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You meet him when you’re seven years old.
He goes to the same school as you, but you never really noticed him until now. You were on the swingset, your favorite part of the playground to be on during the short fifteen minutes you had to play before you had to go back to class, and he was being herded into a corner by a couple kids. They were always the same, the biggest kids, the richest, the meanest. Always looking for some shrimpy little kid to pick on until they cry— this one kid in particular, in most cases.
After a few moments, the kids are gone, and the boy is curled up in the same corner, shaking. It’s hard to tell exactly what was done to him from where you are. His bag is open next to him, papers and books sprawled all over the ground. It was rainy this morning, and one of his notebooks is open, face down in a mud puddle. He looks miserable.
You bite your lip, and keep swinging.
You see him again a few days later. You’re on the swings again, and he’s filing out of his classroom with the rest of his classmates. It made sense that you’d only just begun to notice him. You weren’t in the same class, and it wasn’t like he stood out too much from the crowd, with his black (黒 in Japanese) hair and brown eyes. His glasses were held together with tape, like they’d been broken and he couldn’t afford to get new ones. Now that you’d seen him before, you tended to notice him a little easier.
He walked like a kicked dog (犬 in Japanese), you noticed. Hands clutching at his backpack straps, head turned downwards at the ground. Whenever you see him from this point on, you never see anyone talk to him. No friends, no acquaintances. Aside from the occasional jeer, or teasing comment, or shove, he seems really… alone.
You understood. You were alone, too. You hadn’t had a friend since you moved here from America (アメリカ in Japanese). It made sense, you couldn’t speak the language besides the basics, and people here didn’t seem to like foreigners either way. You were constantly trying to translate the things around you inside your head. It was exhausting, but helped you understand what others were saying a little more. Other than that, you usually just kept your head down and tried to understand as much of your lessons as you could without needing to ask to use your translator.
The boy’s eyes dart around like he’s looking (見ている in Japanese) to see if anyone is going to try and hurt him, and they lock onto yours from across the courtyard for a brief moment. Then he looks away again, and recess continues as per usual.
You keep swinging, thinking of the lonely boy.
When the boy is curled up in that same corner once again, uniform (制服 in Japanese) covered in dirt and the contents of his backpack scattered in the grass, blowing away in the wind, you finally get off the swing. Even if you knew practically no Japanese except for how to introduce yourself and say that you liked the color pink (ピンクが好きです in Japanese), you weren’t the type to sit there while someone was being hurt.
You’re very aware of the stares of others burning holes in your neck as you make your way to him. He’s leaning against the brick wall of the building, and now that you’re closer, you can see the myriad of bruises and cuts decorating his skin. You suddenly feel like you’re making yourself into a target.
When you’re standing in front of the boy, hands on your hips, he offers no reaction to your presence. Not a twitch, or a word. He’s just looking at the ground, like there’s something hidden in the dirt that he can’t look away from.
“すみません。” [Excuse me.]
The boy finally looks up at you. There are tears streaming down his face.
You extend a hand.
“おはようございます! 私の名前は黒川です。” [Good morning! My name is Kurokawa.] Aaand, that was about the extent of your Japanese skills. You knew a couple more standard phrases, but nothing of real substance.
The boy swallows. He extends his hand in response, and his palms are sweaty when he clasps your hand in his as a greeting.
“左右田です。” [I’m Souda.]
You smile at him. “よろしく。” [Nice to meet you.]
Using the leverage you now have with his hand in yours, you pull him up to a stand. He starts to say something, but you have to stop him.
“ちょっと待ってください。” [Please wait a minute.] You pull out your translation app, type in a few words in English, and turn it around to show him your message on the screen.
[I can’t speak very much Japanese.]
Souda’s eyes open in understanding, and he nods, barely perceptibly. You turn your phone back towards you to type again.
[Can I help you with your belongings?]
His eyes (め in Japanese) dart around like before, anxiety dripping from his facial expression. He looks as if he’s trying to decide whether or not you’re trustworthy. He takes a deep breath, and nods.
“はい。” [Yes.]
“ありがとうございます。” [Thank you.]
Souda blinks in surprise. That’s right, it was probably confusing for you to thank him like that. You’d been told that thanking others worked differently here. You weren’t supposed to thank people like the girl who took your order at that sushi (すし in Japanese) restaurant, or that nice sales clerk who helped you find those pretty (きれい in Japanese) patent leather shoes you’d gotten a week ago. Souda wasn’t a sales clerk, but it was probably still confusing for you to thank him like that when he hadn’t really done anything.
You gather up his things in silence, letting him deal with the mess around his general area while you run around the open field and find the papers that blew away in the wind when the bullies kicked his bag open. When you return to him with a small stack of papers, you’re out of breath and your face is flushed red (赤 in Japanese) from exertion, but you offer him his things and he takes them. He shoves the papers into his binder and then into his backpack, quickly zipping it up. He stands, turning to you with a jerky motion before bowing to you mechanically.
