Archive of Our Own

It wasn't like anything he had experienced before.

Bob Andrews sat back, hands trembling from what he had found. The book he'd found in the library explained everything.

He was no stranger to injuries. In fact, he'd gotten injured alarmingly more than a regular civilian. No doubt thanks to his activities with his amateur detective firm.

But this was no injury. Heck, Bob would probably rather roll down another hill and break his leg again than deal with whatever he just discovered.

From the cold sweats, the sudden aches in his chest, the uncontrollable fits of coughing.

And most importantly—

"Ugh!" He felt it again. Not just a sudden urge to cough, but the need to expel something from deep within his chest.

He made his way to the restroom, as swiftly as he could, thankful that there was no one else in the area at the time.

As soon as he reached the basin, he coughed violently. Bending down, holding the rim of the basin for dear life. Expelling something from his throat.

He looked at the basin, helpless and breathless. Tears welled in his eyes, flowing freely from the pain and realizing what had been happening to him all this time. The floral scent was nauseating despite how pleasant it would be under normal circumstances.

It wasn't blood or anything else that one would expect from the human body. It was something worse. Something that should be impossible.

He had coughed up flower petals.

Hanahaki Disease

花吐き病• (hanahaki-byō)

noun

A disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies.

The term hanahaki comes from the Japanese words hana (花), which means "flower", and hakimasu (吐きます), which means "to throw up".

Rocky Beach, 1972

"You can keep secrets, can you, Bob?"

Bob looked up, his mood not in a better place since that morning in the library, but forced a smile.

"If I couldn't, I wouldn't be here this long."

Pete Crenshaw laughed in response. "Right. What was I even thinking… well, there's something that I need to tell you."

Pete looked at Jupiter Jones, calmly seated in his swivel chair. Bob had an idea of what Pete might say. Didn't make it any easier.

The Headquarters had become their meeting place once again that spring. In the past few years, they had modified the place to suit their growing bodies. It was nothing short of a miracle that their secret place hadn't been discovered by Titus and Mathilda. Jupiter suspected that his uncle and aunt might have found out, but didn't tell them that they did.

Now that they were in their third year of university, the detective firm wasn't as active as it was in their younger years. But they would still have one or two mysterious cases every now and then. And they still liked meeting up in this place whenever they were back in Rocky Beach.

"Jupiter and I are, uhh…"

The athletic youth reached out, his hand finding the First Investigator. Jupiter looked calm, but there was an unmistakable tinge of pink creeping up his cheeks.

Bob felt his heart sink. He had anticipated this and replayed many possible scenarios in his mind, but it was still different when the moment actually happened.

"We are… together."

Pete struggled to continue, but Jupiter gave his hand a squeeze and that was enough.

"I mean, we're all together in this place right now, but I mean... in a… more than friends way… like how Kelly and I used to… umm—"

"Pete and I are going steady," Jupiter reiterated calmly. "I thought that should make it clearer, Bob."

The three of them stared at each other for a moment.

"I know it's unusual," Pete said quickly. "Since we're both guys and all. But you were accepting with Jeffrey so I thought—yeah—"

"Don't worry about that, Pete," Bob replied. "I know how love works. It could happen to anyone at any time and any place."

"Whew," Pete looked like a huge boulder had been lifted off his shoulders. "I knew you'd be accepting, but… you're always with girls, so I thought you'd at least find it a bit odd."

If only you had known.

Bob smiled, a genuine one when he looked at how flustered Pete was—adorable—and Jupiter trying his best not to blush but failing tremendously.

His heart might be bleeding, and something deadly might be growing in his lungs. But seeing his friends happy gave him the strength to overcome those things, at least in front of them.

"I have news as well," Bob said quietly. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a pamphlet he'd seen in the library earlier.

"There's a spring exchange program in Japan for aspiring writers. I called my parents earlier and they are supportive. I submitted my application just before I came here, and… well, the program director said even though it was a last-minute submission, I'm more or less accepted due to our track record with high-profile figures like Mr. Hitchcock and Mr. Sebastian. I can expect the official letter in a few days."

"Wow!" Pete exclaimed, already reading the pamphlet. "I knew you'd make it big, Bob!"

"…It's just an exchange program."

"A prestigious one," Pete pointed out. "It's an exchange event with a top university in Japan... look at all these sponsors! Even Nagasami Jewelry Company is involved. Hey, that name seems familiar?"

"Nagasami…?" Bob seemed to recall something. "Oh, yes! That's the company Taro's dad is working for! Remember he's the chief detective during that vanishing treasure case? Perhaps I should write to Taro and see if he's keen to meet."

"Maybe he can show you around!" Pete said excitedly. "I heard spring in Japan is pretty beautiful. Lucky you."

"So you'll be in Japan for the whole spring quarter, Bob?" Jupiter asked, a hint of concern in his tone.

"Probably not that long," Bob replied. "I might be back slightly before the quarter ends. Say, are you asking because you're thinking who should look after Records and Research while I'm away?"

Jupiter looked sheepish. "While I absolutely factored that in, given the preeminence of your role in assuring our firm's auspicious—"

"Simple English please, Jupe," Pete pleaded.

"You're important, Bob," Jupiter sighed. "But I wasn't just thinking about that. I mean…"

"Oooooh," Pete grinned. "He's saying that he'll miss you when you're gone."

Jupiter's cheeks were pink again, and he looked to the side. "I'm happy that you obtained this opportunity, Bob. Please write. Perhaps call once or twice. I will contribute to the international calling cost."

Bob chuckled. He couldn't hate Jupiter even if he just played a part in dashing his heart to pieces.

He sighed. The exchange program came at the perfect time. As he had read in the article he'd found earlier, time away from the person he loved might help in diminishing his feelings, and thus curing the disease. And since the disease was first discovered in Japan, he might be able to gather more clues there.

