For the first time since the Hanamaki trial, Midori and Tooru finally found an hour to spare in their hectic schedules to meet up for lunch one Friday afternoon. They were no strangers to each others’ busy lives, so they did their best to work in a little family time here and there. It just so happened that this time, they had more to catch up about than just the constant buzz and drama of their respective, high class circles. A lot more.
They sat down at a small sushi bar downtown, far enough away from the hustle and bustle of central Tokyo that it wasn’t overly crowded. Tooru was dressed in his typical “commoner” disguise, up to and including a beanie and face mask. Midori only recognized him by the cutsie smile printed on the mask itself. That one was Tooru’s favourite.
“It’s good to see you again, Otouto-kun,” she greeted, pulling him into a long-overdue hug that he was keen to return.
“I can’t believe you’re still calling me that…” he complained as they took their seats.
“You’ll always be my baby brother~” she teased, pinching his cheek for good measure and laughing when he swatted her hand away.
“Yeah, yeah. How are things on your end? Less stressful than mine, I hope.” Tooru took the liberty of ordering their usual dish as Midori fought off a groan and collected her thoughts.
“Honestly? It’s been…a lot,” she admitted, pushing her hair back out of her face with both hands to tie it up into a ponytail. “Yachi is going to start her treatment on Monday, so hopefully the process goes smoothly, but…”
“But?” Tooru pressed, resting his chin in his hand as he waited for her to continue.
“ But there are some…complications,” she said, trying to find the right words to explain it all without giving Tooru a heart attack. “You might not know this yet, but the man we sent to jail was a member of the Yakuza.”
Tooru was just reaching for the drinks the waitress handed to them across the bar when she said this, nearly spilling them both in the process. He stared at her with wide eyes as he set them down.
“The Yakuza?!” Upon realizing his volume wasn’t at an appropriate level to be exclaiming things like that in such a public place, Tooru glanced around and leaned in closer to all but whisper at her. “ The Yakuza? Are they—are they coming after you?”
“No, not me. At least, I don’t think they are,” she said, wishing she could sound a bit more sure of herself. “They want Yachi. And…and they want Hanamaki.” She hated the way her brother’s face lost all colour after hearing that, but it was better that he knew the truth about the consequences of the trial. “I’ve let him know what we’re dealing with and I’ve informed the police with everything I have right now…and there’s one more thing.”
“Oh, please just tell me before my heart fails,” Tooru pleaded. Midori took a deep breath.
“Do you…remember Miwa?” she asked. Tooru’s face hardened, his jaw setting flat as he nodded. “...She’s here in Tokyo. She knows Yachi, personally. And she’s part of another Yakuza group.”
“Holy shit! ” Tooru hissed. “I mean, what— what is happening? This kind of stuff is only supposed to happen in action movies!”
“I know, it all sounds impossible,” she agreed, shaking her head as she pushed away her own stubborn disbelief. “But—the good news is that Miwa is here to help. I know— I know ,” she lifted her hand to stop Tooru before he could explode at her, “it sounds stupid, but trust me on this. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice. Right now, we just… Our goals are aligned. We both want to keep Yachi safe. Hopefully that means she can help us keep Hanamaki safe, too.”
“...I can’t believe he’s getting dragged into the middle of all this…”
“I don’t want you losing sleep over this, Tooru. I’m only telling you so that you can be there for him if he needs you. I know things are…tense between you two right now, but I also know you two are so close and I think he really needs to know there’s someone he can count on until all this blows over.”
Oh, if only she knew the half of it. Tooru deliberated over what to tell her, if he should tell her anything at all. He was afraid of what she would think of him if she found out what he had been sneaking around doing for the past few weeks. Although, in light of Hanamaki’s current situation, it all seemed to pale in comparison.
“...You think he’ll be okay? He won’t get hurt?” he asked quietly, picking up his pair of chopsticks to poke absently at the sushi that was placed in front of them.
“I won’t let him get hurt,” Midori assured him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I just need you to promise that, if things do go sideways, that you’ll stay safe, too. I don’t want anyone else getting more tangled up in this than they already are. The fewer people who are involved means the fewer people the Yakuza can target for leverage. Do you understand?”
Tooru nodded at her, his gaze shadowed. He wasn’t sure if he could realistically uphold that promise, though. If something were to happen to Hanamaki, he wasn’t sure what he would do… And what if something happened to Matsukawa? Or any of their friends? It wasn’t Hanamaki’s fault that this was happening, but everyone close to him was in danger in some way or another right now.
“Isn’t there…I don’t know, somewhere we can hide them? Put them under surveillance or something?” he asked, desperately reaching for something to help abate what they were up against. Midori sighed.
“I already tried to convince him that Witness Protection was his best option… He wasn’t too excited by the idea,” she said. “Besides, I’m not sure that it would make a difference. He brought up a good point about the Yakuza using the people close to him to draw him out anyway. I think…”
She trailed off and Tooru waited for her to continue, but when she didn’t, he looked over to find her staring down at her lap, hands fidgeting under the bar.
“You think what?” he urged. Midori pursed her lips, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes.
“You’re not going to like it.” Tooru narrowed his own eyes at her.
“...Like what? ”
“...I was thinking that…our best chance to nip this in the bud would be to…use Hanamaki or Yachi as bait…”
Tooru was quiet for a long moment. His sister didn’t dare meet his eyes, too ashamed of her own proposal to face him properly. It was dangerous and perhaps even cruel, but it was the best solution she could think of. If she could get the police on board with it, they could set up a sting and catch Inagawa or his gang redhanded. Then again, if they didn’t catch Inagawa himself, then they ran the risk of making the situation that much worse. She kept wondering about ways that Miwa could help them more. Midori knew she really only cared about Yachi, and that might get in the way of Miwa agreeing to anything like a sting, but there had to be something more they could do than just sit around waiting for the inevitable. Miwa had other Yakuza connections, connections that wanted to move against the Inagawa-kai as well. Her plan would only benefit both of them. Right?
