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To put it simply, Josuke never understood the language of flowers.
In fact, he didn’t even know such a language existed until his mother made him aware.
“How stupid,” he grumbled to himself. “Picking the right flowers is hard enough, now this crap makes it harder.”
What worsened his troubles was the variety.
Outside the convenience store, Josuke saw a two-tiered revolving case of flowers behind glass, in front of each vase a price and a code. A flower vending machine, whose flowers costed more than Josuke expected.
“Three thousand,” he gasped quietly, at a white pot with red carnations, purple irises, and ferns.
He sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and turned to leave. He had hopes the convenience store would have cheap flowers, but alas only potted plants.
“That’s very inappropriate,” he remembered Tomoko saying sternly, wagging a finger. “It encourages sickness, like saying, ‘I hope you stay rooted in the hospital’!”
He huffed, hoping he’d have better luck at the florist down the street. Their outdoor displays were put away for the winter, and Josuke wondered if that was a sign of bad luck.
“Who are you buying for?” the florist asked, a middle aged man in glasses.
“A, um...” Josuke stammered, “a friend in the hospital.”
“Oh,” the florist pondered. “No white lilies or camellias then. No white flowers in general. Those are for funerals.”
Josuke gulped, ice in his stomach.
“I’d suggest something bright and cheery,” the florist said, adjusting his glasses, “but not daisies. Hospitals are strict with flowers that spread pollen. Might I suggest a rose, a carnation, or a chrysanthemum?”
“N-No bouquets?” Josuke asked nervously.
The florist sighed, shook his head. “Afraid not. It’s best to keep your arrangement small, as caring for the flowers often falls onto the nurses and they’d prefer something easier to clean”
And so, overwhelmed and terribly unsure, Josuke opted for carnations, bright yellow, and only three.
He clutched his cellophane wrapped flowers tightly on the bus, tried to shake off the curious stares.
At the hospital, asking for directions, he watched the security guard study his flowers with a glare. To his relief, the guard tiredly directed him to the fourth floor and left it at that.
The lobby was bustling, smelled of fresh coffee. Josuke waited by the elevator, staring distantly at the sign on the coffee shop’s counter, advertising a new flavor of latte.
Chestnut praline.
He wondered if Rohan would like that flavor. It sounded right for the season. With a sigh, he remembered the strict rules of bringing outside food into the unit.
The elevator chimed and he entered, the doors closing off the cacophony of the crowd, the smell of fresh coffee. Instead, he was confined to a grey elevator bearing posters boasting of the quality care patients received in the hospital. It hummed as it ascended, smelled sterile.
Was Rohan getting boast worthy care? Or was the only thing boast worthy the cleanliness of the place? As a child, Josuke’s grandfather told him that hospitals are so clean that the environment is breeding super bugs. Even now, being in his last year of high school, Josuke still didn’t know what a super bug was.
His stomach dropped with the elevator’s upward pull, its jerk as it came to a stop.
It chimed, opened its doors to an even quieter hallway. He stepped out, lockers to his left, an intercom to the right.
He pushed the button, and when a tired voice answered, he announced he was visiting Kishibe Rohan.
Shortly after, a security guard greeted him, had him stand spread eagle for a pat down.
“Bring anything with you?” he asked dully. “A cell phone, wallet?”
“Both, in my back pocket.”
The security guard retrieved the items and handed them to Josuke.
“Stick them in that locker. You can get them when you leave.”
He huffed, following suit.
“Those flowers got pollen?”
Still facing the locker, Josuke rolled his eyes.
“Not really.”
The guard shrugged. “Alright, come on in.”
He held the door open for Josuke, who meekly passed him by, entered the unit. The door closed with a loud click and suddenly Josuke felt trapped. Glancing around at the patients walking by, their eyes tired, their heads low, Josuke reckoned they all felt the same.
“You here for Kishibe-san?” a nurse asked.
Josuke nodded, his words stuck.
“He’s in the recreation room.” The nurse gestured with her head for Josuke to follow.
