[People like us aren't fated for happy endings, Akechi had told him once. Honestly, he still believes it. As "well" as things have been going for him as of late, here and in the real world, he doubts he's fully escaped the sword of Damocles hanging above his head.]

You and I both know this place won't do us the courtesy of letting us die.

[Akechi extends a gloved hand, but just as quickly has to retract it to cough into his sleeve. The fabric comes away spotted with blood. He snorts with annoyance, than immediately regrets it as a petal threatens to come up the back of his throat and into his sinuses. Fucking hell.

He continues, voice hoarser from the effort of speaking past the mass of flowers he can feel blocking his windpipe,]

Are you familiar with the Japanese trope "hanahaki?"