Chapter Text
“Yashiro’s going to kill you if she finds out you’re the one taking her flowers.”
The breeze shifts, and the loose petals in his hands flutter onto the grass underneath them. Kou’s just hovering beside him, watching his every move as if he’s a little child that needs parental supervision. He’s been like this for the past ten minutes and refuses to leave despite everything Mitsuba’s tried.
“She wouldn’t dare. I’m too cute to die.” Mitsuba hums as he’s spinning the cherry blossoms between his fingers. They’re pretty and pink, just like him. “Besides, how would she know that I’m the one who took them? She’s too busy ogling at a certain perverted toilet ghost to even notice~”
Mitsuba dodges the hand that reaches for his ear.
He half-expects it really, but that doesn’t make him feel any less offended. He’s about to open his mouth, but the stupid hand reaches for him again and flicks him square in the forehead, hard enough that it’s sure to leave a mark.
Behaving has never been one of his strong suits. He can’t help it. It’s too fun messing with Kou - he tugs at his earring and moves just before Kou tries to flick him back. A constant push and pull that feels so natural that it feels like they’ve relived this exact moment a thousand times.
(It’s too easy, falling into a routine like this.)
“You’re not exactly being subtle about it, by the way,” Kou says as he’s finally retracting his hand, admitting defeat. “There’s sharp edges and bald patches everywhere. Good luck trying to pin this on the mokke because she won’t believe you.”
His brief moment of victory sours instantly and Mitsuba scowls. “If you’re such a genius, why don’t you do it for me then?”
“I’m not stealing for you, Mitsuba. No way. Are you out of your mind?”
“Isn’t that why you’ve been watching me like a hawk? To help me?”
“I’m making sure you don’t get into even more trouble than you’re already in. I don’t want to be your accomplice in this - I can’t turn on Yashiro like that.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mitsuba waves his hand dismissively. He completely forgot how much of a simp Kou is at the best of times. “You must be jealous that your beloved Daikon-senpai got ice cream for me and not you.”
“I can get ice cream anytime I want! I’m not a leach like you.” Kou jabs his finger at him, emphasising his words, and it takes everything in Mitsuba to not pummel him into the dirt.
A raven flaps down beside him, and the slight breeze from its wings makes the petals flutter into the air for a moment before dancing back down. It’s not Mitsuba’s fault that these flowers were conveniently planted just outside some windows, or that his boundary is so obnoxiously big and empty. He just knows that it’s not right - the constant feeling of uneasiness shadows over the back of his mind with each turn he takes and each mirror he passes. He can’t shake the feeling of something lurking somewhere he can’t see or reach.
(But it’s nothing but the stupid ghost of a thought.)
He’s not sure how the other school mysteries manage their spaces, but his boundary’s been practically unchanged since he took over as Number 3. He.. still hasn’t quite processed it yet. It’s a title that feels like forcing a puzzle piece in a spot that doesn’t quite fit, so suffocating that it’s like trying to take a deep breath underwater. He vaguely wonders if anyone else feels the same way, or if it’s just him.
“-Did you like it?”
The puzzled look he totally sends in Kou’s direction is clearly enough of an answer for him.
“The ice cream,” Kou clarifies. “You’ve never had it before, right? How was it?”
It’s such a mundane question from someone so painfully human, that it almost makes him laugh.
It’s fine, he can play this role well enough.
“She got me this gross, artificial strawberry flavour,” he grins. “Actual strawberries taste way better.”
He gathers up the flowers in his arms - soft, delicate and not a single sign of decay.
A low ringing in his ears.
The feeling of air rushing in and out of his chest.
A thousand bright lights shining into his eyes.
It’s all so fuzzy that it’s hard to concentrate on one thing. There’s so much happening that it feels like his head is moments away from exploding out onto the reddened floor beneath him.
Something warm grabs his wrists and the sensation makes him instinctively jump. But all the fight in him disappears as his arms are being dangled around like a puppet’s.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t have made this one?” Tsukasa giggles childishly behind him.
