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Birthdays are just one year closer to death. As much as Shirabu grew up hearing that from naive children, immature teenagers, and depressed adults, he never quite cared until his 27th birthday.
When Daishou Mika, one of the nurses in Honeysuckle Hospital, dropped a new stack of patient charts on Shirabu’s desk one evening, he couldn’t help grumbling in annoyance. He was prepared for this night shift of course, but he’d been hoping for an easy workload. Unfortunately, there were still–he checked the clock at his desk–8 hours to go.
10:47 PM. May 1st, 2022. Whoever decided hospital shifts should be this long deserved an early death.
Shirabu sighed and looked up at Daishou with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not making my life any easier you know,” he said. She laughed at him.
“Oh, I know.” She smiled and pushed the charts closer. “Room 310, Shirabu-san!” Then she turned down the hall, her nut brown braid swaying behind her.
Shirabu just shook his head. Reluctantly, he reached for the charts and began scanning them.
He stopped almost immediately.
At the very top lay a name. A name Shirabu hadn’t seen in a very long time.
Semi Eita.
And the patient status? Unconscious.
Shirabu never ran faster in his life. For heaven’s sake, his ex-boyfriend could not just enter his hospital unconscious and practically half-dead. And in a coma of all things? Shirabu kept moving.
The stupid hospital halls just had to be long. He practically had to fly up the three flights of stairs until he reached room 310, only pausing to catch his breath. He patted down his bangs. Smoothed his white jacket. Opened the door.
It was safe to say that Shirabu had an idea of what to expect, but his heart still dropped at the sight inside the room.
Semi lay in the hospital bed, his ash blond hair flattened against his forehead. His normally sharp eyes were closed shut, and he was as lifeless as a doll. At his bedside stood a monitor displaying the quiet thrum of his heart, a mere 60 beats per minute.
A woman sitting opposite of the bed stood up, her chocolate eyes widening with immediate worry. The wavy blond locks flowing down her back were an exact duplicate of her older brother’s, only stopping right at her shoulders instead of her nape. Shirabu recognized her almost as immediately as he had Semi–this was Emiko, Semi’s younger sister.
“Shirabu-san?” Emiko dropped back into her seat, her hands collapsing into her lap. “Is that really you?”
Shirabu adjusted the clipboard under his arm. “Hello, Semi-san,” he said with a tight smile. “Please tell me all that you can about what led to Eita’s current state.”
Eita. He hadn’t said that name in years. The word felt unfamiliar on his tongue, like a foreign language. Still, he decided to use it for ease when communicating between the siblings.
As Emiko explained Semi’s car accident on the way home from a late-night interview broadcast, Shirabu chose to ignore the lingering nostalgia battering his chest. It’d been six years since Shirabu and Semi had called it quits. Four years since Shirabu had finally rid the man from his mind. And two years since he thought he’d at last moved on.
Semi used to love humming quietly on his bed, strumming beautiful chords on the guitar to a melody only he could hear. He’d look up occasionally, up at Shirabu watching him out of the corner of his textbook, and then he’d crack a smile that always managed to light the room like a night with a full moon. Shirabu had taken that smile for granted, he realized. Now, Semi lay in a hospital bed instead of his own. Now, Semi’s voice lay silent, its handsome tone suffocating inside its owner’s chest.
Shirabu found that he was taking notes subconsciously. It was true, what people said about doctor’s handwriting. But this time, Shirabu simply couldn’t keep his hand from shaking. He was barely comprehending Emiko’s voice over the drowning of his pounding heartbeat, almost a cruel opposite to the slow rhythm of Semi’s on the monitor.
Emiko finally quieted, and she sobbed as her arms came to wrap around her.
“Shirabu-san,” she whispered after a moment, “Do you think Eita will ever wake up? Please.” Emiko closed her eyes, and a tear rolled down her left cheek.
Shirabu looked at Semi’s charts slowly, but his mind refused to acknowledge the truth. It’s okay, it screamed. Then his conscience kicked in– that’s a lie.
