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Kojiro isn’t exactly surprised when he coughs up the first petal.
It’s not that he was expecting it, exactly, but he and Kaoru have been so intertwined for their entire lives, the idea that Kojiro’s feelings for him are literally growing inside his lungs isn’t too far of a leap.
And besides, Kaoru had always made Kojiro’s chest feel a little tight. Or, maybe not always, but Kojiro doesn’t know when exactly his feelings changed. He’s sure there was a time when his emotions were simpler–the warring desire to get away from Kaoru and be as close to him as possible, probably. But, for as long as he can remember, he’s had this tight, complex ball of Kaoru that won’t dislodge, even if he wanted it to.
He had never bothered to examine those feelings, though. In Kojiro’s opinion, there was never any point. Regardless of what he really felt for Kaoru, he would always be his best friend and his worst enemy; the stuff in between didn’t matter.
That is, until Adam joins their lives. When he first appeared, Kojiro had felt just as enamored as Kaoru did, he’s certain. But somewhere down the line, Kojiro stopped feeling like a part of the team, and started to think of himself as the third wheel.
Which was fine. They never talked about it, never breached the subject of the careful bubble of intimacy Adam had crafted around the two of them. Kojiro didn’t care. He was sure Kaoru would tell him if things changed, if his relationship with Adam turned from a vague mix of emotions into something tangible. And Kojiro was sure he would feel nothing except some minor irritation at having to watch all of their sappy nonsense.
It’s fine, until it isn’t. Because, one day, when they’re taking a break under a tunnel, he watches Adam run a hand down Kaoru’s back, tenderly, and Kojiro realizes in an instant that, maybe, Kaoru has been hiding some things from him.
Something rises in his chest, and then Kojiro is coughing it up and spitting it out into his hand. A single, perfectly pink cherry petal sits in the center of his palm, the same color as Kaoru’s hair.
His first thought is, Oh, I’m in love. His second: I just got my heart broken.
And Kaoru doesn’t look back to see the flower in Kojiro’s hand, for he’s too distracted looking at Adam.
***
“Joe” is born in the wake of the creation of S. Adam tells them (tells Kaoru, really) that if they want to run an illegal skating course, they’ll need aliases. Kojiro’s is easy enough to come up with–he’s been given the nickname Jo for most of his life, and it’s a simple matter to switch the spelling from kanji to English.
Kaoru is much more picky, as is usually his way. He wants something sleek, something easily identifiable, but he doesn’t want a nickname. The idea that someone could guess who he actually is appalls him, and he chastises Kojiro incessantly for the name he picks–which makes Kojiro double-down, of course.
Adam is absolutely no help. All of his suggestions seem to be entirely based in classical literature, and, although Kaoru promises sweetly that he’ll read whatever Adam asks him too, Kojiro can see it in his face that he finds the idea pointless.
Kojiro, because he’s apparently a masochist, is the one to throw out the idea. “What about Cherry Blossom?”
Kaoru shoots him a questioning glance, a single eyebrow raised in something very close to judgement.
Kojiro scrambles to explain himself. “I-I mean, ‘sakura’ is literally in your name, but if you put it in English, it’s not really a nickname, yeah? And, well, your hair is pink, so…” Plus, I cough up cherry blossom petals when I think about you for too long he does not say.
Kaoru purses his lips, considering. Kojiro is sure he’s about to tear the name to shreds, to call Kojiro an idiot for suggesting a flower of all things, but he’s proven wrong.
Kaoru nods once. “Yes, I like that. Although I’m shocked an ape like you managed to think long enough to come up with it.” Despite the insult (or perhaps because of it), Kojiro feels something bright swell in his chest, and he has to turn away and cough up petals into his hand.
Adam is looking at him appraisingly when he turns back. Kojiro ignores him, shoving the petals into his pocket, and very carefully not thinking about the knowing glint in Adam’s eyes.
***
It gets worse, but it doesn’t always feel like it. Every time he sees Adam and Kaoru together, something jealous curls inside his chest. He watches Adam crack a joke and Kaoru breaks out into peals of laughter, and he savors the taste of sakura on his tongue.
But sometimes, when he’s alone with Kaoru–during class or after school before Adam joins them–sometimes he really feels worse about that. When he’s the one to make Kaoru laugh, and he has to hide the flowers he’s spitting into his hand, Kojiro has no anger or jealousy to hide behind. Just the bitter pang of losing something before he ever had the chance to really have it.
There’s an ebb and flow to it, though. Kojiro has heard so many different things about being in love–people who have told him it’s the best, worst, most important, or most pointless experience he’ll ever have in his life. Grand fairytales which describe the emotion like floating on a cloud, and cynical dramas that paint a picture of a dagger through the heart.
Kojiro finds it is none of those things, at least not consistently. There’s no telling how he’ll feel about being in love from moment to moment, and the illness is equally unpredictable for that reason.
He thinks he’s supposed to regret being in love with Kaoru–regret he feels so strongly for someone who will never love him back that it’s killing him slowly–but he doesn’t. That’s the only thing that stays the same; Kojiro can’t bring himself to regret feeling anything for Kaoru. After all, Kaoru has been one of the most important fixtures in Kojiro’s life, and Kojiro sometimes thinks, late at night when he can’t block the dark thoughts out, he might as well be the reason for his death too.
