Maki’s fingers tighten around the bathroom sink as another violent cough rips through her chest. She bites back a groan, willing herself to stay quiet. The last thing she needs is for anyone to hear. When she pulls her hand away from her mouth, the sight makes her stomach churn—crimson hibiscus petals, delicate yet damning, rest in her palm.
She swipes them away hastily, flushing them down the toilet before anyone can notice. Her throat burns, raw from days—no, weeks—of this happening, but she refuses to acknowledge it. Hanahaki disease only blooms in the hearts of the unrequited, and Maki has never believed in weakness.
Especially not when it comes to Nobara.
——
It started slow, barely a tickle in her throat, a tightness in her chest she could pass off as stress. She told herself it was nothing. She told herself it would go away.
But then Nobara smiled at her, bright and oblivious, and another petal found its way onto her pillow that night.
She should have known.
Nobara has always loved hibiscus flowers. She talks about them often—about how her grandmother used to plant them, how she once spent hours pressing their petals into books. The realization makes Maki’s stomach turn. Her body is betraying her in the cruelest way possible.
——
She does everything to hide it. Training until her body aches, suppressing coughs behind clenched teeth, keeping her distance from Nobara under the excuse of exhaustion. It works, for a while.
Until Megumi notices.
“You’re avoiding Nobara,” he states one evening, voice flat but laced with something suspicious. Maki rolls her eyes.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Maki exhales sharply, turning her head to avoid his stare. “I’ve just been busy.”
Megumi doesn’t buy it.
She can feel his eyes on her, weighing her down like lead. He knows her too well. Maki is strong, unyielding, but Megumi has always had a way of seeing past her walls.
And she’s too tired to fight him when he presses, “You’ve been coughing a lot, too.”
Her stomach drops.
“I’m fine.”
“Maki.”
Her hands clench into fists. She wants to keep lying, to push him away, to pretend nothing is wrong. But then another cough racks through her body, sudden and forceful, and this time she can’t stop it.
Megumi’s eyes widen as a vibrant red petal falls from her lips.
Silence.
Then—
“…You have Hanahaki?” His voice is barely above a whisper.
Maki exhales shakily, turning away as she wipes her mouth. “…It’s nothing.”
Megumi’s jaw tightens. “It’s not nothing, Maki.”
She refuses to look at him, refusing to acknowledge the weight of her own feelings.
Because if she does—if she lets herself accept this truth—she’ll have to admit that she loves Nobara.
And that Nobara will never love her back.
——————————
Megumi doesn’t say anything.
Not when he catches Maki pressing a fist to her mouth during training, her body rigid as she swallows back a cough. Not when he notices the slight tremble in her hands after sparring. Not even when he hears her bathroom door shut in the middle of the night, followed by the muffled sound of water running—long enough to cover something else.
He doesn’t say anything. Because he knows Maki.
She’s stubborn. She won’t let him in. Not until she’s barely holding herself together.
So he waits. Watches. And dreads the inevitable.
——
It happens on an afternoon when he and Yuji are walking back to the dorms, talking about nothing in particular.
Then they hear it.
A sharp, hacking cough from Maki’s room, violent and wet.
Megumi freezes.
Yuji blinks. “Was that—”
Another cough, this one more desperate, choked.
Megumi doesn’t hesitate. He moves.
He shoves the door open without thinking, and the sight in front of him makes his stomach drop.
Maki is hunched over on the floor, one hand gripping her chest, the other clawing at the hardwood like she’s trying to ground herself. Her body shakes with each ragged breath, her shoulders heaving.
And there—scattered around her—are dozens of hibiscus petals, soaked in red. Some are whole, some crushed under her trembling fingers. But worst of all, clumped together on the floor in a mess of torn petals and blood, are full flowers.
She’s choking on them.
“Maki!” Yuji rushes forward in panic, dropping to his knees beside her. Megumi follows, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Maki gasps, her eyes squeezed shut as she struggles to breathe. Her fingers claw at her throat, nails digging into her skin. Another choked sound escapes her, and she coughs violently again—more petals falling from her lips, tinged crimson with blood.
Yuji reaches out, unsure if he should touch her. “What—what do we do?” His voice is frantic, scared.
Megumi isn’t much better.
He knew. He knew she was sick, that she was hiding it, but seeing it now—like this—makes everything so much worse.
Maki suddenly lurches forward, coughing up another mouthful of petals, and Yuji catches her before she can collapse. “We need to get help,” he says, panic rising in his voice.
“No.” Maki’s voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. Her fingers tighten around Yuji’s shirt weakly. “No doctors.”
Yuji looks at Megumi in alarm, waiting for him to disagree—but Megumi just swallows hard. He knows why. Hanahaki disease can only be cured one of two ways:
Reciprocation. Or removal.
