Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Haru Hatake can't stop thinking about her.

That tall mysterious girl. She's pale, beautiful purple slanted eyes matching her darker purple hair. She had a birthmark on her cheek, cherry lips and piercings on her ears. Sporting a biker jacket, catching Haru's eyes even when her gorgeous face is covered by the yellow and purple motorcycle helmet.

Why did her heart race every time the near thought of her passed in her mind? Why did she already believe she could do no harm because, just look at her, she's beautiful, smart, talented, and helped out those rebellious groups of girls after being treated poorly by the world.

Or, what she heard rumors of. She remembered hearing she'd run from the police before. And was the life of a party or rave. Not letting anyone or any insecurities hold her back.

She just wants to hold onto her and treat her like the rebellious queen she is, no matter the cost.

“-Haru?” the voice of her therapist broke her from her daze. She blinks, glancing around the room, as cozy as a therapist office can be, and then at the androgynous woman herself. 

“Hm?” She knew she daydreamed a little too much. Came up with ideas of how someone is in her head, glamorized and worshiped it. Just until that image is shattered.

“Why don't you go talk to her,” The suggestion lacks any malice, but the idea makes Haru’s chest tighten and throat clog. It was apparently easy to see the discomfort in her expression, with her therapist smiling sadly, “I’m not saying you need to confess immediately, just so you can get to know her as a person.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I know,” she tries to sound polite. Make sure her agitation and anxiety didn’t flare up and make it clear she HATES that idea. So much that there’s a voice in the back of her head theorizing why she would even propose that.

It’s just to make sure I have what’s best for me-

‘What’s going on right now is what’s best for you! Because if that girl finds out what we’re REALLY like, it’s game over forever-’

Haru stifles a cough with her arm.

“You alright?” She glances at the other woman and nods. Getting a hum in return she writes down some stuff in some journal. Haru worries about what's in that journal, and what true colors she could expose to the world for her to be left to rot in hell for.

“Just consider it and give me an update on our next appointment, ok?” There’s that reassurance again. Like this will eventually go away with enough therapy and time and meds. 

Like this hasn't been going on her entire life. 

Though, speaking of-

“How are the meds doing?” The shorter girl blinked. She doesn't want to mention that she hasn't actually started them yet, putting it off each day until she went to sleep, and looping that cycle. 

“They're fine,” she gives a tight smile. That woman writes in her journal, “any sort of side effects you notice?”

“Not really, no. Not that I've noticed, at least.”

. . .

. . .

The next few days, she's been coughing more. It's allergy season, after all, so it could be the tree pollen agitating her body. She'll have to take it with her Tegretol when she actually starts taking it. Jubilee at least asked her to take it. Rust recommended setting alarms either in the morning.

One one hand, she knows they're right, but the thought of starting it and having a major side effect makes her chest tighten. 

That's been happening a lot more with her constant coughing. Her dad asked if she was alright, if it was a part of the new medicine, but she tried to reassure she's fine.

She hates worrying him, she feels like a monster every time she does. She is a monster, it just became more apparent-

The thumping sound of the juice box hitting the vending machine floor stops that thought from growing too much. Distraction, that's what she's supposed to do when she gets like this. 

There's lots of things to distract her (probably). Like… the juice she gets everyday is her favorite. Sometimes she varies from just her usual apple, like with pear or grape. Occasionally she got orange, but she wasn't a big orange fan. Never really was, suppose it could've been that orange-flavored cough medicine her mom bought when she was still around. She didn't like it as a toddler, and she still didn't like the artificial flavor now. 

Haru unwraps the plastic and pops the straw right in. She walks onto her next class, taking a sip that left the weight in her chest to feel a little less achy-

But then she coughs.

Again. 

Though, she felt something coming up. It didn't feel like hours old food, thankfully, but it didn't feel like just spit or mucus.

The hacking continued, each cough making her chest tighten with the throbbing pang and ache.

Eventually, the sensation stopped. She could breathe more steadily, shoulders relaxing, but keeping her free hand to her mouth.

She hurries into the next class, the warning bell emitting with a dull drone as she gets there. Before she sits down, she spits into the trashcan, then goes to her seat. Nothing ever happened, it was just mucus, it's only allergies.

Though, if she had looked, she would have seen red petals on top of thrown away homework and crushed energy drinks.

Chapter Text

The public bus slowed to a stop from its bumps and turns, walking distance from where Haru needed to go.

She got to see the mystery girl’s biker gang drive from a distance, the other three doing tricks and skids. But the one she had eyes on took the lead. It left her feeling a rush of warmth through her, dumbstruck with love as she can only just keep her eyes on her.

Her. Only her. Even if her face was obscured with the yellow and purple motorcycle helmet, she could still see her jacket flap with the wind. She could just imagine how she felt. So dangerous, so sweetly comforting, to interlock their hands together and give her the world, sun, and moon

Though, even with the wonderful pleasure those thoughts brought, they were cut off with the pain of another coughing fit.

It’s been going on for days now. She started taking her allergy medicine, she thought about taking her medicine more often (looking at the bottle, opening it. Closing it and going back to her art).

So why was it still happening??

No time to think about that. The warm breeze of spring makes her curly dark hair bristle alongside. Adjusting the red bag slung across a shoulder, she walks through the city.

As she does, she can’t help but look around.The familiar cat cafe has a sale on all coffee and tea bags, next door having a tattoo parlor and someone with a nonbinary pin having a new tattoo (some sort of wasp?) exiting out. A couple blocks down, there was then that one bar Cian usually went to. She wasn’t really a fan of drinking, from the one time she was invited to a party and was given some sort of sweet drink she didn’t care to remember the name of. 

She took a final turn, and eventually, the view of an apartment complex. There’s the usual cars parked there of strangers living there. Then, there was the beaten up orange van smelling of weed, empty parking spot next to it. 

‘Suppose she’s probably in Cian’s place, then.’

The apartment complex was cooler inside with the AC, Haru trying to stifle yet another coughing fit as she heads up story after story.

Thankfully, she’s able to subside the hindrance and knock on the door. She can feel the vibrations of someone walking towards the door, and what meets her at the door isn’t the purple haired girl she’s come to adore.

“Haru?” Cian’s wearing that gray toxicity shirt he likes so much, indelible orange hoodie hanging from a shoulder, and sleep pants with a very familiar white hair-blue eyed, blindfolded anime twink on them.