He chose a neutral response to Emiko’s question.
“I’m sorry.”
It was all he could say.
He exited the room, listening to Emiko’s grief echo down the hall.
Shirabu didn’t see Semi again for the rest of his shift. He was half-thankful, half-worried. It wasn’t everyday someone treated their comatose ex-boyfriend.
His twelve-hour night shift ended at 6 AM, but Shirabu didn’t actually step foot from the hospital until closer to 7. Sometimes, clocking out just took that extra hour. The train ride home took almost as long as checking out did.
Shirabu and Asahi lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment; one for the two of them and a spare for guests. Technically, with their combined paychecks of doctor and lawyer, they could definitely afford something much nicer, but Shirabu’s only drawback was that he wasn’t ready for a permanent home. He and Asahi had been dating for just over two years, yes, but Shirabu was someone that only made decisions he was fully confident in; Asahi happened to fall on the short end of the stick.
Nonetheless, the apartment was warm and welcoming when Shirabu stepped inside. Asahi stood at the stove with a navy apron over his starch-white dress shirt, and his auburn locks were tied in a short and sweet ponytail lying against the nape of his neck. Shirabu could smell the okonomiyaki from the front door, and his stomach rumbled in response.
Asahi turned around and laughed, his sea blue eyes dancing under the light. Strands of his red bangs fell across his brow, leaving scarlet reflections across an ocean of azure. Asahi had a contagious smile that made others want to smile too, and Shirabu always did.
Shirabu threw his jacket onto the couch and snuggled up to his taller boyfriend, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist and burying his face into Asahi’s strong back.
“Stop that,” he murmured softly. “Stop grinning like that.”
Asahi’s beam only got wider as he turned back to the stove. “You love it,” he said as he flipped the egg. He spun around once more to press a kiss to the crown of Shirabu’s head, and the doctor buried his face deeper.
“Mhm, just give me the food.” Shirabu stepped away to give room for Asahi to walk to the table.
“Who said it was for you?” Asahi smirked and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.
“I could stab you with these chopsticks right now.” Shirabu sat down and whispered a quick itadakimasu. Unfortunately, he did not attack his boyfriend with the aforementioned chopsticks; his appetite was more important right now.
Asahi sat next to him with a plate of his own breakfast. “How was work?” he asked.
Shirabu nearly dropped the food halfway to his mouth. “It was normal, I guess.”
“You guess?” Asahi immediately brought hands to Shirabu’s shoulders and began massaging. “Did something bad happen?”
“...If your ex-boyfriend arriving at your hospital in a coma is considered bad, then sure, something bad happened.”
Shirabu knew he shouldn’t have said those words as soon as they were out of his mouth, and his eyes dropped to the table. It’s not like he and Asahi never talked about their exes, it was just that they didn’t. Why, when there was each other? And Shirabu was a different case from Asahi, too. Semi was his only ex, so every time spent with Asahi could only be compared to the moments Shirabu had first spent with Semi. It wasn’t that Shirabu was comparing the two men, but his experience always came out in times where his emotions couldn’t.
He tried to ignore Asahi’s still hands on his shoulders.
Asahi, Shirabu thought, meant morning sun, and he liked to think of Asahi as the beginning of the new part of his life–the part where he didn’t cling to his past. With the morning sun came the dawn of a new day, a new time to be lived. Shirabu wanted that time to be his.
Suddenly, the hands on his shoulders were gone. Shirabu looked up and saw Asahi standing near the door, and he recognized the forcibly neutral expression on the other man’s face; it was an expression worn to hide disappointment.
“I have to go to work,” Asahi said. “Sleep well.”
With that, he swung the door open and was gone.
Shirabu would like to say he was a dreamless sleeper, but that would just be a lie. Most times, he would wake up with vivid dreams still painted across his eyes, but they would already be forgotten by the time he left the bed.
This wasn’t most times.
The morning of May 2nd, he’d dreamt of none other than Semi Eita. Of Semi and his pathetically soothing voice; of Semi and his carefully well-kept hands. Just Semi, Semi, Semi Eita for six hours straight. And Shirabu remembered it all.