Electric blue eyes meet his, but they seem to be looking at something a thousand miles away.
After eating three people’s worth of strawberries, which cause him to promptly get kicked out of the garden by Nene, he finds himself in his familiarly unfamiliar boundary once again.
A hazy, intruding blue glazes the walls, and glowing lights hover aimlessly in the air like fireflies. On the floor below, a group of brightly coloured hands scuttle around, seemingly stuck in a game of tag. It’s the kind of whimsical scene you’d only see in a watercolour painting.
His tentative footsteps echo down the circling halls, and following them is a scattered trail of pink petals. Mitsuba hums as he lodges a branch between a mirror and the wall; luckily with enough fiddling, it decides to stay in place. Time remains unchanging in boundaries, completely oblivious to the world outside. It’s useful for situations like this: even if that original cherry blossom tree dies, a part of it will remain alive here.
Maybe he should do a different type for each floor. He doesn’t really know if there’s a rule for this sort of thing but he continues onwards anyways. Passing the spot he and Kou played card games weeks ago, weaving past the hands with far too much energy, ignoring the shattered remains of a mirror that Tsukasa destroyed when he first arrived. He’s been meaning to clean it up for weeks now, but it always seems to fall to the back of his mind. He’s been putting off the simple task for so long, but it’s not his fault really. Someone as cute as him has way more interesting things to be doing after all.
He pauses. Every time he catches a glance of that, his stomach twists inside out.
The book itself is nothing special. Just some pictures of random people he couldn’t care less about and meaningless scribbles sprawled across the pages. But it’s one of the only things he has of him.
Sousuke.
His name and his pictures from when he was alive.
Mitsuba likes to believe that he knows himself better than anyone else – he’s watched all of the school’s memories of Sousuke countless number of times. He’s seen all the times he put himself out there, aching for something more, someone to acknowledge him. To prove to him that his life meant something.
But all he managed to become was the tragic boy who managed to live and die all alone. So obsessed with how he looked in other people’s eyes, that he forgot to live for himself.
It’s so pitiful, so stupid.
Mitsuba doesn’t know how it feels being that pathetic because he’s way above that. He’s way better than the original boy who shared his soul; so much cuter and likeable than the boy who couldn’t even have the courage to stand up for himself. To like himself. It’s pathetic seeing him try to become someone he wasn’t.
He wishes he knew what was going through Kou’s mind when he handed the stupid book to him, but it’s been so long that it feels embarrassing to bring it up now. What did he expect to happen? For Mitsuba to turn back into the boy who spent that afternoon beside him? To hold his hand and tell him it was just a stupid dream? That they could have their happily ever after together?
He chuckles but it’s like something inside of him breaks.
A violent hack involuntarily rips through him, burning the sides of his throat as something tries to dislodge itself from within him. Each desperate breath he takes is only followed by the horrible sound of rattling. The world loosens its grip on him as he’s curling over with his hand over his mouth, trying anything to mask terrifying and unstoppable sounds crawling out of his mouth.
What’s wrong with him?
His heart convulses. A sudden gush of air tears through him, ceasing his pathetic sputters. A silent moment passes. Two and then three.
Arms and legs trembling, he adjusts his sleeve and fixes his hair. He prays that Sakura will have the answers tomorrow, because if she doesn’t, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.
The burning sensation in his chest doesn't quite go away just yet, so he pushes the menagerie of petals he’s spilt behind the glass shards for now. Cleaning up that mess is a problem for future him to deal with.
Blood-curdling screams fizzle out from the television as Tsukasa stares wide-eyed, only inches away from the screen. He can tell that it’s one of the more gruesome, graphic films and has to look away when the crunching and other sloppy noises begin playing. Silently, Mitsuba tiptoes behind Tsukasa and into one of the smaller rooms.
When he told Kou that he was going to be busy after school today, Mitsuba expected him to at least pretend to be upset at his absence. Instead, he had the audacity to almost look relieved!
