Work Text:
Slow, so slow I fell to the ground on my knees
So don't fall in love, there's just too much to lose
If you're given the choice, then I beg you to choose
To walk away, walk away, don't let her get you
I can't bear to see the same happen to you
Mayday Parade - Terrible Things
His life was wonderful, free of any major worries.
Although Atsumu had a rather volatile temper and often complained about his stupid brother or annoying fans, he wouldn’t trade his life for anything else. He was certain he was currently in the best phase of his life.
He was playing for the Japanese volleyball club he considered the best—the very one he had dreamed of joining since childhood.
Despite choosing different paths in life, he saw his twin almost every day.
He got along surprisingly well with his team. On top of that, with each passing day, he grew closer to the teammate he had been in love with for nearly ten years.
He could honestly say he loved his life.
"Can ya stop smilin’ at yer phone?" Asked Osamu, who was wiping down tables at his restaurant, Onigiri Miya. "Ya look like a total creep."
"Shut up, Samu," he replied out of habit, not stopping his smile. "Ya would be smiling too if Sakusa Kiyoomi posted a photo of the two of ya on Instagram."
"Doubt it, since I’m not the one crushing on a rival player since high school."
Atsumu muttered something under his breath. He hated it when his brother brought up that time—back when his crush on Sakusa had been so embarrassingly obvious that the whole Inarizaki team used to tease him about it. He was a grown man now, and his feelings had matured, too.
"Besides, didn't yer PR manager insist that he finally start posting things with other players to improve his image—an image he didn't even have before, since he never posted anything online?" Osamu continued, raising an eyebrow.
Atsumu waved his hand dismissively.
"Details, details. It doesn't matter, because he could’ve posted any photo, but he chose the one with me," he said proudly.
"Ya look like yer about to cry in that pic," the other said coolly. "And ya like that? Pathetic."
There was no denying that Atsumu didn't look his best in the photo.
It had been taken after practice; he’d wanted a drink but squeezed the bottle too hard, causing water to spray straight into his eye. He really did look like he was on the verge of tears.
It certainly wasn't his best shot, but it wasn't the worst either (thanks to Suna who collected embarrassing pictures of him).
However Kiyoomi, —who had taken the selfie—looked visibly amused. His eyes were sparkling, and the corner of his mouth was turned up slightly.
On top of that, he captioned the photo: "Typical @MiyaAtsumu."
And Atsumu wasn't supposed to be happy about something like that?
"If Omi likes me pathetic, and if that means he’ll post photos with me, then I’ll be pathetic for him," he said in all seriousness.
Osamu gave him a critical look.
"There’s no saving ya," he sighed deeply. "Yer in too deep."
Atsumu knew he was making a goofy face, but he couldn't help it.
"Yeah, I am. And the fact that he just posted a photo of the two of us—even though Hinata’s been begging him for a post together for a month, and everyone loves Hinata—makes it pretty clear to me that I’m apparently his favorite." His face ached from smiling, but he didn't care.
His brother was staring at him intently.
"So, are ya finally going to ask him out?" Osamu asked him that at least once a week, and his answer was always "Not yet".
However, the fact that Kiyoomi never posted photos with anyone on social media—unless it was his cousin or a team photo—yet had chosen to share one with Atsumu for the first time, gave him a boost of confidence.
"Yeah. I’m going to do it tomorrow," he said, smiling even wider.
His brother stared at him, eyes wide.
"Wow. I have to admit, I didn't think this day would ever come." He put down the dishcloth and sat on a chair. "Do ya think he’ll say yes?" he asked with genuine curiosity.
All the joy drained out of Atsumu, replaced by uncertainty.
"I have no idea. We’re always bickering and taking digs at each other, but there’s usually no real malice behind it. He might pretend not to like me, but I’m convinced I’m the person on the team he’s closest to, and I can see that he cares about me in his own way." He gripped his phone tighter; the photo of the two of them was still on the screen. Right after Kiyoomi had laughed at him for being a klutz, he’d given him a charming smile and handed him a towel to wipe himself off. At that moment, Atsumu had thought he might either faint or ask him to be his husband right then and there. "Maybe I’m reading too much into things, but I hope there’s a sliver of a chance he won't turn me down," he said quietly.
Osamu’s expression softened. He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"I don’t spend as much time with him as ya do, but looking at how ya two interact, I’d say he’s pretty at ease around ya—especially fer someone who keeps everyone else at arm’s length." Osamu’s words took his twin by surprise. Usually, he’d mock Atsumu’s crush, and whenever he mentioned the relationship with Kiyoomi, he’d mostly pity Sakusa for having to put up with his idiotic brother. This was the first time Osamu had hinted that his chances might not be so slim after all.
Atsumu turned to his brother and, with tears in his eyes, moved closer to hug him.
"Thank ya, Samu."
His brother returned the hug, and hope stirred in Atsumu’s chest that someday Kiyoomi, too, would let him snuggle up like that.
Atsumu stepped into the locker room fifteen minutes before practice started—which, by his standards, was very early.
As always, the first thing he did was scan the room for Sakusa. He frowned when he didn’t see him on his usual bench.
"Where’s Omi?" he asked immediately.
Inumaki snorted loudly.
"What about hello?" he asked, giving him a meaningful look.
Normally, Atsumu would have felt embarrassed and started yelling at him. He hated it when his teammates hinted that he liked Sakusa more—and in a different way—than the rest of them.
But right now, he was more focused on the absence of his favorite person.
"Hello," he said coolly. "Where’s Omi?"
This time, Barnes snorted.
"You could at least make a bit of an effort."
Atsumu crossed his arms over his chest.
"I’m not asking a third time." He was already thoroughly annoyed and didn’t care what anyone else might think. It had never happened before that Atsumu arrived somewhere before Kiyoomi.
Sakusa usually arrived everywhere first—which was surprising, given that he hated being around crowds; logically, one would expect him to arrive as late as possible and leave as early as possible. Yet, he had an almost obsessive need to have time to spare.
Once, during an interview, a question came up about their habits: who was most often late, who was always punctual, and other such nonsense.
Atsumu had launched into a story about Sakusa—since Kiyoomi himself disliked participating in interviews, and he happened to be Miya’s favorite topic of conversation (something frequently pointed out online by Sakusa x Atsumu shippers; Osamu could say whatever he wanted, but he didn’t actually follow any Sakuatsu fan pages—those posts just happened to pop up while he was searching for posts about himself…).
An intrigued—and truly brazen—journalist had even dared to ask Sakusa:
"That’s very interesting, Sakusa-san. Do you think it might be due to OCD? Such behaviors certainly seem exceptionally compulsive." Atsumu stared at her, his mouth agape. Sure, everyone in the team had their suspicions and made their own assessments, but that was always within a close circle and just for a laugh. Kiyoomi had never officially confirmed or denied anything. Yet here was this woman asking such a question—and on live television, no less. The setter was about to say something when Sakusa spoke up in a cool voice:
"I have no intention of discussing any conditions or disorders I may or may not have. That is a private matter."
An awkward silence ensued; the journalist tried to salvage the situation with other questions, but the uncomfortable atmosphere lingered for the rest of the interview.
From then on, no one pressed the issue of Sakusa’s obsessive punctuality. For a while, Atsumu simply wanted to arrive at the locker room before Kiyoomi—just for the sake of a little rivalry. But no matter how early he showed up, Sakusa was already there.
One time, Atsumu arrived at the locker room nearly an hour before practice, only to find Kiyoomi already waiting there. Miya didn't consider this the norm, though; the smirk that appeared at the sight of his surprised expression confirmed his suspicion that Sakusa had intentionally arrived so early because he knew what the setter was planning.
Osamu must have ratted him out—that damn traitor.
But Atsumu actually liked that side of Sakusa, as well as the attention. It made him fall for him even more. After all, how could he not appreciate the fact that the man had sat in the locker room for God knows how long just to mess with him?
That was why Sakusa’s absence was so unusually unsettling.
Something wasn't right.
"Calm down, Atsumu," Meian said, patting him on the shoulder. "Sakusa called the coach to say he had to stop by the pharmacy before practice and would be a little late. And knowing Sakusa, he’ll still be here before Bokuto even manages to get changed."
Kotarou shouted in indignation, but Atsumu ignored him. He let out a loud breath, nodded, and headed to the washroom to clean his hands before changing—a habit he’d picked up from Sakusa.
He shouldn't be worried; Kiyoomi was a pharmacy regular, and his trips to hunt for new supplements never interfered with training.
Lost in thought, he washed his hands for so long that Kiyoomi would have been proud of him.
Just as he was about to leave, Sakusa walked in. Of course—even when that guy was running late, he still managed to arrive ahead of schedule.
But his mood instantly lifted, and his earlier agitation vanished.
He couldn't suppress an ironic smile.
"Hey, Omi-Omi. Yer a bit late today. Were yer favorite supplements on sale?" he said, glancing at the pharmacy bag tucked under the other’s arm.
Even though Kiyoomi hadn't removed his mask yet, Atsumu could tell the fabric was hiding a scowl.
"Shut up, Miya," he replied, washing his hands. "If you complain about your eyelid twitching one more time, I’m going to eat that whole pack of magnesium I bought for you right in front of your eyes."
Atsumu felt a wave of warmth fill his chest. During their last trip to a match, he’d spent half the journey complaining about his eyelid twitching. Sakusa had irritably lectured him about drinking coffee the way college students drink alcohol— and draining his body of magnesium—before handing him a single capsule.
It had been one of the best days of his life.
"Ya bought this fer me, Omi?" He couldn’t hide the emotion in his voice.
"If you can’t take care of yourself, someone else has to keep an eye on you," he said, rummaging through his shopping bag. He pulled out a box and handed it to him. "One a day, no more. Too many supplements are bad for you, too."
At that moment, he felt overwhelmed by his feelings for Kiyoomi. The urge to kiss him and confess his love was growing stronger by the second.
He struggled to keep himself from doing something stupid while the rest of the team was right there. Kiyoomi didn’t like being the center of attention and certainly wouldn’t feel comfortable if Atsumu confessed his feelings in front of everyone.
He’d do it. He’d ask him out on a date after practice, once they were alone in the locker room.
With a slightly trembling hand, he took the box and pressed it against his chest.
"And yet, ya threatened to eat it all yeself." He couldn’t resist making the comment.
Sakusa snorted, then pulled off his mask with a sweeping motion.
"A simple ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed, you jerk," he said, bumping him with his shoulder as he walked past.
Atsumu felt a warmth where Sakusa had touched him. His other hand immediately drifted to that spot, as if trying to hold onto the moment a little longer.
Sakusa Kiyoomi had initiated physical contact of his own will.
Atsumu grinned broadly. There was a very good chance he’d say ‘yes’ if asked out on a date.
"Thanks, Omi!" he shouted, then followed him into the locker room—a place of utter chaos, as Bokuto and Hinata were already doing exercises by the lockers.
Atsumu’s gaze immediately darted to Sakusa—who was trying to put a bag of medical supplies into his locker—and then back to the other two teammates.
"Bokkun, watch out!" Atsumu yelled, even though he knew his warning wouldn't stop the inevitable.
Bokuto had tried to do a one-legged exercise but lost his balance, crashing into Sakusa; the force of the impact made Sakusa drop the bag he was holding.
Atsumu was relieved it wasn't his fault; while he loved having Sakusa’s attention focused on him, he never wanted Sakusa to look at him the way he was looking at Bokuto right now.
"Sorry, Sakkun!" Bokuto shouted, causing the grimace on Sakusa’s face to deepen. Atsumu was impressed that Sakusa’s face could be so expressive, capable of conveying such varying degrees of annoyance. "If I’d seen you standing there, I would’ve tried to veer a bit to the right," he tried to explain while gathering up the bottles and packs scattered across the floor.
"Because it’s just so hard to notice a tall athlete," Sakusa spat, snatching the box of medication and shoving it into his bag.
One bottle rolled across the floor and came to a stop at Hinata’s feet; he picked it up and examined the label.
"Florestin..." he read aloud. Atsumu felt as though a deathly silence had descended upon the locker room the moment the word was spoken. He held his own breath. "I could swear I’ve heard that name somewhere before," Hinata continued, seemingly oblivious to the mood that had taken hold of the team.
Kiyoomi strode over and ripped the bottle from his grasp.
"Everyone’s heard of this drug, for fuck’s sake, Hinata," he hissed—his tone so menacing that a shiver ran down Atsumu’s spine. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one; several of the other guys, Hinata included, flinched. What made it even more serious was that Sakusa almost never swore. He was known for his creative insults, but he generally considered profanity to be crude.
Atsumu’s heart skipped a beat.
Sakusa was right. Everyone knew about Florestin— after all, not every drug’s name ends up in a textbook. Yet, for some reason, the Ministry of Education deemed hanahaki disease—an extremely rare condition—significant enough to require students to memorize every stage of the illness and its various treatments.
