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The thing about getting better is that it's never just getting better.
Weeks will pass where Eichi feels good- great, even, on some days- and others seem to have this idea in their heads that during these periods of respite, his mood improves as much as his condition. It's not an unfair assumption to have, of course. Some days it's even true. Days where he can get through practice without feeling dizzy, or make it hours on end without needing to lean on his desk for support. Those days, he is happier. He feels light.
But for the most part, periods of good scare him. Every day is threaded with a line of fear, a constant plague upon his mind like a wound that continues to fester. Because when it comes to Eichi, getting better is not a sign of getting normal. There is no getting normal for him- that's not how his condition works, it never has been and it never will be. Getting better is a relief for his body, a brief end to the stress it is put under every day, but the key word is brief. That is the source of his fear- getting better is simply an upswing in the vicious cycle his life has always followed.
When he gets better, all he can think about is when he'll get worse. It's always there, an ever-present shadow that looms over him and lingers in corners. How much time does he have left like this? When will his luck run out this time? If he keeps feeling better, how much harder will he fall? These sorts of questions follow him everywhere. He tries not to let it show- he holds his chin high and his shoulders square, and smiles over the worry. But just because he doesn't let it show doesn't mean it goes away. There's no way to run from that sort of fear, because in the end, no matter how expected the fall is, it still manages to catch him off-guard each time. This vicious cycle that his life follows always makes him the fool, despite how many call him emperor.
He'd been feeling better for a good while now, this time. More than just a few weeks- about two months, verging on three. Long enough to spark that insidious hope that maybe this time, there wouldn't be a downfall. Maybe this time he'd just keep getting better until there isn't a midpoint to come back to. That hope always comes back when there's long periods such as this- and he hates it, he hates it furiously, because he knows it is fruitless. There is always a downfall. For Eichi, there isn't recovery. There's just feeling better and feeling worse.
When he catches his vision flickering in the courtyard, a cold settles over him like ice. Good periods come to an end. He knows this. But-
Across the table from him is Wataru, so perfectly content to keep chattering on about whatever it is he's preoccupied. Truthfully, Eichi had lost the conversation long ago, for he, too, had been perfectly content just watching the way he smiled and laughed.
-It's not fair. It's not fair. Why now? Why here, of all places, this, of all times?
He swallows once, then swallows again, and something must show on his face because Wataru's voice dies down. "My dear?" he asks, gently, carefully, as if one wrong move might make him shatter.
Eichi shakes his head. "It's nothing," he replies, knowing even as he says it how untrue it is. There is a small pain beginning to blister in his temples- when he closes his eyes against the light of the afternoon, it does little to ease the tension.
Of course Wataru doesn't look convinced. His beloved is sharp, a genius in his own right, and to underestimate him is to make a child's mistake. "You look pale," he says, leaning forward over his cup of tea. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine."
"Is that so?"
"It is."
They are at a standstill- for all Eichi is now dreadfully certain that his descent has begun, he can't bring himself to ruin the day he's been having. A break from work is rare, a break that coincides perfectly with Wataru is rarer, and a free day for just the two of them is a gift. It had been so perfect up until now- which, in retrospect, is quite possibly the cruelest part. Lovely days such as this one are exactly the type to, for just a few hours, quell the whisper of anxiety that lives in the back of his head. It's no wonder his curse chose now to return- his life wouldn't count as a tragic comedy otherwise.
Wataru, meanwhile, is persistent but hesitant. Eichi can see it in his eyes- the debate between asking again and letting him be. If Wataru were a kinder man, he might just let sleeping dogs lie, continue their date as if nothing were wrong, and trouble himself over it when the time comes. But Eichi knows Wataru too well, and his heart sinks with it. He knows Wataru. He knows himself, too. He knows that if he's asked a second time, he won't be able to lie.
Like clockwork, the debate is won in Wataru's mind, and he takes Eichi's hand that sits between them with both of his hands. He runs his thumbs over Eichi's knuckles, traveling further over the bones across the back of his hand, and it's only because he is so gentle that Eichi is sure his next words will pierce right through him. "Are you sure you're alright?" Wataru asks again, so, so softly, so kindly, achingly so, and Eichi's resolve crumbles.
"I just." What is there to say that hasn't been said? They've had this conversation so many times, yet each time it still proves difficult. "It's a bit bright," he says, "and I've got a slight headache. That's all."
"I see," Wataru says, and he does, of course. "Well then. I suppose it is rather bright, and I certainly didn't dress for the sun, so why don't we go inside for now?"
He's wearing a thin button-up and jeans that cuff at the ankles. The sky is patched with clouds that occasionally smother the light.
"Yes," Eichi replies. "Yes, that seems like a good idea."
___
It's getting worse.
