Archive of Our Own

Akaashi had to say his last goodbye to his father when he was eleven. The funeral was in a sunlit day, Akaashi pinned in white clothing and his mother dabbing at her eyes like she was trying now to cry.

Akaashi knew that she wasn't just crying because of the death, but rather the single daffodil petal that was held in between his father's lips. Her eyes didn't move from it the entirety of the funeral.

OoO

Flowers have always been beautiful, beautiful as a sunset and as beautiful as someone's unrestrained happiness to Akaashi. They're beautiful and lovely and colorful and they're growing in his lungs.

When he first hacks up a flower at the start of his second-year, his mother looks at him. She looks at him pitifully, brushes back the curls from his face and guides his hands to her own, taking the petals from him.

"Who is it?" His mother asks softly and presses the pads of her fingers to his forehead, wiping away the sweat that's been collected there. She eases another curl away from Akaashi's face, runs her hand through his hair.

Akaashi swipes a hand in front of his mouth. He barely hits his mark since his hand is shaking. "It's nothing, mother," he says. "I'll get rid of it soon."

They're pretty, he notices. This is the first time Akaashi's coughed up pretty, pretty flowers in front of the toilet, but they don't hurt. What he doesn't notice is the way his hands quiver and how his temple is slick with sweat.

He keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the night and skips dinner.

He had ony coughed up a single petal. The Fukurodani setter doesn't cough for the next few months. His mother thinks he's okay. That is, until there's a day full of sweat and aching muscles and heavy breaths with Bokuto.

"AKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASHI!" Bokuto roars. Akaashi locates where he is on the court in less then a second and the ball lands comfortable on his fingertips and he springs it up into the air, a perfect tracjectory towards Bokuto. They're the only ones in the gym since they're working late into the night.

There's a solid slam as Bokutos hand makes contact with the ball and it goes barreling across the gym. Akaashi drops his hands and stares at the ball, presses his lips together.

"How good was that? That was an incredible one, right, 'kaashi? Right? Right?"

A pause. Akaashi runs through what the reactions would be depending on what he says and settles for a nod. "Yes, that was amazing."

Bokuto lifts in his hands in a fist, punching the air, then brings a hand down across Akaashi's shoulder to pat him hard on the back.

He immediately doubles over, wincing and something tickles his throat. The sensation flutters as it travels up his throat and into his mouth and suddenly he's coughing, coughing, and three petals float down to the floor and black curls around his vision.

Crap.

It hurts, this time. There's a sting in his chest and there's something twitching in his throat, something he can't get out and Bokuto stares at the petals. The Fukurodani setter can't put a flower name to it, but they're blue and small and slightly rounded.

If he had seen Akaashi cough up the petals, his expression doesn't show it. "Oh, did we leave the door open?"

The school grounds are ripe with flowers, different ones that sweep across the ground. Flower petals of various species float across the air, and as Akaashi glances over at the gym doors, he notices that they're open and a light pink petal floats through.

"I suppose," he manages through the thickness in his mouth.

"Hey, hey, look, Akaashi! These ones are really pretty!" Bokuto leans over and picks up the blue petals from the floor. "I've seen these before!"

"Oh, really?" he replies.

"Yeah! They're Forget-Me-Nots!"

He stores the name at the back of his head for later. Instead, he brushes one of them away with his foot and something in his chest hurts, but he doesn't stop and instead blows the petals from Bokuto's hands.

"... can we stop for the night?"

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat, I just got into it!"

"... please."

Bokuto blinks at him and Akaashi presses his lips together, feeling a dryness in his throat. He hardly requests for them to stop. Usually, they just melt into the feeling of tiredness and Bokuto turns in as well.

"All right," he says. "Just 'cuz you asked, 'kay? I'm not tired or anything!"

"I'm sure it's not just because you're tired," Akaashi nods, and they start to put things away and a blue petal brushes past his ankles. Away from the Fukurodani ace's eyes, he gathers them into his pockets.

When he arrives home that night, he tosses the petals on the floor. The look in his mother eyes is everything but hopeful.

"Mother, what's going on?"

His mother looks like she's going to cry. "Oh, baby..."

She pulls him into her arms, her frail arms that have gone through so much and too much, her frail arms that are lined with slight muscle but are too tired. Presses a nose to his hair and Akaashi doesn't say anything as his mother cries.

She tells him that it's hanahaki byou.

She tells him that hanahaki byou is a disease that comes from unrequited love, one that makes flowers grow in his lungs. They'll keep growing and growing, he'll cough out petals and flowers.

She tells him that it'll kill him through her tears. She tells him that there's a surgery and that it's risky, and at his age, there's a higher chance that it will kill him, just like the flowers will. She tells him that his father had hanahaki byou. Akaashi remembers the yellow daffodil between his father's lips. She tells him that there's flowers growing in his lungs, suffocating him.

"Who is it?" His mother finally asks, chest heaving up and down. She had been spluttering and coughing and crying for the past two or three minutes now with Akaashi rubbing circles into his back despite the harshness that churns in his chest. "Keiji..."

"It's fine, mother," Akaashi says. He had said this one before, all those days ago. "I can take care of it."

He can feel the stupid flower in his chest. When he walks up the stairs, it squeezes tight and he barely makes it up before having to rush to the bathroom.

There's more blue flowers, this time. They float and they float and they sink. Akaashi hacks up too many of them, he flushes them down the toliet and his entire body is shaking.

Akaashi is seventeen when he encounters hanahaki for the second time, the first being his father's death.

Flowers have always been beautiful, beautiful as a sunset and as beautiful as someone's unrestrained happiness to Akaashi. They're beautiful and lovely and colorful and they're growing in his lungs.

The days pass uneventfully. Akaashi's body rebels hard against the flowers, and there's sometimes when his eyes sting and he has to keep his mouth shut as the touch of a petal sticks to the roof of his mouth (he throws it in the classroom bin once the class is over). His classmates flit around him like flies, but Akaashi's focused on not opening his mouth, avoiding conversations.

He coughs up flowers in the school bathroom, flushing one after another down the drain. They're still Forget-Me-Nots, more and more petals coming every time, blue on blue on blue. and he flushes them. They're not full flowers yet, but they still float and jeer at him.

He doesn't even know who he's in love with. The night when he first hacked up flowers, he had been texting Bokuto, images and memories of Bokuto's smile, which he could hear through his texts. In the gym, he was with Bokuto.

With a mirthless laugh, one that shouldn't ring in the bathroom, one where he swipes a petal off his top lip, Akaashi considers the idea of Bokuto having hanahaki byou. It's a pathetic thought, one that doesn't even slightly entertain him and it makes him sick. Who wouldn't love Bokuto back? He isn't obnoxious like some call him, he has a big heart and one that flies across the sky in solid gold and his presence is warm. Bokuto is-

Oh.

Oh.

Akaashi focuses on a slow inhale. Exhale. The flower's roots in his lungs- they will probably cause him to react badly if he freaked out or started to take in deep, heavy breathes. He takes notes on the situation, the way his breathing seems funny and seems to whistle past something in his throat and there's an itch.

With that, he purposefully coughs and another petal floats into the air. He tosses it into the toilet, flushes, then walks out, mind spinning.

He makes almost makes it through a week. In school, the setter keeps his lips pressed together and stitched tight. After all, Akaashi isn't overly social, so conversations dance around him.

Volleyball practice is the hardest. Every time he's around Bokuto he feels the urge to cough, to get rid of the aching pain that's started to move in his chest. It's dull but it ripples through his body every time Bokuto does something like even look at him, makes his mouth heavy.

"YEAH!" Bokuto yells as another ball is spiked past Tatsuki's block. "No one can knock me down!"

Akaashi pauses and lowers his arms and takes a look at the ball that had slammed into the other side of the court. The team is functioning well on its own: Konoha and Tatsuki are working on their blocks while Bokuto is, of course, spiking.

And when Bokuto spikes, Akaashi has to be there with him.

The ace spins towards him, eyes bright and shining, opens his mouth to speak. Akaashi smiles, just a slight turn of his lips because Bokuto makes him feel alive, but-

But Akaashi doesn't hear the words that fly from his mouth and can only hear his own heartbeat in his ears as his hands instinctively cup his mouth. A sharp, sudden pain hits him clean in the chest and suddenly Akaashi can't breathe he can't breathe he can't freaking breathe.

He runs.