Maybe he remembered because the dreams felt like recollections of his past with Semi. He’d been so young and naive then, just a second-year medical student trying to balance a relationship as his boyfriend aimed to conquer the world through music. Looking back, it seemed obvious from the start that the pair wouldn’t work out in the end. Both were too ambitious, and they each wanted nothing more than to achieve their goals.
Back in the present day, however, Shirabu had learned the hard way not to focus too much on life’s “what ifs”. Nothing but self-pity came from that route, and it was one he was determined not to fall into again.
One by one, Shirabu cleared his desk of papers and other items he planned to toss out. First went the pile of old reports, and then the stack of recipes. He moved to clear his bookshelf, and almost immediately, a particularly heavy book dropped towards his toes. Shirabu jumped out of the way, but the book fell hard onto the wooden floor with a thump! A random page had been opened, and only then did Shirabu recognize the book–the yearbook from his second year at Shiratorizawa.
Shirabu shook his head as he stooped to put the yearbook back in its place, but he paused when he recognized the open page. Of course it was the volleyball page. He’d resented so much that year; losing to a bunch of nameless crows and not even making it to nationals. But looking back at the book, all he saw was Tendou with his obnoxious grin, Goshiki with his puppy eyes, and Ushijima with his brick-like expression. Reluctantly, Shirabu let himself keep wandering.
There was a picture of Reon trying to stop Tendou from dumping ice water on the first years during a training camp, and another image of Kawanishi blatantly pointing at the third-years as they got scolded by the coach. In the far corner on the right side of the page was a small picture of two members, one with 45 degree copper bangs, and another with ash blond roots and onyx tipped ends. Shirabu and Semi were mid-argument as they’d always been.
To this day, Shirabu couldn’t remember what this particular disagreement had been. Maybe it had been about the way Semi always placed his belongings in front of Shirabu’s locker. Maybe it had been about the way Semi always lost his homework in the club room. Maybe it had been about the way Semi always did his best to care for his annoying setter kouhai.
The picture could almost be ignored if someone wasn’t looking for it–it didn’t stand out at all when compared to the much larger group photo of the team. But Shirabu was looking for it. He hated to admit it, but he knew exactly what lay in that corner of the page, and he found himself staring anyway.
There wasn’t one picture of either of the Shiratorizawa setters smiling on the page, even in the group photo. Shirabu wished there was one of Semi, whose smile was always brighter than the moon and the stars combined. Slowly, Shirabu closed the book and put it back in its proper place. He knew he still had some photos from his time with Semi sitting in a box on the top of his shelf, but staring at the yearbook had already hurt too much. Shirabu didn’t want to hurt any more.
He really should get rid of those photos.
Maybe another time.
8:02 PM. It just felt great to be back in the hospital, didn’t it?
Shirabu walked down the white halls, bowing his head at coworkers as he strolled past. Sure, hospitals were incredibly busy, but they were an organized sort of busy that kept Shirabu just the right amount of sane. Everything worked under a specific call or order from someone, and it brought a form of peace to Shirabu’s mind under his ever-present stress.
Daishou was sitting at her desk as usual. She sat distractedly typing away, the clicking of her keyboard blending into the soft hum of the hospital.
“How are things going, Daishou-san?” Shirabu asked, pausing in front of her.
The nurse looked up with a smile. “Good evening, Shirabu-san!” she said. “Things are great. Suguru and I are going out for breakfast as soon as I get off.”
Shirabu hummed in response. He’d been working with Daishou long enough to know that she always talked about her husband, whether it was in the form of compliments or complaints. Eventually, though, she’d remember she was at work and had responsibilities to attend to.
“Oh!” she said, mid-story through something Shirabu had half-listened to, “Here are updates on the test results for that coma patient. I believe his name is Semi? Please take a look.” She handed him a clipboard with some papers.
Shirabu forced a smile. “Thank you. I’ll go check on him now.”
