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Touma was sure the coughing would end the moment Kusuo agreed to be friends with him again. Even if Kusuo disagreed, Touma thought being able to thank him would have been enough. Instead, he still found himself curled up inside his room, surrounded by flowers that had come from his own lungs.
They were cosmos, with pink petals and yellow florets, sometimes meant to represent gratitude. Due to that, Touma had initially assumed he caught the disease from his unfulfilled desire to thank Kusuo for everything he’d done for him back when they were kids. This theory had come from the fact that Touma didn’t consider himself to be in love with anyone.
Love, to Touma, meant the willingness to kiss and marry someone. While Touma could imagine a future of being close to someone, he could never picture a ring on his finger. The thought of marriage terrified him, perhaps due to his own parents’ awful example, but the feeling ran deeper than that. As a child, he’d be grossed out and look away whenever couples kissed in his favorite shows and movies. He’d scoff at wedding scenes, not seeing why anyone would spend so much on a one-day ordeal. Yet, when he got to ask his mother about it, she told him that was what love meant, and that he’d understand it someday. That day, Touma decided he could not love. He would never understand romance.
Now, even though he thought he’d fulfilled his desire, he was still coughing. The flowers were the same as before, eight petals, feather-like leaves, they were beautiful, and he detested them for it. How come they got to be so beautiful when he had to look and feel disgusting because of them?
Nobody else knew he had it. Not his mother, not Kusuo, not… oh, wait, he didn’t have anyone else who’d care, did he? Touma only had two people who bothered to worry about him in his life, but neither of them were present enough to realize the blonde was dying. If someone else was in the picture, he would have considered telling Kusuo. However, that wasn’t an option, as he knew this was caused by Kusuo in some way. He would die, and only two people would really be upset by it.
Touma had explored the idea of loving Kusuo, but he always backed away the instant things got too close. Doing things like holding hands and cohabitating sounded fine, nice even, to Touma, but he still couldn’t imagine a ring on his finger. It was wrong, uncomfortable even. He also couldn’t help but know Kusuo wouldn’t want that either. The other seemed somewhat averse to romance as well, albeit not to the same degree as Touma.
That brought Touma back to his original hangup about his condition; how did he have hanahaki if he wasn’t in love with anyone? His original hypothesis was already proven wrong, which left him with no guesses. Touma, for all intensive purposes, was completely happy with his life at the moment. Sure, he’d appreciate other friends, but he was still over the moon about having Kusuo again. Sure, there were quiet moments they spent together that he wished were filled with something warmer, but that didn’t seem significant enough to warrant a case of hanahaki. So, Touma allowed the condition to progress, scouring for any sort of clue.
It was right around the eight month mark when he got a new development, one that wasn’t just that his disease had worsened. He was spending his lunch period coughing up flowers, something that had become completely routine for him. By this point, he had his coughing down to a schedule, his lower blood-oxygen level an expected fact of his life. It was a miracle nobody had caught him so far, but perhaps that was due to the fact that he identified and chose the least occupied restroom, the furthest one from the cafeteria. That was why he was startled by the sound of the door opening.
Touma tried to choke back his next cough, worried Kusuo had finally found him out. However, when no voice projected into his mind with his incessant thoughts, he relaxed. Kusuo would have said something already if he were there. Whoever had entered seemed just as surprised that he was there. He didn’t particularly care who this was, as the bathroom stall hid him just fine. Most would attribute his coughing to him being sick, and decide not to step in because it’d be a hassle. Touma had used the lack of attention he got to his advantage thus far, so he would continue to do so until it stopped working.
However, the person who caught him seemed to be the type to step up, as after they washed their hands and seemingly splashed some water onto their face, he heard the footsteps come closer, rather than further away. They stood still and contemplated for a moment, but his coughs were once again choked up by the sound of someone knocking on the stall door.
“Dude, are you okay? Those coughs sound pretty bad,” Touma recognized that firm voice, this was a classmate. Worse, this was a friend of Kusuo’s. Kuboyasu Aren, the ex-gang leader. He was among those he ruled out quickly as an option to confide in, considering how badly he’d failed to keep his own secret. Apparently, Touma’s inaction counted as an answer to Kuboyasu, as he spoke up. “I’m gonna get the nurse if you don’t say anything.”
