than getting that perfect, meaningful gift for the one you love, and it’s no secret that flowers are the truest sign of love there is. So, why not kill two birds with one stone? In this article, we’ll be covering all the most romantic flowers you could possibly get…
[flowers with wavy white petals]
Yahoo answers: What makes white roses so special?
My boyfriend just bought me a bouquet of white roses. They’re very beautiful, but I have to wonder if they have some other meaning?
Top Answer:
they mean marriage.
Wikipedia — Gardenia Flower
The gardenia is a genus of flowering plants in the coffee family, Rubiaceae, native to the tropical and subtropical areas of…
[what is a gardenia flower]
Wikipedia — Gardenia Flower
The gardenia is a genus of flowering plants in the coffee family, Rubiaceae, native to the tropical and subtropical areas of…
The Gardenia Flower: Meaning and Symbolism
Bright white, sweet-smelling, and pure, gardenias represents feelings of love, especially that of a secret or love not yet revealed. They also represent purity and refinement, making them an optimal choice for wedding bouquets.
[what to do when you cough up a petal]
WebMD — Signs of Lung Cancer
Lung cancer is often characterized by severe pain in the chest area, as well as chronic and often blood-addled coughing. The victim will experience frequent inflammation and infection in the lungs. If you are affected by the above symptoms, please contact your health agent or a nearby hospital.
[why am i coughing up petals]
WebMD — Signs of Stomach Cancer
The many symptoms of stomach cancer include severe pain in the abdominal region…
Forum: Is the hanahaki disease actually a thing??
Tomomo: Hey so im kinda freaking out. My brother just told me that he’s started coughing up petals or something and I don’t know what to do??? Like is he telling the truth? Ive heard hanahaki disease is a thing but has anyone else seen or heard of it?
izu98: it’s a myth. he’s probs messing w you
ggegon: ^^ yeah havent even heard of it
ayummy: holy shit you need to call 119 or something
izu98: ??? ayumi its not real calm down lmao
ayummy: izuki. i had hanahaki disease. remember when i took sick leave last week? i was in the hospital.
izu98: wait what the fuck you were?
Tomomo: Guys it’s real he’s coughing blood and flowers what the hell is going on
→ next page
[what is hanahaki disease]
Hanahaki Disease
Hanahaki disease is a multi-stage infection caused by blossoms in the lungs, originating from a case of unrequited love. It is characterized by the victim coughing up both flowers and blood. Initially non-threatening, yet painful, the longer the infection lasts, the lower the chances the victim has of surviving. The only known cure is to have your feeling returned by your romantic interest, whomever it may be.
[how to get rid of hanahaki disease without confessing your undying love because you’re an emotionally detached murder weapon]
With a scowl she deletes the last search and leans back in her chair, sighing and holding up the petal— a gardenia petal, she recalls from the wiki page— to scrutinize it. Soft, white, wrinkled and starting to wither already, dry blood flaking off of its skin. Meant to symbolize “secret love.”
She glares back at the bloodstained gardenia petal resting on her desktop. Pretty big secret, she thinks, her scowl deepening as the fluttery itch in her lungs returns, if I don’t even know who it is that I’m supposed to be loving.
ii. daisy; faith
She manages to keep it hidden for weeks. Of course, her condition worsens as the weeks progress, and people are beginning to grow suspicious of the way she’s been “under the weather” for far longer than what is considered normal, suspicious of the rattle in her lungs when she breathes, the hoarseness of her voice. The flowers tumble out in bundles and blossoms now, all stained red from the syrupy blood that comes up with every fistful.
Nowadays, she coughs up daisies. Wikipedia tells her that they represent “innocence and faith.” She still doesn’t know who, exactly, it is that she is supposed to be loving. That fact alone kills her— literally and metaphorically.
The weeks pass in smothered bouts of coughing and trips to Kirumi’s lab to wash the blood from her sleeves. The Ultimate Maid has undoubtedly noticed what is wrong with her, and if not that ,then she at least knows something is amiss, but she never questions it. The mutual respect between them is the one thing Maki can rely on right now. Kirumi never questions why she brings down a load of bloodstained and sometimes petal-speckled shirts every Friday. The maid only takes the basket from her arms and loads it into one of the many washing machines, pointing her to the tissue box in the corner of the room if the coughs start up again.