She kept her gaze up, though, bowing only just a little out of respect.

“Hello, Mister Raines, I didn’t see Echo’s car, so I wanted to check to see if Jubilee is here?” She got a blink in return, the older man glancing away before stepping aside to let her in.

“Uhm- yeah, she’s in the bathroom, so…” a hand vaguely waved, “make yourself at home, I guess.” 

Haru gives a polite smile, which just makes Cian shift a little then head off towards, presumably, his room. It wasn’t as cluttered and dirty of a place as she had seen glimpses of in the past. But there were still bottles in corners of the room, soda cans sitting on the coffee table and half scribbled on notebooks laying atop.

It was easy to differentiate which notebook was owned by who, though. Her friend’s was closed, purple and having stickers of the different sky city characters, the occasional other fandom (TLT logo, that hooded guy from the slenderman video thing, Haru couldn’t remember the name). She knew what the inside looked like. Mostly sketches of different things, some attempts at spooky stuff, some just everyday usual things. Maybe the two girls could influence off one another or draw something they usually don't for one another. 

Cian’s thought, with her curiosity piquing and a hand just flipping enough to get peaks of that little world, was consistently scribbly, messy, body horror based art. Or highly exaggerated. The most normal looking thing was those weird faces he’d draw with his little persona(? It shared the same characteristics at least. And she tried ignoring the ship art of it and multiple different fictional men and Echo), which even then, could turn into a hot mess of sorts of colors and panicked lines.

Though, she heard a door open and Jubilee hurry over, a pep in her step unlike usual. Haru tries to act like she wasn’t just looking through a person’s notebook, hands on her lap as the other girl plops down next to her.

“His drawings can get a bit weird,” was all Jubilee replied with, picking up her own notebook and not catching the embarrassment in Haru’s gaze. But, Jubilee continued on, “What’s been goin’ on with you?”

“Oh, you know,” waving a hand, she rummages through her bag for her notebook, “The usual, I suppose. Just got a bit of a cough,”

“Is that a side effect from Tegretol?” Haru had to bite her tongue, squeezing her eyes shut so she didn’t snap what her thoughts were saying.

‘Not everything is about that stupid fucking medication!’

“N-no…” the shorter girl strained it out, feeling a whiplash of guilt to Jubilee frowning.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah- I’m fine,” God, the way she said it didn’t even convince herself, “Just… don’t worry about that, ok?”

“. . .” Jubilee looked down at her hands, which went over her knees hugging her chest, “. . . have you even tried it yet?”

Haru parted her mouth slightly, but went quiet. She couldn’t help but shake her head.

“Oh…” There’s an awkward pause, “Is it… just scary?”

She shrugs; “Just… I don’t need them.”

“Haru-”

“I went 18 years without it, so like- y’know!” She could feel the resentment scathing in her. Not at Jubilee, never at her, at that sweet angel who does no wrong, but at the idea of them. Of being stuck on them forever because she’s too mentally ill to function without them. Or that she would be looked down on by her, and then never get the chance to get to feel her skin touch hers-

She can’t fight back a coughing fit after that. It seems to startle Jubilee, judging by the way her notebook drops and she has her hands out, too scared to touch her. But Haru can’t really process it all clearly. 

All she can process is the fact that it feels like something is in her throat. It clogs it, scratches it.

And it won’t get out.

She feels a cup go to her hand, which she tries drinking. The water doesn’t really want to go down, though, only making her coughing worse.

She can’t stand to be in the room, placing that cup down and rushing to the bathroom, not wanting to be seen by her. Or anyone.

. . .

She’s hacking away, head lowered to the toilet to get out whatever the hell it is inside her throat.

This has to be more than just allergies, they’ve never felt like this. Was she puking? No, she might not puke much, but she doesn’t remember it hurting this much ever.

Eventually, though, she felt it unclog slowly, bits swallowing down her throat, and some trying to go down her windpipe. Making her cough even more. 

But it pasts her lips, finally. She can finally breathe, leaning back on the floor and going limp.

‘What’s going on… what’s going ON?’

Sweat bids down her forehead. Her arms are weak, chest aching. But she needs to get up. She doesn’t want Jubilee to worry about her. Not more than she knows she does.

When she gets up, she can hear voices from the next room. How long had she been dealing with that singular cough?

She has to lean on the wall when she gets up, knees jelly. With a small inhale, she goes to go flush whatever bile is there. 

But… there isn’t any bile.

Just a couple flowers. 

They’re sopping wet from the toilet water, but seem to have weird, red, spider leg-looking petals.

They don’t seem familiar. They’re definitely not as conventional compared to other flowers. 

But there were also bits of blood seeping into the clear liquid, turning it to a metallic strange reddish-brown.

Even if the sinking anxiety in her gut makes her feel sick, but she can’t make a noise. She can’t scream, she can’t faint, she can’t yell or say anything,

And she doesn’t want to speak of it to anyone.

Chapter Text

Cian wasn’t expecting to have Jubilee standing at the doorway, or to be awoken again to the sound of someone coughing up a lung in the next room.

His brain was dizzy, still processing the low amount of alcohol in his system. He can’t have more, though, especially since there’s two minors.

An achy groan escaped, eyes squinting when he actually gets a good look at the younger girl. She had that usual, big eyed stare she always gave. But when another coughing fit occurred, there was a visible wince.

“Is… she alright in there?”

He knows it’s a stupid question, but seeing Jubilee wilt hurt him. She walks into the bedroom, avoiding empty beer cans and scrapped drawings scattering the floor. She plops onto the bed, staring downward for a bit. Only met by the coughing.

And then she looked at Cian.

It spoke enough that words would be impossible for her to say.

“Do ya want me to call Rust or something?” The suggestion got a lukewarm response. The sinking feeling in his chest had a hunch what she was requesting.

“.. Echo?”

A shake of the head from Jubilee.

“... Kid, you know I'm not good at this sorta stuff-” he wanted to go on, but he forced himself to shut up. Those puppy dog eyes given was always going to be a quick way to get him to bend over backwards.

“. . . Alright, kid, just… what the hell's happening anyway?”

*       *        *

Haru lost track of the time. 

She didn't know where Jubilee went (she was always a bit of a wanderer), but didn't want to leave without at least saying goodbye to some extent.

She couldn't stop thinking about the red flower that was in the bathroom. Why the hell was she throwing up flowers? Was that why her body felt like it was betraying her every movement? Was this a punishment for being irredeemable and unfit for the mystery girl?-

She fought back another cough right then and there.