That was a problem. Touma didn’t like either of the options he had here. If he spoke up, Kuboyasu could recognize his voice, which would in one way or another lead to Kusuo finding out about his condition. Or, he could have the nurse find out and report this to his mother, who he knew would worry deeply. He’d hate to impede on the daily lives of either of them. Still, he was left to make a decision, and he chose the one that had less risk.
“Ah, getting the nurse really isn’t necessary in this case. I assure you, I’m just working a cold out of my system, nothing particularly noteworthy,” Touma explained. “Speaking of, did you know that there is no single illness called a cold? It’s simply an old name that originated from old medical misunderstandings. People assumed you got sick specifically because of being cold, rather than being vulnerable and catching an illness while cold.”
“...okay, I guess I won’t be getting the nurse,” Kuboyasu sighed. Touma hadn’t intended to annoy him, but he supposed that was just his charm. “Still, man, that did not sound like a cold. Who the hell hides in the farthest bathroom to cough over a cold?”
“I could ask you the same thing, who rushes to the furthest and least occupied bathroom just to wash their hands and splash water on their face? I may not be facing you, but I already have a guess as to why you’re here,” Touma countered. “Could it be that you—”
“This is not about me,” Kuboyasu huffed. “Listen, I’m just worried because your coughing sounds like what one of my old… friends had before, and it was really bad. Are you sure this is just a cold? You can tell me, man.”
“Are you suggesting I’m not aware of my own condition because of a hunch? I don’t have any grounds to scold you for following such a guess, but I can assure you that I am alright. I don’t believe you have the credentials to diagnose me by the sound of a cough, unless you were also secretly working for a medical degree while being in a gang. If that were the case, then I suppose I’ve seriously underestimated you, Kuboyasu-kun!” Touma joked. “Ah, knowing the amount of time you must’ve spent on gang activities, not to mention your age, I know it’s completely impossible for you to hold a medical degree. I certainly would be impressed if you did end up with one, though, considering medicine never struck me as a passion of yours. Didn’t you want to be a teacher?”
“Listen, Akechi, I tried to give you a chance to explain yourself, but we both know what’s going on here,” Kuboyasu seemingly leaned against the stall door, as Touma heard a rather soft thump from behind him. “Do you want to tell me why it smells like fresh blood and flowers here, or do I have to spell this out for you?”
At last, Touma quieted himself. Kuboyasu wasn’t as clueless as he thought he was. Although, he supposed anyone would be able to pick up the pieces if they knew of the disease. Coughing, the scent of flowers, and the presence of blood. The only logical conclusion was hanahaki. Touma really didn’t give Kuboyasu enough credit, he was more intelligent compared to some of Kusuo’s other friends.
The stall door pushed open, revealing a very pale Touma. His hair was mussed up, his eye bags had never been darker before. There was still blood on his lips, which curled up into a crooked smile, “It seems you’ve caught me, Kuboyasu-kun. I’m afraid I have no reward for you, however.”
“Holy shit,” Kuboyasu’s eyes widened. His hands subconsciously wandered closer to Touma, ready to catch him if he fell. “How long have you had this? I didn’t even know it could get this bad!”
“I believe it’s been about eight months, two weeks, and three days, though that’s just counting from the first petal, my throat got scratchy not too long after I transferred here, leaving me to suspect my condition started with the transfer,” Touma’s eyes wandered back to the toilet bowl, staring at the mess of flowers and blood he’d coughed into it. His symptoms acted up terribly at lunch, especially when he thought about Kusuo sitting with all his other friends. “You are the first person to know.”
“Seriously?” Kuboyasu stared for a moment, then frowned. “Not even Saiki knows? I thought you two were, like, really close. He doesn’t let anyone else refer to him with his given name, you know.”
Touma coughed on reflex, the mention of Kusuo immediately bringing more thoughts to his mind. At the very least, this encounter solidified his hanahaki had to do with Kusuo in some way, not that he had any doubts about that before. “I sure hope Kusuo-kun doesn’t know, that’d mean I wasted months hiding this from him. Although, knowing him, he probably has some suspicion about it, he has his ways.”