“ありがとうございます。” [Thank you.]
You type what you want to say into your translation app, and show him your screen.
[I am happy to help.]
The bell rings, signaling the end of recess. Souda flinches. You hurry to type something before you have to go back to class.
[Do you want to hang out during recess tomorrow?]
Souda looks between you and his classroom door, nodding hurriedly before bidding you goodbye and rushing back to class. You clutch your phone (スマホ in Japanese), which you were only allowed to have due to the need for translation, and go back to your own class.
You play with him during recess the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Souda-kun is fun to be around, and really funny once he typed his words into your translator so you could understand what he was saying.
Souda is really good at fixing things, or so he says. He says his dad (お父さん in Japanese) is teaching him how to fix cars right now, but that one day he wants to be good enough to work on jet engines, and spaceships. He says that maybe one day, he could build a ship to take him to Mars. He says he wants to be the first person to step onto its surface. When you ask, he says he’ll build a second seat into it so you can go too.
Over time, you found yourself needing the translator less and less. Amazing what speaking to someone on a daily basis could do for your language skills. Souda begins to smile a little more often than usual, and his usual bullies don’t approach him quite as often. You feel like you’re doing the right thing, at least, as best as a seven (七 in Japanese) year old could do.
———
“Souda-kun, you’re gonna get yourself in trouble.” You yell-whisper to him as he climbs the fence around the school’s playground. You were nine years old now, and way too young to get sent to jail for trespassing on school grounds outside of school hours. “Souda-kun, get down. I can just go get it on Monday.”
Your Japanese was much better now, you hardly ever needed the translator at all now except for when the academic language got a little too tricky for you.
“The janitors will have thrown it away by Monday.”
“Yeah, but you could get arrested for this.”
“I’m nine.”
“Well, you could get super grounded. Like, way too grounded, and then we won’t be able to play the new Smash Bros. when it comes out next week!”
“This is more important than Smash bros.,” Souda exclaims in a faux heroic tone.
“Souda-kun,” you protest. “I can just write another letter.”
“Well, yeah,” Souda flips his hair out of his face. It was just barely long enough to put into a ponytail now, but also long enough to be a nuisance. He clings to the chain link fence near the top, peering down at you over his shoulder. “But I helped you write this one. It’s gonna blow Akiyama-kun out of the water.”
Before you can say another word, he swings his leg over the other side and drops down. He falls face forward, not exactly landing with poise, but isn’t hurt.
“C’mon, please come back here!”
Souda grins. “I’ll be right back, I promise!” He runs off into the school and disappears around a corner. It’s too dark outside to see much from there.
The next fifteen minutes are the most tense minutes of your short nine years. You’re waiting for Souda to get dragged back towards you by a police officer, or even maybe a teacher. You’d heard rumors that they slept in the school. You wondered what they used as a bed. Maybe they pushed all the desks together into one large square and slept like that. Didn’t seem very comfortable.
Souda comes back of his own volition clutching an envelope in his hands. He climbs the fence again, teetering near the top, before making his way back down to you. When he’s maybe a fourth of the way down the tall fence, his fingers slip from the chain links.
The fall is relatively short, so his scream of surprise is also short, but you jump up and rush over to him. He hit the ground back-first, and is now curled up in pain.
“Souda-kun, are you okay?!” You help him sit up, nervously checking him over for any external wounds. “That was a hard fall. I told you climbing the fence was a bad idea!” If it had been you climbing the fence, you wouldn’t have fallen. You had strangely good reflexes for a nine year old.
“Hnn…” Souda groans in pain. “Landed on a rock…” He opens his eyes slightly, before they shoot open entirely and he scrambles over to a puddle of water. “Your letter!”
The letter is soaked in muddy water, having fallen in a puddle next to the fence. It’s completely ruined. You regard it with mournful silence for a few seconds before pushing it out of your mind and looking back at Souda.
“Forget about the letter! Is your back okay?”
“I’m fine.” Souda-kun looks sadly at the evidence of his failure. You can see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.“I’m sorry, Kurokawa-san. I messed up. Now Akiyama-kun will have to settle for a second-best letter.”
You shake your head, offering a hand to help him up. “We’ll write the new one better than this one. Thanks for trying, Souda-kun.”
He smiles. “Of course. I couldn’t just leave my best friend to suffer like that.”
Akiyama doesn’t accept the letter. It’s okay, until he gets a girlfriend two days later and Souda has to comfort you while you sob.
———
“Souda-kun, did you do the homework?” You tap his shoulder and whisper to him in the middle of class. You were almost in middle school now, sixth grade.
Souda turns to you, sheepish grin on his face. “No, sorry.” His hair is long, tied into a small messy bun at the top of his head. It looks nice on him.