“...Don’t put Makki in that situation,” Tooru said suddenly, wrenching Midori out of her pondering. She blinked at him, but he stared resolutely down at his sushi. “You can’t do that to him. If he got hurt doing something like that…”
“He wouldn’t get hurt—”
“You don’t know that,” Tooru said, turning to look at her now. His eyes were fierce, determined. “You can’t just dangle him in front of the Yakuza like a fresh piece of meat and expect everything to go without a hitch. If you have to go through with something like that, use Yachi instead.”
“Tooru!”
“I’m sorry, Midori. I know you care about her, but she’s a stranger to you. To us, ” he said. “Maybe if you just…leave her alone, everything will work itself out. They probably want her more than Makki, right?”
Midori gaped at her brother wordlessly. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing right now. Was he really suggesting that Midori just abandon the omega who just escaped from a trafficking ring to fend for herself against the people hunting her down? She never knew Tooru to be so…callous.
“Unbelievable,” she mumbled, still staring at him as if she were looking at an alien. “I can’t believe you would say something like that.”
“Just think about it rationally for a second, Midori! You’re in way over your head here,” Tooru said. “I mean, the Yakuza? You can’t fight them and win. You have to know that.”
“I won’t know anything unless I try.”
“You’re going to get yourself hurt if you don’t let this go. Just let the police and Miwa handle it.”
“I can’t do that, Tooru. You know I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. ”
“You don’t understand—”
“She’s not your daughter, Midori.”
She fell quiet after that, the silence a deafening buzz in the midst of the idle chatter that surrounded them at the sushi bar. Although Midori continued to stare at him, her eyes were distant as if she were looking right through him. Tooru’s gaze softened as he reached out for her hand, but she jerked away from his touch as if he had burned her. Pursing his lips, he brought his hand back to his lap.
“I’m sorry…”
Instead of responding, Midori lifted her purse off the floor and dug out a few yen to place on the bar counter as she stood from her seat.
“Midori—”
“I can’t deal with this right now. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Midori, wait—”
It was too late, though. The omega shouldered her purse and took her leave without another word, fleeing the sushi bar without touching her drink or food. Tooru was left sitting there alone, staring after her as the door to the store slowly shut behind her.
He felt terrible for saying what he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. As far as he was concerned, his sister was biting off far more than she could chew for someone she barely knew. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She wasn’t putting her family’s and friends’ safety first. He couldn’t understand any other reason why she would be willing to put so much on the line for a stranger unless she was clinging to something she knew she would never get back.
No matter how much she had tried to hide it, Tooru could always see that she had never fully recovered from the miscarriage or the way her relationship with Miwa had deteriorated. He could never understand what that had been like for her, but he did know that it was affecting how she viewed the current predicament. Yachi wasn’t the first person Midori had latched onto as if they could ever fill the hole inside her that her unborn child had left. For a long time, she had suffocated Takeru with her love and affection to the point that it was clearly a bit unhealthy, even as his mother. After a while, however, Tooru had noticed how all her cases ended up being in the defense of younger clients—people who were desperately trying to find a way out of their heart-wrenching situations, who were in dire need of a parental figure to guide them in the right direction, who played perfectly into the role of a lost, broken soul Midori could obsess over fixing until she achieved whatever gratification she was looking for. That is, until that temporary satisfaction wore off and she was on the hunt for yet another defendant crying for her help.
Tooru didn’t have anything against Yachi. He felt for her situation and he knew the danger she was facing, but he couldn’t, in good conscience, let his sister dive headfirst into something as perilous as this. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure he could stop her this time.
He only managed to force himself to eat half of the sushi they were supposed to share before he paid for his portion and drifted out of the store. He was itching for something to distract himself with so that he didn’t have to keep stewing in worry and sorrow. Like many other times, the first person to cross his mind was Matsukawa. He still hadn’t grown out of that habit, even after everything that had happened between them. Matsukawa was always the first person he’d gone to about anything and everything, the first to listen to him whine and complain about whatever was bothering him at any given moment. They had been best friends for years, had shared everything from their trauma to the happiest moments in their lives. Even now, when he fished his phone out of his pocket, Tooru had to refrain from opening his messages with Matsukawa by instinct. They hadn’t texted each other in weeks. If he even dared to look at them now, he would undoubtedly spiral into another fit of self-loathing.
Instead, he opened a more recent contact and sent a quick message asking to meet up at the dance studio Tooru frequented. He still had another hour or so before his next photoshoot. Luckily, the response he got was nigh immediate and, thankfully, in agreement with his proposal. With a new destination in mind, Tooru hailed a cab to take him to the studio.
He arrived to find his chosen company for the afternoon waiting patiently on a bench in front of the studio, fitted in appropriate leggings and a flattering shirt. Oikawa got out of the cab with a bright smile, the expression feeling a bit more natural on his face now that he was in her presence.
“Hey there! Thanks for agreeing to meet me on such short notice,” he said with a grateful bow of his head. Alisa giggled and gave him a little half-curtsey.
“It’s my pleasure! I was hoping to find something to do today, anyway,” she admitted, stepping inside the dance studio when Oikawa held open the door for her. “My bandmates are all busy preparing for some lame ‘boys night’ thing they have planned. I was surprised to hear from you, though. I thought the idol life would be keeping you busy.”
“Oh, it is,” Oikawa assured as they walked through the lobby to the actual studio. He waved to the directress as they passed her office, having given her a heads up that he would be dropping by for a quick practice. “I just happened to have a free afternoon and I wanted to spend it with you.”