The pain in his chest is more frequent, headaches more volatile, and he finds himself blinking back smudges of black from the corners of his eyes more often than not. He should probably be at home by now, though more as preparation for what's to come than anything else. But he can't go home, not yet. Not when they still have so much work to do. Not when, after so long of feeling high, he's not ready to be back on the ground.
"Take a break," Wataru murmurs in his ear, draping a blanket over his shoulder from behind. A teacup is placed beside his writing hand, wisps of steam rising pleasantly.
Eichi flips over the document he's working on. "In a moment. I've got to finish this here."
"You always say 'in a moment,' but you never mean it," Wataru chides. "Come now, if you wait your tea will get cold."
"After I finish this form." Getting worse means losing what he could do when he was better. Every function drops in efficiency, one by one, until he's basically bedridden at best, rendered immobile at worst. At the moment, the weakness in his hands is making itself known faster than he can complete his tasks. If he takes a break now, he might not be able to finish until it's too late.
But Wataru's never cared for his logic. "Take a break," he says again, this time more of a command. He pairs the harsher tone with a soft kiss to Eichi's temple, which, really, just isn't fair of him at all. "You'll have time to do it later, my dear."
"You don't know that."
"Oh, I certainly do."
While he wouldn't put it past Wataru to have put in play some strange plan to keep Eichi's schedule free, it's more likely that he's basing his statement off of hope and intuition. "I can't yet," he sighs. "If you'd give me just a few more minutes-"
"Your hands are shaking," Wataru interrupts. His voice is perfectly calm. "Did you know that? I'd worry you were cold if not for the heater."
So he'd noticed, then. Eichi shouldn't expect anything less from him.
When Wataru plucks the pen from his fingers, he barely has it in him to object. His head hurts, his chest hurts, and Wataru knows it. "Honestly, Eichi," he says gently, tugging the corner of the blanket further over his shoulder. "If you keep pushing yourself like this, you're not exactly going to get better any faster."
Eichi stills.
When Wataru doesn't get a response, he hangs his head over Eichi's questioningly. "My dear?" he prods.
"I'm not," Eichi manages to say, jaw uncomfortably tight, "going to get better."
Wataru blinks. "Of course you are, darling. After this passes, you'll be right as rain-"
"No." He pushes out of his chair, but immediately falls back when his vision blurs with color. That shouldn't be happening yet- he can't be this bad yet. He clenches his teeth hard enough to spark pain, but at Wataru's wide eyes, gives up and sucks in a shaky breath. "I'm not going to get better. I'll just keep getting worse, then I'll feel okay again, then worse, and it's not going to end." When he goes to rake his hands through his hair, Wataru catches them- even if he wanted to tear them away (he doesn't), he doubts he could.
"That's because you have a terminal condition, my dear," Wataru says bluntly.
"I am well aware of that."
He moves to sit in front of Eichi instead of standing beside him, pushing himself up on the desk and leaning forward. "While I would love to give you a storybook ending, unfortunately I am not the one in charge of this play, merely an actor in the production." His eyes sparkle with the smallest hint of mischief as he follows that with, "Hopefully a rather important one."
"Of course you are," Eichi replies immediately. Even as frustrated as he is now, to deny Wataru of such a truth is unthinkable.
His smile brightens, mischief turning to sincerity, before sobering once more. "Please try not to agonize over something you can't change right now," he says as he pulls Eichi's hands into his lap. "Just because the good will leave doesn't make it any less good. And pushing yourself too hard only makes the bad longer and the good shorter."
He's right. Of course he's right. And Eichi knows this, is the thing. He knows he should embrace the periods of grace and be kind to himself when things get worse again. But knowing and doing are two very different things.
"It's hard," he whispers, lowering his head into Wataru's lap as well.
"Which part?"
Wataru's fingers begin to run through his hair, and he sighs, relishing at least this small thing in the midst of everything else. "I can't go a day feeling good without fearing when I'll feel bad again," he confesses, glad for the fact that Wataru cannot see his eyes. "I was doing so well for months, Wataru. Months. And even though I knew, I knew it wouldn't last, I still…"
"Oh, my love," he says, folding himself over Eichi's back. He feels his cheek against his spine, and when he begins to talk, he feels the breath through his clothes. "I wish you did not have to suffer such ordeals." His hands are warm on Eichi's back, nails scratching ever so slightly, and if he opens an eye, he sees the curtain of Wataru's hair to his side that shields him from any phantom eyes. "You deserve to rest without such fears. I only hope those moments come to you in time."
When Eichi blinks, he finds the telltale sting of tears. He doesn't deserve this- he doesn't deserve kind words and gentle touch and so much love, not after what he's done. Especially not from Wataru. He is selfish, in every meaning of the word, and if his life is a play then he must be the villain for staying like this.
"You're thinking about something," Wataru murmurs.