He runs from the person who had given him life, the person that makes the world instantly sharper. There's no sparks or fireflies around Bokuto, but rather a warm hum because they fit together, they meld. Bokuto brings breezes and air to Akaashi (or the exact opposite, now, it's hard to breathe) and it's refreshing.

He runs.

He runs despite the fact that his chest hurts and that it feels like it's on fire, burning from the inside out, curling in on itself, and the Fukurodani setter barely makes it around the corner of the gym before he hacks up petal after petal in the bushes. The entire day was spent with them lining the roof and sides of his mouth and now they just come, one after another, and Akaashi heaves petals on petals on petals.

It hurts. Being with Bokuto hurts. And Akaashi doesn't care.

He must of coughed up a dozen or two dozen petals that stick to the blades and leaves of the bushes and Akaashi's hands are trembling and he's on his knees.

"Akaashi?"

He freezes at his name. Akaashi remembers the look his mother gave him the first time she saw the petals, the second time she saw them. He had lied to her twice, saying that it was over, but here he is, coughing and choking and suffocating.

Konoha is staring at him.

Flowers have always been beautiful, beautiful as a sunset and as beautiful as someone's unrestrained happiness to Akaashi. They're beautiful and lovely and colorful and they're growing in his lungs.

Akaashi doesn't find them beautiful when he's on his knees, chest heaving and eyes stinging and a fire in his throat and his teammate staring at him with horror in his eyes.

"What? What... you're..." Konoha repeats the words under his breath and he can't take his gaze off the flowers, off the blue petals that litter Akaashi's feet.

Akaashi opens his mouth, mind flying high into a panic before he tells himself in less than a second to slow down but instead, he coughs, hand flying to his chest and nails digging into the dark blue shirt he wears.

Suddenly, Konoha is at his side, a warm hand pressing to his chest right next to Akaashi's own, and Akaashi hates everything.

(he's drowning himself in lies)

Konoha helps him clean up only after promising that he wouldn't tell as long as Akaashi went to get treatment as soon as possible. At the time, Akaashi had smiled, one that he reserved for the parents and the teachers, polite and charming and practiced and a lie.

They sweep them into the bushes, out from sight.

Konoha covers for him when they get back inside. Bokuto casts glances towards Akaashi who's quiet until Konoha finishes.

"... his forehead is hot," Konoha says. "Might be coming down with a fever, although he won't admit it. Throat's scratchy as well. I hope he doesn't have to stay away from practice."

Akaashi's eyes dart towards him.

"Whaaaaaaaaat? Akaashi, you can't be getting sick!"

"I'll recover soon," he replies. Carefully. Quietly. He smothers a petal against the roof of his mouth.

Konoha's eyes meet his.

You promised.

(Akaashi doesn't keep the promise)

That night, he does research. First, he looks up the surgery. It's essentially cutting into him through the neck, removing the flowers with the chance of cutting them off wrong and letting them regrow. There are pills that stop the progression of the flowers. The surgery goes through details that flit through Akaashi's brains, words he doesn't understand but what he does understand is that he's at a higher risk of dying because he's seventeen.

He looks up Forget-Me-Nots, and the site tells him cheerfully in loose, pink, digital letters that it means true love, faithfulness, and remembrance, but Akaashi doesn't read anymore after the first two words.

Instead, he coughs up nine or ten more petals in the toilet and collapses against the bed.

(he doesn't keep the promise)

When he wakes up, there's a puddle of petals next to his head, bright blue and staring back at him. There are differently-shaped white ones tickling his nose.

(he tells Konoha that he took pills to stop them)

(he tells his mother that he's gotten over it)

(he tells himself that he's going to fix it)

(he tells everyone else that he's fine)

(he tells Bokuto that he's been feeling tired)

It becomes routine, at one point. The process is slow and painful and Akaashi's stopped staying for extra practice, no matter how much Bokuto whines but Akaashi forces himself not to look at him, not to look at his captain, not to look at the person he's so in love with.

In the morning, he'd hardly sleep, scraping by with three or four hours. His sleep schedule compromised of coughing and pain and coughing up flowers with tears in his eyes. Before he really 'got up' and changed, he would sweep the Forget-Me-Nots and the gladiolus' (he had identified them after looking them up) into a bag.

Sometimes he would flush them, sometimes he would toss them out.

Every day he has tickling in his throat and he coughs.

Then he receives news that they're going to training camp. That they're going to be with pain-in-the-ass-Kuroo-san, that there's gonna be a new team to meet there (a fallen powerhouse by the name of Karasuno). That it's going to be a week of pain and coughing up flowers in the morning and through the night where everyone can hear it.

Nekoma's there, Karasuno's there, Shinzen is there and his chest hurts.

"Akaashi, are you-"

Akaashi starts, crushes the flowers in the palm of his hands, the same palms that are calloused from years of volleyball. His coach is there, looking at him in concern and Akaashi knows that he's trembling and sick.

"Don't tell anyone. Please," he whispers, voice hoarse.

The number of people that know is growing. The weeks pass again and Akaashi's getting worse, worse, and worse and he's coughing thirty or forty petals up at a time, heaving them onto the ground, onto bathroom tiles and they mock him.

Another training camp.

When they leave the academy, Bokuto's voice rings in the bus. Akaashi sits with his forehead pressed to the window, sighing, and he can see the bruise-like shadows that are cast underneath the curve of his eyes.

"Akaaashi, c'mon! Join us! We're playing truth or dare!"

Pulling his forehead away from the window, Akaashi takes a one look at Bokuto, who's staring at him with a large grin and bright eyes that glitter with excitement and it breezes through Akaashi, letting him breathe again until he can feel petals fill his mouth, line the sides of his throat and it takes everything not to cough.

... cute.

When they arrive, he spits them into a trash can.

He recognizes Karasuno easily this time, with the libero (Nishinoya-san, Akaashi thinks) in front alongside the orange-haired spiker. The rest of the team flanks around them naturally, with Sawamura Daichi standing tall next to them.

With a wave and a nod, Akaashi greets them, and Bokuto lunges at them with excited chants and yelling.

"KUROO!"

There he is.

Akaashi hears the Nekoma captain before he sees him, a hyena-like laugh causing chills in the air as Bokuto throws himself at Kuroo, the middle blocker catching him and a sliver of a grin on his lips.

As polite, calculated, poised, and graceful as Akaashi is, he can't stop the sudden sharp jab of pain that strikes his heart and brain when they pull each other in a hug, Kuroo's sly and coy grin brushing the tip of Bokuto's ear. It's a smile that curls lazy around the edges.

Jealousy.

It's not just jealousy, though. It hurts. To see Bokuto grin and laugh near Kuroo. Akaashi couldn't bring out the best in Bokuto outside of volleyball, but Kuroo melds and pulls it to life without even trying.

With a slow inhale, Akaashi feels air climb past the stems in his throat and lungs, just barely. His breathing starting to short-circuit.

"Excuse me," he says to no one in particular and immediately heads off to the bathroom.

By the time he's out of sight Akaashi has started running because it feels like someone's pulling the oxygen out of his chest, and it's getting harder and harder to breathe. Barely making it to the bathroom, the setter slams the door shut and flings himself into a stall.

His hands fly to his mouth and Akaashi coughs and-

Horrified when he feels multiple soft items against the rough skin, Akaashi pulls his hand away and stares at the two Forget-Me-Not flowers in his hand, veins of yellow against blue staring up at him.

Flowers.

Akaashi is poised. Graceful. Polite. Collected. Calm. He isn't sick, he isn't weak. His flaws are hard to see. His weaknesses are small.

And he's coughing up flowers, flowers that are rooted in his lungs and make it hard to breathe and sleep and function, flower whose's roots wrap hard around his lungs and the blood vessels in them, flowers that are destroying his body from inside a body system that helps him live.

When that thought colors his mind, Akaashi leans over again and blue flowers fall limp from his mouth and plop, light and wet, into the water of the toilet.

He doesn't know how long he kneels at the bowl for.

I'm going to die. I should tell Mother, but that would reveal that I've been lying to her about my state of hanahaki, and Konoha would realize I was lying as well.

Akaashi brings one hand up to his mouth and presses it to his mouth to stop an upcoming cough. Something metallic-tasting sweeps over his tongue and he can hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

Perhaps I can schedule an appointment. I'm seventeen. I'd have to do it without Mother finding out, and-

"'kaashi?"

