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It’s a rainy day spent at the stylishly cozy Le Blanc. Mishima sits at one of the empty booths, his gaze hyper-focused on the screen as he thumbs through message boards. The tinny pattering of rain on glass cloaks the coffee shop in shadowy quietness.
Lifting a ceramic cup to his lips, Mishima sips on heavenly coffee. Crisp, velvety, with a strong roasted flavor. He’ll be spending days recovering from painful burns to savor these brews. The socially anxious Yuuki doesn’t usually visit the Phantom Thieves hideout, but the café is an optimal haven for operations.
Hah, he’s thinking as if he’s an important secret agent or spy. But maybe, Mishima is. Or, he wishes he could be that special. Doesn’t everybody wish they could stand out, be a force for good, or at least be memorable like beloved stars? He’s just another sailor set adrift in the ocean without oars or a lifeline.
Ka-kling! A bell jingle signals visitors. Above the top of his phone, Mishima sees a brief blur of fluffy black hair. Akira! Sinking into the seat, a scorching blush paints the blue-haired man’s face. Whenever the daring Akira entered the stage, Mishima felt unworthy to be near, a devoted fan viewing an idol from afar.
But he reminds himself that he’s no mere fan. Not a faceless nobody to the brave Phantom Thieves. Mishima Yuuki is the crucial conduit between them and the masses and their greatest cheerleader.
Mishima sighed. Sometimes, despite their encouragement and friendship, Mishimia feels like a loser. A shadow erased by their glow.
His absent-minded smile drops when he sees Akira walk in with an arm over Haru’s shoulder. They must be dating, an agonizing pang stabbed Mishima’s heart. They look perfect together. A sophisticated daring thief with a pretty kindhearted noblewoman. Mishima’s frame crumbles like a writer’s halfhearted idea hastily thrown onto paper. Why would anybody like me? Even Akira? I’m a zero.
Yusuke and Ryuji tag along behind, debating which new movie in theaters is better. The upbeat and lively atmosphere is lost on Mishima who is drowning in his own self-disparaging. Everyone slides into the booth and he plasters on a fake smile.
“How’s our number one promotional director?” Sakamoto slaps Mishima’s back and he almost drops his phone.
“I’ve gathered some intel but nothing for a solid lead. Good news? You guys are becoming more than a local legend. There’s some underground support in the American and London scene too.”
The artist leans over to see all the merch being sold. “We’re seen in a romantic light. We’re like idols!” He chuckled. “I wish I could make a profit from my art, at least the masses adore it. Hmmm. Maybe I should make another debut…but what should I paint? The longstanding question every artist struggles to-”
“That’s great. Thanks to you,” Akira’s smile made priceless diamonds look like shabby treasures. “We’re really able to do good for society.”
“No,” Mishima waves his hands but he’s warmed by Akira’s tributes. “You guys do all the hard work.”
He hates seeing Haru all over him. The woman’s name brand perfumes, expensive clothes, her sugary-sweet personality. She’s every guy’s dream girl, and Akira is every girl’s dream guy. An elegant, sophisticated, eye-catching couple. If Mishima had a partner, he’d vanish into the background. He’d just diminish the pair –and who on earth would want to be with someone so bland?
Sharp jealousy coats Mishima’s throat, metallic and bitter. Face it, Mishima, Akira will never like you. You’re a zero. You don’t have powers like them. They probably think you’re a joke.
Trying to stifle white-hot jealousy, Mishima takes another sip of his drink. The coffee goes down but a bobbing chunk scrapes his throat. Was it the pastry he ate earlier? Allergies? Before he could find out by process of elimination, he slams his cup down and lurches forward. He goes into a violent coughing fit.
God, everyone’s staring at me!
“You okay?” Yusuke asked.
“Did it go down the wrong pipe, dude?” Ryuji slapped his back.
“Oh dear, should we-”
“I’m fine.”
He’s far from fine. The others go back to lighthearted conversation but a painful ache stays in Mishima’s throat. It doesn’t feel like a typical sore throat either. It felt like he ate chips of barbed wire!
But it gets worse, so much worse. For a non-protagonist like Mishima, it should be expected. Nothing good ever happens to a nobody like him.
Ears ringing, the rest of the world goes quiet, completely silent. He opens his closed fist to see-
Blood. Bright crimson droplets and a wrinkly petal. Fear and shock dyes Mishima’s face.