“Well, I’m flattered,” Alisa said, giggling again. He really did adore the sound of her laughter. “So, you got anything specific in mind? I’ve never really done any proper choreography before, so you’ll have to excuse me if I’m a little slow.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t think it’s anything you can’t handle,” he said with a smirk. “I was actually hoping you could be my partner for a piece I’ll be performing from the album I’m working on.” Alisa’s eyes lit up and she clapped her hands excitedly.
“Really? Does that mean I get to hear one of your new songs?”
“That’s right~ This stays between us, though, yeah? My manager would kill me if she found out I’m letting anyone get a sample.”
“Of course! Oh, I can’t wait,” she gushed. “But aren’t you a solo performer? Do you really need a partner to practice with?”
“Mm, not technically, ” he admitted, “but I think it’d be fun to try. Lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like to perform with a group…”
“That would be so fun! You know, if you want, you could always join one of our practice sessions sometime,” Alisa offered as they set their bags down along the wall of the studio and approached the wall of mirrors that had a ballet bar stretched across it. “I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind. I think it’d be really cool if a real professional practiced with us!”
“You think so?” Oikawa hummed thoughtfully, grabbing the ballet bar to begin his stretches. “I don’t know… I think Miya-san has it out for me a little bit.” Alisa chuckled at that.
“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just a little… overprotective, I guess you could say,” she explained, effortlessly lifting her leg over her head and holding the pose. Oikawa briefly admired her flexibility. “We all met back in university and we’ve been close friends ever since. I think Atsumu-kun might have a tiny crush on me.”
“A tiny crush?” Oikawa asked, lifting a brow as he braced his foot on the ballet bar and reached to grab the toe of his shoe. “Sweetie, I think he’s got it down pretty bad. I don’t know if you caught a whiff of him that day at the photoshoot, but he was practically salivating.” Alisa released an exaggerated groan as she lolled her head back and switched legs.
“I know, I know. It’s just so awkward, you know? Like, maybe I like him back a little, but… I don’t know.” Oikawa glanced at her in the mirror as he sat on the floor to continue his stretches.
“You do?” He couldn’t help himself. A part of him was a little apprehensive about this conversation, but the other part of him was dying for the gossip.
“Maybe? It’s just…” Alisa sighed, joining him on the floor as they faced each other. “He can be so much sometimes. He’s cute, and funny, and he likes to have a good time, but other times he can be kind of a jerk.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that, too,” Oikawa commented, earning another laugh.
“And the thing is, he has this twin brother, right? And they’re nothing alike. I mean, they’re kind of similar in some ways, but Osamu-kun’s so quiet and thoughtful, and Atsumu-kun’s so loud and…well, careless.”
“Oho? So you might like his twin, too?” Alisa paused her stretches to cover her reddening face with both hands.
“I’m terrible, aren’t I?”
“No, no! Sounds like quite the conundrum,” Oikawa said, though he was unable to choke down the teasing tone in his voice.
“You’re totally judging me right now. Just tell me I’m a skank already!” Oikawa feigned a gasp, placing a hand against his chest.
“I would never call you a skank. I happen to be very supportive of your lifestyle.”
“It’s not a lifestyle! I’m not—” Alisa cut herself off to laugh more, letting out another groan as she lay down on the floor. “Let’s move on from my petty omega problems. Are you gonna show me this dance, or what?”
Chuckling, Oikawa finished his stretches and helped her back onto her feet. In spite of the sudden discovery that Alisa’s affections were otherwise preoccupied, Oikawa didn’t feel as disappointed as he thought he would. It didn’t stop him from enjoying Alisa’s company and he found it quite easy to talk to her regardless. She was still charming in her own right, and a quick study, as he soon learned. She picked up on most of the choreography after showing her just one time, and soon enough they were moving in sync to the music he played through the bluetooth speakers in the studio. He found himself enjoying the presence of a dance partner more than he thought he would, especially when she suggested ways to alter the choreography so that it was less focused on individual movement and made better use of multiple people at once.
For someone who had never danced professionally before, Alisa certainly didn’t move that way. It was as though she belonged on a stage, commanding the atmosphere around her so that no one could dare take their eyes off her. He found himself staring on more than one occasion, which should have felt a little shameful after their previous discussion, but truthfully, he was just in awe of her natural talent. She was born to be an idol, of that he was certain.
After they had tuckered themselves out from their routine, Oikawa showed her to the break room where they could buy drinks to rehydrate and some nutritious snacks. They sat across from each other at one of the small tables, sweaty and exhausted, but still in high spirits.
“That was so much fun,” she said for the umpteenth time that afternoon. “We should definitely do that again sometime!”
“Agreed,” Oikawa nodded as he munched on an apple. “You really think your band wouldn’t mind if I joined you for a practice?”
“Not at all! Atsumu-kun might whine a little, but I know Semisemi and Yuu-chan would be all for it,” Alisa said. Oikawa couldn’t help but notice that she appeared to have the same penchant for nicknames that he did. It was almost startling how much they had in common. “So? Do you wanna set a date?”
“Hmm… I’d have to check my calendar with my manager, first,” he said. “I know I have a full week coming up… Definitely sometime soon, though.” Alisa grinned.
“Great! I’ll let the boys know to be expecting it.”
She pulled out her phone then, presumably to do just as she’d said, and Oikawa took the opportunity to follow suit and check some of his media. It was practically a requirement to stay up to date on all his platforms to ensure nothing distasteful cropped up, but he also just enjoyed scrolling through his feed to see what was new with his fellow celebrities. They were all fake, back-stabbing sharks who would sell each other out for less than nothing, but that was part of what kept him so entertained. There was always some kind of drama being stirred up and he lived for every second of it.
Alisa made a noise through the granola bar in her mouth then as she moved to stand from her seat.
“I’m so sorry. Yuu-chan just reminded me we have a meeting for a record deal in half an hour,” she explained as she grabbed her bag and shoved her phone inside. “I have to go catch the train to be there on time, but let me know when we can all get together, okay?”