He walked the same path he did last night, following the crisp halls and taking the many stairs to room 310. It felt different than last night, somehow. Perhaps the initial shock had numbed.
Emiko wasn’t there when Shirabu entered the room, but that was okay, better than okay, even. Shirabu was well-aware that coma patients could hear and understand words, though they remained unconscious. He didn’t want Emiko asking questions that would reopen barely-healed wounds within his chest. More importantly, he didn’t want to put false hope into anyone, be it Emiko or Semi.
Shirabu sat in the small desk in the corner of the room, and he pulled up Semi’s brain scans to take notes on the papers Daishou had given him. As he wrote, many thoughts came to mind. If Semi did reawake, how would he react to knowing that Shirabu had been the doctor to treat him? Would he be thankful or bitter at knowing the man that dumped him for his career was now using said career to nurse him back to health? Did Semi even want to wake up? Did Shirabu want Semi to wake up?
Shirabu dropped his pen.
Shut up, Kenjirou, he told himself. Of course you want him to wake up. He’s your patient.
Shirabu turned to look at the still body of the man that used to bring endless smiles to his lips, but now the sight only tortured him. He couldn’t believe he’d tried to reason himself into letting a patient die. That was cruel, it was dreadful, it was… just plain wrong.
But your pain will be over, his conscience whispered. It can completely vanish from this world. All you have to do is–
“NO!” Shirabu threw the clipboard to the ground and pressed shaking palms to his ears. “Stop–just shut up!” It was as if his conscience was in that very room, speaking from the left side of him like a devil on his shoulder. But then where was the angel on the right?
Shirabu looked that way, and the first thing he saw was Semi, quiet, silent, and unaffected by the storms battling Shirabu’s mind.
For the very first time, Shirabu was jealous of a coma patient. He envied Semi’s dullness to the world. The earth could be burning, and Semi would still slumber on in a trance, his mind in complete ignorance to the danger of his physical body.
Slowly, Shirabu walked to the hospital bed and placed an unsteady hand to Semi’s cheek.
“Please,” he whispered, tears blurring his vision of blond hair and a resting face, “Please keep being my angel.”
I want you to live.
The rest of that shift flew by in a daze. Shirabu checked on some other patients, ran some tests, and hopefully did everything else he was supposed to do. He couldn’t really remember anything after leaving room 310.
Now, he walked out of the hospital into the bright morning sun, anxious to return home. Shirabu and Asahi hadn’t had time to discuss yesterday’s conversation yet, so Shirabu knew to expect it when he got back. But things had changed in the last 12 hours.
Shirabu unlocked the apartment door and took his shoes off before slipping into house slippers. Asahi, as per routine, was cooking breakfast in the kitchen, and from the smell of it, breakfast was miso soup.
Asahi turned around when he heard Shirabu settle on the couch in their living room. His blue eyes were bright, but they dimmed when he noticed his boyfriend curled into a ball among the cushions. Immediately, Asahi turned off the stove and came rushing to Shirabu’s side.
“Kenjirou, what’s wrong?” He picked Shirabu up carefully and rested him against his chest, watching tears pour silently from Shirabu’s eyes. After a few moments, Asahi spoke again, harsher this time. “If this is about yesterday–”
Completely irrationally, Shirabu turned to kiss Asahi on the lips. He could feel Asahi’s surprise, but he held on anyways. Right now, he just needed to ground himself with something, anything. He wanted to make the pain disappear.
Asahi pulled away roughly, and Shirabu collapsed onto him with shaking shoulders.
“You have to tell me what’s wrong, okay?” Asahi lifted his boyfriend back up and kept a firm arm wrapped around him.
“I…” Shirabu didn’t want to think about it. “I considered letting a patient die.”
The air shattered as sobs quieted, and Shirabu’s heavy cries stopped at the first verbal assurance of his pitiful thoughts. His breath went raw as he gripped onto Asahi like clouds gripped onto the sky.