Hanahaki? It’s just an urban legend! Breath ragged and wrought with panic, Yuuki wordlessly throws his payment on the table and runs out the door. He stumbles in the alleyway, startled and dazed by what he saw. The gloomy flower petal falls from his grasp like a dying man’s sigh. No, no, no. I must be imagining it. Right? Or I’m in some nightmare. But his lackadaisical logic is crushed by undeniable morbid reality.
“Mishima?” Akira leaves Le Blanc and faces Yuuki. He wears a bright smile but it’s hindered by worry.
“What’s up?” A weak, pained laugh drags itself out of his throat.
“You left so fast, are you okay?”
“I think I’m getting a cold. I don’t want to get anyone sick.” Please, don’t worry about me. I’m not worth it.
Akira takes a deep breath, shifting his legs from one to the other, as if he’s contemplating something. He offers a red envelope. “I hope you get better soon because Haru’s hosting a masquerade ball. I…I’d like to see you there.”
Me? Why? Mishima’s eyes go dull, melancholy. I’m not a hero like you guys. And worst of all, I’d see you having fun with Haru all night at the party. He goes to grab the invitation and feels an electric shock shoot up from his fingertips through his arm. Mishima suddenly retracts his hand as if he got burned, but then grabs onto it like it’s his only lifeline.
“You’re one of us you know. And you deserve to get the glory too.”
Akira’s wrong, an ominous taunting voice echoes around Mishima. We all know you’re just a pathetic errand boy.
“Thanks, Akira.”
Yawning, Mishima rubs his eyes from the burning light of a computer screen. It’s 2AM and he’s up tak, tak, tak-ing away on the keyboard to look up info for the Phantom Thieves’ next targets. If he slacks off then the world will just become an insufferable place again.
His phone goes off and he sees a text from Akira. Don’t overwork yourself.
Mishima smiled. Akira’s always putting his friends’ health before his own. Brave, witty, caring, the triune that makes a hero and a popular crush. Yuuki noticed the irony of him falling into the rescue romance trope, but aren’t all romances cliché?
He lacks powers or a persona, so this is his only way of pulling his weight. How else am I supposed to be useful to you, Akira?
Time decays away like a corpse left in rain. Yuuki stays up late at night, restless and often staring at his ceiling for answers. If I can’t do this, then does my life really matter at all?
And now with Hanahaki, Mishima wonders if trying hard at any passion is worth it. He wants Akira to fall for him but he knows that it’d never happen. In another universe, another dimension, there’s probably a happier Mishimia with Akira. But in this one? All he can see ahead is a deathly cold darkness. His drafts for his movie scripts and books are stacked carelessly, left unfinished. Why bother? Nobody would care about what he thinks. Just another zero. Worthless and overlooked for greater numbers.
Yuuki fights tears. His chest hurts. Like a blade plunging into his heart. He’d be dumped in a coffin, buried in the earth, and no one would shed a tear. He’s unremarkable, a bland face, a boring person. He had volleyball, but he’d be no athletic superstar. He had writing, but there are hundreds of thousands of better writers out there. And knowing that made the lurking darkness all the more heartbreaking.
A scratchy burn settles in his throat. Maybe he should go out for a bike ride? The phone buzzes signaling more text messages from his friends, but he doesn’t answer. Getting out of bed he throws on a light jacket and leaves the phone behind.
Gliding through neon-colored warrens at night is freeing and exhilarating. A cool gust energizes him to keep biking. Here in a city chockful of people, it’s easy to feel invisible and ordinary. But flying like this? Mishima is not Mishima but a being without worries, without existential crisis. Swerving between people and vendors he lets the bike drift, carrying him wherever it decides to turn.
The tires roll on and on. Cityscape drastically vanishes to soft earthy landscape. It’s Inokashira. The dense quiet sinks in and for once, Mishima can breathe easy. The pond is seamless glass. Beautiful like the endless starry night sky. He leans against the wooden fence and stares into the identical world below, and starts to nod off to sleep.
“I know you’re a dumbass but I didn’t think you’d believe the Hanahaki would go away on its own.”
Yuuki jumps up, startled by the voice. No one else is in the park. Am I starting to lose it?
“I’d say you are. And it’s a funny sight.”
A mocking, menacing voice tosses hurtful insults in a playfully sarcastic tone. Mishimia sees the origin of the disembodied voice. It belongs to his reflection. Glowing yellow eyes stab through flesh and makes Yuuki’s blood go cold.
