Yesterday
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.
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It started with the diagnosis that changed the way he viewed his life.
So far, before that moment, he had been withdrawn into his own special shell , hid himself from the world that was cruel to anything that mocked its conception of 'normal'.
And Byakuran had never fit into the mold the world had set for him.
So he hid, and the indifference and apathy came to him like the monsters in the night his mother had once scared him with when he had been four and gullible.
He was fifteen when he was diagnosed.
He had been having bouts of migraine for the longest time, and eventually he had been taken to the doctor despite his protests. He had never liked doctors or hospitals; the white hurt his eyes, and the lack of color left nothing but anxiety and uncomfortable thoughts inside the head of the apathetic teen.
So, when the diagnosis eventually came out from the wrinkled mouth of his doctor, Byakuran's (still, apathetic, monochromatic) world shook at the edges.
Later on, he'd only remember the ache behind the corners of his eyes due to the bright lights and white that surrounded him and left no room for escape from his situation and life.
.
.
The blank apathy came to an end after the diagnosis; a certain cruel restlessness settled into his bones like the very disease he took medicine and treatment to.
The opinions of others slowly filtered away from his mind, and he forcefully closed the doors of depression — or, more like, ran away from having to face or deal with it.
At age eighteen, he left home. He ran away from the environment that was as poisoning as any cancer; being the son of a wealthy CEO had never eased his life, not in the least, and Byakuran knew it must have been a relief to his father as well — treating a sick boy for the rest of his life when money could go to expensive cars and vacations to Hawaii? Hell no.
Byakuran wore a smile on his face and a heart on the sleeve, or so he made it appear.
A master of disguises at age 18, he could fool anyone into thinking he was just another young man without a direction in his life other than the closest bar and prettiest girls (and boys, as Byakuran quickly learned).
More than in the past eighteen or so years, Byakuran Gesso lived.
.
.
He laughed and laughed, and sometimes that's what he felt life was all about: laughing until tears touched his cheeks, drinking until the bottom hit, and not giving a second thought to what anyone thought he was doing.
It was liberating to not give a damn.
His father sent enough money to his account, an offering Byakuran took without a second thought though he knew it was just false affection from the man who hadn't raised him as much as had watched from the sidelines with a disapproving glare to his hair and eyes.
It was liberating to be gone.
.
.
It wasn't a treatable illness, he knew, but he took the medicine every day at appointed times.
He would do so until the high of living would wear off.
And there was always the danger of that happening, since the dark shadows continued to entangle in the confined space of his mind.
Lurking.
.
.
He had not given much thought to the deeper aspects of life before he met him.
Red hair, green eyes, and a posture more sluggish than with most other college students.
And Byakuran, the social butterfly of the whole institute, wanted to befriend him.
What he wanted, he always got — ironically, this only applied to his life after running away from home.
.
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Irie Shouichi was his name, and he wasn't interested in Byakuran.
Naturally, Byakuran did everything in his power to prove Shouichi's preconception of never being friends with 'such a carefree person' wrong.
He was too forceful, too intense, but he couldn't help his selfishness from getting the best of him when it came to Shouichi. (Soon to be named as 'Shou-chan'.)
And where Byakuran pushed, Shouichi gave in.
.
.
"It's called homework. You should do yours, too."
Byakuran laughed, a sound coming from deep within himself, and he felt staggered by how genuine it was. "You're so mean to me, Shou-chan," he pouted, finally pulling himself up into a sitting position before looking at Shouichi, who was giving him one of those 'too tired for this' looks.
"I wonder how you haven't failed all your classes with the amount of work you put in."
Byakuran ignored the chastise, and instead grinned like the very Cheshire Cat he was reading about in the English literature classes. "You know what I'd rather do, Shou-chan?"
"You."
Byakuran's face met with a pillow Shouichi hastily threw at him in agitation, the redhead's face as red as his hair, and Byakuran just let out a half-giggle, half-snort.
.
.
He wasn't entirely sure at which point it had turned into a fierce, romantic love, but that didn't matter.
What mattered was that when Shouichi stood in front of him, face contorted into an expression of anxiety and great embarrassment, and sputtered through the confession, Byakuran wordlessly leaned in and kissed Shouichi.
What mattered was the leap his heart had made when Shouichi's fingers trembled in his white hair, the shy and inexperienced show of genuine affection.
(It wasn't like they were each other's firsts; Shouichi may have been his first love, but not the first kiss or the first lay, and for Shouichi, Byakuran wasn't even his first love.)
(But love wasn't a race; love wasn't an Olympics event; and that was the first lesson people had to learn.)
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"I love you."
The words nearly choked him, his heart felt like it was bursting with the intensity of those words, and Shouichi looked like how Byakuran felt.
Two months and who knew how many dates had passed since them getting together, and those words slipped, and Byakuran felt almost dizzy by how true the words were to the feeling that fluttered inside his heart.
"I love you too," Shouichi told him in return, unable to hold in the smile that was pulling his lips up.
Byakuran couldn't resist it, then; he kissed Shouichi, intense and loving, and Shouichi kissed him back, more reserved as always but the feeling similar to Byakuran's was almost palpably there.
The words hung in the air, not only because the song "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" played in the radio station Byakuran had picked on the car stereo, but also because Byakuran couldn't stop whispering then after every kiss he gave to Shouichi's face.
On the background of this, the Death sharpened its own violin, the bony hands ready to join in the music.
But not just yet.
.
.
Migraines were starting to come back despite the medication, and that was the first clue that Byakuran noticed but took no heed of.
At the age of 24, having graduated from university with Shouichi, he was happy.
But he knew, though he ignored the fact, that his time was running out — he knew it like he knew how Shouichi's lips tasted in the morning light, like how he knew the gentleness that seeped into Shouichi's eyes when he looked at children.
And that was one of the reasons he proposed to Shouichi; in the silence of their home, with no special decorations, just with a golden ring and a smile that was strained at the edges, but Byakuran knew how to hid the strain.
The happiness that came from a simple word from Shouichi was suffocating, and Byakuran felt — for the first time — the unfairness of it all. Of what he was doing to Shouichi by keeping silent. Of the world's decision to burden Byakuran with a disease that wouldn't let him enjoy the life he had with Shou-chan.
.
.
Of course, that time came when the medicine stopped working altogether — or maybe Byakuran had forgotten to take it — and Shouichi finally learned about all of it.
Byakuran felt oddly serene as he watched despair color Shouichi's features.
"Shou-chan," he took Shouichi's hand in his and brough it up to kiss the knuckle and fingers gently, lightly. "I love you." It was a different feeling from the first time, but there was similar intensity in his chest when he said it. Less possessive, less selfish. A purer kind of love than what he had been able to give Shou-chan back then.
And more enduring.
Shouichi choked, the intensity in his green eyes glazing over as tears glistened in them. Despite it all, Shouichi was a man of logic, and he knew better than to argue with his words. "I love you too, Byakuran-san," he whispered back as Byakuran's lips brushed over the ring of promise.
Byakuran smiled, weary and aching but genuinely nevertheless.
A/N: Because Terminal Illness AU is a thing on my tumblr.