~~~~~~~
"Nope, I'm not coming."
"But why Iwa-chan? It's gonna be fun, I promise."
"It's a party, and I hate parties."
Oikawa huffed and rested his chin heavily on his hand, mumbling, "Such an uninteresting cretin."
"What?" Iwaizumi glowered.
"Nothing."
The two fell into silence, books open in front of them, sitting parallel to each other in the comfort of Iwaizumi's home on a mundane weekend.
"Maybe I'll invite Mattsun and Makki, yeah? They're a lot more fun." He cheekily nudged the edge of his pen against his lower lip.
"Oi, don't do something stupid, Shittykawa." This earned a whine from the brunette.
Another pause and Oikawa went serious, "Hey, Iwa-chan, do you think Makki is really okay?"
"Hmm?"
"I mean, you saw the blood on his sweater the other day right? During lunch. And earlier, Mattsun said he ran out in the middle of his test looking pale and sweaty, despite saying that he only felt cold and just had the urge to throw up."
Iwaizumi took a long measured look at Oikawa, configuring what he'd just said, "What do you think it is?"
"It's obviously," started Oikawa, slowly standing up from the carpeted floor before stretching his arms out, pointing his fingers outwards, "Cancer."
Iwaizumi chucked an empty bottle at Oikawa's head, aiming it right so that the hard surface of the top bonked him on the forehead. The funny sounding thud made him giggle.
"Mean, Iwa-chan!" He retorted and sat down, rubbing his head.
"Well, you started it."
"No."
"Yes, you went ahead and said something dumb." Iwaizumi leaned across the table in front of them and rubbed the little bump on Oikawa's forehead; the other stilled.
"Pain, pain go away." Mumbled Iwaizumi, eyes flickering between Oikawa's brown eyes and his forehead.
Oikawa looked widely at his best friend, the tears at the edge of his eyes disappearing at the familiar tune which tugged at a distant memory clouded with childhood innocence and summer sweetness, "You said you hated that song."
"Well, if it makes you feel better, dumbass," said Iwaizumi, fighting back a smirk, "Pain pain go away."
The two fell back into a comfortable study session, all thoughts on the pink-haired boy ceased in the company of each other.
-----
"Mattsun, c'mon have some fun. You look stiff as a board!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
Hanamaki could barely hear the conversation between the euphoric brunette and the boy beside him - who was looking ravenous, he first observed - over the bass-boosted music.
Why Oikawa would ever think that a party on weekdays was a good idea was a question he'll never get an answer for. The wild brunette was already bopping to the music with a red cup to his mouth.
Well, wouldn't hurt just to let loose for a while.
"You look stunning."
Hanamaki looked at Matsukawa, who was grinning down at him, he noticed that the other had a similar red cup in his hands, leaving the pink-haired boy the odd one out.
"I- thank you, you look amazing too." And it was true; Matsukawa was clad in dark ripped jeans and a dark jacket thrown over a flimsy shirt of some rock band. His dark curls had been stuffed in a murky green beanie; Hanamaki couldn't help but find that extremely attractive - it was as if such wears were made for the ravenette.
"Aww, stop I'm blushing." They both laughed.
It was the way things were between the two; a humorous and jesting relationship, they were ultimately just best friends.
Best friends...
With a sense of torpor, Hanamaki recalled the events that took place the previous day.
The volleyball team had just finished practice and were about to head home, everyone was tired and ready to call it a day.
"After school, can you come see me? Just for a moment." Hanamaki had said.
He had been leaning against the school's gate, wearing his volleyball kit and looking about when the dark-haired male jogged up to him.
"So," started Matsukawa, "What did you want to talk about?"
Without any hesitation, Hanamaki shoved a crib of flowers - freshly washed - into his teammates hands. "Here ya go."
There were a million thoughts whirring through Hanamaki's head; those associated with self-pity, anger, humiliation and most of all:
Fear.