When she left the bathroom, she could hear a microwave starting up in the kitchen. Not too short of a distance later, she saw Cian again. He was in something more familiar to her (except the toxicity shirt), hands in a cupboard. It wasn’t too hard to see there were some boxes of different teas packed in there, and that the microwave had a Love I Need mug in it. 

‘Has he never heard of a kettle before…’

But she bit her tongue for now on that, instead fake coughing into her hand to get his attention.

“Oh, hey.” He had that look in his face that said ‘I have something to say,’ but for now, he just scooted awkwardly to the side, and showed the different tea types.

“. . . ?”

“Uh… kid said you liked tea, and Echo always has a couple.” She assumed kid was Jubilee. But it's a nice thought. She glanced at the boxes. Jasmine, genmachia, usapang green, generic brand green… checks out for his boyfriend to have teas like this. She doubted he realized that he grabbed strictly green teas though.

“. . . Genmachia?” one packet was placed on top of the boxes to signify her choice, “but- where is Jubilee?”

“Oh-” he scratched the back of his neck, “Zero called her while you were, uh… y'know-”

'At least what, judgmental bi-’

“Makes sense. It's probably about the new sky city game or something.” 

That at least got a small chuckle out of both of them. The taller individual relaxed for a moment, hands stuffed into his pockets before a sigh escaped.

“Alright- I gotta get this over with.”

“Huh?” He walked closer to her, but still left enough of a distance for it to not feel more awkward than the air already felt. He tilted his head back up to the ceiling when he started speaking

“Alright, look, as tempting as smoking is-”

“What?”

“-or weed or vaping or whatever you’re doing-”

“HUH??”

“It’s technically real shitty for your health, and you got a whole life ahead of you,” The shorter girl could feel her face heat up in pure embarrassment, trying to talk over the man.

“Plus, from user to user, you know how you feel worse afterwards? That’s just gonna get worse. Not to mention, if it’s something hard-”

“What the FUCK are you talking about??!” Her voice cracked, but finally got him to snap back to reality. His stare was blank, processing the situation slowly and morphing into a half confusion, half awkwardness.

“Are you not…?” He motioned to the general direction of the bathroom. Oh God, did Jubilee think she was vaping from her coughing fit? The look she gave Cian made him wince, looking like a wounded puppy.

“NO! I’m not smoking or doing any sort of drugs! Just cause you do doesn’t mean everyone else and their mom does them!” 

Calm down, calm down, you’re supposed to calm down-

“Alright, alright-” He raised his hands in defense, “No need to get pissed off, you’re not a druggie,” Before the conversation could go on, though, the microwave beeped. The two both glanced at the electronic, before Haru could see from the corner of her eye Cian rub the back of his neck again.

"I’m not trying to be an asshole, kid, I promise,” She hated how sudden that guilt lashed into her, “Just… we’re worried about you. So…”

It was easy to tell what he was thinking, despite the fact he tried to hide the discomfort in his expression. But he clapped his hands together.

“If you want to still have that tea, go at it…”

She didn’t argue back.

Eventually, things settled down. Haru made herself the genmachia tea, the hot beverage helping her brain settle down from the agitation begging to consume her. Jubilee came back into the living room, sitting between both of them and letting the quietude settle in.

With that quietude, came Haru’s thoughts going back to the mystery girl. Jeez, if she can’t even control her emotions with the people she already knew and loved, how is she supposed to impress her? Let alone keep a stable intimate relationship…

“. . . Do you think I have a chance?” she didn’t mean to say it out loud. But the other girl knew exactly what she was talking about.

“I’d like to think so. But you would have to talk to her first,” Haru couldn’t help but just give a sad smile in return. It’s common sense, but her brain doesn’t like the believe in it. Rather than play along, it wants to just put it off.

She can’t imagine a realistic outcome, just the extremities of rejection or absolute adoration. 

Either she’ll think she’s the most irredeemable devil that ever existed in the world. 

Or that they’re perfect for each other to where nothing else ever mattered.

She looked at Cian next. She wasn’t very close with him, but she knew he had some disorders with similar symptoms to BPD. So maybe he was someone she could ask?

“-. . . Hey, Cian?”

“Hm?” He looked up from his relatively low bottle (it didn’t look like alcohol, surprisingly), quirking an eyebrow when Haru’s grip on the mug tightened.

“So… is it easy to keep a relationship when your brain’s all messed up from mental illness?” Way too blunt, Haru, he’s gonna be pissed off-

That thought was cut off with a small laugh, “Like- me and Echo type of relationship?” Haru saw Jubilee roll her eyes, not a whole lot of malice, but the inner teenage-angst of “it’s cringe watching those two flirt.” But Haru’s stare said enough

“Well… I don’t know, guess it depends on the person?” He leans back, “But that goes for anyone. Don’t know why you’d ask-”

“She has a fat crush on some girl,” Jubilee broke into the conversation, knowing that Haru’s face would heat up and her gaze go to the cup in her hand. But Cian smiled, all too aware of young infatuation feeling like the truest form of love.

“Oh? She got a name?”

“. . .” Haru evaded the question by drinking her tea. The other two shared glances.

“Well, maybe first you should, just, talk to her. Get all comfortable first, y’know what I mean?”

“I know, I know! Just…” She hated how nervous she felt. Or the fact her throat tightened and she didn’t want to cough more.

“. . . Does… mental illness… Does it ever get easier?”

The question hits them all. Jubilee has a blank gaze, switching between both individuals. But her heart aches lightly at it.

Cian doesn’t speak for a while. But when he reacts, it’s just a sad smile. 

“I don’t know, kid. I don’t know.”

That tightening gets unbearable. Even with her wanting to fight it back, she starts coughing. One arm goes to cover her mouth with her shirt, and the other goes to shakily put down the near empty cup on the coffee table. 

But the coughing persists. It’s hard to hear what the other two are saying, but she can sense they’re trying to get her attention.

But those flowers hacked up, and just kept coming. She could barely breathe, brain hazy from the lack of oxygen. 

She couldn't even remember passing out, leaving Cian to pick Haru up, the two conscious people to run out the door.

And go to the one person that knows about anomalies such as this.

Which, that man was tending to his own garden. Top hat and cold veins protecting his face from the outside heat.

Chapter Text

Haru doesn’t know what to expect when she wakes up from passing out.

