Chapter Text
Yamaguchi hated pain more than anything.
But this pain was different.
Because for some reason, he couldn’t help but wallow in it.
Maybe it was because Tsukki was the one causing it. He would endure anything for Tsukki.
The soft petals that fluttered against Yamaguchi’s ribcage whenever the boy would smile. The tears that came to his eyes as the flowers restricted his breath, pushing their way out whenever Tsukishima spent time with Kuroo. Whenever Kuroo made him laugh, or blush, or smile.
Now, as he stood outside the blonde’s bedroom, peering in through the slightly opened door, he felt a sudden ache in his chest, those familiar strings tightening around his lungs. It took a lot of effort not to gasp; out of surprise or the sudden lack of air, Yamaguchi wasn’t sure.
Tsukishima was in the room, sitting on his bed. Which wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary, if there hadn’t been someone else with him.
Kuroo.
Kuroo was sitting on the bed with Tsukki. Kissing him.
The strings grew taut again.
Of course it was Kuroo. It’s always, always Kuroo.
Yamaguchi stumbled away from the door, holding back a cough. He knew what would happen if they heard him. If they saw what flooded his mouth, trickling down his chin as he let his lips fall open, it would all be over. He could feel them in his throat, completely clogging his airways, and he scrambled to the bathroom, closing the door behind him as he hacked forcefully, the small, star-shaped blooms finally loosening and cascading out of his mouth. Dozens and dozens of them, flowing out in a continuous stream of unbearable pain.
He couldn’t help but love the feeling.
If this was the price that came with loving Tsukki, then he would willingly pay it.
It took a couple minutes for Yamaguchi to completely clear his throat. Panting, he weakly rested his cheek on the toilet seat, the cool plastic soothing him a little bit. He tilted his head downward ever so slightly, looking into the toilet, which was almost full. The pale blue flowers sat there, a few floating in the blood, in his blood, and some morbid part of his brain found that beautiful.
He hoped he hadn’t been too loud; the last thing he needed right now was for them to know he was here. He wasn’t sure how’d he’d explain it to Tsukishima if he came knocking on the bathroom door, or even worse, if Kuroo came knocking on the door. Yamaguchi stood up quickly, which probably wasn’t a good idea considering how much blood he just lost. He suddenly felt dizzy and had to push himself up against the wall a little bit. Glancing at the toilet, he realized there were way too many flowers to flush, and so he shrugged off his backpack (he had come over to study for an upcoming test) and grabbed a small box of resealable plastic bags. Not considering how gross it was (nor caring) he shoved his hand into the massive pile of flowers. Yamaguchi filled around half a dozen bags before he decided it was safe to flush. Pressing the valve, he stared down longingly, watching as the red water and remaining flowers swirled around. And then it was gone, and Yamaguchi was washing his hands and checking to make sure he hadn’t left any flowers or drops of blood behind.
Turning the light off, Yamaguchi cracked the bathroom door open just a sliver, surveying the hallway, which he was relieved to find was empty. Slowly, he opened the door fully, and was padding silently down the hallway until he approached Tsukishima’s room. He was considering taking another look through the gap when he noticed that the door was now fully closed, and he didn’t even have a moment to wonder why before he heard a muffled sound come from the other side of the door. He held his breath, leaning his ear against the wood, and this time he heard a breathy moan.
He swiftly recoiled, drawing his body away as if the wood had burnt him. He couldn’t breathe, he could feel the flowers fluttering against his throat again, and as ironic as it is, he was slightly thankful that Tsukki and Kuroo were too preoccupied to overhear his rasping. He tripped back to the bathroom, not even bothering to lock the door behind him, though it wouldn’t have mattered anyway; Tsukishima’s mother had gone out to do something, probably shopping, and Akiteru was at college.
Yamaguchi just barely managed to stick his head over the toilet before the petals forced their way out of his mouth.
Idiot. You knew what they were doing in there already, but you still listened.
They felt more painful this time, though it could be because he had just finished throwing them up beforehand.
Sliding, squeezing, pumping out more and more blood, you’re gonna die at this rate.
He relished in the sensation of his throat aching as dozens of blooms pushed their way up it, unrelenting, and his heart throbbed as he was filled with an unmistakable feeling of agony. He shuddered as wave after wave of flowers squeezed their way out of his throat, a new batch dislodging every time he thought about what was going on in the room down the hall. The constant pulsing in his throat sent shivers up and down his spine. The flowers, although wet and slimy, were packed so tightly into his throat that every hushed wheeze sent searing pain all through his throat.