Not that Atsumu had paid much attention in class; his mind had been occupied almost entirely by volleyball. Yet, this subject was so terrifying that even the biggest dunces at his school managed to remember something about it. After all, how could one not fear a condition born of unrequited love—one that causes flowers to grow inside your lungs, eventually leading to death? It sounds so implausible, as if plucked straight from a fantasy movie.
And, for the Monster Generation in particular, this represents a defining trauma of their childhood.
When Atsumu was about six years old, a commercial aired on television about hanahaki disease and a new, innovative drug called Florestin, which allowed those who had undergone surgery to function normally afterward.
This was because neither the removal of the flowers from one’s lungs—which, incidentally, stripped the patient of the capacity to love—nor the realization that one’s feelings were actually reciprocated, was ever enough to fully cure the afflicted.
Hanahaki disease wreaked havoc on the lungs. Once damaged, the organ could never return to its former state; the lungs remained weaker and far more susceptible to all kinds of infections. Florestin—a medication that those who had once suffered from the disease had to take for the rest of their lives—was the only thing keeping their lungs functioning.
Atsumu and his peers, who had been forced to watch that cursed commercial in their childhood, would never forget the grotesque footage of people coughing up blood and flowers.
The first time he and Osamu saw it, they ended up having to sleep in the same bed; the vile imagery had given them genuine nightmares.
However, to suffer from this disease, one had to love someone deeply and sincerely – so intensely that the lack of reciprocation of this feeling became a true tragedy. Someone as detached as Sakusa couldn’t possibly be capable of that.
Right?
A flicker of realization crossed Hinata’s face, only to be instantly replaced by sheer horror.
"Hana…" Hinata began, then stopped abruptly—as if speaking the words aloud would be tantamount to a death sentence. Instead, he whispered in a faint voice, "Omi-san..."
Atsumu noticed that Sakusa tightened his grip on the bottle.
"The coach has been aware of my condition since we started working together—let that be clear. I’ve given my all from the very beginning, and you both know that, so nothing has changed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get changed and start training," Kiyoomi said firmly, then began taking off his clothes, ignoring his teammates.
A heavy silence fell over the locker room.
Sakusa was wrong. It changed absolutely everything. For a person who had undergone surgery for hanahaki disease lost the ability to ever fall in love again.
Which meant that, in truth, Atsumu never stood a chance.
He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling a sharp, stabbing pain—as if his heart had shattered.
Atsumu arrived home much later than usual. He couldn’t bear the thought of returning to an empty home after the news that had irrevocably extinguished his hope.
After practice, he wandered aimlessly through the city for hours, trying to clear his head, which was an impossible task. He had spent the last few years thinking of Sakusa; now, knowing that the object of his affection would never be able to reciprocate his feelings, the images of Kiyoomi in his mind only became all the more persistent.
He sighed, turning the key in the lock. He’d have to watch some stupid comedy or a reality show; he was certain that, given his current state of mind and heart, sleep would elude him tonight.
Stepping across the threshold, he realized that peace and quiet were not in the cards for him.
"What the hell are ya doin’ here?" Atsumu asked, his tone resigned. Usually, he’d be shouting at Osamu for showing up unannounced, but after the day he’d had, he had absolutely no energy left.
Osamu frowned.
"No hello, dear brother, or so glad to see ya? Or at least where’s my onigiri?"
"Hello, bane of my existence," Atsumu replied, devoid of any spirit. "What the hell are ya doin’ here?" He slammed the door shut behind him and—a habit picked up from Sakusa—immediately went to wash his hands.
"My stupid twin instinct kicked in, telling me somethin’ was wrong. And when ya didn't reply or pick up, I knew for sure that somethin’ had actually happened," he said, watching him intently.
Atsumu sighed. Nothing ever got past his brother.
He lay down on the couch.
Osamu sat down beside him, looking at him expectantly.
"Omi-kun," he said, with such pain that his brother’s pupils dilated. He talked about Sakusa often, but his name had never sounded so bitter coming from his lips.
"What did Sakusa do?" he asked, his face twisting with fury. "Did ya ask him out, and that rat turned ya down?" He stood up abruptly. "I’m going to kick his ass. I know yer annoying, but he seemed to tolerate ya and he had no right to just reject ya like that," he added angrily.
Atsumu grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. He didn't let go; he needed to feel his brother’s presence.
"I didn't ask Omi out. There’s no point—he’ll never love me," his voice began to crack.
"If ya haven't talked to him about it, how do ya know that? Does he..." Osamu hesitated. "Does he date someone else?" he asked, as if it were the most absurd thing ever.
Atsumu let out a bitter snort.
"Honestly, I think I’d prefer it if he did have someone," he said, then looked at his brother, feeling tears begin to stream down his cheeks.
His twin stared back at him, looking bewildered.
Osamu looked at him, feeling helpless.
"He takes Florestin," Atsumu explained. "Ya know what that means."
Osamu drew in a sharp breath.
"Hanahaki," he whispered.
Atsumu nodded nervously.
"He’ll never love me back. All because some bastard—someone who couldn't see what a wonderful person he is, someone who couldn't appreciate him…" he couldn’t finish the sentence and just sobbed, clenching his hand into a tight fist.
He completely broke down.
With every passing moment, his mind was flooded with thoughts about the fact that Sakusa was suffering from hanahaki disease.
It wasn't just that Kiyoomi was no longer capable of loving anyone—tragic as that was in itself.
Atsumu also began to worry about Sakusa’s physical condition. He had always thought Kiyoomi was perhaps overly meticulous about his health, but now, it all made sense. His lungs were irreversibly damaged, and the intense physical exertion required by his career as a professional volleyball player could be dangerous for him. Even the fact that he almost always wore a face mask suddenly seemed the most logical thing in the world; those affected by Hanahaki disease were more susceptible to respiratory illnesses, so he had to protect himself from all kinds of bacteria as best he could.
Atsumu could only imagine the pain and the daily struggles that Kiyoomi had to endure. On top of that, there was the realization that Kiyoomi had once loved someone so deeply—so intensely—that the unrequited affection had caused him to develop an incredibly rare illness; the kind that doesn’t just strike from some casual, fleeting crush.
Atsumu felt disgusted with himself for being capable of jealousy in a situation like this.
He was consumed by pure fury because someone had hurt Kiyoomi so profoundly, when he himself could have given him everything.
He wanted to track that person down and hurt them just as badly as Sakusa had been hurt.
Atsumu tried to cling to that anger—it was a far easier emotion to handle—but, much like a rollercoaster, his feelings shifted once again, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by a fresh wave of anguish over unrequited love.
Osamu watched as his brother fell apart, piece by piece.
He lay down beside him on the narrow sofa and took his brother’s face in his hands.
Tear-filled eyes met a gaze full of determination.
"Ya need to download a dating app and go on a date with someone." he said, his tone firm.
Atsumu looked at him, bewildered. He couldn’t fathom how his brother had suddenly come out with something like that.
"What?"
"Ya need to forget about Sakusa as soon as possible. I won’t let ya end up sick as well just because he’s incapable of loving anyone."
Atsumu tried to push him away, but Osamu wouldn’t allow it.
"Don’t talk as if it’s Omi’s fault," Atsumu said sharply. "And I’m not interested in going on dates with some desperate weirdo from the internet."
"Then promise me ya won’t end up with hanahaki because of this," his brother insisted, his tone stern. "Can ya promise me that?"
Atsumu opened his mouth, but no words came out; he couldn’t make that promise to Osamu.
He knew himself better than anyone. He found many people attractive, but he had only ever fallen in love once—and Sakusa Kiyoomi was the only person for whom he had ever felt such intense, profound affection.
That was why his chest ached so fiercely now. His first and only love was destined to remain unrequited. As the full weight of that truth sank in, the resulting pain made him realize just how deep his feelings truly ran.
If he hadn’t loved so deeply, he wouldn’t be suffering like this.
He took a deep breath and said:
"Hanahaki is an incredibly rare condition," he began. "Not every unrequited love leads to it." He added, and it was the truth. Although many teenagers would act dramatic during their turbulent breakups—claiming they might die of a broken heart—only a tiny fraction of them actually contracted hanahaki disease. According to many doctors, a sudden surge of hormones prevented the development of the cells responsible for this condition. The likelihood of falling ill increased just as hormone levels began to stabilize. For the condition to take hold, the emotion had to be profound and, in its own way, mature.
That was precisely why it hurt him even more.
How deeply must Sakusa have loved someone to end up with hanahaki? How truly exceptional, how different from Atsumu, must that person have been?
He hated that person with every fiber of his being.
"I’m strong," he said, though he hardly sounded like someone with any strength left. At that moment, he felt like the weakest person on earth. "And stubborn." That, at least, sounded more convincing. Osamu had always said that his brother was the most stubborn person he knew.
"I won't let any illness get the better of me." Even though he didn't truly believe it himself, he hoped that, in this instance, his words might hold the power to make it so.
Osamu kept his intense gaze fixed on him, clear concern etched in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but his brother beat him to it.
"Just let me get through my first heartbreak in peace," Atsumu pleaded, feeling the tears welling up once again. "Don't try to push me into dating or make me forget Omi. I want to go through this in my own way."
The desperation in his voice must have been convincing, as his brother relented for the moment, pulling him into an embrace so that Atsumu could cry it all out.
As Atsumu felt a persistent ache in his chest throughout the night, he clung to the hope that it was merely the result of his constant weeping and a broken heart—and not because flowers were beginning to grow inside his lungs.
Osamu left Atsumu’s apartment early in the morning to make it to work on time. Before heading out, he made sure his brother was doing alright.
"If ya notice anything worrying, get in touch with me immediately—do ya understand?" Osamu’s intense stare felt as though it were burning against his skin.
"Sure, Samu," he lied. He had no intention of telling his brother if something concerning were to happen.
Though statistically unlikely, the thought that he might have fallen ill continued to haunt him. However, for the sake of his brother and his own future, he didn’t want to dwell on it. Instead, he chose to focus on the other love of his life—the one that would never break his heart: volleyball.
Yesterday’s practice had been a disaster. Even though Sakusa had explicitly told them to treat him normally, the tense atmosphere made it impossible for the players to focus.
Kiyoomi said nothing, though his irritation was plain to see. The coach, completely oblivious to the situation, shouted at them and leveled harsh criticisms, unable to believe that almost the entire team was playing like a bunch of high schoolers rather than professional volleyball players.
No one dared to explain that it was all because of what they had learned about Sakusa—after all, they didn’t want to unsettle their teammate any further.
Meian must have explained everything to the coach after practice, because the next day, the coach treated them with more understanding—yelling less whenever a lapse in concentration led to a mistake.
Not that twenty-four hours was enough for the MSBY team to simply move on. They were definitely doing better than the day before, but they were making mistakes more often than usual.
Atsumu, in particular, was struggling just as much as he had the day he first learned that Kiyoomi had been suffering from hanahaki. A growing sense of frustration gnawed at him; even volleyball, his usual refuge, offered no solace.
Yet, Samson didn’t yell at him. No matter how badly Atsumu botched a serve or a set, the coach remained relatively calm, offering only the mildest of reprimands.
This only made Atsumu feel worse, leading him to commit even more errors. Kiyoomi, however, was far less forgiving; with every subsequent mistake, his irritation became increasingly apparent.
At one point, after Atsumu set the ball too low for Sakusa, the latter finally reached his breaking point.
"For fuck's sake, Miya! If you don't pull yourself together, I’ll kick you off the court myself. Even kindergartners set better than you!" His voice rang out across the gym.
Sakusa doesn't scream—he might raise his voice, but he never screams. He also makes a point of avoiding cussing.
Atsumu felt a crushing weight in his chest, and a shiver ran down his spine. He noticed that Bokuto and Hinata had also flinched at Sakusa’s sudden outburst.
"Sorry, Omi-Omi," he said, hunching his shoulders.
His reaction clearly caught Sakusa off guard. After all, Atsumu almost never apologized—certainly not to Kiyoomi, with whom he was constantly trading barbs. Usually, Atsumu would have raised his voice and started an argument.
Sakusa turned his head away and said, in a much calmer tone:
"Don't apologize; just show me you actually know how to play volleyball."
Atsumu tried his absolute best not to let Sakusa down, even though his mind was clearly elsewhere. And while things didn't always go perfectly, even Kiyoomi eased up on him; for the rest of the practice, only their coach offered any critiques.
Just as the players were heading off to the showers, Samson asked Atsumu to stay at the court for a moment. Once everyone else had disappeared into the hallway, he asked in a tone that was annoyingly sympathetic:
"Are you alright, Atsumu?"
A wave of nausea washed over him.
No, nothing was all right.
"Of course, Coach." His reply was so unconvincing that even Bokuto wouldn't have bought it.
Samson studied him closely.
"Meian told me yesterday that you’d found out about..." The coach hesitated. "...about Kiyoomi’s condition. I know it’s a shock, and that it’s affected you on a different level."
He felt his cheeks burning.
"Is it that obvious, Coach?" he asked in a faint voice.
The man looked at him with sympathy.
