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It’s been sixty-four days since the moment Ittetsu knew he was going to die.
It wasn’t so bad. He was already past the stage of grieving; already past the denial, the shame, the excruciating weight that threatened to crush him during those first few weeks. He didn’t have long, he knew, if the slow crawl of branches making its way towards his heart was any indication.
He could have confessed already to get this over with, but it was a generally known fact that those who fell victim to hanahaki had only a whopping sixty minutes left to live once the object of their affection decided to reject them, and it would be an instant death if the person decided to accept the victim’s love out of obligation. That, simply put, was unacceptable.
So he kept it quiet, at least until he had his affairs in order. There were still things to do, things to prepare, things to deal with. If he was going to die due to his unfortunate romantic inclinations, then he would very well make damn sure that he would tie off any loose ends and have a backlog of practice games for the boys to play until well after his passing.
He didn’t own a lot of things, but he already signed off on the legal papers decreeing that all of the money he’s saved and the material possessions that he has will be sold and donated to the Karasuno Men’s Volleyball Club upon his death. It wouldn’t be much, but at least it would allow them to have the ability to rent a bus and secure lodging for future away games for a while. His family wouldn’t approve but, well, it’s not like they gave a damn about him anyway.
For now, it should be enough.
It should be enough.
He opened his eyes.
Sighed.
The pale grey of the pre-dawn light washed over his rumpled sheets. They’ve only been washed yesterday, and yet the dried blood and tainted flower petals already marred what comfort it was supposed to give.
He coughed, winced; his throat scraped raw over the night of tossing and turning, trying desperately to rid himself of the petals that constantly made it their mission to choke and suffocate him as he slept. It wouldn’t be long now, at least that was one consolation.
It was easy to get used to— this routine of blood and flora, this daily rousing through pain and tears. He’s read about pain many times during his studies and his time teaching, centuries of people wax poetic about the beauty and horror and despair of it, but none of it prepared him for this. Nothing prepared him for the way the fire ran up and down inside him, caressing his lungs and eviscerating his throat to cinders after every cough, every breath, every lie he had to utter to keep this wretched façade in place. The constant downward pull of gravity urged him, lulled him down to the ground, whispered for him to let go and let himself be engulfed by the cold embrace of the earth.
If only it were that easy, he thought bitterly as he got up to the mirror. What used to be soft and slender hands were now frail; those fingers of his shook as it touched his cheeks. There were bruising around his eyes, a stark pallor to his skin. There’s been murmur of concern that surrounded him this past week; students and colleagues noticing the physical evidence of his slow degradation. He appreciated the gestures, of course he did. But he hated it; hated to see those worried faces of people who should have been spending their days happy, who should have been revelling at the life they’ve yet to live.
They still had time— time to feel, to experience, to love and to cherish. And while concern, grief, and sorrow were all crucial aspects to the human experience, the human expression, Ittetsu wished that while he was still on this earth he could watch those around him feel the joy he could not currently give.
It was easy enough to reassure them, nonetheless. He was just tired with too much grading, still had calls to make and practice matches to arrange for the boys’ volleyball club, still had to catch up on missed reading for the next semester’s curriculum—excuses believable enough that no one would question him, even if they still were not enough to abate the worry.
Well, no one except for Ukai Keishin.
It was difficult to escape from those eyes; those sharp eyes that were able to quickly and easily pick up the way Tsukishima-kun would slack when he was tired, the way Kinoshita-kun’s form would slightly tremble after one too many serves, the way he could just see the fatigue in the way Hinata-kun would hide his exhaustion after the days he would watch over his younger sister during their mother’s absence.
Try as he might, Ittetsu knew that the man paid a little too close attention to him recently. And while that would have been a cause for celebration in another, more favorable situation, being the target of those sharp eyes just proved to be the bane of his existence.
Because that man— that glorious, gorgeous, most wonderful man— is the reason why Takeda Ittetsu is going to die.