So he makes peace with it, or tries to, at least. He resigns himself to being Kaoru and Adam’s third wheel and pretends he isn’t jealous, steadfastly refusing to think about the time they must spend alone, without Kojiro around. He tells himself all he really wants is for Kaoru to be happy, which is true enough, and feels only a little vindicated when Adam starts to go off the deep end and Kaoru stops being happy.
And then, in a whirlwind of resentment and crushed dreams, Adam is on a plane to America, and Kaoru puts on a mask of vitriol and spite to hide the grief. He starts breaking things–windows, opponents, himself. He snipes and jabs and argues with so much more force than Kojiro has ever seen out of him. He screams, making his voice hoarse and dry over even the smallest thing setting him off.
Kojiro is, inevitably, in the line of fire for many of Kaoru’s outbursts, and he ends most days with Kaoru’s acerbic comments swirling through his head like a dark cloud. But he can’t bring himself to abandon Kaoru, not at a time like this. He worries that, if Kaoru isn’t busy laying in on Kojiro, he’ll start in on himself instead, and Kojiro can’t have that. If bearing the brunt of Kaoru’s hatred means stopping him from self-immolation, then it’s a decision Kojiro’s willing to make.
But, sometimes, Kaoru softens. He leans heavily on Kojiro’s shoulder after a particularly nasty argument, or climbs into Kojiro’s bed and curls around him when they’re having a sleepover. Kaoru has always been a tactile person–he’s terrible with words and trips over acts of kindness, but his affection spills out through the constant skin-to-skin contact he demands.
But, beyond that, Kojiro realizes he means it as an apology, like Kaoru is begging for forgiveness for hurting him. Kojiro knows that Kaoru craves the reassurance that he’ll stay with him in spite of his jagged edges, but he would knock Kojiro’s teeth out if he ever tried to discuss it out loud. So, Kojiro plays by his rules, always saying one thing with his words and an entirely different one with his actions, and he thinks Kaoru gets the message.
A small, terrible part of Kojiro feels happy whenever Kaoru seeks him out for that physical affection because, even though Kaoru is going through one of the darkest periods of his life, it’s a reminder that he trusts Kojiro so much more than he could ever trust anyone else, especially Adam. Every time that feeling comes around, Kojiro is sure to be coughing up flowers not long after.
Kojiro knows he should tell someone about his disease–his parents, a doctor, Kaoru himself, even–but he doesn’t. Maybe the roots growing in his lungs will kill him one day. But Kojiro knows what will happen if he tells someone, and he doesn’t want to get surgery. He’s read about the operation before, knows the potential side effect of his feelings for Kaoru turning to complete apathy, and he can’t risk that. Not when losing Kaoru might as well be the same thing as ripping out his own heart.
So he says nothing, and stays by Kaoru’s side, supporting him as he tries to get over Adam. All the while, the roots dig deeper.
***
Italy helps. Leaving the country to pursue his passion was a hard decision to come to, but Kojiro can’t bring himself to regret it too much, even as his homesickness for Okinawa increases by the day.
The distance lets him breathe a little easier. He still talks to Kaoru all the time, of course, still texts him memes at random hours of the day and calls him whenever he gets the chance. But at least he can’t feel Kaoru’s warmth against his side, or smell his floral shampoo. At least, across the world, Kojiro can pretend the reason he can’t kiss Kaoru, can’t hold him like he wants to, is because of the distance.
And he discovers one other distraction that helps–women. Kojiro had never even considered it in Japan, always so wrapped up in Kaoru, Kaoru, Kaoru. But at his university, there are any number of beautiful, clever women who are looking for a night of fun.
Kojiro likes it. He can never bring himself to find a permanent girlfriend, not even with the women he actually enjoys the conversation of, but casual hookups are enough to quell the ache in his chest for a few hours.
He tries men a couple of times, but quickly discovers how much easier it is to close his eyes and pretend it’s Kaoru beneath him, and he gives up on that. It’s better if, when he thinks of Kaoru in those moments, he can run his hand along the soft edges of a girl, just to remind his traitorous mind that dreaming will get him nothing except some flowers.
It doesn’t always work, and with some girls–the ones who Kojiro really likes, who bite back at his flirting–he finds himself swallowing down petals more than once. He gets lucky, for the most part, in that he can hide his illness well enough.
Once, however, there’s a girl with pink hair. It’s artificially dyed, and more neon than Kaoru’s, but it’s close enough that Kojiro can’t stop thinking about the similarity. In the end, he has to rush to her bathroom and kneel down in front of her toilet before either of them even has the chance to get fully undressed.
She sits behind him and rubs his back, and Kojiro feels mortified, but also beyond grateful that this near stranger is bothering with him at all.
Once he’s finished, he leans against the cool porcelain of the seat and breathes slowly, trying to stop the tears streaming down his face. She’s still there, although Kojiro imagines she’ll probably kick him out of her apartment the moment he’s well enough to go, which is fair. It occurs to him this is the first person who has ever found out about his illness. He doesn’t know how he feels about that.
Finally, she breaks the silence. “Who is it?” It’s a reasonable question, considering he just entirely ruined the mood by thinking about someone else so hard that he coughed up flowers. Kojiro smiles a little.
