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“I love you.”
“...I beg your pardon?”
“I love you.” He repeats. “I really do. Over time, I realized how much you mean to me and how happy you make me feel. And I want you to stay with me.”
That’s the way Akito confesses to her, like they’re in the last cliche scene from a romantic movie, with the peaceful atmosphere of a park during spring when cherry blossom is going to bloom and be gone with the wind, when the credits written in bold and with an elegant font are about to show up on the screen. Talking so smoothly and with more affection than he ever had, green eyes filled with hope, letting out his feelings and waiting for her answer.
She doesn’t talk at all at first. She just thinks of the many erroneous things he’s just said. She doesn’t make him happy, she used to make him happy, and that was something she was not aware of until it was too late. He just said that so he can hide the pain he’s facing. As if she doesn’t already know about the actual reason he confessed. And it’s not because his feelings aren’t genuine, because they really are. But just too genuine.
“I’m sorry.”
That’s the only phrase Mafuyu says, in her monotonous voice. She watches as the boy’s expression darkens and looks more uneased. Akito should’ve known where this whole thing was going. Because that’s why he got that annoying, deadly, ugly disease in the first place.
None of them say anything for the next two or three minutes and none of them know what they should add. The air turns tense. This is no longer a cute romantic movie, but a drama where things go from bad to worse.
At some point, Akito tries to speak. He opens his mouth, then quickly covers it when he starts coughing multiple times. The coughs turn louder and more severe, so he has to sustain from her arm. Mafuyu is startled a bit by the action, but she had expected this; that’s why she tries to hold him as firmly as she can so he will not fall. That’s when many stained black lily petals come out between grunts. Some of them fall on the ground as well. He even spits two full flowers.
It’s a disgusting sight, an image one cannot look at without feeling its stomach twist or about to throw up as well, a real ache in the throat and soul for the ill one, unbelievable how it could still be bearable. It’s more devastating when the boy turns his head back at his crush after he finishes spitting out every piece of black lily, with such a hurt expression, showing the pain he can’t escape from unless a miracle happens. A miracle which could happen only in dreams.
“So, now you know.” Akito somehow manages to smile; a small and tired one, after what seems to be a chuckle. His voice has never sounded as weak as it is now.
Mafuyu nods. “I know. I’ve found out about your Hanahaki for a long time.”
His eyes widen. “You knew? Did my sister tell you? She promised to keep it a secret.”
“Your health shouldn't be a secret.” She responds. “Ena was already too worried for you. She wanted me to know about this, especially since I’m the person who caused you the illness.”
She recalls that memory from a few days ago, still vivid in her mind, of a poor older sister who could no longer keep this to herself, and who couldn’t stop herself from sobbing because her brother has fallen in love with someone who can’t return any feelings of that kind of love, which will only kill him.
“Then if you knew...” Akito’s voice fades quickly. He who loved using his voice so much in loud songs on a stage with his partners is now too tired to even speak. It makes her feel bad. But still.
“I’m sorry.” Mafuyu repeats her reply. She knows it will hurt him, but she has no choice. “I don’t think that an I love you, too without sincerity will get you cured. I do care for you and consider you my friend, but I have no romantic interest in you. That’s all.”
“I understand.”
Akito seems to have accepted this rejection. His surprise isn’t gone, but if she did love him, then she would have told him and the Hanahaki would have been long gone. Flowers would have stopped growing.
He tries to talk again, moving his gaze to the floor at the gross vomited petals. “What should I do now? I don’t want to die. And my partners... I can’t sing with them now that I have flowers in my lungs. I’ll suffocate. It’s hard for me to...” He pauses for a second. “To even let out words right now.”
“Do your parents know about your illness?” Mafuyu asks.
“Y-yes. They found out, too.”
“Then they’re very likely to agree with you having a surgery where the flowers in your lungs will be removed. From what I heard, such a surgery is cheaper than people say. Besides, your parents love you very much, and they would absolutely hate seeing you die.”
“I would be fine with having a surgery–” He pauses and brings his hand to his mouth again, ready to vomit other petals. Luckily, they don’t come back, so he just coughs once more, still aware that they're still inside, not letting him breathe. He moves his head a little to look at Mafuyu.