His thoughts slow to a stop at the knock. He swallows past the rock (or rather, flower) in his throat and tries to answer as unevenly as possible to Bokuto, who is behind the door. Even without trying, Akaashi can recognize his voice.

"I'm here," he says through his teeth. "I'm fine, Bokuto-san. I ate something off this morning."

There's a slow whistle. "Man, that's a liar if I've ever seen one. Can we open the stall door?"

Kuroo.

Akaashi peels himself off the cold tile of the floor, flushes the toliet, and drags himself to the door. Rests his forehead against it and breathes against the dull blue painting of the metal door.

"... right. Sorry," the words taste sour on his lips. He dashes a quick hand across his face, wiping a blue pal off his shirt and lets it fall to the floor, then takes another breath to calm down, letting his shoulders lift and fall before he opens the door.

Bokuto and Kuroo mix well with the black and white tile background of the bathroom, if not for Nekoma captain's red jacket. Bokuto stands with his hands on his hips, lips puckering with the lower one slightly more out in a pout while Kuroo, for once, is behind him without his cocky grin.

"Was just about to bust it down," he comments and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Come on, we've got some matches to do once we unpack."

With that, the three leave the bathrooms with Akaashi trailing behind by a few steps. He doesn't say anything in fear of flowers fluttering out of his mouth.

He keeps quiet the rest of the day. Sometimes, people caught him with shoulders shaking and Konoha casts Akaashi a weird glance, but the setter waves him off with a hand and several blinks.

Carefully, at a five-minute break after a match from Karasuno, Akaashi runs his tongue across the roof of his mouth, the petals soft under the touch. At this point, they cover almost the entirety of his mouth, sticking to the roof, sides, draped over his teeth (he's careful not to speak much). Everywhere.

He barely makes it to the break for food before he excuses himself again, rushing to the bathroom, but he only makes it half way there before a fire stabs him in the chest, right in the middle and above where his sternum was, and Akaashi bends at the waist, spitting, hacking, and coughing and his vision fades for a moment entirely.

He spits two flowers on the ground and just nudges them away with his foot, chest heaving with pain inching through it. With one hand brushing across his eyelashes, he ignores the fact that his eyes sting and his fingers come away wet.

Akaashi straightens, rolls his shoulders with a pop, and pretends to walk back with nothing wrong. Bokuto's trying to drink from a water bottle and struggles to open it. With a nod, Akaashi takes it from him, pops it open, and hands it back with a 'here'.

"You're great, Akaashi!" Bokuto says to him and slams him hard on the back (he tries not to choke out flowers) as ice shudders through the setter's body at the touch.

He doesn't reply.

The days are getting harder. Akaashi wakes up with flowers choking his mouth and spilling next to his pillow, increasing in number with every single passing day. Sometimes he wakes with them poking out between his lips and he has to cough as quietly as possible, has to peel them off his lips.

Flowers have always been beautiful, beautiful as a sunset and as beautiful as someone's unrestrained happiness to Akaashi. They're beautiful and lovely and colorful and they're growing in his lungs.

His headaches are coming more frenquetly, and one morning at four o'clock, Akaashi pulls away to see four Forget-Me-Nots cupped in his palms with gladiolus petals shoved between the flowers.

I should take the surgery.

He's going to die. At this point, he's going to die, roots finding their way into his lungs and squeezing the life out of him petal by petal, thorn by thorn, suffocating him from the inside out and making it hard to breathe. If he takes the surgery, there's a high chance that he'll die. Then again, his only chance of surviving is for Bokuto love him back, for Bokuto want to cup Akaashi's face and bring him close and kiss him.

He'll die otherwise.

Akaashi remembers the words that he read online.

If the surgery is successful, the patient will forget all memories of the person who caused their hanahaki and they will be incapable of loving them ever again.

The detail squeezes tight around his chest and loops a wire around his heart and digs into the organ.

Forgetting Bokuto.

He will forget his smile, his laugh, the brightness of his eyes, how the particular shade of molten gold reminded Akaashi of Bokuto, how he cheers when he gets past the block, how to deal with Bokuto's mood swings, the swoop his heart feels when Bokuto calls his name (or at least, his name in some form of variation), how his lips peel back to reveal his canines sometimes.

He's going to forget all that if it suceeds. Otherwise, he'll die.

No.

Akaashi stares down at his palm as his heart rebels against his logical thoughts, another ache starting in his chest. You won't. You won't do it. You won't forget him.

With that, the setter falls backward back on the mat, careful not to let another cough slip as Bokuto mutters in his sleep, and Akaashi tilts his head towards him, watches the ace move around. They're facing each other and Bokuto is drooling (Akaashi's lips twist at that) and he reaches out to brush his fingers against Bokuto's hair, which is flattened on one side due to sleeping.

However, he goes no farther and retracts his hand, a curse on his mind. They lock and freeze in mid air, stiff and rigid before Akaashi pulls it by his side and turns over.

When he wakes up again, there's an itch in his throat and there's a shadow over him. With a jolt, Akaashi jerks and sits up, bumping his forehead into the shadow. With a yelp, Bokuto comes crashing back on his butt and Akaashi's hand flies to his own forehead, then his eyes dart to his friend.

"Bokuto-san, are you okay?"

The words fly out before he can take in the situation.

"You've got a hard head," Bokuto complains as he sits up, rubs his back.

"Apologies," Akaashi moves his hand and presses it gingerly to the flat of Bokuto's forehead, checking for bumps and any negative reaction, ignoring the dry and cold chill that sweep across his throat and drags itself across his mouth. "Are you all right, Bokuto-san?"

"Yup," Bokuto's lip is bleeding, he notices. Must of hit it. "Totally fine!"

"Your lip is bleeding."

Bokuto flinches away as Akaashi reaches a hand towards him, waving his hands around him with an 'I'm fine, I'm fine,' and Akaashi's chest squeezes, hurts, and burns.

"Gottagoyou'relateforbreakfastbecauseyoulookedreallytiredyesterday!"

And with that, he's gone.

Akaashi blinks once, pulls the blanket off himself and notices that no one else is in the room. In the rush of Bokuto's words, the black-haired boy had caught the mention of being late for breakfast, so he throws one hand through his hair and walks to the bathroom.

There are bruises under his eyes.

Akaashi pauses in the bathroom, lets the water drip down his face and across his cheekbones and across the line of his jaw, hands still cupped as he stares himself in the mirror.

Three months ago, he didn't have shadows that looked like bruises under his eyes. Three months ago, he didn't have eyes as hard as polished buttons. Three months ago, he didn't look like a boy who's skin stretched tight over his own skin. The angles of the boy's body is sharper.

He straightens, throws a change of clothes on, and walks to where everyone sits on the steps to the gym, talking and chatting.

Kenma of Nekoma taps away at his PSP, Tsukishima pushes away an offered granola bar from a shorter, freckled teammate of Karasuno and waves the one he has in his hand. Tatsuki is talking to Lev of Nekoma, Bokuto is with Ogano of Shinzen, who seems to be snapping at the captain of Ubugawa.

Akaashi enters and Bokuto's eyes light up at the sight of him.

"Akaaaashi! You're alive!"

Ubugawa's captain, Masaki, tilts his head in acknowledgment as Akaashi slips over to Bokuto's side.

"There's no need to think that. You saw me five minutes ago."

"I know, but it's not the same without your presence here!"

Akaashi clears his throat quietly, shooting an apoloegic look to the other two. "You aren't dependent on me. All I'm supposed to do is clear a path for you."

"Which you do! You're the best, Akaashi!"

(Akaashi fights to stop a smile when Bokuto throws back his head and laughs)

He remains quiet, rocking his heels back and feels a petal float into his mouth and Akaashi goes rigid. They start practicing at nine. Today, they had a match against Shinzen first, followed by Karasuno, Ubugawa, then Nekoma. Each match had a five-minute water-break in between.

That took them up until noon, where they had lunch, and had another six hours of practice until six P.M rolled around, where they had dinner and then we allowed to practice or converse with others until nine.

Tsukishima had been joining them for two or three days now, although both Kuroo and Bokuto have to track him down to convince him to join. Now, the Karasuno first-year is cleaning his glasses, using his loose white shirt to run the fabric across the lenses.

"You're getting closer to blocking me, Tsukishima!" Bokuto is saying as Akaashi tunes in. "Not quite yet! You can't knock down an ace in the top five!"

