Chapter Text
The nurse called Robin’s name.
Robin squeezed Jaxon’s hand one last time, then let go.
He let them wheel him away.
He stared at the ceiling tiles as they passed, each one a square of white nothing.
He thought, briefly, of sunflowers.
He thought of Jaxon’s laugh.
He thought of the way love felt like standing on the edge of the stadium with the world rushing past and your heart launching anyway.
The doors to pre-op swung open, and the air changed. Less metal, more antiseptic. Less stadium heat, more chilled fluorescent quiet.
Robin swallowed against the raw scrape in his throat and told himself to breathe.
A nurse adjusted his blanket. “All right, Kazami. Just a few more checks and then we’ll get you comfortable.”
Comfortable. Like this was a match you could settle into.
Like there was an Xtreme line for getting your heart cut out cleanly.
Robin nodded, because nodding didn’t make petals rise.
They transferred him to another bed. The rails clicked up. A blood pressure cuff tightened around his arm. Sticky pads pressed to his chest where the sunflowers had been growing like they owned him.
The doctor from earlier stepped into his line of sight, tablet in hand, expression tired but kind in the way of people who’d seen too many endings.
“Robin,” she said, softer than she’d been in the clinic. “Last chance to ask questions.”
Robin’s fingers curled into the sheet. He could still feel Jaxon’s warmth in his palm like a bruise.
He could still hear Multi saying, You matter, like it was a fact.
He could still taste blood.
He stared at the ceiling tiles and tried to make himself want the surgery the way he’d wanted every other hard thing in his life. Tried to make himself choose it the way he chose practice, chose pain, chose losing until he learned how to lose better.
It didn’t work.
Because this wasn’t losing.
This was cutting out the only thing that had ever made him feel like he was winning at being alive, even if it was killing him.
The nurse rolled a tray closer. Syringes. Clear tubing. The mask that would press over his mouth and nose and make him disappear for a while.
Robin’s heart started beating like he was about to launch.
He didn’t want to wake up empty.
He didn’t want to look at Jaxon Cross and feel nothing but memory.
He didn’t want to survive like that.
His chest tightened, and for a second he thought a bloom was going to force its way up right here, right now, in front of strangers.
Robin turned his head toward the doctor and heard his own voice come out hoarse and small.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
The nurse paused mid-motion.
The doctor’s gaze sharpened. “Robin.”
He swallowed. His throat hurt. Everything hurt. “I can’t do it.”
There was a beat of silence where Robin expected anger. Expected disappointment. Expected them to tell him he was wasting time he didn’t have.
Instead, the doctor set her tablet down. “Tell me why.”
Because I’m a coward, Robin thought.
Because I love him, and I’m not ready to have it ripped out of me by someone else’s hands.
Because I’d rather die loving him than live without it.
He couldn’t say any of that out loud.
The truth stuck in his teeth like petals.
So he said the thing that was easier. The thing that was still true.
“Because if I do it,” Robin rasped, “then even if… even if I was wrong, it’s too late.”
The doctor looked at him for a long moment, like she was reading the parts of him he hadn’t said.
Then her shoulders lowered, just slightly.
“All right,” she said. “We stop.”
Robin’s breath hitched. Relief hit him so hard it almost felt like pain.
Then panic crashed in right after it, because stopping meant facing the hallway. Facing Multi’s eyes. Facing Jaxon’s hope that Robin had promised him with a squeezed hand and a quiet okay.
Robin’s fingers clenched in the sheets until his knuckles went pale.
“I can’t tell them,” he whispered, shame burning hot under his skin. “I can’t… I can’t go out there.”
The nurse’s expression pinched, conflicted.
The doctor exhaled, slow. “Robin. You understand that delaying treatment is dangerous.”
Treatment.
“I know,” Robin said, voice breaking. “I know. I just… I can’t do this like this.”
His lungs gave a warning flutter, like the roots were listening and disapproved of his sudden bravery.
The nurse glanced at the tray. Then at the doctor.
Robin’s stomach turned. He forced the words out, desperate.
“Please,” he said, and it came out like a confession. “Just put me under and wheel me back. Tell them something. Tell them it got delayed. Tell them anything. I just… I can’t look at them right now.”
The nurse’s mouth tightened. “That’s not…”
“It’s unethical,” the doctor said bluntly, and Robin flinched. Then she softened, just a fraction. “And I can’t sedate you for that.”
Robin swallowed hard. Heat stung behind his eyes. He hated himself. He hated the flowers. He hated that he’d gotten all the way here and still couldn’t be brave enough to face the people who loved him.
The doctor watched him shake for a moment, then tapped her tablet twice like she was making a decision she wasn’t supposed to make.
She leaned closer so the nurse couldn’t hear her words as easily.
“I can’t put you under,” she murmured. “But I can give you a way out of the room without them swarming you. If you can handle pretending.”
Robin blinked, confused.
The doctor’s gaze held steady. “You want to avoid them because you’re ashamed. I understand that. I don’t approve of feeding it, but I also don’t want you panicking yourself into a collapse.”
She straightened. “No anesthesia. No drugs. We will tell them we’ve had to delay and we can’t disclose details. Hospital policy. You go back to your room. No visitors until you’ve rested.”
The nurse stared. “Doctor—”
The doctor’s tone went firm. “I’ll take responsibility.”
Robin’s breath caught. His throat tightened so hard he almost gagged.
The nurse looked like she wanted to argue and also like she’d seen too many kids with too much stubborn pride and not enough time.
Finally, she nodded once, sharp.
“All right,” she said. “If you’re doing this, you do it fully. You don’t sit up. You don’t talk. You don’t give yourself away. You hear me?”
Robin nodded, because that was easy.