And Maki isn’t the type to ask for either.
“…Maki,” Megumi says quietly, watching her struggle to breathe, her lips stained red. “You’re going to die.”
Maki exhales shakily, her body slumping against Yuji.
“I know.”
——————————
The room is suffocatingly quiet after Maki’s whispered admission. Yuji swallows hard, panic flickering across his face. “You can’t just—Maki, you can’t just let this kill you.”
Maki’s head is heavy against his shoulder. She exhales slowly, eyes half-lidded. “Not your choice.”
Megumi clenches his fists, anger bubbling in his chest. “So what? You’re just going to waste away until there’s nothing left?”
Maki doesn’t answer.
Yuji grips her arms, voice rising. “You’re really gonna leave us? Leave Nobara?”
That makes her flinch.
She shudders, coughing again, and another handful of petals fall from her lips. Megumi watches them hit the floor, bright red against the dark wood, and something inside him snaps.
“Damn it, Maki!” His voice is sharp, harsher than he means it to be. “Just tell her! You know Nobara—she’s not some heartless idiot. She might—” He stops himself before the words slip out.
Might love you back.
But Maki just shakes her head. “Don’t. Don’t say that.”
Megumi bites back his frustration. He understands, even if he hates it. Maki has always been like this—too strong for her own good, too scared of being vulnerable. The idea of confessing and being turned down, of being pitied or, worse, burdening Nobara with her feelings—it terrifies her more than dying ever could.
But Yuji doesn’t think like that.
“You don’t know how she feels, though!” Yuji insists, gripping her shoulders. “What if she—what if she does like you back? You never even gave her a chance!”
Maki laughs weakly. It’s a hollow, bitter sound. “That’s not how it works.”
Yuji looks like he wants to argue, but Megumi stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “She’s not going to listen,” he says quietly.
Because Maki has already decided.
Yuji’s eyes are glassy with frustration, his hands curling into fists. “So what, we just sit here and do nothing?”
Maki exhales, exhausted. “…Don’t tell her.”
Megumi and Yuji share a glance.
Yuji shakes his head. “Maki—”
“Promise me,” she rasps, looking at Megumi now. Her gaze is heavy, desperate. Pleading.
Megumi’s stomach twists. He knows what she’s asking. Knows she wants to die with this secret buried inside her.
But he also knows he can’t watch her die.
He holds her gaze for a long moment before looking away. “…I won’t tell her.”
Maki’s body relaxes.
Yuji, however, stiffens beside him. “Megumi—”
Megumi meets his eyes, his voice quiet but firm.
I won’t tell her.
But that doesn’t mean you won’t.
Yuji’s eyes widen slightly in understanding, then soften. He nods, barely perceptible.
Maki doesn’t notice. She’s already slipping, the exhaustion weighing her down as she leans more heavily against Yuji.
Megumi stands. “We need to get her in bed.”
Yuji nods, carefully helping Maki up. She doesn’t protest, too weak to fight anymore.
As they lay her down, Megumi watches the petals on the floor, the ones Maki didn’t have the strength to sweep away.
And for the first time, he wonders how much longer she has left.
———————————-
The next morning, Nobara strides toward Maki’s room, a grin on her face.
She has plans—nothing fancy, just dragging Maki out for something other than training. Maybe a trip into town, maybe just lazing around watching stupid videos together. Maki’s been distant lately, and Nobara’s getting sick of it.
She doesn’t bother knocking.
“Maki, get up! We’re—”
The words die in her throat.
The air in the room is thick, suffocating. A sharp, metallic scent lingers in the air, and at first, she doesn’t understand.
Then she sees it.
A trail of red petals, darkened with something else, leading across the floor. Some are whole, vibrant in their shape, while others are crushed, smeared into the wood. There are so many. Too many.
And blood.
Her breath catches in her chest.
Blood stains the floor, soaked into the delicate petals in thick, uneven splatters.
The trail leads to the bathroom.
Nobara’s body moves before her mind can catch up, her feet carrying her forward in a rush.
“Maki?” Her voice is high, thin with panic.
She pushes open the bathroom door.
Maki is slumped against the bathtub, her body curled in on itself, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. One hand clutches weakly at the edge of the tub, the other resting limply on the floor. More petals spill from her lips as her body convulses with another silent cough.
Hibiscus flowers—whole, bloodied, beautiful—are scattered around her.
Nobara’s heart stops.
She drops to her knees beside Maki, hands shaking. “Maki? Maki—what the hell is happening?”
Maki barely stirs.
Her eyes crack open slightly, glazed over with exhaustion and pain. “Nobara…?”
Hearing her voice—weak, broken—sends a sharp pang of fear through Nobara’s chest. She doesn’t understand what’s happening. She doesn’t understand anything.
