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The ache Haruki feels whenever Akihiko looks at him starts off as a slight twinge in his chest yet it’s one night, one moment together;
Stumbling back to Haruki’s apartment, barely getting through the door without tripping over the small bump at the entrance everyone seems to forget about. Laughter rings through the room, joking about the most nonsensical things. But time freezes for a moment. Haruki jolts as Akihiko slips behind him, arms carefully wrapping around the shape of his waist while his forehead rests against the crook of Haruki’s neck.
“Tonight’s been great. Thanks a lot” Akihiko mutters almost silent. That ache makes it’s welcome again.
It hurts; somethings not right. This isn’t the kind of pain a simple longing would cause. When Akihiko’s hold loosens, Haruki excuses himself before pacing to the bathroom. A foreign sensation climbs his throat, more painful than the feeling in his chest. He starts to cough, and whatever was in his throat comes out. Haruki’s sight reorients to see indigo larkspur petals tinted with a hideous stain of—blood. His breathing spikes, the remnants of the flower, the sight of the blood splatter in the sink triggers a panic in Haruki. He washes the blood out and hesitantly plucks the petals, dropping them in the bin wanting any trace of what he just saw eradicated.
There’s a rapt knock. “Haru, Everything alright?” Akihiko’s voice is laced with partial concern, likely hearing what had happened. With one deep breath, Haruki slowly opens the door, revealing a distressed Akihiko, face twisted in worry. “That’s a nasty sounding cough...Are you sick?”
“I’m just tired. M'fine, promise.” His typical undermining behaviour hard to maintain from the hoarse tone in his voice. Akihiko doesn’t question it. “Good night.” Haruki pushes it all behind him for now, throwing Akihiko a spare blanket and shutting himself in his bedroom. He tries to avoid thinking about what happened, what the hell he saw in that bathroom, the petals, the blood. The moments before it happened...more petals scatter along the floorboards.
No matter how much Haruki tries to forget this strange affliction, it always haunts him. A dull pain in his throat and stomach refuse to leave, the disgusting image of larkspur petals and rich blood are burned into his memories. It’s a common occurrence now, every day, every few hours, coughing up these damn petals. And Haruki knows why.
Band practices have become some form of torture, swallowing back the pain until Haruki can get the chance to slip out and hack out his lungs filled with cruel reminders of what he can’t have.
Being near him hurts. Talking to him. Looking at him. Even the thought of him hurts.
And at this point it’s becoming too much, it’s more torture knowing they can tell somethings wrong. He knows it too. Haruki’s weaker, the amount of blood lost and the sheer number of times he’s had to spit out petals upon petals.
The last thing he wants is for him to see him in such a state, to look at him with those eyes—Yet Haruki pushes it down as far as he can if it means more time despite the presence of larkspur lurking at the pit of his stomach.
Months pass by, spring fades to summer and everything seems fine. The petals don’t seem to make themselves present as often though they still linger on the occasion. But that peace didn’t last long.
Hearing somebody else on the line...He was sleeping with somebody. And to make matters worse, Akihiko ends up at Haruki’s doorstep, face bruised and demeanour...concerning.
They’re sat, spaced away from each other, filling the room with tense conversation. Then it happens. Haruki begins to sense a scratch in his throat, the ability to breath suddenly harder. Something in Akihiko changes as he gets closer, grabbing the blanket Haruki wrapped around himself before opening the door. He can see the disturbed look in Akihiko’s eyes before he’s pushed down.
“You’re in love with me, aren’t you?” Akihiko’s voice is cold, mocking.
The horrid metallic taste of blood rises up alongside the sensation of mocking petals bombarding his throat.
Fuck, not here, not now. Please.
It’s all too much. Haruki wills his eyes shut and tries to refrain from throwing up petals. But in a sorrowful attempt he reaches out to him.
He’s met with rejection. “There’s nothing you can do. I'm sorry." It takes all of Haruki's willpower to not choke.
Akihiko recoils, pushing himself away in shame, hiding. Despite the low festering anger, anguish and ache Haruki wants to reach out one last time, providing a undeserved display of pity. But he knows he can't. He's not allowed.
Haruki slips into the bathroom, desperately needing to splash his face with cold water. Though as soon as he reaches the sink– Everything he pushed down, kept out of sight comes barging in again.
It’s now more disgusting than before. His throat feels like it’s burning, he feels suffocated as if the room itself is closing in soon to be flooded with blood-stained petals.
The commotion causes Akihiko to push the door open.
“Haruki...What is this?” He stands there in complete shock, frozen, too afraid to step any closer. Haruki looks back at him in misery, a small trail of blood drips down his chin. Haruki struggles to keep himself up as his arms quiver holding on tightly to the sink. He wipes the blood and tries to walk away before Akihiko stops him.
“I’ve really fucked up. But whatever this is, you need to tell me. This—”
“Don’t, don’t do this please.”
Don’t look at me with those eyes.
Stubborn as always, Akihiko pleads.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
I wish I could. But I already know. You said it yourself.
A weak, torn smile plays on Haruki’s lips. “Just leave me be. You’ve done enough.” Akihiko averts his eyes from him and lets Haruki walk away.
He didn’t come home that morning.