Thoughts of absent friends deterred him a bit—this would be the first time he'd be away from Pete and Jupiter for a long time—but Bob also couldn't help feeling excited for his first overseas trip. And Pete was right, he'd read that spring in Japan was beautiful. Bob had a new camera that could take pictures in color—how nice would that be! He'd take pictures of the cherry blossoms, and the wagashi he'd seen in photography books, and the historical sites…

The dull ache in his chest seemed to be dissipating. Good. Maybe this was the first step to recovery. He went to the cabinet and took some papers and an envelope, trying to ignore Pete who was talking about date plans with Jupiter.

He wondered if Taro would be around.

—

Tokyo, 1972

"Bob-san!"

Taro Togati waved, his other hand holding a sign saying "Bob Andrews, Los Angeles"—along with his university name and a "Welcome to Japan" underneath it. Bob had been slightly overwhelmed from navigating through Haneda airport, filled with a murmur of voices in a language he couldn't understand. Signs were mostly in Japanese, with little English beneath them, just enough to make sure that foreigners like Bob wouldn't be completely lost.

Taro had grown taller, about the same height as Bob, with a slightly narrower silhouette. He was wearing a neat button-up and corduroy pants, looking proper yet fashionable. His dark eyes twinkled, and he looked genuinely happy to see Bob. He had exchanged New Year's postcards with Bob, Pete, and Jupiter in the past few years, and was glad of this chance to host one of the investigators in his home country.

"I am honored to receive your letter. Welcome to Tokyo! I hope your flight was alright?"

"It was okay," Bob said, still feeling somewhat dizzy from the turbulence shortly before touching down in Tokyo. "It's good to see you, Taro. Thank you for coming all the way here to pick me up—you didn't need to, really."

"Please," Taro said gently, already taking Bob's carry-on from his hand. "Anything for the investigators who helped my father. I am glad that your university gave you permission to come here earlier than the rest. You shall stay at the Togati main house here in Tokyo, before you join the rest at the university accommodation when the event starts next week. My father insists. All of your needs will be taken care of by us."

"Golly!" Bob remarked. "That's really kind of your father, Taro. I hope I'm not imposing. I have prepared some money to stay in a hotel—I thought I would just meet you when we go sightseeing."

"Save it to buy more souvenirs," Taro said gleefully. "This is nothing. We love hosting visitors. Less hassle with hotel bookings and getting confused about what to eat. More time to enjoy Japan."

"More time to research about Hanahaki," Bob thought. He wondered if Taro knew anything about it. He decided to ask him later, when he wasn't so fatigued from his flight. He had time. Perhaps he should spend the next few days being a tourist.

And a tourist he became.

Tokyo was a different kind of busy compared to Los Angeles. Taro helpfully showed Bob around—one morning they found themselves standing in front of a street vendor, trying a taiyaki, a soft cake shaped like a fish, filled with sweet red bean paste. Bob ate it from the head, while Taro ate it from the tail—playfully saying that the way you eat it revealed something about your personality. There was also okonomiyaki, then takoyaki… Bob wondered if the stall vendors would be keen to open their shops in California.

Another day, Taro led him to a ramen shop near Asakusa after a visit to the Sensōji Temple. He'd listened attentively and taken notes when Taro explained that different regions in Japan had different ramen styles. Tokyo in particular was known for its shoyu ramen—soy sauce broth. It was lighter than pork bone broth or salt-based broth, but still packed a punch.

It was probably the best thing Bob had ever tasted. He wished Pete and Jupiter were here with him.

They also went up the Tokyo Tower. The view from above was breathtaking. Blocks of buildings looked like puzzle pieces, cars and trains looked like ants. Bob tried his best to capture all of it with his camera, though he knew it wouldn't be the same as standing there.

Taro pointed out where Mount Fuji could be seen from the tower on a clear day. Bob strained to see it and thought he had caught its silhouette, but not clear enough for his camera to perfectly capture it. On another side was Tokyo Bay, lively with ships going in and out. Bob had read about the signing of Japan's surrender aboard the USS Missouri which took place there, officiating the end of the Second World War—but it was probably best that Bob didn't mention it to Taro.

At night, the lights at Shibuya and Ginza were mesmerizing. It looked like something out of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?—another book that Bob had recently read. Bob thought Tokyo was a dreamland for any photographer. He couldn't stop taking pictures wherever he went. He'd planned to develop some of the best pictures and send them back home.

The best thing about it all was how Bob's symptoms seemed to phase out. Maybe because Bob felt happy sightseeing in Tokyo. There were only two times where Bob needed to excuse himself to go to the restroom to cough out some petals, and at other times he could pretend that it was pollen allergy. A few times he wanted to tell Taro the truth, but it was such an enjoyable week that he didn't want to ruin it just yet.

Then came the hanami.

"Flower-viewing is a big thing here, Bob-san," Taro said as he set a picnic mat under one of the cherry blossom trees in Ueno Park, after an excursion to the Tokyo National Museum nearby.

It was late afternoon. Taro had purposely chosen this time frame so that he could show Bob the best of both worlds—traditional viewing of the flowers against the blue sky, and observing the majestic view of the cherry blossoms after the sun had set—a practice called yozakura.

"…Hana means 'flower', right?" Bob asked carefully.

"Yes," Taro replied, "and hanami means 'flower-viewing'. You have been learning Japanese?"

"Only some phrases," Bob said. "I wouldn't know what to do without you, Taro. Thank you."

Taro made a gesture with his hand that said "it's nothing".

Bob sat back and took a deep breath. The scent of cherry blossoms didn't feel nauseating to him. He was glad. He thought ever since he'd contracted that mysterious illness, he would never be able to appreciate flower scents again.

Taro had set a spread of traditional Japanese wagashi for them to enjoy. Bob almost felt sorry for eating them as they looked very pretty. Luckily Bob had captured all of it with his camera.

"My favorite is the dango," Taro pointed at the tri-colored sweet rice balls. "And the sakura mochi. Try it."

"Do you eat it with the leaf?" Bob asked, staring at the pink rice cake, enveloped by a leaf.

"Yes. It's cherry blossom leaf. I assure you it's edible," Taro replied with slight amusement in his tone.

