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When Shuichi saw that purple daisy sitting daintily in his hand, speckled with pink blood, he knew it was a death sentence.
He knew immediately who it was for. Of course he did. He wasn’t stupid, not when it came to knowing himself at least. Other people were a bit more complicated, but…
The daisy was for his best friend. Kokichi Ouma. Widely known as a liar who was also bad at people. They were an odd match, sure, but they’d known each other for years. They’d never grown apart because, well, there was no reason to. Kokichi was Shuichi’s friend. Shuichi was Kokichi’s friend. Their fates were pretty much intertwined.
Except for one thing. Shuichi had fallen head over heels for Kokichi, and Kokichi didn’t return the feelings. So, Shuichi Saihara was going to die.
Lovesick. How silly he’d thought that saying was. Being in love made you giddy, and excitable, and fluttery.
Or so he’d thought.
Hanahaki only affected about one percent of this generation. There had been an epidemic years ago, when Shuichi was about eight. Shuichi’s aunt fell victim to it. An affair. She’d fallen for another man while sleeping in Shuichi’s uncle’s bed, with Shuichi’s unborn cousin still growing within her.
Shuichi didn’t have an aunt anymore. Or a cousin, for that matter.
For a moment, Shuichi wondered if it was genetic. Then again, that wouldn’t make sense, because he came from his Uncle’s side, not Aunt. It was probably just an idiot thing. Only idiots grew flowers in their lungs.
Shuichi closed his fist over the daisy and felt a sob rush up to his throat. And petals. Those were there too.
Oh, they’d come slowly at first. Just ripped up petals and tiny spots of blood. Nothing Shuichi couldn’t handle. Petals, then flowers, then vines, until they’d coiled completely around his lungs and squeezed his breath away.
Only idiots died of the flowers in their bodies.
Shuichi spat out a Bittersweet flower. That was funny. The name, not the spitting up of flowers. It described Shuichi’s feelings towards his predicament quite well. On one hand, Shuichi was going to die. That wasn’t exactly what you’d call ‘sweet’. On the other, maybe Kokichi would finally get somewhere without Shuichi clinging to him like a lost and weak puppy Kokichi had gotten at the shelter down the road.
He exited the school’s bathroom, which smelled of mildew and sweat, by the way, and ended up going to his dorm. He didn’t need to see Kokichi right now. Not now, or for the rest of today. Or for the rest of tomorrow.
If he was lucky, he’d avoid Kokichi until his death. Unlikely, yes, but not completely impossible. The very least he could do was prevent him from finding out. If Shuichi knew Kokichi as well as he thought he did, he knew Kokichi would internalize his death and live with the guilt.
Who was he kidding? He knew that would happen.
Shuichi locked himself in his dorm and washed the blood off of his hands. The water tainted a deep pink color. He wondered if that was the future look of his saliva.
The petals still sat daintily in his hand. Shuichi always liked daisies, at least before. He saw them as a sign of peace. Now? They were the shackles that would drag him to his end.
Shuichi didn’t like daisies anymore. Only idiots liked flowers when they had gardens in their chests.
He brushed a hand against one of the Bittersweet petals. It was soft. Something about it reminded him of Kokichi. Perhaps it was the color, quite close to the shade of purple dye Kokichi replaced each month. Maybe it was the texture. Kokichi’s skin was rather soft…
Shuichi shook his head. The best thing he could do for himself now was to not think about Kokichi as to try and keep the symptoms at bay. If he was lucky, maybe he could even get the surgery.
That was a mighty funny joke. Shuichi knew that he’d never get that surgery, no, he was too stubborn for that. He loved being in love. At least, when it wouldn’t lead him to a purposeless death, that was.
Only idiots chose to go without the surgery in a hopeless situation.
Shuichi walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Already, he looked absolutely exhausted. Soon, his eyes would fade from their normal color to a shade of dull violet. It was like a soulmate thing. Upon being infected with Hanahaki, your eyes would change into a less colorful version of the product of your love’s eyes.