“Yeah, of course. Thanks for coming out today,” he said, waving.
“It was fun! See you later!”
Oikawa watched her run out, humming to himself. Haiba Alisa was a rare specimen of pure joy and innocence and Oikawa felt lucky to have met her, even if his puppy-love first impressions took him in a different direction than he expected. He supposed that was for the best, though. He wasn’t sure anything would have worked between them in the first place, considering Iwaizumi…
He shook his head. He found it uncomfortable how often he had to remind himself that he and Iwaizumi weren’t actually dating in secret. More often than not, however, he found himself checking his phone to see if Iwaizumi had texted, or holding back the urge to ask him if he wanted to hang out, or getting lost in daydreams that started out as ideas to further his scheme and developed into something else entirely. It was starting to get a little out of hand.
It didn’t help that his thoughts kept wandering back to the times that they had kissed and what he had felt in those moments. It wasn’t natural— No, he shouldn’t think like that. He was the one who had told Iwaizumi that it was natural to feel that way, so he couldn’t go making a hypocrite out of himself now. It was just that those things felt unnatural to him. He wasn’t into alphas. He had made that very clear to Matsukawa already, so there was no reason for him to be having these thoughts about Iwaizumi. He reasoned with himself that it was only because of this whole performance they were putting on. It was inevitable that he would start to yearn for intimacy when he was pretending to be in a relationship with someone.
Maybe he just needed to get laid.
Yeah, that was probably it.
Glancing at the clock on the wall of the break room, Oikawa’s heart skipped a beat when he noticed the time. He scrambled to gather his things and choke down the rest of the apple he’d been turning in his hand as he rushed out of the dance studio. He had to go home and shower before his photoshoot if he didn’t want to show up all sweaty like he was now. Shimizu would give him an earful otherwise and he doubted the photographers would be all too impressed, either.
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“You’ll need to make a decision soon about whether or not you want to move forward with the surgery.”
Hanamaki sat alone in the doctor’s office, fingers interlocked as he rested his arms on his legs. He stared intently at a section of wood grain on the front of the doctor’s desk that was sort of shaped like a penis. He had found it to be the height of comedy earlier, but now it was little more than a point of focus to keep him grounded as the doctor explained to him what his options were.
Correction: option. He only had the one.
“...How soon?” he asked, his voice foreign to his own ears. Vaguely he saw the doctor adjust her glasses on the bridge of her nose.
“...You have seven weeks before surgery is no longer feasible,” she said delicately. “Given your current living situation, maybe less than that. You may be able to buy yourself more time if you moved away from—”
“Nah,” he said without letting her finish voicing her absurd suggestion. “Seven weeks? Tops?”
“That’s our projected timeline, yes.”
“What about the meds? You said they were supposed to slow it down.”
“And they have been. Without that treatment, your condition would have already worsened beyond repair by this point.”
“...And if I don’t do the surgery? After seven weeks without surgery, how long then?”
The doctor gave him a sympathetic look before glancing down at the papers in front of her again. She perused a few of her notes before sighing through thin lips.
“If we’re being optimistic, without surgery, you wouldn’t make it to the end of March.”
Hanamaki felt his heart strangle itself at that. He understood that, after a certain point, the Hanahaki’s growth rate rose exponentially. It could take people’s lives suddenly and without warning just as easily as it could cause a slow and painful death. The timeline varied from person to person, largely dependent upon the type of flower. In Hanamaki’s case, his viscaria flowers were harder to dispel because the leaves were longer and sharper than, say, Matsukawa’s rhododendrons. They often cut up his throat when he coughed them up, and the doctors had noticed lacerations inside his lungs, as well.
“...Okay.”
“...Do you want the surgery?”
“No, not yet. Just… I need more time to think.”
“I understand. I hope you also understand that you’re running out of time.”
Hanamaki left the clinic with a lot of food for thought. Seven weeks. He had seven weeks before he had to make a choice between life or death. Even if Matsukawa hadn’t caught on to the fact that he and Oikawa were actively trying to make him fall out of love, Hanamaki wondered if it would have made a difference. It was easier to burn down bridges than to build them. Even if their plan still managed to succeed, there was no guarantee that Hanamaki’s little side quest would bear any fruit. At least, not in time.
He had been in love with Matsukawa for years before his symptoms got the point that he needed medical attention. Matsukawa was in the same boat with Oikawa. He couldn’t expect Matsukawa to do a full one-eighty overnight. It was selfish to want that, anyway.
Seven weeks. He wondered how many Matsukawa had left. If Hanamaki’s medication had really slowed down the infection, then had to imagine Matsukawa was already at his limit. He had to fight through the tightness that threatened to close up his throat at the thought. Hanamaki might have seven weeks left before his condition turned terminal, but Matsukawa didn’t have that same luxury. He might as well go spend time with the guy who was practically on his death bed before he thought about how he wanted to lie in his own.
When he got home, Hanamaki kicked off his shoes and called up the stairs that he was back from his “secret love affair with the unhappily married spinstress down the road”. He always came up with some similarly witty and ridiculous joke when Matsukawa asked where he was going on his appointment days, all the while refusing to elaborate on the truth of his outings.
He had just grabbed a bottle of juice from the fridge in the kitchen and cracked it open when he realized he hadn’t gotten a response from Matsukawa. Figuring the alpha was probably asleep, as he often was these days, Hanamaki quietly made his way upstairs. He just wanted to check and be sure the guy wasn’t drowning in self-loathing again before he resigned himself to the game console for a few hours. He gently rasped on Matsukawa’s door, waiting for a disgruntled voice to shoo him away, but it never came. Furrowing his brows, Hanamaki cracked open the door to peek inside.