"I suspected as much, though I’d hoped it wasn’t anything too serious. If I hadn’t promised Kiyoomi complete discretion, I would have told you. Perhaps then we could have prevented this..." The coach’s expression betrayed his regret over the decisions he’d made.
Atsumu cast his gaze down at his own feet.
Would knowing sooner that Kiyoomi could never reciprocate his feelings have stopped him from falling deeper and deeper in love with the man?
He honestly doubted it.
Atsumu was certain that nothing could have kept him from surrendering his heart to Kiyoomi entirely.
He felt the coach’s hand on his shoulder.
"Will you be able to handle this, Atsumu? Is there any way I can help?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.
Atsumu couldn't help but snort. How exactly was the coach supposed to help? By transferring him to another team so he wouldn't have to see Sakusa every single day? That would only make things worse. Even though he was barely functioning due to his broken heart, he couldn’t imagine giving up the chance to see the man every single day—even if it meant his condition might worsen.
From the moment Kiyoomi joined MSBY, and Atsumu sent a serve his way for the first time in years, he had promised himself that he would never let Sakusa play on a different team than his own. He had tasted the exhilaration of playing alongside him, and he never wanted to let that go.
The rejection hadn’t changed that. He still wanted to be close to him.
"My broken heart won’t interfere with my playing anymore, Coach. I promise I’ll handle it and I’ll be back in form by tomorrow." He spoke with a confidence he didn’t actually feel.
Though the coach didn’t look entirely convinced, he allowed him to head to the locker room.
The moment Atsumu crossed the threshold, he heard a voice that always made his blood race.
"Did the coach chew you out for your pathological lack of focus?" Sakusa, fresh from the shower and already wearing his mask, sat on a bench, watching him with raised eyebrows.
Atsumu felt his treacherous heart beat faster.
"Were ya waitin’ for me, Omi?" It was so hard to suppress these reactions, even though he now knew that Sakusa’s small gestures—which he had once hoped might mean something more—never carried any romantic subtext.
And yet, even with that knowledge, how could he help but find joy in Kiyoomi’s attention?
Sakusa stood up from the bench and sighed.
"Yes, because you’re coming with me to an herbal shop. We need to do something about your lack of concentration. You’re already taking plenty of supplements, so I figured ginkgo biloba tea should suffice. And since I don’t trust you to buy it yourself, I’m going with you. Maybe I’ll pick out a few other things while we’re there."
Atsumu felt a tightness in his chest.
If not for the knowledge that Sakusa was incapable of falling in love, he might still hold out hope that, one day, Kiyoomi could reciprocate his feelings.
Why are ya so kind to me? he asked himself. Ya can’t give me love, so why do ya toy with my heart like this? He continued the thought, even though he knew, deep down, that it wasn’t Sakusa’s fault.
He pressed his hand against his lips. His chest felt tight, but he didn’t want to cough in front of Sakusa.
The man rolled his eyes, clearly interpreting Atsumu’s reaction as nothing more than being dramatic.
"Take a quick shower, and then we’re leaving."
Atsumu practically bolted—not because Sakusa was rushing him, but because he simply couldn’t hold it in any longer.
Fortunately, the water drowned out any sounds escaping his lips.
It’s nothing, he repeated to himself. It’s really nothing. Yer just upset about everything. It’s just an anxiety cough. Osamu had the same thing when he started getting stressed about opening his restaurant.
At the herbal shop he felt even worse.
Kiyoomi was scrutinizing the products with great care, trying to select the best blends for Atsumu.
"We’ll definitely get you some ginkgo biloba tea, but it wouldn’t hurt to pick up something to help you sleep, too—you looked tired this morning, and lately, on the way to matches, you haven’t been able to fall asleep on the bus. Though, to be fair, that’s probably partly the fault of Hinata and Bokuto; those two never know when to shut their mouths," Sakusa said, plucking two packages of different herbs from the shelf. "Lavender works best for me, but it tends to irritate you—I suspect you might even be allergic to it. I’d usually suggest lemon balm, but I think you’d prefer chamomile; it’ll also help with your digestion, which you’ve been complaining about lately," he continued, sounding like a true expert. "Which, honestly, shouldn’t come as a surprise, considering you have absolutely no sense of moderation when it comes to your brother’s onigiri."
On one hand, Atsumu felt a surge of joy seeing this side of Kiyoomi—a side he hadn’t known existed. It was clear that Kiyoomi genuinely enjoyed shops like this and had a real interest in herbal medicine; his eyes practically sparkled as he scanned the ingredients of the various blends.
It was a beautiful sight, yet a painful one, too—because this beautiful man would never belong to Atsumu. Kiyoomi had given his heart away once, and it was lost forever.
But what hurt even more was the fact that Kiyoomi was paying such close, particular attention to him. He doubted that his own brother even knew he wasn’t a fan of lavender, considering the brother himself often hung sachets of the herb around to ward off moths.
Unless, of course, he did it on purpose—to discourage Atsumu from visiting.
And yet, Kiyoomi knew about it, even though he surely hadn’t had many chances to witness how Atsumu reacted to lavender.
It broke his heart and left him feeling stifled, a tightness constricting his chest.
Atsumu tried to hold back a cough, but it was beyond his control.
Sakusa cast an appraising look at him and took a step back.
"Don’t bother, Omi. It’s just the scent of all these herbs—it’s making it hard to breathe." He tried to lie—not just to Sakusa, but to himself as well.
Kiyoomi took a deep breath through his mask.
"There really is a scent of lavender in the air. I shouldn’t have asked you to come in here," he said—and Atsumu could have sworn he heard a note of regret in his voice. "Let’s grab what we need and get out of here. Just to be safe, though, we’ll stop by the pharmacy next door and pick up some cold medicine. If you start feeling worse, don’t even think about showing up for practice—go straight to a doctor instead," he added firmly.
Atsumu simply nodded, still struggling to suppress his cough. Back at home, as the water for the chamomile tea—chosen for him by Sakusa—was coming to a boil, Atsumu leaned against the sink and coughed so violently that his chest began to ache.
He tried not to think about what it might mean. He told himself it was just the lingering scent of lavender in his nose, combined with the agitation caused by Sakusa’s condition and behavior. Nothing more.
Yet, when a white petal landed next to an unwashed mug, he felt no surprise—only resignation and a sad sense of acceptance.
Atsumu spent half the night reading about hanahaki disease online, and the other half battling a coughing fit.
He clung to the faint hope that the general knowledge he’d picked up in school might be outdated—that perhaps things had changed over the last few years. Surely, if there had been any groundbreaking discoveries in treating hanahaki, the media would have covered them extensively. But Atsumu had to admit to himself that he was somewhat ignorant; when it came to the news, he only ever paid attention to the sports section—or the weather, if he happened to be planning a trip. He held onto a sliver of hope that he’d simply missed something, that scientists had come up with a cure that wouldn’t carry any side effects.
But no matter how much time he spent in front of his computer, or how many articles he read, he couldn’t find anything that offered a satisfactory answer.
It was truly staggering that, for the last fifteen years, virtually nothing had changed in the field of hanahaki treatment.
That explained why Sakusa was still using the very same medication for his damaged lungs—the same one that had been advertised back when he was a child. As before, the only ways to be cured of this illness were either to have one’s feelings reciprocated or to undergo surgery to remove the flowers from one’s lungs.
No medication could offer a miraculous cure. Furthermore, there was no remedy for the side effects of the surgery: the loss of all memories concerning the person one had loved, and the permanent inability to ever feel love again.
For Atsumu, there was no hope.
After his own surgery, Kiyoomi was no longer capable of returning his feelings, and Atsumu refused to undergo the procedure—he would not sacrifice his capacity to love in the same way Kiyoomi had.
He could not imagine a life where he no longer loved Kiyoomi, or where every memory he held of him had been erased.
Even though it was this very love that caused his lungs to burn—as flowers took root within them, slowly killing him—these painful emotions were also the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he could not bear to lose them.
They were simply too precious to him. Kiyoomi himself was too precious to him.
"I don’t want to forget ya, Omi-Omi. I don’t want to stop loving ya," he said to himself, pressing his hand against his heart.
A moment later, his hand moved to his mouth as he felt that familiar scratchiness in his throat again.
And although no petals emerged this time, he felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks instead.
He didn’t know what to do; there was no good solution here.
Hours of research into hanahaki disease led him to conclude that his own illness was progressing exceptionally fast. Typically, the first petals appear about two weeks after the onset of shortness of breath and chest pain.
For Atsumu, they had appeared just a day later.
Of course, it all depended on how convinced the afflicted person was that their feelings were unrequited.
After all, one can never be one hundred percent certain of how another person truly feels.
You can make an assessment based on their words and behavior, but only the individual themselves knows their true feelings.
Naturally, if someone explicitly tells another person that they do not love them—and that they never will—doctors say the first petal should appear within twenty-four hours.
Atsumu had more than just the cold, heartless words, I don’t love you. He had absolute certainty that his love was unrequited, because every article he read mentioned a specific side effect of a certain surgery: physically, Sakusa was incapable of loving him. Officially, no studies have been conducted on Atsumu’s specific case, but—fortunately for him (though perhaps less so for others who have contracted hanahaki disease)—the people of Reddit were there to help.
He stumbled upon a post by a man who had fallen in love with a woman who, as it turned out, had previously suffered from hanahaki disease. Naturally, he hadn’t known she’d undergone surgery; after all, it’s not the sort of thing one brings up early in a relationship—the fact that one once had to have flowers removed from one’s lungs due to unrequited love. He had already fallen for her and confessed his feelings, only for her to tell him that she could not return them because of her state after the surgery..
The first petals appeared within twenty-four hours. Three days later, he began vomiting blood mixed with flower petals.
A week later, he coughed up an entire rose.
Three weeks after the post was published, the author left a comment explaining that he had undergone surgery and didn’t even remember posting anything to Reddit. It was only the notifications—people asking if he was still alive—that led him back to the thread.
He wrote that he quickly realized who was responsible for his illness: a new female colleague—someone he felt he was seeing for the very first time—had actually been working alongside him for six months. He had only a hazy, fog-like recollection of the projects he’d worked on during that period. As for a business trip, he remembered absolutely nothing; his coworkers had to fill him in on the details, leaving him unable to discern what was actually true.
A shiver ran down Atsumu’s spine. If all his memories of Kiyoomi were to vanish, how many other memories might also be lost forever—or become irrevocably distorted?
One person on this thread admitted that they had developed hanahaki when they found out that their love interest had already had surgery a long time ago. For a few days, they wrote about how they couldn’t imagine ever forgetting the person they had loved with all their heart; then, they stopped being active on Reddit altogether.
Atsumu, along with the other internet users following the thread, reached the same conclusion.
He slammed his laptop shut.
Osamu, Suna, or even Kiyoomi might call him stupid, but Atsumu was perfectly capable of interpreting data and drawing his own conclusions.
Without surgery, someone suffering from hanahaki can survive for up to six months after coughing up their first petal.
In severe cases—where recovery is impossible without an operation—death can occur in as little as a month.
Atsumu was certain his case fell into that severe category; by his own estimate, he had at most one or two months left to live if he didn’t go through with the surgery.
He covered his eyes with his hand and let out a long, heavy breath.
In the darkness, he couldn’t see the tears he’d shed, nor the petals he’d coughed up.
Naturally, Atsumu couldn’t tell his brother that he’d coughed up a petal.
Osamu would have dragged him to the hospital for surgery immediately—and that was the last thing he wanted.
So, when his brother called the next morning to ask how he was doing, Atsumu complained about everything else under the sun, just to avoid talking about what was truly weighing on him.
Osamu had had enough after five minutes and hung up, but Atsumu knew it wouldn’t be long before his brother figured everything out.
Still, he intended to keep pretending that everything was fine for as long as he possibly could.
As it happened, Osamu was swamped with work—otherwise, he surely would have realized right away that Atsumu was trying to stifle a cough every time they spoke. As things stood, nearly a week had passed since he’d coughed up that first petal, and his brother still hadn’t grabbed him by the hair and dragged him off to the hospital for surgery.
By now, he’d coughed up enough petals to form a small flower. Yet, since neither blood nor full-blown blossoms had passed his lips, Atsumu kept telling himself that everything was fine—even as he grew weaker with each passing day.
He found it increasingly difficult to catch his breath during strenuous activity, but his competitive spirit kept him fueled.
Especially now, with his team set to face their greatest rivals: the Schweiden Adlers.
True to form, it took less than five minutes for Kageyama and Hinata to be at each other’s throats. They were shouting so loudly they drowned out the roar of the crowd, but the players and coaches—long accustomed to this "mating ritual"—simply let them carry on.
Atsumu, for one, couldn’t have cared less; his eyes were fixed, as always, on Kiyoomi, who had walked over to speak with Ushijima before the match. In moments like these, he would always feel a small pang of jealousy—jealousy that Sakusa got along so well with Ushijima and clearly liked him, as evidenced by his desire to engage with him and the respect he held for him.
This time, however, rather than the typical jealousy his teammates always teased him about, he watched the interaction with wide eyes and a hollow ache in his heart.