He had new glasses, a huge relief and a welcome change from his old frames. His father had apparently given in when Souda was pushed over a few months ago, and one of the lenses straight-up shattered. You didn’t say anything about the fancy new bruise he sported on his cheek along with the new glasses, and he didn’t either. He’d probably just gotten it in the fall. The grin he wore when he rushed over to you and pointed at his glasses, speaking so quickly that you almost needed to break out the translator again, was almost enough to offset the worry you felt when you saw the purpling bruise on his face.
Almost.
Souda had mastered the ins and outs of car engines by now, and was getting really good at motorcycles. He even fixed your mother’s car a year ago, when it gave out on her out of nowhere and you told her you had a friend who could probably do it at a discount.
You think he’s still your friend, anyway.
Souda had a new friend. He was closer to him than he was to you, and that was okay. You were just the foreigner who took a year and a half to become half-conversational in the only language he could speak, so it was understandable that he’d talk to someone who could actually understand him no matter what. It still hurt, just a little. It felt like three years of friendship were crashing to the ground.
You used to sit with them at lunch, and talk to them during recess, but you didn’t think they particularly liked you around. At least, not the other boy. You felt entirely unwanted when you looked at him. It was fine. It was okay. You knew how to be alone, now. So you stayed alone.
Souda is caught helping his friend cheat on a test.
Souda’s new friend doesn’t talk to Souda-kun anymore.
Souda is alone during recess again. No one talks to Souda anymore, not even you. You feel somewhat vindicated.
Maybe he deserves to be alone for a little bit, you think.
You’ll talk to him in a little bit. For now…
You’d wait.
———
On the first day of middle school, Souda arrives with pink hair.
It’s not the kind of pink that you normally saw in hair, not soft or light or pastel. It’s bright, hot, neon pink, and there’s not a single strand of his hair untouched by the color. When you look at him now, the only think you can think about is how one of the first phrases you ever learned how to say in Japanese was ‘ピンクが好きです’ [I like pink]. You think the color suits him.
The school disagrees.
They try and make him dye his hair back to black, but Souda refuses. You aren’t aware of the specifics of what happened, since you still had yet to talk to him again, but you know that somebody steps in on Souda’s side, and he’s allowed to keep his hair as long as he wears a beanie over the wildest part of it— the top. There, his hair is choppy, and messy, like someone took a lawnmower to his hair. Souda agreed, and comes into school the next day wearing a dark gray beanie.
But also pink contacts instead of glasses.
You didn’t know where this rebellious side of Souda was coming from. He’d never been so bold before. And also… you missed his glasses. A little.
The farther along you come into the school year, the more you notice that Souda is acting really weird. He talks with a false confidence he never had before, and walks with his back straight and his head up. You aren’t sure how you can talk to him right now. This wasn’t the boy you knew. It was like some kind of bodysnatcher got to him over the summer break between sixth and seventh grade. A bodysnatcher who specialized in stereotypical popular teenage boys.
Because make no mistake, Souda was becoming popular.
It wasn’t right, none of it was. The people who used to push him into the mud in elementary school were now hanging off his shoulder, telling him some story about the latest thing they did to the smallest, most meek girl in class. From what you overheard, she just escaped from where they’d locked her in her locker a few hours ago. It’s foreign, unnatural, to see him laugh with them, like he’d always been their friend. Like there’s nothing wrong with it.
You think you’re starting to really miss Souda.
“Heyy, shortstack. You got any spare change? I’m trying to make 150¥ for the vending machine.”
Speak of the devil.
You look up from your notebook to see a shock of bright pink hair tucked into a gray beanie. He’s speaking in a completely different tone than you’re used to hearing from him, confident and almost joking. When he smiles, you can see that he filed his teeth down into sharp points. What the fuck? (Okay, you felt sort of bad thinking that word, but you were in middle school now, so it was okay, right?)
“Souda-kun, you look like a shark.” The words escape your mouth before you can stop them, and you slap a hand over it as soon as you realize what you just said. It was times like these when you wished you were still the new girl who couldn’t speak a word of Japanese if she tried.
“I’ve heard that one before,” Souda replies, rolling his eyes. Now that you were closer to him than you’d been in years, it was weird to notice all the little changes he’d done to himself. He had a braid running through his hair next to his left ear, and he’d even dyed his eyebrows pink. At least he was dedicated. The colored contacts were sort of trippy up close, too. You knew what his eyes should look like, and the weird eyelike pattern painted on the contacts just looked fake compared to the real deal. “You got change, or not?”
You dig through your pockets. “Just 25¥. Is that okay?” You offer the coins to him with a flat palm, and he takes it with a big smile.
“Yeah! Thanks!”
“No problem, Souda-kun.”
“Hey, what’ve you been up to since last year?” He asks, voice lilting slightly with curiosity. “Haven’t seen you really hangin’ around with anybody.”
“Astute.”
“Well…” Souda scratches at the back of his head, underneath the beanie. It did look pretty itchy. “If no one talks to you, it helps a bit to change the way you dress. You said before that your parents won’t let you dye your hair, right?”
