Archive of Our Own

Kojiro remembers when he first learned about soulflowers. To the surprise of no one, it was Kaoru who told him the story of a young man who grew a pink hibiscus in the palm of his hand, who nurtured it and loved it, whose love was reflected in his soulmate, the prettiest and healthiest in her town, her twin bell flower curled around her ear, blooming beautifully.

It was then Kojiro’s mother who told him the story of a woman who fell in love with a rich man in her town, a woman who knew her love wasn’t her soulmate and stopped watering her flower. Years after she stopped watering it, they watched another man of the town choke on a flurry of petals, the words death by hanahaki looped across his tombstone.

Your soulflower is planted on your fifteenth birthday, and it’s a day most people eagerly await for, holding grand parties to celebrate the coming of age.

Key phrase: most people.

“I don’t want a soulflower,” Kaoru had announced on Kojiro’s fifteenth birthday, while both of them stared at his calf where a sprout rested, delicate to the touch. They could even feel the seed beneath his skin, a bulb of sorts. It was bizarre, really. “I want to choose who I love, why does some random force have to tell me what to do?”

“Mama said I would want to choose my soulmate over anyone else,” Kojiro hummed, running his thumb back over the sprout with awe, “I wonder who it is.”

“I wonder how quick she’ll get sick of you.”

Kojiro was too entranced to care.

The months moved as they always did, except this time Kojiro spent his mornings and nights watering his soulflower, Kaoru often talking over his shoulder, a constant in his life just as he always had been.

And then, when Kaoru’s birthday came along, the two were sat on a bench at school, sipping their cartons of juice. “Mother was really mad at me this morning.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because she saw my soulflower and got mad that I refused to water it,” Kaoru scoffed, sipping his juice again as he kicked his legs, “It’s my life, I can choose what I do with it.”

“But… it isn’t your life—“ and at Kaoru’s sharp glance, “No, I mean the flower represents someone else’s life. If you don’t water it, you’ll kill them.”

“That’s their problem,” he scowled back, crushing his carton and throwing it into a nearby bin, jumping up to his feet and grabbing his battered skateboard, turning to raise an eyebrow at his best friend, “Are you judging my life choices too?”

“Yes, actually. I usually do.”

“Idiot.”

And life moved.

Kojiro’s sprout blossomed into a branch, winding up his leg in a beautiful array of sakura petals, hidden beneath a pair of newly purchased flower bottoms, made to be delicate against the soft petals. 

Kaoru never did let Kojiro see his.

But sometimes he would catch him in the back of class, watering his flower on his hip with his bag covering it from the rest of the world, not looking too happy about it, but something must have swayed his opinion since his birthday.

And then Adam arrived.

In all of his fabulous, bedazzling, infuriating glory. 

Kojiro wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone look at someone the way Kaoru looked at Adam — amazed and adoring, all emotions tied with a neat little bow.

It couldn’t have been coincidence that he found himself having to water his plant that little bit more, a quick google blinking back at him — ‘jealousy can make your flower wilt as the chemicals in your blood that drive the emotion are toxic to them’ — almost in mockery.

Jealousy?

Kojiro wasn’t jealous.

Who did he even have to be jealous of?

And then he found them. Adam with a vice grip on Kaoru’s hip, a purposeful hold for something a little more than to keep him upright while he sucked into his face. Not that Kaoru seemed unhappy with the arrangement, with how he was almost falling into him, that telltale handsome smirk tugging at his lips, his gorgeous sakura hair mussed, his slim legs hooked around Adam’s stupid waist—

Shit.

When his soulflower began to burn that evening, yearning for water, Kojiro refused it.

He didn’t tell Kaoru he’d seen them, tucked away under a bridge he later avoided, and Kaoru never asked about his soulflower to find out that he’d left it to wilt.

Because he thought, if Kaoru had found his soulmate, then there was no point in caring for his own. He didn’t care. 

Not if they weren’t Kaoru.

The coughing started when he was in Italy. 

At first it was only a tickle, a presumed over the top reaction to some spice he was experimenting with in the kitchen that afternoon. 

Then he thought it was some form of a cold, when it persisted and got worse over the span of a couple days.