Ittetsu eyed himself from the mirror, watched the way his eyes softened and his mouth quirked in one of the very few genuine smiles he’s had in recent months as fondness overtook his sullen features. It just wasn’t fair. How, pray tell, was he to ever resist the charms of that exuberant man? That man with the stern mouth that often broke out into a wide grin whenever one of their players succeeded in a particular skill or play that they’ve been working on for weeks. That man with the wonderful, strong hands. Hands that would easily hit a powerful serve during his demonstrations, hands that would give encouraging smacks on their players’ backs whenever they were down, hands that had a firm grip onto the bench that he hauled to prevent Hinata-kun from injuring himself (Ittetsu would know just how strong that grip was, seeing as he was lifted and thrown comically in the process).
And yet it was those same hands that placed themselves at the small of Ittetsu’s back to guide him towards the entrance of Shinzen’s gym when they spent those blissful days at the training camp. It was those same hands that caught him whenever he would trip from the excitement of sharing good news and it was those same hands that rubbed soothing circles at his back during their meal after their loss to Aoba Josai. He wanted to hold those hands, wanted to keep them in his smaller ones, especially whenever the man would rake those long fingers of his through those bleached blonde locks.
Ittetsu had the privilege of seeing those locks undone when they shared a room together during their training camps at Tokyo. He smiled as warmth bloomed inside his chest as he remembered the number of times he would take covert peaks at his colleague whenever the man was deep in thought; those eyes that Ittetsu loved so much focused on videos against their opponents while his hair fell down over his sharp cheeks in a gorgeous curtain of gold.
How would it feel, Ittetsu would sometimes wonder, to run his own fingers through those lovely tresses?
A choked gasp erupted from him, his visage that was so clear in his eyes blurred, clouded over as his eyes watered, the edges of his vision fading as he doubled over; the warmth that soothed his heart now burned his chest, an inferno that rose up from his lungs to his throat as a cascade of blood and petals hacked their way to freedom, burning, burning, burning through him as the stems pushed at his insides.
There was a distant sound, almost like a thud, and in a few blinks Ittetsu found himself on the floor; his left cheek and knees pressed heavily over the smooth hardwood; his soft, ink-stained hands clawing, digging, raking blood over his throat as bright, yellow flowers deeply coated in his own blood rained down on the floor.
It took minutes, agonizing minutes, for the hacking cough to stop, for the shower of golden petals to finally cease. The silence that descended him was deafening, the pressure of it not unlike the solid Iron Wall of Date. He laid on the floor for moments longer, his body exhausted from the effort to keep himself alive, simply unmoving, briefly hoping for the earth to open up and swallow him until he died before he shook his head. Not yet. He still had things to do so not yet.
There were tears still in his eyes, just running freely down his face, intermingling with the blood that dripped from the corner of his mouth as he regained his breath. The sharp pain that burned through him abated to a dull throb, the simmer of it still crackling in his veins.
His left hand reached out, the tips of his fingers lightly thumbing away the crimson that tainted the bright, happy petals. Marigolds. Of course it would be marigolds. It reminded him of that pale golden hair that he loved, the hoops that pierced his ears, even though the flower itself had a brighter tint.
How would Ukai react when he finds out? Will he be surprised that it was him? That of all people in this town, in this world, Ittetsu had to fall in love with him?
He shouldn’t be surprised. Ukai Keishin is a fantastic man. Whoever it was that would have him for a spouse will be a lucky person.
Ittetsu hissed, sudden black spots erupting in his vision when pain stabbed at his heart, hurt erupting at the notion that he would not be the one to stay at Keishin’s side.
-0-
The short hike up the mountain was a rather daunting one.
Not because it was difficult, no. It was a hike that he used to be able to do without so much as breaking a sweat; one that he would sometimes make before class, before the sun decided to rise. Ittetsu was relatively fit. Though not athletic as their boys on the volleyball club, he could at least make the short journey up the mountain relatively unscathed.
He would have made it up without trouble if not for the flowers that constantly tried to spill themselves from his mouth.
Ittetsu sat on a smooth rock, his legs stretched out in front of him as his gaze lingered at the explosion of light and color from the slow rising of the sun. It was a nice morning; the still cool air wisped around as it tousled his short, curly hair. There was no book in his hands as it would have every time he decided to come here, having chosen to simply enjoy the quiet illumination of the subdued grey of the world. This may be the last time he could come here, in this quiet corner in Miyagi that he liked to think of as his own. It would only be fitting to see it before he died.
