#junyayo

[blueberrypie20]

JunYayo angst my beloved

(ghost au!)

"Tell me, what did you learn,

From the tillamook burn,

Or the fourth of July?

...

We're all gonna die."

@larz-barz

[flydotnet]

Heart of Diamantine

WHUMMPTOBER, DAY 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

I speedran this fic in a single hour so fuck it, if it has a bunch of typos, it's not my issue anymore at this point lmao (it is, but I'm past the point of caring).

This was very close to be an unashamed novellization of RONC's Musashi route, but in the end, I found a cooler idea and I went balling with it.

Also, get it. I'm writing a Misugi-centric fic on a 14th? I'm clever. I'm very clever, in fact. Biggest brain of the fandom my guy.

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Heart of Diamantine

Summary: 5 times a boy was told to just hold on, and one time a man got to say it back.

Fandom: Captain Tsubasa (I'm flooding tags everywhere)

Word Count: 2.1K words

AO3 version available here.

CW for brief discussion of childbirth.

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Just hold on is a thing Jun has heard a lot of time over his life, come to think of it.

The first time he did was absolutely horrifying to remember. He must’ve been no older than six years old – the memory is too fuzzy for him to remember and too forbidden for anyone else around him to ever speak of it, lest Mother replicate – but the fear from it still resonates vividly inside of him.

That was the first heart attack he could remember having. It was a sunny day outside, the grass so green and bright, the chirp of birds – and everything feeling odd and blurry at the edges. If you had asked him about it, back then, he’d have told you he felt sleepy, but it was weird because it was three in the afternoon.

For all of the blur in his memory, what he can still picture without issue is how Mother jolted up from her chair, letting her teacup break in a thousand pieces and spill onto the wooden board of the patio, as she ran to him, screaming his name in such a distorted way.

What ended up breaking through the haze and the cacophony of chest pains was her telling oh, my baby, just hold on. He was in too much suffering to really react in any other way than cry and let himself be cajoled, then dragged to a doctor whose face he doesn’t remember either. All that’s stuck with him was Mother pouring every tear in her body that day, the coldness of a stethoscope on his chest and the crestfallen looks of everyone around him.

Sometimes, he wonders if, that day, it wasn’t to herself that Mother was saying this – just hold on. Maybe it was her way to channel all of the worry and anguish that suddenly flared inside of her, her way to sustain the trauma this imposed onto her.

Maybe it wasn’t just for him, after all.

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The second time this sentence was so important to him is only so in retrospect – back then, it was just yet another time someone was going to smother his freedom and send him back to square one, to prove he could sustain himself in basic air composition.

It started like every single time his life just got slightly worse: someone found out he had a heart condition that wasn’t going to be cured any time soon. There just was one key difference, this time, though: it wasn’t a grown-up that saw him knelt to the ground, clutching his chest and clenching his teeth.

No, it was a girl he hadn’t really gotten to know quiet yet: Musashi FC’s recently hired manager, Aoba Yayoi. She seemed nice enough, and he was the one to suggest her to the coach because they could use the help and she was interested in soccer (unlike most of his school), but that was kind of it. He really didn’t know much about her.

It came as a shock, to her, to see him in such an unsightly state; but she quickly found her footing again, surprisingly enough. For someone so unprepared, she had the reflex to tend to him and bring him not directly to the coach, but to the clubroom and then get the man. His present doctor self and her present registered nurse self would probably find that stupid, now, but back then, it meant she could understand his reasons as to why keep it secret.

Just hold on, Captain, she told him as she walked him to the clubroom, carrying him with his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

He’s pretty sure, by that point, that his parents had told him that sentence a hundred times over, for so many things that it stopped making much sense; but this one stands out to him because… well, it’s Yayoi. It’s the woman he ended up marrying, of course it stands out to him just because it’s her who said it. Maybe she could’ve told him something else and it’d have stuck with him as well.

There’s no need to ponder upon what didn’t happen, though, that much she’s made him clear to him and vice-versa.

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The third time that this sentence etched itself onto his mind, it was during his very first real soccer match – the semifinals of Nationals, when he was (still) a twelve-year old boy oh so many people were idolizing him for some reason that he couldn’t entirely comprehend (and still can’t quite grasp it even now, why were people fawning over a twelve-year-old anyway?).