Akito sighs and whispers again. “Fuck it. But if you know about Hanahaki, then you know about the consequences as well. I may no longer have romantic interest in you, but there are high chances I’ll forget you as well. Our friendship matters to me.”
Tears start to gather in the corners of his eyes. It’s the first time Mafuyu sees him on the verge of crying, and that small bad feeling turns into something new. What exactly, pity? This has never happened to her. She’s never seen him so weak and helpless. She wants to comfort him, but how?
The girl can’t help but tell the truth, as honest and maybe lifeless as it may sound, with a softer gaze. “I'm saying this as a friend. I know you don’t want to lose me, but to you your life should matter much more than my identity. I still care for you, don’t worry, and I’ll pray that the surgery will be a success. It’s the only solution, after all. Your life matters to so many people.”
Interesting how she says that, the infamous miss I want to disappear. Of course, she’s changed from her version of over one year ago. They can change, don’t they?
The next thing Mafuyu does, without realizing, is hugging him. She holds Akito tight and lets him drop his head on her shoulder, not caring whether his tears wet her sweater. This moment, the last moment she gets to show him all the affection she could give, to prove she considers him her friend but unfortunately nothing more, is warmer than she expected it to be. Even if the next five words she lets out after being stuck in her throat like the flowers he’s struggling not to spit will bring back the coldness. Even if those words will hurt him, and maybe later, her.
“Forgive me. And forget me.”
The only sounds her ears can capture are the way her fingers press on the keyboard and the clicking with the mouse, Kanade trying to introduce some violin notes in the demo’s instrumental of the new song she’s working on and Mizuki’s laments from the Nightchord call about that cute yet overpriced pink dress with fringes on the hem of the skirt she found at a boutique in Shibuya and the lack of yen on their card.
The only person missing in the call is Ena. She’s actually not been on calls for quite some time. She is online when it’s time to work, sends the artwork for the song covers and MVs in time and asks for anything else that should be added, removed or changed, but doesn’t join the call. In fact, yesterday she was not online at all. She says she has too many important projects for her art classes she has to do until next time, but Mafuyu knows the true reason.
And she knows how hard it is for her, too. They actually had a talk a few days ago at a cafe about Akito’s worsening condition which miraculously did not end up in yells or tears. But Ena’s voice still sounded gloomy, and it almost cracked when she mentioned that he changed his mind about not dying. In the end he decided not to have the surgery in spite of her, her family and his friend’s pleas.
“I never expected him of all people to be such a hopeless romantic.” Mafuyu remembers what her friend said, sighing with a bit of irony and gripping the cup of coffee with her fingers. “He’s really head over heels for you. So head over heels, he’d rather die than lose his feelings or forget you. It’s like a tragic love story, worthy enough to rival Romeo & Juliet in a way.”
“Is there a possibility Hanahaki can also degrade the infected’s mind? Because I can’t believe he would rather die than save his life. I already told Akito his health should be more important. And what about singing? Isn’t that his burning passion? Why would he decide not to sing anymore just for the sake of his love for me, when I already rejected him?”
“I wish I knew. But Akito is now too stubborn to listen, he can’t even think straight. And really sick, too.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that it’s still illogical.”
“There’s nothing else that can be done, Mafuyu. You already know what my brother is to you.”
Then Ena partially changed the subject. She also mentioned how slowly he loses even the power to talk, eat or go to the bathroom, so he’s just spending his time laying on his bed with sheets stained with spit blood, in a bedroom which has never looked that untidy with black lily petals scattered everywhere, waiting for the grim reaper to come and take his soul. He hasn’t gone to school in a long time and still refuses to go to the hospital. His singing partners visited the day before their hangout. She claimed she has never seen them be so devastated; it makes her heart ache even more.
In all seriousness, romantic love is very confusing for Mafuyu. And a disease existing and ruining him simply because of unreciprocated or unconfessed feelings sounds like an idiotic joke.