His throat still ached, his lungs still burned, his fingers still trembled and bloodied from the four times he had to stop and vomit. It would be soon, he knew. He felt it in the way the pain lingered far longer than it did the first week of his suffering. His body was breaking apart. It would only take a matter of days before it finally gave up and shut down.
But it doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t have to wait any longer, anyway. Tomorrow. He promised himself that he would confess tomorrow after practice, once the children were on their way home. While he knew he would have an hour to drive to the nearest hospital to die in peace, he didn’t want to risk any of their charges to see him die in a probable gruesome demise.
He would follow, though.
Ittetsu pursed his lips, sighed. Shook his head.
No matter the outcome tomorrow, he knew that Ukai would follow him and Ittetsu wouldn’t be able to stop him. He didn’t want Ukai to see him die, didn’t want the last image of him to be one of pain, and while the idea of passing without friends or family was rather terrifying, that was something that he didn’t want his beloved to be subjected to.
And it wasn’t guaranteed that he would die, Ittetsu knew that. There may still be a chance that Ukai returned his feelings and all of this stress and preparation would have been something that they could chuckle at in the future if they ever decide to live a happily ever after. There was still a possibility that he would be swept into the strong arms of their volleyball coach and be given another chance at life instead of letting him suffocate in his own blood.
A chuckle trickled out of his lips, soft and sweet, at the image of him being wrapped up in those arms that he liked to admire. He’s so small compared to the former volleyball player, he’d just be dwarfed by the man! Just the size of the blonde’s jacket would most likely go past Ittetsu’s waist and land mid-thigh. Oh what he would give to have that as his reality, even for just a few minutes. Just a few minutes to cuddle into that warmth, the scent of nicotine and menthol and Ukai’s natural scent surrounding him, enveloping him, invoking a feeling of safety. It could still happen, could still be his reality.
But the reality that he would die was just far greater than that wonderful daydream.
He wasn’t even sure if Ukai had any attraction to men; and if he did, it didn’t mean that he would be attracted to Ittetsu. After all, he didn’t have many positive qualities besides his tenacity and persuasiveness, and even then that was often construed as a nuisance. His looks were passable, barely enough to warrant a double take. He wasn’t strong nor was he athletic. He wouldn’t be able to keep up with the strenuous activities that he knew Ukai liked to do. Since his childhood he’d been called a nerd, and while he himself had nothing against the term nor his penchant for academics, Ittetsu knew very much that it’s still a derogatory term in some social circles.
(Would Ukai have picked on him if they’ve met in high school?)
Long, bony fingers twiddled together as those bespectacled eyes focused forward; the sky now radiant as if a lovingly crafted watercolor painting. Smile still in place— how could it not when in his mind the images of Ukai Keishin played in every corner, filled every crevice, completely overwhelmed the intricate biology of his brain until nothing else truly could overtake it—not the fear, not the grief, not the pain that constantly screamed at him to release.
He would apologize to him profusely—another skill that he’s good at—for putting him in the position they were at. He didn’t mean it, didn’t mean for his love to take such a devastating and prickly form. There was therapy of course, and being himself he’d already sequestered money and a good, experienced therapist for the coach, but he knew too well that Ukai would take offense to that, initially. He’d wish for him to go, perhaps a bit selfishly, before he’d rush out of the gym and to his car, rush towards the hospital to help him get to his end in a more peaceful manner.
Ittetsu was fully aware of what hanahaki was capable of; how much of the body gets destroyed once it finally passes. It would be horrible, would be traumatic, and he would not, absolutely not, burden Ukai with the broken image of him by the end of it all.
So he would get to it first.
If anything, Ittetsu was a stubborn man, and if was going to die then he would die on his own bloody terms.
-0-
The sound of volleyballs repeatedly hitting the polished floors of the gym was music to his ears.
It took a while for him to love the sound but once he had, it became a comfort that he constantly sought after during times of stress, as the knowledge that his boys—their boys—were doing everything that they could to strive forward, to strive past their losses and to pursue the victory that they hungered for every single day was a warmth that settled snugly inside his heart.
He remembered how startled he got when he was first exposed to other teams. Even more so when they started their practices with an actual coach who knew what he was doing. Everything was already so hectic during those first few weeks that Ittetsu became the club’s advisor and he wasn’t able to fathom just how loud the sport could get until the day Oikawa Toru demonstrated his serves during their first practice match with Seijoh. It was a little difficult to get used to, especially when Ukai decided to teach the boys how a proper jump serve is done.