"Just that you ought to stop being so kind to me," Eichi sniffs. He hopes Wataru can't tell the state he's in, but that's about as possible as his own recovery. "I'll become a tyrant whose head is too big to wear a crown."
Wataru tuts his disapproval, shaking his head where it lays. "My love is amazing, " he says with a kiss. "And I am allowed to tell him as much."
He hates how easy it is to give in, to keep his head where it lays and accept Wataru's love. It should be terrible- it should be as painful as his chest on his very lowest days, and he would still fall before his feet because at least if it hurt, he would deserve it. It would be some sort of punishment, or recompense. Instead it makes him feel light. Even with the tears making it difficult to breath, and his hands trembling from the effort of clenching the back of Wataru's shirt, he finds that the weight of the embrace alleviates the pain in his chest, and the soft fingers in his hair melt the headache away bit by bit.
He doesn't deserve this. But he can't bring himself to let go.
I love you, he thinks. "Thank you," he says instead.
"You're welcome, my love," Wataru replies, hiding the meaning of his words in plain sight.
Another foolish wish is made, here: as his headache begins to subside and his chest begins to thaw, Eichi hopes that this low period is merciful to him. As long as he has Wataru by his side, perhaps it will even come true.
___
It hurts.
His body is on fire. With his head splintering into thousands of shards, he thinks he must finally understand the plight of Zeus and the birth of knowledge in godly form. The headache is brought on by the fact that he can barely breathe, his chest so twisted and ensnared with whatever weapons his body's launched on him this time that every breath is a fight in itself.
In his grasp is Wataru's hand- he feels as if he is holding him in a vice grip, using every drop of strength to squeeze his fingers until they crack, but when he looks down it's as if his hands are lifeless. Instead it is Wataru's hand that is clutched so tightly, sickly pale skin turning sheet white where the pads of his fingers dig deep.
"You'll be alright," his voice says, filtering through the ringing that crowds Eichi's ears. "You'll be okay. The nurse said you just need to ride it out." He can't tell if it's distortion from the ringing that puts the waver in Wataru's voice, but it must be, right?
There is a nurse in here, isn't there. He can't really see her- can't see much of anything. His vision is muddy, black at the edges and bleeding through, but if he focuses, he can make out Wataru in the narrow center. His face is eerily stoic, so unlike him in every way, that he almost feels more like an actor than his Wataru.
What had Wataru said- ride it out? He's trying. He opens his mouth to say that, that he's trying, but what comes out is some mangled mess of air and spit. His voice won't work, not with the snare in his chest and the rock in his throat, so he tries to squeeze his hand. He squeezes it like a lifeline- he watches as his fingers barely twitch against Wataru's palm.
It was only yesterday he was still able to write. Not for very long, but he could hold a pen, write for a few minutes at a time. He used his time wisely, he thinks. An entry in his and Wataru's shared journal.
Perhaps it was his hubris that brought on this attack. Maybe had he not lifted his pen, spilled his heart out on paper, he would not be here struggling for every next breath. The only reason he's getting any air at all is the oxygen mask they were forced to strap to his face once they realized how severe of a condition he had managed to land himself in.
Only yesterday he was writing in a journal. Only today he was playing cards. And now he's here, barely able to form a coherent thought past the pain in his chest.
It hurts, he tries to say. It hurts.
"I know, my love," Wataru says. He brings a hand to Eichi's forehead and brushes away the clumps of hair, sticky with sweat and tears. "It's going to be alright."
Can't.
"Yes, you can. Keep breathing, Eichi."
Maybe it's better this way. After what he's done, it's only what he deserves, is it not? Maybe this is how he pays Wataru back, how he makes amends for what he's done- give him a front-row seat to his last show.
"Absolutely not, " comes Wataru's voice, and the tremor is too distinct to be caused by the ringing. "Don't you dare say something like that. Don't you dare. "
Is he talking?
The hand on his face moves to his cheek, where thumb and forefingers wipe away more tears. He doesn't really remember starting to cry, but with his chest cracking open like this, it was probably inevitable. "I know it hurts, but if you give up now-" He stops, swallowing thickly, and through Eichi's flickering vision, he thinks Wataru might be crying, too.
No, he thinks, panic cutting through the painful haze of his brain. This is wrong- Wataru can't cry over him, he can't. They're mirror image, swapped across the glass, and Eichi can't do anything because his voice won't work.
"If you give up now," Wataru repeats, so quiet he may as well be a ghost among the white noise, "I won't be able to forgive you. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry…"
If Eichi could speak, he would drop on his hands and knees and beg Wataru not to cry. He wants to tell him that he's the one who's sorry. That Wataru should never forgive him anyway, that he deserves this. He wants- he wants-
Wataru smiles a bitter, broken smile that Eichi can barely even see. "I'm sorry for being so selfish," he says. His hands are so tight, but they're the only thing that Eichi can feel that don't hurt. "I truly am. But I'm begging you, Eichi- don't give up yet."