"…Okay. You made me eat raw fish yesterday—"

"Sushi."

"—and it was good… but it felt unusual… don't betray me this time, Taro."

Taro chuckled. Bob readied himself and took the sakura mochi. He put it in his mouth and…

"Wow!" Bob exclaimed. "This is really good! The leaf is… salty? And the rice cake is sweet. The sakura flavor is not overwhelming. It's like… like…"

"Like spring in your mouth," Taro finished his sentence, already pouring a cup of sencha from his thermos.

"Exactly," Bob said. "And—oh, thank you for the drink—it's refreshing. What an interesting use of leaves." Bob took a gulp of the sencha and his eyes lit up again. "This tea is perfect with all the snacks we've been having! You're a genius, Taro."

"Oh, please," Taro replied, bashful. "I am just bringing what others would bring for hanami. That's not all, Bob-san… there is another important aspect in hanami tradition."

He brought out an expensive-looking bottle and grinned. "Do you know what this is?"

"Oh!" Bob gaped. "Is it… sake?"

"Bingo!" Taro said happily. "I asked for my father's permission to enjoy this bottle, and he allowed! Just try not to get too drunk, he said."

"Ah," Bob blinked. "But the legal drinking age in the States is twenty-one… I'll only turn twenty-one this December."

"You follow the law of the country you are in, Bob-san," Taro said assuringly. "In Japan it is twenty. I have also checked with the rule book, so we'll be fine. Besides…"

Taro suddenly trailed off. He looked confused.

"Besides… huh. There's something else. Someone once said to me that it would be fine...."

Bob noticed the change. Taro looked like he was lost in thought.

"Taro…?"

"I—" Taro blinked, and it looked like he just returned to the present. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

"Nothing. You looked distraught. You said someone told you that it would be fine? Something about drinking laws in Japan?"

Taro stared for a while, then shook his head. "Must have been nothing important. Now, ready for sake?"

"…Okay."

Bob took a sip of the sake. It was smooth and it warmed his throat. He thought it tasted really nice. But when he wanted to compliment it, he stopped, as Taro was once again showing that faraway look, staring at a sakura manju in his hand.

Bob didn't want to bother him, so he decided to enjoy the sake and cherry blossoms in peace.

That night, Taro said he would be occupied for the next few days. Bob didn't mind. The past few days of sightseeing with Taro had been more than enough, and Bob would like some time to research Hanahaki Disease.

Bob had recognized something. Every time something reminded him of Pete, especially the heartache of not being with him, the symptoms would appear. When he really missed him, he would cough out flower petals. So Bob tried his best to think happy thoughts, distracting himself with the pictures and the upcoming program. What the article back in Rocky Beach lacked though, was how one would contract the disease (it didn't seem to be contagious), and if there was any cure.

So Bob found himself at the university library—one of the biggest archives in Tokyo. He strided with intent. Research was his expertise. There must be a solution to cure him of this mysterious illness!

There was only one young lady at the front desk—probably a university student on a part-time library job, like Bob would do at home.

Bob took out his notebook and pocket Japanese dictionary. "Ano… sumimasen…" he started with a heavy accent. "Watashi no namae wa… Bob Andrews, and… uh…"

The young lady smiled. "How can I help you?"

Bob breathed out in relief. She could speak English. Bob thought he would need at least half an hour just to explain what exactly he was looking for. He regretted not studying more Japanese before coming to the country.

"I am here to do some research," Bob said carefully. "About a disease… I found out about it in the US, but there's limited material there and I thought I could find out about it here. It's called Hanahaki Disease."

Something changed in her expression. A recognition, but also hesitation. She studied him for a moment longer.

"…You are a foreign student?" she asked.

"Yes," Bob said. "Spring exchange program."

She nodded, then she stood, putting the "On Break" sign at the reception desk, and motioned him to follow. "This way, please."

They walked past several rows before she stopped and pulled out a set of materials from a section that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. Older texts, some bound in worn covers.

"This is not commonly requested," she said quietly. "In Japan, it is… sensitive."

Bob frowned slightly. "Sensitive? Because the symptoms are… odd?"

"That, and…" she hesitated. "This illness commonly falls upon… those suffering from forbidden love."

"Forbidden?" Bob raised his eyebrows.

"For example," she continued, checking the hallway as if someone might hear them, "when a man loves another man."

Bob frowned. A familiar ache entered his chest, but this time along with a flash of anger. Was this disease some kind of divine punishment, then?

"My shift will be over in ten minutes," she said. "I can help translate these materials into English for you."

"You would do that?" Bob was touched. "Thank you very much, uhh…" He looked at the nameplate. "Harue-san?"

"Harue is fine," she smiled softly. She gathered the materials she could find and asked Bob to take them to a space in the corner and wait for her.

Bob complied, and while waiting, he flipped through the pages. Despite not understanding the words, some of the diagrams were enough to explain the disease to Bob. An image haunted him—lungs filled with full-grown flowers, so thick that they would have burst out of the chest. The host most likely would have lost his life.

When Harue came to help, Bob also learned that she once lost a friend to this disease, and had another friend who was cured through a special surgery. Bob's heart thumped slightly at this. So there was a cure!

"Are you helping a friend?" Harue asked.

Bob shrugged. "You can say so."

"Please convince your friend to take the surgery," she pleaded. "Many sufferers of this disease choose not to."

"Why?" Bob inquired, surprised.

"Many would rather die, knowing that their love is unrequited. To them, the flower that grew is symbolic of the nobility of their love."

"Huh," Bob blinked. "That's crazy. But if you're cured of the disease, wouldn't it give you a chance to be with the one you love? Or maybe find another person to love."

"Well…"

The bell chimed in the distance, and Harue sighed. "Everything you need to know is in the notes I have made, Bob-san. I have to go to a meeting now. I hope you will excuse me."

"Of course," Bob said. "Thank you, Harue. This is very helpful."

Harue bowed slightly, and turned to leave. But before she made her way, she turned to Bob once again. "Please convince your friend to take the surgery. Life is precious."