“Souda-kun…” So that was what this was about. A ball of pity and guilt begins to form in your stomach without your permission. You swallow and look away.
“What?”
You glance over his shoulder at the group of kids who used to bully him, but now treated him like their best friend. “I think they’re waiting for you.”
“Huh?” Souda swivels in his spot. “Oh, yeah! Thanks again, Kurokawa-san.” He runs off to join his new friends, and you look at him for a couple more seconds before turning back to your notebook.
———
You feel guilty.
You’ve had a lot of time to reflect on why Souda has suddenly changed, and had come to one, heart wrenching conclusion.
He had been alone for far too long, after you’d shown him what it was like to not be. It was different, being alone when you didn’t know what the alternative felt like, compared to when you did. You’d given him hope (false hope?), then ripped it away as soon as he gained another friend. Looking back on it, you feel stupid. Souda had never ignored you, or pushed you away while he hung out with his new friend. It had only ever been the other boy to make you feel unwanted. And you’d still completely abandoned Souda when he needed someone the most, when he was betrayed and thrown away. It was enough to push anyone off the deep end.
So you feel guilty. It was your fault. Or at least, to some degree your fault.
You aren’t sure what to do.
Your question is answered when you’re paired up for a team project a week later. When you read the list and see ‘黒川 ~ 左右田’ [Kurokawa ~ Souda] as one of the pairs, your heart starts pounding in your chest. The flutters in your chest weren’t happy flutters. They were sharp, and nervous, and made you nauseous with anxiety. You felt somewhere in your stomach and your gut that this project would be the key to being friends with Souda again. If he was willing to forgive you for leaving him with no warning, that was. You really were the worst.
“Guess we’re partners, huh?” Souda sits next to you while you keep your eyes trained on your notebook. It was hard to look at him when his pink hair and eyes were just reminders of what a horrible person you were to your only friend.
“...Yeah.”
“What’s with the long face? We’re friends again now.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, I’m cool enough now, right? So you don’t want to ignore me anymore, right?”
You look up from your notebook, and one look at his face makes you suddenly so entirely aware of how fragile he is right now. “I want to be your friend again, Souda-kun.” Your words are measured and careful.
“Of course! I’m glad you-”
“-But not because of what you did to your hair, or your eyes.” You flick your eyes away from his surprised expression, anxiety boiling your stomach alive. “I’ve… I've missed you. Souda-kun.”
“What do you mean?” He looks entirely lost, like you’ve started speaking rapid fire English straight to his face.
“I’m sorry.” You ignore the slight stinging in the corners of your eyes when you look down at your desk. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I was so lame, I was dragging you down with me. But hey, I’m better now, right? You can totally be my best friend, again. I’ll even stop those guys from bullying you, if you-”
“Stop it, Souda-kun.” You bring your sweater sleeve up to cover your eyes. You refused to cry in the middle of Chemistry class. Most groups were focused on themselves, but you wouldn’t be shocked if a couple people were watching your conversation intently. “Please.”
He looks like he has no idea what he should be saying. “But- I-”
“You don’t need to do this to yourself to get people to like you.”
“That’s wrong.” Souda draws his eyebrows in.”No one talked to me before, and now they do.”
“I talked to you…” you protest weakly. You know your argument won’t hold up.
“And then you didn’t.” Souda grits his teeth. “And I don’t blame you. Who would want to be friends with a wimp like that?”
You stare down at your hands, fidgeting with your pent up reflexes that were firing off as a reaction to your anxiety. You don’t have the right to say that you would want to be friends with ‘a wimp like that’. You don’t have the right. “Let’s just work on our project.”
Souda nods.
———
“Did you mean it? What you said that one time?”
You look over at him, neglecting your character in Smash Bros. Souda mashes a few buttons and throws it off of the digitized platform. The match ends, and you groan into your pillow. “That was cheating.”
“Sorry.” He navigates the game menu, not looking at you. “Did you?”
“You have to be more specific, Souda-kun.”
“About wanting to be my friend again.”
“You’re in my bedroom playing video games with me. I don’t let not-friends into my room.”
Souda frowns slightly, but doesn’t say anything. The light from your window looks really nice against his pink hair. While you hadn’t been the biggest fan of it before, it was starting to really grow on you. The color played nicely against his skin, and it was still your favorite hue.
There are a few moments of silence as he sets up the next match.
“Do you wanna get into Hope's Peak?” He asks, glancing at you to get you to pick your character.
“Hope’s Peak Academy?”
“Duh.” He rolls his eyes.
“It would be cool, I guess, but I don’t know what I’d get in for.”
“Luck?”
“I dunno.” You had pretty good luck, but you didn’t know if it was good enough to win the drawing. “I bet you could get in as a mechanic.”
“Pfft. No way.”
You drop your controller onto your bed, laying down on your stomach next to him. “Why not? I’ve never seen a kid our age disassemble and reassemble a car engine as quickly as you can.” It really was impressive.
