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He was completely sure that love was something that would never be a part of him. Something that he would never experience. Something he would never have to go through. No butterflies fluttering in his stomach. No feeling his heart skipping a beat.
Shirabu Kenjirou was completely, a hundred percent sure of this.
But when his brown eyes met with those beautiful dark coffee brown eyes, all of his thoughts were thrown out of the window. For the first time in his life, he felt butterflies in his stomach. For the first time in his life, he felt his heart skip a beat.
For the first time in his life, Shirabu knew what love felt like.
That gym seemed to suddenly become empty as they stared at each other in silence. The first one to break eye contact was the ashy blonde haired male, who turned away to look at the team captain. The brunette could only watch as he walked away, soon being snapped out of his trance by a volleyball hitting the ground.
Turning towards the source, he saw the volleyball roll towards him in silence before he blinked. That tall male had completely distracted him.
Taking in a deep breath, the younger setter walked towards the people spiking and offered to set for them, bowing while speaking.
But that was only the beginning.
The more time that went past, the more the small crush grew inside of him, infesting him, consuming him. The feeling devoured him and took him over, leaving no other space for any other thoughts but that ashy blonde hair with those faded black tips. He could only think about that boy who, in return, only gave him tips with a sour tone in his voice. In the end of the day, he should expect that from him, since he had taken away his spot on the team. His spot as a starter.
Semi Eita, reduced to a pinch server, reduced to sit back and warm that bench as he watched his underclassman take over for him.
It infuriated him.
It may have been childish, but Semi felt like he deserved that spot. Seeing someone else steal his spotlight, letting him turn into dust. He still got the chance to participate in matches, of course he did. But that was never enough for him. He wanted his spot back.
Shirabu was better than him. And that made him gain a burning hatred for the boy. But that hatred was weird in itself. Was it jealousy? Was it disappointment with himself? What was it built on?
And why was that hatred so easy to crumble when Shirabu’s finger got sprained in that one match?
They could both remember it vividly.
Blocking. Volleyball was obviously a sport where you could get injured. Everyone was aware of that.
The infamous Guess Monster had instructed the light brunette to move forward, seeing as he would not have been able to reach the spike in time. But what no one counted with was the force of that spike. The way it hit Kenjirou’s hand,making him wince. Even if the ball had hit the ground, Semi seemed more invested in the status of Shirabu’s finger, who took in a shaky breath while holding on to it.
Turning towards Semi, Shirabu’s stomach seemed to twist.
The frown, the way he seemed concerned for him, the way those dark eyes trailed towards his hand gripping on to his fingers.
‘He was only worried for a teammate, nothing more.’
But that thought managed to make him let out a cough.
It had seemed that the thought of his love vanishing away in his second year was merely just a dream. Nothing more. Nothing less.
New people were on the team. New faces.
But when everyone was concentrating on seeing the new teammates and their abilities, he couldn’t seem to do the same.
He could only look at Semi Eita, the man who he had usurped the spot as the starter setter from.
Another cough.
Something the now second year had not failed to notice was the alarming amount of coughs he had been letting out lately. Nothing too scandalous, just the fear that he may have caught a cold and that he might not be able to participate in a match.
But that day, something new appeared.
A petal.
He knew a bit about flowers, but not too much. Ushijima had told him something about flowers. What even was the petal from?
Gladiolus?
Brown hues glanced over it before noticing a familiar red head peeking over, staring at the petal. And as they stared at each other in silence, it seemed as if Tendou understood the mess Shirabu had managed to find himself in. As unlikely as it seemed, the Guess Monster seemed to know more than what he said, but he knew better than to prod at Shirabu for that. He, after all, was going through the same ordeal.
“Petal buddies.” He smirked. It was a small comment, as if to make Shirabu know he wasn’t alone. That he could get help.
And that’s how Kenjirou finally did some research. That night, sleep was the last thing on his mind as he sipped on that cup of coffee, his eyes trailing the words in front of him. All of the information he was learning about seemed to hit him like a brick.
Hanahaki disease.
Unrequited love.
Petals.
Blood.
Death.
Hah. Love was going to kill him, wasn’t it? That was the part he seemed to never have been told of. All of the stories, all of the happy couples, everything seemed so. . . ideal. Of course there had to be some sort of drawback, right?
And as he reached the bottom of that page, he let out a set of coughs, all followed by one or two petals falling out of his mouth, along with some blood trickling down his chin. The sheets of paper on his desk now were stained by his own crimson blood, splashes of it covering his essay due the next day.
Leaning back on his chair, the male let out a groan, followed by a cough.
It was impossible to ignore the fact that he was going to die on this poisonous thing called love that had managed to engulf him, to take him over, to infest him and, soon, to end him.