Only idiots watched their eyes change in the mirror.
Shuichi tugged a petal out of his teeth. He gently stroked it with his thumb and swallowed back the rest of the blood in his throat. He wiped his nose, where he sneezed out a leaf. Yuck.
Shuichi was a wilting garden. Kokichi wouldn’t be watering his flowers anytime soon.
Shuichi was a good student. He was, really. Good grades, perfect attendance record, teacher’s pet.
Until now.
Because of the garden in his chest, he couldn’t risk going to his classes, which he hated, because he loved class. Call him a nerd, but he really enjoyed learning information, and therefore, he loved school.
Yet another thing his lovesickness had stolen away from him.
Shuichi’s stomach ached. He’d woken up this morning with two flowers stuck to his palm. Soon he’d be completely devoured by foliage. The thought made him nauseous.
Shuichi swallowed, his throat closing up in anxiety. What if it was Kokichi who found him? What would he say? What would he think about his best friend of twelve years falling victim to such a stupid disease?
Hanahaki was a disease for idiots.
The mirror reflected a weak person. An idiot. There were deep bags beneath his eyes, eyes that were now a very watered down violet color. His skin was pale with a slight green tint to it. Damn it, Shuichi looked like a bush you’d see on a millionaire’s pristinely cut lawn. Ugh.
Flowers grew freely in his hair. His grown in flower crown could have had the ability to be pretty if it wasn’t stained pink and held to his scalp by dried blood.
Shuichi hacked up a belladonna flower. The sharp angles of it reminded it of Kokichi’s sharp and raw sense of humor…
A begonia flower joined the belladonna flower in his palm. How many of these would decorate his skin before he was strangled to death from the inside? A lot, probably, since they signified ‘dark thoughts’ and Shuichi’s mindset hadn’t exactly been sunshines and rainbows lately.
Shuichi stared down at his phone, looking at the various concerned texts from Kokichi.
Kichi <3
you gud? didnt see u in class 2day,,, r u sick?
They’d started off rather calm, then progressed into panicky spelling errors.
shhsu listn t ome aryou ok im srelall y wroirde dd and i didnt se eyour in myour eorm shusai pleks eansr me
Shuichi sighed and slowly typed out a response. Texting was rather difficult now that it hurt to hold things.
im fine, sorry for not telling you earlier. bit jetlagged. uncle and i have to work a case in the uk :(
He hated lying to Kokichi. It felt wrong and pointless. But maybe he’d fall for it because of how on edge he had seemed? His excuse wasn’t impossible. He’d gone on trips with his Uncle before, after all.
hoh fokk good uh yrhs ill lfrsvyou alne thne
Shit, Shuichi was worrying him now.
Flowers budded on his wrist. Marigolds. What did those mean again? Shuichi had done some research into flowers for the past couple days. Marigolds, marigolds…
… Despair. Right, that was what they meant. It was accurate. Shuichi wasn’t in a good headspace right now, obviously.
A purple hyacinth bloomed on his forearm. He winced in pain. Every time a flower appeared on his skin, he felt its stem settle, felt it make its home and curl uncomfortably beneath his skin.
Shuichi tried pulling them out, but all that led to was agony, crying, and blood spurts. So he didn’t try to pull them out anymore.
Only idiots grew plants on their skin.
Shuichi stumbled around his Uncle’s home like a blind man. His Uncle probably had some medication to help with the flowers. Not to help him stay alive, of course, but to lessen the pain a bit.
He opened the medicinal cabinet. Huh… to Shuichi’s luck (and surprise), there sat a bottle of medicine marked as ‘ Hanahaki disease flower prevention’.
Shuichi was aware of his Uncle being paranoid over the disease. Especially after Shuichi’s aunt died. He just didn’t expect the pills to be out in the open this way.
Then again, Shuichi’s Uncle never was the type to handle grief well. He slept on the couch now, rather than his comfortable bed. He kept the nursery intact. Virtually nothing had changed since his Aunt’s death.