“You wouldn’t know him. He’s back in Japan.” He can’t see her face, but he imagines it’s pitying. He doesn’t mind. Sometimes he needs a little pity.
Kojiro gathers his things and leaves not long after. The girl offers him the couch, but he insists that he’s inconvenienced her enough already. He offers to buy her dinner as an apology, but she shakes her head and tells him that she’s had worse hookups. They don’t see each other again after that.
He’s more careful from then on. Anyone who reminds him of Kaoru, even a little bit, is out of the question. Kojiro picks the girls who are as different from Kaoru as possible–no facial piercings, no sharp wit, and absolutely no pink hair. It doesn’t always work, and sometimes he still finds himself thinking of Kaoru when he’s with a girl who is nothing like him, but Kojiro supposes that’s an inevitable side effect of being desperately in love.
He doesn’t tell Kaoru about his sex life, although he’ll have to eventually. He doesn’t want to know how Kaoru will react when he finds out just how much Kojiro has been sleeping around, doesn’t want to see the extent to which he simply doesn’t care.
But the distance is still good–it still helps. Even when it makes Kojiro feel like he’s drowning.
***
He doesn’t start coughing up blood until long after he’s returned to Japan.
Kojiro had considered, briefly, trying to stay in Italy and start his restaurant there. But his parents were entirely opposed to the idea and, more importantly, Kaoru had yelled at him when he suggested it. So, it had to be Okinawa.
Being home after so many years is…strange. Of course, he had visited for holidays or whenever his school gave him a break, but it was never for more than a few weeks. And Kaoru rarely came home from Tokyo, even when their breaks did line up, which was for the best.
Kaoru still has half a semester to go when Kojiro arrives in Okinawa, so he has time to acclimate himself and find a job before he’s thrust back into their relationship full force. He misses Italy, but in most ways, it’s nice to be back, and it’s definitely nice to find S thriving after all his years away.
But it can’t last forever, and eventually, Kaoru comes home as well. Kojiro is surprised by his new appearance initially–he hadn’t known Kaoru had removed his piercings and traded out his contacts for glasses in his four years away. It suits him.
Of course, Kaoru must be surprised by Kojiro’s appearance as well, if his biting comment about the muscles compensating for the lack of brains is anything to go on. Kojiro just laughs, and is silently pleased that Kaoru noticed.
They had both practiced skateboarding plenty during their college years, and easily regain their places as the best skaters in S, along with acquiring fanbases from the mystique of being original founders. Which is fine, great even, and Kojiro feels incredibly flattered to see the girls who come exclusively to watch him skate.
Plus, having a bunch of girls around who want to sleep with him isn’t the worst thing in the world, and Kojiro is willing to indulge them on occasion.
But there’s a problem with this practice–a pink haired, newly bespectacled problem. It was easy to hide what he was doing behind closed doors when he was in an entirely different country, but there’s no way Kojiro can go home with a different girl nearly every night without Kaoru noticing. The thought of having a conversation about it fills him with a special kind of dread.
He decides not to say anything, to leave the ball in Kaoru’s court. If he wants to bring it up, then Kojiro will just take it in stride.
That’s his plan, anyways, but Kojiro has never been great at following instructions.
They’re at a bar, just getting a little tipsy before going up to S. Neither of them have races that night, and they’re young and dumb enough that they don’t flinch at the idea of driving up the mountain a bit inebriated.
The bartender is a pretty thing, probably two or three years older than them, with bleached hair she has pulled into a loose bun. Kojiro gives her a wink when they order, and finds her number on his napkin. He thinks he might even give her a call.
Kaoru releases a huff of air when he sees it, and Kojiro can’t help himself.
“Jealous, pinky?” he teases with a grin.
Kaoru narrows his eyes, setting his cocktail (something appalling sweet) down with a gentle clink. “Jealous of you throwing yourself at every woman who breathes in your direction? Desperation isn’t exactly a good look, gorilla.”
The insult zips through him, setting his blood to a simmer. “Oh, I haven’t had to do any throwing, thank you very much. Never had, never will.”
“Beginner’s luck. Not everyone wants to sleep with you, idiot.”
Kojiro lets out a surprised laugh. “You think I’m a beginner?”
Kaoru shoots him an appraising look, and Kojiro suddenly regrets saying anything at all. He wasn’t trying to hide it, but…okay, so he was totally trying to hide it. Kojiro doesn’t need Kaoru having any reason to pick apart his dating life.
The atmosphere around them turns awkward, and Kojiro does his best to keep from looking uncomfortable. Kaoru purses his lips like he’s trying to find something to say, his gaze pinning Kojiro in place.
Eventually–finally–Kaoru breaks the silence. His face is carefully neutral, and Kojiro is worried about what he’s hiding behind it. “You didn’t mention you had any girlfriends in Italy.”
“I didn’t.” Kojiro regrets the words as soon as they come out, and he can see the exact moment that Kaoru catches his meaning, when his face twists with something Kojiro can’t identify. They don’t say much to each other for the rest of the night, and Kojiro leaves S early, feigning illness.
Which isn’t even really a lie, he thinks as he stumbles into his apartment and directly over to the trashcan to cough up a mouthful of cherry blossoms. It takes longer to get them all out than he can ever remember it taking, and his throat is sore by the end of it. He wipes the remnants of tears from his eyes and glances down into the can, only to realize that tonight, for the first time, the soft pink is spotted with red.