"Top five? Shame, would have been something worthwhile if you were in the top three. Suppose you're not enough."

"Prickly as ever, I see," Kuroo says and waves a hand. "C'mon, your blocking is still utter crap. I've blocked a couple of Bo's spikes, you gotta get at least one."

Both of them shuffle to one side of the net while Bokuto and his setter go to the other. Akaashi spins a ball in his hands, then tosses it to his ace. Akaashi shifts into position, as does Bokuto, ready to toss the ball. Both blockers on the other side of the net are on the frontline, crouched and hands raised.

Now, he tosses the ball into the air and Akaashi moves underneath the ball, positions his feet, and lets the ball land on the pads of his fingertips. At the corner of his eyes, he sees Bokuto back up a few steps then start running, and he tosses the ball towards him. "Bokuto-san!"

Bokuto lets out a roar in response, jumping and for a moment, time freezes.

He's incredible. Powerful, caring, excited, utterly and unbelievably incredible and I'm in love with him.

Akaashi stares at him in mid-air, eyes bright and flaming with life, shirt riding up to expose the smooth skin across the back of his hip and arm raised, the reflection of the ball in his eyes. The light of the gym casts shadows over the edges of his body.

Time starts again. The ace brings his arm around with a yell, smashing the ball through Tsukishima's arms with a yell. "YEAAAAAH! I did great, I did-"

A loud, billowing cough shakes Akaashi's body and it hurts, it hurts, make it stop please-

"Akaashi!"

A sharp, stabbing pain brings him to his knees, chest heaving as he presses one hand to his mouth, shuddering, shaking, coughing. Kuroo abandons their spot and rushes to his side but-

There's red dots on the floor.

They're not just red dots, he realizes as he coughs again and more dots appear. That's blood. My blood. I'm coughing up blood.

Sure enough, with a plop, a bloodied Forget-Me-Not falls, limp, to the floor.

At this point, Akaashi can't even kneel upright and instead collapses sideways, body still convulsing as he coughs and there's blood everywhere, on his hands and staining the floor, speckling the flowers and sticking to his hands, the petals, and it's on his lips and his head spins.

"Call one of the coaches!" Someone hollers and Akaashi, through blurred vision and half-lidded eyes, sees his face.

Bokuto's face.

Bokuto's face full of horror and astonishment as Akaashi coughs up pink-tinged gladiolus flowers and as blood smears across his skin, his lips and he can't even see the gym floor because the lack of oxygen with cramped flowers in his lungs.

Black hair hovers at the edge of his vision and there's yelling and his body hurts and Akaashi just lays there on the floor, unable to move except for spitting flowers out of the left side of his mouth.

Flowers have always been beautiful, beautiful as a sunset and as beautiful as someone's unrestrained happiness to Akaashi. They're beautiful and lovely and colorful and they're growing in his lungs.

"Akaashi. Akaashi, Akaashi, tell me you can hear me. Akaashi. Give me some type of indication. Akaashi! Bokuto, get your ass over here! He might recognize your face!"

The smacking of footsteps. Something gold glitters above him and warmth seeps into his hand. Instinctively, he digs his nails into it, but the warmth doesn't pull away until Akaashi stops coughing. It doesn't even pull away when he curls up, instead moves to his shoulder, resting there.

"Where is he?"

That's the coach, Akaashi thinks, his mind swimming and heavy. His stomach and chest and head hurts and he can already feel the burn at the back of his throat and a sour taste on his tongue. As he sees is shadows and moving figures before his mind flickers and fades.

OoO

"-it was almost too late for this kid, a week later and he most likely would be beyond the sur-"

"Honestly, children these day are so-"

"-Stop that, he's just a kid-"

He's in a hospital bed.

Akaashi blinks at the bleached walls above him and a headache stirs. Blinks once, twice, then a third time and cranes his head to the side.

A woman sits and taps her pen against the clipboard. When she notices that he's awake, the woman smiles in Akaashi's direction. "Akaashi-kun, correct?"

The mentioned boy nods.

"Hanahaki byou, stage three. It's a miracle how someone hasn't seen you coughing yet."

(there are people that have. Mother. Konoha. Coach. I told them I would get treatment)

"I'm Suzuki Kaede. Do you know what's happening to you?" Kindness tilts her voice as she sets the clipboard aside.

Akaashi nods, shoves the raspiness of his throat aside to speak. "... I doubt I have much time left, seeing how I'm coughing up blood."

"... yes, unfortunately. You can do the surgery, although your body is young and hardly any hanahaki cases of your age last long enough for the flowers to grow far enough, but you have two flowers in your lungs, hence more pain than just one flower. By your words, Akaashi-kun, you know about hanahaki?"

"Yes, ma'am."

At that, Suzuki smiles, tiredly, the life draining out of her eyes. "At such a young age... you already know too much..."

Akaashi sits up more in the bed, straightens a little and runs his fingers across the white sheets draped across his frame.

"... does my mother know? Was she alerted?" He finally asks.

"Yes."

At that, he falls silent, something wet plastered to the back of his throat. "Do you have a picture I may see?"

"A... picture?"

"An x-ray."

"Ah. We don't, unfortunately. I'll speak to the others about it so you can see."

She stands up after a moment and exits the room quickly. When her presence leaves, Akaashi lets out a cough that had been building in his throat and a pink gladiolus is spat out against the white sheets and made it go a faint pink. He clears his throat and rolls the sheets so that it's hidden out of sight.

It hurts.

There's a long, slow, agonizing, and heavy ache that sits in his chest, like fingers made out of stone are pushing hard into his chest and throat.

Akaashi lifts one hand to press it against his heart, feeling the thrum underneath his fingers. He doesn't know how long he stays like that, long fingers splayed over the warm skin but he's like that until Suzuki comes back and nods at him.

"You have visitors. They've been waking for you to wake up. Are you in the mood to see them, Akaashi-kun, or...?"

Akaashi blinks. Then: "... who is it?"

"Your mother, for one. Then there's another boy... ah, what did he say his name was? He mentioned that you were on his volleyball team."

His heart quickens. Bokuto..?

"Appearance?" Akaashi manages through the thunderous sound in his ears.

"Brown hair, a bit on the darker scale. Narrow eyes, perhaps... darkly-colored?"

"I'm fine with seeing him," he says and looks towards his hands, swings his legs over the bed. Suzuki asks him another question and he just nods numbly and doesn't say anything and the doctor leaves.

"Akaashi."

The door opens. He doesn't look up but can recognize the voice.

Konoha.

"You... you said you would get treatment?"

Akaashi looks up at the statement phrased as a question, folding his hands at the sight of Konoha. His gut squirms a little bit but he keeps it down, face straight as stone.

"... Konoha-san."

"You said you would get treatment."

"I did."

"You didn't get treatment."

"I didn't," he agrees.

Konoha crosses the room and Akaashi lets his fingers ghost over the floor, barefoot and the pads of his toes pressing lightly into the tile.

"Are you... okay?"

"Aren't you supposed to be at training camp?"

Konoha shakes his head, "You are our setter," he says with raised eyebrows. "Can't do anything without you, so at the moment, we're sharing the court with some players on the bench. I think Bokuto's setter is Sugawara from Karasuno, but... our backup setter is still working on his tosses."

Akaashi is surprised when his nails bite into his own palm. Sugawara seems nice enough with a beaming smile and warm brown eyes, but...

"It's for Bokuto, isn't it?"

At the ace's name, Akaashi looks up again. "... p... pardon?"

"Your hanahaki. That is what it's called, isn't it? Hanahaki byou... when you fall in love with a person and they don't love you back. You... fell in love with Bokuto."

Akaashi's too stunned for a moment, eyebrows drawn together and lips screwed in a small pout until he's doubled over, coughing and tries to spit at the sheets but no flowers come from his mouth, only a petal.

Somehow, some way, Konoha had figured it out. Akaashi threaded with careful steps- feet light, movements quiet, he shouldn't have figured it out. He had covered his tracks, he had back-tracked- how had he figured it out?

Konoha releases a sharp, shuddering breath of laughter that reaches cold to his ears. "So it is him."

Akaashi isn't one for lies so he nods with numbness on his tongue. The feeling spreads all the way across his mouth and climbs down his throat.

"... yes," the black-haired boy finally says, breathless. "It's him. It's always been him."

Konoha twists his fingers together, looking around the room.

"Is that all you wanted to say?"