(And still there was that strong, warm hand that perched itself unto his shoulder or on his hip whenever Ittetsu would flinch, as if to anchor him to reality as the boom of the ball hitting wood at incredible speeds was still pretty frightening for the teacher during those first, tender weeks.)
He winced, coughed into his hand as black shaded the edges of his vision; the sudden bloom of pain erupted inside him as if thorns pierced whatever they could reach. Ittetsu blinked as he bit the inside of his lip hard enough to taste the metallic sheen of blood in an attempt to ground himself. The sound of volleyballs in play dulled, quieted into nothing as he felt his breathing tremble, ragged as the stems constricted his airflow.
Not yet. Not yet not yet not yet—it wasn’t supposed to happen yet! He was supposed to have a few more days at least so why? Minutes. Just a few more minutes and he could be done with this, be done with his suffering.
Yet still the burning in his chest progressed, spreading through him like a slow, roaring cavalcade of excruciating agony, making damn sure to touch every inch of him, hurting him, tormenting him just shy of killing him. The tips of his fingers tingled, devolved into sharp pin pricks as the pulse on his neck throbbed so loudly that the fear of it bursting deafened his ears. Hold on, hold on, he just needed to hold on. For the children’s sake. For Keishin’s sake.
Just breathe, Ittetsu. In. Out. Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Re—
“Sensei?”
Ittetsu jolted, dark eyes widened like a deer whose legs were broken while it stood, as he felt his arm singed with a scalpel-sharp burn of Ukai’s hand that rested lightly on his prickling skin. There was concern on his face, and it was at that time that he realized he was sweating bullets.
Can’t let him know. Not yet. Not yet.
It was so easy to flip that switch, to put up his walls even though his insides were being consumed in an ever-growing blaze. It was so goddamn easy for the façade to appear— for the way his body relaxed as the stems constricted him, for that wretched placating smile to distract his beloved’s attention to the fact that his lips were cracked and bleeding. It made him sick.
His eyes blinked easily, a conscious attempt at innocence, as both his hands raised in front of him, as his left shoulder raised in a careless shrug. “Oh! I’m quite alright,” Ittetsu said, the lie unhesitatingly tearing through his soul in an unrelenting torrent. “I was grading and didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”
“You’re lying.”
It was a wonder, really. In the two months that Ittetsu was burning from his affliction, with the sheer agony of the godforsaken marigolds that decided to take root within his body, never did he anticipate that he’d be able to feel the cold again. So the way his blood stilled to freezing stopped him, halted every function of his body that he could muster as his eyes were blown wide at the current sight of the coach in front of him.
Ukai stood close (too close, too close, too close) in front of him, both hands slipped into the pockets of his tracksuit. His stance was neutral, albeit a little tense (why, why, why), as he looked Ittetsu over, those scrutinizing eyes that picked apart plays brick by brick focused solely on the teacher. There was about a foot’s distance between them, too close, far too close to what Ittetsu’s been used to.
His face was stone cold.
Ittetsu was familiar with the chill. Many moments flashed in his mind of the times he’d forget his coat or his scarf when he needed to go out in the dead of winter, his rather small frame huffing and puffing as he raced to the school or the convenience store or the nearest bookstore. He thought he was fine with the cold then, and he was for the most part, but the thing that crawled from the pit of his stomach to the ragged trenches that was his ruined lungs was nothing compared to that of the worst of winter’s grip. It was a slow crawl, extinguishing the tongues of fire that rested almost lovingly within his deteriorating body, replacing it with a chilling burn so different, so utterly sharp that Ittetsu could feel the blood and petals flowing ever freely to his throat.
The panic was in his heart; thrumming, thrashing against his speeding heartbeat as full blown agony exploded in his chest; the soft, gentle tickle in his throat to signal the coming onslaught of waves and waves of bloodied petals a laughable antithesis to the abject suffering that would come mere moments after.
His vision shook. His large, chestnut brown eyes trembled against Ukai’s withering gaze. This couldn’t be happening, couldn’t be happening, couldn’t ever be happening. He was so careful, so careful. Everyone believed him so why? Why now of all times? Why him of all people? Eyes, frantic eyes, desperately tried to pull away, but Ukai’s own simply wouldn’t let him, wouldn’t give him the mercy of setting him free.
