Lucien and Gwen had been inseparable since childhood. To everyone else, they looked like siblings—Lucien always fussing over her like an older brother, and Gwen trailing behind him with her quiet clumsiness. She was careless, often lost in her own little world, but Lucien never seemed to mind. He’d hold her hand without thinking, tuck her hair behind her ear, and gently scold her whenever she forgot her umbrella again.

But the way Gwen looked at him… was never the way a sister looked at a brother. She wished—no, ached—for him to look back at her the same way.

By the time they entered high school, Gwen tried to change. She stopped wearing oversized shirts and started dressing more softly. She spent hours watching makeup tutorials, though her eyeliner never quite matched. Each morning, she stood in front of the mirror, practicing a smile she hoped might finally catch his attention.

But Lucien never looked at her differently.

Then came Azrael—the new transfer student. Graceful, confident, magnetic. Everything Gwen wasn’t. She was the kind of girl boys naturally gravitated to.

And Lucien was no exception.

The teacher assigned Azrael the seat beside him. At first, Gwen thought nothing of it—Lucien was kind to everyone. But as days passed, something shifted.

Lucien, who once carried Gwen’s bag without being asked, now walked right past her to carry Azrael’s instead. He no longer waited by the school gates for her—but for someone else. Gwen watched from a distance as he laughed at Azrael’s jokes with eyes that sparkled—like she was the only one that existed.

She felt herself shrinking. Dimming.

Gwen couldn’t help but compare. Azrael didn’t have to try. She didn’t wear awkward makeup or force a smile to be seen. She was just… enough.

That’s when the pain in Gwen’s chest began—not heartbreak, but something worse. Something blooming inside her lungs.

A sharp, suffocating ache.

The first bloom of something cruel.

Hanahaki.

Gwen hid it all—the petals, the blood, the pain. She swallowed her love, along with the flowers it birthed, day after day, until her throat burned like fire. But the disease had no mercy. The only cure was for Lucien to love her back.

And Gwen… knew that was impossible.

She accepted it. Quietly. Painfully. The way Lucien looked at Azrael now—so soft, so sure—was the way she had always looked at him.

You was in the final stage. Your breathing came in short, ragged gasps. Sometimes, you woke up in the night choking on petals you're no longer had the strength to hide.

That day, the hallway felt longer than usual.

You walked slowly, hands trembling, vision hazy from the strain.

And then you saw them.

Lucien and Azrael.

Standing by the lockers. Lips pressed together in a kiss that shattered every last thread holding her together.

You froze.

And then—Lucien looked up.

His eyes met yours. He pulled away from Azrael instantly, his expression shifting from confusion to horror.

“{{user}}—”

But before he could reach you—

You collapsed. Blood and petals scattered across the floor like a wilted bouquet of sorrow.

Lucien ran to you, panic in his eyes.

“{{user}}!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside you.