He recalled how, during the All-Japan Youth Training Camp, Sakusa had asked Kageyama—with almost aggressive intensity—how it was even possible for his team to have defeated Wakatoshi Ushijima.
Atsumu himself hadn’t exactly been pleasant to Kageyama back then, but that was just his personality; he simply enjoyed getting under people’s skin.
Kiyoomi, on the other hand, had never struck him as the type to initiate contact—especially given how he’d gone out of his way to avoid any significant interaction with the other boys at the camp. That was precisely why it came as such a surprise to see Sakusa take the initiative, and to ask about someone else, no less.
Even back then, he had felt the first stirrings of jealousy, plagued by the thought that perhaps Kiyoomi had feelings for Ushijima.
Now, however, it hit him with full force: his intuition hadn't been wrong after all—back in their teenage years, Sakusa had indeed been in love with a rival from another school.
And it was entirely possible that Kiyoomi was currently speaking to the very person who had become the cause of his hanahaki disease.
It all made so much sense to Atsumu.
Sakusa generally shunned other people; yet, throughout their high school years—whenever Atsumu saw him at tournaments or training camps—he noticed that Kiyoomi would only engage in civil interaction with two individuals: his cousin, Motoya, and none other than Ushijima.
It wouldn't surprise Atsumu in the slightest if that “stone Ushiwaka”, who showed no emotion, never smiled, and couldn't even manage a proper display of anger—had been incapable of reciprocating Sakusa’s feelings, leaving Sakusa to fall ill from the rejection.
Atsumu had long assumed that Kiyoomi must have contracted the illness toward the end of high school or during his university years—a time when his body had matured enough for the disease to take hold, and when no one in their social circle had noticed his declining health.
Though a nagging voice in the back of his mind had always suggested something was amiss, he now felt as if he had stumbled upon an absolute, undeniable truth.
With this realization, a wave of pure fury washed over him.
"I’m going to destroy ya, ya fucker!" He shouted, pointing a finger at Ushijima.
Although the room was already full of noisy people, Atsumu felt as though a deathly silence had fallen for a moment following his outburst. His behaviour had taken everyone by surprise.
Sakusa was the first to recover from the shock.
"What is wrong with you, Miya?" Kiyoomi asked, frowning..
Atsumu was practically trembling with rage.
What is wrong with YA?! he wanted to scream. How could ya talk to that asshole—the one who gave you hanahaki—as if nothin’ had happened?
"What is wrong with ya, talking to the enemy, Omi?!" he hissed instead.
He had heard of cases where, even after surgery, a person would still feel a lingering pull toward the one for whom they had once harbored feelings. Naturally, this didn't mean that any love still existed—scientists were certain of that. It was more like a form of "body memory"—the organism simply "knew" that it had once been attached to that person.
This frustrated Atsumu immensely. It only fueled his desire to destroy Ushijima.
Throughout the match, he didn’t cough even once—as if his body had temporarily forgotten about his unrequited love, focusing entirely instead on his hatred for Ushiwaka.
Despite his weakened physical state, he found the motivation to channel all his negative emotions toward his opponent. He played more aggressively than usual, and he also took more liberties in provoking the opposing team.
"Eat shit, Ushiwaka!" he’d shout at Ushijima whenever he managed to outsmart him—and that was one of his milder remarks during the match.
And whenever, following a warning from the referee, an irritated “Shut up, Miya” came from Sakusa, Atsumu’s blood would boil even more. Though logic told him that Kiyoomi simply didn’t want him getting into trouble over his provocations, a broken part of his soul whispered that what really bothered Sakusa was that he was insulting the very person responsible for his illness.
Surprisingly, their coach was far less stern.
"As far as your play goes—well, you aren’t playing like your usual self, but the results are surprisingly good, so keep it up. Just, for the love of God, stop baiting Ushijima; the ref is going to lose his patience and slap you with a yellow card."
At these words, Sakusa let out an indistinct sound. Under normal circumstances, Atsumu would have retorted, but he was too pumped full of adrenaline. They won 3–1, but Atsumu couldn’t fully enjoy the victory; negative emotions were still surging within him.
As if sensing his mood, Bokuto and Hinata—almost immediately after the post-match handshakes—steered him away from the net, just in case he decided to lunge at Ushijima to assert his dominance and superiority.
"Tsum-Tsum, you can calm down now—we won, after all," Bokuto said, patting him on the shoulder.
"Exactly, Atsumu-san," added Hinata—who, just moments earlier, had been laughing at Kageyama and teasing him about his loss. "You don’t need to act like you’re about to attack Ushiwaka anymore."
"I’m not actin’ like that at all," he replied, clenching his fists.
"Bullshit. You’re shaking all over, Miya," Sakusa remarked as they headed toward the locker room.
Atsumu jumped at the sound of his voice. After two hours of playing without a single bout of breathlessness, he felt something lodge itself in his throat once again. There was a hint of concern in Sakusa’s tone regarding his behavior.
"Are ya worried about me, Omi-Omi?" he asked, exhaling cautiously—hoping that no petals would spill out along with his breath. He didn’t know why he did this to himself—why he asked questions when the answers would only hurt him more.
Kiyoomi didn’t give a direct answer, yet every word only tightened the constriction in Atsumu’s chest:
"You weren’t yourself today," he replied simply—a plain statement, yet one that threw both Atsumu’s mind and heart into complete disarray.
He couldn’t bring himself to respond; he didn’t want to start coughing the moment he opened his mouth.
Letting out a resigned sigh, Sakusa set his water bottle down on the bench as they reached the locker room.
"Maybe you’ll go back to normal once you get back from your mother’s," he remarked.
That finally prompted a reaction from Atsumu.
"What?"
"Weren’t you supposed to head the family home with your brother for the weekend?" Sakusa asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise—as if he knew just how sacred family visits were to Atsumu.
Atsumu felt a sharp tightness in his chest—not just at the realization that Kiyoomi had remembered something mentioned only in passing a week ago, but at the very mention of his home. He cleared his throat and felt a petal travel from his throat into his mouth. Quickly, he used his tongue to push it behind his back teeth.
"Oh, right…" he began, his voice raspy. Fortunately, Sakusa didn’t find it alarming; he was used to his voice becoming hoarse after intense matches. "But my mom said she has to go help her sister who broke her leg so we won’t be able to meet up until my uncle gets back from a business trip," he said, making no effort to hide the sadness in his tone.
He loved his mother dearly and would visit her—either with Osamu or on his own—whenever he could. Not a month went by without him returning to his family home. He missed her terribly, and now, knowing he didn’t have much time left, he longed all the more to hold her and hear her say that everything would be alright.
Yet, at the same time, he dreaded seeing her; he knew she would sense immediately that something was wrong. He had never been able to fool his mother.
His profound sadness caught Sakusa off guard; he stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes, as if unable to fathom such a reaction.
"It’s no wonder you’re so frustrated, Atsumu-san," Hinata said, patting his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "My parents and Natsu visited me two weeks ago, and I’m already starting to miss them again."
Atsumu noticed Sakusa cast a surprised glance toward Hinata.
"Same here!" Bokuto exclaimed, making both Sakusa and Atsumu flinch. "If we could, Akaashi and I would visit our families more often than just a few times a year—but Tokyo is so far away!" Bokuto sighed, then turned to Kiyoomi. "You’re from Tokyo too, right, Sakkun? Maybe you’d like to come along with us in two weeks and visit your own family? I can’t recall if you ever—"
The surprise vanished from Sakusa’s face, replaced by an emotion Atsumu couldn’t quite decipher.
"No, thanks, Bokuto," he said coldly, before heading toward the showers.
"I don’t think I’ve ever heard Omi-san talk about his parents," Hinata remarked, watching the man walk away.
Atsumu couldn’t help but follow him with his gaze.
A heavy, tight sensation gripped his chest.
"Omi-kun likes to play the mysterious type—he never lets on anything significant about himself. If it weren’t for Komori-kun, I would still think he’s an only child." He said it bitterly, then headed toward the restroom, ignoring the boys' surprised scream "Omi-kun has siblings?!"
Atsumu tried to cough as quietly as possible, even though he knew the rest of the guys had gone to take showers.
His chest burned more intensely than ever before. In his mind’s eye, he could see the flowers growing inside him, spreading ever more densely across his lungs, threatening to destroy them completely.
He covered his mouth with his hand, feeling tears spill onto his fingers.
When the coughing fit finally subsided, he pulled away his trembling hand—nestled within it was a whole, white flower.
He squeezed his eyes shut, naively believing that when he opened them again, both the flower and his pain would be gone.
Atsumu came up with some foolish excuse to avoid celebrating with his teammates at a bar and hurried straight home.
All the way home, he was haunted by the intense look Sakusa had fixed upon him just before he fled.
As soon as he’d changed his clothes, Atsumu threw himself onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow, still struggling against bouts of coughing.
The fact that Kiyoomi was clearly worried about his behavior only made his condition worse.
He had no intention of checking what kind of flower had emerged from his lungs, though he was certain he had seen it before, perhaps on the packaging of some tea that Kiyoomi had recently picked out for him at an herbal shop.
He had read that the type of flower coughed up often reflected the nature of the sufferer’s feelings toward their beloved—or was, in some way, connected to them—but Atsumu didn’t need that information. He knew all too well how deeply he loved Kiyoomi, how much he admired him, and how much he longed to be close to him.
And he knew, too, just how destructive this love had turned out to be.
Seeking a distraction, he scrolled through Twitter to see what people were saying about today’s match.
It came as no surprise to find numerous posts about his strange behavior toward Ushijima, along with theories from "Sakuatsu shippers" who assumed Atsumu was simply jealous of the friendship between Sakusa and Ushijima.
He truly wished it had been nothing more than simple jealousy.
Atsumu squeezed his eyes shut, only opening them again when he felt his phone vibrate.
Omi-Omi <3
Make some of that tea we picked out together, and get straight to bed.
A moment later, another message arrived:
Omi-Omi <3
And if you want to see your mom so badly, you could just go visit your aunt. Don’t go looking for problems where there aren’t any, Miya. Wakayama isn’t far, and it won’t hurt you to help out your family a bit, either.
That was too much for his poor heart. Such kindness from Kiyoomi was killing him from the inside.
Atsumu was practically writhing in pain. He was coughing so violently that he could barely catch his breath. A flurry of flower petals—along with several whole blossoms—scattered across his bedsheets.
The pain in his chest was so intense, so all-consuming, that he didn’t even notice when Osamu entered his apartment.
"Tsumu!" He had never heard his brother’s voice sound so terrified. The shock caused Atsumu to stop coughing.
Osamu rushed over, his gaze darting frantically between Atsumu and the mess on the bed.
"What are ya doin’ here?" Atsumu managed to ask, his voice raspy.
His twin didn’t meet his eyes, remaining focused instead on the chaos surrounding him.
"I had a feeling something was wrong. But when that bastard Sakusa Kiyoomi messaged me that you weren’t up for the team’s victory celebration… I knew things were really bad," he replied, his voice trembling.
Atsumu felt even worse. He hadn’t expected Kiyoomi to be so concerned by his refusal to join the others for a drink that he would reach out to his brother.
He clutched his chest as a searing, burning pain flared up.
He began to cough again—so intensely that his entire body shook. The sounds he made all but drowned out Osamu’s desperate cries:
"Tsumu! Atsumu!"
For the longest minute of his life—a minute of relentless coughing—white petals spilled from his mouth, as if a pillow had been torn open, releasing an exploding cloud of feathers.
At one point, he felt something larger moving up toward his throat, which burned as if it were on fire.
When he finally managed to dislodge what had been stuck, the coughing fit subsided.
A deathly silence fell, and both twins stared at a beautiful blossom with tiny white petals, now stained with a few spots of blood.
It was all progressing far too quickly.
Atsumu struggled to catch his breath. With trembling hands, he wiped his mouth and eyes.
His tears mingled with blood, saliva, and the flower petals that were stripping him of everything.
He wouldn’t be surprised if, upon seeing him like this, Sakusa found him repulsive.
Pulling his soiled hand away from his face, he looked at his brother—whose expression was one of pure terror.
Osamu shook his head and let out a sharp, forceful exhale—a habit of his whenever he was agitated and needed to pull himself together, fast.
When he spoke, his voice was more controlled.
"We’re going to the hospital."
Atsumu’s heart began to pound faster.
As Osamu reached out to take his arm and help him up, Atsumu yanked it away.
"I’m not going anywhere with ya!" he tried to shout, but his throat was so raw from constant coughing that he sounded more like an old man dying of lung cancer.
"I won’t let ya die because of some jerk!"
"But I love that jerk!" he screamed, tearing his throat even further. He felt a few drops of blood spill from his lips. He was shaking uncontrollably. "I love him more than anyone else in the world, and I don’t want to lose that love—even if it kills me!"
Osamu stared at him as if he’d completely lost his mind.