The doctor leaned closer again. “Robin,” she said quietly, and there was no judgment in her voice now, just plain human concern. “You are allowed to be terrified. But you cannot hide forever. Hanahaki doesn’t care about your pride.”
Robin’s chest squeezed. He whispered, “I know.”
The nurse picked up the mask anyway, held it above him like a prop.
“Close your eyes,” she instructed.
Robin obeyed.
He heard the nurse’s practiced, calm voice announce, “Anesthesia starting,” like it was real.
Robin kept his face slack.
He let his breathing slow.
He let himself go still.
A moment later, he felt the bed move. Wheels rolling. The soft squeak of rubber against sterile floor.
He stayed limp as they pushed him back out into the hallway, and every inch of him wanted to turn his head, to look for Jaxon and Multi, to see their faces one last time before he disappeared.
He didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Because if he saw Jaxon’s eyes and didn’t go through with it, then what was he?
A selfish boy clinging to a feeling that was killing him.
They turned a corner. The air changed again. He could hear voices now, louder, closer.
Multi’s voice, tight and controlled like she was holding herself together by sheer discipline.
And Jaxon’s, raw in the way Robin had only heard during matches that mattered too much.
The bed stopped.
Robin’s heart hammered once, hard, like a launch.
He kept his eyes closed.
He kept pretending.
The doctor spoke first, calm and distant like she was reading from a script.
“We’ve had to delay the procedure,” she said. “I can’t provide additional details at this time. He’s been returned to his room to rest. No visitations right now.”
Robin could picture Multi’s expression without seeing it. That sharp, furious focus that meant she was trying not to break.
Jaxon’s voice cracked immediately. “What do you mean delayed? Is he okay?”
“I can’t discuss specifics,” the doctor repeated. “He needs rest. We will update you when we can.”
Multi’s voice went low and urgent. “Doctor. You cannot send him back without telling us if he’s stable.”
A pause.
Then the doctor, quieter. “He’s breathing. He’s monitored. He is not in immediate crisis this second. You have no medial power over him. That is what I can tell you.”
Robin’s throat tightened.
Jaxon exhaled hard, like he was trying to swallow a scream.
“Can we see him,” Jaxon demanded, and the desperation in it made Robin’s lungs ache. “Just for a second. I just need to know he’s there.”
“No,” the nurse said firmly. “Not right now.”
There was the sound of footsteps shifting. Clothes brushing. The scrape of a chair against tile.
Robin’s bed moved again, rolling away.
The voices faded behind him.
His shame burned hotter.
They wheeled him into his room and locked him into the quiet.
The nurse adjusted his blankets with brisk hands, tucked the edges like she was trying to keep him from unraveling.
“Stay,” she warned softly. “Rest. And when you’re ready, you tell them the truth yourself. That’s the only clean way out.”
Robin’s eyes stayed shut. He breathed through the sting in his chest.
The nurse left. The door clicked.
Robin opened his eyes to the white ceiling and the harsh, steady beep of a monitor.
He was alive.
He was still full of flowers.
He was also, somehow, even more trapped.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time in a hospital didn’t move like time in a stadium. It crawled.
Robin lay there, listening to his own breathing and the faint noise of footsteps in the hall.
His throat itched.
He pressed his tongue against his teeth and tasted metal.
He forced himself not to cough.
He failed.
The cough tore out of him, sharp and painful, and he turned his head into the pillow so the sound wouldn’t carry.
A petal slid onto his tongue.
Sunflower.
He swallowed it like he could swallow the truth with it.
The door outside his room opened and closed again down the hall.
Voices filtered through, muffled by walls.
Then, closer.
Right outside his room.
Multi’s voice, low and urgent.
And Jaxon’s.
Robin froze.
He couldn’t see them, but he didn’t need to. He knew Jaxon’s voice the way he knew the sound of his own launcher cord.
Jaxon sounded broken.
“I thought…” Jaxon swallowed, and Robin heard the shake in it. “I thought the surgery would fix it and then he’d be okay and I could just… I could just keep being his teammate and maybe it wouldn’t matter.”
Robin’s fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket.
Multi’s voice was quiet. “Jaxon…”
Jaxon gave a laugh that wasn’t funny, just jagged. “It does matter.”
Robin’s heart beat hard, steady.
He waited for the old ache to surge into something unbearable.
It was already there, coiled deep, because the flowers hadn’t been cut out.
But it still didn’t make sense. Not with Jaxon talking like this.
Jaxon kept going, words spilling out like he’d been holding them back for weeks and the delay had cracked him open.
“I love him,” Jaxon said, voice cracked and honest. “I love Robin. And I know it’s stupid because he was dying for someone else and I’m not the one and I don’t even know who it is, but…”
Robin’s breath stopped.
His lungs tightened like the roots were suddenly paying full attention.
His mind went blank in the way it did right before a launch. That split second where everything narrowed to one point and you either moved or you froze.
Jaxon loved him.
Jaxon loved him, and Robin’s entire life had been built on the certainty that this was impossible.
Multi didn’t answer for a moment. When she did, her voice sounded careful, like she was trying not to step on glass.
“Jaxon,” she said softly. “You don’t know he was dying for someone else.”
Jaxon’s voice dropped, thick with the kind of emotion Robin had been starving for. “He lied. He said he didn’t know. But… the flowers.”
Robin pressed his fist to his mouth to keep himself from making any sound.
Outside, Jaxon exhaled shakily. “I thought if the surgery happened, he’d be okay and then I could pretend I was fine, because how am I meant to be fine when Robin isn’t?! I could pretend I didn’t care. I could pretend the part of me that keeps looking at him like he’s the only thing worth watching isn’t… isn’t pathetic.”