That Hanahaki is toying with his brain and eating him inside as he keeps thinking about his unrequired love for her with each passing second. Flowers keep infecting his lungs, heart, and throat. Soon everyone will see the bouquet in front of his grave made of black lilies, just like the flowers he must be throwing up in the sink, toilet or trash can once every five minutes. And maybe other flowers known for their deadly significance as well: red poppies, marigolds, chrysanthemums, perhaps some rafflesias. Or maybe not, those parasitic flowers are too large and their scent is also awful. But carnations could be very well welcomed on the other hand-
Mafuyu snaps back to reality when she realizes the flower names she wrote with that pen in her right hand with red gel on that sheet of paper on the desk in front of the laptop. Rafflesia is cut with two straight lines. Black lilies are circled three times.
She doesn't bother to think why she even wrote that when Mizuki notices something and stops talking about expensive clothes from boutiques and outlets. “Oh, Enanan is online!”
Yes, she is indeed. More shockingly but fortunately, she even joins the call, but with the camera and microphone turned off. The only thing appearing is her icon.
K greets her with a warm tone. “We’re happy to have you back! How were the art projects?”
The mic still hasn’t turned on. K receives no response, not even in the chat.
“Uh– Enanan? Are you okay? You’re not usually quiet. You’re not planning to prank us, are you?” Amia chuckles nervously, and Mafuyu can read the growing uneasiness on their face.
“Do you want to talk about it in the sekai?” Kanade tilts her head. “Is there something wrong?”
More like there’s something heartbreaking. Mafuyu realizes what truly happened before Ena opens her camera first, then the microphone. Her school uniform, still unchanged, is wrinkled and with wet stains on the shirt’s sleeves and ribbon. She keeps her arms folded and her gaze downwards, and her eyes are red and puffy. Ena must have cried a lot minutes ago, and now she’s struggling not to burst in tears again.
“It’s about my brother.” The girl’s voice breaks in stutters. “We– I mean, me and mom found him in the bedroom. His eyes were... wide opened and there was blood on the corner of his mouth but he wasn’t... He wasn’t breathing.”
Oh, Akito. You fool of a loverboy.
“He’s dead.” She hiccups. “My brother has just died.”
It’s rare for a murderer to show up at the victim’s funeral. Unless they’re perhaps a close person or family member whose actions were not yet revealed.
Although Akito’s funeral is no scene from a thriller or a mystery novel. And Mafuyu can’t really consider herself a murderer, even if she basically was the cause of the boy’s Hanahaki.
A day after the announcement of his death, she’s invited alongside Kanade, Mizuki and his singing partners as well as some of his schoolmates to Akito’s wake, held an evening before the actual funeral in a ceremony hall. She first places the black and grey envelope with okoden she prepared with her friends on a special counter with other envelopes discreetly, then she greets his parents, telling them her condolences for the loss of their son. Shinei, an artist whose paintings her mother really likes, looks as dull as a canvas painted in monochrome. His wife, a person she will never forget for her kindness, has dark circles under her swollen eyes, a clear sign she stayed awake the whole night before.
“Thank you for coming. You were a good friend of my son.” She murmurs, and Mafuyu simply nods. They both know the real situation though.
Mafuyu remembers very little of the rest of the night. She remembers the Nightchord group hugging Ena tight for minutes as she cried, in an attempt to console her.
Or the monk minding his own business chanting the traditional sutra just like in every funeral.
Or Tenma talking with an unusual, more silent voice about their shenanigans at school, and Kamishiro, Aoyagi and Kusanagi’s bittersweet comments and sad smiles.
Or all the messages of the girls from Miyamasuzaka sending their regards on Ena and Azusawa’s phones. Otori, Mochizuki, Hinomori, Momoi, Hoshino, and so many other girls showing their compassion.
Or Shiraishi confessing to her and Mizuki about how confused and concerned she is now that there are only three members in their team left, and how she can’t believe she lost another person dear to her so early.
Or drinking warm tea as the family and his singing partners tell stories from Akito’s childhood and last years, how he learned how to walk, how he started to fear dogs, his football training, his concerts where he sang and his journey to America.
Okay, maybe she doesn’t remember that little of this night.