On the seventh day, after calling in sick, Kojiro found himself hacking into the toilet bowl, a vice grip on the ceramic as his eyes watered; the hacking stopped eventually, and after he blinked the tears away he saw a single, sakura petal floating in the water. His skin felt like magma and his eyes stung like all hell, but the tickle in his throat was gone.

But that begged the question; how did the petal end up in his lungs in the first place?

When it didn’t happen again he simply shrugged it off as a fluke and got back to work. He perfected his carbonara recipe and he worked on his lasagne, because apparently the layers were too thin, and he forgot about it.

Until it happened again two weeks later.

Except the tickle lasted two days, he coughed relentlessly on the third, and was hacking on the fourth. 

This time, twin petals floated in front of him, taunting. 

It was then, sobbing over the toilet from the pain in his throat, that he remembered his mother’s story; “Unrequited love is what causes hanahaki; people will chase after someone who doesn’t want them and their soulmate pays the price. They pay the price of eternal loneliness.”

Hanahaki. 

Kojiro scowled as he flushed the toilet, pink swirling around and down until it was gone again, and snatched his phone out of his pocket, already calling the doctors before he could doubt himself.

“Hanahaki.” The doctor had sighed, squinting at the scan over his glasses as Kojiro shifted uncomfortably in his seat, awaiting his prognosis. He then sighed again and leaned back in his chair, spinning to face Kojiro with an almost sad look. “We don’t… well we don’t see a lot of it these days, people often want to find their soulmate.”

“Yeah,” Kojiro murmured back, watching his doctor’s pointed look across the way. 

“You don’t?” He asked, clicking his pen, and Kojiro just shook his head, kneading his hands in his lap. “If you don’t mind me asking, is there a reason why?”

“Because, if they’re not him then I don’t— I won’t be able to love them more than I love him.” 

“Have you considered that he could be your soulmate?” The doctor responded seriously, and Kojiro couldn’t hold back his scoff, rolling his eyes.

“No, he found his years ago,” Kojiro spat, hating that Kaoru had to be tied to someone who was intrinsically the worst for him; Adam had changed for the worst, Kojiro was just glad Kaoru hadn’t. “And I know— I don’t want to put them through that.”

“So you’d rather them choke?” He continued, and this was starting to feel less and less like a doctor’s appointment by the minute. The man seemed to realise this, sighing and turning back to his scan with that same frown he adorned before. “We can give you some medication to dissolve the petals before they reach your airways, but those will only work for a couple years, after that… the best treatment would be to find them.”

“But I don’t—“

“That’s not my point, Signor.” He interrupted, holding up a placating hand that had Kojiro falling back into his seat with a frown. “You don’t have to be with them, you just need to ask them to keep you alive; that is their responsibility, after all.”

And, he supposed, that made sense.

But what if he did love them?

What if he forgot his love for Kaoru? Or it became null? 

What if he never saw him again?

“Signor Nanjo, with all due respect,” the doctor started, placing a reassuring hand on his bouncing knee, trying and failing to stop his spiralling, “There’s no need to stress. The soulflower is never wrong, it’s a reflection of your subconscious love, it can be a rather selfish thing, if you let it,” he patted his leg again and stood back up, waving a hand to the exit in place of asking Kojiro to follow him out, “It will work out in the end, I promise.”

One of the first things Kojiro did when he got back from Italy was head to the pharmacy and hand them the prescription note from his doctor, ignoring the familiar pitying look as they headed to the back to fetch it.

Key phrase: one of.

Seeing Kaoru sadly came afterwards, after taking his medication, after waiting for it to kick in. He didn’t want Kaoru to see him suffering, no one deserved that, let alone the love of his life.

Unsurprisingly, he found Kaoru first try; skating the ramp at their local skatepark, a mask up and over the bottom half of his face, gloves covering his lower arms to protect his precious, artist hands from damage. As the moon illuminated his carnation hair, as the curve of his nose sharpened, and as his golden eyes shimmered like the ocean behind him, Kojiro wondered how he could ever love anyone more.

Even in his absence, Kaoru continued to be everything Kojiro failed to be.