"If ya love him that much," he said, grabbing him and forcing him to meet his gaze, "then ya will go through with the surgery." Before Atsumu could start arguing again, Osamu continued, his voice rising even more. "Sakusa might not be able to love ya back, but he’s yer friend—and he’d definitely never forgive himself if ya died because of him. Think about that. If ya won’t think about yerself, or me, or ma… then think about him" Atsumu felt as if someone had punched him in the gut.
He had often been called selfish in the past, but only now did he grasp the true weight of being so consumed by himself and his own broken heart.
Atsumu had naively believed that his illness was his own private affair, choosing to ignore the consequences of leaving it untreated.
But his death would have hurt so many people.
If he were to lose Osamu under similar circumstances, he would be reduced to a mere shadow of himself—so he knew his brother would feel exactly the same. As for their poor mother, she likely wouldn't have survived the blow—all the more so because she wouldn't even have had the chance to say goodbye to her son.
And Osamu was right. Even if Kiyoomi could never love him, Atsumu was clearly not entirely indifferent to him. Just because Kiyoomi was incapable of falling in love, it didn't mean he was incapable of other, significant emotions.
Sakusa might have played the part of someone cold, unkind, and brutally honest jerk, but Atsumu had come to know him well enough to realize that his heart had a great deal to offer.
And it was precisely that heart that he had fallen in love with.
He should have been grateful for what Kiyoomi gave him every day—he should have found joy in it. But his love was stronger than common sense; it had left him completely blinded.
He let out a deep, shaky breath. And while he couldn’t do anything about his love for Kiyoomi, he could still prevent his loved ones from having their hearts broken.
Atsumu took his brother’s hand off his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Give me one day," he whispered, feeling tears stream down his cheeks once more. "One last practice. I want to feel what it’s like to love him—for the last time." His voice began to crack.
"Tsumu…" The despair in his brother’s voice was heart-wrenching.
"Please," he managed, his words choked by tears. He squeezed his brother’s hand tighter. "I can’t go to the hospital right now without talking to the coach first. I also need to explain everything to Omi. I have to tell him that I’m going to forget him..."
Atsumu couldn’t continue; he completely fell apart.
He wept so intensely that a sharp pain returned to his chest. The hanahaki disease also didn’t let him go—between his sobs, he began to cough, spitting out individual white petals stained with red.
Osamu watched him, his eyes filled with pain. Atsumu knew he was asking for a great deal—that, in truth, his brother would rather bundle him into the car right now..
But he also knew just how much all of this meant to Atsumu. This might have been the last day that Atsumu was capable of romantic love.
"I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this," he muttered, then pulled his brother into a tight embrace. Atsumu began to sob even harder, his whole body shaking. "Ya have time until the end of practice tomorrow. I don’t care whether ya confess everything to Sakusa and the coach or not—I’ll be waiting for ya in the parking lot to take ya to the hospital. No arguments."
Atsumu clung even more tightly to his brother; without him, he would have completely fallen apart.
"Thank ya, Samu," he sobbed.
Osamu didn’t reply, simply letting him continue to cry while occasionally stroking his hair.
Atsumu felt wretched for having hurt his brother so deeply.
A broken heart was painful, but he couldn’t let things go on like this. He had to minimize the damage.
And he hoped that Kiyoomi would forgive him—for the fact that his love had ended up destroying the entire relationship between them.
Winning the match didn’t mean the MSBY team could slow down; an intense training session was already scheduled for the very next day.
Some of the guys, however, had clearly overindulged during the celebrations—they were visibly hungover.
Atsumu, who had been wrestling with his thoughts every single minute, at least managed to go unnoticed by the coach, who was busy scolding Bokuto and Hinata for their state.
He had intended to speak with the coach before practice to explain that he had hanahaki and had decided to undergo surgery. But the moment he stood before him, a look of concern crossed the man’s face, stirring a deep sense of guilt within Atsumu.
"Everything alright, Atsumu?" the coach asked, his tone almost fatherly.
And Atsumu couldn’t bring himself to tell him the truth to his face.
"Yes, Coach," he lied.
He decided it would be easier to explain over the phone on his way to the hospital. He couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on the coach’s face when he told him he’d be sidelined for weeks while recovering from the surgery. And even if his rehabilitation went quickly, it would take time to regain his rhythm with their key outside hitter—because he wouldn’t even remember ever having played with him.
With Kiyoomi, however, he had to speak face-to-face. He wanted to tell him he loved him—while he was still capable of that love.
He decided to wait until the end of practice, when they would be alone. The locker room might not have been the best place for such confessions, but he didn’t want to haggle with Osamu any further.
"So, are you and Osamu heading off to visit your mom at your aunt’s place?" Kiyoomi asked during a water break.
Atsumu flinched. For most of the practice, he had been gazing longingly at Kiyoomi, trying to take in the sight of him—but whenever the man turned his way, Atsumu would go to great lengths to avoid meeting his eyes directly. He knew that if he made any real eye contact, he’d completely fall apart, and he wanted to make it to the end of the session.
"What?" he asked, turning toward him what was a huge mistake.
Newspapers often claimed that Kiyoomi had black eyes, but from the very first time they met, Atsumu had noticed they were actually green. Whenever he spoke with Sakusa, he would fixate on them, as if they were hypnotizing him. He had even dreamt of those eyes, time and time again.
And now, after an entire day of avoiding eye contact, he was once again gazing into those beautiful eyes—eyes for which he would gladly die.
He couldn’t imagine a future where he might look into Kiyoomi’s eyes and not feel this overwhelming love.
But he had to.
"I asked if you guys were still heading to… hey, Miya, what’s wrong?"
Atsumu didn’t need to ask to know what Sakusa was referring to.
He reached up to touch his cheek, down which tears had begun to stream.
"Omi," he managed to whisper.
Kiyoomi looked at him with deep concern, a sight that shattered his heart.
"Atsumu?"
And that was it—that was his undoing. Nothing affected him quite like the sound of Kiyoomi saying his name.
He felt an intense, simultaneous urge to cough and to vomit.
Atsumu covered his mouth with his hand, desperate to hold it all back, but his body proved too weak.
He couldn’t let a bouquet of blood-stained white flowers spill out in front of everyone, so he bolted from the court, leaving his teammates and coach behind—their voices calling out after him, though their words were lost to him.
Only one cry from Sakusa reached his ears:
"I’ll go after him—leave us alone!"
In a daze, Atsumu raced toward the restroom, never once ceasing his coughing.
The moment he reached the sink, he pulled his hands away and let the blood—carrying three large flowers—spill from his lips. It all seemed macabre to him, straight out of a horror movie.
The most terrifying part of the sight was that one of the flowers was still attached to a stem—a stem that remained lodged in his throat.
With a trembling hand, he reached for the flower and gave it a gentle tug.
The root caught on something, and in his mind’s eye, Atsumu could see it coiling around his lungs, tightening as if to crush them.
He pulled harder until the root gave way, and another trickle of blood spilled from his lips.
Just then, he caught a glimpse in the mirror: Kiyoomi had rushed into the room.
Atsumu turned toward him, the blood-soaked flower still clutched in his hand.
Kiyoomi drew in a sharp breath, his gaze darting between the blood-stained sink, the flower petals scattered all around, and Atsumu—who looked like a mere shadow of a man.
"Oh my God," he whispered, then took an unsteady step toward Atsumu, who had slumped to the floor, overcome by weakness.
"I’m sorry, Omi," he said, his voice hoarse. "I hope ya’ll be willing to be friends with me again—even after the surgery, when I won’t remember who ya are." That was the only thing he wanted, after everything. Even if he would no longer be capable of loving Kiyoomi, he was certain that—devoid of the capacity for love or not—he would still find himself drawn to the man. They were compatible; they shared a similar sense of humor and equally difficult personalities, which meant they got along perfectly. Atsumu would need him during his recovery. He couldn’t lose him entirely, even if he wouldn’t remember him.
"What?" Kiyoomi whispered, horrified , crouching down to be at eye level with him.
"I’m sorry ya had to find out like this," Atsumu sobbed. "I’m sorry I fell in love with ya and made everything so complicated. I truly don’t want to forget ya or stop loving ya, but I have to live—for Osamu and Ma, and…." He pressed his hand to his mouth again to stifle his sobs.
"Atsumu…" Kiyoomi’s voice broke. With trembling hands, he reached for Atsumu’s face and wiped the tears from his eyes.
Atsumu was taken aback by Kiyoomi’s touch, especially since he felt so disgusted with himself for the mess he had caused.
He pulled his hands away from his own face and allowed himself, one last time, to grasp Kiyoomi’s hands—the hands that had been touching him so carefully.
"Maybe, if I had confessed my feelings when we were sixteen, things might have turned out differently."Atsumu regretted waiting so long—regretted not saying anything sooner. He regretted many things, but he never regretted falling in love with Kiyoomi. "Maybe ya would have given me a chance, and ya wouldn’t have ended up falling for someone who couldn’t grasp just how easy it is to love ya."
Tears began to stream down Kiyoomi’s face, and a crushing sense of guilt washed over Atsumu. He had never seen this man cry before.
Even though Sakusa didn’t love him, Atsumu had still caused him so much suffering.
But how would anyone feel if they were told they were the reason behind someone else’s fatal illness?
"Atsumu…" Kiyoomi began, his voice trembling. "I was six years old when I got hanahaki disease."
The man’s words took Atsumu by surprise. Surely, it was impossible to contract hanahaki disease at such a young age.
"What?" he managed to choke out.
"It wasn’t an unrequited romantic love," the man continued, his voice laced with pain. "I fell ill because of my parents."
To Kiyoomi, it felt as though he had been in daycare his entire life.
In a way, that was true; his parents had enrolled him in a hoikuen when he was only a few months old, as his mother was eager to return to her work at a law firm as soon as possible.
Because of this, his earliest memories were of the daycare staff. In fact, the first words he ever spoke—"mama" and "papa"—were directed at his caregivers; he learned this only once his own self-awareness began to take shape.
But who could blame him? He spent the better part of every day at the daycare, and by the time he returned home, his parents were still away at the office. When they finally arrived home, Kiyoomi was long asleep. Conversely, when the housekeeper took him to the daycare in the morning, his parents were still resting in bed. During the week, he rarely saw his parents, not even for a fleeting moment.
As he grew a little older, Kiyoomi would watch with a longing gaze as other children ran, smiling, toward their parents—who would immediately scoop them up into their arms. Someone hired by his parents—an assistant from their office, their cook, a housekeeper or a nanny—would always come to pick him up; he saw these people more often than his perpetually busy mother and father. On the way home, he would invariably pass a playground where his preschool classmates were playing with their own parents.
One Sunday, when—for a rare change—his parents were home instead of away on some trip, he gathered the courage to ask them:
"Can we go play at the playground?"
His father furrowed his brows, taken aback that Kiyoomi had spoken to him at all.
"I have one day off, Kiyoomi. I want to rest. I’m sure you can find something to keep yourself entertained at home. We just bought you a new jigsaw puzzle." He said, though in reality, they had simply given money to a babysitter and instructed her to take him to a toy store.
"But, dad…" he began, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. His parents never played with him or took him on outings; they would just drop him off at his grandmother’s or Aunt Chisato’s place.
"Don’t bother your father," his mother interjected, a look of displeasure crossing her face. "And don’t ask questions like that again. Aunt Chisato will take you, Motoya, and Rie out next week."
His mother’s sharp glare caused Kiyoomi to retreat into himself, and he never asked his parents for anything again.
His parents never showed up for events at his kindergarten, or later, once he started first grade, at his elementary school.
Occasionally, matters would arise that required attention at school, but his parents never bothered to handle them personally; instead, they would task their assistant—someone he saw far more often than his own parents—with taking care of it.
Kiyoomi didn’t realize this was an issue until a girl in his class was scolded because her parents had once again failed to attend a meeting in person, sending her grandmother in their stead.
But apparently his parents were different. They were respected lawyers—not some “dysfunctional” family, as he had once overheard someone say—so no teacher ever made an issue of it. Kiyoomi tried to ignore it, even though, deep down, he felt that things shouldn’t be this way. And what his older siblings told him, rather than putting his mind at ease, only unsettled him further.
He didn’t see his brother and sister—both of whom were studying in South Korea—very often; they claimed they had no desire to return to that house. Occasionally, however, they would call Kiyoomi to tell him not to worry about their parents, explaining that they were simply cold and preoccupied people. There was always a note of regret in their voices, but since he rarely spoke with them, he assumed that was just how they naturally sounded.
What troubled him even more, though, was that his sister and brother would end every phone call with an apology. He didn’t fully understand why, but he never asked—he was simply grateful that they were willing to spare a few minutes to talk to him once every few weeks. That, in itself, was more time than his parents usually gave him, even though, technically, they all lived under the same roof.
Although he could see that the families of his classmates were different from his own, he tried not to dwell on it, focusing instead on books, puzzles, and games—often initiated by his cousin Motoya, his closest friend, who happened to have the kindest mother in the world.
After all, his own parents loved him in their own way, didn’t they?