Bob nodded and smiled. And just like that, Harue went away. Bob wondered about what about the surgery would cause the sufferers to resist it so much.

After studying through the materials in the next few days, Bob found out why. He couldn't believe it. He read that paragraph again, as if it would show him a different result.

The surgery would remove the lethal flowers and their seeds, leaving the body immune to future infections.

But in removing these, feelings for the person one loves will also disappear. Often this is paired with a loss of memory of that person altogether.

There is also a slight chance that the cured would not be able to love anyone else in the future.

Bob had to hold himself from throwing the books to the ground. His fists were curled, and he was trembling all over. There was a cure, but he might forget about Pete altogether?

Tears started to well in his eyes. Not just out of grief, but also anger. He was livid. Was it so wrong to love a person?

But he didn't have time to dwell on it as he heard noises. He became alert at once, blinking back his hot tears.

Bob opened the door to his room and strained to hear better. The noise seemed to come from Taro's father's study.

It was Taro and his father, speaking. But it wasn't a calm exchange. Bob didn't understand any Japanese, but he knew enough to deduce that it was an argument. Bob gulped. Taro and his father had been the most welcoming, and they had a good relationship. What could they be arguing about?

After a few seconds of silence, there was a sound of a sliding door being opened harshly.

Bob stepped out of his room just as Taro passed the hallway.

Taro looked distraught, angry, upset, but there was also hurt in his glassy eyes.

"Sorry to disturb you," Taro said immediately when he saw Bob. "Family matters."

Bob didn't have time to say anything when Taro gave a small bow of apology and moved past him toward the entrance.

He stood there, feeling bad for Taro. Then he stepped aside and felt something brush against his foot.

He looked down and saw a photograph. He picked it up.

Two boys, wearing black gakuran with a flower pinned on their chests. Taro was one of them, smiling softly. The other boy was taller and looked athletic. He smiled brightly and had one arm over Taro's shoulder. Something about this boy reminded Bob of Pete.

A short phrase in Japanese was written on the back. After a moment of translating with his pocket dictionary, Bob could decipher that it said: Ryuu and Taro, High School Graduation.

Bob stared at it for a moment longer than he intended. He told himself that he would return the photograph to Taro as soon as he could.

The days that followed proved to be difficult for Bob to keep his promise.

The exchange program moved quickly, and days began to blur. Both Bob and Taro were tremendously busy, and they hadn't spoken properly since the night at the house.

Bob had moved to the student accommodation, so it was tough to catch Taro. He saw him sometimes at a distance—luckily Taro was one of the committee members for this program—but the schedules were too packed, especially those first two weeks.

So Bob told himself to focus on the program first. It was a privilege, after all, to be in the presence of the best and brightest writers and to learn from another culture.

One day it was a masterclass on creative writing.

Sunlight came through tall windows, catching dust in the air as the students shifted in their seats.

The guest lecturer was a famous Japanese author, known for his novels on tragic love stories.

Bob felt an ache once he knew that. Tragic love stories weren't something he wanted to think about at that moment.

"Please write a short fictional narrative on this theme," the lecturer said, writing on the chalkboard.

Bonds of Love

"Feel free to interpret it as you wish," he then said. "It could be romantic, it could be familial. It could be a happy story, or it could be tragic. Then we'll exchange papers and we'll give feedback on each other based on the principles we have learned earlier."

Bob stared at the words on the board. His fingers tightened slightly around his pen.

He had tried his best not to think about it. But now, everything came to him like a strong tidal wave.

Pete, laughing too loudly at a lame joke. Pete, dragging him out for diving lessons, which Bob had to admit he liked in the end. Pete, steady and warm, and always there.

Bob took a shaky breath. He thought of the way Pete would throw an arm around his shoulders like it was nothing. And the way Pete would look at Jupiter longingly.

Jealousy? Was that what Bob was feeling?

Maybe.

But when Bob saw how much Jupiter made Pete happy, and how Jupiter would show that sudden, rare smile that would only appear because of Pete—Bob couldn't bear being in their way.

He wanted Pete. But he wanted Pete to be happy. He also wanted Jupiter to be happy. He should be happy seeing his best friends finding happiness with each other.

So why did it feel like someone was twisting a knife inside his chest whenever he imagined Pete smiling softly at Jupiter?

Bob tried to blink back his tears. Write something, darn it. He couldn't possibly break down in public!

But the feeling didn't go away.

The dull ache in his chest suddenly grew sharper. Bob's breath hitched. He pressed a hand lightly against his mouth.

Not here, please.

He stood up abruptly.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice more choked than intended.

The lecturer barely glanced up as Bob slipped out of the room.

Bob walked quickly at first, then almost ran—by the time he reached the restroom, his breathing had already become uneven.

He barely made it to the sink.

A sharp, tearing string of coughs forced its way out of Bob's throat. He doubled over, gripping the edge of the basin.

More petals burst out of him, more than they ever had. Bob stared, his vision blurring. He could faintly see a thin streak of red.

Bob froze. Blood-stained flower petals. For a moment, he couldn't move.

The sickness was getting worse. A cold wave of fear settled over him.

I'm running out of time.

Bob gripped the sink harder, trying to steady his breathing.

"Bob-san."

Bob flinched. He turned.

Taro stood at the entrance, his expression unreadable. They stared at each other for a few seconds.

Bob straightened instinctively, reaching for the tap. "I'm fine, Taro. Just the pollen allergies."

Taro walked a few steps closer. His gaze dropped to the sink. The petals and the faint trace of red.

"You are at the second stage of the disease," Taro said quietly. "First stage is only coughing out flower petals. Then the petals are stained with blood. The next stage would be when the host is bedridden, coughing petals almost every day and no longer breathing properly. The last stage… is when the flowers shoot out of the chest. Then the whole body will be rapidly growing flowers."

Taro looked at Bob intently. "The surgery can only be done before the disease evolves to the last stage. Once it reaches stage four, the body will quickly shut down and—the host passes away."