But definitely, she wasn’t expecting a strange monochromatic tombsona inches from her face, while she’s on a couch.

There’s a delayed reaction, squinted tired eyes staring, processing. But then her body finally reacts, scooting backwards with a yelp that was a little too loud for her ego. The tombsona leans back, cocking its head to the side, locs falling onto one shoulder. They look very robotic in general, but…

“Geist, dear, please give Haru a little space,” Doc’s voice is calm and even, catching both individual’s attention. He’s holding a wilted, moist looking flower, with its spider legs limp and bulb sopping. Like the ones that come out of Haru.

It’s still red, a distinctive difference from the blue, almost see-through skin of the tombsona. With his free hand, they beckon Geist, who stops hunching down and slinks over. They’re much taller than the both of them, maybe a little shorter than Armstrong.

“Now, Geist,” They lend the flower to it, “Can you identify what this one is?” Haru wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but stayed quiet. With her gaze going to Geist, she could see them staring blinking, the most being yet another head tilt.

But when their voice comes out, it’s distorted and scratchy, like a broken handradio with awful reception.

“. . . Spider Crab Lily.” So that’s what it’s called. Doc gave a gentle smile, free hand patting their cheek, “Good good. You’re doing wonderful. Now, could you go get Armstrong, please? Tell them to bring a blanket and pillow.”

The shorter girl’s brow furrowed in nervous confusion. Why would he ask that? Did they find out? So much for keeping it secret, dammit. But wait-

“Where’s-”

“Jubilee is with Rust. Was in quite a rattled state seeing you struggling to breathe when you came.” Oh. Did she… cough out more flowers? Why? 

But Doc continued.

“Then Cian is helping Zero. I have a hunch of what’s happening, but I want to make sure.”
“So… it’s in a book? Did some person, like, curse me? Or-” She was about to continue, but felt her chest twist and a coughing fit. Doc bent down, putting a hand to her chest as it glowed more than usual. She wanted to back off, caught off guard, but it was like those flowers went down for a moment. 

“What… how did you do that?”

“Just something I remember from a past life,” He shifted to just sitting next to her, “But if it isn’t managed, not even I can be able to help.”

Her blood went cold hearing that. She remembered in the past wanting to die so so horribly, when she’s in her worst moments. Reality unable to be clear, and the warped perception being the only thing she could trust.

But this? This, she could have never imagined herself ending this way. Was this for being so awful in the past, or refusing to take the medication her father scrounged up money for to try and keep his daughter safe?

“-Miss Hatake?” Doc spoke. She must’ve zoned out when he was talking. But she turned her gaze to him, swallowing a nervous lump wanting to form in her throat.

“I know this is scary, but I assure you, we will figure out. There have been scholars from the past who've written upon such subjects. We just need a little time to search, try out a method, and when it works, you'll feel right back to normal.”

“. . . What's going on with me?”

She doesn't get an immediate answer. Just a quiet, sad look. Then a gentle pat on the head.

“You'll be the first person we notify of updates, Haru.”

Chapter Text

The excuse for her father is she’s having a sleepover. Not that he minded, just asked for her to pack some things and grab the medication she needed. He was always too nice to her, despite how all over the place she can be. How violently agitated she’ll become if her brain takes something a little too incorrectly.

She and Jubilee still hang out for the day, talking about different shows or video games, drawing ideas and updates, the bits of tea they know about the schools they have to go to.

Doc slinks in their own little area, occasionally checking up to see if the flowers are in bloom again. She almost forgets about them at points, but the reminder makes her chest ache with half embarrassment, half guilt, and those flowers actively attempting to come out. 

Though, it meant she also, has to have her medicine. And from what Cian said before he left with the other girl, made her stomach twist in a knot.

“You’re gonna have to take them. That, or Zero’ll annoy you into it.”

Let’s just hope whatever sickness she has and Tegretol mix well together.

When the light of the sun dims down outside, replaced with inky darkness and speckles of white scattering the sky. The moon was waning, as if falling into itself alongside Haru’s flowers growing inside her. 

She’s outside, wearing sleep pants and a comfortable tank top. Hair down and sans any of her usual accessories. She can feel the wind slowly flow past her, soothing the heat with a coolness all too familiar from the past winter that wanted to remain.

She can see Armstrong a bit away, though. Completely unaffected by anything such as temperature and weather. But the animals he takes care of, do care. So it cares back.

They have a group of rabbits, different breeds, different stories, in a large hutch of sorts. They’re being fed hay, with bits of other treats. She can watch as a black and white low eared one hops over first, trying to eat it first before a brown one and a small calico rabbit could. 

The tombsona’s red glowed so lightly in the darkness, as if gas whirls on in their suit. When they get up from their crouched position, they turn to look at the girl. Despite being so tall and wide, they always gave such a soft demeanor, unable to hurt an innocent creature even if they wanted to. 

Haru doesn’t quite feel she could fit that description, though. Even if she wanted to be something that wouldn’t hurt a blameless soul. But the lashing out that happens took that away quite a while ago.

She then saw Armstrong walk on over to her, tilting their head at the stare the shorter individual had. She just shrugged lightly, rubbing an eye. 

“I… just feel a little tired, is all,” it’s nice and polite, right? 

The other gives her a pat on the head, earning a squeak from her. Their other hand signs to communicate. She takes a moment to process what it is.

“How are you feeling?”

“Well… fine, I suppose.”

“Taken your medicine?”

“. . . Can… I be honest?”  She hates how nervous she sounds. But Armstrong doesn’t judge. They never do. Just, instead, give a soft nod.

“I… haven’t ever taken them, yet.” Her hands go together, finger rubbing at the middle knuckle, “I know it’s been a few weeks, but, like… I don’t know how I’ll be if I take them.”

There’s a pause. She feels almost awful for even saying it, not wanting to bring it down more than she assumed they were. But they didn’t snap back. No defensive retort, like that awful noise in her head begged them to be. 

“I understand, Haru. For all you know, it could make you feel worse,” She can’t help but frown at the thought. But Armstrong  raises a finger, “But. It could also make you feel better, y’know?”

That’s what everyone keeps saying. But it’s been so repetitively told to her, she can’t help but finally give it a thought.

“. . . How do we know I will be better?”

“Well…” They thought for a moment, “Maybe you’ll split less. Feel happier,” they step to the door of the house, “Maybe you’ll be able to talk to the girl you’ve had your eyes on.”

