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Alright, so maybe Taichi couldn’t hide his raspy coughs and wheezes as shitty attempts at beatboxing anymore. Granted, they were always too dry or too wet depending on whatever his lungs decided to cough up, but in the past, he’d somehow gotten away with it just fine. Well, as fine as ‘fine’ could be when you were too stubborn to rid yourself of your feelings, no matter how slim the odds of reciprocation were.
Grabbing a glass from the kitchen cupboard, Taichi shoved it under the tap and breathed sharply. He could almost hear Omi's worried sighs as though he were standing next to him. Even at two in the morning, Taichi couldn’t be left alone with his own thoughts. He knew the older man was trying to help, but Taichi's pride wouldn’t let him interfere.
It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d contracted Hanahaki, and he was even more confident that this wouldn’t be the last. It was an endless cycle; eyes glance to someone new, feel something bud and bloom, and then? Cut out the roots harbouring his lungs, but only after feeling enough pain to understand that his feelings would never be reciprocated.
The current object of affection? His rival, best friend, and simultaneously, Taichi’s primary source of inferiority. Even after all the street acts, and the etudes, Taichi couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that he’d never catch up -- whether it be in appearance, popularity, or performance-wise.
“Oh! But you’re friends, aren’t you?”
Of course. And that was all their relationship would ever amount to. Did Taichi wish for even the slightest amount of affection cast his way? Did that even need answering? But like always, he stayed behind, bitterly watching the distance between them grow wider and wider, enviously wishing for more. Never making an advance, yet miserably wallowing in his own pity caused by his idleness. Really, Taichi thought, he only had himself to blame.
Flinching, Taichi tore himself away from his thoughts. Ah. The water was overflowing. Shaking his hands to rid them of the cold, he paused before turning away from the empty cup.
“Dude… You sure you’re alright?
Coughing up the bloodstained petals for what felt like the thousandth time, Taichi nodded and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Banri was one of the few that knew about Taichi’s condition, knowing better not to cross any unspoken boundaries but supporting him all the same. The brunette continued to speak, head tilted to the mug in his hand but a watchful eye on the younger one.
“You should… probably tell him.”
Taichi stared at the tattered petals on the ground. Leaning down to pick up the crumpled pieces, Taichi grabbed a handful. The chunks left a blood smear on the floor. He scrubbed at it with his sleeve. It wouldn’t come off.
“‘M sure Tenma’s not gonna, like, burn you at the stake if you tell him–”
The roots brushed against his throat as he breathed. Curse this troupe and its flower motifs – even a single petal that fell from his lips could reveal his poor excuse of a hidden crush. Now everyone’s a flower fanatic. Taichi bit down on the vines that threatened to escape. The petals were bright yellow – bright yellow, usually accompanied by disc florets making it hard for Taichi to breathe. Crowding the gaps where the stems and leaves wouldn’t reach -- wouldn’t fill. As though it wanted to take even the slightest bit of air from Taichi, as though it wasn’t a privilege he deserved. One look at the bloody mess pooling around his feet would make it all too easy to recognize whom the flower represented.
“...”
Crushing the final bloodied petal in his hand, Taichi stood up to face the other. Forcing down the frustrated tears that welled in his eyes, Taichi opened his mouth to speak, only-
Searing pain burned his lungs. Instantly falling to his knees, Taichi gagged. He thought he heard something shatter, but he couldn’t tell. Unable to stop himself from gasping for air, all he could feel was something clawing at his lungs, ripping his throat as it desperately crawled to the surface, dragging its weight behind to see the bright artificial light. The pool of blood grew larger, mangled leaves and petals growing in number, sitting from where Taichi knelt. The blood only seeped into the grooves of the wooden floor when Taichi tried to wipe it clean.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the dark red stained jeans that belonged to Banri. Taichi had forgotten he was there. Feeling himself being pulled away from the puddle of his amalgamated, bloody shame, Taichi collapsed, leaning back against him. The tears he had fought back flooded, dripping down his face, onto the floor.
“B-Ban-chan, I-,” Taichi shuddered and gasped frantically, “I- I don’t know what to do-”
Not saying a word, Banri carefully pried open Taichi's hand to take the crumpled petals, exposing the indents his fingernails had made into his palm. Taichi didn't know if the fresh blood was from his lungs or his hands. Throwing the remnants away, Banri sighed and mumbled, although Taichi couldn't understand. Feeling exhaustion take over him, Taichi watched the lights flicker for what felt like forever.
Taichi could pull it off. After all, he WAS an actor. Not an exceptional one, but a decent one. Surely it couldn’t be that hard? Letting his pen scribble mindlessly over the notebook in front of him, Taichi slumped over and groaned.
---
"Jesus Christ, Taichi- "
"..."
"How do you even deal with this shit- Get yourself to a hospital or somethin' before I beat your ass-"
"That's pretty harsh, Ban-chan..." Laughing weakly, Taichi wiped his face with his sleeve, only realizing he used the same sleeve as before. He grimaced. There was probably even more blood on his face now.
"I don't- I'm fucking worried, Taichi. Either a confession or death, that's what you're telling me."
Taichi didn't answer.
"Don't- Don't fuck around like this. Damn it, Taichi-" Banri gripped him by the shoulders.
It hurt.
