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The flower girl is Hajime’s niece.
Her eyebrows are scrunched up as she stares at the carpeting, one foot purposefully shifting in front of another. She walks so carefully, so steadily, Hajime can just imagine the “1, 2… 1, 2… 1, 2…” drilled into her mind by now, her mother making her practise at every opportunity. She grabs a fistful of petals every four steps (he counted), her tiny hand only able to fit a couple of petals each time, and scatters them across the floor. Hajime feels sick at the small piles of pink she leaves behind. He didn’t know they were going to use cherry blossoms.
(His room, covered in shades of soft pink and stark red. The smell of iron overwhelms the faint scent of the cherry blossoms. He tastes it in the back of his throat. He feels nauseous again.)
His niece is so focussed on her counting that she doesn’t notice how much faster than the bride she is, who is a dream in white and many steps behind her. Hajime stares at the way the bride glides over the petals; he can’t see her feet but sees the way she leaves the petals crumpled in her wake. Some of the petals have small rips from her heels.
(Today, he can’t move from a corner of the floor in his room. A sudden wave of the most mind-consuming nausea shocks him and he keels over, shaking arms pressed onto the ground as the sound of his retching fills the room, disgusting and wet. He gags, now, feels something stuck at the back of his throat and hurriedly scratches at his tongue, peeling out a sticky pink petal stained with blood. He throws it onto the growing pile beside him.)
By the time Hajime’s niece reaches Tohru’s feet, she is out of petals. She finally looks up, catching Tohru’s eyes, and he breaks out into a brilliant smile. She laughs, then, a small, high, unplanned sound that Hajime catches her mother stiffening at in the corner of his eye. Tohru reaches down to pat Hajime’s niece on her head, whispering, “you did great!”
She presses onto the hand on her head, still beaming. She’s always loved Tohru. Her family had moved to Tokyo before she was born, and whenever she had visited, Tohru would stay over at Hajime’s house the whole time she was in Miyagi. To her, Tohru was family too. It was just the way their families had always been, roots deeply intertwined and inseparable.
She waves bye to Hajime, who is beside Tohru, and goes to stand next to her parents seated in the first row. Hajime acutely feels the hundreds of eyes on him, then, and feels a little embarrassed as he makes a small wave back. Tohru notices his awkwardness almost immediately, and has to cough to suppress a laugh. Hajime sees him wipe away his smile with his sleeve, and has to stop himself from smiling, too.
(The first time this had happened, they were still in high school. Hajime and Tohru yelling at each other in the locker room after practice as usual; Hanamaki and Matsukawa rolling their eyes and moving on to talk about something else between themselves, waiting for the argument to pass as they always do. But this time, Hajime is so engrossed in cussing Tohru out that when Tohru moves to another corner of the locker room -- still yelling -- Hajime doesn’t think twice before moving after him -- and promptly slams his head against one of the open locker doors.
The three of them fall silent, watching Hajime grow red and swear under his breath, his hand cradling the newly-bruised part of his face.
He looks up at Tohru, who immediately bursts into a laugh -- doesn't even try to hold himself back for a second. It’s a full-bellied sound, the kind Tohru put his whole heart into, his body doubled over and shaking, his laugh so loud and keening it is almost a screech.
And as Hanamaki and Matsukawa break out in laughter, too, a beat behind Tohru, Hajime finds himself burning hot, red, and unable to look away from Tohru's shaking figure.
When did it happen?
When did he start finding himself grateful to be one of the only ones who saw this side of Tohru, this laugh of his that is so completely lacking in pretense and so completely Tohru, that makes Hajime feels like he is soaring too?
Hajime has to stop himself from taking a step towards him, and stills the itching smile on his face.
That day, Hajime is completely silent on his way home with Tohru, the back of his throat burning with something he can’t get rid of. He knows that Tohru knows something is wrong.
When they arrive at the door to Hajime's home, Hajime barely registers the way Tohru grips onto his forearm as if to hold him for a moment longer. Hajime doesn’t spare him a glance, shaking him off and rushing inside. He slams the door behind him shut and feels his chest grow tight. He clears his throat, feels the back of it ache. When he coughs, he can't seem to stop, coughing coughing coughing, each one feeling like it's ripping a piece of him out. He presses his palm to his mouth, hard, as if to swallow his throat down.
When he finally stops, finally pulls his hand away, the soft pink petals gathered in his palm stare back, bloody.)
Tohru’s bride is as beautiful as he is, and is a friend of Hajime’s by now. She reaches a hand out and Tohru takes it, gently tugging her to stand facing him. They are mirrored images of soft joy.
Hajime watches them, the ache in his chest already dulled and familiar. His lips tremble and he presses them tight, tight, tight against each other. He makes himself smile, and the gnawing itch and pain at the pit of his stomach is familiar too.
He has already become so used to pressing it down, holding the cherry blossoms inside of him so tightly he can’t breathe, waiting until he is alone before letting it out of him. Usually he has a bag or toilet bowl in front of him -- he knows now. Usually he is bowed over, no strength left in him to support himself, no thoughts able to take hold in his mind other than the unrelenting sting of the flowers as they tear through his throat. If he had had anything to say before the flowers came out of him, he could say nothing by the end of it, the pain in his throat making speaking impossible.
(He thinks of all the times he had to stop himself from touching Tohru, from holding onto him, from smiling too much at something he had said, from saying, “I like it when you laugh,” or, “You look good in that.” He thinks of all the times he had to stop himself from saying, “Stay with me in Miyagi,” or, “Don’t go with her,” or, “I love you.”
Each time had ended with him covered in a whirlwind of pink and red, his body trembling from the pain.)
Suddenly, he feels the scratching throughout his throat, his lungs, his stomach grow deeper and deeper. For the first time, the cherry blossoms feel as though they are reaching inside of him, trying to break him open. His mind grows a little hazy from the pain, the two figures in front of him blinking in and out of focus. He digs his fingernails into his palms, his fists trembling with the effort of keeping himself upright. He presses his lips together, afraid.
He doesn’t know how much time passes, just that his mind begins to cool. He lets out a breath, relieved, and looks over just in time to see Tohru pressing his lips onto hers, still smiling.
He feels it then, the flowers gurgling up his throat and he keeps his lips tightly shut, shaking with the effort. He feels them accumulate into his mouth and push saliva out of the corners of his lips.
The room erupts into cheers at their kiss, and Hajime watches them kiss once more.
He sees it before he knows what’s happening, the pink and red that rush past his lips, feels the pain that sends his legs trembling and brings him onto all fours before his mind can even process what this all means.
He retches and retches and retches, the walls echoing with the wet, horrible sound.
He is left on the floor, panting in the aftermath. The room is silent but he can’t hear it past his own breaths, quickening in his ear. The flowers can’t mean anything else. They know. He knows. Tohru knows.
Hajime keeps his eyes trained on the ground as he stands, unsteadily. He's still shaking. He says, “I’m sorry,” to no one in particular and doesn’t know if anyone calls out after him as he walks, then runs, towards the exit doors. His breaths are loud and heaving.
As Hajime closes the doors behind him, he catches sight of Tohru with his arm outreached, his face pained and full of hurt.
Hajime shuts the doors. He knows this will be the last time they will see each other. He wishes Tohru would laugh instead.