Cough.

Spit.

Wipe.

Repeat.

It was tiring, to be fair. It was exhausting, annoying, and so, so, so painful. Keiji had no idea for how long he'll be able to resist. The coughing fits got stronger, longer and much more agonizing, one by one.

It was hell.

All because of him.

They say that the Hanahaki disease appears in your body when your feelings aren't reciprocated by the one that you love. They say it's typical, teenage love almost always brings this illness, it's something natural. Young love always ends painfully.

It does.

But do they mention adults? Do they speak about coughing blood and petals after a break-up? Do they speak about the despair and fear that one feels when they realize that they're still not over their previous lovers? Of course not. It's something sad, pathetic and unpleasant. It's not as romantic and endearing as a teenager in love. No one wants to deal with this. No one cares.

So you're all by yourself, accompanied by the deafening sound of silence, your terror, your blood and of course, petals. Fucking petals, soaked in blood and saliva, each one scraping your throat and suffocating you as they come out, one by one followed by a hundred more.

…..Till you can't breathe anymore and die.

It was in the middle of the night when it happened for the first time. Keiji was laying on his bed, the sheets cold and unwelcoming to his skin. He felt empty. He was not used to his absence. Tears were flowing down his cheeks as he stared at the ceiling. He felt like drowning, overwhelmed by memories and the pain that bloomed in his chest. He wanted to die.

Who would have known that his wish was so easy to fulfill?

Moments later, he sat up and coughed. Long and so damn painful, that he felt a fresh wave of tears watering his eyes. When he looked in his palm, he was mortified. Yellow, delicate petals, speckled with blood and saliva rested in his palm. Keiji's chest tightened momentarily and he threw them away, horror imprinted on his tear-stained face.

'No. This can't be happening. No!'

It happened again. And again, and again, and again, till he lost count. Each time, he threw up bigger piles of bloody petals and even flowers, pale and fragile, soaked in his spit. Akaashi was starting to get used to the river of tears that streamed down his face as he bent over to vomit those damned things. He began to get accustomed to the disgusting feeling in his mouth and the ache that stung his heart every time he felt a new coughing episode coming. It became a routine.

They were primroses. Akaashi researched the name of the bloodstained flowers one morning and smiled bitterly. "Primrose blossoms mean many different things. It's a symbol for bashfulness. It's a symbol for inconstancy. It also can refer to young love as well as neglected merit. However, the most popular meaning for primrose is 'I can't live without you'." Of course. Of course it had to be a fucking primrose. Of course it meant that he couldn't live without him. He tore his heart apart and took half of it when he left. How was he supposed to survive without the other half of his heart? How was he supposed to live….without him?

So he cried, he wailed and sobbed, despair invading his chest while the beautiful primroses choked him as they fell on the floor. Each night, he cursed the day they met and when his anger melted into sadness, he called for him, softly and hoarsely, until he fell asleep on the cold bathroom floor.

A few months passed. Keiji was surprised that he'd lasted this long. He should've been dead by now. The bush that bloomed in his ribcage invaded his lungs already, making it almost impossible for him to breathe or cough. He was pretty sure that the vines spread all over his internal organs and squeezed the life out of him by now. Yet, he still lived.

But not for long.

He decided that he won't go for the surgery. He didn't want to get rid of his feelings. No matter how painful it felt, it still was a part of him. Living without the ability to feel or recall any emotion was worse than being asphyxiated by a plant. So he chose to wait. He'll either move on or drown in his tears and primrose petals.

Too bad that he was too stubborn to let go and forget.

It was night, maybe around 2 or 3 in the morning. Keiji couldn't care less. He sat on his bedroom floor, blood and saliva dripping from his chin, a pool of beautiful little flowers forming in his lap. Akaashi wiped the liquid from his face with shaky hands, mentally cursing himself for his never-ending tears that wettened his cheeks.

It was close. Keiji felt it. Day by day, he felt weaker, frailer. He couldn't sleep, eat, breathe. Keiji felt trapped in his own body. Yet, he didn't really mind. It was a bittersweet feeling. He knew that his time was almost over, so he allowed himself to meditate and savor every memory gained during his short life. He was grateful that he'd spent his existence exactly like that. He was grateful that he had such a loving family and supportive friends. He was grateful that he managed to gain so much. Keiji couldn't wish for anything more.

Well, not really. Some company in his last hours wouldn't hurt.

But mostly, he was grateful to him. Him, the man who managed to offer him so much happiness and pain in those months that they've spent together. Him, the man who taught him what love really felt like. Him, the man who offered him this lethal curse that slowly killed him.

Miya Atsumu truly was something else.

Taking one yellow blossom in his hand, Akaashi brought it to his lips and kissed it. He wore a bright smile, so luminous that you wouldn't think that he was dying. Tears poured down his cheeks but he laughed softly, glossy eyes staring at the starry sky through the bedroom window. 'How ironic', he thought. Keiji never really thought that the Hanahaki disease would hit him, out of all people on this planet. He never really believed that something so cruel would happen to him, the composed, level-headed Akaashi Keiji.

But, he sort of deserved it. His love was too intense. He poured too much affection and passion in that relationship. He allowed himself to hope too much. And life reminded him that love was both a curing and a deadly feeling.

Inhaling, Keiji heaved a tired sigh. He coughed again, the pain scraping his throat and making him wince in discomfort. A ghost of a smile was gracing his features and he leaned his head back, the small primrose crushed gently in Akaashi's fist. He closed his eyes, feeling the fatigue taking over his body slowly, snugly. He didn't know if he'd wake up in the morning. Probably not. But it didn't matter. He was ready to leave. He was exhausted.

A few more salty droplets spilled from under his eyelids and Akaashi smiled brighter. Tiredly, he parted his lips to speak, the sound of his croaky whispers foreign to Keiji's ears.

"I'll love you forever, Atsumu. Farewell."

Then, he finally relaxed and yawned, lulling himself to his much-needed sleep.