He couldn’t help his grin. Whilst Kaoru was middair, Kojiro lifted his hands to his mouth, took a deep breath, and yelled “Pinky!”

And Kaoru bailed.

Kojiro was just glad to be able to pick him right back up again.

There had been a few close calls over the first year being back in Okinawa of Kaoru finding out about his hanahaki. 

He started to wonder if it had been the best idea to hide his illness from Kaoru in the first place, but he knew the difficulties outweighed the consequences if he didn’t; Kaoru would worry, and treat him differently, and never talk about anything related to love again. Not that he did anyway. 

One notable time was an S night. Kaoru had arrived to his home early, in his usual getup but with no makeup or hair done, and a bag slung over his shoulder that he dropped unceremoniously onto his kitchen counter. 

“What’s this?” Kojiro asked with a smirk, continuing to wipe down the side as Kaoru sat down, watching as he opened the bag and started to take out its contents. That night he was dressed in a dark pink kimono, with his hair tied half-up half-down in a way that was reminiscent of their highschool days; Kojiro could’ve sworn his eyes had sparkled that bit brighter, too.

“This,” Kaoru returned, putting the bag on the floor beside his feet and presenting the neatly folded clothes to a very confused Kojiro, “Is my S image.”

“Your what-now?”

The man simply groaned, burying his face in his hands. “S is illegal, yes?”

“… yes?”

“You don’t sound too sure about that.” Kaoru mumbled, but when Kojiro just shrugged he decided to move on, unfolding one of them. “S is illegal, and with my growing public persona I have to go through the extra effort to hide the crimes I commit from people who may report me, so I’ve compiled a number of outfits to try.” 

“Surely they’ll still know it’s you though right?” Kojiro replied, turning and heading to the oven to fetch Kaoru’s dinner, raising his voice a tad to continue, “Sakurayashiki-sensei, I challenge you to a beef. Kind of gives you away, don’t you think?”

“No, that’s why I’ll have a nickname, idiot.” Kaoru scoffed, unfolding a white kimono with pink flowers when Kojiro walked back in, something like a cape accompanying it that had Kojiro smiling. “You go by Joe— which is ridiculous, because people call you Joe anyway—“

“Well I don’t care about being all secretive.” Kojiro interrupted, earning a sharp glare in return. 

“Well I’ve been brainstorming names, ran the numbers through Carla—“

“The numbers?”

“The probabilities of being recognised by said aliases. But I want the name to relate to me, so the probability at no point will be zero. Anywho,” Kaoru continued, unfolding a black garment that looked like a scarf, or a mask maybe? “I think I’ve found it, and… I wanted you to be the first to hear it.” Kaoru finished with a small, genuine smile of his own, and Kojiro felt that same rush he always did, that same overwhelming adoration and love that only served to remind him of the dead branch that curved around his leg. 

“Enlighten me.” Kojiro teased, placing the carbonara and fork down in front of Kaoru between two of the pieces of clothing, the man tucking in before actually saying anything. 

Then, just after he swallowed it, he said, “Cherry Blossom.”

Kojiro gaped.

“Huh?”

And Kaoru furrowed his brows, cocked his head as he usually did when he was confused, or when he was trying to figure out an answer; he used to do it a lot in home-ec, stare at the pan on the stove as if it was some foreign object to decipher. 

“Cherry Blossom?” Kojiro practically squeaked out, coughing and hitting his chest a little in hopes of loosening his vocal chords a tad, Kaoru taking another bite of his food with a look of scrutiny. “That’s uh— where— why that name?”

“Because my name is Sakurayashiki?” Kaoru said, and just when Kojiro went to reply he then said, “And I was born on national cherry blossom day?” And again, “And my hair is literally cherry blossom pink.”

“Ah. Yeah. That, uh, makes sense.” Kojiro managed with another cough, a familiar sensation tickling his throat, Kaoru giving him another weird look.

“Have you got a cold or something?”

“Or something,” Kojiro mumbled, knowing Kaoru heard him but not being too upset about it, coughing again and covering his throat with his fist, turning to head to his bathroom when he felt that familiar urge to— “I’ll be right back.”