I love you, he thinks he might say.
He thinks he might hear a response.
___
Eichi wakes to golden light in his eyes.
For a split second, he panics- he really had gone and died, hadn't he? But the panic is quickly assuaged when his vision clears and the light reveals itself to be afternoon sun rays filtering through the curtains.
He puffs out a small sigh, debating whether or not to keep his weary eyes open, when it hits him that he can breathe again. Another, far deeper breath, just to be sure- it's shaky, but clean. The pain that had ensnared his chest and lodged in his throat has finally gone, leaving only an aching, exhausted carcass in their wake.
The ache that he feels is tamed just slightly by the warmth of the sun. Whoever was kind enough to leave the curtains open would need to be thanked, as soon as he's able to get out of bed. Which, given both the warmth of his bed and the residual pain of the night before, will probably not be soon. He just woke up and his eyes are already drooping again.
He almost lets them close, too, if not for the fact that he gains enough sensation to realize his hand is being held. This is enough to make him tilt his head- he'll have a terrible crick there, he's sure- and see Wataru's head pressed into his thigh, both hands tucked gently around his own. There are bags under his eyes, and streaks on his face, and his braid is a half-undone mess haphazardly resting against his cheek. He looks terrible. He looks perfect.
"You stayed," he says before he can stop himself. He shouldn't have done that- he should've let Wataru sleep, should've kept quiet and gone back to sleep himself. But despite the fragility of his words, they're enough to cause Wataru's eyes to flutter.
They open fully, and settle on Eichi without a beat of hesitation. There is no second of adjustment, no assessment of his surroundings- the moment his eyes meet Eichi's, they melt into something tender. His gaze is soft, unbidden with affection, and it takes all of three seconds for a small grin to settle on his face. "My dear," he says. "You're awake."
Eichi nods once. "I worried you terribly, didn't I," he says. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"To assume I had to see it is to assume I would have wanted you alone," Wataru replies. "That is entirely unacceptable. My only regret is not being able to assist you more."
"That's not your job, Wataru." I could never ask you to do such a thing.
"Ah, but it is what I want. We are at a standstill, as we so often find ourselves."
He doesn't have enough left in him to argue, so he lets it drop, resolving to come back to it later. "You did perfectly well," Eichi says instead.
Wataru's smile turns a touch humorous. "I believe what truly helped was when the nurses decided you'd be most comfortable unconscious."
Well. That's probably true. In the end, he couldn't ride it out entirely, if he remembers correctly, and his memory starts to break around when Wataru tells him he's going to be put under. He wonders if he would've survived without it. If he should've.
Wataru flicks his forehead. "No more of that," he orders.
"I didn't even say anything?"
"You were thinking it. I can tell these things."
Who is Eichi to doubt him? He had, after all, been thinking something Wataru would not approve of.
When Eichi doesn't respond, Wataru places his hand along his jaw, running his thumb under Eichi's eye. "I'm glad you're alright," he says warmly.
"I suppose I am too." He is, truly. Seeing Wataru again is better than any salvation death may have granted him, even if the relief he feels at their closeness is a sin.
Wataru's smile doesn't fade, and with a gentle squeeze of his hand around Eichi's fingers, he says, "I love you. You must know this, right?"
It would be easy to say no. No, he didn't know. No, he doesn't believe him. No, this is entirely impossible. And yet.
"I do," he says. The hand around his squeezes again, and he squeezes back with as much strength as he can muster. "I love you, too."
Wataru's smile shifts into something knowing, something patient. Of course he knew. The great genius Hibiki Wataru- nothing less could be expected of him.
He's survived the worst of it once more. And he will get better, as Wataru said, and he will try his best to relish the good that he has before it gets bad again. And when it does get bad, he'll survive it again. He has to.
After all, this is his only life, and he's somehow lucky enough to have a string of fate intertwined with Hibiki Wataru, the genius, the eccentric, the clown, the beloved. His beloved.
"Next time I'm up for it," Eichi sighs, letting his eyes slip shut once more. "Let's take a day off."
He doesn't need to see Wataru's face to know he's smiling. "I would love to."
___
My dearest Wataru,
I can feel myself getting worse by the moment. My apologies for the shaky handwriting, as my strength has dwindled in the past few days. But I thought I might write this down before I lose the nerve, or the ability.
I love you. I have loved you since the moment I first saw you on the screen, and time's arrow only strengthened your hold on my heart. You mean more to me than I can ever put into words, and even now, in our relationship, I still fail to communicate. Perhaps having a written record of it will make it easier to say, or help me find the right words before you read this. And if I have passed from this world by the time this book next reaches your hands, know this: I lived my life loving you. I always have.
Yours always,
Eichi