Asahi just held him close. Shirabu knew Asahi understood the weight of determining someone else’s life. Between operating the medical room to defending in the courtroom, they both felt the mental strain their jobs could induce.
Minutes passed before Shirabu finally spoke up again.
“Asahi,” he whispered with his head on the redhead’s shoulder, “What would you do if your past lover came to you with a life-or-death case?”
Asahi hummed. “Well, I’ve put all my past lovers behind me, so I don’t really know.” He hugged Shirabu tighter. “But I can tell you what I would do if you came to me with a case like that.”
Shirabu pulled back to look Asahi in the eyes.
“What?” he asked, voice small.
Asahi smiled softly. “I’d fight tooth and nail until I won. The sun could rise and fall a million times, and I wouldn’t ever stop.” He drew Shirabu in once again, settling his chin onto copper locks. “If your ex-boyfriend has stumbled into your care at the hospital, Kenjirou, I just want you to know that I’m right here. I’ll be all you need. Don’t ever forget that, okay?” He pulled away with his blue eyes brightening like the day.
“Asahi?” Shirabu looked up slowly. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
The redhead stood and walked towards the front door. “I have to go to work now, but I’ll see you later.”
After he disappeared down the hall, Shirabu found his stress leaving his shoulders for the first time in an eternity.
Starry blond hair. A blinding smile. Gentle hands. Shirabu opened his eyes to spot Semi propped against a pillow, staring down with glimmering doe eyes. He pressed a palm to Shirabu’s cheek, and the doctor, dazed by sleep, melted into it as he took in the view. Rays of light from the window curtains warmed the soft bed, and they bounced off Semi’s hair as dazzling as shimmering diamonds glued to a dark sky. Semi’s smile made the diamonds brighter, and it made Shirabu’s heart soar.
“Look who’s finally awake.” Semi leaned forward to press a kiss to Shirabu’s forehead. “Your bangs are always such a mess, Kenji.”
Shirabu cringed in fake-annoyance as Semi ruffled his hair for good measure, but he laughed immediately after. He turned to wrap Semi’s arms around his waist. “Are you trying to make me mad?” A small smile made its way to his face, and he spun back around.
But Semi wasn’t there. Asahi was.
Moonlit blond became sunkissed auburn. Delicate hands became firm arms.
Then Shirabu blinked.
Reality struck like a knife. He awoke for real this time, confused as the blurred dream crashed into the ground. Shirabu was awake but alone in an empty bed. Awake but shivering at midday in spring. Awake but without Asahi to hold him. And awake but without Semi to sing him back to sleep.
Shirabu went through the day wishing life was a dream. The food he ate had no taste, the clothes he wore had no texture, and the air he breathed had no substance. But people couldn’t feel pain in their dreams. And Shirabu felt an ache deep within his soul.
Maybe it was a good thing he was off from work today. The day before his birthday could just be used to relax and rid himself from nostalgia and regret. Almost 27 years on this feeble planet and Shirabu was still holding onto things nearly a decade old. Truly, he never realized what he needed until it was too late.
He settled for engaging in activities he hadn’t had time to do in the longest while. He read three chapters of a book. Watched two episodes of a Netflix show. Baked one birthday cake.
Shirabu checked his smartwatch just as Asahi stepped through the door. It was closer to 10 PM than Asahi’s usual 8. The lawyer practically collapsed from exhaustion as he walked.
Shirabu was there to hold him up.
“How was work?” he asked.
Asahi only smiled at him. “We’re celebrating your birthday early, remember?”
He threw his coat off before pulling Shirabu close and stealing a kiss. Soon after it followed sneaky hands paving their way under Shirabu’s loose shirt, and the couple toppled onto the couch.
Asahi had just begun to dip his head when Shirabu’s hands stopped him.
“Let’s eat dinner first,” Shirabu breathed. “I made food.”
He pushed Asahi off with a laugh and headed towards their outdoor balcony that extended from the far side of the room. Sure, they didn’t have a house. But that was no excuse for a boring apartment.