Mishima stumbles, his body reacting mechanically, right before throwing up. He slaps a hand over his mouth in a futile effort to stop it. Blood spews violently from his lips, burning his mouth and nose. He tastes iron and feels his lungs squeeze to quickly expel all his stomach’s contents. Something is tunneling up his throat. Teary-eyed and panicked, he clamps down on the wooden railing for support and heaves.
Blood, flowers, and worms plummet from Mishima’s open jaws. They land at his feet and paint his white sneakers. He desperately gasps for air but could only puke. When the pain subsided he stares in horror at the vomit.
Moonflowers dapple an ocean of red. White circles that long to see moonlight. Leaves and stems are stitched together with writhing worms. The sight alone terrified Mishima, whose body felt clammy and weak. Did I just puke up worms? Worms and flower stems?
“He’s never going to like you back,” Yuuki’s shadowy double said. Happy and smug at the fact.
“I know,” he gurgled sadly.
“Why would he?” The twin smiled, sinking his teeth into Mishima’s suffering. “You’re a zero –always going to be. Even girls think you’re a loser. The Phantom Thieves are just a fad, and your novels will melt away to time. You’re like the ugly unpopular guy trying to fit in with the pretty crowd, only this isn’t a movie and there’s no happy ending. Akira already has Haru. Why would he want someone like you? That’d be a downgrade.”
He sinks to the ground and curls up, doing his best to shut out the identical voice tormenting him.
“You’re such a crybaby. And you couldn’t stand up to Kamoshida, even at your lowest, when you had nothing left to lose. Face the music, Mishima. You’re replaceable, forgettable, unwanted. Futaba could do what you do. You think you’re important in any way?”
“Shut up!” Dizziness latches onto Yuuki like hawks swooping down to capture food. Limbs go numb and his legs collapse under him. The world swings in a languid tempo, leaving Mishima to puke up more blood and flowers. His ears are ringing deafeningly, so much that he can hardly understand his reflection.
Shadow Mishima laughs. “So you’re trying to be brave now? Useless Mishima. So pathetic. And stupidly gullible. The Phantom Thieves will forget about you, you’re only a tool for their future success. Like you had any reason to live. You think anyone, even Akira, would give a shit if you died?”
“That’s not true!” He screams but his voice is hoarse from thorn-studded stems and serrated leaves scratching his throat and draining his blood from his body to support its own life force. He wants to call for help, but his body drops to the ground in a dusty cloud. Darkness slowly palls his eyesight and tugs him into a world of swimming dread.
“…wake. You…awake?”
A bobbing waving light cuts through the eternal darkness. Mind slow and unsteady like a sea sick sailor, Mishima wonders if he died. He can hardly speak, and only groan in response to a short-haired doctor in a white coat. “Water…water,” his voice is just above a cracking whisper.
The woman shook her head and switched the flashlight off. “You’ll be up in a few minutes. I got IVs in. You were out for a few hours. If your girlfriend hadn’t brought you in you could’ve died from dehydration and blood loss.”
“Girl…friend?”
“Don’t move so fast, okay? Good thing I saved some extra blood bags and medicines.”
Mishima’s vaguely aware of Dr. Takemi (the name he glimpsed from a nametag) pacing around a small office, gathering data on a clipboard and reading charts. “I’ve gotten a few patients with this Hanahaki disease.”
“It’s just an urban legend,” Yuuki sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than the doctor.
Dr. Takemi sighed. “So is people supposedly going out of control and violently attacking others. The theory is mass hysteria but I say otherwise.”
She sits on a chair and says, “I’ve been studying Hanahaki. There’s no cure. But I’m looking for one. If your conditions get worse, come back for a physical.”
Recovering his strength, Yuuki thanks Dr. Takemi, grabs his bag and coat, and leaves.
Outside, a light rain falls from the sky. Ann is leaning against the wall, standing by Mishima’s bike, and holding a red umbrella. Her pretty lips form a smile but her eyes are sullen. “I’m sorry, Mishima.”
They stand there, trying to grasp at words and condolences, but can’t voice them. The immense deafening silence is too powerful. Despair threateningly leers at their sad pathetic lives. At their unmerited circumstances. At their inescapable heartbreak.
“Thanks for helping me back there. I thought…I was going to die,” his laugh is sour, lifeless. “But I guess the universe wants to give me a few more punches before ending me.”
Ann laughs too, but it’s just as depressing as Mishima’s.
