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Samura held up the purple petal to his nose, sniffing like a dog. No matter how many times Natsuki witnessed Samura using his other sense to glean information, he still couldn’t help feeling weirded out. Not to mention, that very petal between Samura’s fingers came from Natsuki’s body. It seemed like Samura was holding a part of himself and smelling it to no end. Natsuki shivered at the thought. Gross.
“You cold?” Ibuki asked promptly, his awareness about Natsuki’s condition on high alert. After all, the autumn chill had settled in over these past few days.
“I’m fine,” Natsuki brushed his concerns off.
Ibuki had been on high stress mode since yesterday when, during dinner, Natsuki started coughing painfully on the dinner table. What he initially thought was a case of choking turned out to be something else – Natsuki’s coughs came with blood-stained petals. Neither had seen anything like it, and Ibuki immediately called for someone who was knowledgeable about…not medicine, but healing, at least.
“Well,” Ibuki prompted, “what’s the verdict?”
Samura turned to Natsuki, the petal raised between them.
“You said this is a purple petal, yeah? And from the shape of it, I have a feeling it’s a primrose. Ever heard of Hanahaki disease?” To this, Natsuki shook his head. Samura laid the petal carefully down on the blanket. “It’s a rare condition, so rare people think it’s fairytale. But those who know believe it’s rooted from an ancient sorcery afflicting its victims of an illness that makes flowers grow inside their body.”
“What causes it?”
“Unrequited love.”
“Bullshit,” Ibuki scoffed. “Just how many people have unrequited feelings? I would have seen more people coughing up flowers if that’s real.”
“Of course, it’s not just any unrequited love,” Samura shot back. “You know how intense feelings can manifest itself physically in the body? That kind of love, that’s what this disease feeds on. It’s not something that appears in an instant. It’s got to be a feeling one would have been harboring for months, or years. With that said, when the symptoms reach this point, there’s little time left.”
“What do you mean ‘little time left’?” Ibuki asked, his tone wary.
“Before death,” Samura grimly answered. “Natsuki, when did you truly start coughing up petals?”
Natsuki threw a guilty glance at Ibuki. In his defense, he didn’t think it’d be that serious.
“…About two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks—you’ve been hiding this from me for two weeks?!” Ibuki snapped, and he would have lunged at Natsuki if Samura wasn’t quick enough to block his chest with his arm.
“Ibuki.” Samura’s voice was soft but stern, enough to immediately calm Ibuki down. “Now’s not the time. Optimistic outlook, we can still do something about this. The Hanahaki disease is supposed to be cured when the feelings are returned with equal sincerity. So,” he turned to Natsuki then. If Samura wasn’t blind, he would have already known the answer by just seeing the expression on his face. “Who is it?”
Ibuki could see him clearly though, and at that point, he also realized what occurred two weeks ago.
“It’s Uruha,” Ibuki answered on Natsuki’s behalf. He gave Natsuki a moment to deny, in case he got it wrong, but Natsuki only stared back at him with a frown, a hint of red tainting the tips of his ears. “You went to the Shirakai dojo and sparred with him.”
Just then, Natsuki coughed again, two bloody purple primrose petals shooting out of his mouth.
“Does…Uruha know?” Samura asked tentatively. He was a bit slower with this kind of things. He was surprised that Ibuki knew on the fly. Samura’s impression was that it was Uruha who relentlessly chased after Natsuki and sought his friendship. How come it was Natsuki suffering from an unrequited affection?
“No, I’d rather die—”
“Don’t fucking say that.” Ibuki immediately cut him off. “Seiichi, could you get Uruha here as soon as possible?”
“Hold that thought, it’s not that simple.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do we know if…Uruha would return his feelings?”
“He wouldn’t,” Natsuki answered coldly from the bed, making the other two turn to him.
“You’ve asked him?” Ibuki questioned.
“No. I don’t have to. I know how he treats me. I’ve seen how he treats other guys.” His gaze briefly landed on Samura’s unsuspecting face before returning to his brother who caught the quick side-eye. “Especially those that he likes.”