What he saw made him drop his juice on the floor and rush to Matsukawa’s side where he lay half-hanging off his bed, a foamy substance gurgling from his mouth as his body convulsed, wide-open eyes staring unseeingly ahead.
“Issei?! Issei?! Can you hear me?! Issei! ”
Hanamaki shook his shoulders to no avail, heart thundering in his chest as he frantically looked for something, anything to bring Matsukawa back to his senses. Reluctantly leaving his side, Hanamaki dove toward the bedside drawer, yanking it open and digging through its contents in a frenzy. When he didn’t find what he was looking for there, he slammed it shut to lunge over to the closet. He threw aside various of Matsukawa’s belongings with zero regard, clawing at everything he touched until he found an old, battered plastic case. He nearly broke the zipper trying to get it open, but once he did, he grabbed the inhaler that was inside and rushed back to Matsukawa, who was now frighteningly still.
“Don’t you fucking die on me you son of a bitch!”
He got behind Matsukawa, struggling to drag him forward so his back was propped up against the beta’s chest, and fitted the inhaler between his lips. Squeezing Matsukawa’s nose shut with his other hand, he pressed down on the inhaler, spraying bronchodilator down his throat. He did it twice in measured succession, but when Matsukawa’s body failed to respond, he cursed under his breath.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”
He kept muttering the same word over and over to himself as he laid Matsukawa flat on his back on the floor and knelt beside him, one hand folded over the other on his chest. His vision was blurred by the tears accosting his eyes, but adrenaline coursed through his veins, keeping his reeling brain focused enough to work on the task at hand. His CPR training took over as if on autopilot— thirty compressions, two breaths —and for several endless moments, this was all Hanamaki allowed himself to think about. Compressions. Breaths. Compressions. Breaths. Live, Matsukawa, live.
Those lifeless eyes were staring straight past him. Hanamaki felt blood on his tongue.
Don’t do this to me. Don’t die. You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.
The minutes passed.
A gargled, raspy cough was all it took to break Hanamaki to pieces. He cupped Matsukawa’s face that slowly began to regain its colour, but he couldn’t see that through the flood that poured down his cheeks. His whole body was shaking as he blubbered nonsensical things to the alpha as he came to, hacking and coughing, but alive. Hanamaki leaned down to press his forehead against Matsukawa’s as he cried.
“You stupid bitch…”
It was hard to make out over his own sobbing and Matsukawa’s rattled breaths, but he could feel the way the alpha’s chest rumbled in an attempt to laugh. He felt a cold hand come to rest on the back of his neck, trembling, and all they could do was sit like that for a long time.
Once he could bring himself to pry his own hands off of Matsukawa, as if afraid that as soon as he left go the man would fall under again, he called for an ambulance in spite of Matsukawa’s protests. He had avoided going to the doctor all this time, but enough was enough. Hanamaki was not going to sit idly by and watch his beloved wither away until there was nothing left of him. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. Even if Matsukawa still staunchly refused the surgery, he could at least accept a little professional treatment to help ease his symptoms as much as possible. The doctors could make him comfortable, if nothing else. They could make sure it didn’t hurt.
The first thing they did was give him an aesthetic that knocked him right out, so for now, Hanamaki sat silently by his hospital bed, hand squeezing tight to the limp digits hanging at his side. His gaze never left Matsukawa, watching his face, waiting for any signs that he might stop breathing again. He was still shaking, just a little. Every moment now felt like a reenactment of those breathless minutes he spent bringing Matsukawa back to life. He couldn’t stop seeing that look on Matsukawa’s face. Lifeless. Dead. Gone.
He knew, then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he could not watch Matsukawa die. Not again. He would never be able to come back from it.
A couple hours later, when it was already dark outside, the door to the room softly opened as a nurse led someone inside. Hanamaki didn’t look to see whom it was, but he knew it was Oikawa. He heard the other alpha race over to Matsukawa’s bedside, then saw him leaning over Matsukawa on the other side of the bed. The look of panic registered in Hanamaki’s peripheral.
“...What happened? Is he okay now? Makki?”
It took him a moment to respond.
“...He almost died,” he said, voice hollow and distant to his own ears. “He did die. He was… I had him in my arms and he was dead. I almost… I almost didn’t…”
Before he could understand what was happening, Oikawa had come around and enveloped him in his arms. Hanamaki found himself pressing his cheek to Oikawa’s shoulder, the one hand not clutching at Matsukawa’s gripping tightly at the back of his shirt, but he kept his eyes on Matsukawa all the while. He couldn’t look away, not even for a second.
“I’m so sorry,” Oikawa whispered to him, his voice hoarse likely from his own crying on the way here. “I’m so sorry you found him like that. But you saved him. You saved him, Makki. He’s alive.”
He’s alive.
But for how much longer?
It was best not to think about that right now.
They sat together for what felt like a really long time, Oikawa’s hand on his back as he tried to offer reassuring words. Hanamaki barely heard any of them. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion from his earlier panic, but he dutifully kept them open. At some point, he felt Oikawa get up, saw him round the bed again to smooth his hand over Matsukawa’s hair and press a kiss to his forehead. He said he had to leave, but he would be back tomorrow, and Hanamaki should call him if anything changed.
A couple nurses came in and out to check his vitals and administer various kinds of medicine, as well as take a couple blood samples. Hanamaki knew they wouldn’t like the results. Matsukawa’s state was critical, that much was clear, and he could only imagine his labs would prove the same.
Hours ticked by, and soon the sky was starting to brighten outside. Hanamaki was in a strange sort of limbo between awake and asleep, his eyes open, but hooded, his vision having blurred into one, unclear image of muted colours with Matsukawa’s face in the center. That was why he startled back to full consciousness when he saw Matsukawa move, his fingers twitching against his palm. Hanamaki scooted even closer, squeezing Matsukawa’s hand to let him know he was there.