The blood looks right to his addled mind. His love isn’t precious and beautiful, and it isn’t delicate. It hurts so goddamn bad, and Kojiro thinks it only fair that he bleeds for it.
***
He goes to a doctor after that. Petals are one thing–blood is another. And Kojiro doesn’t want to drop dead the next time he sees Kaoru because he neglected his health.
The doctor tuts with concern when she hears how long he’s had it, and asks why he’s let it go on for so many years without treatment. She doesn’t seem surprised when he can’t come up with a real answer for that.
She tells him exactly what Kojiro doesn’t want to hear: he should get surgery, sooner rather than later. “The longer it goes on,” she says, “the harder it will be to safely remove all the roots. I would recommend scheduling the operation at your first convenience.”
But Kojiro refuses, and she looks at him sadly, but nonetheless gives him a prescription for something that will help slow the disease's progress and schedules him for a check up in a few weeks.
The pills work–for two years, Kojiro only coughs up flowers every couple weeks, and the blood goes away. He opens his dream restaurant, and finds out Kaoru loves Italian food. He keeps sleeping around, and Kaoru keeps being annoyed about it, which only makes Kojiro do it more because having Kaoru’s attention for any reason is the best thing he could ask for. He never gets around to scheduling the operation, because things are too good for him to ruin them like that.
And then Adam comes back.
Kojiro doesn’t know exactly when he arrives in the country. He knows the man had been running the network of red hats since before Kojiro came home, but he’s fairly confident he was still in America at the time.
But one day, Kojiro and Kaoru pass by an advertisement for “Shindo Ainosuke”, and they both instantly recognize the blue hair and perturbingly red eyes that stare back at them. When Kojiro shoots a glance at Kaoru, it confirms what he had already feared–he isn’t quite as over it as Kojiro had hoped.
Adam doesn’t show up at S for a long time, and when he does it’s with the same dramatic flourish that he does everything else with. Kojiro feels his stomach roil at the sound of his voice, but he chases after Kaoru and challenges Adam to a race all the same.
But Adam leaves without a word to them, and Kojiro is left standing there in front of a crowd, a fuming Kaoru at his side.
Adam ignoring them hurts, is the thing. Not just because Kojiro doesn’t like how desperate for Adam’s attention Kaoru is after all these years. But Kojiro thought of Adam as a friend, even through the end of it, and he had been hoping that, with some time, they would find their way back to that. He had wanted to believe that Adam would figure himself out, and he would be better when they met again.
But Adam, if anything, seems to have gotten worse in his time away, and now he’s avoiding them.
Kojiro doesn’t even bother to pretend it doesn’t hit Kaoru harder than Kojiro has seen in years, because lying won’t do any good–not with the way the sakura increases in numbers every day Adam ignores their demands for a beef. The blood doesn’t come back at least, but Kojiro is sure that the pills can only do so much for so long before it becomes truly urgent. His doctor informs him gravely that, if the disease keeps progressing at the rate it is, he has, at best, three years left.
Kojiro isn’t surprised, exactly, but it’s something of a shock to have an actual timeline to put on a death that, previously, has always felt rather abstract. She asks, again, if he’ll schedule the surgery, and Kojiro considers it for just a moment before shaking his head like always.
She sighs. “I don’t like to suggest this, but have you considered telling the person of your affections? Is there any chance they may return how you feel?”
And Kojiro doesn’t know, because he’s never let himself think about it, never let himself have even a sliver of hope that Kaoru might love him back. Their relationship has always been a complicated mess, wrapped up in feelings obscured by years of history and bickering, and Kojiro allows himself, briefly, to imagine that in the middle of that mess is a love that would save Kojiro from his fate.
But he shakes his head. “I’m not willing to risk that.” And his doctor looks at him so, so sadly, but with so much understanding, and ups his prescription.
Life goes on. Weeks turn into months, which turn into a year, and Kojiro slowly but steadily gets worse. He has to cancel plans, turn down hookups, close the restaurant at irregular hours just to make sure no one sees–he can’t have any of it getting back to Kaoru.
His parents find out, eventually, but they can’t convince him to get surgery any better than his doctor can, and Kojiro knows it will only pain them to talk about it with that in mind. So they don’t, beyond Kojiro making them swear to mention none of it to Kaoru.
Of course, Kaoru still notices something is amiss, because how could he not? He teases and fusses every time Kojiro goes into a coughing fit or has to excuse himself from a room, but Kojiro always tells him the same thing–a persistent cough, not contagious, that the doctors haven’t been able to explain. He’s pretty sure Kaoru doesn’t believe him, and then he knows it for sure when he finds a bottle of cough syrup at the bottom of his birthday present, clearly placed there sarcastically.
Kojiro tries to feel bad. He really, really does, but the idea of telling Kaoru is so much worse than having him fuss over something unknown, even with Kaoru’s concern growing by the day.
“Please,” Kaoru begs one night after a couple glasses of wine. “Please, tell me what’s wrong, Kojiro. I want to help.” His eyes are imploring, his brow pinched with worry. He sounds more earnest than Kojiro can ever remember, and Kojiro’s heart aches.
But he smiles, and tells him there’s nothing to worry about, and then excuses himself to hack up flowers in the back room.