Samura pinched the space between his eyebrows, a frown etched deeply into his forehead. Though he couldn’t see the face Natsuki was making, he felt some kind of animosity aimed towards his way. Was this related to that time Inori mentioned how attached Uruha was to him? But that was before the war, a kid simply admiring his master. A marriage already came fleeting through his life. Two weeks ago...he remembered Uruha excitedly telling him how Kiri did not bully him as much as before. Kiri was a precious person they had in common, and of course the conversation could look intimate for an outsider. Did Natsuki see that? Surely, Uruha had already moved on if he did like him years ago? Not to mention, Samura himself had been entertaining someone else recently…
“Seiichi.” Ibuki’s voice pulled him back to the present situation, the panic in his voice subtle but still palpable to Samura’s sensitive senses. “There must be something else we can do.”
“There is one. It’s very risky, and it’s truly the last option. If Kunishige allows me to use Tobimune for a moment, I can pull off an operation.”
“Operation?” The Misaka brothers asked in unison.
“I cut Natsuki open and take out the roots of the flower growing inside him. This would remove the disease. Before he loses all blood, I heal him with Suzaku's fire.”
“What the hell.”
“You asked me. It’s the only thing I know I can actually do, Ibuki.”
“Might as well suggest taking out his lungs and replacing it with a new one through Suzaku?” Ibuki mockingly asked.
“…You know, you’re onto something,” Samura seriously responded. “Less work, too.”
“Excuse me,” Natsuki interjected, cold sweat forming like bullets on his back as he heard the gruesome plans for this ‘operation’. “I can hear you guys talking.”
“Sorry,” Samura turned to him with a rueful expression, “I know it sounds too gruesome. I’ll have to find out more things about Hanahaki first. Uhm, Ibuki, could you help me look through the Kamunabi library, because, well…” Samura gestured towards his eyes. “Can’t read.”
“Of course. I’m the one who dragged you to this anyway.”
“Great, I’ll meet you tomorrow. I’ll just make some calls.”
“Thanks, Seiichi.”
“Anytime,” he reached out and grabbed Ibuki’s bare shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. “I’ll go ahead now, no need to walk me out. Rest well, Natsuki.”
The Misaka brothers watched as Samura expertly navigated his way out of Natsuki’s room and into the hallways of Ibuki’s place. Both of them knew better than to start talking until they hear the heavy wooden entrance latch close. And when it did, Natsuki wasted no time despite his condition.
“So. You and Samura are hooking up again?” The fact that they were a thing and Natsuki still got jealous over Samura infuriated Natsuki in some way that made him want to annoy Ibuki about it.
“Mind your own business, my dear brother, hm?” Ibuki deflected him at once and threw him a forced smile. He was already too used to Natsuki's antics. “Do as he says. Rest for now. We’ll fix this soon. And right after, I’ll grill you about your ‘unrequited love’ for Uruha.”
Natsuki spent the next three days bedridden, his condition somehow deteriorating exponentially since that first petal came out of his lungs. The window was left open, letting natural light and fresh air come into his room and blow away whatever gloom this fucked up condition of his created. Who the hell dies from falling in love? Seriously. Why did it have to be him of all people? Why did it have to be for Uruha Yoji of all people? He stared at the ceiling hard, trying to make sense of human emotions while the lunch Ibuki brought in over an hour ago remained untouched on the bedside table.
Everyone outside looking in would know that Natsuki had long since despised Uruha’s company, particularly after the latter was granted Kumeyuri. And the same people would also be able to tell anyone who asked that such loathing did not deter the Kumeyuri wielder anyway and would still be caught in the company of the younger Misaka brother if he weren’t with the other Enchanted Blade wielders.
What everyone who knew them thought about it, Natsuki never dared find out. It did take him by surprise that Ibuki immediately knew Uruha was the subject of his unrequited feelings. But they were brothers, even closer than twins, so Ibuki must have known along the way. Uruha probably never had a clue. After all, his attention was always directed towards the older guys, and he would only often seek Natsuki’s company if he was left with no other choice.
A sudden sharp pain cut through Natsuki’s chest, making him squeeze out a handful of painful coughs and primrose petals, leaving his mouth tasting like metal.
“Natsuki! Are you okay?”
Natsuki whipped his head up at the familiar voice and found Uruha peeking from the window with a worried look on his face.
“Why the hell are you here?” He hurriedly reached for the petals that he had just coughed out and snuck it underneath his blanket.