“Wait, are you saying Saiki’s the one who’s got you like this?” the boy with purple hair paused for a moment, thinking about what that meant. “Why not confess? I mean, you already know he tolerates you more than anyone, maybe that means something!”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple. See, I don’t love Kusuo-kun in the way you think I do. I’m perfectly happy as I am,” Touma ducked under Kuboyasu’s arms, then made his way to the sinks. “Despite that fact, I’m still stuck with this disease. My best guess as to why was already disproven, which means I am stuck with it until I figure out what my body expects from me.”
“Uh, dude, I think you’re going to die before you figure that out,” Kuboyasu remained in the stall, staring down at the bowl of flowers. “Full flowers is a bad sign, isn’t it? And this many, too…”
“I still have around three months, don’t I? Most patients die around the one-year mark. Three months is plenty of time for me to solve this, considering my greater-than-average deduction skills. I’ve already narrowed down that it has something to do with Kusuo-kun, and that it isn’t the previously unresolved feelings of gratitude I had for him. That already cuts out most possibilities,” Touma turned back around to flush the toilet. If there was one thing he learned throughout having this disease, it was that PK Academy had a very strong plumbing system. “I seriously appreciate your concern, Kuboyasu-kun, but I’m not in any danger here. Even if I was, I have no qualms about the idea of dying. I made peace with it around five and a half months ago.”
“That isn’t as much of a comfort as you think it is…” Kuboyasu muttered. “Look, Akechi, just… take it easy? I’m here for you, man.”
“As I said before, I appreciate your concern, it isn’t something I earn often. However, I think it’s best if you don’t stress yourself over this. I’m perfectly capable of holding my own,” Touma finally made his way to the door, effectively ending the conversation. “It was nice talking to you, Kuboyasu-kun, but I believe I should both hydrate myself and up my iron intake. I need to replenish the amount of blood I coughed out.”
“Wait!” Kuboyasu rushed to catch up with Akechi, then clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “Call me Aren.”
Touma froze. Nobody had directly asked him to use their given name before. Did this conversation really warrant that? Perhaps this was the pity talking for Kuboyasu, he probably didn’t think Touma would last much longer, after all. He’d probably be more at peace if he knew he had tried to help. Yes, that was it. He just wanted to ease his guilty conscience.
“I suppose I can do that,” Touma nodded. “Aren-kun does have a nice ring to it, after all.”
With that, Aren finally eased up. He offered a weak, genuine smile, then finally continued past him. Back to wherever he’d been before, likely to finish his lunch. While Touma needed to head the same way, he lingered, frozen. Did he just make a friend?
From that point onward, Aren seemed intent on checking on Touma. Most days, it was concerned glances every time he coughed during class. Other times, when Kaidou was out of the room, he’d approach and make small talk, naturally avoiding the topic around Kusuo. He’d vaguely ask about “progress” and “his condition”, but not enough to suggest anything too bad was happening. Admittedly, Touma hadn’t made much progress in terms of figuring out the cause.
Most of the time, Aren had urged him to confess to Kusuo, but that stopped after Touma had explained the more complicated facts of his feelings one day. He even helped Touma realize something new about what he wanted. They’d both been disqualified during whatever activity they’d been doing in PE class. Aren because he got too aggressive and drew blood from a suspiciously green haired classmate, and Touma because he got lightheaded and almost fell over. Things were seriously getting bad for him, not that he’d been good at sports in the first place.
“It was seriously hard to watch you out there, Touma,” Aren leaned back into the bleachers. “I’m surprised Matsuzaki didn’t rush you to the nurse. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I believe that’s the third time you’ve asked me that today,” Touma smiled. “And once again, I assure you that I’m alright. My blood sugar just happens to be a bit erratic. That hypoglycemic episode had nothing to do with what you thought it did.”
“That’s bullshit,” Aren shook his head. “Maybe I would’ve fallen for it before, but I’m starting to realize you use big words when you want to avoid a topic.”