This was the grandiose finale he was going to show Father and Mother. This was his last showdown and he had carefully picked the brightest star to go around so, like a comet, he could burn away leaving a trail of light behind him.

It almost wasn’t, because Yayoi was too truthful and well-intentioned but overly clumsy about it, and Tsubasa wasn’t as strong in the mind as Jun thought he was. And even if it all went well in the end, gave the spectacle he was hoping for, praying for, the consequences are still here. They’ve been singed into his very core.

Nothing wrong with both of their reactions, in retrospect, because they were all children and very confused about how to handle his condition; but back then, it stung – it burned and burned like his heart as he ran around and tried to ignore everything that wasn’t going well with him. Everything about him was going to explode, at some point; but he wanted it to be on his own term.

The pain was atrocious, of course, and unlike anything he had experienced before; that was the one thing the gilded cage of his parents’ mansion had protected him from, after all. But he told himself to just hold on, because this was his way of going out, and he was going out with a bang. That’s all that mattered, for forty minutes or so.

His recklessness this day wasn’t enough to kill him, thankfully – but it almost came to be. It did teach him to persevere, that’s for sure; and, in some way, it’s this event that defined much of what he is today.

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Oh, the fourth time it happened, it came from – it came from nowhere, actually. It was just a feeling that overwhelmed his body. It flowed from his thoughts down to his heart and then through his entire self, pulsing like his blood.

Just hold on. It’ll be over before you know it.

In fact, he’d go as far as to say the fourth time happened twice. Both times were so similar, it’s like a two-parter of sorts, with one time echoing the other, ripples in the vast sea that has always been his difficult relationship with being alive.

Just hold on. It’ll be worth it by the end, don’t let it slip.

There is, however, a major difference between both times.

The first time around, it was a selfish wish to face off against a formidable opponent again. He wanted to see Tsubasa again, so he had to beat Hyuga first, so he had to help out the team. He had to hold on so he could get to Nationals – and he didn’t.

The second time around, however, it really was just to help his team get over the threshold and qualify for the finals of a tournament that, back then, was truly going to be his last, at least for a long time, maybe forever. He had to hold on so they could do that, even if his heart was aching all the while – and they did. They won, twice over even.

That must’ve been the turning point in his life – the one thing that taught him to be patient with his body, with himself. It taught him to think of the others as well, now that he could channel both his frustration and his feelings into things much more positive. His ambition became that of helping others, instead of just helping himself by running away from people trying to protect him, to help him.

Considering he’s now a cardiologist of his own, he’d say it was a success, even if maybe the success was that he was still alive and very much kicking. Maybe that’s not a thing a lot of fifteen-year-old could say about themselves, but was he really any fifteen-year-old to begin with?

(Most people would say no).

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The fifth time is a mixture of so many voices and hallucinations Jun isn’t sure of how to untangle that mess, even a decade later. He’s not even sure of what happened: did he die and was somehow brought back? Was that just a near-death experience?

Whatever it was, all he knows is that he once again heard someone tell him to hold on. The circumstances – in the middle of a match, in front of shut-down teammates and unheard audience – make it so he doubts it was anyone but himself.

Yet, the voices he heard weren’t really his. It was his family’s, of his teammates’, of old friends’, that of the woman he wanted to marry. So many people he trusted and who trusted him, telling him to hold on. That he couldn’t let it all end now.

So he got up to his feet, swallowed immense amounts of pain like people with healthy hearts would down a bottle of sake, and continued playing. Continued living. Made it out of the match, tournament, country – whatever. He saved himself.

It was a sort of wake-up call, at the end of the day: he was going to die before most other people because of a thing he barely had control over, and that just how things were, unfortunately, and he needed to be hasty about some things. He didn’t have time to maul over decisions and let opportunities pass by him, or maybe it’d be too late for him, and he’d die with only regrets and what-ifs in his head.

Perhaps this is how it had always been – or, actually, it was just part of the solution. He finally found the balance: live well without worrying too much about the far future, but still think ahead enough to know when to preserve himself and continue living as long as he could. Have fun, have tranquility. And this meant he had to do at least one thing before it was too late, while he could still speak…

He told himself he’d just hold on until the very end, got down to one knee with a little box in his hand, and finally proposed to the one who had stuck by his side for so long no matter how high the tide.