“Kojir—“

The kitchen door was slammed shut behind him, and he didn’t even manage to make it to the toilet, the sink falling victim to his flurry of petals and harsh gags, spattered with pink petals that had somehow fought their way past the toxins, a good few dissolved at the edges. The sight of them only made his throat burn that bit more, but a deep breathe and a large gulp of water from the tap helped dull the feeling a little.

Plus, it wasn’t like he could just go to bed and sleep it off, they had S to attend, and Cherry Blossom had to make his debut.

So he took another two tablets, changed into his Joe outfit, and went back out to Kaoru, who, in the time he’d been gone, had miraculously changed into his new clothes and was sat at the counter scrolling his phone. A single glance up from the screen told him everything it needed to, it told him Kaoru was concerned and curious, just as he’d always been; a single shake of his head told Kaoru all he needed to know, it told him he didn’t need to worry, and he shouldn’t pry.

Even if Kojiro had started worrying, his leg stinging despite the dead branch attached, Kaoru didn’t need to worry — Kojiro didn’t want him to worry.

Because if Kaoru worried, then he was sure he would have to do something about it.

As promised, the medication didn’t last.

Even on the medication, Kojiro was coughing up a couple petals a week; which was why it wasn’t shocking when he threw up a flurry of them on the opening night for Sia la Luce. It was just after everyone had left, just after he had a glass of wine and a laugh with his best friend and love of his life, just after he congratulated him at the door and hesitated before leaving, a whirl of beauty in the middle of a summer storm.

He’d closed the restaurant door, sighed, and felt the horrible need to puke his insides up.

That night was also spent death staring soulflower, a dead cherry blossom branch curling around his calf; it hadn’t been watered in years, and Kojiro half believed there was no saving it now.

And then he felt instant guilt.

Because not only was there no saving it, there was no saving them. 

Then again, it wasn’t like they cared about him much either, judging by the coating of cherry blossom petals across his bathroom.

That night, Kojiro passed out in the Sia la Luce bathroom surrounded by achingly familiar flowers, wishing, for once, that the world would be kinder to him.

“How long did you say you’ve had hanahaki?” She’d asked, staring at her computer screen as if it was somehow wrong, squinting at, what Kojiro presumed was, the scan.

“Um, four years?” Three years in Italy, and he’d been back for almost one.

“Even with the added factor of your soulflower being unwatered, the disease is heavily accelerated.” She explained, scooting away from her desk on her moving chair and closer to Kojiro, poking very lightly at the dead branch that clung to him with sone kind of medical tool. Kojiro knew, if she poked beneath his skin, she’d find dead roots diving deep into his veins. “From a medical standpoint, I’d recommend watering your own and finding them—“

“They have made me cough my lungs up for four years!” Kojiro yelled, immediately realising his mistake when the doctor looked up at him in shock, gaping. “Sorry. I just— they don’t care about me, so why should I care about them?”

“You’re killing each other. If you don’t fix this you’ll die within the next five years. At most.” She told him, refusing to sugarcoat it, and Kojiro couldn’t even deny it, shrugging. He knew it was petty, to let his soulmate die simply because he was dying too, but if they’re going down then they go down together, as the saying goes. “Do you have any idea who it could be? Someone you’ve known a while? Someone you love?”

“The person I love found their soulmate years ago,” yet every time he said it, it sounded more and more like a lie, oddly. Maybe it’s because Kaoru never talked about him, maybe because they weren’t together anymore, maybe because the longer he thought about it the more absurd the idea was, that Kaoru would ever love someone so cruel.

But then he remembered the bridge, the hold, the smirk.

“Have they told you that?” She asked, her tone so kind and gentle and Kojiro hated it. And, when he didn’t entertain her, she took her glasses off, fiddled with them in her lap. “We learned about flower symbolism in middle school for a reason, you know.”

Flower symbolism had always been an important part of the education system, they say that your soulflower symbolises your soulmate, and you could always watch your classmates perk up when they heard a certain flower.

Kaoru never had paid extra attention, yet somehow aced every test they’d ever had on it.