They turned the corner, saw that the nurse referred to as the recreation room was nothing more than a cafeteria-style arrangement of tables and chairs and a single bookshelf containing board games and puzzle books. Across from that, beyond sliding doors was a small arrangement of living room chairs and a television playing a movie.
He spotted Rohan in the back right corner, his sketchpad in hand, drawing. Rohan must have sensed him, for he lifted his head and looked at Josuke with wide eyes.
“You have a visitor, Kishibe-san,” the nurse said, gesturing for Josuke to approach him.
Josuke’s heart pounded, and suddenly his throat felt thick, his eyes burning.
“H-Hey....”
Rohan closed his book. “Hey.” His voice was soft, exhausted.
“I’ll put these in some water,” the nurse said, taking the flowers out of Josuke’s hands. He opened his mouth to protest, but she had already turned and left.
He looked to Rohan, his empty hands out in exasperation.
Resigned, Rohan shrugged, gestured for Josuke to sit.
“What’d you get me?” he asked.
“Carnations,” Josuke sighed. “It was so hard for me to pick the right ones and you didn’t even get to look at them.”
“Hm, no, I’ll see them later in my room.”
Josuke lifted his head. “Go see them now.”
Rohan rolled his eyes. “Can’t have visitors in my room. And you’re here now. I want to be with you.”
“I...” Despite his disappointment, Josuke smiled. “I see.”
They sat in an awkward silence, only filled by the gunfire and shouting in the movie.
Josuke gestured to Rohan’s sketchbook.
“Watchu drawing?”
“Not much,” Rohan sighed. “I can’t have my pens and pencils here. No one can. Just crayons and markers.”
Josuke noticed the pack of markers beside Rohan’s sketchbook, the kind given to children for school.
“That’s stupid,” Josuke remarked.
“You’re telling me,” Rohan grumbled, resting his face on his hand. “It almost feels degrading.”
Josuke eyed the white hospital bracelet on Rohan’s wrist, resting above a fresh looking white bandage.
“Well, is it...” Josuke’s heart grew cold. “Is it more degrading than when you first came in?”
Rohan looked downward, his gaze crestfallen. The sight made Josuke’s eyes sting.
Rohan chuckled weakly. “I mean, at least I have my clothing privileges back.”
Josuke clenched a fist. It was inhumane the way the nurses treated mental patients, like hearing the word “suicidal” put them into a prison warden mode.
“Who the fuck would try to hang themself with their underwear?!” Josuke had repeatedly asked himself when Rohan was admitted.
“Who the hell would try to choke themself on their toothbrush?!” He hated how the nurse had to watch Rohan brush his teeth that early morning, nearly eighteen hours after waiting for an admission.
“They don’t like that,” Rohan said, catching Josuke off guard.
He sat upright. “Don’t like what?”
Rohan reached for Josuke’s face, thumbed away a tear.
“Crying. They think it’s bad for the patients.”
Josuke gritted his teeth, but kept his voice low.
“How the fuck is that bad for the patients? Are you guys not allowed to have feelings.”
Rohan smirked. “No, feelings are reserved for one-on-ones with the counsellor.”
Josuke could feel more tears budding, had to shield his eyes.
“Is there anything good about being here?”
Rohan hummed in thought. “I had chocolate ice cream with my dinner yesterday.”
Josuke laughed, felt a few tears hit his hand.
He sniffled, wiped his eyes, and looked at Rohan with a weak smile.
“I mean, I’m glad you’re here, where I can see you, instead of...”
Rohan reached across the table, grabbed Josuke’s hand.
“I know.” His voice was weak and sad.
Josuke shook his head. It was Koichi who found Rohan, scalpel in hand, bleeding profusely in the bathtub. He had frantically called Josuke when an ambulance arrived. They had stayed by Rohan’s side as he was stitched up. Koichi didn’t want to leave, but Josuke insisted he’d stay with Rohan until he saw a doctor.
Countless hours sharing a small emergency room bed, an expressionless psychiatrist admitting him to what she called “the ward”. No more clothing privileges, left with hospital clothes; no more sharp objects, including his signature earrings; no more humane treatment.
