Archive of Our Own

Eijun knows he should probably kick the unhealthy habit of sitting out in the cold like this. 

His gaze rests on the busted mounted light across him, hand wrapped around the canned Aquarius he got a few minutes ago. It's colder than he thought it would be, and he reaches to flip the collar of his Seidou windbreaker upwards to shield his neck from the chilly night breeze.  

He must have been a huge disappointment today. It was surreal to know that people expected something from him. As much as they liked to say they are all indispensable pitchers of the team, he has never felt it was because of his pitching specifically, but because the team's core defense hinges on their pitcher relay which he happens to be part of. 

Eijun exhales, breath swirling into faint mists from his lips. 

He was so eager to perform his best—too eager—that it backfired on him spectacularly. It was terrifying, how helpless he felt, when his pitch just wouldn't go the way he wanted it to. His control hadn't been so off in a while, and the inability to answer to Miyuki's calls triggered memories of himself in first-year, throwing pitch after pitch that strayed from their target trajectory like they had a life of their own. 

He deserved to be switched out with how he performed today. It didn't upset him any less, though. The team tried so hard to get him in the zone—hell, even Miyuki was throwing in encouragements of his own. Guilt gnaws at his gut as his fingers tighten around his drink. As the ace, he should have reassured them with his pitching like they had supported him with their plays. It was so entirely one-sided it's mortifying.

If his upperclassmen had their summer cut short because of him... 

"What the hell am I doing," Eijun mutters. 

"Yeah, what are you doing?" 

Eijun's fingers twitch in surprise, and he lifts his head. It was nearly two when he left his room because he couldn't sleep, and he didn't expect anyone else to be up at this hour. 

Yet here Miyuki stands, right where the dim lights from the dorm building are slanting in, softening the sharp lines of his face. His chocolate brown hair falls in pretty, delicate waves and he has one hand jammed in the pocket of his track pants. His favorite black Under Armour shirt is slightly rumpled from whatever he's been doing—he probably took it straight out of the dryer and pulled it on without even bothering to straighten the wrinkles, the barbarian—and Miyuki arches a questioning brow at Eijun.

"Nothing much, captain," Eijun answers, half a beat late.

Miyuki stares at him for a moment longer, an unreadable expression crossing his face. Eijun tilts his head to the side expectantly and waits for Miyuki to speak. He seems to decide against whatever he wants to say, though, because he turns away wordlessly to face the vending machine instead. 

Eijun twists the pull tab of his drink back and takes a big gulp, half-curious what Miyuki was about to say, and wonders if he should probe. He watches Miyuki search his pockets for change and shrugs it off. Miyuki would say it in his face some point or another if it's important, anyway. 

The vending machine buzzes to life, light flipping on from the inner container. Miyuki squints against the glaring brightness of the vending machine to look over his options. 

"Pocari is out of stock," Eijun informs him. He doesn't resist the toothy grin that tugs at his lips when Miyuki slants an exasperated look over to him.

"And you couldn't have said that before?" 

"There'd be no point then, captain," Eijun says, swallowing a childish laughter that threatens to bubble up from his throat with another sip of his drink.

The corners of Miyuki's mouth twitch, and he shakes his head as he turns back to the vending machine. "What a brat," he says, but there's no bite to it.

Eventually, he picks up an Aquarius from the dispenser and drops down to the empty space next to Eijun as if it's the most natural thing to do. Eijun jerks his head around so fast to look at Miyuki that he thinks he heard a crack, but that's beside the point. Miyuki Kazuya—the fourth batter, the catcher, and the captain—does not socialize unless he thinks it's necessary. The fact that he doesn't return his room right after getting his drink is an anomaly. 

Eijun is always the one looking for him; it's never the other way round. 

He's sure he looks as gobsmacked as he feels, because there's the stupid curve of Miyuki's mouth that appears whenever he's amused, and he's still goddamned snickering as he pulls the tab back to open his drink. "What the hell is that face, Sawamura? You look dumber than usual!" 

"Shut up, shitty Miyuki!" Eijun says huffily. "Why are you still here?!" 

Miyuki angles his face just so, a glint of shrewdness in his brown eyes, the metal rim of his canned drink mere inches from his lips. "What's wrong with checking up on my ace?" 

There's a strange tightness of his chest as Eijun swallows around the lump in his throat and looks away.

"Yeah, sure," Eijun says, rolling his eyes. He takes another gulp of his drink and tries to ignore the strange twist of his gut. He doesn't believe a single word of it. Miyuki doesn't say nice things to people for nothing.   

"... I'm serious." 

Eijun knows he probably shouldn't, but he reverts his gaze back to Miyuki again, who's flat-out staring at him with disconcerting focus. There are no traces of amusement at the corners of his mouth. This Miyuki Kazuya isn't unlike the one he's used to seeing on the field. That said, facing this persona on and off the field are two different things, and there's just too much intensity packed in his gaze. 

He turns away to face the dull walls opposite them instead, focusing on the peeling paint and smudged footprints. There's an odd scratchiness at the back of his throat like there's dust tickling at his windpipe, but he suppresses the urge to cough because Miyuki's here and he doesn't want him to think he's falling sick. Instead, he swallows his saliva and the uncomfortable sensation thankfully ebbs a little.

"I know I messed up real bad today. I was too nervous and got myself all worked up. I failed my role as the ace. If the Coach hadn't subbed me out, our koshien—your koshien—" His voice breaks at the end, and he hates it. He swallows hard, tries to steady his voice. "It would have been cut short and it'd be my fault." He tightens his grip on his drink. "I'm sorry I wasn't more reliable today." 

"If we're playing the blame game, part of the responsibility is mine." Eijun frowns and turns his head to retort, but the words die on his tongue when he sees Miyuki's expression. Miyuki isn't looking at him but staring straight ahead, leaning forward in his seat, his drink dangling by his fingers between his thighs. There are shadows cast over his dark eyes, tension at the corners of his mouth, and a visible tight set of his jaw. He actually looks... regretful. "As your catcher, I failed to bring out your real ability."

"But," Eijun struggles to grasp what Miyuki means, flattening his mouth to a thin line. "That's not your problem, it's mine!"

Miyuki turns to face him, the odd expression from his face already gone. His mouth curves to a smarmy smirk. "You are always so quick to take the blame. You do know it's a bad thing to be blamed, right?"

Eijun huffs, affronted. "Of course I do! What do you take me for?! I'm just taking responsibility for my mistakes. I was a burden and dragged the team down! What else can I possibly say?!"

The annoying smirk drops from his face.

"Sawamura," Miyuki starts slowly, "you were not a burden. What happened today was... a pity and not an accurate representation of your ability as a pitcher. I'm not saying you didn't mess up, though. The ace number is not easy to shoulder, but you are not alone, and Seidou is not a weak team. Trust that the team and I both have your back. Don't let your nerves get in the way of the next game again." A slanted grin slides across Miyuki's mouth. "Or else I'd have the coach give the number back to Furuya!"

"Oi!" Eijun springs up from his seat in his agitation, forgetting the beverage still gripped in his left hand. The drink sloshes over, spilling over his fingers. His face scrunches up in distaste and he shoots Miyuki the nastiest glare he can muster before he replaces the drink on the bench so he can try look for something to clean himself up with. 

Miyuki simply throws his head back and laughs, the asshole. "You idiot!"

"It's your fault," Eijun says sulkily, patting his pockets for some tissues with his clean hand. "I didn't bring any tissues."

"And?" Miyuki raises a brow, eyes twinkling with mirth. He's so goddamned annoying. "Do I look like I have any?" 

"It's all your fault!" And at this point Eijun knows he's whining, but he can't help it. He was all clean and ready for bed, but Miyuki just has to rile him up like that! "You will pay for this!"

Miyuki snickers, obviously not taking his threat seriously. Eijun wonders if he can get away with murdering his captain and burying him under the pitcher mound so he can get some satisfaction from stepping on his dead body every time he steps up to pitch. He's sure he can get Kuramochi and Zono to help him. Ryousuke, too, if he happens to drop by when he executes his plot.

Chris-senpai would never have to know. 

"Now, now, keep that evil look off your face," Miyuki drawls, cutting into his thoughts. Eijun pulls a face at him, and to his chagrin, Miyuki's grin only widens further, like he's thrilled he's getting all these reactions out of Eijun. He wouldn't be surprised, honestly, considering how twisted this guy is. "It doesn't look right when you're off the field."

Eijun is horrified when he picks up on the underlying implication. "What do you mean?! I don't look evil when I'm playing baseball! My love for baseball is untainted and pure and all things holy!" 

Miyuki snorts with amusement. "You are great," he says, and somehow it doesn't sound like it's something good when it's Miyuki who's saying it. Miyuki shakes his head and stands from his seat. "I meant it as a compliment, actually." 

Eijun narrows his eyes at Miyuki, not the tiniest bit convinced. "Uh-huh, yeah."

Miyuki tilts his head back to finish off the last of his drink, not deigning him with a reply. Then, without batting an eye, Miyuki makes a quick, strong flick of his wrist, and the empty can goes flying across, straight into the mouth of the trash bin a few feet away. It lands into the bin with a metallic clatter. 

Eijun thinks he feels his mouth drop open for a moment, because he has done that numerous times, yes, but it has never looked quite as impressive as Miyuki's fluid movements. His gaze lingers on the thick wrist and the long elegant fingers, before it drifts to see a subtle flex of Miyuki's muscled forearm. He can make out the faint protruding veins even in the darkness, and there's a strange hotness settling in his abdomen. 

It's only when Miyuki clears his throat that he realizes he's staring. 

"See something you like?" 

Eijun snaps his mouth shut as he practically feels the heat rushing up to his cheeks. "Gross! Don't be so full of yourself, you bastard!" The denial comes out a little louder than he intended and he resists the urge to cringe. 

Eijun can't really see Miyuki's expression despite him squinting into murky darkness, but he thinks he sees him wince. They should really get the light here fixed soon. "I get it, quiet down, will you."

Eijun settles for a growl this time, and opts to take a quick swig of his drink which washes down his throat smoothly, having lost its fizziness because of how long it's been opened. 

He senses a moment of hesitation before Miyuki steps toward him and rests his hand on Eijun's shoulder. It spreads warm tingles all over his body, and there's the strange scratchiness at the back of his throat again as he looks up to meet Miyuki's eyes head-on.

"So long as our team keeps winning, you will get another chance to prove yourself. This experience is valuable and unique to you, so learn what you can from it." Miyuki's hand drops from his shoulder. It feels bereft and cold without his touch. "Don't go stressing yourself out unnecessarily." 

"Y—Yes, captain!" Eijun straightens in his seat and salutes him, chest puffed out and back ramrod straight. 

Miyuki throws his head back and laughs, already walking away. "Never change, Sawamura!" 

Eijun can't help staring as Miyuki turns the corner and disappears from sight. 

A fit seizes him all of a sudden, and Eijun curls into himself reflexively, hacking up successive dry coughs that has him sucking in a sharp intake of air at the end of it.

For a horrifying second, he thinks he tastes flowers. 

-

It's been two days since his coughing fit and it doesn't seem like it's anything to be worried over. Still, there's a lingering rawness at his throat that he can't ignore and he doesn't want to risk it. This would be a real shitty time to get sick. He's not ready to relinquish his ace position during his last summer with Miyuki and his upperclassmen over some stupid cold he could have prevented if he had taken better care of himself.

He makes a quick stop to get some ginger tea from the nice lady in the cafeteria after his bath before he heads for Miyuki's room, slamming the door open to announce his arrival. 

"Sawamura Eijun has arrived!"  

Miyuki leans back against his chair, corner of his mouth lifting slightly. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, blue raglan shirt slightly rumpled. "Hey. You are late today. Thought you won't be coming."

Eijun closes the door behind him and makes his way to his usual spot, dropping his books and bottle down on the floor. "Was replying Wakana-chan just now, so I got held up a bit."

 "Oh?" There's an upward intonation in Miyuki's voice, which never spells anything good for Eijun. "So how's it going with your little girlfriend?" 

"You know there's nothing between us!" Eijun growls, furrowing his brows at Miyuki. 

Miyuki simply snickers and turns back to his own work. 

He spreads out his homework before he lies down on his stomach, wriggling himself a little to find a comfortable position. Opening up his assignment, he hums a tune under his breath as he studies the first question.

The room is silent for the first hour as the two of them bury themselves in their own work, until Eijun groans and drops his head down on his paper despairingly. 

"Miyuuuuuki," he whines, face still planted between pages of his assignment. 

There's a sigh before he hears Miyuki shifting in his seat. 

"Yes, Sawamura?"  

He props his chin on his hands and stares up at Miyuki, channelling as much plea as he can with his eyes. "Help." 

"I've got my own work to do, idiot," Miyuki says, "I'm sure you can handle doing math on your own for once. How did you ever survive without me?" 