Souda looks flattered. “I’m not that great.” He’s smiling.
“I strongly disagree!” You exclaim, giving him a noogie at the top of his head. He squirms and whines and pushes you away. His roots are starting to show through his hair dye. He’ll probably get it fixed before school on Monday. It confused you to no end that he cared so much about his roots showing, considering he:
1. Wore a beanie to school.
2. Wasn’t fooling anyone into thinking his natural hair color was pink.
“Well, if you think that about me, then you can’t stop me from thinking that you’re good enough to get into Hope’s Peak too, Kurokawa-san.”
“You have to have a talent to go to talent school, Souda-kun,” you remind him.
“You totally have a talent!”
“Luck doesn’t count.”
“No, no! I mean, like… you’re super fast, right? Someone will throw something at you from behind, and you always somehow know it’s coming! I don’t think anything’s hit you since third grade.”
“Is that a talent, or just reflexes?”
“Why not both?” When you don’t respond, he hums and starts the match. “I hope I get in when the talent scout visits next year. Then I can finally stop pretending to be friends with those jerks.”
Your controller drops out of your hands again from shock. “Pretending?”
Souda pummels your character again. You scramble to grab your controller, but the match is over before you can start defending yourself. “Hm? Yeah. I thought you knew.”
“Souda-kun, stop doing that,” you whine. “That wasn’t a fair fight.”
“Eh? Sorry.” He doesn’t look particularly sorry. “But anyways, those guys are total assholes.”
“Souda-kun!” You shout, mock scandalized. “That was a swear!”
“Well, yeah. I knew that.”
You huff. “Don’t fucking cuss.”
“I’ll fucking cuss if I wanna fucking cuss.”
“Wooow.” You roll your eyes before the fake response finally cracks and you start giggling.
“...I’m glad we’re friends again.” Souda looks at you, and for the briefest moment, as the light from the sun coming in through your window catches against his hair and his eyes, you think that there isn’t a more beautiful person on the entire planet.
Then he turns back to the game, and the moment is over.
———
You’re holding hands as your mom drives you to Hope’s Peak Academy. You were nervous and the car was making Souda feel like he was going to puke, so holding hands felt only natural. It meant nothing, of course. You had been friends since second grade, it was just a self soothing reflex.
Your bags were piled in the back, almost too much luggage for the car to carry. You needed as much as you could take if you were to live on campus for the entirety of your high school career. Souda’s dad declined to drive him to the campus, so after begging and pleading your mom to do it, she finally relented. To be honest, you were glad he was away from his father now. You hoped the unexplained and shrugged away bruises and scrapes would stop appearing on your best friend’s skin now that he was out of the picture.
Sometimes you just wanted to wrap your arms around him and pull him away from everyone that made him feel worthless, or hurt him, or worse. But wouldn’t that imply something about your relationship that just wasn’t there?
You scoot a little closer to Souda.
His hair looks really soft. He had it freshly dyed pink for the new school year, so by all means it should be dry and not at all pleasant to touch. He let you braid it sometimes when you were bored, and you never wanted to let go of it when you were done.
You weren’t falling for your best friend. It just wasn’t happening. You’d always be there for him, and he’d be there for you, but it wasn’t like that. You wanted to know him and spend time with him for the rest of your life, but it wasn’t like that. And yeah, maybe the smell of oil and grease no longer held a negative connotation in your brain (how could it, when it was what your best friend so often smelled like), and yeah, sometimes you helped him re-dye his hair and smelled like bleach for hours afterwards, but you didn’t think about him like that. It wasn’t like it felt like your fingers were burning as they were interlocked with his. It wasn’t like you were extremely aware of each and every place he brushed up against you as the car jostled.
You cough. You been doing that a lot lately. You were probably getting sick, it was that time of the year. You pull your hand away from Souda to bring the crook of your elbow up to your mouth so you can cough freely. Souda glances at you nervously, but doesn’t say anything.
“I’m fine,” you say.
“Okay.”
———
You were over the toilet, coughs wracking your chest. You were coughing like there was something to bring up out of your lungs. You hope it comes out soon, because you’re starting to see blood speckles appear in the toilet water. Maybe you should see a doctor. Tsumiki, from your class, was a nurse. You could talk to her, maybe. Then there was Suzuki from class 75. She was a surgeon. She might know something as well?
With a final, hacking cough, you feel something fly up your throat and flutter out of your mouth. It slowly floats downwards into the toilet as you watch in horror and awe.
A singular, pink petal.
Ever since then, you find yourself coughing up petals nearly every day. They aren’t… painful, per
se, but they feel slimy coming up, and even slimier when they come up covered in congealed blood. You do your research, and decide that you can’t go to Tsumiki or Suzuki. This is a love disease, the rare Hanahaki, and you were alone in this.