The brown-haired teenager nods.

"Just... take the surgery, Akaashi. I don't- no one knows what Bokuto will do without you."

I wouldn't know what I would do without him.

He clasps his hands in his lap, staring down at them. "I'll forget him. That's no better."

Akaashi's visitor swallows past the rock in his throat. "I... should get going soon. See you."

He doesn't respond.

In the minutes between Konoha leaving and his mother entering, Akaashi studies the room.

It's bleached, bleached white and sickening. All the outer 'walls' are white aside from the door, which is a darker shade and more on the grey side. The bed is white too, aside from the gladiolus (that had used to be white) folded inside of the sheets. A chair is pushed up against a wall next to the bed, tan and blue, and is facing the black TV set up on the other side. A cabinet, made from polished wood, is near the TV. A window is set in the wall.

"Keiji..."

He pulls his gaze from the TV to meet the watery blue eyes of his mother.

"... mother," Akaashi replies, just as quiet.

"Keiji," the word is a broken sob and Akaashi Chika takes another few steps forward.

Akaashi lifts his head in the slightest when his mother falls in a heap in the chair, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

"... I'm sorry, mother."

"You said you would take care of it," the woman whispers, fingers curling deep into her skirt. Tears glitter at the edge of her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and carving into the skin of Chika's face. "You've always been a wonderful son, so I didn't doubt you..."

Akaashi places more weight on his feet, pulls himself off the bed. There's no pain besides a curl in his chest from the effort.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "I'll do better next time."

She blinks and looks up at him and he leans forward a bit, just enough to allow her hands to reach out to smooth black curls back like Chika did all those months ago, when he had first coughed up a pretty blue petal. His mother eases them back and Akaashi lets her, combs her fingers through his hair like she did when he was younger.

"... do you want to take the surgery? A next time-"

Akaashi doesn't answer.

"Tell me about him," she finally says. "Tell me about the boy you fell in love with."

So Akaashi does. Akaashi tells her about the way Bokuto says his name, the light, spark, and fire that ignites Bokuto's eyes every time he hits a toss successfully, his mood-swings and how Akaashi's become accustomed to dealing with them, the way Bokuto grins at him and lifts a hand in a wave every time he sees him (every day, every day), the way Bokuto still childishly asks for pinky-promises on certain things he wants to keep quiet.

Akaashi tells her about the texts Bokuto sends him in the morning at around eight (thirty minutes before school starts), usually a 'MORNING AKAASHI (ﾉ≧∀≦)ﾉ' and how at Bokuto's lunch time, he sometimes sends a 'I FORGOT MY LUNCH (ﾉ･д･)ﾉ HELP', how every night at about eleven, Bokuto sends a 'night AKAASHI ┗(＾∀＾)┛', and Akaashi knows that his phone had auto-corrected his name to all capitals.

Akaashi tells her about how he's taken to the habit of packing another lunch, a small one but one nonetheless, since Bokuto forgets his so often, and how he usually keeps some spare yen on him in case Bokuto wants to buy anything for a school lunch. Akaashi tells her about how Bokuto sometimes accidentally slams his hand into Akaashi's shoulder so hard that it leaves a red mark on his skin and apologizes dozens of times, and how Bokuto, when laughing, throws his head back with a closed-eyed smile.

Akaashi tells her about how their hands bump during practice and the way Bokuto looks at him like he's the world sometimes, how Akaashi has thirty-seven weaknesses identified and how he has a strategy to counter them all, how Akaashi sometimes has to step close to the point where he can smell Bokuto's cologne just to fix his tie because he had put it on wrong, how Bokuto sometimes pulls him in for a hug and Akaashi feels like he's being suffocated in warmth that sends his insides crawling and the back of his neck a flaring red and how Bokuto, when he's pulling away, has his hands linger on Akaashi's shoulders for another few seconds.

When he finishes, stomach rolling, his mother smiles at him through her tears. "Can I tell you a quick story about a boy, Keiji...?"

A nod.

"There once was a boy who made my son's world light up and I would give anything to see my son's eyes light up the way they did while talking about him."

Akaashi blinks once as Chika pulls him close and presses a kiss on top of his forehead, he can still see the tears at the corners of her eyes.

"Am... am I going to lose you too, Keiji?"

His throat constricts. "... I'm sorry."

He pulls his mother into a hug, a hug that means everything to the shaking mother in his arms. Akaashi Chika is a mother that's going to lose her son, a mother that already lost her other half to a corruption in her husband's lungs, and now she's going to lose her son to that beautiful corruption that makes blood stain his mouth and lips.

They would have stayed like that for minutes on end, Chika clutching at what may be the last time for her to hug her son and limbs trembling but Akaashi's body shuddered and he breaks away, bending over with a cough ripping through him.

The coughs break the air and Akaash spits five bloodied flowers- two speckled with pink across white petals, and three stained purple- into his hands.

I'm shaking.

His hands shudder and quake and quiver, numb and heavy. Blood rests in the slight grooves of his fingerprints, barely visible but it's a disgusting color to look at. Akaashi feels weak- at the knees, in his stomach, everywhere, it's a feeling that's foreign to him.

His mother stares at the flowers with horror painted clean on her face.

(Akaashi remembers how Bokuto looked when he had seen him cough up blood and flowers)

And she bolts out of the room.

Akaashi brings a hand to his mouth, feeling blood on his lips as he stumbles over to the bed, a tangle of limbs falling on it as Akaashi tries to fight the stickiness in his chest and throat. Something fuzzy (not just fuzzy, suffocating and a petal) sticks to the back of his mouth and Akaashi lets out another cough before a bloodied gladiolus falls with a plop in a puddle of blood.

It seeps into the white sheets of the bed, tendrils inching across it and Akaashi covers his mouth again.

The next day is a blur. The memories melt into one another, swirling and mixing. Akaashi remembers someone saying his name, a buzz, the flowers, him taking an X-ray. All of the memories are dotted with red or black.

"Akaashi-kun?"

It's 9:06, Akaashi notes, then glances out the window. It's dark. "I'm listening."

"You have a visitor. His name is Bokuto," The doctor that had taken Suzuki's place was a young man by the name of Kurogawa Hikaru and he folds his hands behind his back.

Akaashi's getting sick and tired of the distinct smell of the room, so he moves his legs and touches the floor, pads over to Kurogawa.

Kurogawa immediately tenses up, shoulders squaring, "Akaashi-kun," he says again, more firmly this time. "You have flowers in your lungs, and according to the X-rays that are being developed, they're going to suffocate you in several days unless you don't take the surgery. You shouldn't be walking around all that much."

"I haven't walked outside at all. Bokuto-san wants to see me. My floor is above ground, by the looks of what's outside of the window, so if there's a balcony, I would prefer to go there or something similar."

Kurogawa presses his lips together, then turns to call out 'Shino!' and Akaashi blinks at the short-haired woman that pokes her head into the room with a yawn.

"... yes...?"

"Could you take Akaashi-kun to Bokuto-kun, please? He requested that they speak outside."

"Oh.. all right..."

She doesn't even blink at him as Akaashi trails after her, quiet. The two seem to suit each other, Shino being quiet and Akaashi obediently falling after her step.

"Bokuto-kun... Akaashi-kun is here to see you..."

It's the other way around.

When he sees him, Bokuto yells and bolts.

"Bokuto-san...!"

"AKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASHI!"

Akaashi has about less than a second to prep himself for the muscular arms that wrap around him, pulls him into the curve of Bokuto's shoulder. The ace radiates warmth and Akaashi can feel defined muscles against his chest of Bokuto's own chest, of his neck, of his arms and Bokuto feels like a body-heater.

"Bokuto-san," he says before Bokuto squeezes him too hard. "Breathing. Restricted."

"Oh!" He releases him and steps back, golden eyes scanning up and down as Akaashi pats himself, brushes the fabric of the shirt he's wearing. "Sorry!"

He looks good, Akaashi notes. The thought is mildly distracting. Bokuto isn't wearing a school uniform, but rather a tight-fitting light blue shirt, one that leaves his collarbones exposed, with sleeves that end at the elbows and black pants. He has them rolled up, but his right sleeve is slipping down. With careful hands, the black-haired boy rolls them up.