“Hey. Good morning,” he said as quietly as he could. Matsukawa’s eyes twitched behind his closed lids until he gradually opened them, squinting into the soft light the lamps cast into the room.
“...Hana?” he asked groggily, his voice even deeper than usual. He lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, squeezing them shut again. “Where are we?”
“The hospital,” the beta replied, wrapping his other hand around Matsukawa’s. “You had some sort of seizure last night.”
“...I did?”
“Yeah… You almost signed off for good.”
“...Oh.”
That was all he said for a few minutes. He blinked up at the ceiling while his eyes adjusted, then finally turned his head to look over at Hanamaki. He still looked a little out of it, his pupils dilated from the anaesthetic, but he seemed to recognize Hanamaki, at least.
“...Was Tooru here? Before?” Hanamaki paused at that, pursing his lips.
“...Yeah, he was. Were you awake?” Matsukawa closed his eyes again and shook his head with a small noise.
“I thought… Might’ve been a dream…” He pressed his free hand against his forehead, scrunching his brows. “I feel like ass.”
“You look like ass,” Hanamaki said before he could think twice about it. Luckily, Matsukawa was in high enough spirits to flip him the bird, so he took that as a good sign. “Can you breathe okay?”
“Mm…mhm.”
He watched Matsukawa’s hand slide down his face, resting over his mouth. He slowly opened his eyes again and stared ahead for another moment before turning to look at Hanamaki once more.
“You saved my life.”
The beta shrugged, looking for a cheeky way to play off such a vulnerable sentiment.
“That’s what you’re supposed to do when someone’s dying.”
Matsukawa watched him, unfocused eyes searching his face for something Hanamaki couldn’t fathom. He looked deep in thought, as if he were trying to solve some sort of impossible puzzle in front of him. It was a little intense, but Hanamaki held fast. He still refused to look away from the alpha.
“...Thank you,” he said, finally, though that didn’t seem to be the only thing he wanted to say. Hanamaki offered a small smile.
“Anytime.”
Every time. Hanamaki would do it every time, again and again, until he physically couldn’t anymore. And then, because neither of them ever strayed far from the other, Hanamaki would be right behind him. It just wouldn’t make sense otherwise. It was always Matsukawa and Hanamaki, no matter where they went. The thought of one brought to mind the other. They were inseparable. They were inevitable.
Soulmates.
Or, you know. Something cheesy like that. It sounded kind of nice, anyway.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
True to his word, Oikawa returned the following afternoon, this time with a proper gift basket in hand (it was considered insensitive to bring someone with Hanahaki flowers…) containing a few little things like lotion, dry shampoo, and some of Matsukawa’s favourite snacks. He intended to leave it by Matsukawa’s bed side and disappear again, but as luck would have it, Matsukawa happened to be fully awake this time.
He froze when he stepped inside the room and locked eyes with the other alpha. It was the first time they had (mutually) seen each other since Oikawa’s impromptu and drunken visit to his home in the middle of the night, so he was understandably a little reluctant to get much closer. He weighed his options about just dropping the basket right inside the door and leaving, but then Matsukawa beckoned him to come in. It would be rude to leave without saying anything now.
Taking a deep breath, Oikawa stepped inside, carefully, as if the floor were made of fragile glass. He placed the gift basket on the table beside Matsukawa’s bed, keeping his eyes firmly downcast as he fiddled with a piece of stuffing string that hung over the edge of the basket.
“...How are you feeling?” he tried, his voice quieter than intended. Matsukawa hummed.
“...Better than this morning,” he said. “I don’t wanna throw up right now, so that’s a plus.”
“Good. That’s…good.”
Silence befell them and it was then that Oikawa noticed Hanamaki wasn’t in the room. He glanced around, wondering if the beta had finally dozed off in one of the chairs, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Hana went to get us some real food. I basically had to chase him out to get him to do it, though,” Matsukawa explained.
“Oh.”
That was all Oikawa could think to say in response. He felt…acutely uncomfortable right now. Just the two of them. Alone. He felt as though he should have someone else there as a buffer, or a safety rail, or something. He had thought about dragging Iwaizumi along, but that felt like…too much. Matsukawa had almost died. His scheme could take a break for a little while, considering.
“...How’s your boyfriend?”
Or not. Oikawa couldn’t help but jump a little at the sudden question, eyes snapping toward Matsukawa without meaning to.
“Wh-what?” Matsukawa coughed a little as his shoulders shook in an abandoned attempt at a chuckle.
“Your boyfriend. The guy from the restaurant. The alpha you’re courting.”
He said all those things as if they held no weight whatsoever. Oikawa simply stared, dumbfounded. What was he supposed to say to that right now? First of all, if Matsukawa had figured out the role Iwaizumi was meant to be playing, then how could he…address it so casually? Why wasn’t he angry? Or at the very least distraught? The glint in his eyes almost looked amused, as if he were happy to bring up the subject.
“You don’t have to pretend. He told me everything when we ran into each other that night.”
Everything? What was that supposed to mean? Clearly he didn’t mean everything -everything, considering he still assumed that Oikawa and Iwaizumi were courting.
“I— Uh…”
“Tooru, it’s fine. I promise,” Matsukawa said, resting his head back against his pillows as he closed his eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I just wanna know…” He cracked on eye open to regard Oikawa curiously. “...Are you happy?”
Is he fun? Does he make you laugh?
The questions he had repeated to himself when Hanamaki had asked him if he liked Iwaizumi played through his head again. Those things were still true, he thought, but this question caught him off guard. Are you happy?
Oikawa swallowed. His answer could make or break everything.
“...Yes,” he settled. “Yes, I’m happy.”