Maki is learning to hate flowers. Sometimes, the coughing fits are so bad that she finds herself heaving over her dorm’s sink until the cluster of reddened daisies tumbles out, but these only occur in the late hours of the night when she lies awake and ponders the mysterious owner of her supposed affections. She still doesn’t have any idea of who it could be.
Thus, unhindered, her condition worsens.
At this point, she knows what the daisies feel like coming up. So when something hot and sticky forms a lump at the back of her throat, she knows immediately that at least a bouquet of the dainty petals have decided to be puked out now. Thankfully, she manages to escape at lunch break with only a few mild looks of concern trailing after her. As soon as she’s out of sight, she sprints to the nearby bathroom, collapsing over a toilet just as the petals heave upwards.
The daisies hurt more than the gardenias, she recalls from her notes, spitting blood into the toilet bowl, positive that her teeth are red and that she’ll need to take a sick leave if she doesn’t want to be caught today. She pulls the remaining few daisies from behind her molars and flushes them all down the drain, exiting the bathroom stall and walking over to the sinks to rinse the blood from her mouth and hands.
However, as she splashes water against her chin, the stall at the far side of the bathroom creaks open. Maki whirls around, one hand already on the hilt of her knife to threaten whoever it is into silence— and sees one Hiyoko Saionji from the class above exiting the stall. Hiyoko doesn’t look at all surprised or disgusted by the blood still trickling from the corner of Maki’s mouth or the spare petals scattered across the bathroom floor.
“You too?” Is all she asks, an unreadable expression on her face. Maki scowls.
“What do you mean?”
Hiyoko laughs, the sound uncharacteristically sardonic and self-deprecating, and Maki watches in astonishment as violet petals flutter from the dancer’s lips, falling gently to the white tiles below.
“These fucking petals. They got you, too?”
Maki hesitates, still staring at the violets on the floor, and then, reluctantly, “Yes. They did.”
“Never expected that from you of all people. I didn’t even think you knew what an emotion was, least of all love.”
She doesn’t, but admitting that to Hiyoko is only asking for trouble. Instead, she averts her gaze back towards the mirror, where a few of her white daisies still remain plastered to her chin. It’s an image of pure disarray. A long silence passes over the both of them.
“Do you know who it is?” Maki murmurs, turning back to the dancer, because maybe she isn’t alone in this confusion. Hiyoko scowls violently, cheeks flushing red for a moment before a familiar expression washes over her face and she bows over one of the sinks, blood and violets splashing into the basin. Uncertain, Maki only watches her retch until the coughing dies down and the smaller girl whips her head back towards her, her snarl vicious and blood-streaked.
“I’ll kill you if you tell anyone. I actually will, but you never talk to anyone, anyways, and you’re stuck in the same boat as me so, fuck it, I guess.” The blonde rakes her fingers through her bangs. “It’s— it’s Mahiru.”
Maki needs a moment to remember who that is, but when she does, she merely nods. She has no other answer to offer.
“I see.”
Hiyoko frowns bitterly for a moment more before her lips twist into a cruel smirk. “So, who managed to catch the eye of our resident heartless assassin, Maki Harukawa? I told you mine, so you have to spill.”
Thankfully, she already knows what to say this time.
“I don’t know,” she admits, suppressing a wince at the stab of pain in her lung as another flower unfurls. “You said it yourself. I don’t feel anything. I don’t know who it is that I’m supposed to… be in love with.”
Surprisingly, Hiyoko doesn’t sneer. Rather, the other girl looks thoughtful, which is a foreign expression on her childlike face.
“Well, have you thought about it? Tried fantasizing about anyone in the school? Your class? Guessing and checking never fails.”
Well. She hadn’t even entertained the idea until now, but she supposes anything could help as long as she figures out who the mystery owner of her affections is. She resolves herself to try it that night, when no one can see her if it gets bad.
Wordlessly, the two of them set about removing all evidence of their shared illness from the bathroom. As Maki dumps the last handful of violets into the trash bin, something compels her to speak, to turn back to face Hiyoko, who is rinsing her blood down the sink.
“They mean ‘honesty,’” Maki says. “The violets do.”