Bob gaped. "How…?"

"Haru-chan—I mean the librarian, Harue, is my friend. She told me that a foreign student with blond hair and glasses had been asking about Hanahaki."

Bob let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "I was going to tell you, Taro," he muttered. "But I wanted to find out about it first."

Taro didn't press him on it. "The best thing you can do now is to undergo the surgery. I know the surgeon's contact, and we can book the appointment discreetly. Meanwhile, try your best not to think about the person you love."

Taro hesitated. "The ache in your chest usually would appear when you think about that person. When you miss him. Strongest when you think about him not returning your feelings or loving someone else. So… try to distract yourself to slow down the growth."

Bob thought that was interesting. It was a detail that wasn't mentioned in the papers he'd read.

Then the pieces came together. The hesitation at hanami. The missing memory. The photograph. The librarian's friends.

"…You had it, didn't you?" Bob asked.

Taro's eyes flickered.

"That's how you know. Exactly what it feels like," Bob continued. "Harue said one of her friends succumbed to the disease. The other was cured. That friend was you."

"That is not—" Taro began.

Bob reached into his pocket—he'd carry it around, just in case. "I found this," he said, pulling out the photograph.

"On the night you had an argument with your dad," Bob went on. "I wanted to return this to you but I haven't had the chance. My intuition said this is related to this whole case."

"Give that back," Taro said, stepping forward.

"No," Bob took a step back. "I'm sorry, Taro. Not until you tell me the truth."

Taro stopped. The two of them stood there, the distance between them suddenly feeling much larger.

Then Taro exhaled slowly. "Not here."

Bob held his gaze. "Where, then?"

"After the class," Taro said quietly. "Come to the bench under the plum blossom tree in the courtyard. We can talk there."

Bob nodded.

The plum blossom tree wasn't blooming valiantly the way cherry blossoms did that April. Bob had read that plum blossoms would bloom slightly earlier. There were only a few blossoms on the tree, quietly phasing out until it would bloom again next season.

Taro was already seated there, on the bench. Bob sat down quietly. He felt a bit bad for holding the photograph hostage—but he needed to know the truth.

Bob took the photograph out and quietly handed it over. Taro took it, and stared at the photograph.

"That boy," Bob started. "Ryuu?"

"…Yes."

"Was he…?" Bob continued, not wanting to sound too direct to his Japanese friend.

Taro sighed. He gazed at something at the end of the courtyard.

"Apparently he was my best friend."

Bob frowned. "What do you mean, 'apparently'?"

"I have no memory of it. And I found out," Taro said slowly, "that I was in love with him. So the Hanahaki Disease fell upon me."

Bob felt something drop in his chest. "And then the surgery…?"

Taro nodded. "My father arranged for surgery to remove the disease. But I wasn't told of the possible side effect of…"

"…Forgetting the person entirely," Bob stated. "That's why you argued with your dad."

Taro nodded again. "During our hanami, memories flashed upon my mind when we talked about the Japanese law… and when I saw the sakura manju."

He sighed, then continued. "I investigated in the few days that followed… and I found records of my surgery, and everything about its side effects. Father relented when I showed him what I had found. There was also my old diary, where I wrote about… my love for Ryuu. And… I also found out that Ryuu is a law student now." He chuckled. "We probably talked a lot about it."

Taro looked at Bob and smiled ruefully. "The clearest thing I remember is that he liked sakura manju."

Bob looked away. It was a lot of information. But also too sad. Imagine knowing someone your whole life and then your memories of that person were reduced into one thing?

"…You were cured, then? By the surgery."

"Yes. I was at early stage three, so my memories about it were all over the place. I was bedridden, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed, with my father sitting beside me."

"…It must be difficult for you then? To forgive your dad?"

"Oh, no. I have forgiven him. In fact, I agree with him."

Bob raised an eyebrow.

Taro looked resolute. "I was furious at first… but I had to be sensible. I found out that Ryuu has a fiancée, and he loves her dearly. Who am I to get in the way of his happiness?"

"But wouldn't Ryuu also be sad that his best friend forgot him?" Bob pressed.

"I found out from my father that it was also what Ryuu wanted. He knew about my illness and… my feelings for him. He is aware that I might forget him, and my father said he was sorrowful. But he wanted me to live."

Taro gazed at Bob again. "He is a true friend. To me, that is more than enough."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"So… are you going to talk to Ryuu again? Renew your friendship?" Bob asked.

"…I am not sure as of now, Bob-san. I went to see Ryuu from afar, the other day. My heart… didn't feel anything."

He took a deep breath. "It wasn't pain, but also not happiness. I can't quite describe it. Perhaps it is best that we stay like this for now."

Bob didn't know what to say to that. He looked at the falling plum blossom petals. Everything about Pete… disappears?

"What caused this sickness in the first place?" Bob muttered. "Some kind of virus? Bacteria? But I've read that it's not contagious."

Taro shook his head. "Even the scientist who discovered this disease didn't know, Bob-san…"

Bob sat back, feeling very tired all of a sudden. He wished for a long, good sleep. If possible, to wake up with the disease gone. Alas, one could dream.

"I can help you," Taro said after a moment. "If you decide to proceed with the surgery. As I have told you before."

Bob looked troubled. "If I lose my memories…?"

"I would explain to your friends and family that you were involved in an accident while you were here. It would not be difficult."

Bob let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Amnesia where only specific memories about one person are wiped?"

Taro sighed. "Medical anomalies happen all the time."

Bob looked down at his hands. "…I've had amnesia before. It wasn't—" He searched for the right words. "It wasn't pleasant. Like I was losing myself. I don't want to feel that way again. And for the rest of my life, at that."

Taro considered what he said carefully.

"But you will live."

The words settled between them. Bob swallowed. He tried to imagine it. Seeing Pete and feeling empty. Having to re-learn about Pete—more than a decade's worth of memories gone. And possibly not being able to love anyone else in the future.