"That's history you're studying, and the quiz's not till Thursday! You have like, two days to study for it," Eijun points out stubbornly, jutting his bottom lip out petulantly. "With how unfair your brains work, I'm sure you only need four hours at most to revise for that."

Miyuki sighs, rolls his eyes. "That's because I actually listen in class. Maybe you should try that."

Even as he says that, Eijun sees that Miyuki has already given in, pushing back his chair as he stands and rolls his sleeves up further above his elbows. Eijun catches the brief flex of his forearms as he does so. It takes another few moments as Miyuki gathers his things on the table before he plops down next to Eijun. Eijun scrambles to sit up, moving to lean against the frame of Miyuki's bed. 

Miyuki shoulders him to the right a little, pressing flush against the line of Eijun's body. With how close they are, Miyuki's shampoo wafts to Eijun's nose, and oh, it's that favorite brand Eijun likes best on him, which smells like green apples and fresh lavender. The previous shampoo he used smelled like cheap mint and Eijun hates it. 

"You managed to buy your usual shampoo?" He asks, huddling a bit closer to peer at the question along with Miyuki, pressing their shoulders together. Subconsciously, he takes another whiff. 

Miyuki offers a half-assed sound of agreement, obviously distracted. He's pressing down his notebook on his knee and scribbling some workings. It takes another moment before he elaborates, "Yeah, got it just today. I borrowed the shampoo from the common baths for the past few days, and I didn't really like the smell."

Yeah, me neither. But Eijun realizes it doesn’t seem quite right for him to say that, so he keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he lays his head on Miyuki's shoulder, watching quietly as he writes line after line of equations he sure as hell doesn't understand but he's sure Miyuki would explain till he gets it later. His eyelids grow heavy as he adjusts his head on Miyuki's shoulder so it's more comfortable. Morning practice was especially brutal today, and as much as Eijun likes to think he's an endless bundle of energy, the exhaustion really gets to him when he's in Miyuki's room. The familiar smell of Miyuki washes over his nose and a muffled pleased noise stumbles from between his lips as he nestles contently there.

He isn't sure how much time has passed, but when his eyes flutter open again, it's to someone tapping the side of his face. 

"Sawamura." 

Eijun blinks awake, head still heavy. He groans, squinting against the brightness of Miyuki's room, and quickly returns to press his forehead to the edge of Miyuki's shoulder. "Ugh."

"Are you helping me, or am I helping you," he says, and Eijun picks up on the amused lilt in his voice. Eijun feels a gentle tug at his hair before Miyuki drops his hand back to his side. 

He tilts his head and looks up, meeting Miyuki's eyes. There's a softness tucked behind his lenses that has Eijun's ribs squeezing and squeezing, and all of a sudden the scratchiness is back, clawing persistently up his throat. He slaps a hand over his mouth and turns away as he coughs into his hand. Eijun counts to nine before it thankfully stops, because as he recovers, he absently notes Miyuki patting on his back and, shit, Miyuki's definitely going to get on his case now.

"Are you sick?" Miyuki's looking at him, brows drawn together. 

Eijun shakes his head, but reaches for the bottle of ginger tea anyway, just to be safe.

Miyuki levels an unimpressed look on Eijun. "Don't over-do it tomorrow. You're the ace now and we can't have our ace falling sick." 

Eijun swallows a mouthful of ginger tea, and while it's warm and washes pleasantly down his throat, it does little to ease the rawness of it. "So I'm guessing it only matters if I'm the ace, huh," he says without thinking.  

Miyuki goes disconcertingly silent for a moment.

Eijun may not be the smartest, but he's not obtuse either; he likes to think he's somewhat good with people. There will always be cracks however guarded a person is. It's a matter of how persistent you are when it comes to finding them. 

And he's nothing but persistent, especially when it comes to things and people he's curious about. 

Over time, he accumulates small facts about Miyuki, things that don't help improve his pitching but he remembers every single one of them anyway. He learns that Miyuki likes lemon tarts despite the well-known fact that he hates confectioneries, the only band he follows is The Back Horn, he doesn't sleep well without his dull-colored socks and one of his dumb eye masks, and if Eijun goes on listing it'd go on forever. Eijun revels in the newly-earned private knowledge and doesn't share it with anyone else, carefully tucks them away in some part of himself, fiercely protective of these little things he learns just by being around Miyuki. 

The most important thing he learns, though, is picking up on the subtle changes in Miyuki's expression whenever there's a lapse in facade, that allows him a quick rare glimpse of the Miyuki Kazuya without the layers of masks he's hidden himself under. 

It gives the false impression that Miyuki might be letting down his guard around him, and it's a dangerous thought to have. 

Miyuki might unravel people like they are mystery puzzles, keen-eyed and devious, but he's wary of other people doing the same to him. He has had years of practice, unsheathing cheshire grins and backhanded remarks like sharpened swords whenever someone steps in too close. 

But.

Eijun learns, and he learns fast, when it comes to Miyuki. How else can he keep up with him otherwise? 

He catches the twitch of Miyuki's brow and the dark look that crosses his face for a brief second before his face shutters off to a studied look of indifference. His eyes remain steadfastly trained on his, though, and it makes the skin at the back of his neck prickle. 

"You know that's not what I meant," he says, a short pause later, but there's an edge in his voice and it's clear as day to Eijun that he has ticked Miyuki off, though he has no idea what, specifically.

Eijun cocks his head to the side and stares, trying to work out what he has said wrong. Miyuki stares back, not giving an inch.

He gives up on thinking. He might be able to catch the little things about Miyuki but that doesn't mean he can decipher them all the time. He would need more time for that.

Barely three months, his brain helpfully supplies, and he swallows around the lump that's suddenly lodged in his throat and tries to shove the traitorous thought away. 

Going with his instincts, he says, "Of course I was just making a joke! For someone who's supposed to be smart, you can be so dumb, Miyuki Kazuya!" 

"I'd have known it was joke if it wasn't such a dumb one," Miyuki replies, but he seems somewhat appeased.

Eijun pulls his lips back to bare his teeth at him threateningly.

It obviously doesn't look the least bit intimidating because there's a small quirk at the corner of Miyuki's mouth, before his expression shifts to a more serious one. "Regardless, if you are sick, you have to let someone know. Don't wear yourself out and collapse. We can't afford that."

"I promise, I promise," Eijun says, releasing a long suffering sigh. "You're such a worrywart. I haven't even really gotten onto your case for hiding your injury the last time." 

"I can take care of myself." 

"That's what you would say," Eijun says, rolling his eyes, "for everything."

Gripped by a sudden impulse, he continues: "You would let me know if anything happened to you now, right?" 

"Don't be dumb, Bakamura," Miyuki says evenly, not missing a beat in his response, "I'm not injured now."

Eijun catches onto the yes, moron, that's left unsaid, however, and it makes him so stupidly happy he feels a huge, oncoming grin that threatens to split his cheeks. He quickly ducks his head to hide his traitorous expression, pretends he's trying to figure out the solution Miyuki has scribbled on the paper. 

Miyuki leans into him, their shoulders pressing together in the close proximity as he points to the first line of his working and begins to explain. As he catches a whiff of Miyuki's stupidly nice-smelling shampoo again, his chest tightens to the point he thinks he can't breathe. 

It's a strange sensation; what he's feeling around Miyuki these days. 

Abruptly, there's a stinging itchiness that claws up his windpipe again, but this time Eijun's ready for it. He swallows it back down forcefully, clamps his lips resolutely shut. He manages to subdue it successfully, containing it to a simple clearing of throat.

It is then that Eijun's goes all cold-rigid, hit by the rich smell of fruity flowers and tasting a kind of fresh sweetness at the back of his throat.

His heart hammers loudly in his ears, and his fingers are tight around his pencil as he takes in a shuddering inhale to will himself to calm down. The smell of flowers returns with full force, a mocking taunt that he can't escape from.

It can't be. 

"—Sawamura?" Miyuki has tilted his head into Eijun's line of vision, and there's a worried droop of his lips as he presses a cool hand to Eijun's forehead. Eijun is still reeling from the possibility to pull back from his touch, eyes wide and body flushed, desperately hoping it's not what he suspects, because he's so fucked if it is. "Oi. You should go back and rest. You feel a bit warm."

Thank god for that, because Eijun doesn't think he's in the right state of mind to come up with any excuse to leave right now. He nods his head jerkily, not daring to speak lest some floral scent spews from his mouth, and he gathers his things haphazardly into a single pile.

By the time he wraps his arms around his stack of papers, he's already at the door, ready to make a run for it. He bows a full ninety-degrees, not forgetting his manners. "Thank you for today, captain! Pardon my intrusion!"

"Hey, let me know when—"

"I shall bid farewell to thee, Miyuki Kazuya! May we meet again if time permits!" He hollers, then promptly slams the door shut.

The last thing he catches sight of is Miyuki seated on the floor, an arm rested on his propped-up knee, a perplexed frown between his brows and his mouth twisted in an awkward angle, looking as bewildered as he has ever seen him. And really, he should be thinking about how stupid Miyuki Kazuya looks, but all he can think about is how cute that asshole is, and oh my god—

Eijun makes a mad dash around the back of the dorms, one hand clutched tightly around his papers, while the other covers his mouth as he coughs and coughs and coughs. 

When he pulls his hand away, he sees three yellow-orange petals resting in his palm. 

His entire body goes cold.

He curls trembling fingers around them and finds the nearest trashbin. 

-

Eijun goes to practice as usual. He yells at Satoru for stealing his tire, shouts out bunting advice to his teammates, and asks for more pitches to be thrown. He doesn't meet Miyuki's eyes after, dragged off by a cackling Kuramochi who cuffs him at the back of his head and shames him for nearly oversleeping practice.

During mealtimes, he seats himself next to Haruichi and wolfs down three bowls of rice, all heaped into the huge mountain he's so proud of he shows off to Okumura. That little brat scowls at him and goes back to digging into his rice with noticeably more fervor. 

Nonetheless, he senses Miyuki's watchful eyes on him every now and then, and he makes sure he's sitting straight and he swallows down his water extra-hard whenever he feels an odd itch crawling up the back of his throat. 

He avoids hanging out in Miyuki's room alone, conjecturing that it might make everything worse.

-

He only wakes up from his sleep to find the number of petals increasing.

-

"Stop following me, Sawamura."

Eijun feels like he's been doused in icy water from head to toe as he stares helplessly into Miyuki's cold, unblinking eyes. His chest constricts painfully. "I don't understand. What did I—" 

"Sawamura, you're annoying." There's a sharpness in the curve of Miyuki's mouth that Eijun isn't used to. "I'm getting drafted into the pro leagues. Look at you: you've only just became the ace and you messed up your first game. You're clearly miles from where I am."

Eijun swallows hard, fingers curling into tight fists by his sides. "No, I'm going to reach where you are! Just because you're graduating doesn't mean anything is ending!"

"What's there for us to end?" Miyuki reaches him in a few quick steps, and Eijun finds himself backed up against a wall that appears out of nowhere. His breath catches in his throat. "There's nothing between us to begin with."

"That's not what I meant!" Eijun jerks his face to the side, tension working up his jaw as he attempts to rein in some semblance of control. His nails are digging deep into his palms, leaving angry, painful indents behind. His voice is small and quiet when he continues: "I never hoped for anything."

"I’m not stupid, Sawamura. I’m not you. Did you think I wouldn’t notice how you always come to my room after practice for no reason at all?" Miyuki drawls, a mocking quality in his voice not lost on Eijun. Rough fingers grip Eijun's chin, forcing him to face him. Miyuki's stare is cold and blood-chillingly foreign. Eijun's gut churns, roiling waves of queasiness that rushes up his windpipe, unrelenting. "Did you think I wouldn't notice the way you look at me?"

He slaps a clammy hand over his mouth, another pushing weakly against Miyuki's chest in an effort to get him away. 

I'm going to throw up, what the hell, I can't—

Miyuki doesn't back down, doesn't seem to notice. "You like boys, and you like me," he says, an ugly sneer twisting his mouth, "you are disgusting." 

Eijun hunches over and hurls, retching so hard his eyes are squeezed shut, watering at the edges. 

He opens his eyes to find mountains and mountains of yellow-orange flowers, fully-bloomed, gathered in a bloody pile at his feet.

Miyuki has disappeared.

- 

Eijun wakes with a cold jolt, sweat matting his fringe to his forehead.

He's greeted by the darkness of his dorm room, chest heaving in panicked quick, shuddering inhales. It's just a dream. Relief washes over him, helps him to even out his breaths over the next few minutes. Even then, the pressure at his lungs doesn't dissipate fully, and with every intake of breath, he thinks he feels soft petals shifting in his windpipe, a subtle rustle; a lurking threat.