Multi’s voice tightened. “It’s not pathetic.”
Jaxon sounded like he hated himself for saying the next words. “But now the surgery’s delayed. And he’s still… still like this. Still hurting. Still coughing up sunflowers, and I’m standing out here like a useless idiot because I’m not the cure.”
Robin’s vision blurred.
He couldn’t breathe around the tightness in his throat. He couldn’t tell if it was petals or tears.
Jaxon’s voice went smaller, almost wrecked. “Why couldn’t it be me?”
Robin’s whole body jolted.
Multi made a sound, something between frustration and absolute. “What?”
Jaxon’s laugh came out wet. “Just like me, even the flowers choose him. The person he loves, he thinks of them as sunflowers,” his breath hitched, “I wanted it to be me so bad. The thought that maybe it was me kept me awake at night. That I didn’t love him enough to fix it.”
Robin’s hands shook so hard the blanket rustled.
Jaxon continued, voice trembling with frustration that had nowhere to go. “But who else. Who else would it be? Who else is always there? Who else is he always looking at when he thinks no one notices? Who else does he apologize to even when I’m the one who smashed his Bey and laughed like it was fun?”
Robin’s chest hurt so much he thought he might crack.
“But if it was me then Robin wouldn’t be here right now.”
Multi’s voice turned sharp, sudden. “Jaxon. You don’t know that, did you try to say anything?”
A beat of silence.
Then Jaxon said, barely audible, “I don’t know what he thinks. That’s the problem.”
Robin swallowed hard. His throat scraped.
He could feel the flowers inside him, restless, like they were angry at him for not moving.
Jaxon’s voice turned fierce, like he was trying to convince himself. “He keeps saying he doesn’t know who it is. But… Multi, he’s nineteen, not five. You can’t fall in love with someone you don’t know.”
Multi’s voice went softer again. “He has his reasons.”
Jaxon made a broken sound, half laugh, half sob. “Exactly. And those same reasons are the reason he’s in there right now!”
Robin covered his mouth with both hands. His shoulders shook once, silent.
Jaxon spoke again, and the next words hit Robin like an Xtreme Dash.
“I love him,” Jaxon whispered. “I love Robin so much it makes me sick. I love him when he’s snapping at me. I love him when he’s quiet and exhausted and still trying anyway. I love him when he’s losing and still showing up. I love him when he smiles like it’s fragile and rare. I love him when he looks at me like I’m sunlight and I don’t deserve it.”
Robin’s eyes squeezed shut.
The flowers in his lungs twisted, not blooming, not choking him, but reacting like something inside him had been called by its real name.
Multi’s voice was so quiet it almost vanished. “Then tell him.”
Jaxon’s breath hitched. “What if he doesn’t… what if he doesn’t feel it back?”
Robin’s heart slammed.
Multi’s reply was steady. “Then you stay anyway. Like you promised. But at least he’ll know. At least he won’t die thinking he’s alone.”
Robin’s throat tightened around a sob.
Outside, Jaxon took a shaky breath. “I’m scared,” he admitted, and Robin had never heard him say it like that, plain and unguarded. “Because if he doesn’t love me, then… then the flowers keep growing. And I can’t watch that. I can’t watch him die for someone who isn’t even in the room.”
Multi exhaled. “Jaxon.”
Jaxon’s voice broke, soft. “I can’t lose him.”
Something inside Robin snapped, not in a bad way, but like a cord releasing tension it had held for too long.
He couldn’t stay in the bed.
He couldn’t keep pretending.
He couldn’t let Jaxon stand outside a door and be brave alone.
Robin sat up too fast. His ribs screamed. His lungs seized.
He coughed, violent, and a thick bud landed in his palm, slick with blood.
He stared at it, shaking.
Then he pressed the call button with trembling fingers.
The nurse arrived within a minute, eyes wary.
Robin’s voice came out ragged. “Please,” he whispered. “I need to see them. I need… I need Jaxon.”
The nurse’s gaze flicked to the monitor, to his oxygen tube, to the blood on his palm.
“No,” she said instinctively, and then she paused, hearing the words again. Hearing the urgency in them.
Robin swallowed. “I heard him,” he rasped, and heat flushed up his neck. “I heard what he said. I can’t… I can’t keep this inside.”
The nurse’s expression softened, reluctant. “You’re supposed to rest.”
Robin shook his head, tiny and desperate. “If I rest, I might not get another chance. I need to hear it from him.”
The nurse held his gaze for a long moment.
Then she exhaled and muttered, “You kids are going to be the end of me,” like she was angry at the universe for making her choose between policy and a boy drowning in flowers.
She opened the door a crack and peered out.
Robin could hear Multi’s voice stop mid-sentence.
Then Jaxon’s, startled. “What?”
The nurse glanced back at Robin once, pointed warningly. “No shouting. No heroics. If you collapse, I’m kicking both of them out.”
Robin’s breath hitched. He nodded.
The nurse stepped into the hall and said, firm, “You have five minutes. And then he rests.”
There was a pause where Robin could picture both of them turning toward the door like it was the edge of a stadium.
Footsteps rushed closer.
The door opened wider.
Multi stepped in first, eyes sharp and wet at the edges, jaw set like she was ready to fight anyone who tried to take Robin away.
Jaxon followed half a step behind her.
He stopped dead the moment he saw Robin sitting up.
His face went pale, then flushed, like he’d been punched by relief and fear at the same time.
Robin looked at him.
Jaxon’s eyes were red-rimmed. His hair was a mess. His hands were shaking.
He looked like someone who’d been running without knowing where the finish line was.
Robin’s voice caught. “Jaxon.”
Jaxon flinched at his name like it was too much.