(Somehow, as crazy as he was, she said yes).

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It’s bizarre for him not to be in the position of the one who’s hurting, Jun must admit. He’s so used to being the one on the operating or examination table, to have tools on his skin and inside of his body, that being on the chair next to the patient is just foreign to him, even now, even as he’s now a doctor himself.

Or perhaps it’s because he’s a medical professional now and standing there, unable to do much about a situation, isn’t part of his life anymore. There is no advice nor tool that he could use how to make things go faster for his own wife and it’s terrifying.

He has reasons to be worried, he has reasons not to be, and the constant switch between hot and cold is sickening. One moment he’s trying to smile, another he thinks Yayoi is clutching his hand too hard and it means she’s in trouble, and it may turn awry, because God knows births can go awry – his almost did, and if their child has inherited whatever he has, then it may be too late for them and – and then the midwife says she’s doing so well, and the cycle continues.

It’s very much not like himself to lose his composure like that, even if it’s just internal and, on the outside, he’s the reasonable husband who’s standing by his wife’s side at a moment of need. He should be taking the role so much more at heart than he is, at the moment, too; it’s a way to thank her for all of her deeds and show they’re in this together.

And there is perhaps one sentence he can use that would do the trick.

Just hold on, he tells her, it’ll be over before you know it.

It must be the first time in his life that he’s happy to hear someone cry.

[flydotnet]

Intimacy Is Scary (It Doesn't Have to Be, But I'm Stubborn)

WHUMPTOBER 2023, DAY 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.” Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

Man, that "Non-Sexual Intimacy" tag is starting to rank up uses within this series. This is, what, the third time I'm using it? Fourth maybe?

I'm a simple girl: I love the trope of a character asking another about their scars and I! will! not! feel! bad! about! it! It's just too good to pass up and this time it's Funky Soccer Manga Rarepair Edition. This manga is prone to this kind of shit despite Urabe and Katagiri being the only characters to canonically have scars I can quote on top of my head (seriously, isn't it weird that, officially, Misugi doesn't have one on his chest, at least?), so I took advantage of that.

Despite the fact I had my idea of combining those two prompts specifically as soon as I thought about Day 27, I found myself stumped until this morning, mostly because I didn't want to write JunYayo or MatsuYoshi yet again. So instead I went for my like third most written CT ship lmfao, okay Fly, such variety.

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Intimacy Is Scary (It Doesn't Have to Be, But I'm Stubborn)

Summary: A quick check-up for a wound leads to a much more intimate conversation.

Fandom: Captain Tsubasa

Word Count: 1K words

AO3 version available here.

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In spite of everything about him that always leads to that sort of situations – his reckless style of playing, his intense training regimens, his refusal to ever slow down for anything and paying the price for it all – there’s one thing that’s become clear to Shun: he’ll never get over himself.

It’s not for lack of trying: he just hates being taken care of, he’s pretty sure. He hates the pity in people’s eyes when they look over his wounds and the concern in their voices when he has a fever and they know it just as well as he does. It makes his skin crawl and gives him the overpowering urge to leave the fuck out, never to be seen again, or something along those lines.

This used to just be an annoyance, most of the time; but now, it’s an actual issue. He doesn’t actually want to be like that, so reluctant to let himself get vulnerable even around people he trusts with his whole heart for anything else under the sun.

It’s biting him right now, since he has Kumi looking him over, or rather, trying to. They’ve been at this for the past few minutes and, now that he has to take his shirt off so she can check out if he’s scraped his shoulder or not, it’s raging an awful storm inside his mind.

“Let me see, please,” she tells him with the kindest voice that’s ever addressed to him.

Despite that, and how much he dislikes going against her, Shun remains hesitant. It still crawls under his skin.

“Do we have to?”

She doesn’t bulge, not even an iota.

“I’d feel better if I knew what exactly needs patching up.”

She makes such a compelling case – and it’s her too. The one he can actually call his girlfriend and it wouldn’t be anything close to a lie. That sucks so hard.

“Okay, okay…”

At long last, and after gulping down his ever-fluctuating pride and finally admitting to himself he can’t say no to her anymore, Shun decides to take off the damn thing and let her in at last. The pain that briefly burns even hotter as he does helps him stay grounded and, dare he say it, it may’ve softened the embarrassment that should be flowing freely inside his veins right about now (or maybe he’s finally getting over himself).