“I don’t appreciate being lied to, sensei.”
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
It was the pain that gave him the strength, the energy to take a step back; one, then two, then three, and Ittetsu was running out, his entire body shaking like the pathetic little coward that he was as he bolted outside the gym. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t really care. How could he, when he was moments away from traumatizing a gym full of children with promising futures with the vision of his demise?
(It would have been his excuse, being a reasonable teacher and all, if his mind wasn’t literally bombarded with the image of a disappointed Ukai Keishin.)
The hurt that he was experiencing felt as if a culmination of all the other hurt: blinding, his vision speckled into a starburst of white and yellow and red and red and red that he was truly convinced that this was what hell must have looked like. If there truly was a god, if there really was a being that sat up there in the clouds overseeing all of those that emerged from nothingness during those simple days of creation—any creation from any religion—then Ittetsu should be able to be granted the mercy of a swift and painless death.
Should.
Laughably, he knew he wasn’t that fortunate.
His knees buckled, crashing into the concrete of the school walls as his legs were no longer able to carry the weight of him. Ittetsu clawed at his chest, fingernails raking and clawing and bleeding, bleeding, bleeding through the fabric of his clothes in an attempt to heave out the cursed flowers; a garbled sound resounding as he choked, sobbing as he gasped desperately for the air that he couldn’t breathe into his dying lungs, the stems tightening and tightening and choking and choking and god, god, god he was dying.
Please, a simple word that echoed in his mind as he hacked and wretched and cried and cried and cried as he stained the grass with his own gore and joyful patches of marigolds, vision fading as those ruined eyes of his found themselves focused on a stunned girl with hair the color of the flower that was currently killing him. Please, just let me die.
“Sensei!”
-0-
Ittetsu awoke to the beat of the heart monitor.
It was a steady rhythm, a simple external stimulus to focus on as he blinked away the heavy weight of the darkness that pressed him to the firm mattress below his frame. There was an ache in chest, in his throat; the present throb of his heartbeat that travelled to his fingertips was loud against his mind. The dull tang of iron still resided in his mouth, now more akin to rust than polished metal.
His surroundings were blurred, judging from the several times he managed to blink, so someone most likely removed his glasses. Ittetsu blandly wondered where they were.
Cold. He didn’t like that it was so cold. Not even the sheet that covered him from chest to toe was enough to chase the chill away. It was always like this: every hospital visit, every checkup, every time he had to walk the halls filled with white and sterile air, the cold seemed to seep into his bones no matter what he wore. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like it. He wanted to go home.
“Who is it?”
Ittetsu startled, the breath that he wasn’t aware he held stuttered. Slowly, very slowly, he willed his head to turn.
He wondered how he didn’t notice the figure that sat beside his bed, wondered how he didn’t notice the hand that held tightly to his; a larger, calloused hand that emanated a subtle heat that warmed his right. There was a gentleness to his hold, the way his thumb rubbed soothing circles over his chilled fingers made Ittetsu sigh, and he wished, so dearly wished, that he could lean more into that warmth.
“Keishin.”
That wonderful hold tightened against his, imperceptibly miniscule to most people. But Ittetsu would know. He’d know easily enough, with how his body was already so in tune with that of the coach.
(And yet Ittetsu couldn’t be his. Could never be his.)
“Tell me, sensei.” There was strain there, hidden beneath the gruff and gravel of Ukai’s voice. Tension and tightness that he couldn’t quite discern without the aid of his sight. Comfort was needed, he knew, and yet the fatigue still weighed down his bones, his body still tormented by the stems and roots that coursed through him, albeit more slowly now, that he could do nothing to give solace to the agitated blonde.
And still he tried, still he exerted himself to push at his pinky, his breathing picked up as he hooked it around Ukai’s thumb. Held.
“Sensei, please.” Desperation coated those words, the dark bloom of anger and bitterness and hopelessness that rose to the surface. Ittetsu hated it. “Please.”
Ukai’s body tipped forward, his elbows perched onto the mattress, now with both hands holding tight to the teacher’s own. Tenderly, longingly. The soft press of chapped lips against his ink-stained fingers sent signals of affection throughout his battered body. Even at this closer distance, Ittetsu still couldn’t see Ukai’s face.
