Chapter Text
Teru kneeled hunched over the toilet, coughing and wheezing his insides out into the bowl. A flow of deep, maroon blood, as well as batches of several sapphire hydrangea petals, were spat into the toilet. Even the floor surrounding him was splattered with wilting, blue petals, all covered in a metallic dark-crimson liquid, mimicking the colour of the School Council wristband he wore on his sleeve.
His one-handed grip on the toilet seat loosened, as Teru felt the last drops of blood spew out from his lungs. The water in the toilet had turned almost black, apart from the vibrant rememinants of hydrangea petals sinking to the bottom. A little unsettling, but expected after almost 30 minutes of throwing up nothing but blood and flowers. He wiped his mouth with his bare arm—a big mistake. His forearm was now also drenched. How was he supposed to cover this up?
Suddenly, Teru felt slightly nauseous at the sight, and clenched his stomach tighter, whilst glaring at the bloody water in the toilet. He would have to put up with this for now, since everyone would be wondering where he was. Someone would notice, they'd have to, especially if he was Teru. Not to mention, lunch break was ending soon, and he didn't want to be late for class.
The colour instantly drained from his face as he stood up—not as if anyone would notice anyway, as he was already pretty pale, unless you were looking for it. He could feel a migraine coming on, which he would have ro ignore for the time being. He looked down at himself. Thankfully, only light smudges of blood appeared on the rims of his trousers. They were barely visible, but just to be safe, he wiped a few dry tissues down his trousers just to be sure.
Teru groaned in annoyance, roughly wiping the floor with the same tissues to cover the evidence. The stray petals were stuffed into his pockets or thrown into the toilet bowl, leaving not a single trace that he had ever been there. He stumbled towards the toilet-flusher-handle, almost tripping over nothing—it would've been more embarrassing if anyone was there to see, but there wasn't. He guessed that made the pain more bearable in a way, to be able to be vulnerable with no one around.
Teru quickly examined the state of the stall, looking it up and down. The eery, wooden, dark-red walls seemed to be clean. He probably wouldn't be able to tell, since the blood was a similar colour, maybe a little darker. All of the remaining petals had been carefully disposed of (hidden in his trousers pockets), and the floor looked as if it hadn't been touched. Perfect, no one will suspect anything. He thought, dusting his dried-bloody hands together.
He held the door handle, but stopped, hesitating before opening it. It would be easier to skip, especially in this state…
He snapped out of his thoughts. No, he couldn't. That was stupid. Surely, someone would be looking for him. There always is. He winced as he slammed the door open, a loud squeaking sound erupting from the door.
The bathroom stall door creaked as it closed, slowly locking itself back into place behind Teru. He walked up to the mirror, and only just now realised how much of a wreck he looked. His hair, which was usually slightly messy, but okay overall, was tangled and askew, strands of golden hair strewn across his face, covering his eyes. The front of his shirt was still wet with blood, and despite his sleeves being rolled up to his elbows, had a few drops left on it. He took a piece of tissue paper and wiped the front of his shirt with it, removing it and carefully placing it beneath some books in his bag. He took out a new shirt—unfortunately, a sleeveless one—and put it on. There was a small stain of blood near the bottom, whether it was from himself or a supernatural, he didn't know.
His knuckles now turned white from how hard he was clutching onto the sink and forcing him to stare back at his own reflection. How would the students of Kamome Academy react when they see that their beloved president was so pathetic, to willingly suffer like this for some pathetic unrequited feelings? Teru was pathetic. He knew that. But to suffer for the chance to be with the boy he loved most, even for just a short while? It would cost him his life, but he didn't care. Akane was always worth being pathetic for.
So he could be pathetic for a little longer.
He splashed his face with water, wiping bits of hydrangea petals away from his mouth, and spitting some out into the sink. It was cold against his face, seeping through his bangs and slightly smudging the bright red eye shadow he had been wearing. Teru took out his jumper—which was similar to the one Akane wears a lot—and put it on. It had been a while since he last wore this, but it covered his sleeves and shirt, so it worked. He supposed it looked better on Akane, though. He slid the Student-Council armband back up his arm, and threw his bag over his shoulder.
His hair was still messy, possibly even more than before. Oh, no, he couldn't have anyone seeing him like this. He glanced around the bathroom, looking for something—anything —he could fix his hair with, and settled for a chipped hair brush lying underneath the sink. His hair was drenched in sweat, making it harder to brush out the several knots entangled into his locks. However, after hacking them out with the brush for several minutes, his hair looked decent enough. It was by no means perfect, but who was going to question it?
By now, the poor hair brush was about to snap in half, so Teru placed it back under the sink. Who knows, maybe it would help some other person who happened to need a hair brush, for whatever reason.
Teru had been suffering with Hanahaki disease for almost two months and a week now, meaning he had just under three weeks left. It was a miracle how no one had noticed yet. How by each day, their president was becoming weaker and sicker. How much longer would it take for anyone to care? He supposed it would never happen, and his death would be a surprise to everyone. He would be the perfect, never faltering, Student-Council president that everyone thought he was, up until the day he died. Most people would be distraught by this fact, but not Teru. He accepted this with open arms. He didn't have any other choice.
And he was okay with that.
…
He couldn't be happier.
Taking one last look at himself in the mirror, he grimaced, slowly chuckling to himself. There was nothing behind his laugh, nothing but sorrow and pain. He sighed—why was he just letting himself do this? What was it all for? He had been asking himself these questions since forever, but the answer was always the same. He loved Akane, but Akane didn't love him. Akane loved Aoi, and he had to accept that, no matter how much it hurt to believe. No matter how much he wanted to believe his love was requited, it would hurt more to lie to himself like that. It was better to die knowing he did all he could.
Teru exited the bathroom, not looking back. He had classes to get to, and shouldn't be sulking in a stall. It was pathetic. In fact, the disease as a concept itself is pathetic. Dying because you like someone who doesn't like you back? It was embarrassing.
And yet, he still caught the disease. Teru supposed this was what he deserved. It was stupid to fall in love with someone who couldn't reciprocate his feelings, after all.