“Cherry blossoms, as far as I can recall, don’t symbolise anything specific, they’re actually quite… contradictory.” She explained, as if Kojiro didn’t know this, hadn’t revised it, engrained it into his memory. “My best guess is something the other way around, something contradictory.” She spun a little on her chair then, watching Kojiro curiously. “Maybe your person symbolises cherry blossoms.”

Kojiro wanted to reply. He did, truly.

Which was why he wasn’t sure why he stormed out.

He wasn’t sure why he went straight to Kaoru’s home and let himself in, curled up on his sofa with Carla’s recommended lullaby to help him to rest.

When Kaoru came in, Kojiro wasn’t entirely sure, but what he was sure on was that Kaoru definitely hadn’t tugged a blanket over him and kissed the top of his head, even if he woke up with a warm blanket over himself and the lingering feeling of soft lips on his forehead.

Because Kaoru would never do that.

That was something Kojiro knew for certain.

And that was something Kojiro could definitely, certainly, unquestionably deal with.

✿

It had been a relatively normal, uneventful day.

Kaoru had woken up at nine as usual, coughed his lungs up, taken his medication and painkillers and some herbal cure his sister had made him the other month, and made his morning coffee. He was out of the house for ten in his usual work clothes; he’d gone for his off-white kimono that day, paired with his brown sandals and his usual Carla bracelet, his Carla-infused glasses perched on his nose as he unlocked his state-of-the-art Carla model car, and flicked on the morning news.

Something about a storm in the West, something about a fire downtown, something about a local old lady teaching kids how to use their phones. There was also the expected segment on his own work, detailing a presentation he’d made on Kokusai Street; apparently some big pop idol said how inspiring it had been, and that they were including the phrase in their upcoming song, but Kaoru couldn’t have cared less, turning his regular playlist on with a sigh.

Work had been relatively simple, too.

A meeting in the morning with a new client, who knew exactly what they wanted done, which meant Kaoru could design their work in less than an hour and arrange dates to paint it. Then he had a class to teach, in which he returned some assessed work and spoke individually to his students, detailing their positives and what they needed to work on. Another meeting with a regular, who wasn’t in a great mood but did apologise in advance for it, explaining they had another calligraphy event coming up and would like a presentation from the renowned Sakurayashiki-sensei to kick the day off.

But, just as he was waving them out of the door, Kaoru got a call.

“Carla, who is it?”

“Kyan Reki, Master.”

“Why would Reki be calling at,” he murmured, glancing at the clock with furrowed brows, “Four in the afternoon?”

“I’m unsure, Master. Should I accept the call?”

He couldn’t help his sigh, shutting his studio door and running a tired hand down his face, “I suppose so, it could be an emergency.”

It took all but two seconds for Reki’s voice to come through the Carla projector on his desk, “Uh, hey Cherry!”

“That’s Kaoru to you,” he mumbled back, knowing it didn’t really matter if no one was around, removing his glasses to wipe at the lenses, squinting at the purple blob across from him, “What do you want?”

“I just wondered if you, um, are at the studio?”

Kaoru paused, placing his glasses back on. “I… am.”

“And you’re free for a bit? No meetings or anything?”

“I mean, I usually write in my free time, but I wouldn’t count that,” Kaoru returned, sitting in his desk chair and watching the Carla projection, waiting for it to flicker with Reki’s words, “Why?”

“Um, because I’m a minute down the road?”

“Wh—“

“See you soon!”

And the end call beep went off to signal Reki hanging up, leaving Kaoru in very confused silence. It wasn’t as if the kid had never visited, having come over a couple times in the past weeks to improve his English, but it was odd to do so out of the blue and with no explanation, especially at such an odd time.

He knew that Reki liked dropping by Sia some afternoons after class, Langa in tow, because Kojiro had told him many stories of the happenings, about having to tell them to be quieter or Langa eating so much food they had to get new ingredients in days earlier than usual. Why he wasn’t there, Kaoru wasn’t sure, but he had a sour feeling in his stomach that couldn’t mean anything good.

Either Reki showing up wasn’t anything good or his hanahaki had worsened again.

Because it was due to, he was nearing the eight-year mark afterall, and his doctor did tell him to keep an eye out for the warning signs.

When heads turned to stems.