“I must say, Aren-kun, you can be rather perceptive at times. My best guess is it’s a habit from your gang days, you had to be able to recognize when people were about to pick fights, that way you could brace yourself beforehand,” Touma turned back to the game in front of them, watching as Kusuo deliberately made the least remarkable moves possible. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but things have been getting worse for me. I can tell my lung capacity isn’t what it used to be. It’s an odd feeling to recognize, but I suppose smokers might notice the same thing. I’ve also been quite fatigued and sluggish, that’s from the more limited oxygen intake. I’ve noted all my symptoms very well, but none have led me to the answer I’ve searched for.”
“You know, that reminds me, you always insist that this isn’t because you love Saiki, why is that?” Aren joined Touma in watching the game, his own gaze focused on a smaller boy with light blue hair.
“I can’t feel love,” Touma answered. “Well, that’s an overgeneralization. I am perfectly capable of loving my family and friends, but it’s romance where I fall short. Sexual love as well, but that’s unrelated. I always fail to imagine myself in romantic scenarios, my ideal future contains no ring on my finger. I’ve never truly experienced a crush, but my research suggests what I feel for Kusuo-kun is not that.”
“I think I get what you mean,” Aren’s tone remained steady, as if this wasn’t some big deal. Touma had been treated as a failure of a human being in the past for describing those same sentiments. He’d been told that one day, he’d find the right one. “But Touma, not all love looks the same. You can want something more from Saiki without wanting to marry him. Maybe he's just not treating you right. I mean, I really like the guy, but you have to admit he’s a bit of an asshole sometimes.”
Touma pulled his knees up to his chest, watching as Kusuo strategically avoided getting the ball passed to him. He didn’t dare to properly participate in anything, he’d only play the game if someone made a big deal of him not doing anything.
“I don’t think I could possibly be happier, is the thing. I find his meaner moments just as charming as his kind ones. I’m so grateful to him, I’m honestly lucky to have ever met him again,” Touma ripped his gaze away from Kusuo, instead viewing the behavior of his other classmates. “He could try way less, and I’d still be happy with him. I’m just happy to be in his life at all. I’ve never really… had a friend before him.”
“You talk about him like he’s some god. Saiki’s the most average guy I know,” Aren said those words like they wouldn’t bring the biggest smile out of Kusuo. “I think he’d change his behavior if you asked him to. Maybe the issue is that something he does is hurting you on the inside, and it brings the same vein of feelings hanahaki stems from? Ah, you probably thought about that already, I’m not some genius like you are.”
“No, that was a good thought. Hanahaki doesn’t stem specifically from unrequited romantic feelings, instead that’s just the common origin of this feeling of need. It seeks out a specific feeling of unmet desire, paired with hopelessness, and grows from there until it is dealt with or until the victim cannot support the flowers’ growth anymore. Aren-kun, you’re really on to something!” Touma’s eyes sparkled, inspired. “Ah, but that leaves me with the fact that I don’t want more. I am perfectly satisfied with the life I have, in fact, I’d have to say I have more than I ever wanted right now! Two friends, I’m not actively being bullied, and my mother smiles more than she ever did when I was young. None of my desires are unmet, I couldn’t possibly ask for a happier life.”
“Maybe it isn’t as obvious as you think it is,” Aren looked away again. “I didn’t realize how badly I wanted friends who weren’t on the brink of beating each other up until I transferred here. I never dreamed of having a normal life until I met Shun, but now I don’t think I could ever go back. Somewhere back there, you have to want something. No life is perfect, Touma.”
Touma lowered his head, seriously thinking about what he could want. He still didn’t see anything. Not because he didn’t want something, but because he never had it before. How was one supposed to want something they never knew existed? How was one meant to recognize moments of yearning when they didn’t know what they yearned for?
Despite knowing Aren’s words were true, a quiet part of Touma wanted to deny it. He knew his life was far from perfect, his childhood was a mess of bruises and loneliness, but when he thought about it, he really would call his current life perfect. He had enough to keep him happy, that was all he ever needed. He didn’t need friends, he didn’t need the concern of his classmates, and he knew he didn’t need all the attention Kusuo gave him. If he admitted he was unsatisfied, wouldn’t that be selfish?