But the image of the dead boy laying in the front of the line of people waiting to offer incense is what Mafuyu remembers the most. How his chest doesn’t move, how his ginger hair smells like cinnamon and citrus after being washed and cleaned up this afternoon, his favorite outfit currently wearing, the casket he’s placed in with many other objects to his side like coins, paper sheets filled with lyrics and pancake-flavored candies and photos of him and his closed ones, all the things that brought him so much joy in life. Many black lilies used for decoration are surrounding the casket. The very thing that killed him.
She can’t lie. He looks so peaceful and calm and beautiful, as if he’s just drifted into slumber. Just not for an eternity. It makes one almost impossible to think that such a young boy died of suffocation by flowers.
Mafuyu will get to see his face one last time the next day, at the proper funeral, where more guests like distant relatives or friends and people Akito deeply respected will be there before his cremation, but it will not be the same. It’ll be just a longer and more crowded ceremony with more weeps and sighs, and his casket will probably be closed too soon. Because she’s the last in line, she has all the time now to watch him, until the monk’s sutra ends and the guests have to go home.
She keeps a solemn expression and leans her face closer to his. She bids him farewell, and apologizes for all the pain she caused him.
Fourteen days later, Ena gets the courage to ask Mafuyu to clean up Akito's room with her, since her parents have gone to pay a visit at their family grave and she’s feeling too lonely in that house. Usually the room of the deceased should be left untouched during the mourning period, which lasts about forty-nine days, but the girl said that if she keeps on waiting she’ll probably go insane. She doesn’t have patience. Mafuyu is not that sure that it’s a good idea, but she eventually agrees.
The first time she entered the Shinonome household, it was raining so badly that she spent the night at Ena’s place in spite of her mother’s worries. She could never forget how warm she felt there, at dinner, like she has always belonged there. Now the place is as tranquil, empty and cold as the sekai, as if Akito was the source of the house’s warmth and took it all away with him in the afterlife.
Turns out Ena wasn’t joking about what a disaster Akito’s room was. The bedroom gives the impression of surviving three earthquakes, a typhoon, two crime scenes, an alien invasion and Armageddon. All his jackets, hoodies and shirts are everywhere but in the wardrobe, and some of his shoes, cd players, books and other objects have fallen from their place. The small blood stains on the bed sheets changing its color to a yellowish-brown are still present, and the trash can next to it filled with tissues is overturned. And of course, there’s no corner out here without at least one black lily petal. At least the window is left open for the chilly air to come in so that the room won’t smell terribly.
The girls get down to business. First they gather in a sack all the petals found. They search everywhere, even under the bed or behind the armchair’s cushion and when it seems like there aren’t any flower remains left, they start cleaning up. Ena takes the vacuum and changes the sheets, and Mafuyu puts the objects back in their place and wipes the dust that has settled on them with a rag while listening to her friend’s indications.
The girl is arranging his books, notebooks and journals, when she stumbles upon an agenda opened at what are supposed to be some lyrics for a song he was going to sing on a stage with his partners? Probably? His writing is kinda ugly, with more than three spelling errors and hard to decipher due to the flower and heart doodles above some lyrics, but she does manage to identify a few words. Including her name. That gives her a strange thought.
“Um, Ena?”
“Yea?” She turns off the vacuum to hear her. “What’s up?”
“Did you know your brother used to write love songs about me?”
Curious, Ena sits next to Mafuyu to look closer at the agenda. For the first time today, she smiles. “Well to be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were also his muse. Before his disease, I suspected that he had a sort of crush on you.”
“How so?”
“One night after I finished the sketch of the cover of one of our singles at like four A.M. I went to the kitchen to have a snack before going to bed. That’s when I caught Akito at the table drawing you with nothing but a pen under a very poor light from a lamp. And if I remember correctly, the page where he drew you must be in this agenda, which is right...” She begins to leaf through the pages of the notebook, until she stops at a blue sketch of a girl with dark wavy hair and points at it. “Here.”
Mafuyu takes a closer look at her portrait. Akito’s art style is different compared to his sister’s, but by no means uglier. Her head is moved a bit to the side, with some strands from her bangs falling over her eyes with no shine in them and smaller than in reality, her hair untied, an elegant dress and flower-shaped earrings plus other accessories she does not remember owning, a flower in her left hand with sharp petals and thin stamens, and what seems to be a shadow over half of her face. In the upper left corner the date is written, as well as three words. My black lily.