Matsukawa closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Oikawa could hear the rattling from inside his chest, even standing where he was. The sound of flower petals fluttering against his airways, roots coiling and constricting around his lungs, his ribs, his heart. It was an awful, despairing sound. It made Oikawa’s heart ache for him.
“...I’m glad.”
Something in his voice made tears spring to Oikawa’s eyes. Those words sounded so…final. Like a goodbye. He stared at Matsukawa for a moment while his eyes were still closed, as if this were his last chance to memorize every feature of his face. Even though Matsukawa’s chest slowly rose and fell, Oikawa couldn’t help but think he looked so much like a corpse right now.
Before he could open his eyes again and see the fresh tears streaming down Oikawa’s face, the idol turned around and left the room, but he didn’t make it far before he stumbled back against the wall of the corridor and slumped to the ground, premature grief suffocating him. He hid his face in his arms and cried until Hanamaki found him like that on his way back. He sat with Oikawa for a while, not talking or touching, but simply offering his presence in solidarity.
Neither of them wanted to face the possible reality that could await them on the other side of that door at any moment.
Oikawa cancelled his appearance for a live interview that evening, much to Shimizu’s chagrin, but when he explained, in as little detail as possible, why he wasn’t feeling up to it that night, she softened without hesitation. She told him she would reschedule for next week, and Oikawa agreed, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to make it to that, either. The coming days were full of uncertainty. For all he knew, tomorrow would…
He didn’t want to dwell on it. In fact, he didn’t want to think about it at all. He called Iwaizumi.
“Could you come over? Just for a little while.”
“Uh…I can. Why? What’s going on?”
“I just… I don’t wanna be alone right now.”
“...I’ll be there in half an hour.”
At nearly half an hour on the dot, there was a knock at his door, and Oikawa was ready and waiting to let him in. The first thing he did was hug Iwaizumi, tightly, and while he surely must have been confused by his whole demeanour, Iwaizumi didn’t question it and simply returned the embrace. They sat down on Oikawa’s couch and he handed Iwaizumi the remote with instructions to find something to watch. He didn’t care what it was. He wasn’t going to pay attention to it, anyway.
Halfway into the movie, Oikawa was curled up against Iwaizumi’s side, wrapped into his blanket with nothing to spare for the other alpha. It wasn’t really cold in his apartment, but he preferred the security the blanket provided nonetheless. It didn’t hurt that Iwaizumi’s arm had wound its way around his shoulders at some point. Oikawa closed his eyes and let himself breathe in Iwaizumi’s scent that encompassed him now, that same faint waft of blueberries dancing around him amidst the woodsmoke that Iwaizumi had used on him in that little cafe. It seemed so long ago now. He didn’t find it any less comforting, though.
He let his eyes fall closed, and memories of a campfire flickered behind his eyelids. This time, he wasn’t as panicked by the nostalgia. It lured him away from thoughts of flowers and hospitals and that was good enough for now.
Slowly, he drifted off to sleep. When he dreamt, he dreamt of standing in a field of beautiful amaryllis, gently swaying in a light breeze like a sea of red and white petals. A few meters away from him stood a woman in white with long black hair and a single, stark red spider lilly tucked behind her ear. She was gazing down at the flowers, the softest smile on her face, but he couldn’t see her eyes. He opened his mouth to try to ask for her name, but his voice didn’t come. Despite this, he felt as though she had heard him anyway. Airy laughter chimed along the breeze, though it didn’t seem to come from any one direction. A sense of peace washed over him. He knew this girl. He couldn’t remember her name. She loved him. He loved her. He couldn’t remember her name. She smiled at him.
Spider lilies sprouted from her eyes.
When Oikawa awoke, it was as though he had just come out of a long hibernation, his body somehow void of all the stress and tight pressure that had been culminating over the past few weeks. He rolled over in his bed, tugging his blanket tighter around himself and hugging his pillow close. He felt the warmth of the sun dripping through his window. He hadn’t felt this well-rested in…he couldn’t even remember how long.
As much as he was content to lie there for a while longer, his nose twitched as the smell of food bled into his bedroom. It smelled good, but…if he were in his bedroom, then who…?
Brows drawing together, Oikawa reluctantly parted from the comfort of his bed to drag himself out into his living room. He noticed he was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. He normally would never go to bed without changing into his pajamas. While he found that odd, even odder were the smells and sounds of someone cooking in his kitchen, and when he rounded the corner, he found none other than Iwaizumi diligently at work preparing what looked like an amazing breakfast. Oikawa leaned against the wall for a moment, watching Iwaizumi piece together two bowls of tamago gohan. It was only when Iwaizumi picked up both bowls to turn around that he finally noticed Oikawa’s presence, and he nearly tripped over himself at the sight. Oikawa couldn’t help but chuckle, not moving an inch to help as Iwaizumi regained his balance after ensuring that he didn’t drop the bowls.
“Morning, prick,” he mumbled as he carefully placed the bowls on the kitchen island and arranged the utensils.
“Payback’s a bitch, huh?” Oikawa mused, dragging his feet forward to come take a seat at the island. Iwaizumi joined him. “You didn’t have to make breakfast.”
“Figured I might as well,” Iwaizumi shrugged. “You seemed a little…out of it last night.”
Ah…last night. He was more than a little out of it, to be sure. If he were thinking rationally at all, he wouldn’t have invited Iwaizumi over to begin with. Maybe they were friends, or something similar, but that still didn’t change the fact that Oikawa couldn’t keep treating him like his safety net every time he didn’t want to deal with his own emotions. That was something meant for mates, to hold and comfort each other in times of distress. He was lucky Iwaizumi had been so understanding in the first place.
“...Sorry about that,” he said, picking up his chopsticks to dig into the food Iwaizumi had prepared. “I guess I owe you an explanation, don’t I?”
“Not really? You said you didn’t want to be alone, so I’m guessing something big happened. I don’t need any details if you don’t want to talk about it.”