You weren’t an idiot. You knew who it was that was making this happen to you. Who else had the bright pink color of your petals decorating them? Who else did you see day in and day out, and who else’s hand did you hold when you were scared, or comfort when they cried, or hug when you needed consoling? Who else had you known for long enough to potentially develop this deadly disease?
You were in love with your best friend. And it was killing you.
You find ways to hide it. You discover that you can cough with your mouth closed and keep the petals that come up in your cheek until you can take them out discreetly. You find times to duck out of class or social events to rush to the bathroom and spit up petals and blood, and cry.
Souda was beginning to notice, you think. You aren’t really sure, but sometimes you catch him watching you when he thinks you aren’t looking, and he looks worried. After classes, he sticks to you like glue, to the point where if he gets any more clingy you’d have no time to cough up petals in the bathroom. You find yourself staying in your dorm room more and more just so you have the privacy you need to cough up petals in your private bathroom.
It gets worse when you think about him. Now that you’ve come to the realization that you love him (you love him) you can’t keep your mind off of him for very long. Whether you’re thinking about his hair or the way he looks after finishing work on his latest mechanical project, or how he looks when he keeps the top of his jumpsuit tied around his waist, arms exposed through his white tank top.
He doesn’t love you. He loved Princess Nevermind, you knew. You weren’t sure how you felt about her. She was gorgeous, sure, with long blonde hair and flawless makeup and a neatly tailored uniform, and she was kind, and she was fluent in so many languages, and she was perfect. Everyone liked Princess Nevermind. You felt like the worst person in the world to dislike her. You don’t hate her, you know you have no real reason to. But when Souda flirted with her and followed her around like a little puppy dog and she blatantly ignored him, you couldn’t help but feel a knot of jealousy and bitterness in your chest. And then you’d puke up flowers.
You wouldn’t even be mad if they dated (heartbroken, yes, but never mad). But the way she ignored him, treated him like less than the dirt underneath her perfect, designer shoe… you couldn’t stand it. So no, you didn’t hate Princess Nevermind. You just resented her for what she had and didn’t appreciate.
Six months into the school year, Komaeda corners you after the dismissal bell rings, trapping you near your desk.
“Good afternoon, Kurokawa-san.” He has a deceptively bright grin on his face, but you’d seen enough of him this year to know that he was actually pretty creepy.
“Afternoon, Komaeda-kun.” You fidget with the straps of your backpack. You needed to get out of this classroom, you could feel the familiar tickle of petals in your chest.
“So,” Komaeda begins, hands outstretched as he speaks. “I couldn’t help but notice your drawn-out illness this school year.”
You grit your teeth. Of course he noticed. Honestly, you weren’t surprised. It was hard to muffle the coughs, and Komaeda was very perceptive. That, and lucky.
“What are you talking about?” You feign ignorance. “I have to go, if you’ll excuse me-”
“-Hold on, please.” He smiles again, moving to block you. “I understand that you don’t want to be in the presence of such a horrid, disgusting piece of scum such as myself for long. Why would you want to be near such a filthy-”
“-Komaeda-kun, please get to the point.” When he got like this, you just had to interrupt him and force him to move on. His obsession with self deprecation was almost fetishistic at this point.
“Ah, yes, sorry. As I was saying, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re sick.” Komaeda looks down at his hands for a split second before looking back at you. “So, I just have one question.”
“Yes?”
“Who is it?”
Your heart stops in your chest. “Who is… what?”
“The one causing the flower growth in your lungs, of course.”
“I- I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do. Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Is it Souda-kun? Ooh, or maybe Tanaka-kun? That would be tragic, he really has a lot of emotional walls up, he can’t really-”
“-I have to go.” You shove past him, clutching your textbook to your chest. “For the last time, I’m not sick. Leave me alone.”
“Whatever you say. I can feel your hope shining from within you. Please take good care of it.”
You leave the class.
That night, you cough up your first whole flower.
———
After that, the disease proceeds much quicker than before. Though it had taken months for your lungs to first produce a bloom, they now come in quick succession. The process of them coming up your throat isn’t painless anymore, stems and stubs of thorns scratching at your throat. Before long, your throat is raw and bleeding, and the pink of the flowers is stained even further with red.
“Kurokawa-san?”
“Eh? Souda-kun? What’s up?”
“Do you think Miss Sonia will like these flowers?” It’s a bouquet of white and gold. The flowers are gorgeous. You don’t know how he afforded them, considering his family’s finances.
You wish he was giving you those flowers. You knew wishing did no good, but you wanted more than anything for him to turn to you and say something like a confession. Anything. It wasn’t even only for the sake of love, anymore. You needed the flowers to stop. You needed them to stop or you’d die. It was the only option if he didn’t feel the same way about you. The idea of getting the removal surgery was unthinkable, horrific. The idea that you could… forget Souda is abhorrent. As much as this hurt, if you had to die, you’d die.
You’d die gladly.
“I’m sure she’ll love them.” She’d better.
After school, you find the flowers in a trash can in the second floor girls’ restroom. Your resentment of Princess Nevermind grows.