He turns to his side, a mandatory ritual by now, making out the shape of individual petals scattered beside his pillow. It shouldn't come as a surprise anymore, honestly, but a coldness still freezes over his veins as he sits up and begins his usual routine of gathering and stuffing the petals into his pillowcase. It's reaching the point where it's almost half-filled and there's a suspicious bulge at the underside of his pillow, so he reaches a careful hand inside to even out the distribution of the petals. 

What do I do with this? 

His breathing grows jagged, climbing to a panicked staccato, and he snatches his hand out from the pillowcase. He closes his eyes for a moment and inhales deeply, ignoring the slight burn of his lungs as he does so. 

There are only two solutions. Even he knows it'd be ridiculous to throw his life away for a love that isn't reciprocated. But he thinks of the twinkle in his mother's eyes when she looks at his father; he remembers his grandfather smiling softly down at his grandmother when she was bedridden and barely hanging on, his hand large and steady over hers—and god, do they make him ache with want. 

But Miyuki doesn't return his feelings. It's an impossible future to work towards.

What can I do then? Who can I ask for help?

He can't look for his friends. He can't possibly burden any of them with this. Everyone is stressed enough about the approaching game, and here he is divvying their attention to solve a mere problem of unrequited love? 

The answer is obvious. 

His vision blurs as he stares down at his cold, shaking hands. Bile rises up his throat. He tries to swallow it back down, but a faint sweetness hits him, and he hunches over and retches, a dry one—thank god—he quickly clamps a hand over his mouth. He darts a panicked glance around the room to make sure no one's awake.

He realizes belatedly the motion of dry-heaving has awakened the flowers blooming in his chest, and it takes only half a second before he feels the petals gather into a rising cluster under his collarbone.

He scrambles off the bed, hand tight against his lips as he shoves his feet into the closest pair of slippers he finds before he runs and wrenches the door open.

The moment the cool morning air hits him, he breaks into a run, sprinting for the nearest washroom. 

He slams the cubicle door shut behind him once he reaches, doesn't even register that it swings back open, doesn't notice that he hasn't locked the door and there's someone at the sink, startled grey eyes widening by a fraction with his brusque arrival. 

Eijun barely has the toilet seat up before he's on his knees with his eyes squeezed shut, the pressure in his lungs mounting and mounting as he jerks forward and heaves into the toilet, a torrent of petals spilling from his mouth unforgivingly, a long, painful retching as his body attempts to expel all the flowers from his lungs in one go.

His fingers are curled tightly around the edges of the toilet seat when he finally finishes puking his lungs out, a hot tear sliding down from the corner of his eye.

A sudden sharp pain at the back of his throat has him coughing up a few more stray petals before he spits them into the toilet. He's shaking and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he attempts to regain some measure of composure, sucking in a few shuddering inhales and ignoring the weight resting underneath his ribs.

When he finally opens his eyes, colorful bright spots cloud his vision, and the silence of his surroundings is deafening. He kneels there, still light-headed and lacking in oxygen, staring at the floating petals that cover the entire water surface as he tries to breathe the best he can. 

It's getting worse, he thinks helplessly.

"Eijun?"

He stiffens. Slowly turns his head around.

The first thing he sees is the door hanging agape, a few inches wide, and the next thing he spots is the tall, familiar figure that's standing right outside of his cubicle.

"Satoru," he says, and his voice is scratchy even to his ears. 

Furuya steps forward uncertainly, pushes the door open wider as he peers in, grey eyes searching his face. Eijun hopes he doesn't look as shitty as he feels.

"Are you sick?"

Eijun clears his throat, pushes through with a wide smile. "I'm fine. I'm just feeling sick from something I ate yesterday, I think."

"You don't look well," Satoru says plainly, and there's a crack in his usual stoic facade as he creases his brows worriedly. He takes another step forward like he's suspecting something, and honestly Eijun doesn't know how much he has seen and he'd rather Satoru believe that he's down with a case of simple food poisoning than

—oh shit, the flowers—

Eijun whirls his body around and Satoru reacts, a conditioned reflex, used to responding to Eijun's unintentional non-verbal challenges that extends beyond baseball, like when he tries to heap more rice in his bowl or when he forces himself to stay awake in lessons.

(Satoru learns to keep an eye on Eijun, knows he's a formidable rival that he can't let his guard down around and he observes, absorbs everything he can about Eijun like a sponge so he knows how he can best rise up to the challenge.) 

And usually they are well-matched, neck-to-neck, but today Eijun's languid in his motions, body heavy and head pounding, and he's one second too late, Satoru next to him in no time and his hand lightning-fast in covering the flush button.  

Eijun swallows hard, hand falling back to his side as he watches Satoru drop his gaze to study the floating petals in the toilet.

He starts fidgeting with the hem of his shirt when the silence stretches on for too long, and while Satoru and Eijun have grown a lot closer, Eijun has no idea how Satoru would react in a situation like this. 

It feels like eternity when Satoru finally lifts his gaze and levels a hard look on Eijun. "You should get surgery."

"...What?" Of all things, that wasn't what Eijun had expected Satoru to say.

"Get surgery. It's either surgery or death. Or have you tried confessing?" Satoru asks.

Eijun's mouth opens and closes, before he mumbles a negative, the thought of confessing to Miyuki turning his stomach over. 

"Why not?" 

Eijun realizes he doesn’t have an answer for that. Instead, he says: "Why are we having this conversation in the toilet? It stinks."

Wordlessly, Satoru reaches over and flushes the toilet for him, flicking a cursory glance over to make sure all the petals are gone. Eijun is hit by a sudden surge of gratitude as he follows Satoru out of the cramped stall. 

Perhaps it's good that Satoru has found him because it doesn't feel so scary suddenly, knowing someone has your back. 

Satoru waits by the side, heated gaze boring holes to the side of his face as Eijun washes his mouth out at the sink. It's a little squirmish, honestly, as it's the first time he's under such intense level of scrutiny from his rival. He tries to ignore it as he splashes water on his face and looks up into the mirror. 

Oh gross, he looks like shit, his face an ashen grey color and his lips pale and cracked. 

It's as if Satoru has read his mind, because their gazes meet in the reflection and he utters flatly, "You look bad." 

"Tell me something I don't know!" Eijun retorts instinctively, huffing, stepping away and exiting the washroom with Satoru. "Why are you even up so early anyway?"

Satoru has taken to a slow pace beside him, and Eijun matches it. "The game with Hachiya Ouji is today."

Eijun gets it, how he's anxious and eager to perform his best as the starter after so long. It's similar to when he finally received the number he's been chasing after what feels like forever, and is charged with excessive pressure and enthusiasm to perform to the best of his abilities for his first game as the ace. The number 1 that rests on his back now is new like the jersey shirt he gets for the season because he has filled out his shoulders over spring break, and the stiff scratchiness of the material over his face as he pulls it down over his undershirt is a reminder of how far he has come. "Don't lose your cool on the mound or I'm going to step in for you!" 

"Speak for yourself. I wasn't even warmed up when you got switched out," Satoru replies, a cheap jab at Eijun's shitty pitching a few days ago. He'd have taken offense if he doesn't know Satoru, but he does and he knows Satoru meant it as a factual observation, meant it as a I expected you to do much better than that. 

"Don't be rude!" Eijun wags his finger at him like he's scolding a child. "Well, just know if you mess up I'm always here to save you from trouble!" 

"I'm pitching a full nine innings today," Satoru declares resolutely, "and you are better off sitting at the benches. I don't think your body can handle it." 

Eijun deflates almost immediately, reminded of the flowers blooming in his chest cavity. It's not as if he had forgotten, not really. It's hard to forget when it feels like his lungs are half-filled by a perpetual crushing pressure and breathing is akin to a chore sometimes. Even his throat feels scraped raw these days, like a prelude to an inflamed throat, just worse in ways that's hard to describe. 

Despite that, Eijun is confident he won't let it get in the way of baseball. Not if he can help it. "Don't underestimate Sawamura Eijun, the shining hero of all aces!"

Satoru halts in his steps, and Eijun does so too, turning his body inwards to face him. "What is it?" 

"Hanahaki is serious. I don't know what you have heard about it, but you can die from it. I... I had a distant relative who had it once. I don't remember much because I was still very young back then, but he was hospitalized and refused to have surgery, according to my grandfather. Nobody could persuade him otherwise."

Eijun blinks owlishly at Satoru, taken aback by the entire length of Satoru's speech. He had never heard him talk so much (to him at least) in one go before.

Satoru doesn't seem like he was waiting for a response, though, because he goes on to say, "I don't want you to die."

Eijun's jaw slackens, and silence falls between them.

Satoru is clearly worried about him and Eijun doesn't want to let him down by giving some half-assed response that he doesn't deserve. They are friends now—friends from the very start actually, in Eijun's opinion, but Satoru doesn't need to know that—and Eijun knows if their roles were switched, he'd work himself up a storm trying to solve the problem for Satoru because he wants all his friends healthy and alive, thank you very much.

A cold chill suddenly runs down his spine and he shivers, realizing he should have brought his windbreaker out with him when he left the room. Not that he had much of a choice. Still, he doesn't usually feel cold and it brings up the question if this... illness he has now is affecting the way his body works. 

He tries not to think about the many other ways it will change his life. "Satoru..."

"Our pitchers sure are being chummy this fine morning!"

Eijun startles, nearly jumping out of his skin as he snaps his head back, wide-eyed like he's just been caught fraternizing with the enemy. Miyuki is strolling towards them with his hands tucked in his Seidou windbreaker, a smarmy smirk sliding across his lips when he catches Eijun's eyes.

"Why do you look so guilty, Sawamura?" He sing-songs, stepping into place beside Eijun and sliding an easy arm over his shoulders. Miyuki's body leans warmly against his, and it's suddenly not as cold anymore. "Were you badmouthing me with Furuya?"

Eijun scoffs, crossing his arms haughtily. "I wouldn't need to do that behind your back, Miyuki Kazuya!"

In response, Miyuki tugs him closer, so much so that half of his back is pressing against Miyuki's chest. He feels himself flush hotly as Miyuki crowds into him, breath fanning over his ear. "What were you two talking about, hm?"

Eijun does not let out a squeak, squawking indignantly as he pushes Miyuki off him and stumbles back to where Satoru is standing. "What are you doing, Miyuki Kazuya?!" 

"Trying to find out what my pitchers are conspiring, of course!" There's a gleam in Miyuki's dark eyes, and Eijun knows they are both not going to be let off the hook that easily. Still, that also means he hasn't heard anything of substance, and that's a good thing. "Why don't you enlighten me, Furuya~"

Satoru's gaze flits between Eijun and Miyuki. Eijun's gut twists queasily as he wonders if Satoru has figured it out. "... I'm done washing up. Please help me warm up later, Miyuki-senpai."

"You ignored my question," Miyuki says, sighing dramatically. "When will I get the respect I deserve?"

"When you stop being an asshole!" Eijun answers reflexively, scowling at Miyuki. Miyuki raises a brow, and before he can say anything more, Eijun plows on, beating him to the punch: "And that means never, because you are never nice, Miyuki Kazuya!"

"I'm wounded you think of me that way," Miyuki says, feigning hurt as he rests his hand against his chest. 

Eijun scrunches up his face at Miyuki's fake hurt and reaches back to tug on Satoru's shirt, asking for support. "Set him right, Satoru!"

"Please remember to catch for me later, Miyuki-senpai," Satoru says without batting an eye, clearly not intending to embroil himself in the childish banter between them.

"See you in the bullpen later," Miyuki replies, a tacit agreement, but his eyes are still trained on Eijun. It's not as if he would have said no, anyway, considering how Satoru's the starter for the game today. 

Eijun juts his bottom lip out in protest as Satoru makes a motion to leave, but then he turns, expression uncharacteristically serious while looking straight at Eijun, "Think carefully about what I said, Eijun."

"I will," Eijun promises.

Once Satoru leaves, Miyuki raises both his brows inquisitively. "So? Wanna share anything with your favorite catcher?"

"Don't flatter yourself! Chris-senpai's my favorite!" Eijun retorts. "What's the time now, anyway?"

Miyuki reaches into his pocket and flips open his phone, turning his phone screen outwards, but it's a little too far for Eijun to see it properly. Miyuki doesn't budge from his position, and it becomes obvious that he doesn't intend to when he tilts his head towards the phone and quirks a brow expectantly.

Eijun huffs and grumbles "stupid tanuki" under his breath, stomping over to Miyuki. "What?! It's nearly five-thirty! I'm supposed to be on my third round—"

He sneezes, fist pressing to his mouth just in time. He scrunches his nose up and sniffles loudly.  

"It's a wonder how you have survived for so long," Miyuki says wryly.

Eijun bristles, and before he can respond with something equally insulting, Miyuki is shrugging off his windbreaker and draping it over Eijun's shoulders. He can feel Miyuki's calloused fingers brushing against his shoulders as he does so, the shirt material so thin that it feels like he's touching his bare skin.

Eijun's chest tightens, heart thrumming fast and hard against his ribs.

