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And if the fact that he was coughing up flowers wasn't enough to prove that something was wrong with Byakuya, this would. He started feeling sympathy. He didn't even know that he could. He had never been taught sympathy, and his family never taught him anything that wasn't necessary. He was taught to never feel sorry for others misfortune.
"Never cry on others' behalf." That was what his mother had told him. "Never be seen as weak by others."
Every piece of advice they gave to him over the years could all be boiled down to something along the lines of; any real Togami has no flaws.
And God knows that if he ever saw his parents again, he would no longer be accepted as a Togami. Look at him. He was sitting on his bed, blood all over his face and hands, jasmine flowers littering the floor. And he felt like crying. Like a small child.
The attacks had gotten worse in the past week. There were now full flowers, which restricted him from breathing properly at the best of times. At the worst, he was coughing up blood and jasmines onto the floor for almost a full half hour, barely able to breathe between flowers. For the first time, he was almost glad that his siblings had forced him to learn how to hold his breath for a strenuous amount of time.
And then the ringing of his doorbell shook him out of his thoughts. Shit. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't open the door, he was covered in blood and the room was a mess of flowers, the overwhelming scent of jasmine and blood had probably managed to infect everything in here even if he managed to clean up—
The doorbell rang again. A small pause, and then a gentle knock.
Byakuya rid himself of his shirt and jacket. They were the bloodiest of all. He put on a clean shirt. The doorbell rang again. His ears were ringing, he felt dizzy with how quickly he was clearing flowers out of view from the door.
Another knock, and Byakuya opened the door.
Makoto. Who else? Nobody else would bother to check on him.
“What is it, Naegi?” Byakuya asked, trying his best to seem put together.
“Is everything alright? I haven't seen you outside of your dorm in a while, and… what's that on your face?”
Byakuya shuddered as Makoto reached up, rubbing his chin. “Did something happen?” Makoto asked quietly, “Is this blood?”
Byakuya attempted to repress a cough only a second too late— he was getting worse at that, now that his breathing had diminished— and had to turn away to cough harshly into his hands. Makoto seemed to take that as an invitation to enter, rubbing Byakuya's back with gentle concern.
Byakuya didn't show Makoto what was in his hands, a handful of small white flowers. Multiple of them, in fact.
He didn't have to. Makoto saw the blood creeping between the gaps in his fingers, dripping slowly onto the floor.
“Oh my God, Byakuya, what- are you okay?!”
Byakuya attempted to speak, attempted to shut the door, attempted to shove Makoto outside, anything. He did not manage any of those motions, head growing too dizzy and body growing too weak. Byakuya collapsed.
When he came to, Byakuya was no longer in his room. There was a warm, gentle weight pressed against him, a hand gently rubbing his side. Byakuya managed to get his eyes open, and through the blurriness of his lack of glasses, he could recognize that figure anywhere.
“You're finally awake… I was so worried, never do that again,” Makoto murmured, voice soft. He hesitated before continuing. “I brought you to my dorm, got rid of all the blood… and the, uhm…”
The dorm was quiet for a moment.
“Why were there… flowers..?”
Quiet once again. Byakuya didn't want to talk. He wasn't sure that he could. His throat hurt, it felt like blood had coated every bit of his mouth and esophagus. The thought of trying to explain himself made his throat sting and eyes water.
Byakuya managed to mumble something that was not quite a word, more a sound.
Pathetic.
“Hey, hey, it's okay,” Makoto said, hand shifting from Byakuya's side to his hair. “Do you need anything? Water? How long has it been since you've eaten?”
Makoto glanced around, pulling a glass of water closer on the bedside table with his free hand. “I got a glass right after I got you here, I barely drank from it…”
Byakuya shuffled upright and took the glass with a trembling hand, sipping quietly. How long had it been since he'd eaten, or had water? He couldn't even remember. He didn't think he could stomach anything solid.
Byakuya drank the entire thing. His throat felt a little clearer thanks to it.
“Thank you,” he managed to force out, not meeting Makoto's eyes. He took the glass and set it back on the nightstand, leaving Byakuya to stare down at nothing but the blanket.
They were silent. Makoto was waiting for answers.
“It's a disease,” Byakuya finally caved, finding it useless to hide now. “That causes the inflicted person to cough up flowers. It infects a person because of their… unrequited love for someone.”
Neither of them said anything for a few moments.
“Jasmines are my favorite flower,” Makoto murmured, one hand still running through Byakuya's hair. He coughed into his elbow, but nothing came out. Makoto still shifted closer to hold him. “Are they… important to you, too?”
Byakuya shook his head. “I… never even considered them until recently.”
A small chuckle escaped from Byakuya's throat, and he turned his face away from Makoto. Tears had welled up in his eyes. Of course jasmines were Makoto's favorite. Plain, small flowers with nothing too special about them. Beautiful and overwhelming in their own right. They were only important to him because Makoto was important to him.
Makoto held Byakuya a little tighter, not understanding his emotions. Makoto was… certainly overwhelmed with information, but he had no choice but to believe Byakuya. He'd seen all the blood and flowers all over Byakuya's room, that was why Makoto brought him here instead of laying him in his own room.
“Who is it?” Makoto asked. A moment passed before he clarified. “That you… that you love?”
Byakuya let out a sob. It wasn't the first time he cried, but it felt like it would be his last if he should answer that. As if he would die right here and now, in Makoto's bed, should he say the truth.
“You,” he managed. He was going to die either way, whether he told Makoto or not. Byakuya felt as if all of the air left his lungs.
“Oh,” Makoto whispered. Byakuya did not take a breath, rubbing his eyes relentlessly. “But… what?”
Makoto's hands both dug into Byakuya's skin. One on his scalp, the other on his arm. Both hurt like hell. Byakuya was forced to take a shallow breath.
“I… love you too, Byakuya. I thought… I thought that you knew, and just didn't say anything…”
Byakuya felt like he weighed ten less pounds. He felt like he could breathe again. The itching in his throat disappeared. He turned back to face Makoto, still crying, only trying to gauge if he was being honest.
Makoto wouldn't lie like that.
Makoto brought Byakuya back down onto the bed. “It… is it okay now? It's- it's requited, so it'll go away, and you'll be fine, right?”
Byakuya gave a weak nod. “Yeah,” he whispered, throat still sore. “Yeah. I will… I'll be fine. Thank you.”