Hiyoko turns off the sink and looks impossibly tired for the briefest of moments. Then, the familiar sardonic grin works its way onto her face, and she snorts, the sound strangled.
“Of course they do.”
Maki goes back to class, the image of Hiyoko’s defeat seared into her memory. Will that be her, given time?
Nightfall comes, and she returns to her dorm, opting to skip out on training for the night. As she gets ready for bed, she thinks back on what Hiyoko had suggested in the bathroom earlier. She’s never really thought about engaging in a relationship with any of her classmates, but the situation worsens with every passing day and the sooner it ends, the better.
It’s practical to start with those she is most acquainted with, so she does.
Momota? The flowers remain still, unmoving in her chest. She had known it wouldn’t be him— he is too brash and forceful, but he is, arguably, the closest thing she has to a friend.
Toujou? The most likely option, but still, no reaction. Maki respects the Ultimate Maid, but it would seem that that’s all it is.
Saihara? Still, nothing.
Pekoyama? A faraway guess, but still viable. Maki knows they have a lot in common.
Akamats—
The daisies come out fast and hard, the blood hot in her throat as she tries in vain not to choke on the pain lancing through her chest or the petals spilling into the basin of her sink. She’s burning up inside, sweat rolling down her cheeks and her knees going weak. This is worse than any poison she’s been forced to ingest in that there is no immediate cure on hand or built up resistance— this strange floral cancer has full reign over her immune system and there’s nothing she can do.
After a few minutes, the fit tapers off, but by the end black dots are dancing across her vision and her senses are clogged by the overwhelming smell of burned metal and salt. Her sink and bathroom look like the scene of a murder, and she has successfully ruined another school uniform more thoroughly than any before it.
Oh, Maki thinks. I see.
iii. yellow tulip; unrequited love
Since her realization, her thoughts are full of nothing but one Kaede Akamatsu and all the things Maki hadn‘t realized she had already realized— like how her smile alone can make a room brighten tenfold, how endearing it is that she taps out Clair de Lune on her desk when she’s stressed, how beautiful she looks when the afternoon sun hits her at that specific angle through the window when they sit together in science.
The daisies persist, but sometimes they are joined by violets, which remind her of Hiyoko. She hasn’t seen the other victim since the incident in the bathroom, but it’s none of her business or concern how Hiyoko is managing her love life. It doesn‘t stop her from wondering.
Day by day, her condition declines. She stops going to training, and gives Kaito no explanation. However, she still manages to go to class every day, but she has to wear a surgical mask borrowed from the Ultimate Nurse in the older class so that no one sees the petals that drip from her mouth with every ragged breath. She still brings Kirumi loads of laundry, but it‘s now both a Wednesday and Saturday task due to the frequency of the fits.
The Ultimate Maid has begun to suspect her openly, so when, on one random Wednesday, the other girl speaks up, Maki has been expecting it for some time.
“Harukawa-san, it may be beneficial to you to seek professional help. You have been bringing me bloodstained clothes mottled with flower petals for over a month, now, and I know that none of it is from your missions. If this persists for much longer, I’m afraid that I will be obliged to tell an authority.”
Her message is clear and begs no ground. It isn’t a gentle nudging for Maki to do something about her condition. It’s an ultimatum. Maki understands— she has been dancing around the issue for too long, anyways, but the thought of actually confessing is unbearable.
Hey, Akamatsu. Not to pressure you or anything, but I think I’m in love with you and have been for a while but I didn‘t have the mind to realize it before it was too late, and if you don’t return my feelings then I’m going to die, and my death will hang over your head forever. Just wanted you to know.
The thought brings a blossom to her lips, and when she coughs she doesn’t even bother hiding it. She and Kirumi watch the golden tulips fall to the floor, and a bitter emotion rises within Maki at the sight of them.
Unrequited love.
“I apologize, Toujou,” she says, adjusting her grip on the basket of freshly-cleaned laundry. “But I really doubt anything can save me now.”
Kirumi’s gaze softens. “Let me know if there is anything more I can do to help you.”
Maki says she will, but the words are empty. She won’t ask for help, and she won’t tell anyone, and she’s pretty sure that she’s perfectly fine wallowing in her own uncertainty until the disease tapers off and she comes to her senses and realizes that she is a monster and monsters don’t deserve to be loved.