He found himself spiraling into an odd blend of despair and ecstasy, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been throwing up, though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. At one point, he felt an especially sturdy clump inch its way up his throat, and with a particularly forceful hack, the pressure in his lungs and throat ceased, and he was finally able to breathe again. There were even more flowers this time, filling the toilet to the brim, some nearly spilling over the rim. Red splotches decorated the porcelain bowl, and the same could be said for the flowers it was currently overflowing with, as there wasn’t a single blossom that hadn’t been soaked in blood.
The flowers, which normally had a faded bluish-grey hue, were now painted in a deep burgundy. Internally, Yamaguchi was very grateful that he had decided to always keep an extra box of plastic bags, since his other box was almost empty, and he didn’t exactly feel like stuffing the bloodied petals into his backpack.
He filled about 8 and a half bags, and Yamaguchi sighed a little.
Ah, I guess it wasn’t that much more than last time.
Shoving them into his backpack, he got to work covering his tracks: He cleaned the blood off the toilet and floor, flushed the remnants of bloody water, and finally scrubbed his face and hands clean; unfortunately, his shirt was beyond saving, clearly indicated by the huge splatters of red that it was now adorned with. He buttoned his gakuran up over it, in attempt to keep the very noticeable blood hidden from sight.
Hauling his bag onto his back once more, Yamaguchi opened the door, thankful that neither Kuroo nor Tsukishima had walked in, but also mentally cursing himself for being so stupid to leave the door unlocked.
Swooping his eyes down the hallway, he was relieved to see that it was once again empty. He gazed at Tsukki’s door for a moment, exactly the same as it had been when he first ran back to the bathroom. Edging down the hallway, Yamaguchi drew nearer to Tsukishima’s bedroom. This time, however, he walked right past it, willing himself to ignore it, to ignore the sounds coming out of it, and instead focused on walking down the stairs. He tugged on his shoes at the door and slipped out of the house quietly. As soon as he closed the door, he took off in a sprint. He ran down the length of the neighborhood, not stopping for a second, even as beads of cold sweat dripped down his body uncomfortably, as his backpack clung to him like a leaden weight, as his weakened lungs screamed at him to stop, and his legs burned. Each sharp intake of breath only further strained his throat. But Yamaguchi couldn’t stop running.
Because if he did, there wouldn’t be anything stopping him from crying.
At the house, it had been the risk of Kuroo or Tsukishima hearing him. If his coughing fit hadn’t managed to draw their attention, his sobs definitely would. Now, as Yamaguchi pushed himself to keep his limbs moving, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold in his tears. He knew his legs would give out soon. His vision became wet and blurred. He couldn’t see anything in front of him, but he never made any effort to halt his movements.
He was only forced to stop when he tripped.
He hit the ground hard, knocking the air out of himself and causing him to wheeze, dark blood spattering the soft grass. His eyes filled with tears again, and this time he didn’t try to hold them in.
He cried, but no sound came out. His throat was too weak from throwing up, so he silently wept, wrapping his arms around himself for some notion of comfort. Sob after sob ripped through him, each one putting more and more strain on his throat, and he lay trembling as he tried to catch his breath.
In and out, Tadashi.
It took him a long time to relax. He breathed in slowly, wincing at the intake of air. He raised a hand to rub at his throat tentatively, using the other to wipe the blood and tears off his face. He probably wouldn’t be able to do more than whisper for a couple days.
He raised his head slightly, looking around blearily, trying to figure out where he’d ended up.
There were trees in the distance, and he turned his head a little more, noticing a bright yellow slide, a swing set, and some monkey bars. He could see two people far away, one walking a dog and the other jogging, but other than that the park was completely empty.
He decided to lay on his back, looking up at the evening sky. It was a mixture of oranges, purples, and pinks. A sudden realization hit him, and he jolted upright, grimacing at the gasp that escaped him. Yamaguchi dug through his bag, pushing aside the bags of flowers and his textbooks until he found it. He snatched the phone out, turning it on and checking the time.
7:43
Shit, I said I'd be back by 6. Mom’s probably worried out of her mind.
He unlocked the phone and, sure enough, he had several frantic texts and two missed calls from his mother.
Yamaguchi felt like a knife had stabbed him in the chest, dripping with guilt and regret, twisting over and over inside him. This wasn’t the first time he’d made his mother panic over him. Ever since the flowers had started obstructing his breath, it felt like all his mother ever did was worry. He didn’t want his mom to freak out for any longer than she needed to, so he hoisted himself up, and with great effort, started to run towards his house.
I should’ve just gone straight home. I never should’ve even gone over to Tsukki’s house. This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been so stupid.
More tears streamed down his cheeks, and he urged himself to run faster. He felt terrible for always giving his mom something to stress over.
That's all I ever did for her.