"Um, thanks, they're pretty." Said Matsukawa, cradling the flowers with no sepal nor stem, "What's the occasion?"
I'm in love with you.
I hate it but I fell in love with you the moment I saw you.
Go on Makki, say those sappy words like the girls who confess to their senpais, c'mon show him just how much you're blushing.
He swallowed with his breath held, making his ears pop, the induced pressure diminishing his hearing and introducing a violent ring in his mind.
Spit it out you fucking piece of trash-
"I found 'em near your place." He choked out finally, "Ahah, just thought I'd give it to you. No occasion."
And under the pretense of having emergencies, he left.
Hanamaki didn't bother counting the number of flowers he obtained that night.
He had wrapped himself like a ball while his chest was on fire, while he coughed and coughed, he just kept them all in a trash bag by his bed, nonplussed as he cleaned his own blood, wiped his own tears and sang himself to sleep.
"Damn, I never thought someone could rock a turtleneck before. But you certainly take the prize."
Hanamaki and Matsukawa were well into the night, drinking and complementing each other as if it was nothing. They had given up on trying to convince drunk Oikawa that making out with Iwaizumi was a bad idea and they lost them in the sea of sweaty bodies and fluorescent lights.
"Oh yeah, well I think those pants look great on you." Especially Hanamaki, who had taken drinking as a serious sport. He held a high flush to his cheeks and his eyes were dazed, dilated.
Matsukawa took a while to register those words before he spoke up, slightly smirking, "Oh? Would you like to see me without them?"
Hanamaki blushed, profusely and Matsukawa burst out laughing, his deep voice audible even with the overbearing music. To Hanamaki, his laughter was better than any beat.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." Hanamaki pouted and looked away, ignoring the irregular beating of his heart.
"C'mon," slurred Matsukawa, "Let's go see what Oikawa and Iwa-chan are up to." Hanamaki chuckled at the spot-on impression of Oikawa with the nickname.
They wadded through the crowd, Hanamaki's chest throbbing as Matsukawa grabbed the other's hand, leading him around the room.
Once they came into a little opening where they were promised the other two would be stationed with drinks, their jaws dramatically dropped.
Oikawa was drunk beyond comprehension, straddling Iwaizumi on the floor who was ruby-faced, frozen. The brunette had his hand on his shirt, fumbling with the buttons and he was giggling, amused.
"Oikawa!" The two rushed in and grabbed him, Hanamaki hooked his hands around the brunette's armpits and dragged him while Matsukawa checked for Iwaizumi's consciousness.
"Iwa-chan... Iwa-chan." Oikawa mumbled and dissolved into a fit of giggles.
"Iwaizumi! Don't leave us man." Matsukawa was gently slapping the dark-haired male's heated face just as Oikawa sat up, looking dreamily at him.
"Hey... you guys should've seen the way he looked when I called him- When I called him Hajime." He slurred between hiccups, the widest grin on his red face.
Hanamaki looked at Matsukawa horrified.
"...Oikawa-san, maybe you should go home." The pink-haired boy said gingerly, slowly buttoning the brunette's shirt. He had to admit, Oikawa looked hot in his outfit; his white shirt was fit to his well-built figure and so were his dark pants.
It was as if he was there for an expensive party rather than a teenager's worst hangover.
"Makki, can you please drop Oikawa at his home?" Matsukawa's worried voice caught Hanamaki, "Lemme try to revive Iwaizumi-"
"No."
They all looked at the man on the ground, who had raised himself up to a seating position, head bowed.
"No, I'll take him home." His voice was flat and Matsukawa and Hanamaki gulped.
They registered the increase in tension in the air when their former ace spoke up with his scary-calm voice - one that only told them of what he wanted to do; with a sliver of danger.
"I-Iwaizumi?"
"Safe and sound." Iwaimuzi glared at the limp brunette - if looks could kill, Hanamaki thought, Oikawa would've been 18 feet under the ground with his heart in a different coffin.