He wonders why she was out so late at night. There are plenty of trendy places to hang out, but why go without friends?
“You too?”
Ann doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. She raises her arm and coughs. The betraying flower petals and droplets of blood dye her jacket sleeve. Roses. Red roses.
Ann weakly smiles at Mishima. “I hope they love you back.”
“I hope they love you back too.”
“Thanks. I don’t want to die but if I am, I want to enjoy life a little longer. Let’s go to the party and make it a good day.”
Yuuki nodded solemnly.
The flowers are hastily taking over. He is now a mere pale image to what he used to be. Stems, leaves, worms, and moonflowers coil around his milky white bones, stab and sear his nerves, and jabs his insides to find more room to cultivate. His blood, oxygen, organs and bones are vessels and begrudging sacrifices for the Hanahaki. The x-rays were strangely beautiful and haunting. Like some sort of mad botanist’s experiment.
Moonflowers now extend out from his body. They line his jaw and cover half of his face. At least they didn’t remove or damage his left eye but it was still scary waking up unable to see from it. He uses some blending and cosmetic tricks that Ann showed him to make it look seamlessly part of his mask. It is white like the moon, with a stormy blue sky and clouds painted on. He stares at himself in the mirror, feeling his heart fearfully pounding within his ribcage, like a monstrous entity trying to breakout. He takes a deep breath and says, “Today’s the day to be brave. Because it might be your last.” He might look like an ugly bouquet but he’d at least want to see Akira again, before the flowers completely encase him.
Yuuki enters the elegant hall. It’s a factory-sized building that was renovated to host gaudy events like these. Guards are stationed everywhere of course. Okumura doesn’t want anyone crashing the party. Mishima’s shoes clap on flawless sparkly marble floor –and he can’t help but see the golden-eyed reflection staring back at him. He clamps his jaw shut and tries to push away all his lashing insults.
Endless tables of food and drink are served and guests are dressed in flashy outfits and jewelry. Mishima eventually finds Ann and Yusuke who wave at him. They’re standing by a gallery, hosting many designer clothes and some of Yusuke’s latest art. Mishimia feels out of place at this party, but he gives the world his best dazzling smile.
Ann is wearing a puffy red and pink dress fashioned with gleaming stones, a red cat-shaped purse, and heart-shaped hairclips. Her long blonde hair is down, and elegantly dusts her shoulders.
Yusuke wears a rented suit like Mishima but he adds some artistic flair, a stripy tie and a handmade metal pin. He looks like he’s in his element.
“What is this? Can it be?” Yusuke waved his arms for dramatic effect. “Love at first sight?”
Tamaki sighed and punched Yusuke’s arm. “Dummy. We’re not a couple, Clouds For Brains.”
“Sorry. I’m looking for models, to capture the heart of this event, for my next art piece.”
“They have a buffet –and lobsters.”
“Lobsters you say? Excuse me, I must leave at once! Surely I must get there before they are gone.” And Yusuke ran away, gaining many surprised faces and raised eyebrows at such a frantic long stride.
“Lobsters?” Yuuki asked.
Ann laughed. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder I guess.” She smiled, looking stunning and courageous. “I’m going to do it. Tell Shiho that I like her. I hope she feels the same. What about you?”
“I don’t think it’ll go well but…”
Tamaki clasped her hands over Mishima’s and squeezed. I’ll be here for you, she promised. And good luck.
He paces through the ballroom in a lost stupor. Mishima goes over countless times on what to say to Akira but none of it sounds good enough. Classical music bombards the gilded space, looking like a set from a fantasy movie. Couples smile lovingly at their partners, getting lost in the moment. Yuuki feels cold, isolated, drowning in the icy waters of self-hatred.
In the further sections of the ballroom he finds Akira slow dancing with Haru. Benumbed, Mishima watches on with a pang of jealousy. The Hanahaki aggressively reacts and delivers a sharp agonizing pain all over his body. Mishimia tears himself away from the scene and rushes outdoors.
The moonflowers are thrashing around, attacking him like a serpent’s coils. Wheezing and sputtering he runs into the gardens. Hardly anybody wanders the far-reaching hedge mazes. It’s getting hard to breathe, and he keeps moving forward with lazy, shaky steps. At least out here, under the stars, he could die staring at something beautiful and lasting.
Ahead is a huge fountain. Stone carved to capture famous Greek heroes.