“I’ll fucking kill them,” Ukai spat, his fingers flexing tighter as they wrapped around his. “I’ll fucking murder them and this will be done with so please.” Another kiss to his fingers, slow and sweet, and yet it trembled still. Ittetsu didn’t know if the trembling came from Ukai’s hands or from his entire body.
“Keishin.”
“I could love you better than them.” A sharp inhale, Ukai’s shuddering breath. Hot, prickly tears that dropped on Ittetsu’s gradually warming skin. Oh, darling. “I can take care of you better than whoever that motherfucker is so please.” A sob wracked through the blonde, shaking his entirety to his core, yet Ittetsu could feel the comfort that seeped into his body at a leisurely pace. Ukai whispered.
“Please, who is it that’s taking you away from me?”
A throb, the pulse stronger than before. The weight that strangled his heart and lungs eased its hold, receding unhurriedly as if it wasn’t trying to end him for two months already.
And then he lurched.
Ittetsu’s body shoved forward, his bloodied hands once again raking against his bandaged throat, retching, heaving the blockage that rose up in his throat. There was screaming in the background, muffled in his ear, an alarmed cry that echoed with horror as the doors suddenly burst open with the rush and noise of medical professionals clambering to his aid.
He whined, his voice high pitched and struggling when he felt that warmth in his hand suddenly wrenched away.
“Kei…Keishin—”
It seared through his lungs, a ball as potent as the sun forcing its way out of him, scorching his throat, scraping, grazing, wounding him until it’s out. There were gloved hands on his chest and on his back; urging, guiding the pain up, up, up, and Ittetsu could feel his entirety erupt into a raging supernova.
Then it was quiet.
Quiet except for the soft gasps that puffed out of his mouth, the exhausted relief of the medicals, and the stabilizing beep of the heart monitor. There were tears at the corners of his eyes and a wetness that dripped down from his mouth. His gaze flitted down and he stopped, eyes widened a fraction as the flowers and the stems and the roots of the marigolds that put him through those hellish two months of agony now lied there on his lap, the blood that spewed from him slowly staining the stark white of his blanket.
“Ittetsu?”
He turned his head to the direction of the voice, and the blob that he was so sure to be Keishin stood there, hovering a mere few feet from the edge of the bed.
“Keishin.” And with that Ittetsu yearned, his arms though exhausted from the ordeal reached up and out, wanting to feel that wonderful heat of his beloved once again.
Without a second thought, Keishin was in his arms, the sobs that tore the man’s body earlier now a tsunami of emotion, rupturing through his solid frame. And yet he held Ittetsu so protectively, as if he were a precious gift that needed to be worshipped.
“Keishin,” he whispered, voice raspy as he brushed the tears away from that handsome, angular face. “Keishin, I want to see you.”
Keishin blinked, his breathing quavered as he looked around almost in confusion until a kind nurse gently pushed the teacher’s glasses into his rough hands. With the utmost care, the blonde slid those delicate glasses onto Ittetsu’s face.
Keishin’s eyes were red and puffy, bruised from hours of crying. A little pale, maybe a little disheveled, those blonde locks tousled as if he ran his fingers through them over and over while Ittetsu slept.
Ittetsu smiled.
“It’s unfair how good you look.” He sighed, hummed as he pressed a tender cheek against Keishin’s solid chest, nuzzled, those chestnut brown eyes peering at the man as a smile broke through his still bloodied lips. He watched as Keishin’s face scrunched up. Confusion, probably. Cute.
Keishin bit his lip, his eyes boring through Ittetsu’s own, and the teacher just wanted nothing more than to rub away the stress from the man’s face. “Is it…” Hesitation. But also hope. “Is it me?”
The smile that rested on Ittetsu’s face grew wider, maybe a little cheekier, his lashes fluttering almost sleepily as exhaustion once again caught up to him, now without the weight that pulled him down to lethargy.
“Of course it’s you,” he murmured as he pressed a soft kiss to the chest that pillowed him, huffing a laugh when those strong arms that held him pressed tighter. “There’s no one else it could be.”