The two watched silently as Iwaizumi hoisted himself up, his own black shirt stretching around his flexed muscles as he strode towards Oikawa, lifting him up through the shoulder and wrapping his arm around the brunette's slender waist.
Then he headed out silently.
"'C-call us if you're safe...?" Matsukawa spoke up hesitantly and he earned a distant grunt as a response.
After the door shut the two were enveloped in utter silence, until Hanamaki spoke up.
"Well, that was... eventful."
"Pfft, tell me about it- actually, don't, I was a witness of this chaotic revelation."
Hanamaki sighed and mumbled, half to himself, "Never thought Oikawa would lose it so quickly."
"What?"
He looked at the taller male and felt a bit guilty, it's not my secret to tell. "It's just that.... Uh..."
"Spit it out Makki," Matsukawa smoothly replied almost immediately, "This is Iwaizumi and Oikawa we're talking about. Remember; no secrets." Matsukawa had been looking so intently at Hanamaki that the other almost forgot what he was going to say.
"Oh- Um, well." He looked away, frowning, figuring out the best way to phrase the sudden unmasking, "Have you ever thought of Oikawa and Iwaizumi as more than friends?"
Matsukawa had a face of confusion, "Best friends?"
"No- More than just childhood best friends?"
The other looked as if he was deep in thought, really configuring, "I don't know Makki, they don't really strike me as related in anyway, I mean, Iwaizumi is okay and all but Oikawa isn't-"
"Mattsun, shh."
Hanamaki strained to keep eye contact with Matsukawa, ignoring the burn in his chest. Why does it always happen at the most inconvenient times?
"Oh.... You mean that." Matsukawa whispered, his eyes widening.
Hanamaki simply nodded, not trusting his voice.
They both headed out, ready to put a bit of alcohol in their systems, but obviously not to Oikawa's extent.
"So... how did you figure it out?"
Hanamaki was in a little booth with Matsukawa, the rhythmic bass-beats dancing with their hearts and the energy flowed in the room unchanged, each had a red cup and they were deep in thought. But Hanamaki was struggling against a cough, which only got more overwhelming by the moment.
And yet, he refused to move because they were so close, Hanamaki's knees were up to Matsukawa and he could smell the faint scent of leather and soap that drifted off the ravenette.
"I just wondered; Oikawa had been acting a lot different after he left Iwaizumi and he seemed.... Happier than usual whenever he was around. Besides," mused Hanamaki aloud.
Oikawa admitted his feelings about Iwaizumi to me.
No, I can't say that.
"Takes one to know one." He stuck his cup to his lips and tensed for the aftermath.
He sipped silently, not daring to look at the boy beside him. What if he finds it weird? What if he doesn't like it? What if-
"I don't get it."
Hanamaki sighed, exasperated - after everything, the pounding in his head only got worse with time, "I'm gay, he's gay. Takes a gay to know another gay, that's what I meant."
He fell into a tight series of coughs after his little outburst.
"Oh..." mused Matsukawa, sipping his own drink.
"I don't care," Hanamaki choked out, "I don't care if he's gayer than a Scottish soap bar, I just want him to be happy with the person he's in love with; doesn't matter who."
"And if Iwaizumi does not return his feelings?" Asked Matsukawa softly.
"Then," he sighed, "I'll lend him a shoulder to cry on."
Matsukawa's eyes twinkled as he grinned, "You're so sweet."
Hanamaki instantly gave into the torrent of coughs that erupted in his chest, each one, once again, bringing pain with it more pain; piercing and burning.
He doubled over, shoving the fold of his elbow into his face and he walked out ignoring the other's calls of concern.
Tears stung his eyes as every breath became harder to take, he shoved Matsukawa's hand away and ran blindly, feeling the walls until he opened a random door.
To his fortune, it was the bathroom and he stumbled in, locking the doors and coughing his lungs out.
Petals strewed out of every cough, clogging his airways. Hanamaki forced every bit out, regardless of the blood loss.