Every so often, his maternal grandmother would host a family dinner. His parents—especially his father, who was not fond of his mother-in-law—would complain bitterly that it was a waste of time, but Grandma Harumi remained unyielding. She only granted an occasional pass to Kiyoomi’s siblings, who lived in another country.
Kiyoomi enjoyed these gatherings because he got to spend time with his parents; even though they were usually busy talking to other people, the fact that they were all sitting together at the same table was what mattered.
His mother’s sister, Aunt Chisato, would always bring along Motoya—his favorite cousin and best friend, with whom he was practically inseparable—as well as Motoya’s older sister, Rie, who was two years his senior and treated Kiyoomi like a little brother.
On one such day, nearly two weeks after Kiyoomi’s sixth birthday, they were playing hide-and-seek at his grandmother’s house, joined by three other cousins.
Kiyoomi hid in the kitchen, wedged between the wall and the refrigerator, banking on the hope that Rie—wouldn’t venture into a room that still smelled of onions, which she absolutely loathed. He clutched a book about space to his chest—a birthday gift he’d received from his grandmother just moments before. He was glad she had remembered his current obsession, and he had no intention of letting the gift out of his grasp, not even for a second.
He sat huddled there for a few minutes before the sound of clicking heels reached his ears.
He drew in a sharp breath. He knew none of his cousins had entered the kitchen, but he had to make sure he remained unseen.
"What did you want to talk about that was so important you had to pull me away from the table?" Sakusa immediately recognized his mother’s displeased tone.
"It’s about Kiyoomi," Aunt Chisato said.
Although he couldn’t see the women, Kiyoomi was certain that a grimace had just crossed his mother’s face.
"About Kiyoomi? What did he do?"
Kiyoomi was practically paralyzed with fear. He tried his absolute best to be an obedient son, hoping his efforts would one day be acknowledged by his parents. Granted, that hadn’t happened yet—but it was still far better than doing anything that might upset them.
A year ago, he had accidentally broken his mug; the look of displeasure and the sharp reprimand from his mother still haunted him to this day.
Not wanting to disappoint his parents again, he waited anxiously for what his aunt would say next.
"It’s not about what he did—it’s about what you aren’t doing," she replied, a note of sadness in her voice.
"What do you mean?" If Kiyoomi were standing before his mother right now, the tone of her voice would surely have made him cast his eyes toward the floor.
"A week ago, I took the children to the planetarium to celebrate Kiyoomi’s birthday," she began. Kiyoomi couldn't help but smile faintly at the memory—it had truly been the best day of his life. Motoya had given him glow-in-the-dark stars, and Rie had made him a birthday card with a space rocket. Aunt Chisato, in addition to the trip to the planetarium, had gifted him a telescope, the best gift ever.
"When I asked him over dinner how he’d spent his birthday, he said he’d been working on a jigsaw puzzle. When I pressed him further, he admitted that he hadn’t seen you at all that day." Kiyoomi’s good mood vanished instantly. He had quietly hoped that his parents might at least come home from work early on his birthday to share dinner with him; he had waited patiently, but eventually fell asleep around 10:00 p.m. over the new puzzle—a gift from the nanny and the cook. His parents often left them extra money so they could buy him something occasionally—at the parents' expense—so he didn’t even really think of it as a birthday gift. "Did you actually forget his birthday?"
"He’s not your child, so stay out of it!" Kiyoomi flinched at his mother’s raised voice; she detested nothing more than having someone point out her shortcomings.
"How am I supposed to stay out of it when I see the way Kiyoomi looks at you, begging for some attention? He’s suffering!" Aunt Chisato raised her voice as well.
"Suffering?" his mother scoffed. "He has everything he needs. The cook prepares his meals, Maria buys his clothes, and he gets plenty of toys. He doesn’t cause any trouble at school, either."
"And what do you do?" her sister asked, sounding saddened.
"I pay for everything," she replied coldly. "With my hard-earned money"
A heavy silence fell, only to be broken by his aunt’s voice:
"Do you even care about Kiyoomi at all?"
Kiyoomi waited for his mother to say "yes" and add that she loved him. Instead, ignoring her sister’s question, she said:
"I have more important things on my plate right now. Our law firm is expanding internationally..."
"What could possibly be more important than your own son?!" His aunt lost her patience. Kiyoomi had never seen her like this; she was always kind and warm, but now she was practically shouting, her voice full of rage. "You’re a fucking mother!" Kiyoomi gripped the book from his grandmother even tighter. His aunt never swore.
"I’ve already raised children, and Kiyoomi was never planned," his mother replied, just as furiously. "If word of the pregnancy hadn't gotten out, we never would have had this conversation." Her voice dripped with venom.
"You... you considered an abortion?" his aunt asked, horrified.
Kiyoomi blinked rapidly.
He once heard some older boys fighting and arguing in front of the school, and one of them called the other a "failed abortion."
After class, he had asked his teacher what the term meant. She was visibly shaken by his question, but since Kiyoomi had always shown a maturity well beyond his years, she explained it to him—though he could tell she was deeply uncomfortable doing so.
Yet, that was nothing compared to what he was feeling now.
Did his mother truly never want to give birth to him? He pressed a trembling hand to his lips to stifle the scream that fought to escape.
"Are you genuinely surprised? A pregnancy was the last thing I could have wanted just as our law firm was starting to take off. And what would it look like—a divorce lawyer having an abortion? Parents fighting for custody of their children would never have turned to me for help. You have no idea how unhinged some of them are, yet they’d spend every last yen they have for the sake of their child."
Every word his mother spoke felt like a knife thrust into his heart.
A sharp pain pierced his chest; Kiyoomi squeezed his eyes shut as tears welled up.
"Good God." His aunt couldn't hold back and began to weep, which triggered tears of his own, streaming down Kiyoomi’s cheeks.
"I thought it would all work out—after all, I’d already managed with two children—but the delivery itself was horrific," his mother continued. "I suffered from postpartum depression. If I hadn’t returned to work so quickly, it probably would have haunted me for years..." Something shifted in her tone—it wasn't just anger, but something else, something Kiyoomi couldn't quite decipher. "I simply couldn't bring myself to love him," she added quieter.
"How can you say that?!" His aunt’s voice cracked—much like Kiyoomi’s heart at those words. "That’s cruel."
"I tried, I really tried, but I just can’t summon that kind of love." Every word from his mother made Kiyoomi feel worse, as if his heart were on the verge of giving up entirely. "I know you love him, and I’m grateful for that. I can only provide for his basic needs…"
"Love is a basic need," his aunt interjected, her voice trembling yet firm.
Kiyoomi couldn’t listen anymore. He tucked his book inside his shirt to free his hands and covered his ears, knowing that every subsequent word from his mother would only hurt him more.
He waited for the women to finish their conversation and leave the kitchen. Once they finally did, he pulled his hands away from his ears and emerged from his hiding spot. The book fell onto the floor tiles, but he ignored it completely and dashed toward the nearest bathroom.
He shoved the door open so hard that it struck Motoya, who had been hiding behind it.
"Ouch, Kiyo! You’ve ruined my hiding spot…" His cousin’s voice trailed off as he watched Kiyoomi lunge toward the toilet and begin to retch violently.
"Kiyo? Kiyo!" Motoya cried out, panic rising in his voice.
Sakusa was shaking uncontrollably. Once his stomach was completely empty, he slumped onto the floor tiles and began to sob—louder and more intensely than he ever had before.
His mother did not love him. She had admitted as much herself. And he was convinced that his father—who paid him even less attention—did not love him either.
Kiyoomi was only six years old, yet his heart was so broken that he saw no way to mend it. He felt as though this was what dying must be like.
Motoya ran to get his mother. The panicked woman pulled Kiyoomi into an embrace, which only made him cry all the harder.
His mother had never hugged him like that. She hadn’t even tried to pretend that she loved her own child.
Once he finally calmed down, he asked if he could sleep at her place that night.
His aunt was clearly taken aback, but she agreed to his request. It seemed she, too, did not want him to return to that house—a place where no one loved him.
Once the gathering at his grandmother’s place had ended, all the guests headed toward their cars. Kiyoomi said a quiet goodbye to his parents, who merely nodded in response.
Sakusa figured they were probably relieved to be rid of him for the evening.
As he sat in the back seat between Motoya and Rie, he felt a tickle in his throat.
He covered his mouth with his hand and began to cough.
"Are you alright, Kiyoomi?" his aunt asked, sounding concerned.
In response, Kiyoomi clutched his chest—feeling a tightness there—and began to cough even more violently.
"Maybe he’s sick, Mom," Motoya said, looking equally worried. "He was throwing up earlier, after all."
"Just don’t infect me with anything," Rie said, shifting slightly away from him—though, out of the corner of his eye, he could see that her expression also betrayed concern for his well-being.
"As soon as we get home, you’re taking a shower, putting on your pajamas, and going straight to bed. I’ll get you some cough syrup, stomach drops, and hot tea with ginger and honey," Aunt Chisato said firmly. "The two of you will have some tea and take some vitamin C as well—just to be on the safe side.”
Kiyoomi’s condition worsened. He was coughing almost incessantly, which led his aunt to suggest putting him in the guest bedroom—even though he had always stayed in Motoya’s room during previous visits. He grabbed his cousin by the hand.
"Toya, please, let me sleep in your room," he said, his tone pleading. He didn’t want to be alone right now. "I promise I won’t be loud."
"Let him, Mom,” his cousin said, backing him up. "I’ve already been exposed to his germs anyway. And you know that not even an earthquake could wake me up."
Aunt Chisato looked at them with a sad expression, but she agreed. She likely felt sorry for Kiyoomi—knowing that even his own mother didn’t love him. Perhaps she even suspected that Kiyoomi knew the whole truth.
"What happened, Kiyo?" Motoya asked once they were both lying in his bed. The light from the bedside lamp illuminated his worried face. "It’s more than just being sick, isn’t it? You wouldn’t look this sad otherwise."
Kiyoomi felt a lump form in his throat. He wanted to tell Motoya everything—but how could he possibly tell anyone that his parents didn’t love him, and that his own mother had never even wanted him to be born?
He felt that familiar constriction in his chest, and tears welled up in his eyes.
"I…" he began, but couldn’t get another word out. He started to sob so violently that his whole body shook. A coughing fit followed immediately.
He felt his cousin’s arms wrap around him, pulling him close.
"It’s going to be alright, Kiyo," Motoya whispered. "I’m here with you."
His cousin’s proximity helped him calm down a little, though he still couldn’t stop the tears or the coughing. He tried to keep as quiet as possible, hoping to let Motoya fall asleep.
He didn’t know how long he remained like that. His breathing only steadied once he heard Motoya begin to snore softly. Kiyoomi tried to shift away, but his cousin only pressed himself more firmly against his back, enveloping Sakusa in the warmth of his body.
How pathetic, he thought. His cousin loved him. His aunt loved him. Yet, he still craved that same love from his parents—people who couldn’t even bring themselves to pretend they cared.
The urge to cry and cough rose up in him again. He pressed his hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the sound. When the coughing fit finally subsided, he pulled his hand away. In the glow of the bedside lamp, he saw a small petal fall onto the pillow.
Kiyoomi looked around. The windows were shut, and Motoya kept no plants in his room.
Maybe I’m hallucinating, he thought. Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me because I’m tired?
He closed his eyes, hoping that when he woke up in the morning, all of this would turn out to be nothing more than a dream.
But a few hours later, when he woke, the tightness in his chest remained—and on the floor lay a battered pink petal.
To his surprise, he realized that he hadn’t been dreaming about his unloving parents at all.
Instead, his mind had been replaying a chilling commercial for a medication used after surgery for the condition known as "unrequited love."
Kiyoomi didn’t want to go home, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell his aunt. She had already done so much for him, even though she wasn’t his biological parent.
He wasn’t surprised to find that his mother and father weren’t home when he arrived.
For years, he had tried to endure their constant absence, but now—knowing how they truly felt—the silence weighed heavily upon him.
He felt the urge to cough again, but he fought to suppress it. He wanted to go to school today, just to keep his mind occupied.
Moving sluggishly, he changed into his school uniform and took the books from his desk to pack them into his backpack.
As he leaned over, he felt as though he couldn’t go on. Dropping his bag, he clutched his chest. He coughed violently, until he spat several pale pink petals onto the floor.
His heart pounded so hard that a rushing sound filled his ears.
With trembling hands, he cleaned up the mess and, acting as if nothing had happened, left for school.
After two days of incessant coughing—during which he had spat out enough blossoms to form a pink carnation—he finally worked up the courage to ask his teacher about hanahaki disease during homeroom. He used that wretched commercial, which had been airing constantly on television for weeks and frightening everyone, as his pretext.
The teacher explained that the subject was usually covered at a later stage in their education, but, acknowledging their interest, she began to describe hanahaki disease in detail. It was clear she found the topic fascinating—a fact that horrified Kiyoomi; how could anyone speak with such passion about an illness that kills from the inside out?
The longer he listened, the worse Sakusa felt. The symptoms matched his own—though he had already been certain of that, given that there was only one condition that caused a person to cough up flowers.