Multi’s gaze flicked between them, fast, and something in her expression shifted. Realization, sharp and sudden.
“Oh,” Multi breathed.
Jaxon swallowed hard. His voice was rough. “You’re awake.”
Robin stared at him. His heart was launching too fast, too hard.
“I didn’t… I didn’t do it,” Robin whispered.
Jaxon’s brows pulled together, confused and terrified. “Didn’t do what?”
Robin lifted his hand, showed the blood-smeared bud in his palm like proof of his failure.
“The surgery,” Robin said, voice breaking. “I couldn’t.”
Jaxon took a step forward on instinct, then stopped like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.
Multi spoke quickly, controlled. “They said it was delayed. They wouldn’t tell us why.”
Robin’s throat tightened. “I asked them to say that.”
Multi’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Robin.”
Robin looked down, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”
Jaxon stared at him like he couldn’t process the words. “Why would you… Robin, why would you do that?”
Because I didn’t want to wake up empty, Robin thought.
Because I didn’t want to survive without you, even if you never wanted me back.
He forced the words out anyway, because hiding was how he’d gotten here.
“Because I didn’t want to lose it,” Robin whispered.
Jaxon’s breathing hitched. “Lose what?”
Robin’s lungs burned. The flowers twisted, impatient.
Multi’s voice went very soft, like she was handling something fragile. “Jaxon,” she said quietly, “maybe you should sit.”
Jaxon didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on Robin.
Robin couldn’t do this with Multi watching. Not because Multi wasn’t safe, but because this was already too humiliating, too raw, too much.
Multi seemed to read it anyway.
She nodded once, tight, and stepped toward the door.
“I’m right outside,” she said to Robin, and then to Jaxon, pointedly, “Don’t be an idiot.”
Jaxon didn’t even blink.
The door clicked shut behind her.
The room felt too quiet.
Jaxon stood at the foot of the bed, hands clenched like he was about to launch his Bey at the world.
Robin stared at him, and every part of him wanted to look away.
He didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Because he’d heard Jaxon’s voice in the hall, broken open and honest, and it had changed the shape of everything.
Robin swallowed. His throat scraped. “I heard you.”
Jaxon went still.
Robin’s fingers tightened around the bud in his palm. “In the hall,” he said. “I heard you talking to Multi.”
Jaxon’s face flushed, then drained, like all the blood in him didn’t know where to go.
“Robin,” he said, voice cracking. “You weren’t supposed to…”
“I know,” Robin whispered.
Jaxon took a step closer, slow and careful. “How much did you hear?”
Robin’s heart pounded. He lifted his gaze, met Jaxon’s eyes.
“All of it,” Robin said.
Jaxon’s expression twisted like he wanted the floor to open and swallow him.
He opened his mouth.
No sound came out.
Robin’s chest tightened painfully. “You said,” Robin rasped, and his voice wavered, “you said you love me.”
Jaxon’s eyes shut for a second, like he was bracing.
Then he opened them, and there was no joke in his face, no bright grin to hide behind.
Just him.
“Yes,” Jaxon said, and the word shook. “I do.”
Robin’s breath hitched so hard the oxygen tube shifted.
His mind scrambled, trying to find the trick, the catch, the part where this turned into a cruel misunderstanding.
“There’s no way,” Robin whispered, because that was what his whole life had taught him. “Jaxon, you can’t.”
Jaxon’s brows pulled together, pained. “Why not?”
Robin laughed once, broken. “Because I’m me.”
Jaxon stared like Robin had spoken nonsense.
Then Jaxon’s face crumpled, not in a dramatic way, but in the quiet way someone breaks when they’ve been holding it together too long.
“Robin,” he whispered, and his voice sounded like it hurt. “Are you kidding me?”
Robin’s chest ached. “I’m not.”
Jaxon moved, suddenly, decisively.
He stepped to the side of the bed and dropped into the chair like his legs had given up.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed for a second, breathing hard.
Then he looked up at Robin again, eyes bright and furious in the way of someone who’d been scared into anger.
“How long,” Jaxon demanded softly, “have you been thinking that?”
Robin’s throat tightened. “Since I met you.”
Jaxon made a sound, disbelieving, and dragged a hand down his face like he wanted to wipe reality into something he could understand.
“And you said you didn’t know,” Jaxon said, voice shaking. “Even when it’s sunflowers. You lied.”
Robin’s cheeks burned. “I didn’t think you would feel anything but disgust.”
Jaxon’s laugh came out sharp. “Because you’re you.”
Robin flinched.
Jaxon’s expression immediately softened, regret flashing.
“Sorry,” he breathed. “Not like that. I mean… Robin, you’re incredible. You’re stubborn and annoying and you apologize too much and you work harder than anyone I’ve ever met, and you still look at me like I’m the reason you’re standing.”
Robin’s eyes stung.
Jaxon swallowed hard. “You make me want to be better. You make me want to win in a way that isn’t just for fun.”
Robin stared, shaking.
“I thought you loved someone else,” Jaxon whispered. “Because you kept lying. You kept saying you didn’t know. You kept running away from me like I was… like I was the thing hurting you, keeping you and your secret love apart.”
Robin’s breath hitched, because it was true.
Jaxon’s voice went rough. “And maybe I was. Maybe I was the sunlight and I didn’t notice I was feeding it. But I swear, I never wanted to hurt you. I just…” He choked, then forced the words out. “I just wanted you to stay.”
Robin’s chest squeezed so tight it felt like thorns.
He whispered, “I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d pity me.”
Jaxon’s eyes widened, horrified. “Pity you?”
Robin looked down at the bud in his hand, blood slick on his skin. “I thought you’d see me as a burden. I thought you’d feel trapped. You care too much, and I thought… if you knew you were the reason I was dying, you’d never forgive yourself.”