It’s painful to slowly suffocate, but Mishima fights off the terrible pain. For what, he doesn’t know. His life is boring, and probably would stay that way through its totality, so it’s not like he has a reason to try and live. Was it to make the universe look dumb for once? A last futile effort to be strong?
He leans against the fountain, gasping for air, but inhaling caused the stems and flowers to entrench further.
“Mishima?”
Akira looks godly. Haloed by silvery moonlight. He’s wearing a half red and half black suit with a white mask. Chocolate-brown eyes gleam with worry. Yuuki looks awful. Waxy and pale. Unhealthily skeletal. Sluggish, dull dim eyes. The flowers are leeching his very being, wanting nothing more but to reach the moon and dreamy starry sky above.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” It comes out bitter and cruel. Cold.
Akira blinks and then smiles. Why?
“Haru’s selling some coffee grounds we invented. She’s not my girlfriend,” Akira’s dazzling smile slightly falters. He wonders if Mishima got it all wrong. Was he in love with Haru? “She’s single. You could ask her for a dance if-”
“What? But you guys are a couple! You make it painfully obvious!”
Akira’s eyes become distant and thoughtful. “I’m chasing off her horrible and intimidating fiancé.”
Oh, Mishima blushed. He feels stupid for falling for such a trick. But that was the point wasn’t it? For how much of a fan he is of the Phantom Thieves, he didn’t even notice that. Akira was helping her –putting others before himself.
“I wanted to get some fresh air. Most of the guests are stifling and ostentatious.” He nervously wringed his tie. “I also wanted to see if you came to the party.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because I wanted to see you.”
Yuuki’s blush turned blood-red. But I’m not cool, smart, good-looking, or fun.
Sensing intense self-hatred the Hanahaki reacted. Mishima doubled over and coughed.
Akira’s brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
He guesses it’s a stubborn cold but when Akira took a step closer he realizes it isn’t. Observant eyes quickly study Mishima’s mask, discovering that they aren’t fake decorations. “Moonflower,” Akira gasps. His voice is soft and tinted by shock.
Mishima panics. He doesn’t want to throw up in front of his crush. Clamping a hand over his mouth, Mishima tries to flee. But clumsy as he is, and cursed by the universe to have eternal misfortune, he trips on the side of the water fountain. Akira quickly lunges to save him.
Mishimia shuts his eyes, expecting a jaw full of stone, missing teeth, or to topple over into cold waters –but he never falls. Akira grabs Mishima and pulls him into his arms. The mask isn’t so lucky; it falls and fractures on stone ground.
The Hanahaki has almost covered Mishima’s whole face. Stems, flowers, and leaves spring from his mouth and turn to face the moonlight.
“Mishima, why didn’t you…who is it?”
Fresh tears sting Yuuki’s eyes. “I…they –I’m going to die anyway, Akira. They’d never like me back.”
His sharp eyes glint austerely, fearfully. “I don’t want to lose you, Mishima! Who is it?!”
“You, Akira.”
Both stare at each other in dumb shock. Several emotions flicker past Akira’s face, until finally sheer happiness. He kisses Mishima, like it’d be the last time. It was sweet but demanding, not as gentle as a fairytale kiss but just as loving. The moonflowers quivered and slowly withered, drooping sadly before flaking away and melting into a light wind. Mishima thought he was dreaming or hallucinating. But he isn’t and his heart races up into his throat. He can breathe and see again and Akira likes him too.
“That was…whoa.”
“Magical?”
“Yeah,” Mishima nodded and laughed. “God, I sound so stupid right now.”
“I’m just happy you’re alive. Did you really think I didn’t like you?”
“I am a zero, Akira.”
The dark-haired man gave him a look. “Are you kidding? You helped us and you give me a reason to smile every day. This city was so dark, dingy and unfriendly. Until I met you, Ann and Ryuji I thought my life would be the same. I liked you since the day we met.”
“What, seriously?!”
“You’re no zero, Mishima. Not to me, or the others. I’m happy that you and I are changing the world for the better. I’m sorry if you felt put aside but I want you to know that I like you a lot and I want us to start dating.”
“Really?! Oh my god oh my god, this is –whuh…this is the best day of my life!”
Akira laughed. “I’ll wager that you’ll have more than one great day.”
“With you, I have a feeling I will.”
“Would you like to go inside and dance? The band is playing songs all night.”
Mishima intertwined his hand with Akira’s, feeling like he was gliding on air. “I’d like that.”