You take the flowers out of the trash and keep them in a vase in your room, instead. You justify your actions by telling yourself that Souda probably spent a lot of money on them. It was a shame for them to wither away in the trash can. You hide the flowers in your closet when Souda comes by to watch movies with you or cry his eyes out about Princess Nevermind’s latest rebuff of his affections. He’d lay his head in your lap while you stroked his hair and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible to avoid dislodging a flower from the garden your lungs had become.
Or sometimes it would be a study session, and he’d smile at you and try to remember English grammatical structures even though he was terrible at it, and you’d laugh and correct him and it was happy. And then he’d look down at his book and you’d pretend that you weren’t staring at him. That you weren’t studying the curve of his nose or the way his beanie was slipping downwards over his forehead or the way he whispered to himself as he read.
Then he’d leave and you’d retrieve the vase of flowers from your closet and put them on your nightstand. They were starting to wilt a little at the edges, but you’d just stare at them for a little bit, imagining how you’d feel if they were actually meant for you. Then you’d cough up a flower or three or seven and cry.
It was a winter Monday morning when Princess Nevermind tracks you down to ask you a question.
“You’re in love with Souda-kun, correct?”
You spit out the orange juice you’re currently drinking and wipe your mouth hurriedly. “Wh-what?”
“You are, right?”
You… wanted to deny it. You really did. “...Maybe.”
Princess Nevermind clasps her hands together giddily. “Oh, splendid! I’ll help you!”
You set your juice down on the dining hall table. “You’ll what?”
“Why wouldn’t I help you? You know I don’t feel that way towards him, I think I’m actually making it pretty obvious, really.” She wasn’t wrong. It was just that your best friend, bless his heart, was a bit stubborn and more than a bit slow on the uptake. “I really need him off my back.”
“Why don’t you just tell him straight up? You usually just ignore him. Souda-kun is the type to need to hear things directly.” You trace the rim of your cup with your finger.
“Why don’t you?”
That was… a decent question.
“You know why!” You exclaim quietly, trying not to gather the attention of the tables near you two.
“He tried to give me lilies last month,” Princess Nevermind frowns. “I’m allergic to lilies.”
The lilies that were now in your bedroom. The gorgeous, white and yellow lilies. That she threw in the trash. Your frown hardens a little further. “You could have told him, instead of throwing them in the trash.”
“How’d you know I threw them in the trash?”
“A hunch.”
Princess Nevermind frowns. “I tried. He was like a hyperactive puppy. They were in my hands and he was gone before I could sneeze.” She blinks. “Anyway, we’re getting off topic. I can help set you up with Souda-kun, if you want.”
It was an attractive offer. “What would you do?”
Princess Nevermind shrugs. “Nothing big. Suggestions, steering him in your direction. He already clings to you like a koala to its mother, when he’s not following me around. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was already in love with you, and just didn’t know it.”
“He only sees me as a friend,” you state firmly. That, you were sure of.
Princess Nevermind sighs. “Look, if you won’t allow me to help you, please help me. I’m sure you don’t like it when he flirts with me, either.”
“...Fine.”
“Do we have a deal?” Princess Nevermind extends her perfectly manicured hand. “From one foreigner to another?”
You grab her hand, and shake it. “From one foreigner to another.”
Princess Nevermind’s influence works almost overnight. You see Souda in between classes, when you walk to the dining hall, when class ends, nearly all day. You aren’t complaining, even if it meant that the now constant pain in your chest would increase while he was there. Morbidly, you wonder if he’d freak out if you presented him with one of the full roses you were coughing up, stem and all. You’d wash it first, probably.
“Kurokawa-san.”
“Princess Nevermind?”
“You have a date with Souda-kun.”
“I’m sorry, I have a what?”
———
Princess Nevermind’s plan was almost cruel, in a way. She made plans with Souda for the three of you to go to lunch. Then she’d bail out, claim she caught the flu, and leave you two to eat. Why you couldn’t just ask your own friend out to lunch was beyond you, but she was very insistent of her plan.
“-Then he’ll fall in love with you, and this whole ordeal will be over!” She finishes dramatically. “And if he doesn’t, no big deal. We can try again another time!”
No big deal for her, maybe. For you… your breath was growing shallower. Sometimes you couldn’t make it to the toilet before you starting coughing up pink roses, and had to gather them by hand from the floor. You’d read about this stage. It was next to last. The final stage was death. If nothing changed, you’d grow weaker and weaker until you couldn’t even leave your bed. You’d stop breathing, and asphyxiate on the vines and petals and thorns growing around your lungs.
You’d die, thinking of Souda. And you’d prefer it to the alternative, forgetting him. If you had to live without remembering Souda, you weren’t sure you’d even consider it living from your current perspective. He was your best friend. Your childhood friend. You’d lose so much of your life if you forgot him. And you’d lose Souda.
“Where’s Miss Sonia?”