Grumbling to himself, he waltzes over to one of the drawers and takes out a small hand mirror. It’s not like there’s much else to do around here while he’s waiting for her. Above him are intricately woven cobwebs, and layers of dust piled on the top shelves, like a hundred years have just flown past him.
Glancing through the mirror, there’s a group of mokke marching down the hallway with weapons. It doesn’t take much to rattle them and he snickers when they all scurry away in various directions, completely abandoning the mission at hand. Faint ripples roll across the mirror’s surface.
Next is an empty room, only filled with looming towers of paperwork and post-it notes. Meeting at 6PM. Review docs for Friday. A dozen more views flash by, each as unremarkable as the last, before a certain ugly earring catches his attention.
Mitsuba’s about to reach through and pluck the hideous thing off, intending to throw it out and see how long it would take for the unobservant idiot to notice it was missing. But he realises that Kou’s talking to someone.
In Mitsuba’s defence, most of his view is obstructed by curtains, but he could recognise that gentle voice from anywhere.
What would Radish-senpai and lame earring boy talk about? He could only imagine the dirty conversations they must have.
Nene is making fun of him for something, probably his ugly earring, and Kou’s totally trying to deny it, waving his hands around as if it’ll actually do something.
Stupid.
Mitsuba’s about to crash the party but the way Kou laughs with her makes his fingers freeze in the air and something in his chest flicker.
He blinks as he looks at the mirror.
It’s such a painfully normal scene - curtains swaying gently in the open window, the distant chime of a bell in the background.
Kou’s hair is totally messed up, slightly matted at the ends as if he’s never even thought about brushing them out. A slightly wrinkled, messy uniform thrown on in a hurry, almost as if he didn’t plan on coming in today. Desaturated purple swiped underneath his eyes like he’s not been able to sleep properly in weeks.
The burden of everyone’s happiness visibly weighs him down, but despite it all, he looks happy in this moment. Grinning in a way that can only compete with the shining sun.
(Is that the face he’d make if Sousuke was still alive with him?)
Achingly blue eyes. The kind he could spend an eternity looking into, and still find mesmerising – just like the ocean depths. He’s never seen it in person, but he reckons it must be beautiful. He can almost smell the salty air, hear the waves lapping at the shoreline. He can almost feel the pressure of water constricting the sides of his chest as he sinks further into their depths.
Heaved coughs tear through him as he’s digging his nails impossibly deep into the sides of his stomach. Everything around him goes fuzzy with tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. He collapses backwards into the pile of boxes stacked beside the wall, as a handful of cherry blossom petals spray out across the floor like confetti. He gazes at mess dumbly as everything around him turns cold.
“Hanahaki disease,” a soothing voice washes over him. “It’s said to blossom from unrequited feelings. Plants anchor themselves within the sides of the victim's chest and if left uncured, they can grow to the point of suffocating them."
Dread pools in his stomach. Disgustingly black and murky.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mutters weakly, because he really doesn’t want to accept what she's just told him.
She could be wrong. Maybe she's mixed up his symptoms. Maybe this is just some elaborate prank the three of them are playing on him. That would explain why the waste-of-space guy has seemingly gone missing these past few days - he must have been terrified to show his dumb little face after such a stupid prank. Ha, how stupid.
She places both her hands on his, squeezing them slightly in a silent apology. It’s a weird, unfamiliar gesture he’s not sure he dislikes.
But it does nothing to comfort him.
“I think something’s been taking the petals from my growing cherry blossom outside. I worked so hard, but she’s only been getting worse with time.” Nene sighs.
“It has been getting colder lately, Nene. Maybe it’s time to let her go,” says Aoi as she’s pouring out some tea in front of her. “How about I tell you about what they mean in hanakotoba to cheer you up?”
“...Flower symbolism?”
Aoi smiles, pushing the teacup towards her. Steam swirls around the air in intricate patterns.
You want to know about the language of flowers? Let me tell you about cherry blossoms! They’re a delicate flower with a short life so it’s important that you savour them in the present, as each moment is a precious one.
They symbolise ‘rebirth’.