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He had grown begrudgingly accustomed to the sound of his feet slowly making their way across the tile floors, the worried yet determined steps resonating within that all-too familiar hallway as he stops in front of the usual door, the number memorized like the back of his hand as he turns the handle and pulls it open, entering the white walls of his childhood friend’s hospital room for yet another visit. To say that he thinks of it as a chore, though — it’s not like that at all. Though he found himself fretting with each hospitalization his childhood friend ended up in, hoping that his condition would remain stable, another one meant that Eichi had kept on living, that he was living up to this point, that he was clinging onto life once again, in whatever means he can — and that much brought a small amount of some sort of odd solace, of knowing that he had outlived the small months he had left to live the doctors had prescribed to him time and time again, that he remained on this earth.
That’s one way to look at it, at least.
He finds that the windows are open, and for a moment, his heart practically leaps out of his chest, wondering if Eichi had dared to try and escape again with the ladder he had acquired from local firefighters some time ago. He was prepared to call the staff, call his parents — but he finds his childhood friend standing near the window in his silk pajamas, letting the soft spring breeze and stray cherry blossoms ruffle his hair and adorn it with its gentle pink petals.
The door creaking open draws the blonde’s attention to his visitor, and he turns around, head tilted slightly alongside a smile that seemed as if it was crafted by the heavens itself, chiseled and perfected according to the blueprints of angels and the divine for the sake of making the perfect scion for the Tenshouin family. He was built as if the only thing missing from his stature were the wings of an angel itself, and within his fragile, delicate hands was a folded piece of paper, the beginnings of what seemed to be a paper airplane.
“Hey, Keito.” The sun shining and the rustle of the trees and the crisp and clear blue sky and the air of spring’s renewal and promises outside paled in comparison to how nicely he sounded when his named rolled off his tongue with the practiced ease that had been honed for many years now. “Do you want to fold some paper airplanes with me?”
“I see you’re completely ignoring the doctor’s suggestion of rest.” Keito sighs, though he walks over to Eichi’s side, picking up a piece of paper from the pile that had been on his bed, beginning to fold it into an airplane. “Well, at least you aren’t doing anything rash like the last time. I panicked when I saw the open window, you know. Seriously, at this rate, my heart will be the same as yours…”
“Is that a bad thing?” Eichi asks, gazing at him with blue eyes as dazzling as the sky outside — and he sighs to himself, knowing the feeling that had sprouted in him was nothing short of inevitable, but damn, was it, at some times, a bit frustrating, knowing full well that the rush of heat that came to bloom on his cheeks meant that his face had been painted with a shade of red that would make it impossible to hide the embarrassment he felt over the fact that his heart raced like crazy with just the mere eye contact he had made with his childhood friend. “Fufu, of course, if something were to happen to you, the room next to me can always be made available…~”
“How incorrigible. I’d rather you take up two rooms — one for yourself and one for that ego of yours that seems to think that you can tease me like that.” Keito sighs yet again, a rather small huff as he finishes off the airplane he had been working on. “Kiryu and Kanzaki always pester me about my health…but with guys like those, it seems inevitable that they’d want to see me in good shape, seeing as they rely on brute strength more than a thought for once.”
“Ahaha, I see. That second-year of yours — he drew a sword at me once, and it was absolutely thrilling.”
“That’s…not exactly something to get excited about.” Keito turns the airplane in his hands for a bit before scowling at his childhood friend, who had finished his own airplane in a timely manner. “What’s with these airplanes, anyway? There’s no way you’re making them just for the sheer pleasure of it, knowing you.”
“Sharp as always — as expected from my stick-in-the-mud childhood friend.” Eichi holds the airplane in one hand now, poised to help it take flight within the wind that slowly danced along the spring atmosphere. “Spring is a pleasant season. The plants and the flowers all look their best, and the buds of spring plant themselves in your heart — and there’s an absolute warmth that comes with it when it starts to sprouts. The trials and tribulations serve as nutrients for the soils in which you spent the last year in — from there, this new life spreads its roots and promises a natural masterpiece. Life can be a rather beautiful, Keito. ‘It’s from the shadow of death that life shines the brightest’ — I want to see that radiance, more than anything in the world.”
Eichi throws the airplane out the window, letting it catch the wind under its wings. He thinks that it’ll fall in a couple of seconds, but no — the winds carry it a couple of feet away from the hospital window, the paper airplane performing tricks with its tasteful swerves and even a loop that makes Eichi smile with a familiar childishness that he can’t get tired of. It soon falters, however, the pull of gravity too strong for a piece of paper; it slowly spirals down, down, down the levels of the hospital until it lands among a bed of a green patch of grass, alongside other paper airplanes that he assumes he had folded prior to Keito’s visit.
“These paper airplanes are my ways of making a wish.” Eichi’s voice is as sincere as it can get — and that’s what captivates Keito the most. “As you can see, I’m that spoiled child as before. One of them, you see…is that I hope you get to stay by my side for a long time.”
“Pfft. You don’t need to waste paper on something like that.” Keito cracks a small smile, something he thinks is out of Eichi’s field of vision — but he sees it from the corner of his eye, and the bud in his heart starts to blossom in the unparalleled warmth that made its way throughout his body.
The vice president throws his own paper airplane out, watching attentively as it catches air and loses air, landing near Eichi’s own airplanes on the grass below. With confidence with his voice, he offers the service — no, the friendship, and perhaps a little bit more — he had given to Eichi once more.
“Of course I’ll be by your side this year, too.”