Bob knew that some people could be content to live that way. Perhaps many were genuinely happy. But for Bob—it was a big part of him that he couldn't imagine losing.

He huffed softly, shaking his head. "Jupiter would find out the truth."

Taro's lips curved just slightly. "And Jupiter-san would agree that he would rather you live."

Bob didn't respond. Taro was probably right. Jupiter would choose logic, wouldn't he?

But it wasn't fair. Jupiter got to be logical and be with the person he loved at the same time.

Bob looked at the fallen petals. His vision was suddenly blurry.

"Let—" he said with a shaky voice. "Let me think about it, please…"

Bob looked down, uselessly hiding the tears that overflowed.

Painful. It was painful. It was hopeless. Confusing. Bob didn't know what he should do.

And Taro didn't push him further.

—

Los Angeles, 1972

It felt great to be home.

Warm breeze moved the palm trees, reminding Bob that summer was near. The last three months in Japan flew by, and aside from the intense classes, he had enjoyed taking a lot of beautiful photographs that he couldn't wait to develop and compile into a big album.

Bob adjusted the strap of his bag as he stepped out of the terminal. He took a deep breath, enjoying the moment.

Then a faint itch stirred across his chest.

Bob stilled. It wasn't painful. Just a persistent sensation, reminding him that something was healing beneath his skin. He resisted the urge to scratch it—the doctor said it would hinder the recovery.

So he stepped forward, scanning the small crowd gathered outside the arrival area.

"Bob!"

He looked up. There was Jupiter Jones, wearing his signature floral shirt, standing a little straighter than everyone else, eyes sharp and searching even in a crowd like this.

As Bob walked closer, he noticed someone else next to Jupiter. He had dark brown hair, and warm eyes that could look green or brown under different lighting—Bob decided it was amber—and a cheerful, sunny smile.

"Hey, Bob!" he exclaimed. "Gosh, when your letter said you've had an accident, we were scared out of our wits!"

"You were scared out of your wits," Jupiter replied. "I was sensibly concerned."

"Tom-ayy-to, tom-ahh-to," the sunny person laughed, his voice as friendly as his disposition. "What's with the funny face, Bob?"

Bob stared for a few seconds longer.

Then he sighed.

"Are you trying to grow a beard, Pete?"

Pete Crenshaw laughed again. A hearty laugh that Bob had missed. The sound that he foolishly would never let go.

Even if that meant he would die in a few months.

"Had a bet with Jeffrey," Pete shrugged, rubbing his stubble. "The one who could go the longest without shaving would win."

"I have tried to discourage him, Bob," Jupiter said, already moving Bob's luggage to the car. "But when it comes to his fallacious, asinine bets with Jeffrey, even I can't talk him out of it."

"Fall, acid what?" Pete looked incredulous.

"He meant 'stupid', Pete. And 'absurd'. Gosh, how did you manage to translate Jupe without me around?" Bob laughed softly.

"I didn't!" Pete said cheerfully. "I just nodded. Or if I really wanted him to shut up, I would just kiss him and—"

"Enough of that," Jupiter cut in, his ears already red. "Bob, you told us about an accident with stray cats?"

"Oh, yeah," Bob sighed. "Taro has a trained parrot at home. One time it flew out of its cage, and it became a target for stray cats. I saved the parrot, but got attacked by those cats in the process. Golly, were they vicious! I've got scratches on my chest and arms thanks to that."

Pete whistled. "Bob Andrews, bravely facing wild animals with the courage of a lion."

"I am glad you're alright, Bob," Jupiter said sincerely.

Bob looked at his two best friends, then pulled them into a hug.

"I miss you guys," Bob said breathlessly.

"Aww," Pete said. "We miss you too, fella."

"Mmm," Jupiter said. "What he said."

Bob laughed. He didn't want to think about his disease. At this moment, having their unchanging friendship was everything he could ask for.

Days went by like a blur. Bob was glad to be home, but he couldn't completely ignore the growing illness in his lungs—breathing had become more difficult, increasingly painful.

The coughing had become more regular. As the months went by, almost daily.

At the same time, he got better at hiding it. He'd also found out, through the research and his own experiment, that the disease never showed itself in front of Pete. So he was careful.

He would make sure that when he met Jupiter, it would only be when Pete was also around. Most of the time, anyway. He was sure that if the symptoms occurred in front of Jupiter alone, he would be discovered very soon.

Jupiter had already asked him, once, about how pale he looked after Bob returned from the restroom. Bob said it was probably the stress of their final year. Jupiter said nothing more.

Then something that astonished both Bob and Pete happened.

Jupiter had been working on a fantastic final year thesis—gaining praises across the faculty—and whatever they said seemed to boost his ego beyond what Bob and Pete had ever seen.

They had known Jupiter long enough to know that he was not a humble person by nature. He needed to prove himself and wanted to be taken seriously. He was stubborn and would outvote them to prove a point.

But he was never seriously haughty. Jupiter was compassionate and had the heart to help people, although he might not look it on the surface.

This time though, Bob and Pete wondered if all of those praises had really gotten to his head. Pete suffered from this change the most. He had started to criticize every little thing, even the way Pete joked and the way he dressed.

"You should review your circle of friends, Pete," Jupiter said one day, flipping through his thesis with an air of superiority. "We're starting our final year now. Shouldn't you focus on networking with people who are more worthy?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pete looked up, brow furrowed. "What do you mean—'worthy'?"

"You spend too much time with your basketball and surf meet-ups," Jupiter continued, not even looking up to meet Pete's gaze. "Some of them are struggling to even maintain a sad average in their coursework."

"Well at least they're not letting stupid awards and praises get to their heads!" Pete snapped. "What's gotten into you? You've never talked like this before."

Jupiter finally looked up. "Stupid? Is that what you really think? Let me tell you something. Those 'stupid awards and praises' resulted in me getting invited to present at a symposium next month. The keynote speaker specifically requested to meet me. And if I do well—which I will—you're looking at the next scholarship recipient for that prestigious Master's program on the East Coast."