“I’ve heard from Samura-san—”
“Samura told you?”
“No, no! I mean, I heard him talking about it. He was on the phone with Shiba-san the other day saying he needs to talk with Rokuhira-san so he can use Tobimune because you’re gravely injured. He was pretty hushed on the phone, too, so I was thinking it’s not something everyone should know? Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone else. But I was worried so I came and—” Uruha then raised a hand and showed a bag filled with fruits and drinks and whatnot, “—I thought you could use a visit!”
You’re the one who isn’t supposed to know! Natsuki wanted to yell then, but he was too absorbed by the fact that Uruha cared enough to visit. Of course, he always insisted that they were friends, but Natsuki had always thought it was more of lip service rather than sincerity. Before Natsuki could protest, Uruha already jumped through the windowsill and made himself welcome inside Natsuki’s room.
“How did you get in?” Natsuki asked as Uruha walked over to the bedside table and arranged the food he brought on top of it next to the untouched bowl. Ibuki was out of the house today helping Samura arrange the logistics for his ‘operation’.
“I snuck around the back. No big deal. Well, don’t worry, it’s not some normal sorcerer could enter, your place is still pretty secure.”
“Right.” He should remind Ibuki about this sometime soon. Who knew which maniac might be stalking a famous war hero’s home?
“So, what happened to you?” Uruha asked, comfortable sitting on the edge of Natsuki’s bed and facing him, eyeing him from head to toe. His green gaze was even more intense that Natsuki could almost feel the flowers within his lungs flutter at the attention. “You don’t look too bad? And I don’t see any injuries.”
“It’s an internal one,” Natsuki quickly responded. It wasn’t a lie; Uruha didn’t have to know the specifics.
“But Tobimune doesn’t work that way,” Uruha said confidently. Of course, he would know the intricacies of using Tobimune. “It only heals external wounds. Otherwise, Samura-san would have devoted himself going from hospital to hospital and healing everybody in there with Tobimune after the war.”
“Then go away and ask Samura,” Natsuki grunted, the flowers in his chest filling up his lungs as it responded to the fit of jealousy that was bubbling up once again in his heart. Even though he knew that Ibuki and Samura were dating again, he couldn’t help but feel bitter. He held it down with sheer will. He would not cough out petals in front of Uruha today.
“I’ll ask him later,” Uruha shrugged, reached for an orange on the table, and started peeling off its skin. “I don’t know how serious your…internal injury is, but if someone as strong as you had to stay in bed for it, then I understand it’s not something so simple. I trust Samura-san can heal you, so we’ll just have to wait for Rokuhira-san to give the thumbs up for Tobimune. It shouldn’t take that long?” He then offered the newly peeled orange right in front of Natsuki with a smile. “For now, we should make sure you’re eating healthily. You haven’t even touched your lunch.”
“Not in the mood.”
“I thought so, but at least take some fruit?” Uruha insisted, pushing the orange closer to his face.
In the end, Natsuki grabbed it and took a slice into his mouth, the orange still slightly warm from being in Uruha’s hand. The burst of citrus in his mouth immediately washed away the metallic taste of blood from his earlier coughing fit. Fine, maybe the fruit wasn’t a bad idea after all.
“How bad is it though?” Uruha asked as he reached for an apple and took a bite, “For Samura-san to need Tobimune means it’s a last resort kind of thing, right?”
“Let’s just say I’ll die if it doesn’t get treated.”
“DIE?!” Uruha’s jaw widened as much as his eyes, the apple falling from the bed as Uruha let go of it and grabbed Natsuki’s hand instead. “What do you mean? You can’t die!”
“That’s why I’m getting treated! Stop making a big deal out of nothing!” Natsuki quickly pulled his hand away in panic. He hadn’t seen Uruha since their sparring, and the flowers only bloomed after that. Now that Uruha, the object of Natsuki’s unrequited affection, was right in front of him, there was no denying that the flowers inside him were reacting to his presence.
Whether it was a good thing or a bad thing was still unclear, but Natsuki had a foreboding that it would be more detrimental to indulge in these interactions when nothing real would come out from it.
Uruha, on his part, looked visibly distraught at hearing about his condition. His eyes glistened with what seemed to be tears, and his lips puckered into a sorrowful pout.