The narrative always centered on the same thing: someone falling in love with another person who did not return their feelings. It was never suggested that a child might fall ill because their parents didn’t love them.
He felt too embarrassed to ask the question aloud, so he decided to rephrase it slightly.
"Is it possible to contract hanahaki disease from something other than romantic love?"
The teacher looked as though she were genuinely pondering the question.
"We still don’t have much information about hanahaki disease; it’s extremely rare, and those who suffer from it rarely agree to speak openly about their cases… Oh!" she exclaimed, as if suddenly remembering something. "I once came across an article describing a girl from an orphanage who showed symptoms of hanahaki disease, yet she insisted she wasn’t in love with anyone. Her caretakers believed her, so she didn’t undergo surgery—but she soon passed away, coughing up a few flowers in her final moments."
The children wore expressions of horror. Kiyoomi was certain she shouldn’t be telling them all this—they were still so young—but it worked in his favor that the teacher seemed so absorbed in the subject of hanahaki that she’d forgotten who she was talking to.
"There were theories that she fell ill because she loved the parents who had abandoned her. I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true—after all, love can take many different forms. There are likely many more such cases, as it happens that some parents do not love their children."
At these words, Kiyoomi felt a tightening in his chest once again—a sensation so intense it made him want to cough up his own organs.
"But then again, not every child in such a situation falls ill. Perhaps, at times, hatred toward abusive parents eclipses any love—which could, in theory, serve as an effective defense mechanism. It’s hard to say for sure, though. After all, not everyone with a broken heart develops hanahaki either. And we don’t really have a way to study it. In most cases, the flowers that sprouted within the sufferer’s lungs simply merged into the surrounding tissue upon death, making it really hard to detect hanahaki during a post-mortem examination. In the case of a child’s death, it’s probably hard to tell whether it was a matter of hanahaki or just plain neglect…”
Kiyoomi felt worse with every passing moment. He asked to be excused to the restroom, then practically ran inside, nearly collapsing onto the tiled floor.
For the first time, he felt as though he might suffocate and die right there in the school restroom while coughing.
He wondered, for a fleeting second, whether his parents would take time off work to collect his dead body—or if they would just send someone else to handle it.
Then, he coughed so violently that the sound echoed through the room, and a full carnation blossom fell into the toilet bowl—irrefutable proof that he was one of those rare cases: a child who had contracted hanahaki disease because his parents did not love him.
When he returned to the classroom, the lesson had turned to the treatment for hanahaki disease and the consequences of the surgery. Though it all sounded ominous and his classmates looked terrified, Sakusa took the information in with a sad sense of acceptance.
Kiyoomi knew he would have to go through with it. He didn’t want to live with this love—a love that had been destroying him a little more each day, and was now truly killing him. Besides, he didn’t have many fond memories of his parents anyway, so he wouldn’t really be losing much.
Admittedly, the teacher made the loss of the ability to love sound like a terrifying prospect, but Kiyoomi was only six years old, and he already considered being in love to be something disgusting.
And his love for his parents had brought him nothing good, so he wanted to be rid of it as soon as possible.
Besides, as the teacher herself had mentioned, cases of hanahaki disease were primarily linked to falling in love—and Kiyoomi was not in love. Perhaps, then, the side effects might be somewhat different? Under other circumstances, he might have really delved into the subject and started spinning theories—possibly even with Motoya during a break—but at the moment, it didn't hold much significance for him.
He didn’t want to think about the consequences. He didn’t want to feel that pain. He just wanted to live.
"Toya," Kiyoomi began, as they walked home from school together. "I have hanahaki disease."
His cousin stopped abruptly.
"What?!" He stared at him, eyes wide. Fortunately, they didn’t catch the attention of the other children and their parents who were passing them by. "You? You’ve fallen in love with someone?" It was only natural for Motoya to be surprised by the thought.
Kiyoomi gripped the straps of his backpack—the one with a space rocket on it—a little tighter.
"I suppose I’m proof of the theory that you can get sick from a love that isn’t romantic," he said quietly.
Motoya looked at him with a sad expression, took his hand, and squeezed it firmly. In his cousin’s eyes, Kiyoomi could see that he understood everything perfectly.
Amidst this entire tragic situation, it was a comfort that his cousin believed him immediately, requiring no proof—even given the nature of his case.
"How can I help?" Komori asked, his tone far more mature than his years. "You’re going to have the surgery, right? You have to! We haven’t even played volleyball together yet, and I have a feeling you’ll love it—that it will bring you real joy," he said, tears welling up in his eyes. His cousin—crying for him, simply because he loved him. Why wasn’t this love enough for him—why did his foolish, naive, childlike heart still crave the love of his parents?
He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to cough as quietly as possible so as not to alarm anyone. Once he finally calmed down, he pulled his hand away.
He and Motoya both stared in silence at the evidence of his illness.
Komori covered his own mouth with his hand to stifle a sob. With his other hand, he gripped Kiyoomi’s so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
He had to get rid of it. He had to be free of this sickness. Even if his parents wouldn’t care if he died, there were still others who would be heartbroken.
"Could you ask your mom to convince my parents to come home early today?" Kiyoomi asked quietly. He didn’t want to involve any more people than necessary. His mother and father certainly wouldn’t be pleased if anyone found out their son had hanahaki disease. He let out a bitter laugh at the thought that, even in a situation like this, he was still worrying about what his parents might think. "They have to find out. Even though they’re the reason I’m sick, they’re the only ones who can save me—by consenting to the surgery."
Komori looked at him with tears in his eyes, yet also with determination. He gave a sharp nod, then threw himself at his cousin, embracing him tightly as he began to weep even more bitterly.
"But you know that we love you, right, Kiyo?" he asked, his voice breaking.
Kiyoomi felt the tears welling up in his own eyes, too.
"I know," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I love you all, too. I love you so much. And I just hope the surgery doesn’t take that love away from me."
Aunt Chisato had succeeded; his parents actually made it home at a reasonable hour.
Kiyoomi waited for them in the kitchen for three hours, until they finally walked inside—without even taking off their shoes.
"I can’t believe you asked my sister to get us here!" his mother exclaimed by way of greeting. Kiyoomi shrank back, then rose from his chair on shaky legs to face his parents. "How embarrassing!" She had likely never raised her voice like this before. Then again, Kiyoomi had always tried to be a good son—rarely asking for anything—and now, on top of that, he had involved a third party.
He glanced toward his father, hoping to catch at least a flicker of concern in his eyes.
"Well, what is this ‘urgent’ matter that’s so important you decided to waste our time?" The man crossed his arms over his chest and fixed him with a look that made Kiyoomi realize his mistake instantly. There wasn’t a shred of concern for him to be found.
Seeing his parents—who had only deigned to return home after his aunt intervened—felt like the final blow.
Kiyoomi collapsed to his knees, coughing so violently it was as if he were about to vomit up every ounce of the love he held for his parents right there in front of them.
This time, it wasn’t just petals or whole flowers spilling from his lips. With mounting horror, Kiyoomi watched as blood pooled onto the white floor tiles.
I’m dying, he thought. I’m actually dying.
When the retching finally subsided, he slowly lifted his head to look at his mother and father.
His parents had never been aggressive. In a way, he might have even preferred it if they were—perhaps then it would have been easier to stop loving them.
No, his parents had generally treated him with indifference—sometimes even with outright aversion.
And now, as he coughed up flower petals, blood, and his very life, he harbored a quiet hope that the sight might stir something within them—that perhaps compassion would awaken, and they might realize that, after all, they did love him.
But one look into their eyes told him his expectations had once again been too high.
There was no concern—only anger. And it wasn’t because he might come to harm, but because someone might discover that their son had fallen victim to the sickness of lovesick fools.
A wave of nausea washed over him. He clutched his chest, feeling a searing pain that threatened to spread throughout his entire body.
Then came a fit of coughing so violent it felt as though every cell in his body might shatter.
This attack was even worse than before.
He felt as if he were about to cough up his lungs—and his heart along with them.
Tears streamed down his face, mingling at his lips with blood and a flower that refused to emerge; its roots had clearly snagged on something deep inside him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother take a step back.
The sight cut him to the core. It felt as though his broken heart might soon fall out, landing right there beside the mess he had just expelled from within. Before losing consciousness and collapsing, he managed to hear only his father’s voice:
"I’m calling a private clinic."
On the way to a doctor who performed surgeries for those suffering from hanahaki disease, he briefly regained consciousness, only to hear his parents’ raised voices.
"You can’t tell anyone about this, Chisato—do you understand?!" his mother shouted, evidently speaking to her sister on the phone. “No one can know that our son has hanahaki."
"Are you seriously more worried about people gossiping than about your own son’s condition?!" If Kiyoomi thought his aunt had been angry when she spoke to his mother at his grandmother’s place, that was nothing compared to this "Are you even a human being, for God’s sake?!"
"Shut up! You’re not to say a single word to anyone, got it?!"" Kiyoomi’s father chimed in.
"I don’t care about any of that! You tell me right now which doctor you’re taking him to! I’m not leaving you alone with Kiyoomi!"
Kiyoomi didn’t know how the conversation continued. A trickle of blood escaped his lips once more, and he lost consciousness again.
When he opened his eyes again, he was blinded by the harsh light of the treatment room. He squinted, trying to adjust to the brightness. He raised his hand to his face and felt an oxygen mask beneath his fingers.
"Kiyoomi, don’t take the mask off yet," said a man in a white coat.
"What happened?" he asked in a muffled voice.
"You had surgery to remove the flowers. You were suffering from hanahaki disease. Do you remember that?" the doctor asked, his voice gentle.
Kiyoomi’s mind felt foggy.
He remembered his teacher talking about hanahaki disease recently—a topic that had, for some reason, piqued his interest. He recalled everything: the symptoms, the treatment, the side effects of the surgery, and a story about a girl from an orphanage who supposedly fell ill because her parents didn’t love her. He remembered his cousin, Motoya, crying and holding him, though he couldn’t recall why.
His head began to ache as he tried to piece together the details. Perhaps he really had been ill—after all, there were gaps in his memory, and wasn’t the surgery supposed to erase his memories of the person he loved?
But who could he have possibly fallen in love with? He had only just celebrated his sixth birthday with his Aunt Chisato and his cousins… he was surely far too young for such things.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp sob from the other end of the room. Kiyoomi looked up and saw Motoya’s mother, who looked as though she hadn’t slept in three days. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she was trembling all over from crying.
"Aunt Chisato?" he asked in a faint voice. Only then did he notice that standing beside her were an elegant man and woman—a bit older than Aunt Chisato—who looked as if they would rather be anywhere else.
"And who are these people?"
Atsumu stared at Kiyoomi, his eyes wide, unable to believe what he was hearing.
"Naturally, I have no memories of my relationship with my parents, so I can’t be certain what exactly triggered the hanahaki. When I woke up after the surgery, I didn’t recognize them at all—they were complete strangers to me." Kiyoomi let out a bitter laugh. "It’s almost ironic: I remembered having siblings, yet I couldn’t recall my own parents. Fortunately, Aunt Chisato—Motoya’s mother—was there; I had plenty of memories with her, and I knew she was a safe person. After everything, she insisted that I come to live with her, and they agreed without much fuss. Since they were well-connected, respected lawyers, they took care of the formalities without any problems. I suppose they might have felt some remorse for driving their own son to such a state—they transferred significant sums of money to my aunt’s account to ensure I received the best post-operative care—but I haven’t had any contact with them since I moved. My older siblings also cut ties with them completely after everything that happened," Kiyoomi explained, and with every word, something inside Atsumu seemed to wither and die.
This was far worse than the prospect of Kiyoomi falling in love and suffering from it. Atsumu couldn’t fathom that Kiyoomi’s own parents had rejected the very boy whom he loved with all his heart. Atsumu had always harbored a great deal of anger and didn’t particularly care for most people, but he had never felt such intense hatred toward anyone as he did, in this moment, toward Sakusa’s parents. He wanted to track those wretched people down and hurt them just as they had hurt Kiyoomi.
Sakusa let out a long, audible breath, while Atsumu struggled to hold back his tears. He wanted to give Kiyoomi the space to continue his story.
"Aunt Chisato didn’t want to tell me much about what happened between me and my parents—about how I developed hanahaki at the age of six. As I got a bit older, she shared a few details, but it always made her burst into tears, so I didn’t press for more. Motoya only told me that my parents never spent any time with me at all, but something must have been the final straw during a party at my grandmother’s—that’s when my health problems began. When I finally confessed to him that I was sick, he said it was clear I truly wanted no memory of those people left. It must have been truly awful."
Atsumu felt like he was going to be sick. It wasn’t his own heartbreak that pained him, but the heartbreak inflicted upon Kiyoomi when he was only six years old—long before Atsumu even knew that someone like Sakusa Kiyoomi existed.
It felt as though a puzzle piece had finally fallen into its proper place. It had always made sense to him that Sakusa wore a mask and was so fastidious about his health, but only now did it dawn on him that this had been the case for as long as he had known him. Even back in middle school, when he would read sports magazines, Kiyoomi often appeared on the front pages wearing a face mask.