She won’t admit it, but the red tombsona can see her eyes light up just slightly at the mention of her.

“. . . I guess.”

“Well, it’s getting late. Don’t stay out too much longer Haru,” They’re so nice and sweet signing it. 

And then she’s left alone outside again. The only sound being the cicadas and distant distant city. Maybe they’re right. Maybe she should give it a shot. Just before bed. The bile in her throat strains.

She starts coughing again. She doesn’t know how long, but with each spell of this, it gets worse. More flowers keep coming out.

So when she leaves for the inside, the only thing outside is the bloodied spider lilies.

Chapter Text

It’s the middle of the night when Haru wakes up to someone shaking her shoulder rather impatiently. Her heart skips a beat, body involuntarily trying to run away, only to be met with the soft couch hitting her back. 

But when her eyes adjust to the darkness of the night living room, she sees it’s Tesla. They glow lightly their usual magenta color, a deadpan expression etched in. She can practically see the eyebags, though. They haven’t been sleeping again.

“Hey,” Their voice feels loud in the solitude of silence. But the only thing she can do is let a confused hum out, “Follow me.”

“?. . . t’wha-”

“Just follow.” Suppose there wasn’t much room to argue. So, Haru stretched before getting up, back a little stiff from sleeping exclusively on the couch for a few days straight. Until this whole ordeal is figured out, she’d just have to get used to it. 

They head down the stairs that lead to the basement. The air feels almost humid, heat growing and suffocatingly uncomfortable. She was thankful at least she wasn’t wearing long sleeves. 

When they’re actually downstairs, there’s different tools and knick knacks sprawled all over the floor. The short tombsona rubs sweat off their brow, ushanka hat lifted just enough to have a sliver of dark gray hair peek out lightly.

They slap a wooden table with a gloved hand head tilting to the side, “You ready to see what those flowers look like in ya?”

“Huh? I…” her words trail off. Did… Was Tesla worried? How long have they been at this?

“...? Yes or no, I don’t have all day.” Despite everything, they stay their usual snappy self.

“Oh- Uh, yeah, just… why?” She sees the tombsona grab some flat mechanic of sorts with something attached, similar to an x-ray or an ultrasound. They didn't respond though, instead their cheeks grew a little red, and they just gave a look.

He grabs a chair, motioning her to sit down. She obliges, rubbing an eye to try and wake up a little more. Then, their hands, with the machine, goes to her chest. She can’t help but lean away at first, earning a glare from the other.

“I have to look in there to show you the flowers, dummy,” It has the usual snark they always have. But, knowing now what’s properly going on, she forces herself to relax. 

It was almost like being at the doctor’s office, when they touched the stethoscope to her chest. Only, Tesla kept their machine in sight, rather than touching skin, staying still for a moment, before moving to a new section of chest. Were they all gonna be the lily flowers? Or was there going to be a variety, rooted deep in her. 

She hoped it wasn’t rooted too deep to get out.

The tombsona pulls away, placing the machine down and walking away without a word. It leaves her to glance away, trying to ignore the heat down there from the furnace close by. She knew Tesla made inventions consistently, that be for tombsona business stuff or even just something to hype up the fans at concerts, but… why didn’t she expect them to make something that would help with her condition? He wasn’t heartless , even if they could be a bit brash to her. But that was with everyone…

Did she deserve this? Was she annoying them with this? 

“-Hey,” Tesla’s voice caused Haru to pique up to them. They didn’t look very agitated, at least. Just exhausted, and a bit flat.

“... I got the scannings, if you’re ready to see them.” Hearing that did make the girl’s chest tighten, but she got up from the chair. The two of them walked down the hallway, heat ebbing down to a more comfortable level, then to the coolness that was expected of a basement. 

Tesla opens a door, and it looks more like a proper bedroom. A bookshelf with a multitude of nonfiction titles stand next to one another. Looking closely, it was ordered via the author's last name. They have their phone propped behind a projector, adjusting it slightly before speaking again.

“. . . We’ll get this figured out, Haru. Just… don’t think otherwise.”

She was about to ask what they meant, if it was a warning or a command, but when she saw the image, her body froze.

Haru never considered herself a squeamish individual. Sure, she’d rather not see something like blood or vomit, but she wouldn’t run with a tail between her legs if she saw it. 

But… this?

She could barely stomach it.

It looked like an x-ray scan, but instead, there was flowers inside them. Some looked like they were premature, still blooming inside and trying to take as much nutrients to develop into the sickly spider flowers. Others remained upward, pushing and pricking at the sensitive organs, not taking the claustrophobic incasing as a no.

She almost didn't listen to Tesla, heart pumping faster and her hands going to her chest. What did she do to be inflicted with this?

“I still think you're not hopeless. Doc's worried, and Zero best be looking for that damn book still , but as you can see,” they stopped to look her in the eye, only the slightest bit of concern palpable, “We need to work faster.”

Haru didn't need the tombsona to tell her that, but she can't retort. Only swallow down bile and any remnants of flowers in her throat.

Chapter Text

Zero_One’s fingers fumbled frivolously through the books within Doc’s room. Haru was away with said tombsona, having to skip over school until the situation was at ease. If it weren’t for the actual circumstances at hand, it would’ve said she was lucky to get to skip.

Though, he assumes she would prefer to be in school than be sick with some disease that makes her throw up blood and flowers, growing in her lungs like a greenhouse.

Occults within human biology, Necronomicon, The art of curses… No, he looked through those yesterday to no avail (and Doc having to clean the mess…) so it’d have to go through the next section.

He picks up a book at random. Markings and pagan pentagram imagery lay flat on the cover, the book a vietnamese work that the gamer could quickly process with little struggle.

“Unexpected Magic in You… huh!” They toss it to Doc’s bed for future reference. Find a few other books just in case, and then scroll through them for an answer.

“Would’ve been helpful if it was on the internet, though…” Zero silently huffs, giving a tiny pout before going back to the task at hand. Not that it mattered, either way, he’s a fast worker, it can’t be much different than playing a video game.

So, he looks, and looks, and looks, a variety of languages and decades and centuries between each book. It almost looked as if the books were coded via the author's last name, but Zero wasn’t really one for detail outside his goal. If the drummer of the band disdains it by the end, they can fix it up with a flick of a wrist. 

Negative energies in magic… no, that’s not gonna work. Curses towards yourself? It does say curse. But opening the hardcover, the curses weren’t related to anything biologically affected. 