“You were perfectly healthy the last time we sparred! Did I hit you too badly?” Uruha suddenly lunged forward to reach for Natsuki. “I got a hit on your right rib, right? Was it my fault, after all?”
“Shut up, you’re not that strong!” Natsuki insisted as he pushed Uruha away with his left foot to create the maximum distance possible. His chest started feeling even more stuffed; it wasn’t long before he couldn’t stop his coughs anymore. “I’ll be fine soon enough.”
“What choice do I have but to believe in you?” Uruha sighed as he pushed Natsuki’s foot down back to the bed. “You better recover fast. I don’t even have my sorcery anymore, but the new dojo students are still very lacking. There’s no one else worth sparring against except you.”
These words devoid of anything romantic still coursed through Natsuki’s being, and he could swear he felt the flowers growing even more inside his body.
“Oi, Uruha,” Natsuki called out in a low voice, “Wanna make yourself useful?” Uruha nodded enthusiastically, his eyes widening in anticipation. “Get me a fresh glass of water, will you?”
“Of course! Wait for me!” Uruha promptly stood up and ran outside the room.
His footsteps had not even dissipated when Natsuki finally let himself cough, the hardest and roughest he had let out since the first primrose flowers bloomed. Dozens of small purple petals stained with red came out with each cough, which he promptly wrapped around the tissue roll he had by his bedside table. By the time Uruha returned with the glass of water, he had coughed up all the petals that could be coughed out, and only traces of bloody phlegm remained on what seemed to be the twelfth tissue paper he pulled.
This last one, Uruha saw.
“What the—” Uruha rushed to Natsuki’s side and grabbed his wrist, staring at the bloody tissue in his hand. “How did you get this bad?”
“I don’t know,” Natsuki responded curtly, “Can I have my water now?”
“Right.” Uruha shook off the shock from his head and instantly moved the glass of water towards Natsuki’s mouth. “Here.”
“Now, you’re just overdoing it.” Natsuki grabbed the glass before Uruha could make him drink from it like he was some paralyzed patient. Uruha still looked at him worriedly though, as if drinking on his own might drown him if Uruha looked one second away.
“Can you blame me? I care about you. There’s no one else in my life like you, Natsuki. I don’t want to lose you in any way. I don’t want you to die.”
“Because we’re…friends?”
Uruha stared at him in brief silence, that fleeting moment of nothingness like a fork in the road at which Natsuki stood at the junction. Whatever lay before him on each path were all unknown to him. And yet the choice did not seem to be in his own hands.
“Friends,” Uruha finally said with a small laugh, breaking that fragile illusion of feeling lost. “That’s the first time you called us that. Yes, you’re very important to me because…you’re the first real friend I had.”
“You have other friends, I’m sure.”
“That’s…the thing. You’re also, in a way, my only friend?” Uruha was still smiling, but now his eyes were tinged with a hint of sadness Natsuki rarely saw in his person. “I’ve devoted most of my teenage years mastering the Iai White Purity Style to the point that I’ve unknowingly pushed away students my age, and they never saw me as a peer again even when I tried to reach out. And then the war happened and even more people put a distance between them and me. Now that I have this status as a hero, it’s even more impossible to try and make new friends. But you—"
“Don’t tell me you see me as a friend because I’m conveniently available,” Natsuki cut him off, feeling that bitter pit churning again inside his stomach.
“That’s not what I’m getting at! Natsuki, do you think of me so vile? You’re my friend because when I’m with you, I don’t have to be a sword master or a role model. I don’t have to be a warrior or even a hero. I’m just me. And I really like that. If I could spend most of my time with you, I probably will. But, hah, that’s such a silly thought, right?” Uruha wiped the edges of his eyes where tears had unknowingly pooled, surprising them both. “I don’t know if it matters but I’ll be really sad if you die, so, please don’t.”
If Natsuki didn’t know better, he would have thought Uruha was confessing to him. He was not that foolish, though. And this was exactly why he’s suffering from such a one-of-a-kind disease. Uruha said what he meant and that was that.
“I’m trying not to.”
Without warning, Uruha jumped into the bed and smothered Natsuki in an embrace so tight it almost made Natsuki cough up flowers again if he hadn’t just emptied his lungs moments ago.