"Wear it properly, or do you need me to do it for you?" Miyuki arches a brow and Eijun's quick to obey, too flustered to bite out any snarky remarks that were ready on his tongue. The jacket is a welcome layer of protection, warm and snug around his body, though it wears a bit looser around his shoulders and the sleeves are too long, brushing against his knuckles. The smell of Miyuki rushes to his nose, familiar and reassuring. Eijun subconsciously pulls it tighter around him. "What were you thinking, wearing that out of your room? Even an idiot like you should have enough sense. I heard from Kuramochi you've been coughing a lot in your sleep."

It's almost as if Miyuki cares. And it's probably because he's the ace now or because Miyuki's being a good captain or both, but whatever it is, he cares. Affection swells warmly in the space underneath his ribs and he has to press his lips together to keep from smiling like an idiot. 

"I am taking good care of myself!" Eijun protests half-heartedly. "Who says I'm not?!"

Miyuki sweeps the sharp-eyed gaze that's usually reserved for the field over Eijun's face. Eijun's breath hitches in his throat. Dropping his gaze to his mismatched slippers, he shoves his hands into the pockets of Miyuki's windbreaker and tries to resist a shiver when another strong wind whips past his cheeks. 

"Won't you be cold?" Eijun asks, knowing how weak Miyuki is to chilly weathers. 

"I'm pretty sure a sick person deserves a jacket more than I do, however dumb they are," Miyuki drawls.  

Whose fault is it?! Eijun wants to demand.

"I'm not sick," Eijun insists, ignoring the usual jab at his intelligence. His fingers play with the zipper of the windbreaker absently as he glowers at Miyuki defiantly. 

Miyuki side-steps into his space and bends forward slightly at his waist with his hands jammed in the pockets of his track pants. He tilts his head up to stare at Eijun speculatively. They are so close Miyuki's nose nearly brushes against his cheek, and Eijun thinks his heart jumps into his throat just then, petals fluttering in his windpipe, the pressure coiling in his chest. 

"Why are you so red then?" 

Eijun stumbles a good few inches back and pointedly looks away from Miyuki, staring out into the fields instead. "I'm not! It's cold! I'm going back to my room!"

His exhale comes out slightly shaky as he buries his hands back into Miyuki's windbreaker to gather some warmth.

"You don't have to be so loud to make your point." 

"If I don't say it loud enough how can it get through your thick skull?!"

Miyuki flashes teeth. "If only your batting is half as good as how loud your voice is."

Eijun considers the prospect of it, turning the idea over in his head with serious consideration. "Ugh. Yeah, maybe!" He agrees gruffly, wrinkling his nose distastefully and hating how Miyuki actually makes sense. 

Miyuki blinks once, twice, then laughs, folding into himself as he clutches his waist, body shaking with barely-contained amusement. "My sides! I can't believe you agreed with me so easily!" 

"You shitty asshole! What's wrong with agreeing with you?!" 

"Nothing wrong, of course," Miyuki says, full-blown laughter subsiding to small snickers under his breath. He cocks his head to the side. "Anyway, you should really head back for more sleep. You look way too pale and Coach will never put you in for a game when you're looking like this."

Eijun pulls one of his hands out from the pocket, tugging up the windbreaker's collar to properly shield his neck from the cold wind. "It's already five-thirty, I'm supposed to be doing runs by now!" 

"You do that and I'll tell the Coach on you," Miyuki says, a sickening sweetness slipping into his voice as he flutters his lashes in faux-innocence. 

Eijun feels a growl rising to his throat, pulling his lips back to flash his teeth at him threateningly. "Don't you dare!"

"Try me," Miyuki replies, smiling so wide it's disgustingly phony. The light of the corridor bounces off the lenses of Miyuki's glasses when he tilts his head just so, making him look more devious than he already is.

He's about to fling a loud retort back when he's distracted by Miyuki flexing his fingers, a seemingly unconscious motion on its own, before Miyuki stuffs his hands into his track pants again. 

Eijun wonders if Miyuki is actually freezing. "Do you want your jacket back? I'm not cold anymore."

"After it's been contaminated with your germs?" Miyuki arches a brow. "I'm not stupid. No, thank you!"

"I was just worried about you, you asshole!" 

"Aww, your concern is touching!" 

The tone Miyuki adopts grates on Eijun's nerves endlessly, and he's all ready to haul Miyuki by the front of his shirt when a painful itch pricks into the back of his throat and he covers his mouth to hack out a few coughs that does nothing to abate it. He's thankful to find his hand is devoid of flowers when he pulls it away, because Miyuki is too smart and can piece things together too fast, and he isn't mentally prepared for Miyuki's reaction when he hasn't even thought things through on his own. 

"Go back and rest while you can, Patient-kun!" Miyuki says cheerily, cutting into his train of thought. He looks up expecting to see Miyuki smirking at him, but his face is surprisingly blank, an odd contrast to his tone, with a barely-perceptible tightness between his brows. "Or you can rest during the game against Hachiya Ouji and warm the benches for us while you are at it!"

"I'm going to play in the game if I am needed because that is what an ace does!" Eijun declares, wagging his finger at Miyuki. "I'm a strong boy from the countryside who can handle a bit of a cold! I want the team to know they can rely on me!"

"Of course we do," Miyuki says, corners of his mouth twitching in suppressed amusement. The tension at his brows has smoothed over, and Eijun wonders if he had imagined it in the first place. "Now leave me alone and go back to bed."

"You were the one disturbing my peace!" Eijun accuses, setting his jaw stubbornly. "You suck, Miyuki Kazuya!"

Eijun shoots him a heated glare to make sure he gets his point across and ignores the stupid grin Miyuki flashes in return. Huffing indignantly, he stomps away back into his room, his fingers curling into clenched fists in the warm pockets of Miyuki's windbreaker. 

And even then, even then, he thinks he might feel a little lighter, a little happier, with the smell of Miyuki shrouding his body like a protective coat and Miyuki's concern washing over his body like the warm seatide in summer.

-

It's still a no-hitter for Satoru, who keeps true to his promise and pitches brilliantly in the game against Hachiya Ouji with eleven strike-outs, giving up only two walks over the course of six innings. As Seidou enters the bottom of the seventh, Hachiya Ouji is under tremendous pressure of scoring at least two runs off Satoru, who's obviously in the zone today.

Eijun spins the baseball in his left hand restlessly, the red-stitched seams brushing against the pads of his fingers as he wonders if the game will be called. Captain Kawabata is the next at-bat, and Eijun leans forward with a sense of trepidation, toned stomach pressing against the railing as he watches him step up to the plate, digging his heels into the dirt. 

The opposing team bursts into a chorus of encouragement for their captain, and Eijun can't help smiling at that. 

"Do you still want to throw?”

Eijun darts a startled glance over to Okumura who is currently slinking into place beside him. This brat sure can be sneaky when he wants to be. Okumura didn't seem to think he is needed in the game as his bat is nowhere in sight, probably stowed away neatly somewhere.

"Nah. I will pitch when we’re back later," Eijun replies, re-focusing his attention on the game.

“… Don’t you get frustrated?”

Eijun angles his face to look at Okumura, who is staring back at him with an undecipherable expression on his face. “Of course I do,” he admits easily as his eyes return to track the flurry of movements on the field.

He watches as Satoru winds up his leg and whips his arm forward—

" Strike!"

— "But Satoru's amazing. With the way he is now, I'm not needed."

There's a small pause before: "I don't get how you can say things like that." 

Eijun turns his head slightly in Okumura's direction, eyes still on the match as he distractedly asks, "What do you mean?" 

"Nothing. You are just...weird."

Eijun flicks a quick glance over. Was that a compliment or an insult? It's hard to tell with the blank expression Okumura wears all the time. Okumura has already turned his attention back to the game though, so Eijun shrugs the question off. 

" He knocked it right back! Captain Kawabata scores his team their first hit!"

Eijun's jaw is set as he watches Kawabata clench his fist and pumps it in the air, answering to the victorious shouts of his teammates. It's clear that the captain is in a league of his own in both skills and determination. The tenacity he's pushing himself with is admirable. 

Nonetheless, he's confident Seidou will win. He wishes he's the one standing on the mound. Absently, he wonders what Miyuki will sign for next with Satoru. 

As if on cue, there's an abrupt rising pressure in his chest as a fit burns through his lungs. Shit. He angles his body away from Okumura's line of vision, hunching his shoulders as he coughs violently into his hand. 

"Senpai? Senpai, are you okay?" 

The world around him is spinning a little and his head is pulsating with a rhythmic throb, but he reins in the grimace that's close to showing and deftly stuffs the petals into his pocket. He swivels back on his feet to face Okumura, flashing him a close-lipped smile because he's half-afraid there are petals stuck between his teeth. His grip tightens around the baseball in his hand. He hopes his face doesn't give anything away. 

Okumura's scrutinizing stare remains. Eijun runs his tongue over his teeth once for precaution before he opens his mouth to reiterate, "I'm fine." 

His voice sounds scratchy even to his ears, and Okumura must have picked up on it because he furrows his brows. "Do you need me to bring you to the nurse? That doesn’t sound good, and you have a game in a week." 

"Concentrate on the game, Okumura," Eijun says instead, carefully avoiding Okumura's shrewd eyes. "Even though we are up by eight runs now, it doesn't mean we can afford to be complacent. Luck and momentum both play a part in baseball, too." Miyuki makes a slight shift in his position at the catcher's box. Eijun unwittingly swallows, and immediately regrets it when his raw throat responds with sharp and painful pricks. He attempts to ignore it by continuing: "That one hit by their captain might just be enough for them to make a comeback. Third-years are relentless. It'd depend on the next batter to see if a momentum is successfully established."

Okumura appears to have given up his line of questioning, and Eijun is thankful. He doesn't think he can fib anymore and Okumura looks like the type who can see through all his lies. 

As the next batter steps up into the batter's box, Kawabata widens his stance at first base, poised to make a dash for the next. Seidou is this close to victory. They can't let them gain the momentum now.

"They have to finish it here," Eijun murmurs, a thought that becomes accidentally verbal. 

There's a resounding clang as the metal bat makes contact with the pitch, and Eijun tightens his grip on the baseball he has in his hand. Kawabata takes off charging as the ball lands snugly in Kuramochi's ready mitt. Haruichi is already sprinting to position, bending his knees and catching Kuramochi's throw with a solid thud of his glove. 

Haruichi barely hesitates as he locks on to his target. With a strong flick of his wrist, he shoots the ball over to the next fielder before the runner gets his foot on base. 

"And it's a 6-4-3 double play! Shortstop Kuramochi and second baseman Kominato block the way yet again!" 

Eijun is practically bursting with pride, his entire body thrumming with energy as he yells at the top of his lungs: "Osh! Osh! Osh!"

In that moment, as Eijun is pulled into a fest of victory slaps and clumsy side-hugs, the petals lay in his chest, quiet and unmoving. 

-

Eijun is walking back alone from the baths when he is ambushed.

He is about to turn the corner for the dorm building when someone hauls him by the back of his shirt into the flickering area with the busted light he was in just last week with Miyuki.

Eijun can barely respond before his ass forcibly hits the bench with a thud. The dull pang of pain makes him wince.

“Eijun-kun.”

Eijun blinks owlishly. Slowly lifts his head to see his attackers.

“Harucchi! Satoru!” Eijun exclaims, identifying them immediately by their outlines in the faint lighting. He sucks in a large intake of air and is about launch into a reproval of their manners when the familiar weight on his lungs returns, a crushing pressure that knocks a rough staccato of coughs from him.

He reflexively hunches over, hand clamped tightly over his mouth, eyes watering as he attempts to stop it—but he can’t, he wheezes and coughs and the petals are unrelenting as they spill into his cupped hand, uncaring of his current audience. He absently registers hands patting and smoothing down his back, but they do little to ease the pain that’s clawing at his throat and burning in his lungs.

When it finally stops, Eijun carefully folds in his trembling, clammy fingers to hide the petals in his hand. He does not dare to meet Haruichi’s eyes, fist tight around the surely crunched-up petals, focusing on drawing air back into his lungs instead, and it is such a bloody chore to breathe.

He’s exhausted and aching all over and he doesn’t know if he can hide this from Haruichi.

“He told me, Eijun-kun,” Haruichi says softly.

Eijun snaps his head up. Haruichi’s eyes are piercing and even more terrifying with the flickering light overhead. Eijun doesn’t even need to guess what Haruichi is referring to because there are only so many things Haruichi doesn’t know about him.

Eijun shoots Satoru a glare, mustering all the animosity he can—which, honestly, is little, given the monstrous coughing fit he has been through just now. Satoru actually looks slightly guilty as he avoids his eyes studiously, focusing on the humming vending machine beside him instead.

“It’s not his fault,” Haruichi says sharply. Eijun withers under his tone and fidgets with the petals under the weight of his stare. Haruichi’s tone softens as he continues, “The number of times I have seen you cough today is more than the number of shoujo mangas I’ve seen you go through in two weeks. And you get really quiet sometimes, these days. It’s worrying.”