Two days later, on a particularly bad day where the yellow tulips are itching against her lips beneath the mask, there’s a bloodcurdling scream from down the hall. A few minutes later, sirens sound outside the school, and through the crowd at the door Maki manages to catch a glimpse of Hiyoko, her entire torso stained red, being hurried away on a stretcher, a flurry of yellow roses trailing behind her.
Jealousy, is Maki’s first thought upon seeing the roses, immediately followed by, she doesn‘t deserve this.
Slowly, the frantic whispers of the others begin to pervade her senses.
“Oh my god, was she coughing up flowers?”
“Holy shit, holy shit—”
“I just got a text from Mioda-san. She said that Koizumi-san and Saionji-san were talking one moment and then…”
“Okay, I googled it, I think it’s called hanahaki disease or something? Shit, it says it’s deadly. Is she going to die or something?”
Maki’s ears are roaring with blood, and all she can feel is Kirumi’s gaze burning into the back of her skull and the impending dread that, someday, that’s going to be her on the stretcher, petals and blood in her mouth and this cruel, undeserving love for Kaede festering in her heart.
Kaede deserves better than anything she could offer. Maki knows this as truth, and resigns herself to a slow, painful death.
And, well, if Kirumi tells the principal, there’s nothing to be done.
iv. marigold; grief
The one thing Maki had never taken into account as ever being a possibility is Kaede finding out about her condition. So, of course, that’s exactly what happens.
It’s the weekend. Weekends are always when the coughs are at their worst, like some hellish internal clock of hers that knows she won’t be disturbed on weekends. The lame excuse she’d given Kaede yesterday about her absence was that she would be cleaning up her lab (which isn’t a lie) and that she would not like to be disturbed by anyone (which isn’t a lie) and that yes, she’s fine, her illness is passing (which may be the biggest and most unconvincing lie she’s ever told; Kokichi, from his corner of the room, had shot her a disappointed glance).
Throughout the day, she remains relatively undisturbed. Kaito comes banging on the door sometime around noon as she polishes one of her more favored knives to perfection, but just as quickly, there is the distant sound of Kaede’s voice, and the banging stops.
Another thing she’s come to love— Kaede’s respect of her space whenever she asks for it, and more, when she says nothing at all.
Korekiyo— or Rantarou, maybe Ryouma, she can’t really tell— drops by in the afternoon, saying something she can’t hear because she’s too busy retching tulips into the trash bin. All she can do is hold back her hair and pray that whatever it is isn’t an emergency.
Kirumi comes around to pick up laundry in the evening. It’s a brief exchange in the doorway— Maki takes the proffered water bottle and painkillers, and Kirumi takes the load of laundry. Words sit on the tips of both of their tongues, but in the end, they are both far too used to restraint, so the tension remains thick and undisturbed.
Maki waits and cleans and gnaws on ration bars and sits, hunched in the corner of the room, her chest on fire and blood on her tongue, the petals still, and always, falling. It’s one in the morning when her stomach refuses to live any longer on cardboard-tasting sticks of protein alone. At this point, the night rule is in effect, but no one will mind if she slinks down to the kitchen to grab something more substantial. If anyone else is awake, that is. The pain has lessened significantly— if she is quick, she will get back before another episode comes.
On her walk to the kitchen, the gentle tone of a piano drifts down the hall. Kaede is still playing, even at this hellish hour. Maki debates staying to listen, but when her lungs and heart clench in unison, she shoves the thought as far out of her mind as she can, and speedwalks past the door.
(And doesn’t think about how ethereal Kaede would look in the moonlight, fingers gliding over ivory keys, eyes closed in a trance that no one will ever be able to comprehend.)
There’s some leftover fried rice in the fridge. Maki throws it into the microwave for an unspecified amount of time, and eats in complete and utter silence. The darkness is comforting. There are no eyes watching for the blood on her fork, the exhaustion and vulnerability in the slouch of her posture. It’s only in times like these where she is allowed to be more than a girl that has fallen fatally in love.