But in quiet moments, Touma could see warmth. A future where he’d draw genuine laughs out of Kusuo’s lips. He could reach out and feel Kusuo’s hand on his own, and the psychic wouldn’t bat him off. When he watched movies, he could imagine Kusuo by his side, where they could share snide remarks about poor writing choices. He’d feel seen, met with someone who didn’t let him feel lonely. Touma would be someone’s first pick, for once in his life.
The ball finally hit Kusuo, and he was out. Since when were so many people out of the game? Touma glanced at the clock in the corner of the room, quickly recognizing the minute hand was far lower than it’d been when he last checked. Aren’s words really did something to him, didn’t they? It was odd, talking to someone who didn’t give him the bare minimum. Suddenly, he didn’t have to do all the talking, he didn’t have to fill every silence on his own. Was that what he was missing?
Kusuo didn’t sit next to Touma, he didn’t mentally interrogate him for almost fainting. Of course he wouldn’t, he was too tired from controlling his throw strength. It was about Kusuo’s life, not his own. And yet, Touma couldn’t help but be selfish. He wanted more for himself, he wanted more from Kusuo. Even though Kusuo was the best person in Touma’s life, Touma couldn’t help but need even more. What a disgusting, selfish being.
At some point, that class ended. Touma went through the usual motions of school. He changed out of his PE clothes, flinched when Hairo gave an approving pat on his back, telling him he’d do better next time, and returned to his homeroom class. The curriculum went in one ear and out the other, Touma couldn’t help but keep thinking about that future.
The Kusuo from that time would ask him if he was okay. He’d tell Touma to sit with him and talk about it. Then he’d reassure him, ruffle his hair, and tell him he was being silly. Because of course Kusuo wanted to spend time with him, he could have easily said no. Because Touma would never be a bother to him.
Touma left the school with tears in his eyes. He was pretty sure Aren tried to stop and talk to him, but he didn’t answer. He just needed to get home. With blurred vision, Touma began to run. The burning of his chest was forgotten, his attention instead favoring the burning visions in his mind. He wanted, he needed, what he was seeing was what he longed for.
Touma collapsed in his room, flowers already surrounding him. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, how long he’d been coughing. But he knew that this was it. Touma was dying. The blood loss was too much, he could hardly breathe. And for a moment, he saw his life replay in front of him.
For just a moment, Touma was that little kid again, wondering why Kusuo kept turning a blind eye to the abuse of his classmates, just like everyone else always did. He thought they were meant to be friends. After all, every book told him that friends were meant to help each other. He’d poured over that fact over and over, wondering if that was just something they exaggerated for the positive theming.
Touma coughed out another sob, then stopped breathing. His eyes faded shut, but for a moment, he thought he recognized a pair of shoes in front of him. Whoever it was, they were too late.
Akechi Touma died alone, just as he knew he always would.
A foot tapped against Touma’s shin, just the faintest touch to revert time on his body. Kusuo was lucky he got there when he did, he wasn’t sure he could revert someone if they were fully dead. Still, that was way too close for comfort. Next time, maybe he really should listen to Kuboyasu’s weirdly cryptic thoughts. Seriously, what the hell even is a “hanahaki”?
Touma coughed weakly, realizing he had more strength in his body than he did a couple seconds ago. In fact, he felt about the same as he did the day before on his three forty-five p.m. coughing session. Carefully, he pushed himself to his knees, trying to assess the damages. He’d never coughed so much before… he really thought he was gone.
Okay, the pile of flowers was way larger than any he’d ever seen before, but that was to be expected. He could tell he also lost a concerning amount of blood, which was odd, concerning he felt a bit better than he should with that much gone. Additionally, he had Kusuo standing over him, with his arms crossed. Wait.
“A-ah! Kusuo-kun! When did you get here? Not to say I’m not thrilled to have you visit my house for the first time, I just would have liked to clean up a bit before you—” cough “—came over! Honestly, I can assure you that I don’t usually leave my room covered in flowers! Actually, I believe you’ve caught me at a bad time, could you stop by later?” Touma scrambled to find an excuse for what lay in front of him. He was pretty sure Kusuo wasn’t buying it, considering the raspiness of his voice. Still, Kusuo just kept staring down at him, like he didn’t know what to do. “Uh, Kusuo-kun?”