She’d said to start searching, then. She’d said to tell those he hadn’t that he was dying. She’d said there would be nothing more they could do for him.

Carla buzzed then, alerting Kaoru that she’d let someone onto the premises, so he took another deep breath, a sip of the tea he’d steeped, and watched his studio door open, Reki peeking his head around immediately. Despite the circumstances, Kaoru couldn’t help his small smile, nodding to let him know he could come in before sipping his tea again, watching the boy shut the door and slowly make his way over, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his desk.

He was wearing his usual hoodie design that day, his purple one, with some knee-length jean shorts and his roughed up trainers, a new headband with a yeti design attempting to cover his messy hair. Not to mention the slightly disturbed and guilty look he wore, his usually sparkling eyes dimmed a tad.

“Um, so.” Reki started, hands splayed on his knees as he rocked back and forth, eyes flicking rapidly between Kaoru and the wall behind him.

“… so?”

“I went to Joe’s restaurant after class today,” Reki finally managed out, to which Kaoru just glared at him, urging him to actually say what he came here to say. Because what could possibly be so important that he couldn’t say it over the phone? “And, um, he wasn’t cooking, and his sous chef said he was ill. So I went up to his apartment? To check on him?”

“What’s your point?” Kaoru sighed out, a little concerned that Kojiro was ill and hadn’t bothered to tell him, making a mental reminder to drop by with some essentials later. Soup, medicine, ice packs, warm blankets—

“How long?” Reki finally asked, his syllables almost too fast to understand, Kaoru having to take a moment to process his words to actually hear what he’d said.

“How long has he been ill? Reki I didn’t even know he was—“

“Not like a cold— how long has he had hanahaki?” Reki finally groaned, and Kaoru had to take pause, just blinking at a very annoyed and very upset Reki, his brain halting for a moment. At the mention of the disease, he felt his own throat flare up, his dead and dry sunflower on his hip pushing further into his bloodstream, stinging anew. 

“He… how long… Reki, what—?“

“It was, like, a horror scene! There was blood on more than half of the petals, Cherry! And I think I saw a sprout and—“

“Slow down, will you?” Kaoru interrupted, Reki’s mouth immediately zipping shut, eyes teary and fearful and Kaoru had to fight every instinct in him to do the same. “What… what flowers were they?”

“I— I don’t—?”

“What flowers, Reki.”

For a moment, his only answer was silence, no matter how hard Kaoru glared at him. Then, slowly, Reki reached into his pocket and pulled out a single cherry blossom petal, not a speck of blood damaging the soft pink. Only once the petal was in the palm of Kaoru’s hand, light and lifeless, did Reki speak again.

“How long, Cherry?” He asked, voice cracking again at the end, and he couldn’t find the will to reply, his throat feeling far too scratchy, the taste of blood on the tip of his tongue.

“It—“ Kaoru started, only being met with a harsh, almost evil glare, so he coughed out his nerves (and settled his own bright yellow petals) and managed out a quiet, “Six years.”

“Six—?!” Reki gawked, standing from his seat and resting his hands against the desk, anger and dismay and confusion littering his gaze, “Why would you even—?!”

“I didn’t know!”

“What do you mean you didn’t know?! How!” 

“He— Kojiro’s straight, first of all—“

“Well evidently not!”

“For all we know this might not even be me!”  Kaoru argued, but a raised eyebrow from the boy was all it took for him to deflate, both hands holding his head upright above his desk. “Who am I kidding? I’ve been killing him.”

“You genuinely didn’t know?” Reki asked then, and all Kaoru could do was sigh, letting his hands and head fall, his forehead hitting the table with a bang. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I just don’t understand why— why would he do that to me?”

Reki’s silence only urged him to go on.

“He was the only reason I watered it in the first place! He— I hoped to every god it would be him, but he got back from Italy and he was fine, and I thought I knew because he’d always been so— so adamant about watering his own so why would he ever stop—?” Kaoru cut himself off with a cough, a cough that covered his sob, a cough that gave him an excuse to take a deep breath and wipe the budding tears from his eyes. “Why did he stop?”

“You mean…?”

