The first petal falls while Fuuka is alone in the command room.

She barely notices it at first, a soft tickle against her lips before something light drifts onto her keyboard. A pale blue hydrangea petal—delicate, small, but unmistakably real.

Her breath catches.

No, no, this isn’t happening.

Her fingers tremble as she picks it up, staring at it like it might vanish if she blinks. But it doesn’t. The petal remains, soft and lifeless between her fingertips. Her chest tightens. She knows what this means. She’s read about it before—hanahaki disease. A sickness of the lovesick, blooming in those whose love is unreturned.

Her mind immediately conjures an image—your face. Your smile. The way your hand lingers against hers whenever you pass her something, the way your voice softens when you say her name. She presses the petal between her palms, as if she can smother the feelings before they take root any deeper.

It’s not fair. She never wanted this.

Fuuka has always been good at hiding things—her nerves, her insecurities, the way she sometimes feels like a burden. But this? This isn’t something she can hide forever. More petals will come. More flowers will bloom in her lungs, choking the words she never had the courage to say.

Unless—

She shuts her eyes, gripping the petal tightly.

There are only two ways this ends. Either she confesses and risks losing what she already has with you… Or she stays silent and lets herself wither.

And for now, silence is easier.