The balcony took up the entire length of the wall in front of the kitchen, and its crystal clear windows reflected the busy golden lights of Japan at this time of night. A starry sky looked down from above, the sheen matching that of the milky moon. Some of Asahi’s plants settled in their pots near the door, and Shirabu thought their greenery added the perfect dash of color to the honey wooden floor and white double doors.
At the center of the balcony were two outdoor lounge chairs with cream colored cushions. Between them sat the small table where Shirabu had set up plates and a portion of food.
“I know it’s my birthday,” he said, dropping Asahi’s hand to uncover the meal, “But you said you were coming home late, so I decided to do the work instead.”
He looked towards the horizon. Between the pair, Shirabu was the better cook due to caring for younger brothers while growing up. Oftentimes, though, Shirabu became so busy that the job got thrown to Asahi. But whenever Shirabu decided to make food, Asahi always got excited.
Asahi sat in the chair on the left immediately. “Thank you,” he said, watching his boyfriend sit next to him. “And happy birthday.”
Shirabu grinned as Asahi gave that contagious smile. The slightest breeze blew red hair away from diamond blue eyes, and Shirabu was grateful for the warm spring weather.
He turned to the plates of pork belly he’d set out.
“Itadakimasu.”
Asahi dug in first.
They were halfway through the meal when Asahi reached for Shirabu’s hand.
“Kenjirou,” he said, glancing softly at the roof of stars, “you make me the happiest man on the planet.”
Shirabu’s attention shifted to the dim glow that outlined his boyfriend like an aura of sunshine under the cover of night.
“I remember when we first met two years ago under… unusual circumstances,” Asahi continued.
That day had been unusual solely because Shirabu and a plaintiff patient had ended up going to court with Asahi on the defendant’s side. Ultimately, the patient won the case, and Asahi had decided that a pretty doctor with a sharp tongue just might be to his liking.
“Since then, you’ve truly strengthened me in ways I never would have imagined,” Asahi continued.
“Your loyalty holds me tighter than I deserve.
Your ambition matches the fire in my soul.
Your brilliance keeps my wandering mind at bay.”
Asahi left one hand on Shirabu’s, but he dug into a back pocket with the other. Shirabu just held his breath; it wasn’t every day that his boyfriend spewed poetry. Maybe today was special because it was his birthday.
Then Asahi’s hand came back grasping a delicate velvet box as he kneeled down, and Shirabu’s heart sped up for all the wrong reasons.
“Kenjirou.”
Shirabu wasn’t ready for this.
“I love you so much.”
He didn’t want this. Not yet.
“Will you marry me?”
Someone must’ve enjoyed bothering Shirabu’s life with the wrong things at the wrong time, because right that second, at 10:48 PM on May 3rd, 2022, Shirabu’s smartwatch pinged with a notification.
He drew his eyes to it for a quick moment of distraction, and his lungs suddenly stopped working.
“No.” Shirabu stood with wide eyes, and he said the word again and again and again. “No, no, no, NO.”
He rushed off the balcony, chest heaving and tears stinging his cheeks. Asahi called after him, but Shirabu just ran.
Ran away from the man he’d left alone in their apartment.
Ran away from the heart he’d felt crack in his ribcage.
And ran towards the hospital where his former lover lay.
The smartwatch screen lit up with one more notification; a text from Daishou at Honeysuckle Hospital:
Your coma patient–
He’s dying.
Damn the one hour it took to get to the hospital.
At precisely 11:51 PM, Shirabu rushed through the heavy doors in a panic. It can’t be too late, he thought. I can’t be too late.
Dying was such a vague term, coming from a medical professional. Everyone in hospitals was dying, whether they admitted it or not. Someone didn’t need to be ill to be one step closer to death either; each breath already took them there. But Shirabu had seen Semi’s charts. There should be no cause for alarm, or worse–an imminent emergency.
He ignored the patients and doctors alike giving him glances as he desperately ran to the nearest stairwell. If only time could slow down. Then Shirabu would step more carefully, tread on solid ground rather than shattered ice. But time didn’t stop; not yet at least.