Shuichi pulled the bottle out and quickly read over side effects, what to do if he was allergic, normal things like that. He didn’t care very much. He just wanted relief.
… the bottle reminded him of the times Kokichi had taken care of him when he was sick, and the times Shuichi had done the same for him in return. Hollyhocks popped up and spread across his forearm, and he whimpered in pain.
Soon, this would all end. Soon, the exact flowers he used to admire in the spring would kill him from the inside. Soon, Shuichi would die. Soon, Kokichi Ouma would be an unknowing murderer.
Soon, Shuichi Saihara would lay in his coffin, dead and cold, with a bouquet of dying flowers laid across his chest.
“Hey! Shu! Are you in there?”
Shuichi froze. That wasn’t good. Not at all. If he was lucky, he still had another three days before he was overcome with the marigolds that had grown over his cheeks now. God, the flowers were everywhere. He looked like some disgusting fairytale monster, the kind that was overcome by the protagonist at the very end of the story. What was the moral? Perhaps something about speaking up about feelings.
Shuichi was downright delirious now. He had a horrible fever, his vision was blurry, and his breath was nothing more than ragged gasps. He’d stopped feeling pain whenever flowers grew along his skin a while ago, due to the sheer amount of them.
Shuichi’s Uncle had been trying to take care of him, and Shuichi felt bad about it. He knew his death had the potential to send his Uncle over the edge with grief. There wasn’t anything he could do about it though. So Shuichi let his Uncle hand him icepacks, allowed his Uncle to fret over each flower that appeared on Shuichi’s once smooth skin, permitted his Uncle’s pacing and constant worrying.
Shuichi couldn’t find it in him to care anymore. Of course he felt bad for his Uncle, that was obvious, he loved his Uncle, but he couldn’t exactly comfort him right now. So what was the point in forcing a weak smile and thumbs up? What was the point in making an empty promise about a surgery?
Only idiots fell victim to Hanahaki, and Shuichi Saihara was an idiot.
“Shuichi! Open the door, okay!? I just need to see that you’re alright! I have your homework here!”
Homework? Shuichi didn’t care about homework, his grades would be worthless after this anyway. Couldn’t he live out his last sad days in a bit of comfort?
He heard his Uncle shuffling around upstairs. Dammit, he was finally going to get some sleep, too. No rest for the grieving, he supposed.
A couple begonia flowers crawled up his face. Would they end up in his eyes somehow and make him go blind? Well, it didn’t matter much.
A doctor had come to the house a week ago and told him he had a week left if he didn’t do something, get the surgery or confess. That doctor and his Uncle begged him, pleaded with him to get the surgery, to talk to Kokichi, anything other than giving up. Shuichi denied them, ignored them, tuned them out. He didn’t care anymore.
He heard a clicking sound at the door and would’ve rolled his eyes if he had the energy to. Kokichi never was one to let sleeping dogs lie, so he should have expected this. Maybe Shuichi and his fairytale-monster-esque appearance would scare Kokichi away.
The door swung open with a squeak, and in burst Shuichi’s best friend. He looked terrible. Deep bags hung below his eyes, his hair was a mess, and he looked like he’d been crying lately.
Shuichi closed his dull lavender-grey eyes and felt guilty. If he wasn’t such a pining fool, Kokichi wouldn’t be dealing with this. He should’ve never had to deal with it, should’ve never met Shuichi. That would be better for both of them, probably.
“S-Shuichi! What the fuck - what are you -...”
Kokichi went silent. Shuichi assumed he’d come to the realization. Kokichi had been around when Shuichi’s aunt died, after all. And Kokichi’s father had fallen victim to Hanahaki during the epidemic, a story that took years to get out of Kokichi.
A wave of pity hit him. He’d be the second person Kokichi would lose to Hanahaki. He wondered how much Kokichi would hate flowers after this. Kokichi was never fond of them, but after this, he was positive that flowers would only be a symbol of death to him.