Josuke breathed shakily, remembering he didn’t even get to say goodbye to Rohan; he was rushed off in a wheelchair by an impatient nurse.
Josuke squeezed Rohan’s hand. “We all miss you. Me most of all.”
Rohan squeezed back. “I miss you too, all of you. You most of all.”
Josuke chuckled, stroking Rohan’s knuckles with his thumb.
“Do you think this will be helpful for you at all?”
Rohan pursed his lips, averted his gaze, contemplated his answer.
“I can’t say for sure. They’re trying me on some medication and I have to sit around and wait for it to work. Sometimes a lady comes in to do breathing exercises. Some of the people here go for bingo on Wednesdays. I don’t.”
They exchanged a chuckle.
“Do you...” Josuke swallowed hard, feeling the urge to cry again. “Do you know when you’ll get out?”
Rohan shook his head. “I don’t think it will be any time soon, but the psychiatrist did talk about giving me a day pass if I improve.”
Josuke beamed. “Great! We can go out for lunch or something! Do you like chestnut praline?”
“Do I..? What?” Rohan chuckled.
“The cafe downstairs,” Josuke explained, “said they’ve got a new flavor of latte, chestnut praline.”
“Sounds interesting,” Rohan said, tapping his chin. “Sounds right for the season. Maybe we could try it.”
Rohan smiled at the thought, like dawn breaking through on a bleary, grey day.
Josuke’s lip trembled, and he momentarily looked away, at the other exhausted patients pacing the halls, sitting with visitors, watching the movie.
He quickly wiped away more tears. “Wish I could have fixed you.”
“In what way?”
“You know,” Josuke sniffled and gestured to Rohan’s bandage. “I mean, that and I guess whatever hurt is inside of you.”
Rohan shut his eyes, bit the inside of his lip.
“I think it’s better this way. The gash is proof something is wrong with me, and being here I might get better.”
“I guess...” Josuke trailed off.
Rohan squeezed Josuke’s hand. “But you know, you being here, you caring does help.”
Josuke looked up at Rohan’s tired eyes, that smile like a long awaited sunshine.
He grinned. “God, I could kiss you right now.”
Rohan laughed. “No, no, the nurses wouldn’t like that.”
“Oh, screw them,” Josuke joked quietly.
The two were pleasant after that, sitting close, talking about life, holding hands when the nurses weren’t looking.
Visiting hours concluded faster than they had wanted. A security guard waited by the door to the elevator expectantly, letting other visitors out as they passed.
Rohan pursed his lips, looked up at Josuke. “Will you be back?”
“Of course! Do you want the others to come?”
“No, no,” Rohan replied quickly. “I can’t let them see me like this.”
Josuke grabbed Rohan’s chin. “You know, there’s no shame in needing to ask for help.”
Rohan looked away, pursing his lip.
“At least think about it,” Josuke suggested.
Rohan shut his eyes and nodded. “Alright, I will.”
He looked to Josuke, the smile like sunshine fading, the overcast returning. “Thank you for the flowers. And for coming.”
Josuke nodded. “Call me tonight. Tell me if you like them.”
Rohan nodded. “I will.”
Josuke looked around him, saw the security guard had turned away.
He held Rohan by the cheek and softly kissed him.
Rohan closed his eyes, kissed him back and held him tight.
The kiss was fast, faster than they would have wanted, but was satisfying nonetheless.
“There’s more where that came from,” Josuke smirked.
Rohan smirked back. “I’ll be waiting.”
Josuke approached the door, the security guard holding it open.
Rohan waved, but Josuke’s attention was on Rohan’s other hand, on his hospital bracelet and bandage.
His heart was heavy again, sinking to his icy stomach. But he took a deep breath, looked Rohan in the eyes and told him, “Get well soon. I love you and I know you can get through this.”
Rohan’s smile grew bright and radiant like the dawn. “I’ll try.”
As the door closed on Josuke, he added, “That’s all you can do!”
Those words resounded in Rohan’s mind, every time he looked upon his arrangement of yellow carnations, every time his thoughts grew too loud, and every day when getting out of bed to face a new day of treatment.