"This isn't like you, Jupe," Bob said quietly, his chest filled with ache not just from his disease. "Isn't it Pete's support that enabled you to come this far?"

"Support? You mean every time he whines because 'I don't spend time with him enough', or 'I am becoming too busy to go on dates'?"

Pete flinched. "That's not fair."

"Fair?" Jupiter stood, gathering his papers with sharp, precise movements. "I'll tell you what's not fair. Being held back by people who don't share your ambitions. Some of us have outgrown our childhood friendships."

He walked out of the room without glancing back, leaving Pete staring with hurt confusion.

Bob watched in horror. What was happening?

Two weeks later, Bob found Pete sitting alone on their usual bench near the campus lake, staring at the water with puffy eyes.

"Hey," Bob said softly, sitting beside him. "Haven't seen you much since… that day in the discussion room."

Pete didn't look at him. "Jupiter and I broke up."

Bob's head snapped up. "What?? When?"

"Last night," Pete said, voice hollow. "He said he couldn't be with someone who didn't understand his 'new trajectory'. And he—he said I was holding him back from his 'true potential'."

Pete looked so sorrowful that Bob felt more heartbroken than when he had first heard that Pete and Jupiter were together.

Bob placed a hand on Pete's shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that. That's not the Jupiter we know. Maybe… maybe we just need to talk to him again and he'll realize—"

"Maybe this is who he's become," Pete said, turning to face him, and Bob saw the depth of his pain. "Maybe success changed him. You hear it happen all the time, Bob. My dad always told me stories of sincere, innocent young actors being changed by Hollywood fame. I saw Jupiter change with my own eyes."

Bob wanted to argue, but he knew that wasn't what Pete needed at that moment. Instead he just sat there. Mourning different losses under the same sky.

—

Rocky Beach, 1973

Months had gone by since that confrontation. It was a strange time for Bob. The sharp edges of his grief for the friendship they'd all shared were surprisingly filled by a new, unexpected warmth.

With Jupiter gone, a space had opened up. Bob and Pete naturally spent more time together. They would study together at the library, their shoulders sometimes brushing as they reached for the same book.

Bob would watch Pete's basketball and surf meet-ups, sometimes even joining a game or two when his body felt healthier that day. Pete commented that Jupiter never did that, and he appreciated Bob taking interest in his hobbies.

Another day, Pete would accompany Bob to watch a live band performance. It wasn't Pete's usual genre, but he surprisingly liked it. Bob took a lot of pictures along the way, taking note of how photogenic Pete was, and then they visited a bookstore.

Through it all, Bob waited for the inevitable. He had braced himself for the illness to worsen. He expected to be bedridden by now.

But the opposite happened.

One morning he woke up and realized he'd slept through without waking once to cough out bloody petals. The daily coughing fits began to space out. A week would even pass with only a minor ache in his chest.

Bob felt odd. As far as he was aware, his feelings for Pete hadn't changed one bit. It might even have gotten stronger, with the time they had been spending with each other.

So why…?

Either the sickness miraculously chose to leave his body, or—

Could it be?

Bob shook his head, not wanting to get his own hopes up. It couldn't be. It wasn't even a full year since the breakup.

He decided that perhaps a miracle had happened. He was even considering writing a letter to Taro—maybe spending a lot of time with the one you love was the cure, rather than spending time away from them.

One evening, they were sitting on the hood of Pete's beat-up red MG, parked on the cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The sun was setting, painting the sky in a beautiful, golden hue.

This used to be their hiding place—the three of them. They had found it in their first year of university, and since then whenever they felt the Headquarters was too stuffy, or an investigation had driven them to a wall, they would go here. Just to chat. Or to sit in comfortable silence.

"Remember when we went to Skeleton Island?" Pete asked, a small smile on his lips. "I miss diving. With you, specifically. That was probably the only fun part of that trip. Jupe almost got us killed when he sent us out to check the hidden treasure in the cave."

"He also saved us," Bob said fairly. "And remember that he was down with a cold when he asked us to go. His brain wasn't working as fast. But as soon as he realized that we would be in danger, he went to get the police."

"Hmm," Pete replied, then sighed. "Boy, I miss the old Jupiter. It's not just because of the… breakup. I didn't only lose a partner, you know? I lost one of my best friends. You get it, don't you, Bob?"

"I know what you mean," Bob said.

"Well, at least it doesn't hurt as much when I'm with you," Pete gave Bob a soft smile.

Bob felt his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He looked at the setting sun, grateful that the orange lighting might be covering how pink he'd become.

They stayed there in silence for a moment. Then Bob decided that Pete needed to know the truth. Something gave him the courage.

"Pete," Bob began, his voice barely above a whisper. "There's something I need to tell you. It's part of why I went to Japan."

Pete turned to face him fully, his expression soft with concern. "What is it?"

Bob took a deep breath. "Shortly before I went, I contracted this odd illness. It's called Hanahaki Disease."

Pete's brow furrowed. Bob continued.

"Not many people have heard of this disease," Bob said with a faraway look in his eyes. "At least not here in the States. An article I found said that this sickness was discovered in Japan. So when I heard of the exchange program… I quickly applied. To investigate." He paused. "Maybe even to find a cure."

"What kind of disease?" Pete questioned. "I did notice you looked paler the first time you returned from Japan… slightly thinner too. And you got tired more easily. You said it's just stress from your coursework."

Bob nodded, finding the right words. "It's a condition where… flowers grow in your lungs when you love someone who doesn't love you back. The unrequited feelings literally take root inside you. And you would cough out flower petals. It's unknown how one would get this disease… and it's not contagious. It just happens randomly."

Pete gaped. He almost thought Bob was playing a trick on him, but he looked serious. If it was a joke, Bob would have laughed shortly after. So Pete got over his amazement fast.

"And you found the cure in Japan?"

"No. Well, yes, but…" Bob hesitated. "There's a surgery. I didn't take it because… there's a high chance that it will make me forget the person entirely. I couldn't do that, Pete. I'd rather die with the memory rather than live without it."