Jaxon’s face went very still.
Then his voice dropped to something soft and raw.
“Robin,” he said, “I was never going to forgive myself anyway.”
Robin’s breath trembled.
Jaxon reached out, slowly, and for the first time in days, he didn’t hesitate.
His fingers closed around Robin’s wrist, warm and steady.
“You don’t get to decide for me what I feel,” Jaxon whispered. “You don’t get to carry this alone and call it protecting me.”
Robin’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry.”
Jaxon’s thumb rubbed over the pulse point there, frantic and gentle at the same time. “Stop apologizing.”
Robin swallowed.
He lifted his gaze, and his voice came out small, terrified.
“Then why,” Robin whispered, “why did you think I loved someone else? How could you ever think it wasn’t you?”
Jaxon’s expression twisted. “Because you’re Robin Kazami,” he said like it was obvious. “Because you don’t think you get good things. Because you keep losing and getting back up like it’s normal and you don’t realize how much that scares people who care about you. Because you look at me like I’m a pro Blader and you’re just… you.”
Robin’s breath caught.
Jaxon squeezed his wrist, firm. “And because I’m Jaxon Cross,” he said bitterly. “And everyone thinks I’m fearless and bright and I bounce back from everything. So when you got sick, I thought… I thought you’d never choose me. Why would you? I’m not safe. I’m not quiet. I’m not careful. I’m the guy who smashes into the Xtreme line laughing.”
Robin stared at him.
His lungs fluttered, restless.
The flowers inside him felt like they were holding their breath.
Jaxon’s voice dropped, trembling. “I thought if you loved me, you would have said it.”
Robin’s throat scraped. “I couldn’t.”
Jaxon’s eyes shone. “And I thought if I loved you, and you didn’t love me back, it would destroy the last week you had. So I didn’t say it either.”
Robin’s heart slammed.
They stared at each other, both wrecked by the same silence, both bleeding the same color.
Robin swallowed, and the words came out before he could stop them.
“I love you,” Robin whispered.
Jaxon went utterly still.
Robin’s chest tightened, panicked, because what if this was the part where reality snapped back into place and Jaxon laughed and said, Robin, no, you idiot, I meant something else.
But Jaxon didn’t laugh.
Jaxon’s eyes filled.
His grip tightened around Robin’s wrist like he needed something solid.
“Say it again,” Jaxon whispered.
Robin’s throat burned. Tears slipped down his cheeks, hot.
“I love you,” Robin said again, voice shaking. “I’ve loved you. It’s always been you.”
Jaxon made a sound that was pure relief and pain tangled together.
Then he stood so fast the chair scraped.
He leaned over the bed like he was afraid to waste another second.
His hands framed Robin’s face carefully, like Robin might shatter, thumbs brushing tears away with a gentleness that didn’t match the way Jaxon usually moved through the world.
Robin’s breath hitched.
Jaxon whispered, fierce and clear, “Robin Kazami, I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you, and I’m sorry it took me this long to say it to your face.”
The words hit something inside Robin like a key turning.
The flowers in his lungs twisted, sharp and sudden.
Robin’s eyes widened.
He gasped, and the breath came too deep, too fast, like his chest was trying to empty itself.
Jaxon froze. “Robin?”
Robin’s lungs seized, then convulsed.
He doubled forward, coughing violently.
Jaxon caught him instantly, one arm braced behind his shoulders, the other holding him steady.
“Hey,” Jaxon said, panicked. “Hey, hey, I’m here.”
Robin coughed again, and this time it wasn’t petals.
Roots, wet and dark, like something being dragged out of him by force.
The pain was bright and sharp, but it was changing. Not tightening. Not growing.
Leaving.
Robin coughed until his ribs screamed, until his throat felt raw, until the world went white at the edges.
Then, suddenly, air rushed in clean.
No thorns.
No crawling itch.
No bloom waiting in the back of his throat.
Robin sagged, shaking, breathing like he’d been underwater for weeks and had finally broken the surface.
Jaxon held him like he was afraid to let go.
“Is that… is that normal?” Jaxon whispered, voice wrecked.
Robin couldn’t speak yet. He just nodded, tiny, because he could feel it. The difference. The absence of pressure.
He could breathe.
Jaxon pressed his forehead to Robin’s, trembling.
“I’m sorry,” Jaxon whispered, and the words came out broken. “I’m so sorry.”
Robin’s voice scraped out, faint. “Don’t be.”
Jaxon pulled back just enough to look at him. Tears clung to his lashes.
“I love you,” Jaxon said again, like he needed the universe to hear it. Like he needed the flowers to hear it. “I love you. I love you.”
Robin’s chest ached, but in a different way now. Softer. Human.
He lifted a shaking hand and cupped Jaxon’s cheek, grounding himself in the warmth.
“I know,” Robin whispered, and a weak laugh escaped him, disbelieving. “I don’t know how, but… I know.”
Jaxon’s mouth trembled. “Kiss me.”
Robin’s heart stuttered.
Jaxon’s voice went softer, like he realized what he’d demanded. “If you want. If it’s too much, we can…”
Robin shook his head, small and fierce.
He pulled Jaxon down.
Their mouths met, gentle at first, then desperate in the way of two people who’d almost lost the chance.
It wasn’t a perfect kiss.
Robin’s lips tasted like blood and hospital air.
Jaxon’s hands shook.
But it was real.
And the flowers were quiet.
The door opened so suddenly Robin jerked, startled.
Multi stood there, eyes wide.
Her gaze flicked to the mess in Robin’s lap, to the dark, wet roots on the sheets, to Robin’s flushed face and Jaxon’s tear-streaked expression.