“She said she had the flu.” You turn your phone to show him the text message she sent you, as part of the plan. You felt sort of bad about lying to Souda.
Souda narrows his eyes at you. “Since when do you talk to Miss Sonia?”
“Princess Nevermind gave me her phone number when she invited me here,” you say, shrugging.
“Huh. Shame she couldn’t make it.” It’s almost startling how easily he believes you. You feel even guiltier. “Oh, well! Guess we’ll have to have fun without her, huh?”
You smile. “Yeah.”
When he smiles back, your heart does a cartwheel in your chest. You still remember the first time you saw his filed down teeth. That was three years ago. You’d called him a shark. Now, they’ve grown on you, like all his other modifications to himself. You couldn’t imagine him going back to his natural hair anymore. Not that you’d try and stop him, it was just weird to think about.
You feel a burning in your throat, the prickling of leaves brushing up against your esophagus. You can’t cough, not here.
“I’ve gotta go use the restroom real quick.”
Souda nods, and you go. After you spend a good ten minutes hacking up flowers, then another solid five in front of the mirror making sure there wasn’t any blood evidence, you come back to the table.
“That took a while,” Souda comments. “Didja fall in?~” He teases, poking at his food.
You laugh. “No, Souda-kun.”
He frowns. “Your breath smells funny.”
“You can smell my breath from across the table?” That was embarrassing.
Souda’s frown deepens. “Yeah. ‘S like… copper. And flowers? What the hell have you been eating?”
You shrug. “I dunno.” You did know. That copper smell could only be blood.
Souda scowls. “What kind of answer is that?” You shrink back in your chair. He notices your reaction, and softens slightly. “Sorry. It’s just… it kind of smells like blood. And you’re always coughing, and leaving for long periods of time like you just did…”
“Souda-kun…”
“Can you tell me something? Truthfully, please. Are you okay?” There’s an intensity in his face that you haven’t seen on him before. “Because if you’re like… dying, or something, I’d rather know now.”
You want to smile at him and say you’re fine. You want to deny everything straight to his face so he can have peace of mind. You want to lie and say that everything will be alright.
“Souda-kun, I-” Before you can finish your statement, a wracking coughs forces its way out. Your eyes go wide, but there’s nothing you can do as your body forcibly convulses to get out whatever cluster of flowers has made its way up your throat. The white napkin on the table is speckled with blood, now. You bring it up to your mouth to catch what was about to come out.
“Kurokawa-san?!” Souda stands up, rushing over to your side of the table. “Holy shit, holy shit!”
You give one final cough, and your airway clears. You pull the napkin away from your mouth to find three perfect roses on the cloth.
“Flowers?” Souda murmurs. “What kind of fucked up-”
“-It’s Hanahaki Disease.” You bow your head in shame. Your secret was about to come out whether you liked it or not.
“Never heard of it.”
“Well, yeah, it’s… pretty rare. And if it does appear, it’s only in people who have unrequited love. Or believe they do.” You were hoping it was the second one.
“So if everyone who gets it is in love with someone who doesn’t love them back… you…?”
You fold your hands in your lap. There was no point in lying now. “Yes.” You pick up your water glass and swish a mouthful of water in your mouth to clear out the blood. You swallow heavily.
“And how long?”
“Since the beginning of the school year. Actually, a little before, I think.”
“But…” Souda trails off, seemingly putting two and two together. “If it was before, and still happening now, then…”
You grit your teeth, preparing for the worst.
“Kurokawa-san, that doesn’t make sense. I… it’s me, right?” Souda looks down at you, and there’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen from him before. You stay silent, and it’s all the confirmation he needs. “But… you said it was supposed to be unrequited.”
You inhale sharply, eyes wide. Your chest suddenly feels a million times lighter, pain vanished. You think the flowers are gone now.
“Souda-kun?”
“Damn, I thought it was obvious, okay.” Souda grins crookedly.
“But- but you love Princess Nevermind!”
“Hey, ‘love’ is a strong word,” Souda defends himself. “She’s really cute, and she’s like, a princess, and stuff. I think it’s pretty much required that I act infatuated.”
“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” you huff, reaching up to grab his collar. You twist your hand into the fabric, and pull him down to your level. You kiss him. Not exactly the fairytale confession you’d expected, but hey.
It would do.
He takes a moment to process the situation he’s in before he responds in earnest. He’s kneeling down so he can kiss you while you sit in your chair, and your fingers are in his hair, and he has a hand around the back of your neck. It feels like this is the culmination of so many years with Souda. You pull back when you run out of air, panting like you’ve just run a marathon. Your hand is still twisted into the bright yellow fabric of his jumpsuit collar, and your faces are both flushed bright red.
“Your mouth… tastes like blood…” Souda says between gasps for air.
“It won’t for long.” You pull him back in to kiss him again. You’re probably being stared at by everyone else in the restaurant, but you don’t care. As long as you can stay with Souda, you don’t care.
Everything was okay, now.