He retched with both hands planted down and felt something come up his throat - he had gotten a bit used to the feeling, but not the pain.
A fully bloomed Chrysanthemum fell into his lap, clusters of blood red petals all around him. Hanamaki sniffled and stood up, softly gasping at his reflection in the dingy mirror; his face was sunken and his eyes were red, the only spots of colour in the white room with his black shirt and pale skin were the blood that dripped down his chin and his shock of pink hair.
Why?
Why is this happening?
Why me?
------
Hanamaki hated hospitals, he hated the smell of disinfectant and the looming sense of dread that the air carried. After knowing that someone might be struggling with their last breath walls away from you, how can one relax?
But despite all that, Hanamaki was relaxed, because he finally checked himself out in the hospital, and also because the slow drip of the IV in his arm had somewhat returned to him the strength he'd lost in the past couple days, comically giving him the energy to be slack.
It had been nearly an hour - an hour since he last saw the doctor. The slow beeping of the machine beside him was all that he could control. Hanamaki playfully tried holding his breath, then releasing it, experimenting with the machine's readings. But his chest had hurt and so he stopped.
The doors swung open and his fixated gaze at the white ceiling was broken, a white cloaked doctor walked in, looking frenzied and tired - a doctor's typical look.
"Hanamaki Takahiro, yes?"
"Yeah."
"Ok," he breathed in, flipping through the papers in his hand, but the pink-haired boy had a feeling that this was merely a nervous habit - he didn't know how to start his sentence.
"When did you first start experiencing these... chest convulsions." A question he'd been asked before.
"Nearly a month ago."
"Okay and what did you do?"
Hanamaki frowned, "What do you mean?"
"When you first saw the flowers, what did you do?"
Hanamaki didn't answer, he looked at the doctor, "I freaked out."
The doctor then proceeded to remove a few sheets out of the report he was holding, his actions still unclear. Hanamaki ruffled his own short hair, letting his eyes wander around the medic's white coat. A metal tag read his name out: Dr Mizutono Takeshi.
Up against a white screen was an x-ray sheet - a product of the scan they'd done earlier.
"These," Dr Takeshi pointed to the two sheets he had clipped on the wall, an evident image of Hanamaki's rib cage, "Are your lungs. And this," he specified at the white twisted shapes in Hanamakii's lungs - the whole image looked bizarre, "This is what's obstructing your air passages."
"What is it?"
"Roots. Plant roots." The doctor removed something from his coat pocket, "The roots of this flower, to be precise."
The flower's graphic red hue pierced Hanamaki's eyes, as if taunting. He implored, "Why do I cough these up? Is it normal? Am I going to die?"
Dr Takeshi strode towards Hanamaki leisurely, as if composing his response and sighed, the single word changed the air and mood n the room. "Hanahaki."
"No, it's Hanamaki." Hanamaki replied immediately.
"The disease you're inflicted with," he continued, as if he hadn't spoken up, "It's called Hanahaki; it's where a victim of unrequited love is forced to choke up flowers until their love is returned or they die or the root is removed."
Hanamaki blinked, closing his agape mouth. Just when he thought flowers up his lungs was the most bizarre thing ever, he was hit by this.
He cleared his throat, "A disease? Where one throws up flowers if one is not loved back?"
Dr Takeshi walked back to his desk of papers, clearly uncomfortable with the ambiance in the room he created, "It's a lot more complicated than it seems; it can't simply be toned down to such a definition. It's tied to religion, culture, myths-"
Hanamaki laughed, a cold, obnoxious sound that cut the doctor's words. He continued for an unbearably long time.
"Oh, you're serious?" The inflicted boy never knew when to joke or what to consider a joke.
The spectacled man looked disapprovingly at the pink-haired infirm, a look of exhaustion and sympathy etched into his aged and grey face - he had definitely dealt with worse in his extensive career. He continued as if Hanamaki didn't react at all.