"I was gonna come here so I could sleep with you for the night," Bokuto hooks a finger across his shoulder to a blanket and pillow shoved in a chair. "- since training camp ended earlier! Man, I wish it was longer than just a week! The kid with the glasses- Tsukishima! That's his name! He's getting really dangerous, y'know, almost sends shivers down my spine, but once I've got you at my back again, we'll be able to handle him just fine!"

Once I've got you at my back again.

Again.

There won't be an again.

"Bokuto-san, do you mind if we go outside?"

"You're weird, 'kaashi. But sure, this smell is getting to me anyway, so!"

Akaashi nods at Shino, who turns her back and starts walking again. Bokuto follows, and so does Akaashi, eyes locked on the hem of Bokuto's shirt with glazed eyes and trying to ignore the burning pain in his chest that's growing more intense every step.

They're taken up the stairs and Bokuto races to the top before tossing a large grin across his shoulder ("C'mon, Akaashi, you're so slow!") and Shino leads them with an apathetic look on her face, lips pursed as she moves. They reach the next level and Akaashi finds himself looking at a marble balcony that has the doors open, showing the sky and the stars.

"Out here."

Bokuto slides his hands into his pockets.

"Whoaaaaa..."

Shino stays back, but Akaashi takes a couple more steps until the wind runs its' fingers up and down his arms, littering kisses across his skin. The Fukurodani ace follows, the presence of warmth and comfort lingering next to Akaashi's elbow.

He tilts his head to look at the stars, silence thick on his tongue, narrow eyes glancing across stars that blink back at him. Bokuto stands next to him, arms resting on the railing that moves across the entire balcony and looks at the city of Tokyo before them.

"'kaashi... what happened back there?"

He blinks. Pulls his gaze away from the stars. Looks at Bokuto. "Specify."

"There was..." Bokuto sucks in a breath. "Flowers. Blood. You were in pain and kneeling over and you looked at me and didn't see me. There was blood everywhere and you were coughing and-"

"Bokuto-san," Akaashi interrupts. "Do... Do you know what hanahaki byou is?"

Bokuto scrunches up his nose a little bit. For a moment, Akaashi doesn't see the Bokuto he's used to- eyes bright with excitement and burning but rather a flame that has been soothed and calmed and coaxed to a small, tender one.

"Nope!"

"It's what I have."

"A terminal illness? Something that struck down your family? Hurting joints? You're gonna toss for me again, Akaashi, aren't you? You have to- without coughing up flowers or anything! You-"

"Bokuto-san, stop."

He went quiet.

"Hanahaki byou," Akaashi starts, an ache stirring in his chest as if a beast is waking to it's name. "Is a disease that you can... get, I suppose. It's... There are flowers growing in my lungs. At this point, they've severed blood vessels and can even start growing into my bones, assuming I live long enough. I'm... slowly suffocating."

Bokuto blinks.

"You're..."

"Dying. I'm dying, Bokuto-san. That is all."

The process is slow. Bokuto blinks again, and as Akaashi watches, the emotions in those golden eyes shatter and then rebuild themselves again, rebuilding themselves as sadness and loss. His jaw drops, creases in his face becoming more obvious.

"You're-" He cuts himself off and closes his mouth, pressing his lips together and Bokuto's gaze sweeps from his setter to the city.

"It's caused by falling in love with someone and they don't love you back. If they are in love with you, or if they fall in love with you while you have hanahaki byou, the flowers stop growing."

The ace jerks, appalled, ripping his eyes from the city with a wide expression. "You're in love with someone? I just- you can't die, Akaashi! Just tell me who it is! I can set up a date and everything, and get flowers and you can tell her how you feel. Who doesn't love you back, Akaashi? That's... that's stupid! You're incredible and amazing and- she should love you back! Who wouldn't?!"

"He."

"What?"

"It's a boy."

Bokuto takes another step towards him, raises his hands like he's about to grab Akaashi and the black-haired boy pins his own hands behind his back.

"All right, he should love you back! You shouldn't die because someone doesn't love you. Again, we can set up a nice coffee shop date and you can confess your undying love for him, and I don't think he'll reject you! So, so, since I gotta be your partner in crime, you have to tell me who is it!"

He can't know.

"Akaaaaashi!"

"It's... he's someone you know. A third-year."

"Kuroo! Konoha! T-"

"I'm not going to tell you," Akaashi says quietly and something sizzles in his chest in the way Bokuto's shoulders slump. "I don't feel comfortable telling you, Bokuto-san, apologies."

Akaashi always kept his emotions close to his heart, in a cage right next to his heart. His emotions almost never rule his mind like Bokuto lets them. He's as easy to read as a book because he wears his heart on the sleeves of his shirt, laced in gold.

"There... has to be another way."

Akaashi opens his mouth to answer before pain arcs through his chest. The floor comes whirling up to meet Akaashi and his hand hits something wet and the world is spinning and he sees Bokuto again and there's fear and panic in his eyes because he understands what's happening to Akaashi and he's coughing up flowers as an overwhelming wave of love curls around Akaashi's heart.

A wave of love for this boy, this teenager, this Fukurodani student that has excitement and energy basically sparking the air around him.

And this love is killing him.

Bokuto gives him a breath of air but Bokuto is also the reason why he can't breathe.

He coughs Forget-Me-Nots, gladioluses, and there's a hand at his back, pressing and the clicking of footsteps. Rapid footsteps.

At the back of his head, the memory stirs, the memory of Akaashi reading up on hanahaki.

The third stage, stage three of hanahaki byou, is the last stage. The victim starts coughing up bloodied flowers due to roots penetrating the lungs, hence the bloodied petals whenever you cough. At this point in time, a surgery may not even save the victim. The stage lasts two or three days before death without treatment.

He had coughed up bloody flowers less than a day ago. Perhaps even to a day ago since they were in the training gym at about eight o'clock. He had two or three days left to live.

Akaashi is surrounded by darkness.

OoO

"-Wait, his eyes are fluttering!"

"Kurooooooooooo, does that mean they have to take him off the tube now? What if he can't breathe? Akaashi's not dying here or now, I swear it!"

Akaashi can barely move his neck. Something touches the underside of his nose, and he blinks once. Twice. Then cranes his neck to the side where he can see someone dressed in red and someone else dressed in a contrasting blue sitting next to him.

"'kaashi?" The one in blue leans forward as the world sharpens, Akaashi can define them as Bokuto, golden eyes blinking with slivers of a darker, more bronze color and there's such concern in those eyes that reminds Akaashi of a puppy, large and affectionate.

"Bokuto-san," he murmurs through heavy lips.

"I'm here," there's a lazy grin that almost blinds Akaashi, so he turns his attention to the person in red, who has come into focus.

"Kuroo-san," Akaashi says, then adds. "Pain-in-the-ass-Kuroo-san."

Kuroo scrunches up his nose a little bit and squawks. "Excuse me?"

"You're here."

"Yeah, I'm here but did you seriously just-" Kuroo sighs and drags a hand down his face and Akaashi, even in his haze, picks up on how Kuroo rubs his eyes once and has to blink several times for his slanted eyes to narrow and sharpen again.

"I did. Why are you here?"

"Saw Bo," Kuroo tilts his head to the man. "- When I was getting something for my grandma. So, popped on over here and shit and here we are."

Akaashi lets his head fall back on the pillows (they're a nice blue, he notices) and stares up at the ceiling.

It's easier to breathe. There's nothing clouding the back of his throat, but as Akaashi's eyes move, he can see something transparent at the edge of his vision, near his nose.

"A tube," Bokuto explains when he notices where Akaashi's eyes are, "They had to, uh," He fiddles with his fingers. "Y'know. So you could breathe."

Oh.

Akaashi tries to sit up but his stomach growls in warning. Bokuto straightens like he had been shocked, mouth falling wide open.

"Right, right! 'kaashi, when did you last eat?"

At his name, he blinks once, shifting through the memories like they are files in a cabinet. "... earlier today?"

"It's one o'clock," Kuroo supplies, then adds, "In the morning." when Akaashi glances towards the window. "Was thinking that you needed an AED or something when you didn't wake for like, four hours? Man, you should have seen Bokuto, flying around and fucking bouncing off the walls-"

Bokuto lunges for him, hands flying and the Nekoma captain reels and flies backward until he crashes to the floor with a laugh in his throat, high-pitched and reedy.

"We're in a hospital, you two."

Kuroo desperately jabs the chair in Bokuto's direction, nudging away muscled forearms with a chair leg and poking him squarely in the stomach. But then he crosses his legs and folds them on the hospital floor, looking up with a sly grin. "What's stopping us from dragging you in?"