“Okay, I believe you. I believe in Samura-san.” Uruha then pulled away, looked at Natsuki’s face intently, then nodded as if to further reassure Natsuki. “You’ll be fine in no time.”
Uruha stayed for a few more hours as he found a movie to load in the rarely used disc player on Natsuki’s room and watching it in his old television. By the time the movie reached its halfway mark, Uruha was lightly snoring, comfortably snuggled next to Natsuki on the bed. Natsuki stared at this sleeping face, the movie a blur of noise in this moment where the distance between him and Uruha had never been closer, both their bodies and their hearts.
It would have been perfectly fine to remain friends, why did Natsuki fall for this fool?
There was no denying that he truly hated Uruha’s guts in the early days of the war, especially after Uruha was granted Kumeyuri. He couldn’t completely shake him off from his life though, since Ibuki was also an Enchanted Blade wielder, and those chosen ones tended to hang together if they were not deployed on the field. By association, Natsuki was there, too – the only other person around Uruha’s age whom he could spend time with. Even though the Sword Saint, Soga Akemura, was around the same age as them, the difference in skills just created a gap too wide to fill.
And then Natsuki saw Uruha on the battlefield, and that was when it all began to crumble. Who was he but an admirer of the strong? Uruha was strong, with and without Kumeyuri, and despite all the misgivings Natsuki held against him, he couldn’t deny that. Still, he pushed down that admiration in another corner of his heart and buried it with spite – above anything else, he must become better than Uruha.
But hidden things couldn’t be hidden forever.
Once the Enchanted Blades were surrendered after the war, Uruha became just another swordsman. He visited Ibuki at home, giving his older brother grace meant for an honorable warrior even though Ibuki had declared retirement from the way of the sword for the rest of his life. At times, Natsuki would catch him at the dojo babysitting Shirakai Itsuo’s grandchild, getting a glimpse of another side of Uruha that he never witnessed on the battlefield. Uruha also kept up his trainings in fear of losing his touch, never relying on his old title as an Enchanted Blade wielder alone. Compassionate. Diligent. Strong.
What’s not to like when he had long been drawn into Uruha, anyway?
Natsuki placed a hand over his chest, feeling flowers bloom again inside of him in response to the warm presence sleeping next to him. He was utterly hopeless.
“Oi.” He nudged Uruha’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
Before he started flooding the room with flowers again, this one needed to leave.
“Hmm?” Uruha groggily asked, his green eyes peeking through the thin slits of his sleepy eyes.
“Do you not plan on going back to the dojo?”
“The dojo!” Uruha suddenly sat up, eyes wide and hair messy. From this distance, Natsuki could even see a small line of drool at the corner of his lips. “I’m on dinner duty tonight. Shirakai-sensei is gonna kill me. I gotta go.” He scrambled to the other side of the bed, crawling all over Natsuki’s legs, and rushed to the window where he came through. But before jumping over, he threw one last glance at Natsuki. “By the way, do you know what primrose flowers mean?”
Natsuki’s body grew cold. “No. Why do you ask?”
“I noticed some primrose underneath your blanket earlier, I just remembered.” He then produced a flattened flower from his pocket, much to Natsuki’s horror. Fortunately, it wasn’t one with much blood stain. “This is a spring flower. The dojo grows a bunch of them in the garden. I was just surprised to see it here this season.”
“Well, what does it mean?”
Uruha smiled and met Natsuki’s eyes. “First love.”
“I have good news and bad news.” Samura started as they walked out to the garden protected by a barrier made by Shiba Togo himself. With Tobimune out in the open, they wanted to ensure the most efficient protection without drawing much attention to themselves. “And no, you don’t have a choice which I say first. The good news is, I don’t have to cut you down anymore. We’re saving ourselves a lot of mess here. Suzaku’s fire should be enough to burn through the primrose that grew within you up to the roots. Not a spot will be missed.”
“That’s a relief,” Natsuki replied as he rubbed circles over his chest, truly feeling one of the loads weighing him down feel lighter. Nobody in their right mind would ever accept just being cut down. “What’s the bad news then?”
“It’s not so straightforward. As long as every bit of the root is removed, then the disease won’t come back. But remember, the plant took roots in your feelings. Based on the little records we found, those who survived this type of operation were completely cut off from their emotions. The results varied significantly – some only forgot their feelings for the person they loved, some even forgot the object of their unrequited feelings, and some totally became heartless. I can’t assure you which of this will be your case, or if something else will happen. But at the very least, you won’t have to die.”