As she approaches Kaede’s lab door for the second time, she realizes that the darkness lurking at the edges of her vision isn’t , in fact, from the time of night. Her lungs rattle, groan, then seize up. She’s out of time and she isn’t in the safety of her dorm or lab and if she doesn’t find somewhere soon then everything is going to end.
The piano sounds louder again, but more muffled. The world sways. Yes , she thinks, this is worse than poison. Her feet trip over themselves in the darkness and she stumbles into the wall, one hand pressed against her mouth in a vain effort to keep back the rising wave of flowers, but the blood is slipping through the cracks and the flowers are rattling, crackling like bones as they glide up her windpipe.
It hurts. She hates being in love.
A door opens nearby, but it’s too late for her to hide. She can hardly even see. Her knees give out when she tries to stand and run but a pair of soft, warm arms catch her. The scent of vanilla and lemon shampoo hits her nose— Kaede.
Maki screws her eyes shut and hides the pain in Kaede’s shoulder. The other girl only strokes her hair as she bites back the blood and flowers, forcing them back down the way they came. She’s pretty sure she’s getting blood on Kaede’s shirt, but when she tries to push away, the pianist only tightens her hold.
A cluster of petals fights its way to the roof of her mouth, and then her lungs are quiet. A heavy silence falls over them. Kaede pulls away, but not far.
“You’re the same as Saionji-san,” she says, voice thick with concern. Maki, not trusting herself to speak, only nods.
“How long? How long have you been hurting?”
Maki sighs, and pulls the swath of tulip petals from her mouth.
“A few months. Maybe.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell me? ”
Now is the perfect time. They are utterly alone and she’s vulnerable— it would be so easy. The words are there, on the tip of her tongue, but when she opens her mouth nothing comes out.
I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you. I love you.
“It’ll be over soon,” she murmurs instead, moments before spewing marigold and blood all over Kaede’s lap.
Ever since the incident just outside of Kaede’s lab, Kaede is never far from her side. The other girl has decided to help Maki find whoever it is that Maki has fallen in love with (an idea that the assassin adamantly tried to deny) and to get them to return her feelings. It’s all terribly ironic, comical in some ways, but Maki has little heart to argue when the blonde looks so determined. They sit together almost always, Kaede scanning the classroom with a childish sort of vehemence and Maki loving her quietly.
“What about Toujou-san? Or Kaito? You two are good friends, aren’t you?”
Maki loves her, loves her, loves her, and as the days go by she isn’t sure, anymore, about whether or not she wants to stop. She doesn’t know if she wants there to be a day where she can look at Kaede and feel nothing, look at her and never once think: I want to be with her, always.
“No,” she replies, resting her chin on her hand. “I don’t think it’s either of them.” She coughs and tries to smother it, but the marigold tumbles out all the same. Kaede’s ferocity softens as she looks at it, how it rests on Maki’s desk like some ill omen of her desperation. The flowers don’t come in petals anymore— a telling sign of the beginnings of hanahaki stage three.
“We’ll find them, whoever they are,” says Kaede, trying her damnedest to be reassuring, and Maki only nods and sweeps the marigold into her bag with all the others.
v. red spider lily; death
She rarely leaves her lab anymore except for class two days a week. When she does, it’s not without an escort. Almost the entire school knows by now, and it’s strange to get sidelong looks of pity or awe from people she doesn’t even know. Hiyoko has finally returned to school— her and Mahiru worked everything out, she hears— and when Maki is alone the smaller girl will seek her out. Hiyoko tells her in a small voice how much it hurt in the hospital, but how much better she feels now that she knows her feelings were returned all along.
“Have you found yours yet?” Hiyoko asks. Her skin is much healthier than last time Maki saw it. The assassin can only wonder what she looks like in comparison. To Hiyoko’s question, she nods.
“Well, who is it?”
“Akamatsu.”
“Blonde hair, big chest? The pianist lady? Huh. That’s—”
“I know,” Maki cuts her off, knowing what she’s going to say. “It’ll be over soon. I’ll stop loving her someday.”
Hiyoko’s nose wrinkles. “Is that what you tell yourself at night? Yikes, you’re hopeless. Like, c’mon, don’t you think you deserve to be happy? It’s worth the risk to confess— what do you have to lose? She rejects you, you move on. She loves you back, happy ending.”