307, 308, 309. Room numbers flashed by in a blur. Finally, room 310 was within reach, and Shirabu lunged forward in desperation. The metal door was cold to the touch. He swung it open with trembling hands, and the reality of the word death struck him down like lightning.
Nurses crowded Semi’s body from the hospital bed. His body jerked under careful medical hands. His closed eyes fluttered as the heart monitor beeped in urgent alarm. 65 beats per minute, 53 beats, 49. With every passing second, life was ripped from Semi’s chest and breath was stolen from his lungs.
No one batted an eye at the slammed door.
A seizure. Shirabu could handle a seizure. He shoved people away–even Emiko, who was tossed to the side like a paper bag.
Shirabu could barely see past his blurry bangs slipping in front of his eyes as he shouted orders to the other nurses and lay his hands on Semi’s chest. Hesitantly, he stole a glance at the monitor, at its diminishing number.
And time slowed.
Those 63 seconds at Semi’s side turned into minutes, turned into days, turned into years.
Minutes of sunshine spent tangling fingers into ash blond curls.
Days of joy spent holding calloused hands under cherry blossom petals.
Years of delight spent listening to all the possible songs about love.
Suddenly, Shirabu remembered every petty argument he’d had with Semi. He remembered every beautiful smile he’d seen on Semi’s face. He remembered every serve he’d received from Semi’s arms. And he looked down and saw it all slipping away.
Time still stretched itself thin.
When Semi’s heart rate dropped to 41 beats, Shirabu felt his heavy tears raining down.
The number became 34, and Shirabu cried out a name. “Eita. Eita, please.”
Red flashed on the monitor screen as 25 appeared, and Shirabu stared into closed eyes that he knew had so much life left to see, so much life left to live.
“I love you.”
The monitor stilled.
Shirabu would discover later that Daishou’s message had simply been her commentary after seeing Semi’s charts. It was only a coincidence that the seizure began just as Shirabu stepped foot in the hospital.
Now, at 12:02 AM, May 4th, 2022, Shirabu couldn’t stop crying. He’d never once cared for what people said about birthdays being a year closer to death. Never, though, would he have imagined Semi knocking on death’s door on his special day.
It was a burden, Shirabu thought as he sat against the hallway wall with his knees to his ears. It was a burden to be given Semi as a patient. Then that pathetic little angel side of Semi spoke softly in Shirabu’s mind: I was a temporary gift.
Shirabu only sobbed harder into his sleeves. Who else gave temporary gifts besides death himself? Life was temporary, for crying out loud. The gift of life was just something for death to take back 60, 70–in Semi’s case, 27–years down the line.
From the floor, Shirabu’s phone vibrated with notifications.
Taichi: HBD, Ken! Bet I was the first to say it.
Tsutomu: Happy birthday, Shirabu-san!
Ushijima: Happiest wishes, Shirabu-kun. Have a great day.
Anger boiled within his chest. Happy, happy, happy? Shirabu was nothing but un happy right now. How dare these people expect him to be joyous? Semi was gone. He left. He–Shirabu weeped– Semi was dead.
Shirabu clutched himself tighter and cried until he thought there was nothing left. He was wrong.
One final message lit up his phone screen.
Asahi: My key is on the kitchen table. Don’t try to look for me.
Slowly, Shirabu unlocked his phone to read the rest.
Kenjirou, you’ve been a mess these past few days, but I was planning to propose on your birthday and decided to just get on with it. You probably won’t believe me if I said I should’ve known better, but I’m sorry you were never as committed to our relationship as I was. It’s been 2 years with you, but you’ve never quite let go of your past. I don’t want to go another two years stuck with someone that can’t fully accept me as their future.
More, more, more tears welled up. First Semi, and now Asahi. Yet for both, there wasn’t even a farewell, no proper goodbye.
As Shirabu curled against the wall and let out silent screams of grief, his mind wandered. Asahi, he thought, meant morning sun. But the sun always rose and set with the day’s time. How pitiful that this day had been Semi’s.