Chapter Text
When Sayaka felt something — something sharp and hard, uncomfortably pressing at the very sides of her lungs — it hadn't taken much time for her to understand her own predicament.
(After all, to be logical meant to dissect the pieces of the situation apart, or vice versa, with relative ease than most.)
So when she finally felt and understood and accepted it, there were only silent tears and muffled cries in the most desolate spaces of Hyakkaou Private Academy's library. At the back of her mind, she imagined Kirari's cool and silky voice, with a slight lilt of mocking to her tone, admonishing, "Wasn't the logical girl, someone endlessly bound by reason and free of desires, expecting this?"
And maybe, not for the first time in her life, Sayaka's rationality failed her. Maybe, when Kirari jumped after her with open arms and an inscrutable smile, Sayaka got it all wrong. When Kirari explained what made her deeply intriguing and fascinating, even if all of Sayaka — boring, calculated, and book-brained Sayaka — showed otherwise, and when Kirari offered her hand along with the position of Student Council Secretary, surrounded by lilies and faced with Sayaka's teary, wide-eyed surprise and reverence, maybe (certainly), Sayaka got it all terribly, desperately wrong.
Somehow, that realization felt far more painful than the petal-ridden coughs brewing at the tip of her throat.
The first couple of days were absolute hell.
Sayaka coughed, coughed, and coughed. The action was throaty, convulsive, and downright tiresome. She swore she could feel her ribs move inches apart whenever it happened. And as if that wasn't enough, there came the petals. The petals, damned as they were, had been heavily intent on blocking her airway in each dry cough she would sporadically experience, though its frequency had transitioned to something more sinister and unforgiving, so often she would aggressively fight the urge to pass out from choking while her face scrunched tight with helpless tears.
And yet, Sayaka couldn't help but stare at the petals flowing down the sink, finding it bizzare that the flowers had consistently come out in different colors — intermingled hues of oranges, purples, and fuschias of the asters — their petals papery and thin. It vaguely reminded Sayaka of flowers that grew resplendent under the strong summer sun.
(If only these petals weren't a hacking symptom of some fatal disease, or a daunting evidence of some unrequited yearning, even Sayaka would come to appreciate its strange beauty and elegance.)
The first couple of days were absolute hell — but what true hell in its glory was hiding it from everyone. Students with cases of Hanahaki Disease weren't particularly unheard of in the Academy. As the Student Council Secretary, Sayaka was all too familiar with their names and upbringing due to the reports she regularly disseminated among the Student Council members. Yes, the Student Council members. She wondered briefly what the reactions of these gambling enthusiasts (addicts, no less) might be if she had told them. If she were to tell that their secretary, Sayaka — tied to her long hours and tight schedules and document trails — had let herself fall so deeply for the enigma that Kirari was, only to suffer the dire consequences in the end, like a gambler that had been foolish enough to challenge the President.
So, it continued and went worse as the hours ticked by: sudden waves of pain had constantly overwhelmed her senses (a feeling that Sayaka would later numbly acquaint herself with), both heart and lungs rendering her in a dull state, tremendously pained by the realization that still lingered on her mind, prodding each encounter with sheer clarity that Kirari — for all of her displays of anything that closely resembled emotions — had never actually loved her back. Perhaps, Sayaka was too convenient and devoted of a pawn for Kirari to just discard away. All the more reason why Sayaka couldn't afford to tell the truth about her situation now, possibly ever.
So, despite and through it all, she remained.
Always there at every whim of her President, however impulsive and thoughtless her decisions were. And Sayaka would continue to work by her side until the time Kirari would deem her useless and insignificant. Until Kirari would dispose of her without so much as a word. Until she would become another faceless figure in the crowd. Until the pain would finally scrape away the last few remaining pieces of her life.
Until then, Sayaka would stay, never (even once) betraying the disease that plagued her lungs.