However, as strange and weird as it may have sounded to anyone. . .
That feeling had him hooked.
In the Semi household however, everything remained silent, the sound of crickets echoed through the hallways. Everyone was asleep.
Everyone but him.
He couldn’t act as if he hadn’t seen a petal drop from Shirabu’s hand to the floor and, as far as he was concerned, the brunette never seemed to enjoy flowers. Unless a secret admirer had brought him flowers? It couldn’t be, right?
Blinking in surprise, he turned to the side, looking away from the ceiling to glance outside, staring at the constellations in the sky.
Why was he so concerned about Kenjirou all of a sudden?
Eita’s dark coffee brown eyes closed slowly, a small sigh escaping his lips.
The following day Semi woke up normally, but Shirabu seemed to be glued to the sheets wrapped around him. He had not slept whatsoever, the haunting fear of death ghosting over him. The disease didn’t have any set duration, nor did he know when it was going to end him.
A small shaky sigh escaped him, along with a coughing fit.
And that's how the first full gladiolus fell out from his mouth, hitting the floor as tears built up in his eyes.
He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die today, nor tomorrow, nor next week.
For the first time ever, he found himself staring at a flower while crying. That flower was going to be responsible for his death, wasn’t it? It was ironic. Such a beautiful, frail thing was going to be suffocating him someday until he lost his breath. Until he was tearing at his throat, screaming while nothing but muffled cries came out.
Staring at it, the setter gulped, letting out a choked back sob, which in itself was followed by more petals.
Worst thing about that was that he had no one to blame. Normally, people would blame others, since it was comforting to think that they were innocent.
But then and there, he could only run to the bathroom and stare at his own dirty mirror, watching more tears stream down his face as he mouthed five words.
“You did this to yourself.”
He couldn’t control his feelings, could he? But he could have controlled the school he had gone to or-
No.
It was too late to think about that.
Now the only thing he could think about was how much time there was left until that deadly elysian called love took him away once and for all.
After all, his demise was closer than what any person his age wanted it to be.
Both of their days continued with much ease, winning matches left and right. It’s Shiratorizawa we’re talking about here. A powerhouse school, of course they would win.
But it all went wrong in that one final against Karasuno.
Shirabu felt worse that day, worse than any other day.
However, that loss only made matters worse. The emotions inside of him were stirring up, bubbling up inside of him, wanting to be freed.
Multiple times before this, he had asked Tendou more about this disease, since he had claimed to have it too. When asked, Satori only replied with two words and a wide smile.
“He loved me back.”
Negative emotions, he had read, made the disease act up.
The loss was the least of his concerns, as harsh as it may have sounded.
His biggest concern was the flower that begged to fall from his mouth, soon accompanied by many, many petals. He couldn’t run off, so he stood there, tears rolling down his face as his puffed up cheeks got larger and larger.
Running back to the school would also form part of his concern list.
They all got ready to run as coach Washijo sat alone in the bus, taking off. Shirabu wondered how long it would take for him to cough up some more petals. After all, he could no longer use the excuse of him having an admirer any more. There was no one but them.
Hearing Ushijima’s voice caused the starter setter to flinch. Surprisingly, it was the first time his voice had gained a negative reaction out of him.
With the loud ‘go’, everyone set off running, even the struggling Kenjirou who frowned. He had never run too much with this disease of his but this time there were no excuses. Curses and grumbles escaped the young male as he tried to keep up with his teammates, only finding that it was harder than it seemed.
Another cough, which soon escalated into a coughing fit.
This time, instead of giving him water, his teammates watched in concern and horror as he bent down, petals and blood coming out of his mouth. The strong willed and blunt player who never seemed to crumble was falling apart in front of them as he desperately tried to get petals out of his mouth. Wide eyes watched his movements, and only one person stepped forward.
Semi Eita.
But for the first time, he seemed to care about Shirabu openly.
Bending down, he placed his hands on the other setter’s shoulders, trying to get Kenjirou to calm down and breathe as the second year tried to get him away.
Semi was having the opposite effect of calming Shirabu down. In truth, he was making it worse.
The remaining team members were trying to get people nearby to call an ambulance. Knocking door by door, trying to speak to them, get them to give them that favour. But in return, they got doors slammed on their faces. It was cruel to think they were so easily abandoned by the people there. Most of them clearly thought they were going to mug them, to steal from them, when they just wanted to help their sobbing, pain filled friend who was being ‘calmed down’ by their other teammate.
“L-let go-!” A yell, cut off by another cough.
Normally, the second year would have been a lot more respectful towards his older classmen, but at that moment, his life was at risk. Being formal was the least of his worries.