Kokichi’s loafers padded along the wooden floor of the living room, where Shuichi was laying so he could see the TV today. Gently, oh, so gently, a small, warm hand pressed on Shuichi’s forehead, and he just about melted into the couch cushion.
“You aren’t getting the surgery, are you?” Kokichi’s voice was small, so small, as if he was a child asking when his mother would come home from work.
Shuichi kept his eyes closed. It would be bad enough when he died and left Kokichi alone, Kokichi didn’t need to know that he’d caused this. “No.” Shuichi replied, voice raw and weak. “No, I’m not.”
“You’re not confessing, either.” Kokichi knew the answer to that question. Shuichi knew the answer too.
“No.” Shuichi replied. “No, I’m not.” Like a robot, his Uncle had described him one day. Repeating the same phrases in the same weak voice. Shuichi was truly a new level of pathetic. Who was he to leave his best friend alone? Who was he to leave his Uncle alone? Who was he to hurt all of the people he loved like this?
“Shu… “ Kokichi whispered. He seemed like he wanted to say something, and paused. He changed his mind. “How long?”
“Two days.” Shuichi could hear Kokichi sniffle next to him. Pathetic, wasn’t it? He managed to make a known liar, someone oh so good at locking away expressions, cry.
“Can… I stay?” Kokichi’s warm fingers carefully traced his eyebrow and stroked his nose, which had gone mostly untouched so far. “I… I understand if you don’t want me to, but I… I just…”
“You can stay.” Shuichi decided quietly. “Please stay.”
“Okay. I will. I’ll stay, I promise I will.” Kokichi’s voice cracked. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to, okay?”
“Okay.” Shuichi swallowed. He’d been told that spending time around the person you loved would relieve some of the pain, and now he knew they were right.
“Shu…” Kokichi’s voice seemed as raw as Shuichi’s now, as if he harbored flowers in his lungs. “Please…”
“Please what?” Shuichi exhaled through his nose and realized he was dying here. Right here. That was okay. This was a nice place to die. Kokichi’s hands were soft, he liked the way his fingers glided along his undamaged cheek. It smelled like Grape Panta and fresh flowers. Shuichi didn’t like the smell of flowers that much, but it wasn’t a bad smell. It was warm here, with a soft blue blanket tucked up to his chin.
“Please don’t go… Shuichi, please just… please don’t go.”
Wetness dripped on his forehead. It was warm. That was alright.
Shuichi slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurry, but he managed to make out Kokichi in all of his glory. One last, nice image to take to wherever he’d go when he died. That was fine.
“Please…” Kokichi repeated, staring desperately into his eyes. “Please just stay. I can’t lose you yet, p-please Shuichi, I don’t want to say goodbye yet.” Kokichi reached for his hand and squeezed it gently.
Shuichi managed a smile. “I… I love you.”
Shuichi closed his eyes, and he fell asleep forever.
Kokichi was numb as he stared at the open coffin.
Dust still decorated Shuichi’s hair after the flowers there fell apart. That was for the better. Kokichi hated flowers.
Shuichi’s Uncle sat in the back, and the only way to describe the way he looked was empty. His eyes were blank. He wasn’t taking it well at all, but that was to be expected. Kokichi wasn’t taking it well either.
Kokichi stared at Shuichi’s dusty face and slowly traced the dead man’s cheek, the one that had once been adorned with marigolds. There were faint imprints of where the devilish greenery had sprouted there.
“I miss you.” It wasn’t a lie.
“I want you to come back.” Lies were tiring.
“Please come back.” Putting up a mask was tiring.
“Please s-say it’s a dream.” Hiding tears was tiring.
“... I love you.”
Lying had no point anymore.
Kokichi got up and stumbled to the bathroom. He didn’t bother doing anything in there, he just needed a break from the endless talking of previous friends and family. He stared into the mirror. He looked like shit. The eyebags had gotten worse, his hair looked like he’d been shocked by an electric plug.
His eyes were colored a dull grey yellow.
A marigold formed just below his eye.
Flowers didn’t lie.