Chapter 39: For The Golden Flower I Stole In That Rain (III)

Those words hung in the room.

The second I said it…I knew.

I couldn’t stay here.

I couldn’t waste another second.

Not with the weight of truth finally crashing over me.

And to the thought that she’s waiting somewhere with her fingers curled around hope just as tightly as mine.

I had to move.

I ripped the IV out of my arm.

Pain flared immediately, shooting white through my vision, but I didn’t care. The monitor screamed in protest. Blood stained my gown, and I ripped a piece of curtain fabric to cover it.

I stumbled in weakness, barely catching myself, but I pushed through the door.

Behind me, I heard my mother’s voice break into panic.

“Itsuki-chan, where are you going?!”

Kaori gasped as she saw me, her tiny voice folding into fear.

But I didn’t stop.

“To find my colors.”

They looked stunned. But then—something miraculous.

They smiled.

Tears rimmed my mother’s eyes. Kaori clutched her blanket and grinned.

I smiled back. I think it was the first real smile I’d made in years.

“I’ll see you later—with her!”

And then I ran.

Down the hallway.

Past the shouting nurses.

Past the people clinging to dear life.

The walls are a blur of sterile white and beeping machines. My slippers slapped against the floor like gunshots in the silence.

I threw the emergency stairwell open.

The metal ladder was cold, and I was trembling. I didn't know if it was from the fever still lingering or the memories catching up.

All I knew was—I was running out of time.

I burst through the hospital exit.

My legs were jelly. My head was burning.

And yet—

I saw a delivery bike parked near the gate.

I bowed to the empty air. "I’m sorry!"

And stole it.

The tires screeched as I took off.

The town was alive.

Children with sparklers. Old men sipping sake. Fireworks lighting up the sky. Red, green, blue—like the colors of a past life reborn.

I pedaled faster.

The wind cut into my skin like glass.

But in my head—

Only one name.

Kousaka Akari.

I pedaled harder.

My legs screamed.

The fever hadn’t broken fully, and I could barely see straight, but I didn’t care.

Every turn I made, every red light I ignored, every insult I received—it was like outrunning the version of me that had forgotten her.

She said that I should forget her if my memories returned, but how could I?

I will always recognize her, even if it's just a single strand of hair.

Even if it’s just a single letter that belonged to her name.

Or a sound similar to her voice, a curse in other languages that sounded like French.

I will always find her.

In the sound of an umbrella being opened.

In the smell of dango on a rainy street.

In the interludes between love songs.

And when the world wakes up in the sunrise, a color that resembles herself.

I would still know her.

I reached the hill, the slope before the park.

I turned too hard.

And crashed.

My body hit the asphalt.

My palms burned.

My knee twisted in the wrong direction.

I lay there for a second, staring at the blinking city lights through the blurring haze.

I could have stayed down.

But—

I remembered her.

Sitting beside me.

Quietly sketching the world so she didn’t disappear in it.

I screamed.

And got up.

I crawled.

Then I stumbled.

Then I ran.

Ran like hell.

Ran like my entire soul was bleeding out of me.

Ran like I could die at any second and still have no regrets if I reached her.

I reached the leafless camphor trees.

The park.

The banners swayed in the night wind.

The grass shimmered under the afterglow of the fireworks.

And I—

I roared.

“Kousaka-san!!”

My voice cracked.

Over and over.

“Kousaka Akari!!”

Each cry was a prayer.

A plea.

And then—

I saw it.

The bench.

Our bench.

Empty.

Of course I was too late.

But I had to believe.

I stumbled into the open clearing, heart pounding so loud it drowned the noise of the fireworks.

But I was still screaming her name.

I was still making the world know that I loved her so much.

That I was proud to be the dango boy she chose.

That every fiber of her being, I want it to be mine.

I willed my limbs to move, there was no energy left in them.

So I invested everything to will my throat, even though my voice already became hoarse.

My vision wavered, darkening as though I was underwater, the world swirling.

But before I could succumb to exhaustion, a hand brushed my hair,

I looked up.

My breath caught.

Golden hair tied into a lazy bun. A worn luggage trolley beside her. Eyes blue like the skies above Marseille.

She smiled.

And said—

“You took long enough.”

I laughed.

Or sobbed.

Or both.

But I conquered the pain and weight and got up to my knees.

“But I made it,” I whispered back.

She knelt in front of me, wiping the blood and tears from my cheeks.

“You crétin,” she murmured. “You’re always hurting yourself for me.”

I reached for her hand and held it like it was the first and last time.

“Do you hate that the boy you love keeps hurting himself for you?”

“I don’t.” she smiled. “I love you too much to hate you for being a selfless idiot.”

“So you’re admitting that you’re sadistic?”

Her brows knit.

“I said I love you too much.”

“And I love you more, Kousaka-san.”

And we both cried—tears that felt lighter than anything I’d ever shed.

Then, as careful as always, I reached out and pulled her in.

We kissed under the fireworks of the New Year’s celebration.

There was something different when you’re now free of everything that might hold you back and you’re finally with the one you loved the most.

Our kiss was slow, devoid of deadlines, and free of problems.

We found in each other what we’d been searching for across a thousand lifetimes.

And when we pulled away, we didn’t speak right away.

We just held each other.

Because sometimes, silence is enough when hearts remember what words cannot.

The night rolled on.

We didn’t say anything after that.

The world had waited, and now, we arrived.

The skies had blossomed.

And I finally found her again.

The long, winding road I took was hell.

But in the end—

The golden flower that I stole in that rain bloomed into something that I can call my own.

And this time—

I’d never let her go.