At least now she knows why black lilies, of all flowers.
“It’s beautiful.” The girl admits. “Now I understand when you said Akito was pretty good at art, too.”
“I know. He didn’t really have as much passion for art as he had for music, but he was pretty good at it.”
Then, Ena glances at her friend. “Do you think it’s fine if we take a look at Akito’s notes and memories?”
“I don’t know.”
“We aren’t invading his privacy if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her friend’s voice is more serious now, when she puts a hand over hers. “Two days before his death, Akito talked to me. Or, whatever, struggled to. He said that I’m allowed to search through all the things he’ll be leaving behind. His biggest secret had already been found out by his closest people, so it didn’t really matter to him anymore.”
Mafuyu would still rather mind her own business than be visited at night by an angry ghost who won’t calm down with just a good talk, but in the end she sighs and lets her turn the pages of the agenda.
The following minutes fly as she and Ena look at Akito’s doodles of hers and other people or things he loved with pens or colorful pencils on paper and other small symbols and small messages on the corners of the pages, or try to read the lyrics he wrote for the songs of his singing group. She recognizes some of them, he used to them once he found out she had the role of lyricist in Nightchord at 25 and wanted to ask her for suggestions or what he could improve. He thanked her every time alongside two vertical dots and a closing bracket.
They also find more notebooks and diaries where the boy narrated all the more interesting or silly events which happened every day, alongside glued photos of him and his friends and family members. For example, that one time Akito got sick from eating ten hot pancakes too quickly. Or when he couldn’t get a bag of chips from a vending machine, so he kicked it and broke it, and he didn’t get the snack he wanted or his money back but luckily neither a fine from the police for destroying properties because he did not get caught.
The girls also find out that he and his singing partners have a sekai just like them that can be accessed through a different Untitled. It resembles a street with vivid colors, shops and a cafe, and there live virtual singers with livelier personalities compared to the ones in the empty sekai. Intriguing, indeed. Mafuyu asks herself how did they react when they learned that Akito died. Had they already known about Hanahaki? Did the sekai suffer any changes?
She finds more pages in which Akito wrote about the times the two met. The first time they saw each other, both with fake smiles, or the day of Shibuya Festa when he sang on that stage so loudly it almost made her ears bleed. And how could she forget when she spent the night at Ena’s place? And then more and more times when they interacted and slowly became friends, either through text messages sent at midnight or unplanned hangouts at bakeries, shops and parks. And from Akito’s perspective, every single time she’s mentioned, there’s a compliment close to her name, a nice thought related to her, or anything positive about her.
She reads all the quotes about her she finds in the journals out loud, not really caring if her friend listens to her or not.
“Reliable. Kind. With a nice and unique eye color. Someone I’d like to talk to more. Pretty. Serious. Skilled at writing lyrics. Someone who needs all the love and support in the world. Smart. She deserves better. I hope she’s doing well. Does she like lilies? I love her smile. Beautiful. Her name is so poetic. I wrote a song about her. I drew her. She's so gorgeous, and so lovely. I think that...”
Mafuyu’s voice fades away, not finishing the last quote. This whole thing slowly overwhelms her.
The girl stares at the notebook, opened at the page where he says directly that he fell in love with her. She wasn’t just a crush. And she isn’t sure at all how she should feel about this.
“He truly did love you.” She hears Ena say in a soft whisper, looking at her with empathy. “His big heart has always been filled with love and passion for all the things he was fond of and all the people he cared about, even if he didn’t show it too much and acted a bit blunt or annoyed, like a little hater. Me and Akito argued a lot, it even escalated to scratches and slaps, but I always knew he cared for me. He was by my side when I felt demotivated and sad, making small acts of service like leaving the last slice of cheesecake for me in the fridge.”
“I saw the way you two talked. He was a good brother to you.”
“I know. And now it feels so weird that I’m an only child again.”
“I'm deeply sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s not even love’s fault. Love has always been something strange and unpredictable, but at the same time so beautiful.” Ena chuckles, but tears already start to gather in the corners of her eyes. Mafuyu lets her place her head on her shoulder and wraps an arm around her.
“I miss him, Mafuyu.” She sighs. “I miss him so, so much.”