"Science and ethics have never really gone hand in hand throughout history, and so, when we were presented with a disconcerting issue such as this, we, as peoples of the medical sect, tried our best to decipher this problem. But," he rubbed his temples lightly and said in a low voice, "We haven't had a successful breakthrough just yet."
There was a long painful pause in the room and Hanamaki looked back at the image of his lungs - the plant roots, supposedly, and the monochromatic traces of veiny petals of those who he already knew belonged to.
He picked at his cuticles, fear finally settling in heart - the true weight of his situation - and a thousand thoughts ran through his head; love, death, money, pain, flowers-
What do I do? What do people normally do when death stares you in the eye unwaveringly?
"So how do you normally handle this situation?" He heard himself utter those words with a flat voice. Dr Takeshi raised his head.
"Well... there's surgery, but at this rate," he looked back at the scan, "It will only result in your demise; the roots are far too spread into your lungs - maybe even around your heart, sort of like a cage - any sudden force on the roots could result in piercing your heart and there might even be thorns in the plant." He mumbled the last part before speaking up again, "If you'd come a bit sooner-"
He cut himself off, looking at the other boy's downcast face. He cleared his throat.
"The other orthodox way is to get the person you have feelings for to return them; have them fall in love with you or - at the very least - confess to them; that should spark a connection." He continued.
"Anything; as long as there's this doubtful connection between the both of you you should be a bit better."
All through the doctor's discourse, Hanamaki listened, registered his words, giving quiet commentaries to them all in his head.
He spoke up after another long pause, "Is there any other option?"
The doctor looked at him. "If you reject all those options then all you have to do is wait until the disease takes over your system," he replied, looking straight at Hanamaki, "And you'll die."
An odd silence punctuated the doctor's last words as Hanamaki swallowed.
Die, huh?
He tasted the words in his mouth, it's bland feeling numbing down the seriousness, but it only made him more afraid - of his own obliviousness.
All those times Hanamaki wished he could die - the humourful times and when he was dead tired of life - he never anticipated the real meaning behind the action of death.
The permanent demise.
Not knowing what's after that brief moment of darkness.
An abrupt full-stop to everything.
"Please tell me more about the surgery."
Hanamaki then realised the weight of the situation- his situation. He could die. He was going to die. He wanted to exhaust his plausible option as soon as possible.
Well...
Making him fall in love with me is beyond my dreams.
I know.
"I- Well, it's... actually the hardest option to go for since we'll have to look for potential donors and it's not like it's a lung; it's two of them, so we can only go for someone who has newly...." The doctor scrunched his face in a weird way, "Expired. Also there's the subject of organ rejection to invest on so-"
"-So I'm basically helpless." Finished Hanamaki, "Right?"
The doctor held his breath before responding, "Not entirely true.... You do realise there's the other option right?"
Ha, way out of reach.
"No. Not possible at all." He shook his head.
"I mean..." The doctor started again, reasoning, "Have you tried?"
"No, you don't understand. It's not happening."
"Look," he sat on a chair beside Hanamaki, "You can't give up like that. If you want to live you have to-"
"Listen! He doesn't love me, okay? He never will and..." The words only brought bitterness to Hanamaki, he could feel a tightness clogging in his throat - this time it wasn't the flowers.
"It's only gonna make things worse." He finished in a low voice.
Matsukawa's face sprung up in Makki's mind in the absolute solitude of the colourless chamber where he fought a battle with his emotions, sitting up straight and attentive despite his doctor having left him a long time ago.
He was afraid any small actions might just break him.
How he wanted to be held, resigning to the fact that he himself was no longer capable of holding his body together.
But he didn't show it. He just bit his lip and blinked hard, breathing deeply.
He muffled a cough, discarding the feeling of something crawling up his system - a little butterfly itch inside his trachea.
It felt a little like the edge of a thin leaf.
~~~~~
Seijoh gc
Mattsun: SO.
WE AINT GONNA TALK ABOUT IT ANYMORE???
Makki: No.
We're not.
Mattsun: ?!??! uM Y NOT?