“Back where you’re supposed to be!” they move onto the next title. Nope. Nata. нет. Negatory… how does Doc collect so many books? Has he read them all with their current host, or had it been over the chorus of different ones. Doc wasn’t ever one to really like switching hosts, though. By far the opposite of Rust, who went through them like one-hit wonders on the radio. 

But, eventually, Zero ends up with five books to look through. They’re all relatively older, at least minimum from the 60s. Keyword, minimum.

The orange tombsona runs a hand through their hair, “Alright, let’s do this…” He picks up one of the books at random, taps their headphones to put on some music by TWRP, and scrolls through the table of contents. Nothing outright stated ‘flower puking disease,’ so he flipped through each page. Some had to deal with the curses and spirits unknown to the average eye, or just so unusually rare that no average individual would have to worry about them. Some of them Zero didn’t really even know, the most being just a hazily familiarity from centuries, if not millennia, ago.

The first book is a bust, eventually. So Zero goes onto the next one. Talks of possessions, different forms of symptoms and exorcisms, alternatives of what one could do.

. . . No. Not what Haru seems to be going through. But the gamer will note it if he sees Tesla doing any weird levitation again.

Then the third book. It tilts its head. Parasitic possession, time travel sickness… Hanahaki disease.

That made them stop for a moment.

Hana and haki. Two different Japanese words meshed into one, the former meaning of “flower,” and the latter being a variation of the verb haku.

Haku (吐く) - “To throw up; to spit”

To throw up flowers.

Zero flips through the pages, going well into the middle of the book. It looked like an odd mix between a biology or medical book of someone’s inners, and a flower catalogue. 

A minimal amount of photos were in the next few pages, monochrome and yellowed with age. Some seemed to be from past owners of the books, stuffed into the page or within the book itself, showing different people of different backgrounds.

A caucasian girl barely in her twenties. Mouth bloodied, eyes drained of any hope of getting through this. She holds purple lilacs, stained red and sticky. Under it, had a name scribbled and a date. 

Clarice Aleotti, 9/05/1903.

The unknown fate of this stranger made Zero frown just a little.

There’s two other photos. One is just a palm, a middle ground between light and medium with its skintone. It holds a crumbled yellow flower stained and old. The other showed the inners of a body, one lung sliced to expose the flowers embedded. Roots bloodied, implanted so rudely without the permission of the host. The unharmed lung still looked raw and sensitive, more so than what was usual for an internal organ.

Zero forced itself to look away. Staring at pictures wouldn’t make Haru’s disease go away so easily. So, he went on reading.

‘Hanhaki is a pulmonary respiratory infection that targets the interior of the lungs-’ ‘-its point of origin is unknown, but was properly given a name in the middle of the Japanese Edo period-’

‘Symptoms can include some or multiple of the following: excessive coughing, loss or shortness of breath, choking. Flower[s] coming from mouth. Flowers growing from lungs-’

  Zero forced his eyes shut for just a moment. Yep, that was what Haru had. Even down to what Tesla had shown them when they were playing mouthwashing, in the middle of running from Swansea.

‘Come on, gotta find a cure, Zero,’

He looks back down at the book, a finger scrolling down and up to the tops and bottom of each old page. Doc's handwriting on notes, ranging from sticky notes to half scribbled on top of text itself. It was familiar enough to the drummer's at least, even if adjusted to the then-host's past memories.

“-outdated information” while a paragraph was scratched out and half covered by a sticky note. 

“Each case seems to be individualized, but based around the subject of one-sided relationships. I wouldn't be too surprised, personally, if it included platonic, but each case I've come across has been based around romantic or sexual yearning”

Romantic. 

That sticks out to Zero_One.

“So… she likes a girl?” In any other circumstances, the gamer would giggle and kick its feet, piling up questions to bombard the moment they see her again face to face. Maybe even push for her to confess if it hasn't been just a week or something of pining.

Only… the “one-sided” part is what worried him. Did she like someone who didn't reciprocate? Who couldn't reciprocate? Or had she even ever met the person, an honest conversation, or let alone a basic introduction to get to know one another.

His stare shifts from the page to the one beside it, reading the lower section.

‘There’s been o̶n̶e̶-’ Doc crossed it out and replaced it with a two, ‘-treatment found that can get rid of Hanahaki in a way that it won’t come back.’

Doc’s note covered the rest of the paragraph, but read it loud and clear.

A surgical procedure to get the root of the problem out of the body. 

Or having the feelings reciprocated.

But under the note, read something that made Zero_One’s eyebrows furrow.

‘Studying the hosts of Hanahaki post-surgery, they don’t seem to be able to form attraction of the romantic or sexual nature afterwards. Further studying still needs-’

Doc underlines it. So it must have been true.

For Zero, it wouldn’t be a bad payoff. He had no interest in a sexual relationship of any kind, and if he didn’t have a romantic one, he wouldn’t complain. But knowing Haru, she cared about that side of her. She loved girls, and to give that up… it would be an uncomfortable adjustment she might not want to do.

So he’ll just have to hope whoever she likes will reciprocate. Or she might just be gone.

Chapter Text

“Hina and the girls are coming over this evening,”

Rust says it out loud to Armstrong, who’s cooking up vegetables to make chop suey for the others in the house. They lift their head up, one hand pausing while the other signs.

“Should I make extra food?”

“Not sure, I’ll text her to double check,” They wanted some help getting supplies for a protest next town. Which, Rust would obviously be at, but it’s always smart to share resources needed.

He grabs a water bottle from the fridge, opening it with his teeth and heading towards the living room. 

Haru was on the couch, body limp and eyes closed. At least she was able to get some sleep after the scare that was last night’s situation. 

(Which Rust had a serious discussion afterwards, even if they came from good intentions.)

He takes a swig of the water, fiddling around one of his pockets and taking out a cracked, old green cased phone. 

Armstrong… Tesla, Zero… There.

He doesn’t even need to look down to see if he’s typing correctly, with how much this host would text around prior to being chosen. 

It wouldn’t be that long before the girl replied.

{ Hina }: Probably not, but hey it’s your call lmao

Technically it was Armstrong’s call, but knowing them-

“Hina said it’s up to you, big guy,” The rebel saw the red tombsona perk up. If they had an actual face under that cosmonaut helmet, he wouldn’t be shocked if its eyes would have been sparkling.

