Chapter Text
I had always believed in the magic of wishes. As a child, I would spend countless nights staring up at the sky, making wishes on the first star I saw. It was a silly habit, one I never outgrew, even as I got older. But now, standing on my balcony, I felt a desperate need to cling to that childhood hope. A foolish, desperate wish made under a sky full of stars. I stared up at the night, my heart heavy with the longing I had kept buried for so long.
"Please," I whispered, my breath forming small clouds in the cold air. "Make him mine."
The night sky was clear, stars twinkling like diamonds scattered across a velvet canvas. I closed my eyes, my heart heavy with longing. I wished, as I had done so many times before, for Bokuto to be mine. I wished for the courage to confess my feelings, to bridge the gap between us. But deep down, I knew it was a wish that would never come true. Bokuto had always been a force of nature in my life, his energy and passion drawing me in like a moth to a flame. But what began as admiration had grown into something much deeper, much more painful. I loved him, and the realization hit me with a force that left me breathless.
A cruel, poetic ailment that manifests from unrequited love. I had heard of it, but never imagined it would happen to me. The first petal was small, almost delicate, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions raging inside me. I hid it, of course. I couldn’t bear the thought of Bokuto knowing, of him seeing the physical manifestation of my feelings. Each time I coughed up another petal, I buried it in silence, the taste of flowers bitter on my tongue. Did I hide it well? Or so I thought. Keeping the flowers and the pain out of sight. But as the days turned into weeks, it became harder to conceal the blood-streaked petals that I coughed up in the dead of night.
The nights grew colder, and so did the silence in my room. Each time I pressed a hand to my chest, I wondered how something as beautiful as love could hurt this much. The petals came more frequently now—white, delicate things stained with red crescents. I would wake in the middle of the night choking on sweetness that felt more like punishment, clutching my ribs as if that could stop my heart from tearing itself apart. I kept wishing, foolishly, that the stars would grant me just one miracle. But every dawn only reminded me that hope was slowly killing me.
Bokuto had always been a storm I willingly walked into. His laughter could fill a room, chasing away every shadow without even trying. His warmth drew people in effortlessly, and I had been no exception. At first, I admired him from afar—his strength, his passion, his unwavering drive. But admiration became affection. Affection became longing. And longing, cruel and uncontrollable, twisted into love… a love that lodged itself painfully in my chest like a blooming thorn.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Hinata asked as he patted my back when I excused myself from the court, worried at whatever this is. I looked at the petals on my hand, it was too... painful. of course it is. I watched Bokuto laugh—bright, loud, unbothered. He shone so naturally it made my eyes sting. I memorized his smile the way a dying man memorizes his last sunrise, knowing it wasn’t meant for me. He’d pat my shoulder, joke around, ask if I was tired lately. I always lied. Always said, "I’m good." Because how could I tell him the truth? How could I say, “My body is falling apart because I love you too much”? I couldn’t burden him with a love he never asked for. So I swallowed my petals and my feelings together.
"Yeah, Hinata. I'm alright." I smiled and patted his head, I can see how worried Hinata is. He was the only one who figured this out... or in any cases saw me. I didn’t realize what was happening until the first petal fell from my lips—small, pale, and trembling like a newborn secret. That was careless of me.
I do remember how it happened, it was a fear of mine. No one would have guessed that in the silence of his room, I pressed his fist to his lips to stifle the sound of petals forcing their way up his throat. The first time it happened, I stared at that petal for a long time, stunned by how something so delicate could represent something so devastating. I hid it, of course. I hid everything. I swallowed back the petals, the tears, the trembling ache in my lungs. At night, when I coughed up more—some streaked with blood, others with the scent of flowers that did nothing but remind me of him—I buried them in silence. I convinced myself I could handle it. That I could endure it. That he didn’t need to know. But then Hinata found out.
Flashback.
I was walking sitting at the bench, looking at Bokuto having fun at the court. "Hey Akaashi-san! What are you doing out here?" Hinata asked, I was startled by him but still I made sure my demeanor is calm.
I cleared my throat, "Hey Hinata, I'm just taking a break."
"You look really pale..."
"I'm al-urk-"
Petals spilled. Uh-oh...
"Akaashi-san! Let me call Bok-"
"Don't."
"B-but.."
"Hinata, let's keep this a secret."
Hinata wanted to say more, but I shook my head. "Why...?" Hinata asked. I wanted to tell him. I wanted—more than anything—to look him in the eyes and say, “I love you, even though it hurts.” But every time I imagined the moment, my courage crumbled. What if he looked at me with pity? Or worse—what if he pulled away? That fear rooted itself deep inside me, stronger than the vines growing in my lungs. So I swallowed my confession and let the petals fall where no one could see, all while pretending that the tightness in my chest was nothing more than exhaustion.
Flashback ended.
The taste of metal and flowers lingered on my tongue, a bitter reminder of the love slowly killing me. And through it all, Bokuto remained blissfully unaware—so caught up in the joy of volleyball, of laughter with friends, of living a life that didn’t include my silent suffering. The gym was alive with noise—shoes squeaking against polished floors, volleyballs echoing sharply as they struck hands and floors, teammates shouting encouragement. The world around him was bright, loud, warm. A world he fit into effortlessly.
"I'll be here, Akaashi-san."
"Thank you." Bokuto was still on the court when the next wave of pain hit me. He looked incredible, as always—sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, muscles flexing with every perfect spike. His laughter rang through the gym, booming and contagious. It almost made it easy to forget the petals in my pocket, crumpled from how tightly I had pressed them into my palm earlier that morning. Almost.
I tried to ignore the familiar tightness creeping up my throat. It started as a prickling sensation—small, manageable. But then the vines twisted inside my chest, sharp and demanding. I pressed a hand over my mouth, hoping it was enough, but my body lurched forward, and the cough ripped itself out of me. I stopped it.
Painful. Too painful.
I panicked—glancing back into the gym in fear that he might have heard. He hadn’t. Of course he hadn’t. Bokuto was in his element, fully locked in, surrounded by people who matched his energy in ways I never could.
His voice carried across the court, bright and unburdened, "Nice set! Let’s run it again!" He was shining. And I was falling apart in a dim hallway just out of sight.
"I'll be taking a break." I said calmly towards Hinata, and the moment I stepped outside, the cold air hit me—and another petal slipped past my lips, fluttering toward the ground like a quiet, tragic confession. At least he didn't see a thing.