Kumi doesn’t wait a second longer before she takes out the first-aid kit on her lap and cleans out the scrape. It stings and itches, but it’s stop annoying him as much long, long ago. You do get used to it, after a while. In mere minutes, she has bandaged it without a single default and sat back inside her chair, proud smile on her face.

“Here we go, all done!” She announces, as peppy as ever.

“Thanks, it’s great!”

Right as he’s about to put on his shirt again, her eyes grow wider, and he stops midway there.

“What’s this one?” She asks, apparently mesmerized by the thing, if her wide-open eyes and how they sparkle is any indication.

He follows the direction of her fingertip, which lands on an old scar he forgot he had. It’s long, almost circling his shoulder, and clearly looks stitches – at least, it’s obvious to him, most likely because he knows he was under the knife for that one. It’s had the time to blanch out and regain some of his usual skin colour, so it’s not as ugly as it used to be (even if he’s unable to wear it as a badge of pride, unlike Urabe).

“I, uhm… I don’t remember it well, but I broke my shoulder when I was little. They had to screw stuff in place, I think.”

“Oh, that must’ve been a bad fracture, then.”

“I was apparently super annoying about being unable to use my arm. Also, I used to beep when passing through metal detectors, I can remember that. That was kinda funny, though.”

“As in?”

“I’d whine to go to sports class, even if it’d have been useless since I couldn’t use my damn arm.”

Kumi giggles.

“Then you don’t seem to have grown up this much!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” he tries to sound offended, but all he does is chuckle.

“You know what I mean! You’d still try to play soccer even without a foot – in fact, you’ve already tried playing with a sprained ankle, I remember that!” She calms down and points to another, this time much lower. “Oh, and this one?”

Shun has trouble remembering how he ended up with this one. It’s a smaller one over his ribs, far from the much cleaner, clinical one on his shoulder. He’s gotten injured enough time that he’s starting to lose track of which scar was made by what incident or how recent it actually is.

This one should be familiar, no? It’s on top of his ribs. Did he break a rib? Most certainly, he’s for sure bruised some multiple times, because running fast and loose means tripping on your laces. It’s awkward, though, how his own body confuses him, and especially now that someone is asking about it.

“I don’t really know,” he ends up admitting, not without a layer of shame. “It’s been a long time and I don’t know how it came here. Probably got it while playing around or something.”

“Oh, I see.” She does sound let down, which sucks ass. “It’s fine! You’re already really kind of replying to my questions.”

His cheeks feel a lot hotter.

“It’s no big deal,” he spits out.

He puts his shirt back on without adding any other world.

A vigorous volley of knocks at the door of the clubroom prompts them to both turn their heads around.

“Nitta! Manager! What are you two still doing in there?!”

Goddammit, that’s Ichijo.

“Coming, coming!” He yells out. “We should get outta here before they suspect something.”

She nods and gets up, giving him her hand – which he gleefully takes.

[flydotnet]

All Will Be Fine (If You Say So)

WHUMPTOBER 2023, DAY 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.” Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

This story won't make sense if you've never read The End of Kamoshida, at least until like chapter 8 or so. This story isn't meant to be read by people who don't have the context for it; so if you don't plan on reading TEOK ever (and I'd feel you, since that alone requires a bunch of HSAU knowledge the average JunYayo enjoyer doesn't have), then it's perhaps not in your best interest to read this one! I still appreciate you taking the time to read those notes.

This is a bit silly because, well… this is one of my best works for Whumptober 2023 lmao, since I managed to make it focused on whump affairs, kept it on track and made it snappy on top of it. So, uh… woops!

This fic is set between chapters 7 and 8 of TEOK, since Jun's lucid in this and not speaking in such broken Japanese I could've come up with it (albeit I wouldn't have shattered on purpose). It's an add-on about my ship of the moment because idk, I'm in the JunYayo mood lately, that's how it is sometimes. HSAU JunYayo is one of my fav dynamics to write to begin with, so it's never too hard for me to come up with ideas to write for them haha.

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All Will Be Fine (If You Say So)

Summary: Yayoi confronts her boyfriend about what the hell happened. It turns out not all is fine, at all.

Fandom: Your friendly neighbourhood high school AU (it's Captain Wing again)

Word Count: 1.2K words

AO3 version available here.