“I SAID LE-!”
Another cough. At that moment, the pavement was filled with gladiolus flowers and petals, as well as drops of blood. He was struggling to breathe, and the fact that Semi was gripping on to his shoulders to get him to calm down was not helping.
After all, Semi Eita was a good person.
Even if he felt all that hatred he thought he felt, he couldn’t help but feel bad for the shattering male in front of him. And so it seemed, Shirabu was a mirror. A broken mirror. And he would try to piece that mirror back together.
But that mirror felt more than he would ever feel towards him. That mirror was filled with anger, with rage, with fear.
That mirror was consumed by an unrequited love he could not see.
Louder coughs escaped the younger male.
Who knew his predictions about him screaming and suffocating on flowers were correct.
Shirabu Kenjirou had been a strong willed person. An unbreakable person who was shattering. A free soul who had been chained down by another soul. The worst part of that other soul who was in front of him was that holding those chains wasn’t even aware of those chains.
“Shirabu. Look at me.” He spoke softly as the other boy stared at the flowers on the ground. His own flowers.
”Kenjirou.”
His first name.
He looked up slowly, blood trickling down his chin.
“You’re going to be okay.”
As the ashy haired male gave him a small smile, Shirabu stared in shock, feeling more petals in his throat. He was suffocating. He couldn’t breathe.
And his face that was slowly turning blue could make that easy to tell.
One shaky cough, followed by more as Semi’s smile immediately vanished. The brunette’s body collided into his as Eita’s grip slowly loosened. He stared at his coughing teammate, soon realizing that hatred was not actually hatred.
It was something else.
He had forced himself to hate Shirabu. It was a normal emotion, so he had forced himself to hate him, not even giving him a chance. In truth he admired him.
But it was not the same way the shaking male felt.
It definitely wasn’t.
“F-fuck-” Kenjirou cursed, pulling a flower out of his mouth.
That was going to definitely be the end for him, wasn’t it? Some part inside of him still hoped to hear those three words, those three damned words that would save him. Save his life.
But as his eyelids were getting heavier and his vision was getting blurrier, he realized that part inside of him was very creative. Creative enough to give him false hopes at such a time. Half lidded eyes looked up at Semi, who had moved Shirabu to cradle him in his arms.
“Just f-for you-” He spoke, his normally soft voice raspy.
It took a moment for Eita to realize that it was directed to him. Wide, dark brown eyes glanced down at the frail figure in his arms, whose heartbeat seemed to slow down.
“What-?” He asked in surprise, only to feel the body slowly grow limp in his arms.
“J-just. . . for-” A pained cough, “Y-you.”
‘Just for you?’ He thought to himself.
Wait.
No, it couldn’t be.
Right?
Was he dying because of him?
“I’m sorry-” Semi’s words seemed to fade into the air, a knot forming in his throat. Shirabu’s body had gone limp in his arms. Half lidded eyes stared into his, a harsh reminder that he was holding his teammate.
They could have been friends. Who knows, maybe this whole situation would have been avoided.
But as Shirabu lay there, slowly turning cold, Semi’s eyes widened, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks as an ambulance could be heard in the back.
It was all too late. Way too late.
Now a stiff victim of unrequited love was in his arms. Guilt rushed over him as he glanced again at him.
It was. . . all his fault.
If he had-
If he had just been-
If he had known-
And as Semi tried to hold onto Shirabu’s body, he yelled at anyone who tried to get close. Even when they tried to reason with him. He felt guilty. He felt like shit. And he was shit.
A shit person.
As they stood at Shirabu’s funeral, staring at the photo in the frame, they glanced at the roses surrounding him.
The whole Shiratorizawa team was there, even some other schools had attended as well. Everyone had been brought together to stare at that boy’s casket, seeing an empty and pale shell of what used to be a wonderful person.
Semi stared at him in silence, sighing deeply. Giant bags under his eyes, red eyes, puffy red cheeks and a shaking lip. Everything pointed towards the fact that he had been crying his eyes out. Everything pointed towards the fact that he had got no sleep.
He was close to crying as well.
Those final words would haunt him. They already were.
Every time he closed his eyes, he would remember how Shirabu was yelling at him to let go, how helpless he looked in his arms and how his raspy voice spoke those final words to him. Everything seemed so. . . so surreal.
Nothing would ever be the same.
As cruel as it may have been to think at that moment, he had his position back. Not like that mattered to him anymore. He was graduating and he was also staring at a dead body of a boy who died in his arms. The former setter resisted the urge to hold him in his arms again.
A cough.
Followed by something that would make him stiffen up.
A petal.
A rose. Just like the ones surrounding Shirabu’s photo.