And so, they went back to cooking, sauteing onions and unaffected by the grimacing juices of the biennial herb. Rust could not say the same for himself under his motorcycle helmet permanently on his head.  

From the corner of their eye, he sees Haru stir. She’s wearing a short sleeve, dark purple shirt. It had a grayscale photo of a kaiju, tall and monstrous and having rough scales, a snout similar to a bearded dragon but being too sharp, too dark to be an exact replica of one. But the fire around it was simmering oranges and yellows, standing out against the darks it was surrounded by. That, and a pink skirt going down to her ankles. Just to feel cute. 

When she properly awoke, a small stretch and yawn, similar to a cat, she turns her groggy gaze towards the green tombsona. Those oak brown eyes squint from the onions being cut the next room over, but the lachrymatory factor still initiates. 

 Rust gives a half smile, then leaning onto the top of the couch’s waterfall back.

“How’s that nasty hanahaki holding up?” He speaks in a light, almost playful manner. Almost. With the severity of the question, he wasn’t about to make jokes at her expense.

Haru just gives a meek face, shrugging awkwardly and lifting one hand to squivel back and forth.

“If I don’t think about- uhm… y’know-” she stifles a cough, “then it’s like it’s not even there, but…”

“. . . it’s getting worse?” he doesn’t like the nod she slowly gives, “You still have that surgery choice if you really want it. Or-”

“I know.” She can’t help snapping back, narrowing her eyes with half-annoyance, half-anxiety, “But… it’s scary to think of talking to her…” She shifts a little in her seat, lets to the side as her skirt covers her bare feet, “. . . But if I’m true to myself? I really don’t like the idea of getting surgery then never being able to feel attraction to girls.”

The longer she spoke, the quicker those words came out. Like a water bottle pouring to the ground, splashing onto the floor and then never being able to be picked up again.

Rust doesn’t judge. Doesn’t berate. Just, instead, nods in return. 

“Then it sounds like you want to talk to her.”

That nervousness in her expression made the rebel’s chest ache lightly. Such a young girl, stuck in such a vulnerable position, just to get sick with something that people only thought were in fairytales or on fanfiction internet-

Wait.

Idea.

“. . . You know, some of my friends are coming over tonight for a bit,” The sentence comes near out of the blue for Haru, earning a quirked eyebrow and a cocked head, “You could… try talking to them first. Build up that confidence.”

That, and it could give her a distraction.

“. . . They’re not guys, are they?” Rust chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t have said anything if they weren’t in your ballpark, Haru.” Getting a light punch on the arm, the shorter girl laughed. It was nice, compared to the late nights of spewing up blood and spider lilies. Tears and spit stuck on her face.

So, Rust plops down right next to her, pulling up images and profile pages of some of their respective social medias.

The first picture is of a taller, well defined girl. A similar skin tone to Haru herself, with short blonde hair with an undercut and blue eyes.  She’s not aware of the photo being taken of her, a little car leak on one of her cheeks from the tenacious manual labor. She wears a red tank top, a darker school uniform similar to Haru's own wrapped around her waist with a dark long skirt.

“Iwa's a more quiet person in general, but she wouldn't have any sorta beef with you,” Rust swipes to the right, showing a new photo. She has such a nice smile, easy and liberal. She holds a three legged pomeranian dog, small and fluffy and just looking like it’s smiling at her. Its mouth is open, and a bright pink, healthy tongue laps out, standing out against the white fur and dark eyes.

“Oh, that’s her dog, Suzuki. You’re gonna notice they’re all fans of motorcycles and cars pretty quickly,” The rebel draws out the second to last word, a smile on his face as he does so, going back to the subject at hand.

“But yeah. Likes fixing up cars. Driving around on her bike-” Haru sees Rust try to search for a picture, “Likes her dog. Now where did… ah! Here!”

There’s a line of motorcycles in the picture, edges blurring from the lack of stable grip the taker of the photo had. Three of them matched, grays with only the slightest bit of tint difference. They tap lightly on the one with a slight red on the inside of the wheels and the seat. But Haru’s eyes are lingering on the two other girls in the photo, one half out of frame and the other talking to them.

She has blue hair and a wicked gleam in those slanted, dark eyes. She’s a lot smaller in comparison to Iwa, but had the height to match. The outfit she wore shared similarities to the other’s school outfit, but was cut to act as a crop top. A sliver of her stomach, a paler tone than Haru’s, but warmed by the sun, peaks out, long skirt gowned down to her ankles. The motorcycle with only a little bit of blue on it covers half her body, though. The other person in the picture was mid-movement, making it impossible to decipher all the specifics about them. 

“Hina was the only one of them that didn’t want to match-” Wait. That yellow motorcycle looked familiar. Like the one that girl would drive-

“But anyway, blue hair and pronouns?” It’s a light tease, no malice actually in it, “Name’s Shinzuko. Does a lotta odd jobs here and there. You go to the seasonal Halloween store?”

He taps the screen, and she remembers vaguely seeing her. The photo is different from the last one, mid workspace, giving a middle finger and a rowdy smile. It’s about the normal retail worker outfit, but shows enough of her shoulder to show there’s some tattoos hidden underneath the clothes. 

“She’s the one that got that shitty manager caught treating that teen worker like shit,” a satisfactory grin slips over his ashy gray skin. She was well aware of his enjoyment of the corrupt in power falling, even if it wasn’t to the extent of, say, an entire government. Sometimes, just being in a seasonal store he doesn’t buy at is enough.

“That’s something,” Haru gives a polite smile. She still can’t stop thinking about the fact that the yellow motorcycle is just like hers, and she just wants to grab them by the hem of their shirt and frantically yell all the questions and devotions he has towards that mystery girl.

But she stays polite. That’s what is expected, right?

Rust switches from photos to a social media app, then. The profile says, “@XxTHEBEAUTIFULPEOPLExX” and right below it, “Niko Kato (she/they)”

She’s around Haru’s height, if a scosche taller. Darker skin, round, dark rimmed glasses with red lenses. Her light purple hair is short, bordering between androgynous and feminine. Maybe… more tomboyish? But she wears a red-purple shirt with a leather jacket. It's sleeveless, looking almost torn off rather than a clean cut. Rust then spoke;

“They do a lotta DJing and that type-a shit. Really into more-” Rust does a light hand wave, “-alt rock sorta genre. Heaviest it gets to is nu metal,” that wasn’t really what the girl herself was familiar with. But, if it made the stranger happy, then who was she to complain?