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The room is silent, aside from the regular beeps of the medical machinery. Jun has most certainly tried to explain to her what those doodads do, multiple times in fact, but she can never quite remember which does which. Well, she can read a heart monitor, that’s the one thing she’s had to learn to use on the fly over and over until it finally registered into her brain and never came out the other way.

She has a conflicted relationship with the heart monitor in his bedroom. On one hand, the fact it’s beeping regularly, without fault, is the sign he’s still alive and has come on top of what must’ve been one of the worst ways to almost go; but on the other, it’s a constant reminder that things have gone wrong, every beep is a kick back into her stomach, and nothing tells her it’s not going to flatline the next moment.

At least, today’s Jun is awake: even better, he’s lucid again, and watching her put flowers inside a vase.

“These are… white lilies, right?”

His voice is horribly hoarse, as if he had screamed and screamed for hours on hand; but it’s his voice, his words, a sign he’s still alive. She’s missed it so much.

“Yes, they are,” she replies as she adjusts the flowers.

“They mean… purity, if I’m not wrong.”

“In Hanakotoba, they do, yes.”

She goes to sit by his side once more, her hands a couple centimetres shy from holding his left. The pipe still going inside his arm makes it somewhat intimidating.

“Is something wrong, Yayoi?”

The question sounds like utter mockery. How couldn’t it? Even knowing this is a candid, caring question from the man she wants to build a life with even more so than ever, it hurts. She was so worried, almost sickeningly so, that the question being so nonchalant gives her whiplash.

Still, it’s no fault of Jun, she knows that. He did what he thought was best, even if it was reckless, despite how aware he was aware of the danger of what he was doing. He didn’t ask her about it, because he knew she’d have said no; why wouldn’t she? He was going off, on his own, against a man who would harm him in all sorts of ways she couldn’t fathom.

“I’m… I’ve been so worried for you, Jun,” she ends up responding after taking way too long not to seem suspicious.

“I imagine so. Things have been… hard on you, lately.”

“You could say that, yes.”

Her own words are filled with pain she doesn’t dare unleash, just because he’s the one who needs support at the moment. Who’d even put them ahead of someone who, even now, has a persistent, soaking cough. She’s never seen him so fragile before – so much closer to a porcelain statue than he’s ever been.

“I’ve not been awake for long,” he says, slowly, quietly, “so I’m still… finding my footing, so to speak.” He looks at her and even his gaze is a mussed blade. “But I can tell you’re hurt.”

“Of course I am, you almost got killed.”

Her fingers intermingle with his – his touch is hot, trembles in her hands.

“Ah… That’s true, yes.”

Frustration builds like mercury in a thermometer.

“Why do you sound so nonchalant about it?”

“It’ll be fine. You shouldn’t worry so much.” He clears his throat again. “I’m still alive, so you are. I’d rather see you smile.”

“But you almost died, Jun! That’s not something to take with a light heart!”

“Ha, light heart,” he chuckles in the middle of a cough. “It’s happened before, it’ll probably happen again. Nothing to worry about, I’m used to flirting with death.”

“It’s not a reason. Don’t you realize how bad this could’ve been…?”

She has the urge to cry. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it!

“I assure, things will be fine by the end. When have they not?”

Without any fanfare, let alone a warning, ears now flow down from her eyes, blurring her view, tainting her voice; yet the words are clear as they leave her chest,

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am!”

She can’t quite see through the water veil, not to mention the sobs wracking her body in waves, but she can somehow guess – no, tell – Jun is staring back at her, perhaps with doe eyes, maybe unable to understand all of the sorrow he inflicted on her without realizing it, blissfully unaware of how badly he’s undermined it.

After all, he could understand it, he’d have already found a way to answer.

“I know what you’re trying to do, but this won’t work! I don’t think you realize how awful things have been for all of us, but especially for you. When I learned Kamoshida almost drowned you to death, I… I could barely register it. I thought that was it, that finally, someone got you. He could’ve taken your life, Jun! How do you think this has affected all of us?! You can tell me things you’ll be fine all you want, but you can’t believe in that either! Not after what happened!”

She takes a deep breath to both recover her voice and take some time to calm down – brush her tears away, tie back her hair. When the veil lets up and the waves of sorrow finally slow down, she’s greeted with soft eyes and a stronger press on her hand.