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant crash of waves.

"Who was it?" Pete whispered. "Who did you…"

Bob didn't answer with words. He just looked at Pete. And there it was. All the years of quiet longing, the secret pain, the love that had bloomed painful flowers in his lungs.

It was the most vulnerable confession he could ever make.

And Pete understood.

At that moment, his eyes searched Bob's face, not with pity, but with tenderness. He slowly reached out, his fingers brushing against Bob's tentatively.

"And you didn't tell us?" Pete asked, his voice thick with emotion. "I would rather you forget me than you die, Bob! Do you really think we'll be happy if we suddenly find your dead body?"

"I knew you'd say that," Bob answered, eyes glassy now. "That's why I didn't tell you. And Jupe. Also—Taro got the surgery, you see. He was in love with his best friend. And now he has no memory of the boy he loved except that he liked darned sakura manju!"

A tear slipped down Bob's cheek now. He took off his glasses and slipped it into his pocket, angrily wiping his tears.

"…I can't live like that," Bob said after regaining his composure. "Seeing you and feeling numb every time? That's not life."

They stayed silent for a few seconds. A breeze swiped through their hair, and there were faint cries of seagulls somewhere.

Bob was suddenly aware that Pete was holding his hand. He gave it a squeeze.

"Seems that I'm healing now, though?" Bob forced out a grin. "Probably a miracle. Or maybe spending more time with you actually helped. The researchers in Japan thought it could only be cured with the surgery, or if the person you love returns your feelings. Or if you lost your feelings for that person, but… I have to admit that's not the case for me. It's neither of those three, so I guess mine's a special—"

With a sudden move, Pete closed the remaining space between them. The kiss was hesitant at first, a soft press of lips that tasted of salt from the sea air. Faint sweetness of the soda they'd shared earlier. Gentle assurance.

It was a silent answer to Bob's silent confession.

Pete pulled back, his cheeks flushed in the fading light. "Sorry. That was rash, huh?"

Bob stared at him, his mind struggling to catch up.

"I…" Pete started. "I've been falling for you, Bob. Especially with how we've been spending time together. I started to notice things about you and… huh. I found myself wanting to be by your side even for the smallest things."

He looked at Bob, feeling sheepish. "I'm still… I'm still messy from everything with Jupe, but I want to try… if it's you. If you're willing to bear with me. Unless that's too much for you, then—"

This time Bob interrupted Pete with another kiss. More certainty. Bob felt Pete smiling into the kiss and deepened it slightly.

He'd never been happier. The flutter in his chest was no longer pain. But hope and new beginnings.

When they parted, Bob was smiling breathlessly. "Gosh, Pete. I need to breathe, you know? It's been hard for me to breathe in the past few months, and now you're taking my breath away again?"

Pete laughed, the sound carrying over the cliffs. "You take my breath away, Bob Andrews. You're a flower that grows in my chest now."

"That's really corny," Bob remarked, but his eyes were twinkling. "I'm starting to regret this."

"Sure," Pete replied lightly. "But you're the one smiling like an idiot now."

"I strongly recommend a mirror," Bob pointed out. "And a strong dose of reality check."

"Hey now!"

They continued laughing, and talking, and cuddling, and kissing. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared below the horizon, stars began to appear.

For the first time in a long while, Bob's future felt like something to look forward to rather than fear.

Jupiter parked his motorcycle in its usual spot, overlooking the ocean. He had come here often in the recent weeks, seeking solace in the familiar view that had once brought him comfort with his two best friends.

When he spotted Pete's MG approaching in the distance, his heart hammered against his ribs. He quickly guided his bike into the shadowed alcove he'd discovered just weeks ago.

A small, hidden space that even Bob and Pete didn't know existed. From here, he could see without being seen.

He listened as their conversation happened, furrowing his brow and pinching his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. Each word confirmed what he'd already suspected. When Bob confessed about Hanahaki, Jupiter took a shaky breath.

When Pete kissed Bob, Jupiter felt his heart break into pieces. But there was also gladness.

He watched them until they drove away, their taillights disappearing down the road. Only then did he allow himself to smile. A sad, bittersweet expression.

Everything had gone according to his plan.

It had started when Bob returned unnaturally pale from his restroom break. Jupiter had noticed an unusual pattern since Bob returned from Japan. Bob would unconsciously sigh more—like it was difficult to breathe. And Bob would disappear to the restroom often.

So Jupiter waited five minutes before excusing himself and checking the restroom. What he found in the sink made his blood run cold: blood-stained flower petals. Bob had obviously tried to clean most of it, but he'd missed a few.

It didn't take long for Jupiter to figure out that Bob had suffered from an obscure medical phenomenon called Hanahaki Disease. All of the symptoms fell into place.

The long-distance call to Japan confirmed it. Taro had initially refused to share, as Bob had begged him not to.

But Jupiter had always been persuasive.

"Taro," Jupiter had said, his voice stern. "I'm sorry to be rude. But I am asking as someone who knows Bob would rather die than burden his friends with this. Tell me everything you know, or I shall fly to Japan myself and make your life very difficult."

Then Taro relented, confirming everything. Bob's diagnosis, his refusal of surgery, and the final clue—how the coughs wouldn't happen around the person one loves.

Jupiter had noticed that Bob never coughed around Pete, but had once rushed to the restroom when they were alone together.

The answer to the mystery was clear: Bob was in love with Pete.

So Jupiter devised this plan. He would become the villain. He would push Pete away so he could notice Bob, loyal and steadfast. He would sacrifice his own feelings, his reputation, and even his treasured friendship to save Bob's life.

He would do anything to save Bob. Even if it meant shattering his own heart. All he knew was that his lasting affection for Pete would always stand true—even if he would be the only person in the world who knew the truth.

As Jupiter stood in the shadows of the alcove, watching the stars that had decorated the evening sky, a sharp ache pierced his chest.

He coughed into his hand, a quiet sound lost in the sea breeze.

When he opened his palm, he froze.

He had coughed up flower petals.