She turns the pages a little further, and stops at one with fewer words written, something about how he got the disease, with a black lily petal and three stamens taped at the bottom. Short and straight to the point.
Mafuyu thinks of Ena’s younger brother confessing to her at the park under the cherry tree. How despite having flowers weakening his immunity system and suffocating him in such a slow but painful pace, his gaze was so hopeful. How his face would lit up each time they saw each other. Their late night talks through the phone about school, about friends, family, music, childhood memories, complaints and other things that get him on his nerves, accidental vents, comforting messages and more sweet words when a holiday was around the corner. That warm feeling inside her chest when she’d hear his voice, either ranting about whatever was busying his mind, or singing high and melodious notes, no longer straining and hurting her ears since a while ago.
Maybe she didn’t love him romantically, but she knew he was, just like Ena, Kanade and Mizuki, a friend she almost did not deserve.
“So do I, Ena.” She murmurs. “I miss him, too.”
Days pass, and Mafuyu thinks more and more of him. Like instead of being a ghost who could haunt her, he’s a virus who corrupts her thoughts. She thinks of him when she passes by a shop where warm pancakes with maple syrup, blueberries and whipped cream are served, when she and Mizuki hang out at Weekend Garage to watch a performance from a weirdly-incomplete Vivid Bad Squad, or when she enters a music store with a section for vintage CDs from rappers and other street musicians, making her wonder, even when she’s in the empty sekai, how it would feel like being in his street sekai. It’s simple. Everything comes back to Akito.
Mafuyu is confused whether or not it’s because she misses him, or if it's something more than just that. She hopes not; that’s just ridiculous and meaningless. Having romantic feelings for a dead person? When she made it clear that she didn’t have any romantic feelings for him? Is she turning more insane day by day or what the hell is exactly going on?
That’s what she asks Kanade one evening when they’re eating cup ramen for dinner, breaking the silence once disturbed only by the sound of slurping noodles.
“Is it about Ena’s brother?” She questions, then picks up more noodles with her chopsticks.
“Yes. I don’t understand why, but I can’t get him out of my head. And when that happens, my chest feels both warm and cold.”
“Perhaps you’re just missing him. I mean, I wasn’t that close to Akito, but you two were. He was a good friend, and grieving over a friend is normal.”
“I see. Thanks.”
Kanade smiles at her and continues eating. So does Mafuyu. However, she doesn’t know the reason why she isn’t satisfied with the answer.
She tries to forget about Akito. She goes to the empty sekai for a simple chat with the virtual singers or just for herself, until a certain ginger boy pops in her mind. She remembers without her will how athletic he used to be every time someone mentions sports. In her bed, when she’s looking through some old photos, mostly with school homework or blurry photobombs made by Mizuki out of fun, she's suddenly met with a simple selfie of her and Akito smiling at the camera in a park. She glances at the boy’s face, at his shiny eyes with so much passion in them, at how handsome he actually was–
The girl shuts the phone and almost throws it on the desk next to her bed, then holds tight the pillow as she buries her face in it, feeling the way her cheeks embarrassingly heat up. What did she say? That she had no romantic interest in him?
Oh, life surely wants to fuck with her, doesn’t it?
It does. Because then, it happens.
It’s a normal school day, about a month and a half after Akito’s death, when Mafuyu feels the sudden need to puke during History class. She hasn’t been in shape lately; first her strength and speed isn’t the same as usual, then during Nightchord calls she zones out and almost falls asleep, and now this.
She asks the teacher for permission to go to the bathroom in a worryingly low and serious voice despite using her persona, and as soon as she gets it, she sprints from the classroom to a restroom, slamming her knees on the floor tiles, leaning in while gripping the seat and letting out everything.
When she’s done, one hand goes up to her neck. Mafuyu’s throat is dry. Something is stuck inside and she’s about to choke. But when she looks down at the nasty, abominable liquid she must have spat out, she freezes.
When was the last time she’s ever been this shocked?
Inside the toilet float two stamens and a small black lily petal. Not bleeding, not dirty or anything else. Just the black petal itself.
Karma laughs in her face.
And Mafuyu just laughs back until her eyes start to sting.