"I'm attached to a tube."

"Right," there's a scraping noise as Kuroo accidentally loses grip on the chair and it bangs against the floor. "Shit!"

Bokuto bursts out laughing and Akaashi can't help but let amusement flicker at the corner of his lips, even when Kuroo barks out another curse word, even when Kuroo and Bokuto exchange glances and it causes his chest to squeeze.

"To answer your question, Bokuto-san," he says, words evenly measured out so that his chest doesn't explode in petals. "I ate at around five. It wasn't much."

"You're probably hungry now, right?"

"Not really," Akaashi goes quiet for a moment and listens so that he can hear his body's signals, but when he comes up with nothing, he nods. "Not really."

"Your stomach growled at me like a minute ago, dude. I know you called me a pain-in-the-ass, but seriously, do you hate me that much?"

Akaashi gives him a stink-eye. Kuroo just grins that shit-eating grin of his.

At this point, Akaashi would say nothing is wrong. The aura is familiar and Bokuto's smiling, Kuroo's still sitting on the hospital floor with his hands bracing him, but Akaashi is dying because there are Forget-Me-Nots and gladioluses in his lungs.

Flowers have always been beautiful, beautiful as a sunset and as beautiful as someone's unrestrained happiness to Akaashi. They're beautiful and lovely and colorful and they're growing in his lungs.

"Oh, by the way-" Bokuto scrambles off and returns with a chair with wheels, plopping down. Kuroo finally gets up, props up the chair he had fallen over in, and hooks up his leg on the chair Bokuto was previously in. "Konoha completely spoke crap about Kuroo the other day! Like, he had the most stoicest face ever and just bad-mouthed him and Kuroo just overheard him and his face was one of the greatest things-"

"Although, that Karasuno kid- Tsukishima, remember? So, Fukurodani was up against Karasuno and Bokuto was about to spike- I mean, his spikes aren't as good because you're not there, but- suddenly Tsukishima was there, and Bokuto looked scared shitless!"

"I did not!"

Bokuto talks and talks and talks and Kuroo talks and talks and talks, and half the time Akaashi doesn't listen because it's hard to listen. Instead, he stares at Bokuto with heavy-lidded eyes, looking at this man that has the entire galaxy squeezed into his body and he's a supernova exploding and his eyes are stars, he is a black hole and a planet and a heart so warm and hot that it would put the sun to shame.

Sometimes Kuroo would burst out into that laugh of his, one that fills every corner of the room and he has so much energy despite it being one in the morning and probably waking up any poor soul that walks by Akaashi's room.

"Shouldn't you guys be sleeping?" Akaashi asks in the middle of a story of how Bokuto and Kuroo had spooked Karasuno's captain with hockey masks and ended up half-screaming and tearing through Shinzen's campus at three in the morning with Sawamura hot on their trail.

Kuroo stops in where he had been illustrating what had happened when he tripped over Haiba Lev from Nekoma, lying on the floor.

"Nah, nah, it's break. Training camp's over, and I saw Bokuto here. Who gives a shit about our sleep schedules, right? Hospital's open 24/7. Besides, when I told them that Bokuto was your boyfriend-"

"What?"

"- they let us through, so."

Akaashi opens his mouth. Closes it. To say that he had thought of Bokuto being his boyfriend multiple times is an understatement but he has to be careful of everything- the wrinkle between his eyebrows, the quirk of his lips. Kuroo isn't stupid (the exact opposite, really. He's somewhat of an intellectual, but once he's with Bokuto, it's all jokes and how many crackers you can jam up your nose), he'd catch on to any out-of-place quirk.

"You're coming back to the training camp in a couple of weeks, right, 'kaashi?"

He looks at him, bites his tongue and the truthful reply, then manages a soft smile and a lie. "Of course."

Bokuto beams, a dimple caving in on his right cheek then offers Akaashi his pinky with the declaration of "Yubikiri!" and Akaashi blinks at his extended pinky.

"... pardon?"

"A promise," Bokuto says cheekily. "You gotta promise to come back to training camp! I can help you!"

The setter's eyes dart between Bokuto's hand and his eyes, then once to Kuroo who's watching with a lazy grin, then moves his hand to curl his own pinky around Bokuto's.

The touch of their knuckles, Bokuto's skin wound around his is enough to send sparks, and his heartbeat grows loud in his ears and Akaashi coughs, a slow ember in his chest that explodes and he's coughing more and more, four flowers fall from the space between his fingertips to the bed.

Bokuto's gone in an instant, shouting and arms flying and Kuroo's narrowed, slanted almond eyes flicker with concern as Akaashi tries to spit out more flowers but to no avail. Instead, his body just shakes and he can hear the Nekoma captain's quiet 'fuck'.

By the time a doctor comes into a room, Akaashi is- somewhat calmly despite the heaviness in his eyes and body- flicking off flowers that left red and pink circles on the sheet. They fall to the floor, limp and lifeless and plastered to the tile.

"I'm fine."

"You two have to leave," the doctor remarks to Kuroo and Bokuto. The latter spares a look towards Akaashi, pleading, and lifts his pinky, a reminder of his promise before the two leave the room.

"I'm fine," Akaashi repeats again and Bokuto's face flickers through his mind, a lingering memory of a smile he had seen moments before and doubles over in case of a cough.

"Your mother is here," the doctor says, moving towards him. "Have you decided if you're taking the surgery?"

His grip tightens on the sheets. The doctor's eyes soften.

"You should," the man says quietly. "Teenagers- they are stubborn. No offense against you, of course, but it's sad when we get a person too late and they die on a hospital bed. Those flowers- they're going to suffocate you soon. I remember every one of the high school patients who have come here- all of them didn't take the surgery because they thought they could fix it.

"Your generation is the future of ours. Yes, it involves memory loss and the removal of feelings but- your generation could find out a better treatment."

There's an uncomfortable pressure at the bottom of his lungs, building and pressing down on his solar plexus and Akaashi leans over, lips pressed together and stares at the four flowers (three Forget-Me-Nots, one gladiolus) that lay dead on the floor.

They're just as pretty as they were before Akaashi had started coughing up them. Yes, they're tinged with blood and speckled with different colors that dot the petals and mock him. The Forget-Me-Nots are blue with purple spots, almost like a abnormality, and they blink. The gladiolus used to be white but now they're red and pink, curled at the edges and just small enough to cloud up Akaashi's throat.

"You gotta promise to come back to training camp! I can help you!"

"May I speak to my mother about it?"

The doctor's still watching him warily, holding the stethoscope with one hand. He makes eye-contact with Akaashi and the latter nods, allowing him to press the metal to his chest.It ghosts over his chest, checking his heartbreak and the way the air barely glides past the pile of flowers in his throat- even though the tube is there, there's a knot where his lungs are.

"Of course," he hums.

They stay like that for a few moments. Akaashi doesn't pay attention to what the man is doing and studies his furrowed brow, wondering what it so difficult about Akaashi's body to make him frown like that. His chest is heavy but it lifts when he notices his mother walk into the room.

"You're not sleeping," the younger one says, the words light and breathy.

"I slept here."

Akaashi's gaze darts away from her to the machines on either side of him. "Ah."

The doctor busies himself with something on the counter, so Akaashi raises his voice a little bit, puts the words forth.

"I think... I want to take the surgery."

She straightens, looks at him and smiles a tight-lipped smile and he can already see the tears. One hand goes out to comb through his curls again, almost like therapy, and he closes his eyes, listening to the hum that comes from his mother's mouth.

"I want to see you happy, Keiji. I want you and me both to be happy. I love you."

"Are you all right with it? Spending the money?"

"If it means giving my son the chance to breathe again, I'll do it a thousand times over."

(he smiles a little but it's forced)

The talk falls numb on his ears and Akaashi doesn't pay attention to the words exchanged between his mother and the doctor, only nodding or shaking his head when a question is tossed his way.

Akaashi lays himself down on the bed, but even when the conversation leaves the room, he can't sleep because of the ache and itch and pain that wraps itself around his throat and torso.

But eventually, his mind flickers out and Akaashi gives in.

He's woken through the night (or morning, whatever you prefer) by choking and coughing spells, one that shake his body and make it so difficult to think and breathe and move and see. Black dances and crows in his vision and by the time light bleeds through the window the entire floor is covered with wet, plastered, blood-stained flowers and Akaashi is trembling and shaking in the bed.