‘Would you care to explain why I just caught you half-dead on the floor?’ Kusuo’s frown deepened almost imperceptibly.
“Oh, that…!” Touma was blanking. “Would you believe me if I said I can’t think of a way to explain?”
‘Good grief… You’re lucky I got here when I did,’ Kusuo knelt down beside Touma, then picked up one of the flowers. ‘What is this?’
“A cosmos bipinnatus! The species name comes from the leaves that grow on their stems, pairs that are often compared to feathers! They’re most commonly seen in shades of pink, and in flower language, they can represent both love and gratitude!” Touma remembered reading up on them the moment he coughed one, struggling to identify it by a singular petal.
‘I was asking about the blood,’ Kusuo rotated the flower, revealing a chunk of clotted blood on the back. ‘It’s gross.’
Touma stared at the blood, not really knowing what to say about it. How was he meant to explain the months of anguish he felt, and that he hid it from Kusuo? He always knew Kusuo would help him if he knew, yet he didn’t say a word about it.
“Do you know what hanahaki is?” Touma started. “Knowing you, it’s possible you don’t. It doesn’t fall into any topics of interest for you, and I doubt you’d ever be at risk of catching it.”
‘I don't know what it is,’ Kusuo shook his head. ‘But I can glean that it’s bad. Kuboyasu’s been thinking about it nonstop.’
“It’s an illness, Kusuo-kun. One that is rather unheard of, considering it only claims around six thousand lives each year, and that’s globally,” Touma explained. “With an eighty-three percent fatality rate, most patients just take it as a death sentence, rather than accepting the cure. It’s one hundred percent fatal if left untreated, or if the cure fails. I’m assuming you can guess where I’m going with this.”
‘You have it,’ Kusuo’s telepathy was delayed by half a second, the slightest sign that he was displeased by that realization. With a stern sense of finality, Kusuo began to stand up. ‘I’ll get the cure right now, tell me what it is.’
“Kusuo-kun…” Touma couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. At the same time, he felt his eyes begin to water again. “That’s not how it works. The cure isn’t… any sort of medicine. You can’t retrieve it.”
‘Then what is it?’ Kusuo looked straight into Touma’s eyes, his covered gaze almost suffocating. Touma swallowed the lump in his throat, very intimidated by Kusuo’s actions.
“It’s a bit difficult to put into words,” Touma curled in on himself. “Ah, I couldn’t possibly ask such a thing of you, you’ve already done so much for me, I’d just end up owing you even more…”
‘The one time you’re quiet is when I need an answer,’ Kusuo sat back down, directly facing Touma. ‘You’re such a pain, Akechi.’
Touma knew Kusuo was joking, but it still hurt. He couldn’t help but start to cry all over again, wondering why the Kusuo he got wasn’t like the one he wanted in his future. Kusuo was his best friend, and yet, Touma didn’t feel happy. He felt so lonely in Kusuo’s company. Being friends with Aren made him feel seen, like he wasn’t invisible for once in his life. He realized what he needed; he needed Kusuo to change.
Because, as much as he adored Kusuo, he was hurting. He rarely heard kind words from the other, rarely got included by the other. Kusuo did the bare minimum, just enough to pass as a completely average friend. But Touma didn’t want that, he longed to be closer, longed for Kusuo to take a long look at him and express how he appreciated his company.
But Kusuo was a locked door, a brick wall. Nobody was allowed inside, and Touma couldn’t identify the way to chip his way in. So, at some point, his body decided it would die trying.
Kusuo silently watched Touma cry, something inside him burning. A part of him knew this was because of him. He could hear the racing of Touma’s thoughts, the way so many of them repeated Kusuo’s own name. He did something that hurt Touma, no matter how much he avoided hurting others. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
The two were at a stalemate, Kusuo didn’t move a muscle until he heard Touma cough again. Kusuo definitely didn’t panic, especially not because he’d already used his only revert on Touma that day. He only put his hand on Touma’s back because that was the average response. Most people would pat the back of someone they knew if they were coughing badly. He didn’t do it because he was worried out of his mind.