Satoru straightens his back and fixes Eijun a look like he’s done the right thing all of a sudden. The traitor. Eijun glowers back at him.

“Eijun-kun,” Haruichi snaps. Eijun flinches and obediently turns back to look at Haruichi. “Have you decided what you want to do? How long has this—it’s been close to a week, I’m guessing? I read online that symptoms worsen dramatically after. It certainly looked bad enough just now.”

Eijun doesn’t have an answer, and his head feels way too heavy for him to muster any form of response to Haruichi’s question. “I don’t know,” he manages to croak out, and there is a noticeable raw, feeble quality to it.

Haruichi’s mouth flattens to a thin line. Eijun suddenly finds the yellow-orange shade of the petals very interesting.

“Eijun doesn’t want to get surgery,” Satoru offers helpfully after a beat of silence.

I really don’t know what to do. I really don’t.

Eijun hears a soft rustle of clothing beside him, cutting into his train of thoughts. Haruichi rests a careful hand on his elbow, and it is only then he realizes he’s shaking, and he’s so scared, so lost, but he doesn’t want to go under the knife and it’s scary, and it’s Miyuki Kazuya— 

“Oh, Eijun-kun,” Haruichi whispers, and Eijun lets himself be pulled into a hug, Haruichi wrapping his arms around his shoulders and patting soothingly on his back.

The tears are spilling down his cheeks all of a sudden, a catharsis he didn’t even know he needed. The petals he was gripping tightly in his hand fall and flutter onto the ground, forgotten, as he anchors his fingers into Haruichi’s shirt and sobs.

-

“I’m not going to ask who it is,” Haruichi says softly, an arm wrapped reassuringly around Eijun’s shoulder. Satoru quietly places a canned Aquarius beside Eijun. He hasn’t said a word since Eijun broke into an embarrassing fit of tears minutes ago out of nowhere. It’s a surprise Satoru hasn’t ducked out and left yet. “But she has to know, Eijun-kun. If you don’t tell her by the end of the week, I will personally drag you to the hospital myself.”

Eijun swallows at the casual use of gender pronoun, ignoring the sharp burn of his throat. “It’s not—it’s not that easy.”

“I know,” Haruichi says gently, “It’s hard to tell someone how you feel—”

“It’s not just that, Harucchi,” Eijun interrupts, his voice the softest he has ever remembered. He’s suddenly so tired, so drained of energy, and he just wants to sleep and forget about this and wake up with no stupid, stupid flowers growing in his lungs. “The person I like is not—” He closes his eyes. He trusts Haruichi. He trusts Satoru. “Is not a girl.”

“Oh.” He hears Haruichi say, a half-beat late in his response. The arm remains steady and unmoving on his shoulder, however, and Eijun thinks he breathes a little easier because of that. “Oh. I see.”

“What’s the problem?” Satoru finally speaks up, sounding genuinely confused. Eijun opens his eyes and stares at Satoru. He can only imagine the expression Haruichi has on his face right now. “It’s the same, isn’t it?”

Haruichi sighs. “Oh, Furuya.” His tone is one of fond exasperation. Eijun doesn’t know how to correct Satoru because it should be the same, and Satoru isn’t wrong, not really, but…

The sigh that follows mirrors Haruichi’s.

Haruichi shifts in his seat, turning his attention back to the matter in hand.

“First-string,” Haruichi says, and it’s not as much of a question as it is a statement. Haruichi has always been quickest out of the three of them.

Eijun doesn’t say anything, leaning into Haruichi instead.

“…I can try to get gauge his orientation. I’m subtle enough to do it without him suspecting,” Haruichi says, then adds as an afterthought: “Not as much as you trying to do the same, anyway.”

Eijun sucks in a stuttering breath. He is grateful for Haruichi’s offer, but there are things he should do himself. “It’s okay. I will do it myself. You can drag me to the hospital after.”

“Are you sure?” Haruichi peers at him worriedly.

“Yeah,” Eijun says, though he’s really not and he’s sick of this but he has been enough of a burden. His friends have helped more than they should, just by being here. “Thank you.”

-

Haruichi stuffs two paper bags folded into neat rectangles into his hands when they are at his door, muttering about him being an idiot hiding the petals in his pillowcase.

“I knew you were an idiot and needed these, but I never knew you were this big of an idiot,” Haruichi says, exasperated, “who in the world thinks hiding the petals in their pillowcase is a good idea?”

“I think it is not a bad idea,” Satoru says seriously.

The corner of Haruichi’s mouth twitches. Eijun isn’t sure if it is due to irritation or amusement or both. “Why do I even try,” Haruichi mutters as he rolls his eyes, “make sure you clear them out by tomorrow, Eijun-kun.”

“Okay,” Eijun promises.

Haruichi levels an odd look at Eijun for a moment, opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and closes it again. “Goodnight, Eijun-kun,” Haruichi finally says, and Eijun is sure that’s not what he wanted to say but it doesn’t matter because they are here and they are with him.

He’s so goddamned lucky.

“Take care, Eijun,” Satoru says, and it’s so strange hearing him say those words as he gets willingly towed away by Haruichi.

Eijun smiles as he pockets the paperbags and wrenches the door open. The room is flooded in darkness save for the desk-light with Kuramochi bent over his notes at the table.

“Shut the door, Sawamoron,” Kuramochi says without looking up, “Asada is asleep.”

Eijun quickly does so, carefully clicking the door close. He tiptoes over to his bed as quietly as he can, and winces as the paperbags in his pocket makes an odd, rumpling sound when he lies down on his bed.

He hears Kuramochi clicking his pen before his chair makes a familiar squeak of protest. “Sawamura, are you sick?”

Honestly, what is up with everyone today. He knows he’s the ace now and has a bigger responsibility to carry, but they don’t have to be so worried over what looks like a bad cough. He won't drag the team down if he can help it. 

Eijun does not open his eyes. “I am healthy as a horse, senpai.” He realizes lying is way easier when he doesn’t need to feign nonchalance or look at people.

“I saw you coughing pretty hard today. Even Miyuki is worried.” His heart jumps in his chest hearing his name. “Go see the nurse if you are unwell.”

“I will drop by tomorrow.” Eijun yawns. “Don’t worry.”

“I can’t not worry when you’re like Miyuki,” Kuramochi mutters, “you are just another breed of baseball idiot.”

Eijun doesn’t say another word. After a moment, he hears another creak and assumes Kuramochi has turned back to his notes. He has really ramped up the time he dedicates to studying this year; even the newest video game he bought four days ago has remained untouched in his shelf. Third-years probably need to invest a lot more time into their studies with their final exams approaching.

He wonders how Miyuki is handling the stress.

He reaches into his pocket and fingers the edge of his phone for a brief second before he pulls it out and slides it unlock. The sudden burst of brightness is a sharp ache to his eyes as he drags the level down to the lowest and squints at his message notifications.

There’s a stupid swell of excitement in his chest when he spots Miyuki’s name and taps into the notification.

From: Miyuki Kazuya

(10:28 PM) do you have cough meds? even your favourite wolf boy noticed you’re sick lol

Eijun places the phone face-down beside his pillow, eyes sliding shut as he considers what he should reply.

He rests a hand on his chest for a moment and feels his heart beating a steady rhythm against his ribs. Then he presses down on it, almost vicious in the pressure he exerts, wants to fucking crush all that's growing in his lungs dead.

A strangled cough tumbles from his lips.

He hates this—these unwanted things growing in his chest cavity like they have been planted there all along—he hates this. He’s so sick of it, and he knows Haruichi is right: he has to do something about it. He turns on his side and pats for his phone. His thumbs fly over the keyboard and he sends out the message before he chickens out at the last moment.

To: Miyuki Kazuya

(12:34 AM) nope!! but it’s ok i’ll go look for the nurse tmr or sth!!! BTW R U STILL AWAKE? :O i wanna ask u sth

Eijun replaces the phone to the side of his pillow and pulls out one folded paperbag from his pocket carefully, grimacing at the dry crackle of the material as he unfolds it. He darts a quick glance over at Kuramochi to make sure he’s still engrossed in his work.

He’s halfway through shovelling the petals into the bag when his phone vibrates.

From: Miyuki Kazuya

(12:38 AM) i’ve cough syrup here. i can pass it to you tomorrow during bfast lol and in case you haven’t noticed, yes i am awake. why?

Eijun doesn’t even know why he’s smiling. There is nothing to be happy about when Miyuki is calling him stupid between the lines.

To: Miyuki Kazuya

(12:39 AM) IM NOT AN IDIOT!!! >:( AND THANK U U R SO NICE Y R U SO NICE!!!

(12:40 AM) but uh do u mind meeting for a few mins now?

Miyuki’s reply comes almost immediately, as Eijun is about to set his phone down again.

He opens his message with bated breath when two new messages vibrate in quick succession afterwards.

From: Miyuki Kazuya

(12:41 AM) LOLOL i’ve always been nice

(12:42 AM) … it better not be a midnight catching session

(12:42 AM) but okay, I will see you at the vending machine in 5

That is way easier than he thought.

He types his reply with slightly shaky fingers:

To: Miyuki Kazuya

(12:43 AM) !! it’s not don’t worry!!! see u in 5!

He shoves his phone into his pocket and stands, walking over to the wardrobe.

“Where are you going?”

Eijun grabs the jacket hanging from the knob of his wardrobe and slings it over his arm. “I’m meeting Miyuki for a few minutes. Want anything from the vending machine?”

“Now?” Kuramochi wrinkles his nose distastefully. “What’s this, a midnight tryst for the battery couple?”

I wish, Eijun thinks. 

Kuramochi doesn’t seem to expect an answer because he continues, “I want a mocha coffee!”

Eijun makes a noise of acknowledgement as he twists the doorknob as quietly as possible, afraid of waking Asada up with the noise.

He is halfway out the door when he hears Kuramochi whisper-yell: “Wear the damned jacket, you moron! And come back soon so you can sleep earlier—Miyuki Kazuya is not worth losing sleep over!”

What a mother hen. Eijun feels warm inside out, grateful for the friends he made in Seidou not for the first time. He makes a noise that sounds like an odd mixture of both agreement and disagreement to let Kuramochi know he’s heard him as he shuts the door.

He shouldn’t lie where he doesn’t have to.

-

Eijun isn’t entirely sure if he has made the right choice.

He checks his phone for the umpteenth time. It’s only been three minutes and Miyuki should be arriving at any moment now, but the fact he hasn’t also means he has the chance to backpedal and escape— 

“Yo.”

—Or not. Miyuki Kazuya has the absolute worst timing ever.

“Hey.” He stops fidgeting with the pull-tab of his Aquarius.

Miyuki blinks at him, a curious glint in his dark eyes. Eijun ducks his head and clears his throat, distracting himself by twisting the pull-tab of his drink back. As he tilts his head back for his first gulp, he watches Miyuki from his peripheral vision. Wordlessly, Miyuki steps into the flickering light and stands in front of the vending machine.

He barely hesitates before he slots in some coins and selects the option for Pocari; it sits on the first row, second from the left, and Eijun knows because he has seen Miyuki choose the same drink over and over. For someone who lives for unpredictable and fucked up game strategies (he means this as a compliment, really, but Miyuki doesn’t have to know), he sticks to old habits and predictable routines a lot.

“What do you want to talk about?” Miyuki asks after getting his drink from the dispenser, dropping down on the seat beside Eijun. Before Eijun can answer, there’s a plastic rustle as Miyuki drops something into his lap.

Eijun peers into the bag and sees a glass bottle inside.

“Cough syrup,” Miyuki explains when Eijun looks up at him curiously. “Might as well pass it to you now.”

Eijun’s cheeks warm as he holds Miyuki’s gaze, the dark eyes barely visible in the shadows. “Thank you,” he says, corners of his mouth pulling into a small smile.

Miyuki clears his throat and looks away to open his canned beverage. “So?”

Eijun blinks at the side profile of Miyuki, momentarily lost. “Oh. Right.”

Eijun has never confessed his feelings before. He has never really seen anyone beyond baseball. Even though he binges on shoujo manga and has admittedly imagined himself in romantic scenarios, there was never anyone he fantasized about—he doesn’t even fantasize about anything! He zones out majority of the time or nods off to sleep. Baseball is an obvious exception, of course. Visualizing the trajectory of his pitch, considering different pitching grips, and imagining the day he masters the numbers he has in his arsenal with Miyuki. Beyond that, too: like coming up with new numbers and becoming the number one pitcher in Japan.

Something huge and not yet in attainable distance. No romantic inclinations. He has never considered feeling anything for anyone at this point, much less for Miyuki Kazuya, what the hell.