Multi blinked once.
Then she closed the door carefully behind her, like she was shutting out the rest of the world.
“Oh,” Multi said again, this time with absolute certainty.
Jaxon looked like he’d been caught stealing. “Multi—”
Multi held up a hand. “No. Don’t talk. Not yet.”
She crossed the room, leaned over the bed to look at the monitor, then at Robin’s face.
Robin’s breathing was steady.
His oxygen levels ticked up.
Multi’s shoulders sagged, and for the first time in days, she looked like she could breathe too.
“Did it stop,” she asked, voice tight.
Robin swallowed. His throat hurt, but the pain wasn’t blooming anymore.
“I think,” Robin rasped, “I think it did.”
Multi stared at the roots on the sheets, then let out a shaky laugh that sounded half hysterical.
“You idiots,” she whispered.
Jaxon’s face crumpled again. “Multi, I—”
Multi’s eyes sharpened. “You told him.”
Jaxon swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Multi’s gaze snapped to Robin. “And you finally stopped lying.”
Robin’s cheeks burned. “Yes.”
Multi stared at both of them for a long moment, then pressed her fingers hard against the bridge of her nose like she was trying to keep herself from crying or strangling them.
Then she stepped forward and squeezed Robin’s shoulder, careful.
“You’re going to be okay,” Multi said, and this time it sounded like she believed it.
Robin’s eyes stung. “I’m sorry.”
Multi’s mouth tightened. “Stop apologizing,” she echoed Jaxon, but her voice was softer. “Just… stay alive.”
Robin nodded, throat too tight to speak.
Jaxon reached for Robin’s hand again and held on like a promise.
Multi turned toward the door. “I’m getting the nurse,” she said briskly, and then paused, looking back at them with something like reluctant affection. “Try not to make out when someone’s about to check his vitals.”
Jaxon choked, half laugh, half sob.
Robin’s face went hot.
Multi left before either of them could respond.
The nurse arrived a minute later with a look that said she’d already had a long shift and now fate was trying to add romance drama to her workload.
She took one look at the roots on the bed, then at Robin’s steady breathing, then at the way Jaxon was hovering like a guard dog.
Her brows lifted.
“Well,” she said dryly. “That’s one way to do it.”
Jaxon’s face flushed. “Is he okay?”
The nurse checked Robin’s pulse, listened to his lungs, eyes narrowing with professional focus.
Then her expression softened, faintly.
“His lungs sound clearer than they did earlier,” she said. “His oxygen’s improving. He’s still going to cough blood for a bit because the tissue is irritated, but…”
She looked at Robin. “Do you feel the thorns?”
Robin blinked. He searched his chest, expecting the familiar itch, the crawling pull.
Nothing.
He whispered, “No.”
The nurse’s shoulders lowered.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. We still monitor you. We still keep you overnight. But…” She glanced at Jaxon and Multi in the doorway, then back at Robin. “You might have just saved yourself a surgery.”
Robin’s breath hitched, stunned.
Jaxon squeezed his hand so tight it almost hurt.
“Thank you,” Jaxon whispered to the nurse, voice wrecked.
The nurse snorted gently. “Don’t thank me. Thank your inability to communicate before it got this far.”
Multi made a sound behind her like she was laughing into her sleeve.
Robin’s cheeks burned.
The nurse adjusted his pillows. “Rest,” she ordered. “Both of you. And if he starts coughing again, you call me. Immediately.”
Jaxon nodded so fast it looked painful.
Robin lay back as the nurse cleaned up the mess with practiced efficiency, like uprooted love was just another mess on a hospital sheet.
When the room finally settled again, Jaxon didn’t move away.
He sat in the chair beside the bed, knees pressed close, hand still holding Robin’s.
Like he was afraid if he let go, Robin would vanish.
Robin stared at him, still disoriented by the simple fact that he could breathe.
Jaxon stared back, eyes soft and shining.
“What,” Robin whispered, and the word came out like a question he didn’t know how to ask. “When did you…”
Jaxon’s laugh came out shaky. “Fall in love with you?”
Robin’s throat tightened. He nodded.
Jaxon looked down at their hands, thumb rubbing over Robin’s knuckles like he was grounding himself too.
“I don’t know,” Jaxon admitted. “It wasn’t one moment. It was… a lot of little ones.”
Robin blinked slowly, listening.
Jaxon’s voice went quieter, honest. “It was the way you show up even when you’re scared. The way you watch my matches like you’re studying me, like you’re learning my spin. The way you get frustrated and still try again. The way you laugh at Taisho’s worst ideas and pretend you’re not having fun.”
Robin’s chest warmed, soft.
Jaxon swallowed. “It was the first time you hit the Xtreme line clean,” he said, and his smile wobbled. “You looked so surprised, like you didn’t expect your own success. And something in me went, that’s not fair. You deserve to know you can do it.”
Robin’s eyes stung.
Jaxon’s gaze lifted, steady. “And then you got sick. And you kept lying. And I… I didn’t know how to help you without making it worse.”
Robin whispered, “You didn’t make it worse on purpose.”
Jaxon’s jaw clenched. “I still hate it.”
Robin squeezed his hand, weak but real. “I didn’t want you to hate yourself.”
Jaxon’s eyes softened. “Too bad.”
Robin let out a tiny laugh, then winced at the soreness in his ribs.
Jaxon immediately leaned in, worried. “Are you okay?”
Robin nodded. “Yeah. Just…”
He hesitated, then forced the truth out, even though it felt humiliating.
“I didn’t want to lose loving you,” Robin whispered.
Jaxon’s face crumpled.
He leaned forward until his forehead rested against Robin’s hand.