“I need to talk to him.” Kaoru concluded, standing from his seat on the floor and grabbing his bag, Reki following immediately. “Carla, wipe my calendar for today.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Cherry, you— you’re gonna fix it, right? He won’t die.” Reki almost cried, grabbing the sleeve of his kimono. “He won’t die.”

“With his accelerated condition?” Kaoru mumbled, opening the front door and letting Reki out before locking it behind them, Carla beeping and vibrating on his wrist to let him know. “I’m not sure how long he has left.”

Entering Kojiro’s apartment was just as Reki had said — it was a state.

Cherry blossoms littered the walls and floors and furniture, all bundled up in the kitchen and by his bedroom; not to mention the piles upon piles, likely a failed attempt at sweeping them up. 

“Kojiro?” Kaoru called carefully, holding a bottle of water very tightly as he walked through the apartment, searching for him. His best guess would’ve been the kitchen, if he wasn’t in such a bad state, so he decided to head for his bedroom, finding the door to be closed. A knock on the wood did nothing to elicit a response. “Kojiro? You alive in there?”

A cough. “Go away, Kaoru.” 

So Kaoru opened the door. 

If the living area was bad, his bedroom was horrific. The cherry blossoms were almost filling the room up, and Kaoru found himself practically wading through it to reach the bed, where Kojiro lay with an arm over his face, lying on his side to let the petals flurry down. 

“Hey, Koji.” Kaoru whispered, Kojiro moving his arm to glare at him.

“I told you not to—“

“I’m sorry.”

Kojiro blinked.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry. This,” Kaoru managed out, looking at the battlefield around him before turning back to focus on Kojiro, his garnet eyes dimmed in the lighting. “This is all my fault.”

“What do you—“ Kojiro started, cutting himself off when Kaoru lifted his shirt, uncapping the bottle of water he’d found in his car and pouring half of the contents onto his dead flower, watching it burst back to life on his waist, bright yellow petals lighting up the room a lot more than the pale pink petals ever did. When Kaoru finally looked back at Kojiro, the man was gaping, a hand running down his throat as he stuttered for words. “You— Kaoru—“

And he held out the bottle with a smirk, tilting his head almost teasingly, trying his very best to ignore the death that surrounded them. 

Well, he tried.

But then he was hacking into the corner, bottle still gripped in his hand, Kojiro immediately up and at his side, patting his back to help it out. 

And out came an entire sunflower, its petals dyed red at the edges, its stem long and thick, far too thick, and that sour feeling returned all over again as he hacked and hacked and—

And stopped.

His throat loosened, his chest stopped seizing, and only a single petal floated down after being released from his airways, not a speck of blood in sight.

“—aoru? Kaoru?!” Kojiro was yelling over the ringing in his ears, shaking his shoulders, and soon Kaoru heard the sound of unfamiliar sobs, tears flooding onto his neck where a face was buried. “Kaoru! What’s happening?! Are you—“

Kojiro only stopped talking when lips were pushed against his own, harsh and desperate and loving, and all he could do was push back, an arm around Kaoru’s waist keeping him upright where he was crouched. They only pulled away when Kojiro opted to, standing and bringing Kaoru with him, eyes assessing the damage to his apartment with a hiss.

“How are we going to clean this up?” He asked, and Kaoru somehow managed a scoff, his throat still a little rough but definitely not as bad as it could’ve been; the hand gripped in his own was a welcomed reminder of that. 

“We?” He asked with a smirk, Kojiro gawking at him, “You coughed them up, you deal with them.”

“Wh— that’s so not fair!”

“You stopped watering yours before I did!” Kaoru finally yelled back, unable to stop the genuine anger leaking into his voice, Kojiro hearing it immediately and without issue, immediately sinking in on himself. “So the least you could do is clean up the aftermath.”

“Look, Kaoru—“

“I don’t want to hear your shitty excuses.” He scowled, gripping his hand that bit harder, feeling a little pleased when he winced. “Just tell me why you did it.”

“I saw you.” Kojiro replied, the shock on his face telling Kaoru he didn’t think it would’ve been so easy to admit. 

“Saw me?”

“You and Adam. Under the bridge.” Kojiro clarified, and Kaoru immediately winced, hating the images flashing across his mind at the words. 