But… if he has to rationalize it, Miyuki Kazuya has been different from the very beginning. Miyuki represents the promise of the brand of pitching he never knew he was looking for. Even though he is full of sharp grins and snide remarks, he has never stopped being here with his dumb remarks meant to motivate, his blunt words meant to guide, and his gloved bumps a perpetual charge of confidence and reassurance.

And It’s as if everything fell into place at once.

Miyuki Kazuya has become a part of his baseball.

Ah. No wonder. Eijun finds himself squashing the oddest urge to laugh.

Miyuki exhales a sigh of defeat, probably tired of waiting for a response. “Is this another one of your existential crises?”

“What—no! How many of those do you think I have?!”

Miyuki quirks an amused brow. “You tell me.”

“Shut up,” Eijun responds half-heartedly. He goes on to fidget with the handles of the plastic bag, worrying his bottom lip. In retrospect, he should have asked Haruichi for advice.

A blanket of silence descends once more.

“Ace-sama, as much as I like seeing your face and hearing your voice, I do have morning classes tomorrow,” Miyuki drawls from beside him.

Eijun’s voice dies in his throat when he turns to meet Miyuki’s dark, scrutinizing eyes, bright and sharp behind the lenses of his glasses even in the shadows, his face scant inches away from his. “So what is it, Sawamura?”

Eijun swallows hard, not daring to blink. He feels the roots digging into his lungs and a building pressure in his chest. But it’s strange, because they are not rising up in fury—not yet perhaps—they are fluttering in his ribs, restless, as if they are waiting for something.

For him to confess his feelings and get rejected before he dies, maybe.

“It’s nothing!” He chickens out, his mouth twisting to a grimace the moment the words are out of his mouth. Ugh. He's such a coward. Miyuki draws back, leaving a good, breathable distance between them once more.

Miyuki props an elbow on his thigh and leans the side of his face against his palm. A slow smirk unfurls across the length of Miyuki’s mouth as he tilts his head to look at Eijun properly. Shit. He looks obnoxiously attractive at this angle, too. At whatever angles, really.  

“Well. You have got to tell me now, Ei-chan, because my interest is piqued,” Miyuki says, the syllable of his first name rolling off his tongue with a deliciously low timbre tone, what the hell.

Eijun’s aware his face is burning hot and he desperately hopes it’s dark enough not to be seen. What an asshole. What a handsome asshole!!!! The nerve!

He wrenches his gaze away from Miyuki’s before he says something stupid. He gulps down a quick mouthful of his drink before he continues: “It’s okay, it’s not really important, and you have classes anyway!” Eijun knows he’s going to start blabbering, but he can’t stop because his heart is beating at like, a thousand miles an hour (how do you measure heartbeats?!), and he is having trouble thinking and breathing, "It's really not important and it’s actually really, really stupid so it’s really fine! I can just ask someone else! Oh, I think—”

“Okay, Sawamura,” Miyuki interrupts, raising a hand to stop him. Eijun obediently goes mute. Miyuki finally straightens from his posture and levels a steady gaze on Eijun. “I’m going to ask one last time: what is it?”

“Relationshipadvice!”

Eijun tries not to cringe. He could have phrased that better.

“Huh?” Miyuki blinks at him, obviously caught off-guard. “Relationship? You’re asking me?” There is an incredulous lilt at the end of the sentence.

“I wouldn’t ask you too,” Eijun grouses. As an afterthought, he adds: “Asshole.”

“And yet here you are. You are a riot." Miyuki snickers, then takes another sip of his drink. "Who is it?”

“Not telling,” Eijun growls; he knew this was going to happen. Why would Miyuki even take him seriously in the first place? He’s just going to hold this over his head for blackmail.

“Okay. What position do you want me to take when answering your question? As a captain? Or a senior?”

The sudden switch in tone makes Eijun frown. Brows still furrowed, Eijun studies Miyuki’s face for any signs of deceit. Miyuki blinks innocently back at him. “I’m feeling generous today. I’m offering you advice as a kind senpai that you surely don’t deserve.”

Eijun scowls at him. “As a friend, obviously.”

Miyuki’s expression goes blank for a moment—a split second—but it’s enough for Eijun to catch on. It feels like his heart has plummeted to the pits of his abdomen. “A friend,” Miyuki repeats dully.

"Are we not?!” Eijun demands, shackles rising, defensive and ready to fight his case if needed. How can Miyuki not think of him as a friend?!

Miyuki stares at Eijun, and whatever it is he finds or sees—Eijun has zero idea—causes a subtle shift in expression, but Eijun can't exactly pin-point what it is because of the damned busted light. “Sure~"

Eijun grinds his teeth in frustration. “You are annoying as hell!”

“And? What’s the story?” Miyuki carries on as if he hasn’t heard anything.

Eijun shoots Miyuki a glare for good measure. “Well. Just wanted to ask if you think it’d be a good idea to pursue…” He trails off and licks his lips nervously. He drops his gaze down to his hands which are gripped tightly around his canned beverage. “Like whether it’d be okay if both of us are guys.”

He doesn’t dare to look at Miyuki. The air is quiet for a long moment. 

Eijun distracts himself by taking huge mouthfuls of his drink. Miyuki hasn't ran off yet, which must count for something—right?

When Miyuki finally speaks, Eijun has nearly finished his drink. 

“Sawamura, do you want to go pro?”

Eijun does not look at Miyuki even though he desperately wants to. He cleans off the last of his Aquarius and replaces it on the bench. He considers Miyuki’s question for a brief second, wondering what it has to do with anything, then says, “Yes, of course! Why?”

“As your friend,” Miyuki says slowly, like he’s trying to be careful with his words as he was the other night, “I’d say it’s better not to say anything.”

Eijun sucks in a sharp, painful inhale. The flowers in his chest rise with vengeance, and he raises one trembling hand to the front of his shirt, fingers trying to dig into where his lungs are inflating with crushing pressure like they are about to implode inside of him. His jaw clenches as he tries to steady his breathing, his chest rising and falling with scarily short intervals. 

Stupid, stupid Sawamura. What were you hoping for?

Miyuki doesn’t seem to notice because he continues, still looking away from him, “He doesn’t have to know. You’re still young and you don’t know if this is worth gambling your entire future for. You have the potential to become something great, and you shouldn’t have to risk it for a romance you aren’t even sure would come to fruition. The world can be a cruel place, Sawamura, and if you want to go pro there are sacrifices you have to make.”

A small, sharp wheeze stumbles from his lips.

"Take it with a pinch of salt though!" Miyuki says lightly before he lifts his can for a quick gulp. "I'm not experienced after all. Just saying what comes to mind."

“What—” Eijun chokes out and grits his teeth together, suppresses the vicious force gathering up his throat down by sheer will. One hand remains tightly gripped around the edges of the bench, anchoring himself, forcing his voice steady, “Would your answer be different as Miyuki Kazuya?”

He doesn’t know what he’s asking. He doesn’t know what he’s asking this for.

“You sound sick.” Miyuki stands from the bench. Eijun turns his face away when he feels Miyuki crowding forward for a closer look. “Oi, Sawamura, you look—come, I will walk you back. We head to the hospital first thing tomorrow."

“No, I—“ He breaks off mid-sentence as a sharp pang pierces through his lungs and a startled, pained gasp escapes from his throat like a broken whine. His eyes squeeze shut of their own accord, like if he doesn't see Miyuki he wouldn't actually be here. He can't see me like this. Eijun raises a shoulder to block Miyuki's line of vision. He wants to tell Miyuki to go ahead and leave him here but he can't trust himself to even speak, because his entire body is coiled with tension, his lungs inflated with frightening pressure as the sweet taste of flowers cling stubbornly at the back of his throat. 

He feels the bench move as Miyuki gets up, and he's stricken by the thought that Miyuki can just bend down and see him like this. He can practically feel the tension straining at his jaw as he grits his teeth and swallows hard. He doesn't think he can keep them down for any longer. 

Please, please just go

“—Miyuki-senpai.”

Eijun blinks through his blurry vision to see who it is standing at the wall, and abruptly realizes there are actual warm tears running down his cheeks, and he’s so embarrassed and weak and he wishes that he’d die instead of having Miyuki witness this fucking breakdown—

He ducks his head, both hands clamped tightly over his mouth, his shoulders hunched protectively around himself. The crushing pressure remains, clustered stubbornly at his pipes and rearing their heads like vicious, beautiful monsters.

“I will take care of Eijun-kun.” There’s a controlled edge in Haruichi’s voice, and even through the haze of pain and anguish, Eijun can tell Haruichi is very, very pissed. Eijun wants to tell Haruichi it’s not Miyuki’s fault, it’s his fault for falling in love with him—and gods, he’s in love, isn’t he? That’s what the disease is about, isn’t it?

Haruichi's voice cut into his haze of pain, much closer now. “—Goodnight, Miyuki-senpai.” 

A few moments later, lean, muscled arms wrap around his shoulders. “It’s okay, Eijun-kun, he’s gone.”

The coiled tension at his shoulders eases by a tiny fraction. A cough is startled out of him, a sharp jagged breath knocked from his lungs that catches him by surprise. He abruptly turns away from Haruichi and squeezes his eyes shut, attacked by a coughing fit that doubles him over with one hand clutching at his chest, that has him spewing petals into his palm with every forceful hack of breath that expels violently from his lungs.

There’s a salty, metallic taste this time—something new, Eijun notes wryly—and Eijun realizes his hand isn’t enough to hold everything in anymore as he feels the petals slip and spill through the gaps of his fingers. There’s a strange warm liquid trailing and dripping from his fingers as clumps and clumps of petals are disgorged from his lungs.

When he finally opens his eyes, his vision swims with dark spots. He drops forward, slumping the deadweight of his body against his thighs and knees as he exhales a shaky breath. His chest feels like it’s been scraped clean and emptied out, and when he tries to inhale—fuck, it’s so painful, like sandpaper grinding over raw wounds—a strangled whine tumbles from his lips instead.

“Eijun,” Haruichi sobs, and it’s the first time Eijun has ever heard him make that sound.

At this point, he’s sure it hurts even more to speak, but he needs to reassure Haruichi and tell him he’s okay, that he doesn’t need to cry. He doesn’t even has the energy to flinch when he enunciates the words, “I’m…” His throat feels like it’s been scrubbed raw and it’s too painful for him to muster anything above a whisper. Eijun’s eyes flutter close, tired and drained. “I’m fine.”

“Eijun-kun,” Haruichi whispers brokenly. He has his arms around his shoulders again, tight and warm and steady. “Please go for surgery. You are going to be an amazing pitcher in future, you can’t...” Eijun hears the tremble at the end of his sentence. “You shouldn’t stop here.”

Eijun slowly opens his eyes.

He registers the ground for the first time, and wow, it looks like a classic scene from a gory horror film, where the clumps of petals are soaked in dark red and the ground is splattered with blood. Transfixed, he leans forward. Haruichi releases his hold wordlessly. Eijun still has to rest most of his body weight on his thighs as he gingerly picks one of them up.

The plant is balanced carefully in the palm of his hand as he examines it with morbid fascination; it's hard to believe this has been—and is still—growing in his lungs. He realizes they are no longer just petals anymore but tiny, fully-bloomed sunset flowers sprouted along the slim, blood-stained stalk. 

He brushes gentle, trembling fingers across the petals. “Snapdragon,” Eijun murmurs, barely audible. They are beautiful.

Deviousness, strength, and grace.

Despite himself, Eijun feels himself smile.

-

When Eijun wakes up the next morning, he thinks he feels better. There's still a throbbing ache beneath his ribs and every breath he takes scrapes against his windpipe—but it's bearable. Kind of. 

He exhales a shuddering breath, shoving his hands into the pockets of Miyuki's windbreaker. He was supposed to return it to him yesterday night, but he messed that up big-time. Still, Miyuki's windbreaker feels warmer and smells nicer than his own. He hunches his back slightly and buries his nose into the collar of the windbreaker, staring out at the field. It's barely six but he knows people are going to start streaming out here for their private practice soon, especially since the next game is approaching fast.

He wonders if he can last till the game is over before he heads to the hospital. Dread coils at the pit of his stomach. He doesn't know if it's the prospect of surgery or the fear of losing the feelings he has for Miyuki. Miyuki and baseball—he doesn't see them separately. Miyuki has always been his source of inspiration. If he goes for surgery, what will he be left with? How will he see baseball? How will he see Miyuki? 

His hands clench into tight fists in the pockets of the windbreaker. A self-deprecating smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Amazing, really. His first love ends up in some hanahaki tragedy. A constant, painful reminder of rejection growing in his lungs. 

I should have known. Even if Miyuki is looking for romance, why would he be interested in a boy like him? He'd go after pretty, sharp-witted girls with long hair and a beautiful smile. He knows Miyuki isn't the type to care about sexuality and gender—he's just a huge baseball nerd who can't see anything else other than baseball. But his answer also provides Eijun with a new perspective he hasn't considered: that he's endangering Miyuki's future just because of his own selfish desires.