A shuddering breath, the rumble of it so soothing against Ittetsu’s face. He could feel the medicals still in the room watching them, but he didn’t care. He had Keishin with him now, hopefully forevermore.
A kiss to his forehead, then to his cheek, then to the tip of his button nose, and he knew—Ittetsu knew that they’d be okay. Keishin grinned.
“I’m glad.”
-0-
“I’m back.”
“Welcome home, Keishin.”
Ittetsu looked up, book in hand and a warm, knitted blanket on his lap as Keishin made his way to him on the couch, laughing when the taller man leaned down and caged him against the armrest before giving him a noisy kiss.
It’s been three weeks since he’s been discharged from the hospital. Three full weeks of lounging around being pampered by the coach who was doing his utmost best to keep the teacher from preparing any classwork or grading (it wasn’t working; Keishin knew that Ittetsu was keeping a close eye on the substitute that took over his lectures during his time away from work but he was fully aware that the teacher enjoyed thinking that he’s getting away with it.
Ittetsu definitely knows that Keishin knows.)
He was still recovering. Having endured two months’ worth of internal injury took a toll on the teacher’s body and was fully recommended to spend at least two more months resting at home, much to Ittetsu and the school administration’s chagrin (not like they’d be able to do anything—it was fairly known that Takeda-sensei is rather loved amongst the student body, albeit a little scary, and the vice principal was well aware that if the teacher wasn’t granted his medical leave then there will be, without exaggeration, a riot.)
It's been a hectic few weeks, with him having to deal with his very kind, very relieved lawyer. It felt a little ironic to him that having to rework the legalities he had to prepare for his presumed death was easier to handle than that of the school but it was done, as most of it was lobbied by his grumpy boyfriend (a label that Ittetsu still felt giddy about) and said lawyer friend.
Keishin moved in days after him being discharged, insisting that he just couldn’t leave Ittetsu by his lonesome, especially in the state he was in. That, and the fact that their dutiful coach just wanted to spend more time with the teacher to make up for those harrowing months of him being in pain. It was a little fast, but Ittetsu wasn’t complaining.
He did have to give the volleyball team an apology for scaring them, especially to Yachi who apparently had found him and retrieved Keishin immediately, which explained why he was rushed to the hospital so quickly.
They sent him gifts: mostly sweets, his favorite brand of coffee, some books that Itettsu would admit were not among his purview but appreciated nonetheless, and a large, handcrafted blanket, presumably made by Asahi-kun as he knew that boy took up crochet after their official game against Date Tech. He was even more grateful that none of them had the mind to send him flowers of all things. He still liked them, even after that rather traumatic ordeal, but Ittetsu would prefer to not be within the vicinity of them for at least a little while longer.
Ittetsu’s blood relatives were still uninformed of the events that transpired, which he preferred.
“Sensei.”
He looked up, blinked, a gentle smile curling his lip as he watched Keishin seat himself by the teacher’s folded legs, a mug of steaming tea on his extended hand. Ittetsu gratefully took it before releasing a satisfied groan when Keishin lifted his legs to put over his lap, those bigger hands of the coach massaging the tense muscles of his calves.
Would he have gotten this ending if he confessed months ago? Most likely, and maybe a little less injured. Keishin did scold him the next time he woke up on that rigid hospital bed, a cute pout on his face when Ittetsu only chuckled at his reprimand before leaning up to kiss the man, and while there may still be some regrets with how he handled the situation, Ittetsu was simply happy that he was able to receive the ending that he oh so wished for since the moment he laid eyes on the coach.
There was nothing he could do about them now but to look back at the experience with a little more wisdom, a little more kindness for himself, and perhaps use this to help his students should they ever be caught in such a situation (he didn’t hope for it, of course he didn’t, but he knew full well that the disease could strike anyone at any time and he would much prefer it if his kids didn’t suffer through it alone like he did.)
He sighed, relaxed his shoulders as his gaze slid back to Keishin, his cheeks deepening in a lovely shade of pink when chestnut brown eyes met the coach’s darker ones. Fingers intertwined with each other, the connection that they’ve built together strengthened, Ittetsu smiled his brightest, most radiant smile to rival that of the morning sunrise that he loved so much.
And while not all endings may be the most ideal, Ittetsu knew deep in his heart that this was the beginning of their happily ever after.