“You don’t look or sound fine,” she continues. “You’re still ill, you’re exhausted, and you’re shaken; an of course you’d be, you almost died in a horrible way! You must still be scared! You don’t need to pretend in front of me that you’re fine!”

Jun remains stunned, his heavy, congested breathing the only thing to come out of him for a long moment. Another urge swells inside her, this time to comfort him, cajole him until all is actually fine – which is naïve, so very naïve of her, for them, because they both know nothing’s fine at the moment.

So she settles for a good medium: carefully, she gets up from the chair and cups his face, taking in the heat of his skin, oh so bittersweet because it’s neither a dead man’s nor one of a healthy one. He doesn’t stop her, lets her kiss him on the forehead, leaving a slight trace of gloss behind it.

“You’re right, I’m not fine,” he tells her with a slightly more relaxed posture and tears in the corners of his eyes as well. “I’ve had nightmares about this pool and this… monster of a man…”

It’s his turn to divulge vulnerability, his body shaking and his already fickle breath trembling.

“Don’t hesitate to tell me, then.” His available hand lands on her wrist, telling her to stay. “We’re here for each other, aren’t we?”

“We are, yes.”

“Things will be fine, I’m sure, but let’s not pretend like we’re not going through hard times.”

He nods.

“I do have one question…”

“Hmm?”

He looks up at her, the tears still there but drying up.

“The lilies… You were trying to make a pun?”

She replies with a smile and another kiss, still on his forehead.

“Maybe.”

[flydotnet]

Once More, From the Top

WHUMPTOBER 2023, DAY 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?” Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

I've been in an oddly JunYayo mood, lately, for a reason I can't quite pin down. I mean, you know I had to write Misugi for the "Flatline" prompt, but it's not just that, I think. I've been on a

At first, this was going to be a TCEU thing, but on top of that being a giant-ass spoiler, I didn't want to do it like Takahashi and make Yayoi a vulnerable, squishy thing - so I rewrote RS instead. Oh, also, I made it make more sense because, for as hilarious as ch94, it's kind of a scandal how stupid it is lol

And yes, it's a triple treat, because why not! All prompts fit the idea, so I went ahead, even if they're all pretty figurative, in the end.

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Once More, From the Top

Summary: Yayoi's boyfriend goes into cardiac arrest and it's about to be more than just his problem.

Fandom: Captain Tsubasa (but I made the female character less of a useless object! Yay women!!)

Word Count: 1.3K words

AO3 version available here.

CW for discussion of near-death experiences.

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It happened again.

Even from the audience, so much higher than the grass this all happened on, she knows what’s happened already. It comes to her as nothing more than a sad expectation come true: once more, before her eyes, the man she loves is undergoing cardiac arrest. A shot to the chest and he came down, folding like a piece of paper.

It’s disheartening how familiar the sound of a flatline is, to her, even as a nurse. It’s in fact such a common sound for her to hear that, even now, even through the fervour and shock of a packed stadium, she can hear it ring inside her ears.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, because it always does, it always will – but it stopped shocking her a long, long time ago.

From the audience, all she can do is helplessly watching the paramedics rush to the inside of the field, all the while the match has come to a screeching halt. This isn’t the first time this has happened throughout this match, and it’s not even the first emergency that has come up – yet it’s the one that turns her blood to ice.

Of course, this could be because she’s in love with Japan’s number 14, she won’t exclude that; but the medical professional in her is also speaking. When Schneider accidentally ripped into his old friend’s back, Jun immediately jumped into action and did what he could to get the situation under control. It was reassuring to watch him jump through the motions and follow all procedures she’d have, without fail, without a single delay.

But now, Jun’s the one who’d need such help. A team is made out of people with all sorts of different skillsets.

The shrill of the flatline keeps ringing, so loud she can barely hear Yoshiko above it, no matter how close they physically are – Yayoi’s eyes are on the field and that’s all there is to it.

Her legs ache for her to move. The girlfriend wishing for a proposal is itching to help the one she holds the closest to her own heart, to make sure he’s all right or will be all right, to care for him until he can get back up on his feet. The nurse with an iron dedication to her work, meanwhile, is seeing a patient in need, in a critical situation even, and all of the hairs on her arms are risen.