***
When Adam comes back to S more or less full time–but for Langa, never for them–the blood comes back as well.
Kojiro supposes he’s lucky–he got four good years out of the pills before now, and he can’t bring himself to be mad that his time is clearly coming to an end. The clock ticks down every day, and by this point his doctor tells him that it’s too dangerous to get surgery, and the best he can hope for is to get his affairs in order before he’s gone.
(What she really tells him is that, if he wants any chance of living, he needs to tell Kaoru how he feels, but Kojiro has already decided he’ll be taking that secret to the grave. He doesn’t want Kaoru to know the reason behind his death, doesn’t want him to feel the heavy weight of guilt he’s sure to feel.)
If there’s a change in Kojiro’s demeanor when the medication stops working, no one notices. Most of his friends–if three children and a clown with a split personality can be called friends–have only known him for so long, and Kaoru is too distracted by Adam to see anything amiss in Kojiro.
He hides it well enough, he thinks. His skating is still as impeccable as ever, and Kojiro makes sure that Kaoru never spots even a speck of blood on him; he can’t have Kaoru thinking he has tuberculosis or anything like that. When Adam issues the challenge of a tournament, Kojiro signs up right behind Kaoru, because he’ll be nothing if not dedicated to Kaoru until the end.
When Adam hits Kaoru full in the face with his skateboard, Kojiro feels a terrible, swirling mixture of things. He’s worried, of course, and panicked, and rageful. But, deep down, he feels a little spark of relief. Finally, Adam has released Kaoru from all those years of spinning around in circles, trying to find an answer to a problem that had always been so simple.
Adam hadn’t been avoiding them because he was scared. It was because he finds them boring, and there’s nothing more to it.
Maybe, a little pang in Kojiro’s heart says as he rushes to Kaoru, Kaoru will let Adam go now. Maybe he’ll finally see who’s actually been at his side this whole time.
Kojiro tells his heart to shut up, scooping up Kaoru’s horribly limp body and taking him to the hospital.
It gets better from there, though. Reki and Langa get better. Kaoru gets better. Even Adam gets better (although, even with their shaky truce, Kojiro can’t forgive him for what he did to Kaoru). The only person who doesn’t get better is Kojiro himself, who’s coughing up more and more flowers by the day. The fatigue is creeping in, and Kojiro is sure that soon he’ll barely be able to manage five minutes of skateboarding.
Kojiro knows Kaoru sees it, but after all these years Kaoru has learned that Kojiro won’t tell him what’s wrong, even if there is no explaining it away with a persistent cough by now. He doesn’t push it, and Kojiro is in turn grateful and disappointed that Kaoru leaves it be.
Despite his worsening condition, Kojiro keeps going on with life like nothing has happened. He still has things to do. A restaurant to manage. People to look after. He doesn’t have time to worry about it, and it’s not like anyone besides his parents and Kaoru have noticed something is wrong.
He’s wiping down the tables after hours one day when he discovers he was incorrect in that particular regard.
Kaoru had said he was working late, so Kojiro isn’t expecting any guests. Nonetheless, it isn’t uncommon for Reki and Langa, or even Miya, to swing by after the restaurant is closed, so he isn’t shocked when he hears the bell ring above the door.
“We’re closed,” he calls out anyways–it’s good to remind the kids they can’t just walk in whenever they want, even if he’ll never have the heart to turn them away.
The person who responds is, decidedly, not the kids.
“My, my, my Joey, you’ve done quite well for yourself. I’ll have to swing by some time for dinner.” Kojiro straightens up in shock at the voice, barely believing it even as he looks over his shoulder.
For there, standing in the dim lighting of his restaurant, is Adam, looking around in something mockingly similar to admiration.
Kojiro scowls. “What the hell do you want, Adam?”
Adam looks at him and smirks, floating over to an open chair which Kojiro definitely did not give him permission to sit in. Tadashi follows close behind, looking as impassive as he ever does, although Kojiro almost swears he has something apologetic in his eyes.
“Why don’t you bring a bottle of red wine out, Joey dearest? The oldest vintage you’ve got.” Adam drapes himself across the chair, and Kojiro’s irritation doubles in force.
“Like I said, asshole, we’re closed. If you want wine, come during the day and pay for it like everyone else.” Kojiro is gripping the rag tightly in his hand, seriously considering if he should just sock Adam in the face. Adam could probably put up a good fight, if he really wanted to, but it’s more likely that he’ll press charges for assault. Kojiro forces himself to calm down.
Adam smiles sweetly. “Oh, but Joey! I’m worried your restaurant won’t be open for much longer. What with your,” he pauses, giving Kojiro a purposeful onceover, “health.”
Kojiro’s stomach goes cold. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The hanahaki? The thing that makes you cough up all those pretty little flowers? Surely, you didn’t think that was normal.”
“No, I–how did you know about it?” Kojiro is still staring at him in shock. Only four people on the planet know about his disease–or, at least, were supposed to–and none of them would’ve ever told Adam about it. He wonders, briefly, if Adam has been spying on him, before Adam waves a hand with a sigh.
“Oh, you were always so obvious back in the good old days, what with all your coughing fits and longing looks.” Kojiro flushes hot with embarrassment at that. “I don’t quite know when I put it together, but I had my suspicions for a while. It’s not like it was a shock. I mean, you and Cherry were always a little too close for my tastes, but I never cared to try and break you up. What would’ve been fun about that, really?”