He remembered that day.

Adam had said he didn’t care who Kaoru’s soulmate was, that he wanted him anyway, and Kaoru had thought ‘well the only person I want isn’t my soulmate’ and had simply decided to go along with it. Adam had been possessive in those days, before he started resenting him.

“And, I remember thinking, lucky Adam.” Kojiro huffed, running a finger along Kaoru’s knuckle as he looked around, still taking in the state of his bedroom. “I realised I was in love with you that day, and I thought—“

Kaoru didn’t need to hear the end of that sentence to know what Kojiro was going to say. 

So he slapped him across the face.

Hard.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“You seriously thought he was my soulmate?” He squeaked, watching Kojiro only wince further. “Him? Adam?”

“Well—“

“Why wouldn’t you just ask?” Kaoru whisper-shouted, hating how genuinely pissed he was but knowing Kojiro deserved it. “I would’ve told you!”

“No you wouldn’t have, Kaoru!” Kojiro rebutted, pointing a wobbly, accusatory finger at the space between his eyes, “You would’ve avoided the question like the plague!”

“Oh come on—!”

“Why did you stop watering yours then?” Kojiro asked, taking a deep breath before loosening his grip and placing his free hand on Kaoru’s face, his thumb wiping away tears he hadn’t even realised were there. “If you’re so good at not dodging questions.”

“I don’t think—“

“Kaoru.” 

Kojiro raised an eyebrow, Kaoru averted his gaze.

“I realised I was in love with you just before you left for Italy,” Kaoru managed out, keeping his eyes firmly shut to avoid having to look at Kojiro (or the petals that surrounded them), feeling him squeeze his hand in reassurance anyway, “And I knew— thought you were straight, so in my head it was impossible for you to be my soulmate, no matter how much a sunflower represents you.”

“Oh?” Kojiro asked with an audible smirk, “Enlighten me. I failed that class.”

“Happiness, light, pride,” Kaoru listed off, finally opening his eyes to find Kojiro closer than before, garnet eyes sparkling brighter than they had in months, “Many things, really.”

“Is that why you designed me a sun tattoo?” Kojiro pushed, and Kaoru just rolled his eyes, moving to leave the bedroom, to leave the massacre behind. “Oi Pinky, don’t run away from the question again.”

“I’m not running—“

“How did you know I was dying here anyway?” Kojiro asked suddenly, tugging Kaoru to a stop in the middle of the living room; he turned to find furrowed brows and concerned eyes, curiosity burning in them anyway. “How did you know it was me?”

“Reki paid you a visit, assumed cherry blossoms meant they had to be me.”

“I bet he’ll have no issue figuring out his own then.”

“With a snowdrop? I’m surprised he hasn’t figured it out just from the name.”

Kojiro stepped over a rather large pile of petals then before opening the front door, confusion crossing his face being an all too familiar look on him.

Kaoru wanted to kiss it away.

Belatedly, he realised he now could.

“What do they symbolise again?”

“New beginnings, overcoming challenges,” Kaoru started listing off, glad to be in fresh air again and away from the stench of death, breathing the sunset in with a budding smile, “Hope.”

“Oh yeah, easy.”

“Hey, Kojiro?”

“Hm? Yeah?”

And Kaoru took his hand out of Kojiro’s, despite his many complaints, and wrapped them both around the back of his neck, tugging him down into a kiss, only deepening it the moment Kojiro wrapped his hands around his waist. 

They drew back after a moment, Kaoru only a tad breathless as he watched the other, his irises almost invisible with how dilated his pupils were, mouth agape with awe. 

“Don’t ever die without telling me again.” Kaoru finished, Kojiro chuckling before diving down for another kiss.

“I promise, I’ll make sure to water your flower, just in case.”

“Good.”

“And Kaoru?”

“What now?” He asked with a pout, Kojiro just gazing at him for a moment, looking as if he was drinking him in, despite the years he’d already had to do so.

“I love you.” He whispered into the space between them, Kaoru tugging him down into another kiss in a feeble attempt to hide his very flustered face, only causing Kojiro to giggle against his lips.

“I love you too, idiot.”