Maki chokes on a stem in the back of her throat and reaches in to pull it out. A red spider lily— she’s been coughing them up for a few days, now. Everyone knows what they mean. Hiyoko’s eyes widen at the sight.
“I don’t think,” Maki says, each word slow and deliberate. “That I’m going to stop loving her. But it’ll be over soon.”
“W-what the hell? So you’re just going to die then? For some piano bitch?!”
Maki cracks a small smile. No, she thinks. I’m going to die for a girl who doesn’t know the impact she’s had on my life, a girl who knows me even in my lack of articulacy, the girl who has never pressured me to talk and has always listened when I have something to say. The girl that for weeks has selflessly been trying to find the person I love.
Hiyoko scrutinizes her for a moment longer before sighing. “Whatever, it’s your choice. I won’t cry if you kick the bucket though, you know.”
Maki knows. She has for some time.
A few days later, she catches Hiyoko kissing Mahiru on a trip back from the bathroom. The shorter girl has her hands fisted in the jacket of Mahiru’s uniform, and Mahiru hands are moving gently across Hiyoko’s cheeks. A few steps behind them, two other girls with reserve course badges on their uniforms look on fondly.
Maybe she’s glad for them— she can’t really tell over the lump in her throat as another spider lily takes root in her lungs. It’s easy to imagine Kaede kissing her in the same way— gentle and patient as she always is, letting Maki take the lead because she would never want to hurt her.
The thought only saddens her nowadays. After all this time, she’s still falling.
On a Thursday, she feels the roots digging deeper and deeper into the tissue of her lungs, and she knows that it’s time. As the class rises from their seats to turn in the homework from yesterday, Maki slips out of the room unnoticed. She keeps one hand on the wall as she works her way to the bathroom, every breath smaller than the last. When she reaches the bathroom, there’s another occupant in one of the stalls, but she leaves fairly quickly. Maki leans against one of the sinks, hands grasping the sides tightly as the flowers fill her lungs and don’t come up.
She tries to cough, but blood and spittle and petal fragments are all she gets— she has to keep trying. Her vision is going black and her skull is pounding, body burning from the lack of oxygen she’s getting, gasping and heaving for an inkling of breath.
“Stupid fucking flowers,” she growls, grip slackening on the sink as a particular bout of dizziness brings her to her knees.
“Harukawa-san?” Tenko calls from outside the bathroom. “Are you in there?”
Before she can respond, the invisible floodgates open in her bronchi and she lets out a strangled noise before it all starts falling out. God, there’s so much red on the tile now. Silently, she apologizes to Kirumi for making a mess that the Ultimate Maid will inevitably have to clean up later.
The door bursts open and the last thing Maki sees is Tenko’s expression falling into terror, a scream for help bursting from the other girl’s lips, and then there’s only flashes.
Sirens. Hands— cold, too rough. Burning. A thumb across her knuckles as the ground beneath her shakes. Kaede.
Darkness.
+ i. forget-me-not; true love
Maki has been awake for a few days, now, and her condition is stable for the time being but it certainly isn’t improving. She has tubes all shoved down her throat to keep the growth at bay and a plastic mask encompassing half of her face and at least three IVs in her arm. All of the plastic makes her uncomfortable, but she’s too tired to even try to struggle. A deep exhaustion has invaded her body, and it grows worse by the hour.
At the very least, no one has come to bother her yet except for Hiyoko. The other girl never says anything, but her disappointed glare gets the message across well enough. The doctors come and go bearing jars full of red spider lilies and blood, no doubt belonging to her. She has yet to hear from any of her classmates, but she supposes that it’s for the best, anyways.
On a bright afternoon where the open window is making her eyes hurt, one of the doctors enters her room. The patch on his shoulder signifies that he works for Hope’s Peak Academy.
“Harukawa,” he says, tone severe, yet gentle. “It’s risky, but we could perform a surgery that removes the flowers from your lungs, as well as the romantic feelings for whomever it is that you love, entirely. Do you want us to do that?”
Hanahaki disease is terrible. It has gotten in the way of her work and it has gotten in the way of school and here she lies on her deathbed because of it. If she were still the same person she had been at the beginning of the year, there would be no hesitation in accepting. Yet, somewhere along the way, she has been changed so thoroughly and completely that the idea of saying yes is nearly incomprehensible .