“Get to the point, Adam,” Kojiro says, gritting his teeth.
Adam raises an eyebrow, but acquiesces. “Well, suffice it to say that I was shocked to find out you still have the disease all this time later. What has it been, seven years?”
“Eight.”
“Exactly! At some point, you’d think you would’ve dealt with it. But it seems to me,” Adam clicks his tongue, “that you’re only getting worse.”
“And?” Kojiro crosses his arms. “How is that any of your business, Adam?”
Adam’s face goes startlingly serious. “I just wanted to offer you a bit of advice, Kojiro. As an old friend. Don’t let your life go to waste by being stubborn.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, get the hell out of here.” Kojiro shoos him away–he doesn’t want to listen to any “life advice” this sadistic shit has to say to him. Adam appears to want to argue further, but Tadashi lays a careful hand on his shoulder. Adam glances up at his assistant, and then nods and stands. Kojiro is glad to see him go.
“Please consider what I’ve said, Joey.” The door shuts behind him, and the restaurant is empty once again.
Kojiro doesn’t want to, is the thing. He doesn’t want to give any consideration to anything Adam has to say. Adam lost his right to be a part of Kojiro’s life a long time ago, and besides, the idea that Adam has any meaningful advice about living a good, fulfilled life is laughable.
But his words creep in, no matter how hard Kojiro tries to keep them out.
Kojiro has never thought he’s “wasting his life”. He got unlucky, sure, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t living his life to the fullest, doing all the things he always wanted to do. He didn’t think of his love for Kaoru as a mistake when he first got the disease, and he doesn’t think of it that way now. The opportunity to love Kaoru is, in and of itself, a gift, even if it kills him.
But Kojiro wonders if he really has just been stubborn this whole time. Maybe, if he had told Kaoru what was happening all those years ago, when the petals had just started to fall, he wouldn’t be in this situation now. He could’ve been rejected early, gotten the operation done, and maybe Kaoru would still want him around after all that.
He knows why he didn’t do it, of course he knows. One of the potential side effects of the surgery is feeling a total apathy for the person who caused the flowers to sprout in the first place. And Kojiro hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t wanted the chance that Kaoru would go from being the most important person in his life to a face in the crowd. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if that had happened.
Don’t let your life go to waste by being stubborn.
Maybe it had just been stubbornness. Human emotions are a resilient thing after all, and Kojiro knows that in many cases where the patient turned apathetic, their relationship with the person of their former affections was rebuilt anyways. Because, even with the flowers gone, feelings return. And Kojiro doesn’t doubt for a second that his feelings would’ve returned for Kaoru. How could they not?
Or maybe it was never stubbornness. Maybe it was cowardice. Because Kojiro knew, all along, that Kaoru would never let him go, no matter what. Kojiro thinks that, perhaps, the real problem was never the risks of the surgery. It was always telling Kaoru how he really felt–putting that burden on Kaoru to know that he was causing Kojiro unimaginable pain simply by not loving him back. After all, the only thing Kojiro has ever wanted is for Kaoru to be happy.
It’s too late now, of course. He can’t get the operation in any case; the odds of it killing him with his disease so advanced are far too high. And Kojiro can’t bring himself to tell Kaoru that he’s the reason Kojiro is going to die, when he has no chance of recovery.
But, maybe, Kaoru at least deserves to know. Not the cause, of course, but Kojiro figures if Kaoru was going to die soon, he would want to be warned in advance.
Kojiro stays up all night thinking about it, coughs up blood slicked flowers about it. He had never planned to tell Kaoru, because he never wanted to inflict pain on Kaoru. But, maybe, if he tells him now, it will alleviate some of the grief he feels in the future.
When the sun rises, Kojiro is resolved. He will tell Kaoru, no matter how much he doesn’t want to. He can’t imagine what Kaoru’s reactions will be but he hopes, one day, he’ll be able to forgive Kojiro.
***
Kojiro gives himself a week. One, careful week to plan what he’s going to say and when. He decides to do it on Thursday evening, the only night Kaoru is neither busy nor going to S. Kojiro obsesses over what he’s going to say, and then, once he can no longer stand to think about it, what he’s going to cook. After all, if this is the last meal he ever gets to make for Kaoru, as he suspects it will be, he wants it to be perfect.
He settles on old reliable: spaghetti alla carbonara. He usually saves it for special occasions, but considering the circumstances, Kojiro figures it’s an acceptable choice.
Of course, Kaoru immediately questions him when he walks through the door that night, sniffing at the air. “Carbonara? What did you do?”
Kojiro grins from his seat at the counter. “I’m offended you think I’ll only make your favorite dish for you when begging for your forgiveness.” He is absolutely guilty as charged.
Kaoru narrows his eyes, but takes his bowl nonetheless. “Prior evidence suggests it to be true. You don’t like doing repeat dishes for me–I’m essentially your glorified guinea pig.”
“Never heard you complain about it before.”
Kaoru glares at him, but he seems to sense the tension in Kojiro’s body language, for he doesn’t bite back. Kojiro feels gratitude swell through him, and then has to swallow down the urge to start coughing. That’s not how he wants Kaoru to find out, after all.