Natsuki breathed deeply, the air rustling the flowers and stems that have grown in his lungs. If worse comes to worst, he might even forget that he had a brother he cared for. Was the risk really worth it?
“We’ve tried hard looking for an alternative, Natsuki,” Ibuki explained, grabbing both of Natsuki’s shoulders and squeezing tight. “Only Seiichi could pull this off. I’d prefer it if nothing changes, but there’s no reality where I’d let you die. Let’s…just burn the bridge when we get there. For now, our top priority is to cure you.”
“Then again, I feel the need to remind you that this is not your last option.” Samura raised Tobimune from its sheath, the jet-black blade glinting in the daylight. “I can bring Uruha here in a snap, you can still confess to him?”
The image of Uruha on the windowsill with a primrose on his hand resurfaced in Natsuki’s mind. First love. What a tragically ironic thing, to suffer from such life-threatening disease on one’s first attempt at love. Was it retribution for loathing Uruha even before knowing him completely? Or was it just simply him being weak? After all, his brother had always said if one showed any sign of weakness, they were sure to face defeat.
The matter of fact was that Natsuki lost once already.
“And we still burn away the flowers if he says no, right?” Natsuki asked to make sure.
“You might even forget the embarrassment of getting rejected,” Samura added. “Isn’t it ideal?”
What’s there to lose at this point? Heaving a painful sigh, Natsuki crouched on the ground and hung his head, facing up at the sky.
“Fine. I’ll confess.”
Samura disappeared with a gust of wind, barely leaving any mark on the ground. Tobimune’s Crow had been a useful tactical skill during the war. It was quite comical seeing it being used in mending matters about love. Natsuki coughed a couple more times, blood-stained primrose petals falling on the ground one after another. Ibuki was quick to rub circles against his back. Though it did not soothe the pain, it gave Natsuki comfort to know his brother was right here.
“Will you need me to be around when you…confess?”
“Oh god, please no,” Natsuki groaned, clutching his stomach in anxiety. He did not need to rely on Ibuki that much.
“Okay, okay, cool.”
In a matter of seconds, a black crow feather floated in front of them, then Samura reappeared with Uruha in tow. Natsuki looked up from where he was sitting and met Uruha’s gaze.
“Seiichi,” Ibuki stood up, giving Natsuki one final pat on the back before walking towards Samura, “shall we go inside in the meantime?”
“Yeah, of course. You two,” Samura addressed the younger ones, “I hope you can be honest to yourselves.”
It wasn’t until Natsuki could barely hear their footsteps that he stood up from the ground and faced Uruha, took a deep breath, and steeled his heart.
“How much do you know?” Natsuki began. “About my condition.”
“Nothing outside of what you’ve told me,” Uruha answered. “But Samura-san said I can help. I came along without asking anything else.”
Natsuki looked at Uruha’s sincere expression and felt his heart ache. It seemed like Uruha would do anything if it meant it could save Natsuki. Natsuki could tell him the truth behind his sickness – I am in love with you and I will die because you don’t love me back. Can you sincerely fall in love with me within the next few days, so I don’t have to risk losing my heart, what makes me human?
Nothing but cruelty. He couldn’t put Uruha through that.
“I know we started off in bad terms…well, on my side mostly. I hated you and yet you kept wanting to be my friend. Something’s seriously wrong with your head for this one.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to be your friend? You’re the coolest guy my age that I know.”
“Whatever. That wasn’t the point I was trying to make,” Natsuki scratched at his head, trying to piece together the right words to say. He had never been in such situation where he was baring his heart open for scrutiny. Not even Ibuki had demanded this level of honesty from him. Though there was a fix-all remedy waiting at the end, Natsuki still didn’t want to fuck this up. Even if it meant being rejected. Let his one last moment pouring his heart out be completely real. “The truth is I must have always admired you from the very start. You’re a prodigy. You’re strong. You move through the battlefield like a graceful storm. At such young age, everyone else knew who you were. I looked up to that identity of you.