---
And so, what better way to confess than to use all weapons at his disposal? If the flowers were using him to thrive on the inside, it would only be fair if he could use them back.
Glancing at the clock, he winced. Only half an hour until Tenma would join him at the table. Taichi had sent him a text to do their homework before heading out to the mall together. He had intended to invite him out to skateboard but considering he was getting dizzy over even the slightest bit of strain, Taichi didn't want Tenma to get an ultra-HD view of him eating the pavement. If he managed to kickflip his way into his arms, then maybe...
Right, the confession. Taichi had almost everything planned out; the details could come together later. Tenma would come back from filming, walk into the living room, and they would start doing their homework together. Minutes would pass, and if all went to plan, Taichi would strike. Rather than letting his tongue stutter and run off into nonsensical sentences, he would use Hanahaki as the confession itself. Lightly cough up a petal and its seeds into a napkin, then laugh it off -- like, surprise! I'm in love with you. Taichi HAD been learning some magic from Chikage, so a little sleight of hand would surely be a bit impressive, no?
Taichi glanced back up at the clock. Ten minutes remaining. It felt like opening night -- no, closing; one fuck-up, and it'd be over for him. Nine minutes. Eight. Seven. Six.
Five. It'd be so easy to act as though nothing were harbouring his lungs -- he was an actor, after all.
Four. One trip to the hospital and all agony would disappear in a day.
Three... Was he even allowed to confess? Was he even capable?
Two. This was a horrible idea.
"I'm home."
Looking up from the table, Taichi took a deep breath before smiling and waving him over. "Welcome back, Ten-chan!"
Was now a good time? Was it ever going to be a good time? Taichi shook his head before sprawling back onto the table, his head nestled in his open notebook. Turning to face the boy next to him, he sighed and decided against it. It just wasn't fair -- THE Sumeragi Tenma was sitting next to him, and all Taichi could do was stare like he was watching through a television screen. Things HAD changed from before: walking beside him to school, going on late-night convenience store trips, but it seemed like simmering in his feelings was a constant in Taichi's life, behind a screen or not.
It was just so... different. It was supposed to follow the same cycle as before -- yet Taichi's eyes never wandered, never felt the same usual pain of being unwanted by his unrequited crush. He didn't know when the blossoms first took root in his lungs. Was it when Tenma first told him they were rivals, equals, and friends? Was it when they first met face-to-face? Or was it even when they were strangers, when they were just a set of parallel lines to never meet?
He could just confess later. He had time... probably. Taichi chose to ignore the angry Banri screaming at him in his head. Just seeing Tenma was enough to make his fragile resolve falter further -- the fact he even considered doing anything was impressive enough. He had time.
Taichi did not have time. Covering his mouth with his hand, he gagged and slumped over, knees retreating to his chest. Dry coughs slowly became warbled, and Taichi clamped his mouth shut, swallowing the flood that attempted to cascade.
With the soft thud of a textbook closing shut, Tenma hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "Taichi..."
Taichi's heart skipped a beat.
"Are... Are you really okay?"
"..." Taichi straightened his back and forced himself to grin. "... Yep! As okay as- as I could be~!"
Hesitating, Tenma looked away before shaking his head and frowning with eyes full of apprehension. "I don't believe you."
Taichi blinked.
"I- I don't know, Banri told me something, and he said it wasn't his to say, but..."
The lights flickered.
"I..." Tenma stared at the other. "I'm worried about you."
Guilt. All Taichi could feel was guilt. In an instant, the distance between them grew wider. Taichi really was a coward. Here Tenma was, struggling to find the right words to coax a proper answer out of him, while Taichi was hiding away, using his disease as an excuse to keep his mouth shut. Tenma deserved more than a half-assed confession, not some flowery performance that all amounted to nothing -- and Taichi couldn't even do the bare minimum.
What a sick joke.
Taichi really didn't deserve all this kindness. Gasping for air to pass through his lips and into his lungs, greedy for the air to possibly soothe his burning insides, Taichi gagged out mumbled apologies before choking harder. Tears poured out of his eyes, joining the bloody stems that landed on the floor, only covering more and more below him, dragging him down.
Tenma stumbled back, eyes wide in what Taichi could only describe as horror.
"Shit-!"
Taichi could faintly feel someone grab his arm. The briefest of touches was enough to send the field of flowers in him to drown in blood. With no bottom for his heart to anchor, Taichi only spiralled further into the depths.
Blood poured from his mouth, overtaking the words that Taichi desperately wanted to say. Fragments of leaves, vines and panicked whispers flooded the room. A bright yellow stood alone amongst the reds that rapidly filled his view.
Bobbing peacefully in the middle of the bloody sea was a singular sunflower -- undamaged and unstained -- drifting away from the two boys; one shocked, the other horrified. Taichi froze. He didn't dare look back.
"You're..." A shaky voice. The spluttering of disbelief. "Me-?"
Taichi was exhausted. Of course, it wouldn’t go the way he wanted it to. Why’d he even bother getting his hopes up?
He could only hope he wasn't hated.
Taichi heard the distant opening of a door, then the faint shuffling of steps. As darkness threatened to overtake Taichi's eyes, he gasped and struggled against sinking deeper into the crimson. The echoed yell for someone to help, then a crash and the hand on his arm fading away.
As the lights went out, Taichi slumped. This really wasn't supposed to happen.