“I’m here,” Jaxon whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Robin’s throat tightened. “Promise?”
Jaxon lifted his head, eyes fierce and wet. “I promise.”
Multi, standing near the window, made a soft sound.
Robin looked over, startled to realize she was still there.
Multi’s arms were crossed, but her posture had loosened. The tension in her shoulders had eased for the first time in days.
She met Robin’s gaze and rolled her eyes like she was trying to hide how relieved she was.
“If you die after all this,” Multi muttered, “I’m haunting both of you.”
Jaxon huffed a shaky laugh. “Noted.”
Robin smiled, small and tired, and felt something in his chest settle into place like a Bey finding its balance.
For the first time in weeks, the future didn’t feel like a hallway of white nothing.
It felt like air.
The next day was quiet.
Robin slept more than he thought he could, drifting in and out while the nurse checked his vitals and the doctor listened to his lungs with increasing disbelief.
He still coughed, but it was blood and irritation, not petals.
Each time, Jaxon flinched like he was ready to fight the cough itself.
Each time, Robin would squeeze his hand and whisper, “It’s okay.”
Multi kept a watchful distance, pretending she was reading on her tablet while actually tracking every breath.
At some point in the afternoon, Taisho arrived with a bag of food and eyes that were too shiny.
He tried to be loud, tried to make jokes about “revitalizing sushi,” tried to pretend his hands weren’t shaking.
Then he saw Robin sitting up, pale but breathing, and he made a noise that was suspiciously like a sob.
“Ah,” Taisho said thickly, and then cleared his throat. “My shining star. You look like a wet noodle.”
Robin managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Taisho.”
Taisho slapped the bag onto the table like he was challenging death to argue with him. “Soup,” he declared. “Plain. No soda jelly. Multi threatened me.”
Multi didn’t deny it.
Jaxon didn’t leave Robin’s side.
When Robin drifted half asleep again, Jaxon kept holding his hand like it was a tether.
When Robin woke, Jaxon was still there.
And every time Robin’s mind tried to fall back into old patterns, tried to insist this was temporary, that Jaxon would realize he’d made a mistake, Jaxon would look at him like he was sure.
Like the universe could be cruel, but Jaxon wasn’t going to be.
Two days later, Robin was discharged with a stack of instructions and a warning from the doctor that if he overexerted himself too soon, she would personally hunt him down and make him rest.
Multi promised to enforce it.
Jaxon promised to be better at listening.
Robin promised, quietly, to stop running away.
Komaba Sushi smelled like home when they walked in.
Rice vinegar and seaweed and Taisho’s relentless optimism.
Taisho had cleaned, rearranged, and somehow acquired a vase.
There were sunflowers in it.
Real sunflowers, bright and ridiculous, turned toward the window like they expected the light to be kind.
Robin froze in the doorway.
Jaxon’s hand tightened around his, gentle.
“You okay?” Jaxon asked softly.
Robin stared at the flowers, heart stuttering.
He waited for the old instinctive fear, the sense of doom.
Instead, he felt… warmth.
Like sunlight on skin that had been cold too long.
Robin swallowed. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m okay.”
Taisho appeared behind the counter like a magician. “I acquired them legally,” he announced immediately, as if anticipating a crime accusation. “They are a symbol of vitality! Of the sun! Of winning at being alive!”
Jaxon let out a laugh, soft and real.
Multi muttered, “He’s going to put them on the team logo next.”
Taisho pointed dramatically. “Don’t tempt me!”
Robin’s chest tightened, but it didn’t hurt.
Jaxon leaned in, voice quiet, just for Robin. “I didn’t want to hide them from you,” he admitted. “I didn’t want them to be a weapon anymore.”
Robin’s throat tightened. He squeezed Jaxon’s hand. “They’re not.”
Jaxon’s gaze softened. “Good.”
They sat at their usual table. Robin sank into the seat like his body finally understood it didn’t have to fight for every breath.
Taisho brought soup. Multi watched like a hawk. Jaxon hovered like he didn’t know how to do anything else.
Robin ate slowly.
It wasn’t just food. It was proof.
Life could keep going.
Later, after Multi went to bed, Robin sat with Jaxon in the dim restaurant, the TV off, the city lights reflecting in the window.
The sunflowers in the vase were a bright blur in his peripheral vision.
Jaxon’s knee bumped Robin’s under the table, familiar and gentle.
Robin looked down at their hands, twined together on the tabletop like it was normal.
He still couldn’t believe it.
“You really…” Robin started, then stopped, because he didn’t know how to ask without sounding ridiculous.
Jaxon tilted his head. “What?”
Robin swallowed. “You really thought I loved someone else.”
Jaxon’s face twisted, embarrassed. “Yes.”
Robin stared at him, incredulous. “How.”
Jaxon’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “Because you kept saying you didn’t know. Because I didn’t want to assume. Because assuming felt like stealing.”
Robin’s chest squeezed. “I lied.”
Jaxon’s gaze dropped. “I know.”
Robin’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry.”
Jaxon’s expression turned stern. “No. You don’t get to use sorry like a shield.”
Robin blinked.
Jaxon reached across the table and touched Robin’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles.
“You were scared,” Jaxon said quietly. “And you thought you were protecting me. But it almost killed you.”
Robin’s eyes stung.
Jaxon’s voice softened. “Promise me,” he whispered, “if you’re scared like that again, you tell me. Even if it’s ugly. Even if it’s shameful. Even if you think I’ll run.”
Robin’s breath trembled.
He nodded. “Okay.”
Jaxon’s gaze held his. “Promise.”
Robin swallowed. “I promise.”
Jaxon’s shoulders lowered, relief easing him like a exhale he’d been holding for weeks.