“Even though you took the spot I believed to be rightfully mine next to my brother, I can’t deny that you deserved it. Seeing you fight had always left me in awe. I could never match up to that, not without an Enchanted Blade. Make no mistake, I still think I can be better than you. But we really can’t decisively conclude that now, can we?” Natsuki rubbed a hand over his chest, feeling the primrose stems pressing against the walls of his lungs. Just a little longer. “I hated you, yes. And I liked you.”
Uruha’s eyes widened at these words, but he did not utter a single thing, letting Natsuki continue.
“And now, the war is over. You’re stripped off the Enchanted Blades. My brother’s back with me, and even though he doesn’t want to fight anymore, it’s better than not having him at all. Everything that made me hate you, gone. What remains is that I still like you.”
“What even is there to like about me?” Uruha let out a small laugh – not to mock Natsuki, but something akin to self-pity. Despite the way he looked and acted most times, he didn’t seem to be dense at all when it came to matters of the heart. “There are far better swordsmen out there than me. Even I am still trying to catch up to someone else.”
“That doesn’t seem to matter.”
Uruha’s expression wavered. “Aren’t we good friends? Is that not enough?”
These two questions triggered another painful flare inside Natsuki’s chest. It was as if he could feel the plant itself growing out of his lungs and into his airways. Not much time left.
“You said you wanted to help me, right?” To this, Uruha nodded. Natsuki took a labored breath and closed the distance between them until they were only a foot apart. “Then I want you to be completely honest. With me, with yourself. Is there a place in your heart for me where I’m not just your friend?”
Uruha went quiet, biting on his lower lip, seemingly not trusting himself to speak so quickly. He stared at Natsuki’s haggard look, the trace of blood at the corner of his mouth, the hand he held over his chest as if something so heavy threatened to spill out. Natsuki was suffering, that Uruha could tell. Uruha wished he could do more, but Natsuki only asked him to be honest. So simple, and yet, so difficult.
“Inori-san and Samura-san used to be friends, you know, before they got married,” Uruha found himself saying instead. “She used to come by the dojo a lot with food before the war. But after the divorce, I’ve never heard Samura-san talk about her. I haven’t seen her in years.” Uruha looked up and met Natsuki’s gaze. “You’re my only friend. What if we take it a step further and do something wrong, what if I lose you in a similar regard?”
“It’s not about the what-ifs, Uruha. The only thing that matters is what it is that you’re feeling right now.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Don’t you know? My brother and Samura are going out again.”
“…Huh?”
“They had a thing…during the war. Didn’t really turn into anything serious, then Samura got married. Now that he’s divorced, it seems to me like they’re taking a second chance at each other.” The absurdity of Samura being both their point of reference finally dawned on him, and it made Natsuki want to hit himself on the forehead. Too late to take it back now, though. He grabbed Uruha by the shoulders and held his gaze. “Look. Samura might not be the most ideal example for us here, but what I’m trying to say is, why does it matter if we might fall out in the future? Why worry about what hasn’t happened? If we’re truly friends, then as long as we’re alive, we’ll also have infinite chances. Just like them. Is that not right?”
Realization seemed to dawn in those green eyes, his mouth turning up into a smile devoid of any worry or doubt. Uruha reached for Natsuki’s face, his thumb wiping away the blood that stained the corner of his lips. Natsuki seemed to freeze under his touch, but neither of them shied away from the contact.
“You’re right,” Uruha said softly, “I shouldn’t have had any reason to fear from the very start.”
Before Natsuki could react, Uruha already closed the distance between them, capturing his mouth in an awkward but sincere kiss. Uruha’s lips landed just on the corner of his mouth where his piercings were, the slight difference in their heights limiting Uruha’s reach. But it was all the confirmation Natsuki needed. Almost instantly, the tightness in his chest dissipated bit by bit, his airways cleared, and by the time Uruha stepped back with his cheeks flushed red, Natsuki could finally breathe freely. The root still held somewhere in his lungs, he could feel it fighting for its life, but Natsuki was also certain it wouldn’t be there for long.
“This is me being completely honest. To you and to myself,” Uruha began, his hand still cupping the side of Natsuki’s face, the other clutching the hem of Natsuki’s shirt. He wouldn’t let go now, and he didn’t plan to let go ever. Uruha would never know it until many years later, but his next three words would save Natsuki’s life: “I like you.”