She manages a minute shake of her head, unable to speak over the large tube shoved down her windpipe. The doctor sighs and leaves, and Maki can feel the red spider lily roots crawling ever further towards her heart. It won‘t be long, now. On the windowsill, there‘s a small vase filled with forget-me-nots, and for the most of her day she finds herself staring at them, wondering why she couldn‘t have choked on those, instead.
In the evening, as the red light of the sunset filters into the room, her door swings open. Kaede stands there, gaze fiery and raw, expression the very epitome of stress.
“You idiot! ”
Her hand moves as if to punch Maki in the shoulder, but Maki’s reflexes have not dulled in her time of illness, and she catches the blow with one hand easily. Nonetheless, confusion fills her, and she has at least a thousand questions she wants to ask. Instead, she settles for furrowing her brows. Not many things in life have the capacity to leave her dumbfounded, and this surprise intrusion has placed itself very high on that list.
Grief overtakes the anger on Kaede’s face, and she raises her other hand to muffle a sob. For a moment, alarm penetrates the overbearing exhaustion, but ultimately all she can do is watch as Kaede sinks to her knees next to the bed, clasping her hand desperately.
“You idiot, you absolute… dying for my sake over these stupid flowers? What were you thinking?”
Dread shoots through her like a bullet, eyes widening as she realizes that Hiyoko must have told Kaede about their conversation in the bathroom— or, at least, Maki’s part in it. She doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what she could even say to Kaede right now if she had the ability to speak. However, Kaede presses on, oblivious to Maki’s plight.
“All that time… the whole time you were sick, all those weeks I was trying to help you, and it was me all along? Why didn’t you tell me?”
You didn’t deserve that, Maki thinks and cannot say, only squeezing Kaede’s hand back and praying that the message gets across. Loving me would only be setting yourself up for a tragedy, and you didn’t deserve that.
“You’re such an idiot!” Kaede says for the second time in a watery voice. “You didn’t have to hurt for so long! I spent all that time trying to help you out and I could have just said how I felt and put an end to all these stupid flowers!”
Maki starts at that, the painful twinge of the roots in her lungs increasing tenfold. A wince slips past her careful, unfeeling mask, the heart monitor nearby spiking as she gasps faintly over the tubes, riding out the pain. Kaede holds her through it, stroking her knuckles gently in a way that feels familiar, pressing their foreheads together and murmuring sweet nothings as Maki squeezes her eyes shut so tightly she sees stars.
After a few minutes, the pain still hasn’t faded, so Maki pinches her leg to focus the pain elsewhere, forces her face to show nothing but neutrality, and opens her eyes. Kaede checks her face for a moment— seeing nothing because Maki really doesn’t want her to know how close she is to death— and sighs, the breath shaking in her mouth.
“Dumbass,” Kaede sobs, hiding her face in Maki’s shoulder, which quickly grows warm and damp. “Did you really think I didn’t love you back?”
Maki inhales sharply, the pain flaring so intensely for a moment that feels like hours, heart clenching and stuttering, and then it’s all just… gone. When she exhales after a few long seconds, there’s no rattle, no rumble deep in her chest, no feeling of petals itching in the back of her throat.
Kaede seems to have noticed as well, if the blatant shock on her face is anything to go by. She moves one hand to Maki’s sternum, and Maki breathes.
Only air. No more flowers. No more blood.
A peal of laughter splutters from Kaede’s lips and the blonde draws her in for a long, unabashed hug, kissing her forehead because her lips are still hidden by the plastic mask and stroking her hair and holding her hand and Maki looks to the forget-me-nots on the windowsill and lets herself love.
(Years later, when the two of them are finally out of high school and two weeks after she had finally worked up the courage to propose, she and Kaede lie together on their couch, kissing gently as rain and thunder rage beyond the premises of their small apartment. On the coffee table stands a vase of forget-me-nots that they replace every week. Maki sucks in a breath and chuckles as their noses bump together when they pull apart.
“I love you,“ Maki says without hesitating, without tripping over the words, meaning them with all of her being, and Kaede’s smile in response is bright.)