If Miyuki knows he's suffering from the hanahaki because of him, he might feel obligated to try things out with him just because. As much as Miyuki Kazuya likes to pretend he's cold-hearted asshole who couldn't care less about people, Eijun knows he's anything but. He shouldn't drag Miyuki down with his burdensome feelings. Miyuki is definitely going pro—he's fucking brilliant and he knows that plenty of scouts are eyeing him during their games and practice matches.

Still. He can't lie to himself that it doesn't hurt. That eventually Miyuki is going to find someone that he's willing to put down his walls for and fall in love. Maybe get married and have a kid. Two kids, probably, since the few times Miyuki mentioned his childhood in passing Eijun could sense it was a lonely one, as much as he always laughs it off and pretends it doesn't matter. He probably wouldn't want his child to experience that.

Hot tears roll down Eijun's cheeks. 

It's fine, this is fine, isn't it? Haruichi is right; he should have went for surgery. He shouldn't even have tried. But it hurts, and he can allow himself to hurt before he stops feeling it all, can't he?

"Sawamura?" 

Eijun's heart jolts in his chest, and he quickly wipes his eyes and cheeks with the sleeves of the windbreaker. Eijun sniffles and stares resolutely ahead at the open field as he hears the footsteps stop beside him. 

From his peripheral vision, he sees Miyuki go still for a moment, a half-second of hesitation, before he plops down beside him and crosses his legs at his ankles.

"You are up early today," Eijun murmurs, and his voice comes out raspy and soft, still raw from all the puking he did in the toilet earlier this morning. 

"You should go to the hospital, Sawamura." Eijun can feel his heated gaze boring holes at the side of his face. "You look like shit, to be honest." 

Eijun shifts in his position uneasily, dropping his gaze to play with the zipper of the windbreaker. "It's okay. I've got it under control." 

"You don't look like you have. Kominato certainly didn't seem to think that way yesterday." 

Eijun swallows around the lump in his throat. He wonders if he should apologize for whatever happened yesterday. He has no idea how much Miyuki has gleaned from that. "Harucchi exaggerates. I will go see the nurse after class today." He pauses, then adds: "Sorry about yesterday, by the way."

"Okay. If you don't want to talk about it," Miyuki says, tone oddly detached, "as long as it doesn't affect your pitching, Ace-sama." 

It's all just about baseball with me, isn't it. Nothing else. It's really not a new knowledge, but the roots dig their vice-grip into his lungs, a white-hot flash of pain through his body.

He turns to Eijun with a grin full of teeth, and Eijun wants to smile back—he really, really does, but the coughs rip through his windpipe abruptly and viciously, and he's clamping his hands to his mouth as he tries to keep them in—

Not here not now not in front of him no no please

"Sawamura?!"

The flowers are clustering and forcing their way up his throat, an unstoppable and vicious flood, and this time he can't keep them down, even as he tries to tuck his body in and hide from Miyuki's startled eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut as the coughs rattle through his bones, his entire body shaking and shuddering as the full-bloomed snapdragons spill into his hands and overflow to scatter onto the ground beneath him.

"Sawamura, what the fuck," he hears Miyuki say through his haze of pain and endless coughs, a tone of disbelief, and he knows it's no secret anymore, Miyuki knows now, and he wants to laugh but there are petals stuck in his throat and thorn-like roots clawing into his lungs and it's so hard to breathe.

He slumps forward with his weight on his legs and buries his face in the crook of his arm as he tries to catch his breath. 

Miyuki's hands are shaking but resting solidly on his back and shoulder. Eijun turns his head slightly, catches Miyuki's wide-eyed, panicked look even in his vision that's blurred around the edges, and the corner of his mouth lifts. 

He wants to say it's okay, Miyuki Kazuya, it's not you, you don't have to worry, but he realizes belatedly that his body feels oddly heavy and he is falling back, back, back.

Everything fades to nothingness. 

-

Eijun wakes up to clinical white walls, cream-colored drapes, and a strong, unmistakable scent of disinfectant.

The implications of the surroundings sink in slowly, as his brain functions and connects the dots. His body is leaden with weight under the cotton sheets, bones stiff and aching, and his throat feels scrubbed raw. It's still difficult to breathe with his lungs filled with flowers and blood, but he inhales carefully, a shallow one, barely wincing as the air scrapes past his windpipe.

"You are up."

Eijun turns his head and spots Takashima sitting beside his bed with her hands clasped tightly on her lap. Her back and shoulders are unnaturally straight. "Takashima-sensei." 

There's a displeased curve of her mouth when she hears his voice. Her glasses glint, reflecting off the rays from the afternoon sun. "How long has this been going on?"

"Not very long," Eijun answers meekly, and tries not to cower under the unimpressed look she levels on him in return. 

After a moment, she sighs and massages the bridge of her nose. "Sawamura, the hanahaki isn't a common cold. You can't just expect to sleep it off," she says, and it's gentler than he has ever heard her speak.

"I know." Eijun lowers his gaze and plays with the stray thread of his blanket. "I just didn't expect it to get so bad so quickly."

Takashima sighs again. "Are you feeling better?" 

"A little," Eijun replies. It's not really a lie, considering the amount of times he has been puking flowers from his lungs the past few days. Any time he's not going through that shitstorm is a definite improvement. But Takashima is studying his face dubiously like she doesn't really believe him, so he changes the topic: "How long was I out?"

"About five hours. Would you like some water?"

Eijun nods. "Yes, please, Takashima-san."

Takashima stands and walks over to the overbed table at the end of his bed, pouring some water into a plastic cup. "You gave Miyuki quite a fright."

Eijun blinks back at her, completely baffled. She must be mistaken. Those are two words he didn't think he'd hear in a sentence. "Miyuki Kazuya?"

Takashima arches a perfectly-drawn brow as she plunges a straw into the cup. "Are there any other Miyukis you know?" 

"No," Eijun says, trying very hard to imagine Miyuki Kazuya being scared with little success.

 Takashima walks over to him and Eijun scrambles to sit up properly, but she presses his shoulder down gently. "Stay there." 

Eijun's cheeks flush with heat as Takashima feeds the straw to his mouth and urges him to take a sip. He absently wonders how jealous Kuramochi and the rest of the boys would be if they see this. The cool liquid is surprisingly gentle on his raw throat, and he takes one more sip before he shakes his head and thanks her.  

"Do my parents know? Does the rest of the team know?"

Takashima places the cup back on the table. "Your parents are trying to get earliest train tickets here, but as far as I know, they were all sold out for today. I think they will be here latest tomorrow night." Eijun groans and drops his head back on his pillow. They are going to kill him before the disease does. At least his grandfather won't give him one of his hearty slaps this time. Probably. "I only told the team that you fainted, because with how well you were hiding this," she pauses and shoots him a sharp look as she returns to her seat on the green plastic chair, "I doubt you'd want them to know."

Takashima drags her chair closer to Eijun then, fixing Eijun a serious look. "It's your own decision, Sawamura, but you should know there are only two options and there's not much time left." 

Two options. He knows that. It should be easy. 

"You will meet someone new," Takashima says gently, "you are still young. It's not supposed to be a terminal disease." 

What she's saying makes sense. The surgery's the rational thing to do. But a part of him says to hell with being rational and the bullshit about being young. What's up with that? Does it not qualify as love if they are in high school? Is age a good indicator of what love is supposed to be? 

Eijun doesn't say anything.

Thankfully, Takashima doesn't press him. Instead, she stands, taking her purse from the seat. "Get some sleep. The doctor injected something to help keep the flowers down for now, so you should be able to have a good rest. I will go outside to make some calls." 

"What about the next game?" Eijun asks, voice small, afraid to hear the answer. "Will Coach remove me?"

Takashima shakes her head. "There is always a spot for you, Sawamura. The rest of the team is waiting to get their ace back." 

Eijun's bottom lip wobbles, a strong surge of emotion that has him blinking back tears.

Takashima smiles softly at him before she turns to leave, heels clacking behind her as she slides the door close.  

-

Eijun wakes up to darkness. He must have been out for hours. Maybe he should ask the doctor if he can administer the injection for him before the next game. Even if Coach Kataoka doesn't want to send him on the mound, he can at least watch and cheer for them. It's better than doing surgery and lying useless in bed.

It is then he spots a figure seated on the same chair Takashima was on this afternoon, barely a feet away from the side of his bed with his head bowed over and scribbling something into a book. 

Is that Miyuki?

Before the incredulous thought sinks in, he's distracted by the fact that Miyuki is reading and writing with the dismal lack of light at his ward. Finding the knob to adjust the bedside light is easy, with the white wire hanging within an arm's reach from his bed. He stretches a languid arm and twists the knob to turn the brightness up for Miyuki, squinting a little at the sudden flare of brightness. 

He sees Miyuki's head snap up from the corner of his eye as he does so. He turns back, dropping his arm down beside him as he faces Miyuki properly. 

Miyuki's eyes are dark and heavy on his, but he doesn't say a word.

"Hello?" Eijun tries.  

Miyuki's eyes narrow as he closes his notebook. "You should've said something." 

Eijun sighs wearily, slight irritation crawling under his skin. He's had had enough of all these veiled accusations. It's not as if he can simply order the flowers to stop growing. "It wouldn't have changed anything." 

Miyuki straightens his back and sets his shoulders. "...Who is it?"

"It doesn't matter," Eijun replies. He's surprised how calm he sounds. Maybe he has really made peace with it. That this was doomed to be unrequited regardless.

"It doesn't matter," Miyuki repeats flatly. His eyes are still trained on his, but Eijun isn't backing down. Not even now. From the brightness of his bedside light, he can see a muscle straining in Miyuki's jaw. "You let this go on for a week without seeking treatment, and you say it doesn't matter."

"I'm not going to let it affect baseball, Miyuki," Eijun reassures him. "I'll get the surgery after the next game." 

Miyuki sucks in a deep breath. Eijun has no idea why he's angry. "You are dying, Sawamura, if that isn't clear to you. And if it isn't obvious enough, when you die, you can't play baseball." 

Eijun frowns at him. "I know that. I already said I'd do the surgery."

"Your life's at risk right now, Sawamura. You can't wait for days to do the surgery." Miyuki's jawline tightens further. "Are you running away? Is there a reason why you're scared to do the surgery?"

He has never considered that he might be running away. Was he? That phrase has never been in his dictionary till yips. 

"I don't know," Eijun finally says, the throbbing ache gradually returning in his lungs. He looks away from Miyuki. 

The silence hangs between them, heavy and suffocating. 

"Is he that important to you?" 

Eijun wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but a small smile curves at the corners of his lips instead. The familiar scent of sweetness rises at the back of his throat as the flowers stir in his lungs, fluttering in his chest cavity. He meets Miyuki's eyes and answers honestly: "He's like baseball to me."

Miyuki's face shutters off to a blank mask. "If Furuya knows this, I'm sure he wouldn't let you wither away like this."

Eijun blinks, caught off-guard. "Satoru? What has it got to with him?"

"Is it not him?"

Eijun manages a dry chuckle. What an idiot. "No." 

"It's—It's because he's become a part of your baseball that you are afraid of surgery, is that it?" Miyuki asks. 

It's no wonder he's a captain. No wonder he's a catcher. No wonder I fell in love.

Miyuki seems to take his silence as agreement, because he goes on: "Tell me who it is. I might be able to help." 

"You wouldn't want to know," Eijun says tiredly, all energy suddenly drained from his body. He's done with this discussion and he just wants to sleep. Miyuki is being uncharacteristically insistent: he should avoid this (him) like plague. Why is Miyuki making this so hard for him? 

"Your life's at stake here," Miyuki snaps, eyes flashing dangerously behind his glasses, "if you are saying I shouldn't care, that's not possible. I'm trying to help you here, Sawamura, so be reasonable and let me."

"I'm saying you can't help!" Eijun is louder than he intended it to be, voice cracking at the edges. Because it's you, it's only been you, you stupid tanuki bastard. Miyuki looks stunned by his sudden outburst, and Eijun deflates and tries to gets his raging emotions under control by taking in a deep breath.

"Just stop—" 

He breaks off mid-sentence when he feels the familiar pressure build at an unprecedented, rapid pace, piling and piling in his ribs. His hands fly to his mouth, but it's too late, because they are already pouring from his mouth, an endless stream of morbid flowers. Warm liquid trails from the corners of his lips, dripping down his chin. He hunches his shoulders tightly into himself, squeezing his watery eyes shut. His lungs are burning, the force rattling through his bones and body as he empties his lungs, coughing and vomiting into his cotton sheets helplessly.

He feels Miyuki's weight dipping into the space beside him as he begins patting his back. "Shit, Sawamura, shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" 

don't apologize, it's not your fault, you stupid idiot

But he begins heaving again, and Miyuki's voice is distorted in his ringing eardrums, wet clumps of blood-stained snapdragons spilling onto his lap. 