“-They take music recommendations, though. Could get her to listen to, like, Kikuo and whatnot if you wanted.”

She nods. Her eyes scan the pictures under her profile. She’s at some club in half of them, either partying or playing the music. Some of those other girls show up. But she gets a glimpse of a taller, pale Japanese woman. Purple hair and gorgeous pale eyes, a birthmark near her lip she hadn’t ever noticed until then.

Her chest tightens. Heart beats louder. There’s a stir in the pit of her stomach, and she just has to shift in her seat and stifle yet another annoying cough.

“What about-” One hand goes to Haru’s mouth to try and hide a cough. The other points towards her. Rust quirks an eyebrow at her under his helmet.

“Hina? She’s a doll, absolutely awesome as-” But then he notices that look on her. That desire mixed with the discomfort of her hanahaki disease.

It all comes together.

“. . . Do you like Hina?”

Hina. Hina. Hina HinaHinaHinaHinaHina.

Just her name drives her crazy. She wants to worship her every step, her every move, her every breath. Even if it means her lungs ache and get continuously stabbed by red flowers, burrowing and making themselves more and more at home in her respiratory system-

Her head is dizzy. She doubles over. Those flowers claw outwards, fighting and fighting and fighting to escape, like a baby stuck in the uterus of a laboring mother. 

Made from love. Love love love love LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE. Pure infatuation, simmeringly innocent lust, one not wanting to destroy or devour the being she viewed as untouchable.

Fuck, she can’t breathe. She hates the stirring spur of contradictions her brain is releasing. Euphoric dopamine, noradrenaline telling her to stop stop stop stop stop you’re in danger run run RUN RUN-

Rust is yelling. Is it for someone? Please, please say it’s Doc. Doc can fix it, he said he can with that fancy magic-

He can until it becomes too powerful.

Oh, God, is it the end of the road for her, then? All those times fantasizing her and her reactions and her touch and her body- was this a punishment for never going for it? She remembered her father telling her to not let shyness get the best of her when it came to making new friends or trying to ask a girl out. She can’t even do that right, fucking moron. This is the proper punishment, then-

Cold hands take her breath away. For a still moment, it’s like all the oxygen is out of her system. But then… it flows so evenly. A stream unclogged of logs and moss and algae, letting the water come back and the marine life frolic. 

She didn’t even realize she was seeing double while suffocating. Her gaze is on the disgusting mold of blood and flowers staining the carpet, a painful reminder of what she’s done to herself.

Then, she looks up. Doc tries to look even, but… there’s a look she didn’t recognize. 

Fear.

And inane fear, of losing someone under your care. Like no matter how far they run, to sprint towards refuge and salvation, it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Armstrong had come from the kitchen, still back but looking like a broken down mother, seeing their child confess they’ve been hiding an addiction or sickness from them.

Rust is breathing rapidly, hands up like he’s talking to a spooked animal.

“. . . Did… Can you breathe now?”

She hates hearing the crack in his voice. Stress. Stress she caused, because she’s no good, she’s-

“. . . I don’t have much time.” She tries squeezing her eyes shut to hide the heat growing in them. Tears threaten to escape. Doc’s hand goes to the back of her head, and she hides her face in their chest.

It’s quiet. The only sounds there are in the room are from Doc’s quiet comfort and Haru’s soft apologies. 

But all apologies won’t change that she needs to figure out a choice.

Talk to Hina when she comes over today. Learn who she is, and not just the godly image she has of her.

Get the surgery this evening. Maybe tomorrow.

Or, she could die.

It was all up to her.

Chapter Text

“-I don’t like girls, Niko.”

“Aw, come on, how could you pass up on Faye Valentine, Iwa?”

“Only way she’ll date pussy is if it’s a trans man-”

“Can you please not say it like that?!”

Hina chuckled, listening into the conversation. Her and Iwa were fixing up a motorcycle sent to them. Might not get them a whole lot of money, but it’s enough to scrape by.

“-It’s the truth! Opposite for Hina,” Shinzuko’s head tilts to the side, letting the long, blue hair follow suit. Some of it tickles her nose.

“Girl, don’t bring me into your fictional dating debate,” the rebel quirks her lips into a smile at the way the two shorter women matched pouts. Before she could grab one of the hex keys, her phone vibrated.

{ 💀🟢 }: Oh yeah, forgot to mention, we got a girl over already, so don’t mind her too much

. . .

{ 🏍️💛}: None of us care, dw lol

{ 🏍️💛}: Will we know her?

She waits a moment. Gets sent a social media link and a simple question

{ 💀🟢 }: She goes to the same high school as you, but I think that’s about it. Does Haru Hatake ring a bell any? 

  She presses the hyperlink, being sent to a profile of a girl, a little younger than her. The description had surface level information about her, and a quick lesbian flag made of heart emojis.

Most of the posts were of art pieces. Some appeared more quick and lighthearted, like one would do in a class period out of boredom. Others… how could a single person have the skill to do that? Hina knew jack about drawing, but she could tell that she was talented.

She presses on the pinned photo to her profile, then.

 The girl appeared to be shorter in the photo. Dark skin, darker hair, brown eyes that enraptured Hina.

Her heart skips a beat.

She’s wearing the school uniform in the photo, skirt flowing down to her ankles. It hid the curve of her stomach somewhat, but her hips were still eyecatching.

She seemed to be an artist, from the quick glance of the caption and seeing the piece held in her hands.

Oh boy, did the room get hotter, or was it just her?

“- yoo hoo, Sakiiiii,” Hina’s broken from her little transe. Flipping her phone over, she gave Shinzuko a quirked eyebrow. She has that dumb smirk, the one that says “I know what you are,” and is ready to rag on her to all ends.

“. . . who's that girly you’re giving googoo eyes at?”

“Shut up, will ya?” It has no heat behind the words, regardless. But it proceeds to catch the other two women’s attention.

And that leads to a bombardment of teasing.

“Oh-ho-ho! Return of the Queer-saki!”

“How’ve ya been bud, finally got over that last girl? What was the name-”

“-Niko, Yui was, like, nine months ago, I’ve been over her forever!”

“Real question is if Queer-saki’s gonna actually talk to the girl or not-”

“Sigh, sigh, we know what you are~” That was followed by a fit of laughter and Hina’s face growing hot with embarrassment.

Good God, these girls best be thankful that they’re her found family, or she would’ve slapped them in the face a long time ago.