…Who had the nerve to make you so perfect, anyway?
“...Mattsun almost died,” he said anyway, staring off into the rice bowl for a moment. He heard the soft clink of Iwaizumi’s chopsticks as he put them down, followed by the warm hand on his shoulder.
“Shit, I’m sorry… Is he okay?” Oikawa shrugged.
“For now, I think… He’s in the hospital. Makki found him and got him there.”
“That’s… I mean, it’s good he’s at a hospital now. It sounds like he really needs the medical attention.”
Oikawa hummed in agreement, forcing himself to keep eating. It made it easier that Iwaizumi’s cooking was a godsend. He let the silence grow for the time being, until both of them had finished their food. He made a move to grab their now empty bowls, but Iwaizumi was already standing up to take them to the sink.
“...Did you carry me to bed last night?” Oikawa asked as the other cleaned the dishes. He heard one of the bowls slip out of Iwaizumi’s hand, but he was quick to grab it, tossing a chaste glance over his shoulder.
“Uh…yeah. I thought you, uh…would be more comfortable there.”
“Did you sleep on the couch?”
“...Yeah. Hope that’s okay.”
“That’s fine.”
The air between them seemed to change then, however slightly, and it grew thicker when the water shut off and Iwaizumi began to dry the dishes. Oikawa studied him while his back was still turned, absentmindedly observing the way his arms and shoulders flexed with each movement. The T-shirt he wore hugged his figure nicely. If he let his eyes drift farther down, he could just make out the toned muscles of his back. And if he looked even farther down…
There was a long moment where both of them were still and silent, the last bowl put down to dry while Iwaizumi braced his hands against the counter, his head only slightly turned in Oikawa’s direction without looking at him. There was a subtle flare of his nostrils, as if he were picking up some scent lingering in the air, and it was then that Oikawa noticed his own fangs were elongated. The seconds ticked by, both of them waiting for someone to make a move. A tension buzzed in Oikawa’s fingers as he considered doing just that.
They both jumped when a knock sounded at the door, jarring them out of whatever strange trance they had been locked in. Giving his heart a moment to settle, Oikawa tore his eyes away from Iwaizumi and went to see who was visiting him this early in the morning. He opened the door a bit carelessly, a mild irritation settling over him, but when he saw Yahaba standing there, his eyes widened and he swung the door back in a little to hide Yahaba’s view over his shoulder. His successor gave him a suspicious look as he arched a brow.
“Uh…hey?” he greeted.
“Hey,” Oikawa replied a bit too quickly. “What…are you doing here?”
“...I was coming to see how you were doing. Hanamaki told us what happened with Matsukawa.” Oikawa felt his expression drop from hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar to just plain depressed.
“Oh. Yeah, I’m…” He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “I’m still…kind of reeling. Have you been to see him yet?” Yahaba sighed.
“Yeah… He looks awful. Seems like the meds are making it easier on him, though.”
“Was Makki still there?” Yahaba nodded with a knowing look in his eyes.
“I don’t think he’s slept since they got there. I tried telling him I would sit with Matsukawa while he got some rest, but…”
Oikawa pursed his lips. He doubted Hanamaki would let himself fall asleep until he physically couldn’t stay awake anymore. At least, not until…
“Anyway, a couple of us were going to go visit him again later today. You know, just to…keep him company, I guess. Do you want to come?” Yahaba asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. Let me know what time?” he said. Yahaba nodded.
“Sure. I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, Yahaba-kun.”
“No problem. See you later.”
Oikawa softly closed the door as Yahaba retreated back down the hallway. He idled there for a moment, hand pressed against the door while he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. How could he even think about those lewd things that crossed his mind just a moment ago when his best friend was literally dying? Was his brain broken or something? Couldn’t his hormones understand that now was not the time?
“Hey,” Iwaizumi called gently from behind, placing a hand on his shoulder. Oikawa opened his eyes and slowly turned around to face him. “...You okay?”
“...No. No, I’m not okay, Iwa-chan. Everything is so far from okay right now, I’m—” He dragged his fingers through his hair as frustration took hold of him.
“Easy, easy,” Iwaizumi consoled, carefully pulling his hands out of his hair. “You’re going through a lot right now. Don’t take it out on yourself.”
“Who else am I supposed to take it out on?” Oikawa asked, almost whining in search of a good answer. “This whole time, I’ve been so obsessed with—with hurting my best friend that I basically cut him out of my life, and—and now he’s dying and I-I can’t—I can’t stop it—”
Iwaizumi shushed him, muttering soothing nothings to him as he pulled Oikawa into his arms. Oikawa hated the way he was shaking right now, the telltale signs of a panic attack creeping up on him despite his best attempts to shut it down. He felt the hyperventilation coming on quickly, and apparently Iwaizumi could tell as he guided him to sit down on the couch. Mao was quick to come out of hiding and jump up into his lap, tail wagging as if to reassure him that everything would be alright as she nosed at his chin. Iwaizumi rubbed his shoulders rhythmically, allowing Oikawa to sit with his face in his hands while he counted the seconds until he could collect his breath and feel his face again.
Everything up until now was pointless. His whole plan had come crashing down around him with nothing to show for it except guilt and regret. So much regret. Oikawa wished he could have just resigned himself to making Matsukawa as comfortable as he could the past few weeks instead of torturing him for no reason but his own stupid, fucking hero complex bullshit. What was he thinking? How could he possibly achieve what nobody else had managed to do in the history of Hanahaki Disease? He wasn’t some genius scientist who had come to a miraculous breakthrough. He was so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He hated this. He hated himself for what he’d done, what he’d become. He hated the way that Iwaizumi was the only thing grounding him in that moment. He hated how he clung to that calming, blueberry scent so tightly. He hated how much he needed Iwaizumi right now.
What have I done?