They eat in silence, although Kojiro can barely touch his pasta, he’s so nervous. Kaoru keeps glancing up at him in concern, but he doesn’t try to burst the bubble of tension, at least until he finishes his bowl. The minutes tick on slowly.
Finally, Kaoru sets down his fork, and levels Kojiro with a hard stare. “So. There’s something you want to tell me?”
Kojiro takes a deep inhale. “Yes. I–” It doesn’t have to be a whole speech. I have hanahaki disease. That’s all he needs to say. Then, he can gently answer Kaoru’s questions, letting the horrible news sink in slowly, until Kaoru understands there’s nothing to be done.
But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he asks, “Why didn’t we ever talk about your relationship with Adam?”
Kaoru flinches, clearly taken aback. “I–what?”
“You never actually told me you were dating him. I just inferred at some point.” He knows the exact point he realized. Kaoru doesn’t need to hear that.
“Well–” Kaoru is staring at him in disbelief. “I–I mean–it was never that ‘official’ that I–why are you asking me this?”
Kojiro shrugs. “I’ve always wondered. It wasn’t like you were trying to hide it, but we never talked about it, not even after all these years.”
“We never talked about any of it,” Kaoru hisses. “We didn’t talk about things like that, as you very well know. We barely talk about it now.”
Kojiro thinks of Italy. “I guess so.”
“Kojiro,” Kaoru lifts his glasses so he can rub the bridge of his nose, “What do you actually want to talk about? It can’t just be trite from nearly a decade ago.”
Kojiro smiles, and he thinks there should be some blood slipping down his chin. He loves Kaoru so much. “You’re right, Kaoru. We never really talked about the important stuff, did we? I mean, I’ve known you basically my entire life, but I don’t think we ever really figured that part out.” He leans against the counter, still looking at Kaoru fondly. “I guess I wanted to take a crack at it.”
Kaoru rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’re not dying.”
Kojiro almost wants to laugh at that, but he doesn’t. It’s not very funny, anyways. “That’s…kinda the thing, Kaoru. I–” He sighs, then forces it out. “I have hanahaki disease.”
Kaoru’s brow pinches, his eyes turning concerned in an instant. “You–” He stands, one hand on the counter. “What?”
Kojiro just stares up at him, and thinks he looks absolutely angelic in this lighting. “Yeah. I’ve had it for a while now.”
Kaoru is still staring at him in shock, as if the words haven’t quite sunk in. “But,” he huffs out an incredulous, panicked laugh. “Okay, there’s a surgery for that though. Why not just…?”
But Kojiro is already shaking his head slowly. “No, I…it’s too late for the operation. I waited too long.”
Kaoru’s brow furrows, and Kojiro can pinpoint the exact moment when it clicks. Kaoru jolts back as if burnt, his face a tangle of emotions. Rage. Denial. Shock. Grief.
Kojiro stands as well, reaching out placatingly. “Kaoru…” Kaoru knocks his hands away, very near tears, and Kojiro is, despite it all, surprised. He’s never, not even once, seen Kaoru refuse physical contact as comfort.
“No! No, you can’t be–NO!” Kaoru is gripping at his hair, backing away from Kojiro with jerky, frantic steps. Kojiro looks at him sadly.
“I know you’re upset–”
Kaoru makes a breathy, pained noise.
“But please try to understand–”
“What’s there to understand?” Kaoru has backed himself into one of the tables, and he’s crossed his arms, fingernails digging into the fabric of his yukata. “You’re going to go to the hospital, and get those stupid flowers removed, and you’re going to be okay, everything is going to be okay, and–!”
He feels it, swelling up through his chest, and he can’t hold it back anymore. Kojiro, finally, doubles over, falling to the floor in a coughing fit. He’s lucky he’s held for this long, he supposes, but it doesn’t make it any less painful when he hears Kaoru cry out his name in shock. His body convulses as his throat works to force out the mess of sakuras and blood that are sure to arise. Kojiro hopes, selfishly, that the petals are so soaked that Kaoru won’t recognize what type they are.
Kaoru kneels down in front of him, placing his hands first on Kojiro’s shoulders and then moving them like he can’t quite figure out what to do with himself, and Kojiro manages to force the flowers out and onto the floor in a wet, bloodstained lump.
Kojiro leans back onto his knees, blood still dribbling from the corner of his lip. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. Kaoru looks between him and the mess on the floor with a wide-eyed stare. “Kojiro–”
“I’m dying, Kaoru.” Kojiro’s voice is hoarse, but he forces out the words as clearly as he can. “There’s nothing I can do to change that.” Kaoru’s face crumples, suppressed sobs wracking his body. Kojiro puts a hand on his shoulder, rubbing soothingly. “I’m sorry, Kaoru.”
Kaoru is still shaking, but he leans heavily into Kojiro’s hand, his lip trembling violently as he tries to speak. “W-why?”
“What?” That wasn’t what Kojiro was expecting him to ask.
“Why? Why did you fall for someone who–who doesn’t appreciate you?” Kaoru is looking at him almost accusingly through the tears, his voice rising in volume with every word until he’s nearly yelling.
“I–” Kojiro tilts his head in confusion. “It’s not like I had a choice, Kaoru.”