"I'm sorry," Eijun rasps out, trying to blink away his blurry vision, chest rising and falling with each shallow, painful breath. His fingers are curled tightly into his sheets on either side of him, his head bowed over his legs in defeat and exhaustion. 

"What the fuck are you sorry for," Miyuki says tightly, and his hand is rubbing soothing circles on his back. "I won't ask anymore, just—just be okay."

Miyuki shouldn't be here taking care of him. He should be back in Seidou writing up the strategy for the next game or watching past matches of their upcoming opponents. He shouldn't be wasting time with him, but he's still here, out of some strange, stupid obligation he seems to think he has.

He's such a burden. He's not supposed to be dragging Miyuki down. He's not supposed to be dragging the team down. He's the ace, and yet he's doing all of that. What kind of shitty ace is he? 

The flowers are clawing up his throat again, an endless torrent, and he's sobbing and retching all over, and they just won't fucking stop. 

"I'm so sorry," he repeats between painful gurgles, tears streaming down his face as the heaves wreck through his frame relentlessly, and he feels like he's about to empty the entirety of his insides out for Miyuki to see. 

"Stop apologizing, Sawamura!" He's distantly aware that Miyuki has pulled him against his chest, a protective arm wrapped around his shoulder. His eyes flutter close, drained and slumping back against Miyuki. 

"You aren't supposed to be here," Eijun whispers. Another harsh cough rips through his shredded throat. His head is pounding and there's still ringing in his ears.

"Shut up, Sawamura," Miyuki says, but his voice is gentle, void of bite and sharp edges. Eijun doesn't know if he's hallucinating at this point, and he doesn't have the energy to open his eyes to check. Miyuki's fingers tighten around Eijun's arm. "Stop talking. The doctor will be here soon. He said you shouldn't be coughing up flowers for at least a few more hours. This shouldn't be happening."

Miyuki feels so warm. He's so nice. What a nice bastard. The pounding in his head is about to split his skull open. He feels like his entire body is on fire. Eijun wonders how many nice bastards there are in this world. Maybe it's just Miyuki Kazuya. 

"Well, you are here," Eijun slurs through the fog of delirious pain, lifting his head slightly and meeting Miyuki's dark eyes. Eijun thinks he sees wetness in them. Strange. This must be a dream after all. What a self-indulgent one.   

"What?" A dent forms between Miyuki's brows, his brown hair in messy waves as he blinks down at him, looking completely bewildered at the reply, and he's so fucking cute. 

White-hot pain sears through his lungs, his ribs constricting hard, and the very sheer force of the first cough jerks him forward and away from Miyuki's hold. It feels like the roots are wrenching themselves free from his lungs, now, pulling bits and pieces of his flesh along with iron-like tendrils, as they swarm and gather at the base of his throat like a huge, entangled mass of knots. 

He coughs and coughs, the clumps of flowers and roots clogging his windpipe as he struggles to breathe. 

He wheezes painfully, the world spinning in a blur of darkness, trying to get air into his messed-up lungs, but he can't breathe, he can't fucking breathe. 

"Where the fuck is the doctor," he distantly hears Miyuki snarl above him, and it's the angriest he has ever heard Miyuki, worse than when he had insulted Chris in his first year. His hand is frantically patting on his back as the other remains iron-tight on his shoulder, like he believes if his grip is strong enough he can stop the rattling coughs from wrecking through his convulsing frame. He wants to tell him it's okay, it's okay, but warm liquid is dribbling down the corners of his mouth, and he's still heaving up tangled clumps of roots and flowers with blood dripping down his chin.

"Sawamura, let me help," Miyuki's shaking voice is close to his ear, his warm, panicked breath blowing against Eijun's cheek.

A strangled sob tears from his throat. "You can't help," Eijun manages to gasp out before another barrage of coughs assault him violently, wet plops of snapdragons adding into the pile of bloodied mess on his cotton sheets.  

"Why are you being so fucking stubborn, you stupid—"

"Because it's you, you stupid, stupid tanuki," the words burst forth from his throat, unstoppable, a wild switch flicked off, "it's only been you."

Eijun heaves a shaky, shallow breath, his lungs and ribs groaning and aching with the effort. Miyuki has gone scarily silent behind him, and Eijun wants to laugh, but what comes out is a garbled wheeze that sends another torrent of flowers spilling from his mouth.

"It's okay, Miyuki," he whispers, trying to catch his breath. Hot tears streak down his cheeks, and there's a different kind of raw hurt squeezing around his chest now. It's suffocating, and his skull feels like it's about to implode as the sobs and coughs crash through his body. It's too much pain, and Eijun is exhausted and so fucking fed up with these stupid flowers and these stupid feelings. He just wants everything to be over, he will take the surgery and he can forget Miyuki Kazuya and all of this stupid fucking pain. "You don't owe me anything, I don't expect—" 

"But I like you," Miyuki says, barely audible, and there's a horrified lilt in his voice, his fingers digging into Eijun's shoulder. Eijun wants to turn to look at Miyuki's face and see if he's lying because that's not possible, how else would he be suffering like this if that is true?

His heart pumps, slow and lethargic, and black spots begins spreading around the edges of his vision.

What a liar. 

Eijun gives in to darkness. 

-

The first thing Eijun notices when he wakes up is that he's in a different room. It's still dark, but there's an overhead light switched on above him that allows him to do a quick study of his surroundings. A mask is strapped on his face, and there's a dull beeping of a machine that he's hooked up to beside him. 

He blinks curiously at the odd machinery and wonders if they did the surgery for him. There's an odd sense of peace and acceptance with the possibility. At least there won't be any more pain. 

There's a dull ache throbbing beneath his ribs when he tries to suck in some air. Guess not. 

"Sawamura-kun?"

Eijun turns his head to see a nurse holding on to a clipboard standing by the side of his bed. She looks like she's in her late forties, light raven's feet at the corners of her eyes and laugh lines around her mouth. She smiles kindly at him and Eijun decides that he likes her immediately.  

"Are you feeling better?" 

He opens his mouth to speak, but the mask makes it difficult to. He closes his mouth and opts for a small nod instead. 

"Good." She glances down at her clipboard for a moment. "I'm assuming you're doing the surgery?"

Eijun stares at her. He can't bring himself to nod, for some incomprehensible reason. 

"We get a few of you from time to time," the nurse says softly. She doesn't push for an answer. Eijun is a little surprised, but he supposes they have to remain professional. 

Instead, she jots something down on her clipboard and slides her pen into her pocket. "Would you like your friend to join you? He's been waiting outside for a while."

He's still here? 

Eijun nods unthinkingly. Stupid. Nonetheless, he slowly pushes himself up to a sitting position, his bones aching with the effort. The nurse moves forward immediately to help, propping a pillow behind him and resting him back down against it. 

"Thank you," he says, breath misting against the mask. The nurse smiles at him. 

"Visiting hours are supposed to be over," the nurse says. Her eyes flick knowingly to his face. Eijun hopes he isn't that obvious. "But sometimes exceptions are needed. Don't get too agitated. You can remove the mask for a few minutes if you'd like to talk."

She wags a finger at him sternly. "Back on once you have trouble breathing. The emergency button's by your finger."

Eijun nods again and grins widely at her.

There's a soft smile on her lips as she shakes her head before she turns and leaves. There are soft murmurings at the door he can't decipher, and then he hears the sliding door click shut.

Miyuki steps into view a few moments later, a familiar notebook held in his left hand. His brown hair is mussed up like he's ran his fingers through them countless times, and his mouth is flattened to a thin line. "Sawamura." He sounds tired. 

Eijun's heart plummets down to the pits of his stomach. Miyuki shouldn't look like this. He pulls the mask down from his mouth, letting it snap down to his neck instead. "You didn't have to stay. I'll be fine after tomorrow."

"It's because of what I said the other night, isn't it?" He stops at the edge of his bed. 

"What you said makes sense, Miyuki. It's not your fault." He averts his gaze because it hurts looking at Miyuki. "Don't worry about it. I know it's unrequited. I don't expect anything from you."

Miyuki closes the gap in a split second, his fingers curling around the metal side-rail of Eijun's bed. Eijun startles at the sudden movement, snapping his head round to meet Miyuki's gaze, brown eyes hard and dark behind his glasses. 

Despite himself, Eijun's breath catches in his throat. He's beautiful. 

A thick, palpable silence hangs between them, the beeping of the machine the only sound that fills the room. 

Miyuki shatters it with a low exhale. "... It's not unrequited, Sawamura."

Eijun huffs out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. "We both know if it's mutual I wouldn't be vomiting my lungs out. You don't have to lie to me, Miyuki. I'm not a kid." 

Miyuki's gaze locks onto Eijun's. Eijun's heart leaps in his chest. "I'm not lying. You just have to believe me."

"I don't know what kind of warped duty you're doing here, Miyuki," Eijun says calmly, trying to soften his words by smiling faintly at Miyuki. Stupid captain trying to take responsibility for everything. He knew this would happen from the very beginning. "It's really all right. I will do the surgery and it'll be like nothing has happened before. We both want to go pro. You are right; it's not worth risking it all for a dumb high school romance."

"Is that what you want?"

Eijun's throat tightens, but he forces the words out of his mouth: "I want to go pro. I will get the surgery." 

Miyuki grips the metal rail so hard his knuckles turn white. "I asked: is that what you want?"

No. But there's no point if you don't feel the same. He feels the familiar constriction of his chest and the rising pressure in his lungs. He swallows hard and forces himself to hold Miyuki's gaze, his chest tight with hurt.

"Yes." He manages to force the corners of his mouth upwards. "You should go back, captain. There's practice tomorrow morning." 

Miyuki's fingers slide from the metal rail. His face goes scarily blank as he straightens from his posture. "Okay. Have a good rest." 

All of a sudden, Miyuki's mask slips, a momentary lapse in control. A startled flash of pain twist his pretty features. He turns away from Eijun, shoulders drawn tightly into himself, violent hacks of coughs racking through his tall frame. 

Panic jolts Eijun into action as he springs forward and grabs Miyuki's arm. The mechanical beeping picks up in pace. "Miyuki?!" 

"Let go," Miyuki snaps instinctively, like a wounded cat on defensive, wrenching his arm free of Eijun's hold. Pale blue petals fall from his hand as he does so, and Miyuki spits out a muttered expletive. 

Eijun stares at the petals on the ground mutely. "Miyuki, you—this—"

"Yes, it's you, you idiot," Miyuki says bitterly, finally turning his head. A smirk slants across the length of his mouth, all teeth and sharp edges. "Think the surgery has room for one more?" 

Eijun's jaw slackens as he stares dumbly at Miyuki. It's... it's mutual? That's not possible. Wouldn't he have been able to tell? But his eyes flick to the blue petals on the floor, lying right at Miyuki's sneakers, and hope swells warmly in his chest.

Miyuki is still standing there, and Eijun realizes he's probably waiting for a response, but then his lungs clamp together with vicious pressure, and he's suddenly afraid his chest will burst and splatter in his insides as the relentless clusters of flowers and roots claw up his throat. 

Miyuki has his arm around him in an instant, patting his back as he heaves and heaves, guttural coughs rattling through his aching bones. "Stop these flowers, stupid, I literally just vomited flowers for you, what the fuck—"

"I can't—I don't know," Eijun rasps out between pained gasps, warm liquid trailing from the corners of his lips, "you like me?" 

"Yes, obviously, what more do you need to see to believe me—" Miyuki curses as more flowers spew from Eijun's mouth, clumps and clumps of bloodied snapdragons falling onto his lap. "Sawamura!" 

"I do—I really like you," Eijun wheezes, "I don't want the surgery." He's sobbing and heaving all at once as he grabs the hand on his shoulder, desperate to make Miyuki believe him. "I really didn't want the surgery."

"Okay." He hears Miyuki inhale sharply above him. "Okay, Sawamura."

After a beat of silence, Miyuki presses a warm, gentle hand to the side of Eijun's head, drawing him to his chest. Eijun relaxes against him, a sweet kind of fatigue tugging his eyelids close; the crushing deadweight in his lungs appears to have disappeared—he probably threw them all up, anyway—though the sweet smell of flowers still lingers.

His chest feels the lightest it has ever been.

"We will work things out," Miyuki says softly. He feels ridiculously warm and safe with Miyuki's arms wrapped around him like this. "I will think of something."

"We will think of something," Eijun corrects him loftily, tilting his head up so he meets Miyuki's eyes. The corners of Miyuki's mouth are curved and soft around the edges, and there's a tenderness tucked in his pretty brown eyes that makes Eijun wonder if it's possible he missed all of these signs before. "We will be the best battery ever, won't we?" 

"Yes," he says indulgently, and it sounds like a promise when he's looking at him like that. Eijun's heart aches, a honeyed sweetness pooling at the center of his chest. "Now breathe properly, you idiot." 

Eijun beams up at him and does exactly that.