"Lack of sleep, sweat, coughing bouts..."

There's a hum and Akaashi looks over at Suzuki, who smiles in his direction. "It's eight AM, before you ask," she says. "Are you feeling all right?"

Akaashi spares one look at the floor, shrouded by flowers and shakes his head, tongue heavy. The movement causes his head to spin again.

"We're going to have to get started soon," she says, quiet. "Your surgery. Your mother and the other doctors have spoken about it all night. We had a recent case of hanahaki within the past few hours, so we'll have to move you into a different room without much of a hassle. Do you mind?"

"... No, not at all."

She smiles but it falls off her face as Akaashi places a hand on his chest, squeezes and bunches the fabric between his fingers. A pain is starting to stir to life at the back of his eyes, coiling tight around his brain.

"It's getting worse," the Fukurodani student rasps.

Tightening her lips, Suzuki nods, steel etched on her face. "I know."

OoO

Akaashi stands up for the first time in several hours. The instant they remove the tube he starts coughing, shoulders hunching and frame bent, one hand pressed to the wall while the other cups his mouth.

"Akaashi!"

"Akaashi-kun!"

"AKAASHI!"

Eyes widen at the sight of many faces he recognizes- Konoha stands with both hands on his hips, Komi and Onaga on either side of him. Sarukui and Washio have a hand on either one of Bokuto's shoulders, whose's lower lip trembles and their other hand waves at him. Yukie's clutching something in her hands, Kaori on her right arm.

"This is for you," Yukie says and takes a step forward and offers the object in her hands to him. "From the team."

Akaashi's eyes shift downwards to the object. It's a little object pressed into his hand, and on further inspection, it's an omamori- a talisman, small and rectangular.

"Byouki heyu omamori," Yukie explains. "A get better soon."

His gaze flicks between her face and the omamori, white and black and gold- his team's colors. As he stands there, the other team members come forward and touch the omamori in a finger.

Bokuto is last. His fingers don't just ghost across the omamori, they rest over Akaashi's skin and it burns hot and fiery, and presses the pads of his fingers to Akaashi's skin, turning the inside of his wrist and skimming his fingers across where his pulse is.

(Akaashi hears a brief 'If that's not the gayest shit I've ever seen-' before there is a hiss and something being hit in the background).

Finally, after what feels like ages, Bokuto lifts his gaze and smiles, big, wide, and dopey at Akaashi and he can feel the back of his neck starting to burn so he takes a step back and the emotions stirring in his chest are enough to curl his toes but Akaashi restrains the urge.

"... thank you," he manages before wanting to turn away before there's a sharp, sudden pain that slams into his chest and Akaashi is almost trembling from holding it back. The strain of the flowers- he can feel them flutter up his throat in a sing-song, ready to make him double over.

The back of the setter's throat grows dry and Bokuto, too, steps away. "We're gonna be waiting for you when you get out," he tells the setter. "Remember our promise!"

Akaashi would swallow but his mouth is too dry. Instead, Suzuki comes up behind him and talks in a soft voice to the team members, and Akaashi stares at the floor, intent not to cough up blood and stain the floor right in front of the members of Fukurodani's volleyball team.

Although Bokuto's eyes are clumsy with sleep, he lifts a hand and waves to him when Suzuki is about to nudge Akaashi along and there's a sudden, sharp gasp. "Wait, wait! Can I hug him?"

Gears tick in Suzuki's eyes as she regards Akaashi, then Bokuto, who stands with his hands on his hips and blinking away sleep cobwebs. "I don't think-"

Bokuto lunges and pulls Akaashi against his chest and the muscles of his body contract and tense in an effort to keep back a cough. Bokuto smells like sun-baked dirt and sweat and the sun and it makes Akaashi tingle. His head swims and he shoves his face into Bokuto's neck, under the hard jawline of a man he knows like the back of his hand and Akaashi fights back the emotions that rattle his ribcage.

"Bokuto-san, you can let go now," he whispers, muffled, against his ace's neck.

Bokuto slackens, then finally lets his hands slip from where they had pressed flat against the curve of Akaashi's shoulder blades and the scent that sends warmth flaring across Akaashi's limbs disappears as Bokuto pulls away.

"See ya, Akaashi."

Suzuki guides Akaashi away and once his teammates are out of sight, Akaashi drops to the floor, heaving petal after petal, red after red gladiolus, purple after purple Forget-Me-Not onto the clean white tiles until his body shakes under the strain. With a call and a panicked expression, the doctor disappears but Akaashi pays no attention because he can't breathe he can't think, tears prickle at his eyes and his hands are trembling, clammy and he clutches to the omamori like it's a lifeline.

(he already knew he had it bad for Bokuto but even thinking about Bokuto causes another violent coughing bout until the floor is hidden by flowers. He's on his knees now and the flowers come to a solid three or two cenimeters off the floor)

"The surgery needs to commence now!" Someone yells off to the right of Akaashi. There's some sensation in his arms, but blackness surges forward and takes Akaashi in it's arms.

OoO

I can't feel anything.

OoO

Bokuto isn't sure what he was expecting. Komi and Konoha are having an arm wrestle across from him, the muscles of their arms straining. Konoha seemed to be winning by the way Komi puffed up his cheeks, releasing a sharp breath and Konoha slams his hand into the table. "Ha!"

"Again! Other hand this time!"

Bokuto's attention moves from him to where Kaori and Onaga are talking and he focuses on them for a moment until a hand touches his knee. With a whip-like movement, he turns his head to see Yukie.

"You're bouncing your knee," she says when she sees him tilt his head.

Sure enough, she's right. The ball of Bokuto's right foot burns a little now that he rocks it. Guess he had been bouncing his knee so Bokuto reaches out for some entertainment, turning to Yukie. "Hey, d'ya know who Akaashi has hanahaki for?"

Just saying the words- it makes everything so much more real. Akaashi's dying, coughing, choking on stupid flowers that clogged up his lungs just because he loves someone.

"Bo?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you...?" Kuroo fumbles over his words for a moment. While Bokuto's used to Kuroo spitting out any and every word that comes to his mind, the narrowed glint in the other's eyes kind of terrify him. They're cold and slanted and so are his lips, pressed tightly together and they're thinking deep. "Y'know, the situation."

Kuroo's moped glints red in the street light of Tokyo, but even as he swings one leg over the seat, he looks anything but casual. The Nekoma captain pulls off the fierce but casual look unbelievably well on a normal basis, but Kuroo looks more worried than anything, the deep lines near his eyes standing out.

"What situation?"

"Akaashi."

Bokuto's expression falters, shadows caressing his face in a sick demonstration of affection, casting across the lines and angles.

"What about him?" he tries to place an upbeat force into his voice.

"He's dying, Bo. You saw how tired he looked," Kuroo rocks the moped. "You're not okay with that."

Bokuto swallows. "No, I'm not. I just... what am I gonna do without him, Kuroo?"

Kuroo's eyes soften a bit even through the blackness of the helmet. They glitter gold through the shades and he pats the seat behind him.

"I'll take you home," he says, voice soft. "C'mon, Bo. You've been through a lot today."

Although Bokuto clambers onto the back of Kuroo's moped almost immediately and wraps his arms tight around Kuroo's waist and buries his face into the back of the black-haired man's neck, he can't push the burning thought of Akaashi on his hands and knees.

Hands and knees at the gym, heaving flowers, hands and knees on the balcony ground and eyes squeezed tight.

As Kuroo revs the engine, Bokuto wants to escape.

Yukie blinks at him. "I have a guess."

"I have no idea," Bokuto tells her truthfully. "He said he was a third-year and that I knew him, so...!"

Yukie's eyes soften and crinkle with worry so she glances away. Bokuto's left in silence for who knows how long, up until a doctor comes to the door. Akaashi's mother had joined them, so they all glance up.

"Is Akaashi done?" Konoha asks the question all of them have on their mind.

The doctor doesn't smile and nod and tell them that the surgery went well.

The doctor bows his head and says, "I'm sorry."

Flowers have always been beautiful, beautiful as a sunset and as beautiful as someone's unrestrained happiness. They're beautiful and lovely and colorful and they killed Akaashi Keiji.

And when Bokuto collapses at Akaashi's gravestone less than a week later, he spits jerusalem oak petals at the stone with tears streaming down his cheeks.