Makki: bc.... We know what happened. If anything im just glad lol.
Mattsun: Ur wayyy to cool bout this. Like-
Oikawaandiwaizumiwhat-
Hanamaki squinted again at the bunched sentence, forcing his heavy eyelids open against the bright screen of his phone. He read Matsukawa's text again and sighed, readying his fingers to fly across the keyboard as accurately as possible.
Makki: Ye... there a thing. An actual thing.
Amazingv ik
Mattsun: *they're
And no. it's not amazing. I mean...
Hanamaki frowned, feeling a little disappointed by Mattsun's words.
Makki: first, dont correct me, im tired
Scnd, y isnt it amazing??
It was nearly two in the morning and the two males were up texting each other - not uncommon considering it was those two. The conversation spiked up after Oikawa and Iwaizumi dropped the bomb of their new-found relationship in the group chat and left things unexplained, which then left a frantic Matsukawa texting Hanamaki to hear the entire story.
Mattsun: idk... doesn't it seem... unnatural??
Makki: wut? Being gae?
Mattsun: hA gAEeEe
N no offense, but like....
Hanamaki could only frown further - surely his crush wasn't homophobic? He couldn't pin this feeling of fisappointment that welled in him subtly.
He felt his vision swim in the slightest, the edges blurring as his eyes slipped back. Before his hands fell completely slack his phone buzzed.
Mattsun: idfk what do you think about it??
The pink-haired male opted to sit up; since he was way past his bedtime and fatigue pulled at every fiber of his body and because his hands were nearly dead.
Makki: I'm happy for oiks, and for iwa
I mean, it is quite shocking to hear of their gAEness but still
They're happy so im happy :)
After he felt satisfied with his reply he sent it, feeling that little bloom of self-love for being a good friend.
The ellipses bounced and suspense heightened again in Hanamaki, he chewed on his cuticles, eyes glued on his screen.
Mattsun: awwww ur sooo sweet<3
hOW-
The pink-haired boy giggled, feeling a bit giddy at the complement, and more so on the heart.
Makki: idk, im always sweet ;)
Mattsun: sdkashd but not to me-
Makki: ofc i am. I always am.
Mattsun: nahhhh, you aint sweet to me bubblegum.
Under the coven of the night he blushed furiously - the wonders a nickname could do, he thought. Especially from someone like Matsukawa. His heart skipped a painful beat and he ignored the piercing pain within.
Makki: bubblegm? I thought u said you'd drop it.
Also, i am sweet ;p
Mattsun: Bubblegum is sweet - u aint.
And no im not gonna drop it lol
The bickering went on for a while, dragging the hour hand way past three and yet Makki didn't let sleep's loving cradling embrace him. He continued texting Mattsun.
Mattsun: ayt fine, aliens and godzilla go well
Btw u wanna call?
He read the text again, making sure that it wasn't delusion.
Hanamaki coughed, a wet muffle that brought blood up instantly. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve undauntedly. By now the pink-haired male was a little used to the feeling - that feeling of something crawling up his throat as he coughed and the scary warmth that erupted behind his hands.
He didn't tell anyone though. He felt no need to, Hanamaki had left things to the last minute, deciding to break the awful news when he's taking his last breath.
But I've already decided.
I know what I'm going to do.
A feeling of trepidation muting his senses as he glanced at a lone, dirty piece of paper on his desk a little bit away. It's veiny ink traces taunted him in the dark.
He hastily ran his hand through his hair, bringing his mind back to the text, fighting his impulse to run around screaming - but, well, for starters, he quit running.
No, he was going to quit volleyball. The physical exertion only demanded more from his already dying lungs - it was something he couldn't give. Could never supply what the exhilarating sport asked of him.
And he never will be.
It had nearly been three days since the awful revelation to his teammates and the guilt-filled relief that it brought on his body stagnated within him ever since.
He'd faced a lot more protests than he expected - Oikawa, out of all of them, was the one who was adamant and furious. It was a bit painful, having to quit from a team he so loved and worked hard for.