From the age of six, he had to take medication, undergo regular check-ups, and be almost obsessively careful about his health…
And all of this was inflicted upon him by his own parents—the very people who should have protected him from any kind of harm.
"Omi… I’m so sorry," he said, his voice breaking. He could no longer hold back his intense sobbing.
Kiyoomi wiped the tears from Atsumu’s face.
"You don’t have to be—really. I’m the one who should be sorry for bringing you to this state, and without the reason, too. Even though I’m flawed, the hanahaki took not my capacity for romantic love but something else from me."
Atsumu gasped sharply. For a moment, he had completely forgotten about his own condition, too consumed by what Sakusa had endured as a child. But now, Kiyoomi’s cryptic words made him feel, once again, as if his own organs were trying to kill him.
"What do ya mean?" he managed to stammer. He didn’t understand what his friend was talking about.
Sakusa squeezed his eyes shut, as if the very act of speaking caused him pain.
"I noticed it shortly after I moved. Aunt Chisato always said I was like a son to her. I knew she cared about me; everything pointed to the fact that she truly loved me, even if I couldn’t quite grasp it. Even Motoya mentioned that I used to look at her a bit differently back then." Kiyoomi placed his hand over his heart. "And after the surgery, I looked at her, but I felt absolutely nothing profound. I could love Motoya like a brother—in fact, I love him even more than my own brother—but I could never love my aunt the way one loves a mother, even though she truly tried, and even though she had been a real mother to me for years. If it had not been for the surgery, I surely would have felt for her the affection a son ought to feel for his mother. I hate my parents—not because they didn’t love me, I don’t care about it now, but because they are the reason I’m unable to love Aunt Chisato the way she deserves to be loved," he said, his voice laced with pain.
Atsumu noticed that Kiyoomi was trembling, just as he was himself.
"The doctors who examined me hypothesized that, since my hanahaki was caused by love for my parents, the surgery stripped me of this specific capacity for love. They were also convinced that I would never be able to love my own children, if I ever have any. I would be incapable of feeling parental love for anyone. Studies of similar cases over the years have only confirmed this. And my parents paid enough to ensure that my case would never reach the media."
Sakusa continued to wipe away Atsumu’s tears, though he himself wasn’t in better shape. These painful memories had left him a broken man; for Atsumu, witnessing this—along with everything else Kiyoomi had endured—was more agonizing than his own hanahaki.
"The doctors just weren’t sure if, in my case, I would also lose the capacity for romantic love," he continued. "The manifestations of the illness varied, and the side effects of the surgery could differ from person to person. For years, I was convinced that I wouldn’t be capable of those feelings, either." Kiyoomi looked deep into Atsumu’s eyes—his gaze burning with intensity, yet tinged with sadness. "And then, when I first saw you at fifteen, I realized that I was capable of love. Because I fell in love with you."
These words took Atsumu’s breath away. They sounded so beautiful that they hardly seemed real.
Yet, Kiyoomi was the most truthful person he knew. He always spoke his mind—even if it meant hurting someone—and he truly valued honesty above all else. It was impossible to imagine him lying, even if doing so could have cured him of hanahaki disease.
"Yer lying," Atsumu said, his voice laced with pain.
"It’s the truth," Sakusa replied, his tone blunt. "I really am capable of love, and I really do love you."
"Why didn’t ya say anything sooner?!" Atsumu raised his voice, even though his throat burned from his earlier coughing fits.
"Do you think it’s easy to admit that I contracted hanahaki because my parents didn’t love me?" Kiyoomi raised his own voice, too. "Was I supposed to say that I couldn’t start a family, because I’d never be able to feel a parental love for any child? That I could never love your parents—who mean the world to you—the way they deserve to be loved? You wouldn’t have been able to build a real family with me." His voice cracked. "I knew you had feelings for me, but I hoped they would fade, which is why I said nothing. I hoped you’d let go and fall for someone worthy of your affection." He looked at Atsumu, his eyes filled with pain. "I truly never imagined that, because of me, you’d end up with hanahaki disease. It’s such a rare condition—only 100 people in all of Japan contracted it last year… And I’m just… broken. I don’t deserve your love." Tears began to stream down his cheeks. "I never thought anyone could love me this much," he whispered—so quietly that Atsumu could barely hear him. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Atsumu. This should never have happened" Kiyoomi began to choke on his own tears.
Atsumu reached out with trembling hands, cupping Kiyoomi’s face and wiping away his tears. Instinctively, the man leaned into his touch.
"I love ya, Kiyoomi. All of ya. I don’t need children to be happy, and I don’t need ya to love my parents. All I ever wanted… was for ya to love me back." He spoke with complete sincerity, his voice breaking.
Whenever he imagined his life with Kiyoomi, he always saw just the two of them—perhaps with a dog or a cat thrown into the mix. He hadn’t really given much thought to what Kiyoomi might feel toward his and Osamu’s parents; though Kiyoomi didn’t seem to grasp that kind of attachment, he always approached it with respect. Even the way he spoke about his aunt—whom he admitted he couldn’t bring himself to love—spoke volumes about his character.
Kiyoomi took his hands and kissed them lightly. Atsumu gasped so sharply that it stung his throat. There was no way Kiyoomi would do something like that if he didn’t harbor deep, genuine feelings for him.
"I love you like no one else, Atsumu." He whispered it with such intensity that shivers ran across Atsumu’s entire body. For a fleeting second, he was washed over by a wave of immense happiness.
Atsumu believed him. He could truly feel and see that his words were sincere—that Kiyoomi loved him so deeply, he was willing to lay his entire soul and heart bare before him.
This declaration was supposed to cure him of hanahaki disease.
And though the urge to cough had faded, his breathing remained wheezy, and a persistent ache lingered in his chest.
He placed a trembling hand against his chest.
"Then why does it still hurt so much?" he asked, feeling tears welling up in his eyes once again. Perhaps it was already too late to save him—and now, on his deathbed, all he was meant to do was hear a declaration of love from his beloved, so he could depart in peace?
The reaction of the man before him made him truly believe that, for a fleeting moment.
Kiyoomi covered his mouth with his hand, trying to stifle the sobs escaping his throat.
"Even if love has cured you from hanahaki, the consequences of the illness will remain. You’ve permanently damaged your lungs because you fell in love with someone like me, Atsumu." He moved closer, hesitantly, and pulled Atsumu against his chest. "I’m sorry, Atsumu. I’m so, so sorry." Kiyoomi sobbed into the crook of his neck.
This contact, this sincere cry allowed Atsumu to feel Kiyoomi’s love in every single cell of his body—even those completely ravaged by hanahaki. He began to sob even harder himself—out of relief, and out of the pain that Kiyoomi, too, had endured.
"Omi. I’ve never once regretted falling in love with ya. And I’ll always love ya. So, please—no more apologies. I don’t care if I have to take some stupid pills, as long as it means we can be together."
These words only made Kiyoomi sob all the more.
"You should care, you idiot.…"
It took a few minutes for both of them to calm down. Sakusa was the first to pull away.
"We’re going to the hospital," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, as he gently scooped Atsumu up.
"Why? Ya love me—I’ll be fine now,"Atsumu said, sounding surprised, his hands instinctively clutching at Sakusa’s neck. He had always dreamed of being carried by this man, though certainly not under these circumstances.
"My love for you isn’t a cure-all, Atsumu," Sakusa replied, holding him tighter. "You need to be examined and start treatment as soon as possible. You’ve reached the point where you’re coughing up blood and entire flowers—your lungs must be in ruins…" he added, his voice heavy with regret. He opened his mouth to say more, but Atsumu cut him off:
"Don’t ya dare apologize for this, Omi."A wave of overwhelming exhaustion began to wash over him. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Though he felt significantly better than before, his breathing was still far from easy. "Like ya said, it’s a rare illness. Neither I nor ya should have ever had to deal with this. Ya couldn’t have foreseen it. I don’t blame ya, so ya shouldn’t blame yerself, either."
"I will spend the rest of my life apologizing to you, Atsumu. And I will love you for even longer than that," Sakusa said, carrying him out of the bathroom. Although Kiyoomi’s attitude had caused him pain, he still couldn’t help but smile at his declarations of love. "Now, let me take care of you, the way I should."
Osamu looked both surprised and terrified when Kiyoomi carried Atsumu out of the building.
"Atsumu?!" he shouted, running toward them.
"He doesn’t have hanahaki anymore," Sakusa told him, causing Osamu’s pupils to dilate in astonishment. "But he still needs to go to the hospital for an examination. He’s terribly weak, and his lungs are damaged."
"Into my car," Osamu said, opening the back door.
"I’m coming with you," replied Kiyoomi, who was trying to position Atsumu as comfortably as possible. As Atsumu rested his head against the seatback, he felt himself drifting off.
"Of course—yer going to have to explain everything to me," Osamu stated firmly; Atsumu knew his brother wouldn’t let it go until—
"Samu, leave Omi alone…" Atsumu mumbled, not wanting Kiyoomi to have to go this all over again.
"Don’t worry, Atsumu. Your brother deserves to know the truth, too. I’m going to call the coach and explain everything to him as well. In the meantime, try to get some sleep," Kiyoomi said, his voice gentle—so gentle, in fact, that it actually lulled Atsumu toward sleep.
Although Atsumu wanted to hear the entire conversation between Kiyoomi and his brother, his body—exhausted from the constant struggle—finally gave in.
Love was a cure, but it wasn’t a cure-all.
By the time Atsumu was healed through the reciprocated love of Kiyoomi, the hanahaki disease had reached a very advanced stage, leaving behind significant damage. Scans revealed that Atsumu’s lungs had, in fact, sustained severe injury. The doctor ordered him to stay for a few days of observation and further treatment.
He was prescribed a different regimen of medication than Kiyoomi’s—one he would have to take for the rest of his life to ensure his lungs continued to function properly.
Atsumu didn’t mind much. Sakusa had been managing his own condition for practically his entire life and promised to look after him and help him out.
For the first time in a long while, he felt truly safe.
"Kiyoomi’s arranged for us to travel to Wakayama next week," his brother said, helping himself to the sushi that Sakusa had bought for Atsumu.
"Why are ya calling my boyfriend by his first name?" Atsumu asked, pouting. He was already missing Kiyoomi, even though he’d only stepped away to use the restroom. "And wait—Wakayama?"
"Because he told me I could," his brother replied, his mouth full. "And he thinks having our mom around will help ya. Which I agree with." He swallowed his food. "Even though he really put ya through the wringer with that hanahaki—and for a moment there, I felt like strangling him—after everything, I can’t bring myself to blame him." He said it with such sincerity that Atsumu felt a warmth spread through his heart. He didn’t want his brother to hold a grudge against the person he loved just because he’d fallen ill.
"And I can see that he truly cares about ya. He understands ya and yer needs. Plus, he’s an ass—just like ya." Atsumu was about to argue, but Osamu added something that put him at ease: "He’ll take good care of ya. I believe ya two will be happy together."
Atsumu couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at his lips.
"I believe so too, Samu."
His brother grinned broadly, patted him on the shoulder, and stood up.
"I’m heading to the buffet to grab something sweet. Maybe I'll even get something for ya."
Atsumu snorted.
"Ya have already devoured half my food, and yer still going to eat? I want a cheesecake, by the way."
Osamu clearly had more to say, but just then, someone entered the room.
"What’s going on?” the man asked, just as Osamu headed toward the exit.
"Yer perpetually ravenous boyfriend needs more carbs, and I, being the wonderful brother that I am, am off to provide them."
"Yer the one who’s always ravenous, you pig!" Atsumu shouted after him, though he calmed down instantly when Kiyoomi walked over and kissed him on the forehead.
"I see you’re feeling better now."
Atsumu immediately broke into a wide grin.
"Yeah, Omi. That’s why I don’t get why I still have to sit around here. And I really can't believe that I can't play for three weeks!" He groaned.
Kiyoomi sighed and took his hand.
"The first few weeks of treatment are crucial for your health. You need to take it easy and get some rest."
"Is that why yer sending Osamu and me to stay with our mom?" he asked.
Sakusa looked at him gently.
"Yes. Even if I can’t quite wrap my head around it myself, I know you’ll recover faster with her. I promise I’ll come join you as soon as I can."
Atsumu gazed at him with tenderness.
"My family is going to love ya, Kiyoomi. I promise. We’re all going to shower ya with so much love," he said, sounding completely certain. He knew that everyone would love Kiyoomi just as he had deserved to be loved all along.
Kiyoomi smiled softly and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Atsumu could have sworn his heart was about to burst from pure happiness.
"I’m already feeling plenty of love, Atsumu," he said, before kissing him again—and Atsumu felt Kiyoomi’s love for him fill him with a new life. "And when you’re feeling better, you’ll officially meet my family. The real one."
Atsumu placed his hand over his heart. Life can do terrible things—and both he and Kiyoomi had been through them—but now, they were ready for the beautiful ones.