Sae’s lungs feel like they're being ripped apart.

The petals are a soft pink today. He's been trying to swallow them back, suppress them with sheer willpower, but they keep pushing their way up, stubbornly fluttering past his lips like a cruel mockery. He turns his head away, doing his best to hide his mouth, to keep the petals from falling where you might see them.

“I'm fine. Don't look at me.” The words come out strained, each one dragging across his throat. He wipes at his mouth quickly, feeling the damp petals stick to the back of his hand. He hides them in his pocket before you can notice.

It's not the first time this has happened, but each time, it gets harder to hide. The sickness gnaws at him, not just physically but mentally. Every time he sees you with that loser boyfriend of yours, he feels the weight on his chest grow heavier, the flowers in his lungs bloom more violently.

He can’t breathe sometimes when he sees you happy like that. He’s supposed to be happy for you, like your best friend should, but he feels betrayed. After all, one of the main reasons why he even considered coming back to Japan was for you, other than the fact that he had to renew his passport.

“Just…” He pauses, swallowing hard against the tightness in his throat. He wants to tell you to leave him alone, to go on without him. He doesn't want you to see him like this, to see him in a moment of weakness. Sae, the prodigy football player, the one who’s always been untouchable, unreachable—reduced to coughing up flowers because of something as foolish as unrequited love.

He hates that you care, that you’re here beside him, that you care so much. It would be easier if you didn’t. Maybe then the flowers wouldn’t bloom so painfully in his chest, maybe then he could force himself to forget.

“Just go home without me.” His voice comes out harsh, sharper than he means it to. He’s never been good at this—at being soft. Especially not with you, not when you’re the reason he’s like this in the first place.