But she understands that Maki looks like she’s dying.
And she won’t let that happen.
She grabs Maki’s face, forcing her to look at her. “What the hell is going on? What—why—what is this?” She gestures to the mess around them, the blood, the flowers.
Maki doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.
Because in that moment, Nobara’s gaze flickers down—to the petals smeared across Maki’s lips, to the flowers torn apart in her trembling hands, to the blood pooling on the tile.
And then, she sees it.
A single, perfect hibiscus flower resting beside Maki’s knee.
Her favorite flower.
Realization crashes over her like a tidal wave.
Nobara’s breath catches, her vision blurring.
“No,” she whispers, voice breaking. “No, no, no—Maki, you—” She swallows hard, shaking her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Maki exhales shakily, another cough rattling through her chest. A fresh petal falls from her lips.
Nobara stares at it, at the proof laid bare before her, and something inside her shatters.
Maki loves her.
Maki has been dying because she loves her.
And Nobara never saw it.
———————————
Nobara can’t breathe.
Her chest is tight, her hands are shaking, and her mind is screaming at her to do something. But she’s frozen, staring at the bloodied petals, the way Maki trembles with every shallow breath.
She knew something was wrong. Knew Maki had been distant, exhausted, weaker than usual. But this—this—
“How long?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
Maki doesn’t answer.
Nobara grips her shoulders, harder this time. “How long, Maki?”
Maki lets out a slow, rattling breath. “…Does it matter?”
Nobara flinches like she’s been struck.
Does it matter?
The anger hits her first—hot, searing, an instinctive reaction to fear. To grief. “Of course it matters, you idiot! You—” Her voice cracks, and she bites down on the sob rising in her throat. “You’re dying—and you didn’t even tell me?”
Maki exhales shakily, her eyes fluttering shut. “Didn’t want you to know.”
Nobara’s grip tightens. “Well, too bad. I know now.”
Silence.
Nobara’s heart is pounding so loudly in her ears she can barely hear anything else.
Maki finally opens her eyes again, just barely. There’s something soft in her expression now, something tired but—fond. “You’re crying.”
Nobara blinks. Her vision is blurred, her cheeks damp. She hadn’t even realized.
“I don’t—” She shakes her head, voice thick. “I don’t do this, Maki. I don’t cry over people. But you—you stupid, stubborn—” She stops herself with a choked breath.
Maki smiles faintly. “Didn’t want to burden you.”
Burden.
The word sends another wave of emotions crashing over Nobara.
“You love me,” she whispers, the words tasting foreign but right on her tongue. She says it like a realization, a truth spoken into existence.
Maki doesn’t deny it.
Instead, her gaze flickers down—just briefly—to the petals scattered between them. To the proof of everything left unsaid.
Nobara clenches her fists, staring at the mess, at the blood, at her favorite flower.
Her stomach twists violently.
She thought she knew everything about Maki. Thought she understood her better than anyone. But this—this pain, this silent suffering—Nobara had been blind to it.
And now, she might be too late.
Her breath shudders.
Then, before she can think, she moves.
She grabs Maki’s face, tilting it toward her, forcing her to meet her eyes. “You don’t get to die over this.” Her voice is hoarse, desperate. “You don’t get to leave me over something I could’ve stopped.”
Maki’s lips part slightly, but no words come out.
Nobara exhales sharply. “You should’ve told me.”
“…Would it have changed anything?” Maki murmurs.
Nobara stares at her—at her pale lips, the dark circles under her eyes, the blood staining her mouth—and something inside her snaps.
“Yes,” she breathes.
Then she kisses her.
It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s messy, desperate, a collision of emotion and panic and fear of losing something she didn’t even realize she had.
Maki stills beneath her. Nobara can feel the faint hitch in her breath, the way her body tenses in shock.
Then, slowly, Maki melts into it.
Her fingers twitch against the floor, her lips parting slightly, a shudder running through her entire body.
For a moment, nothing exists but this.
Then—Maki coughs.
She jerks away from the kiss, body seizing as another violent tremor wracks through her chest. Nobara’s heart stops.
But when Maki pulls back—when she wipes her mouth with shaking fingers—there are no petals.
Just blood.
Just the remnants of something that once bloomed inside her, now wilting away.
Nobara sucks in a sharp breath.
Maki blinks, dazed. “It—” She swallows hard. “It stopped.”
It stopped.
Nobara stares, wide-eyed, hands trembling against Maki’s face.
Then, with a strangled, breathless laugh, she leans forward and presses her forehead against Maki’s.
“You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.” Her voice is shaky, but there’s something warm, something relieved beneath it.
Maki exhales, unsteady, her lips barely brushing against Nobara’s.
“…Yeah.”
And for the first time in a long time—she breathes without pain.