They’re on the case, of course, she realizes as much; but the sight, even from far away, of him on a gurney, transported who knows where, is sickening. She doesn’t which part of her identity it sickens, and at this point, they’re so intertwined it doesn’t matter. All she wants is to make sure everything will be all right.

So, with a heart filled with all sorts of emotions and duties, her feet move for her.

“Move out of the way, please, I’m a nurse!” She screams in what she can guess is slightly broken English as she makes her way to the sight of the incident, relieved to have her licence tucked inside her purse.

---------------------------------------------------------------

A hospital is never calm, she’s come to learn with the years and the internships. There’s always a beep there, a ring here, someone running, someone crying. It’s a place of happy endings, bittersweet beginnings and, at times, tragic endings.

It’s a place where, sometimes, you can’t follow the ones you love. The doors here are some of the heaviest you’ve ever seen. It may be on you, it may be on the place you’re going to. Sometimes, things just don’t go your way and you can’t do anything about it. Life’s unfair and that’s it.

She’s seen death with her very eyes, heard screams and wailing and the shrill of the monitor flatlining, touched warm corpses with too thin of a glove not to shiver the first time it happened. She’s been to the morgue before, although never alone, never for someone she personally knew.

She’s been lucky, so far, and her luck hasn’t given up on her yet, it’d seem.

She lets a Spanish doctor guide her to a bedroom, in silence, listening to all he has to say. The case was tricky, and the patient surely had a near-death experience – but that’s all it came down to, a near-death experience. Jun’s not dead yet. He made it, once more. Maybe he’ll never die from his illness, at this point, who knows?

She said she was his wife, when asked about her relation to him. Despite the lack of a ring on both of her hands, they believed her, perhaps because it made sense that the Japanese lady was married to the Japanese man who wore a matching shirt to her when he arrived there. It’s convenient. She wishes it was true.

It’s not surprising that, when she arrives, he’s already awake and waving at her. It’s weak, slow and painful to him, his smile is both genuine and tainted with agony. There’s an IV of painkillers right into his arm – into his wrist – and… it’s still so familiar. It’s still happened before, so why is she still shaken? She’s seen people in direr states than Jun is right before her eyes.

Maybe that’s what he wants her never to live. Maybe that’s why he won’t marry her, like they’ve talked about before.

That pain seems small, though, in comparison to what they could have.

She walks to the bed, picks a chair, sits down by his side. Holds his hand, as she’s done so many times before. It’s a routine, almost a ritual. She doesn’t know if it’s comfort or an ever-repeating cycle of unhappiness.

“Good afternoon,” he greets her with a smile just as shaky as his arms.

“Good afternoon to you too,” she replies with just as much tenderness. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. Tired, maybe sore.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“You didn’t stay for the rest of the match?”

“No, I… wouldn’t have been able to focus on it, if I had stayed there.” She shakes her head before her voice gets too thick. “We won, though.”

“Oh, that’s good,” he sighs in beyond obvious relief. “Is everything fine? You look shaken.” He looks down almost right after. “Though I guess why doesn’t take rocket science to guess….”

She giggles, but it sounds heartbroken.

“Please don’t go where I can’t follow, Jun,” she lays it bare. “I’m afraid, one day, you’ll just… leave, and never come back.”

He stares back with sympathy, before his eyes look sideway, then back at her. It’s like he can’t even look at her in the eyes but forces himself to anyway; for her good, she’d suppose.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, his voice just as defeated. “I didn’t see it coming. I’m sorry you had to see that... once again.”

“It���s… It’s fine, I think. Once I’m over the shock again, and once I see you back on your feet. It always gets better.”

“You’re right to be concerned if it one day isn’t,” he tells her, all pretence of happiness dropped, his available hand on his chest. “Neither you nor I can know if, one day, it won’t be enough to finally kill me.”

The question drops like a stone in a pond.

“If you win, can I marry you?”

It’s not pretty, and it causes him to gasp, but it’ll do. Can’t take back her words, can’t hide how she feels.

“What?”

“I’m… used to this. I know how painful it is for you, but also for me… and I’m ready. I think it’s worth putting up with.”

“Yayoi, I…” He nods, his eyes finally regaining some of their diamond spark. “If Japan wins this competition, you can marry me.”

He hands her his pinkie, and for how childish it is, she goes along with it.

“I’ll take us to our word.”