Makki: sure ye but y tho?
Mattsun: idk i dont wanna text. Too boring.
Makki: ayt ///
The sudden buzz sent a chill through Makki's frail body - the sudden toned down buzz making him anxious for some reason. He slid the call accepted.
"Hey, baby gurl. Are ya lost-"
"Shut up."
The ravenette burst into giggles after his pathetic flirtatious opening line which Hanamaki will deny had any effect on him - the deep raspiness of Matsukawa's voice; it was.... Inviting.
Hanamaki then went onto bringing up an old memory and once again the hysterical mood was presented.
Matsukawa hadn't said anything grand that day - Hanamaki recalled. The ravenette held the face of disappointment and curiosity when the other stood in front of his team.
It was weird and mildly infuriating for Hanamaki, and even when they spent the rest of the day together while Oikawa and Iwaizmi went together, Matsukawa maintained his air of quietude, only speaking up when it was required.
"Makki, are you sure you're okay?" Matsukawa's voice broke him out of his reverie, the ravenette's soft tone startling the other, "You seemed really out of it yesterday. And you've been skipping many classes."
He braced, the long dreaded conversation nearing and making Hanamaki anxious. His hesitation was immediately picked up by the other male.
"Makki, there's something you're hiding from me. What is it?"
I'm sick- I'm dying-
He coughed, grimacing - more in heartache than the chest pain.
"I can't tell you Mattsun." Said Hanamaki, "Especially you."
It was probably the most incorrect thing he could have said, Hanamaki thought.
"I don't understand," among a little background rustle was the confused voice of Matsukawa, "Are you not telling me because you don't trust me?"
"This has nothing to do with trust-" please don't make this hard for me.
Please, I can't breathe.
"Did I do something to offend you? Please, I'm sorry, I just want to help you."
I'm unable to whisper the words I long to scream.
Matsuakwa's words were like a drop of icy water in the vast expanse of a dry and hot desert - and Hanamaki needed to hear him.
But he knew the real intention between those words.
He thought, if what Dr Takeshi said was true, then ultimately, Matsukawa did not mean his sugary words.
A violent cough broke out of Hanamaki's throat, piercing through his chest, the force of it pounding in his head in the worst way possible.
With every rasp, blood splatter out of his mouth and - his usual guests; flowers.
This time, it was a little bit different. They came out in torn clumps, full blooms and bloodied leaves. But he couldn't find the time to study everything he spat, every cough brought fresh tears and blood up.
In the midst of his battle he didn't realise he'd cut his ongoing call with Matsukawa, he pushed his sheets away and stumbled to the bathroom, a hand pressed against his mouth and another on his chest.
A scratching feeling, an annoyance was brewing within his chest.
In front of the mirror, Hanamaki ripped his shirt apart, not even unfazed by his bloodshot eyes and blue face.
He gasped, heart beating a mile a minute. Hanamaki remained unblinking, moving trembling fingers over the bony expanse of his chest.
It was white- his skin was unnaturally pale, tracy with blue- green veins. But that's not what terrified him.
Against his chest was a dark shadow - an irregular filigree contour contorted by a huge clump; all pressing against the skin of his chest, dark imprints protruding outwards.
Hanamaki pressed his fingers slightly in, wincing when it hurt - as he'd expect.
A sense of piercing terror settled when his mind started to piece the parts together - going back to the first flower and to his scans. There were flowers growing within him.
All this pain.
All this blood.
All these flowers.
All because he cannot be loved back. Because his love was not returned.
Hanamaki saw his tears run down to meet the murky crismon smudges on his mouth and chin - that cold feeling of letting your life slip through your fingers took over his frail body as he cried.
He needed someone.
He wanted someone.
The wet flowers squelched as Hanamaki fisted them while lying on the bathroom floor, silent and shaking.
---
My coughs haven't subsided at aLL and it's been like two weeks...... Do I need help or??-