Somehow, patting Touma’s back seemed to do the trick. Slowly, the blonde’s coughs slowed down, eventually coming to a stop. He stayed curled up for a moment, but eventually sat up to look at Kusuo, who was now right next to him. It felt nice.
“I’m sorry Kusuo,” Touma wiped his tears away. “I shouldn’t have reacted in that way, you just wanted to help me.”
‘I don’t care about that,’ Kusuo denied the apology. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’
Maybe it was how tired he was of hiding, or maybe it was Kusuo transmitting some of his psychic confidence into Touma through touch, but for once, Touma wanted to be honest. He wanted to tell Kusuo how he felt.
“Frankly, Kusuo-kun, you have been nothing but a complete asshole to me. You treat me like I am a bother, avoid helping me until the last minute, and you never talk to me. I would like to be closer, but you keep me at arms length at all times. You treat me like I’m a fragile piece of fine china, rather than an independent person who can recognize what’s too much. I’m tired of being pushed away by you, can we stop playing the impossible game of tug of war over our relationship? I want you to trust me, I want you to confide in me, I want you to be there when I need you, but your own fears eat you alive. You’re too scared to be close when I am vulnerable, you’re too scared to let me in close when you are vulnerable. Why can’t you just let me in, Kusuo?” Touma couldn’t help but cry about this. He’d been hurting so much, but just shouldered it because he adored Kusuo so much. With weak and gentle care, Touma wrapped his arms around Kusuo and pulled him close, forcing Kusuo’s head to rest against his shoulder. “Why can’t you just let others love you? Let me love you? I was willing to die because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Am I just not worthy of your full care? Is that it? I’ll leave you alone if you need me to, we can stop being friends if—”
‘I never said I’d stop being your friend,’ Kusuo pulled away from Touma’s embrace, meeting the blonde’s eyes again. A silent smile formed on his lips, and he wiped away one of Touma’s tears with his thumb. ‘You worry too much, Akechi.’
More tears poured out of Touma’s eyes. He really did worry too much. If he got to scold Kusuo for taking everything on alone, then Kusuo got to scold him for the same thing. He almost died because he didn’t want to bother Kusuo with worrying about him.
“How can I not worry about you? You never tell me anything! How am I supposed to repay you if I can’t even help you with the littlest things?!” Touma’s bottom lip trembled, he still had so much more he wanted to say to Kusuo. Yet, this time, Kusuo was the one who held him.
‘I can take care of my—’
“It’s not about if you can take care of yourself or not! I want to help you! It’s what friends do!” Touma gripped Kusuo’s wrists, genuine anger burning inside of him. “Do you think you have to do everything by yourself because you’re a psychic, or do you just think us normal people are incapable of feeling the way you do?! If you really think that, then… maybe I need to give up on harboring any type of friendship with you…”
Kusuo paused. He didn’t know what Touma wanted to hear. He knew Kusuo could take care of himself, but he worried anyway. He almost died because he didn’t want to say these things to him. What was Kusuo supposed to say to that?
The truth. He had to tell him the truth.
‘I don’t want to hurt anyone,’ Kusuo confessed. ‘So I avoid conflict.’
“Well, clearly you’ve done a bad job of that!” Touma hissed. “Look where we are, does this look like a conflict-free life? Being close to people means you have to accept that bad things will happen, Kusuo-kun!”
Okay, so he was still mad. What else did Kusuo have to say to cheer him up? He knew that already, he was just hesitating. It was far too honest, far too close to him. But fine, if Touma said he wanted him to be open, then he’d get open.
‘I didn’t want to hurt you,’ Kusuo corrected. No, that wasn’t all of it. ‘Because… you’re very important to me.’
Finally, Touma stopped. Even though he kept shedding tears, he seemed… somewhat pleased by those words.
“You’re the most important person in my life, Kusuo-kun,” Touma whispered. “I don’t want to lose you to your stubborn ways…”
This time, Touma buried himself in Kusuo’s chest, hugging Kusuo tighter than he’d ever been hugged before. He was definitely getting Kusuo’s shirt, yet Kusuo didn’t seem to mind.
And for just a moment, they both felt that things could be okay.