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Robin’s forehead, gentle and steady.
Robin closed his eyes.
The warmth of it settled into him like something healing.
They didn’t go back to The X right away.
Multi insisted on a full week of rest.
Jaxon pretended to complain while making sure Robin drank water and slept and didn’t push past what his body could handle.
Robin hated how weak he felt, at first.
He hated how the simplest things made his chest ache.
But every time the frustration rose, Jaxon would touch his shoulder, look at him like he was worth waiting for, and say, “We’re not racing your recovery. We’re doing it right.”
Multi watched them with the expression of someone who had been right all along and was extremely annoyed about it.
On the eighth day, Robin stepped onto the practice floor again.
The smell of metal and ozone hit him like a memory.
The X towers cut the skyline through the open arena windows like a promise.
Robin’s hands shook around his launcher.
Jaxon stood beside him, mask off, eyes bright but careful.
Multi stood across with her tablet, mouth set.
Taisho had, against all logic, shown up with a sign that said PERSONA WILL WIN AND ALSO LIVE.
Robin tried not to laugh too hard.
Jaxon leaned close. “You sure?”
Robin took a slow breath.
Air moved through his lungs without thorns.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Jaxon grinned, softer than usual. “Okay. Then we do it slow.”
Robin rolled his eyes. “Yes, boss.”
Multi lifted her hand. “Ready. Three, two, one…”
“Let it rip!”
The Beys hit the stadium with that familiar clack that made Robin’s heart surge.
Scythe Incendio spun, steady.
Sword Dran flashed toward the line.
Robin watched the angle, listened to the sound, felt the timing settle into his wrists.
He launched again, adjusted, learned.
The Xtreme line flared.
For one breath, Robin was flying.
And he didn’t cough.
He didn’t choke.
He didn’t taste blood.
He just laughed, breathless and startled, because he could.
Jaxon whooped like it was a pro match and nearly tripped over himself rushing to the stadium edge.
“Did you feel that?” Jaxon demanded, eyes blazing. “That was you. That was all you.”
Robin’s chest warmed. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough, and it wasn’t from petals. “I felt it.”
Jaxon’s grin softened into something that made Robin’s heart stutter.
Jaxon reached out, quick, like he couldn’t help it, and bumped Robin’s shoulder with his.
“Good,” Jaxon said. “Because I want a lot more of that.”
Multi cleared her throat pointedly. “Focus.”
Jaxon straightened, mock-innocent. “We are focused.”
Robin looked down at his launcher, hands steadying.
He glanced at the stadium lights reflecting off the rails.
Bright.
Not unbearable.
Just bright.
Later, when they climbed one of the lower levels of The X again for a small match, cameras hovering, crowd chanting, Robin’s nerves tried to grab him by the throat.
Jaxon squeezed his hand once before they stepped out.
“Hey,” Jaxon murmured. “No apologies today.”
Robin’s mouth twitched. “No promises.”
Jaxon leaned closer, voice softer. “Then no dying today.”
Robin blinked, startled, then laughed under his breath.
“Okay,” Robin whispered. “No dying.”
They walked out together.
Persona.
Not just a team.
A tether.
A future.
The match wasn’t perfect.
Robin still made mistakes.
Jaxon still smashed into the Xtreme line like he was daring gravity to keep up.
Multi still corrected them both with ruthless precision.
But when Robin stumbled, when his chest tightened from exertion, Jaxon’s gaze snapped to him, steady and fierce.
And Robin remembered the promise.
He didn’t hide it.
He didn’t swallow it.
He reached back, squeezed Jaxon’s hand once behind the announcer’s blind spot.
I’m here, the squeeze said.
Jaxon squeezed back, quick and sure.
I’m here too.
They won.
Not because the universe suddenly got kind, but because Robin could breathe and because Jaxon stopped trying to carry everything alone.
Because Multi kept them honest.
Because Taisho screamed himself hoarse from the stands like a proud sponsor and an even prouder idiot.
Afterward, when the crowd dispersed and the stadium lights dimmed, Robin stood at the edge of the arena and stared up at The X towers cutting the sky into sharp lines.
He thought about how close had never meant there.
He thought about how he’d been so sure he didn’t belong.
Jaxon stepped up beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
“You okay?” Jaxon asked quietly.
Robin took a slow breath.
The air tasted like metal and ozone and victory.
And something else, too.
Something warm.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Jaxon’s hand slid into his, casual like it had always belonged there.
Robin’s fingers twined with his without thinking.
Jaxon looked up at the towers, then back at Robin.
“We’re going to climb,” Jaxon said, voice bright, but there was a steadiness underneath it now. “Not because we have to prove anything. Because we want to. Together.”
Robin’s throat tightened.
He couldn’t believe he got to have this.
He couldn’t believe the sunflowers hadn’t been a death sentence after all.
Robin squeezed Jaxon’s hand. “Together,” he echoed.
Jaxon grinned, and the grin didn’t look like it was hiding fear anymore.
It looked like home.
Multi appeared behind them, arms crossed. “If you two are done staring at the skyline like a dramatic commercial, we have footage to review.”
Jaxon groaned. “Multi.”
Multi’s mouth twitched. “Move.”
Robin laughed, real and clean, and felt Jaxon’s gaze on him like sunlight.
As they walked out, Taisho waved their ridiculous sign again and shouted something about sunflowers and destiny and sponsorship bonuses.
Robin glanced back once, just once, at the stadium lights.
They were bright.
They were not unbearable.
They were just lights.
And in the space where love used to be a thorned, hungry thing trying to kill him, it was something else now.
Something warm and steady.
Something that didn’t demand he disappear to deserve it.
Something that stayed.