“No!” Kaoru reaches up, grabbing the hand holding his shoulder in a firm grip. “Kojiro, don’t you see? Anyone would be lucky to have you! There’s no one like you out there, and–goddammit, Kojiro, how did you manage to pick the one person who doesn’t want you?!”
Kojiro just stares at Kaoru, and he doesn’t know what to say. Kaoru’s words sound almost exactly like what Kojiro has wanted to tell Kaoru about Adam for all these years, and if Kaoru feels the same about Kojiro, then maybe…
He allows, for the first time in so long, for hope to creep into his chest.
He leans forward, gripping both of Kaoru’s shoulders in desperation, forcing Kaoru to meet his eye. “Kaoru. Please. Why are you telling me this?”
Kaoru nearly screams in frustration. “Because I love you! I love you and I’m going to lose you to someone who doesn’t even deserve–!”
But Kojiro doesn’t hear the rest, for his throat closes and suddenly he’s coughing again. It feels like more than he’s ever had to deal with, more flowers than he’s ever spit out before, and he’s certain that his body is dispelling the root. As if the joy of hearing Kaoru say those words was the only remedy he ever needed. Which, Kojiro thinks faintly as flowers and branches and blood start spilling out of his mouth in a painful tidal wave, perhaps it was.
Kojiro doesn’t remember much after that–flashes of Kaoru crying hysterically and cradling him in his arms, a ride in the ambulance, and the bright white of the hospital. He’s not sure what connects each scene to one another, how he got from one step to the next. All he knows is that he can breathe, better than he’s been able to for longer than he can remember.
***
The recovery process is going to be tricky, the doctors tell him. Kojiro managed to expel the main root, they say, so he’s no longer in danger of suffocation. However, there is still detritus lingering inside his lungs which he will cough up over time. Until they’re sure it’s all gone, they tell him he can’t engage in any strenuous physical activity.
Which kind of sucks that he won’t be able to skateboard for a while, but Kojiro thinks it’s probably a fair price to pay, and he’s released from the hospital a few days later with instructions to come back for a check up after a week.
He’s expecting one of his parents to be there to pick him up, but he finds Kaoru waiting for him at the front desk, looking as if he hasn’t slept in days.
Kojiro smiles when he sees him. “Kaoru, I–”
But Kaoru shushes him, grabbing his arm and guiding him towards the front doors. “Don’t exert yourself, gorilla. Let’s just go home.”
Kojiro’s chest burns so brightly with emotions, and it’s been so long since those feelings haven’t been accompanied by the urge to cough, Kojiro nearly bursts into peals of overjoyed laughter.
They take a taxi back to his apartment, and Kaoru manhandles him onto the couch before rushing into the kitchen to try and cook something for him. Seeing the impending disaster of Kaoru using his stove for what it is, Kojiro protests until Kaoru finally, begrudgingly, orders delivery from their favorite ramen spot. Kojiro thinks of the day when they discovered skateboarding at that shop, and he’s so happy his smile threatens to split his face in two.
The food arrives, and they sit at the couch while they eat it, Kojiro leaning heavily into Kaoru’s side. He keeps stealing glances at Kaoru’s face, at the beautiful relief therein, and Kaoru has to keep reminding Kojiro to “eat your food, you stupid ape!” Kojiro might as well be walking on a cloud.
Finally, when the food is gone, and Kaoru has watched Kojiro drink three glasses of water, and they’re both wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, the TV turned on but muted, Kaoru breaks the silence.
“Kojiro.” Kojiro looks up from where he’s playing with Kaoru’s perfect, perfect hair. Kaoru looks troubled. “I’m still not sure I understand how you managed to get rid of it. What happened?”
Kojiro laughs at that, he just can’t help himself, and it sounds more genuine than it has in months. “You happened, you perfect, beautiful man.” He nuzzles further into Kaoru’s chest, his grin pressed against his collarbone.
Kaoru looks confused. “I–what?”
“I love you,” Kojiro says, his voice softer than he thought it could ever be. “I love you so, so much.”
Kaoru blinks at him, looking concerned, before scowling. “You seriously thought that I–you could have just told me sooner, and we could’ve avoided all these dramatics, but nooooo, you had to wait until you were practically on death’s door to–ugh! I can’t even be properly mad at you right now because–!”
“Because you love me?” Kojiro interjects, still grinning.
“No–well, yes–but no, because you’re just out of the hospital! God!” Kaoru looks at Kojiro, then deflates with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, I just…I haven’t been sleeping very well. And there’s so much to talk about, but I don’t want to strain you when…well, I know you’ve been through hell.”
And Kojiro can’t help himself. He props himself up and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of Kaoru’s lip. “How about we go to bed, and then we can talk about it in the morning, yeah?”
Kaoru lets the silence linger for a second, before nodding slowly. “Yes, that sounds…” He trails off, and then leans up to give Kojiro a proper kiss on the mouth. Kojiro’s heart beats with triumph, feeling dazed as Kaoru leans back and smiles at him. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
There’s still so much for them to talk about–so many years of things unsaid that have to be put out into the open air. But Kojiro doesn’t care about that as they clamber into his bed, arms wrapped around each other and legs entangled. He doesn’t care about that as Kaoru tenderly kisses his jaw and whispers “I love you” into his ear. He doesn’t care about that now that he knows he’s allowed to have everything he’s ever wanted.
He drifts off to sleep without a worry in his mind, and he breathes easy.