Chapter Text
Leaned back, Hero stared at the wispy tufts of cloud floating listlessly through the sky, completely enamored. He was brought back to the ground when he felt two taps on the back of his hand.
"Here, take one," Mari offered, holding two medium sized, indigo wildflowers in her palm.
Hero gently procured a flower from her and examined its petals. He recognized the hue immediately as that of the wild cornflower. Basil taught him that cornflowers represent unity, prosperity, and hope for the future. Regardless of whether Mari knew what she was saying with the flowers or not, they brought a smile to his face.
"When did you pick these?" he asked.
"I saw them blooming this morning, out by the treehouse. I wasn't sure why, but they reminded me of you," Mari twisted the flower's long stem tightly around her pointer finger before bisecting it with a tug.
"Could it be," Hero looked at her with a smirk. "that I catch your eye from afar?"
Mari snickered. "Turning up the charm I see. But for what reason, Hero? You know I only have eyes for you," She gave a sly smile as she leaned over and tucked her flowers stem behind his ear, pulling back as she pretended not to notice the red hue blooming on Hero's face. Alas, she had to stifle a laugh when she noticed the contrast between the cool blue of the flower and the blazing crimson of his cheeks.
He never could compete with her when it came to teasing. Mari seemed to be the only person in Faraway that was completely charmed by Hero's true personality, rather than the façade he displayed around adults and newer people. She instantly saw through any attempts of his to be sly, and sent them right back to him ten-fold. Though Hero knew he would never be the one to emerge victorious, he incited this exchange frequently. Something about seeing Mari's eyes deviously glint when she noticed an opportunity to tease him was rewarding, in a way. It was a side of her that very few people saw; hidden beneath her caretaker persona. Perhaps that is why they work so well as a pair; they'd never felt the need to hide from one-another. Mari never needed to be effortfully charmed, and Hero never needed a perfect melodic voice of reason. They just needed each other.
In an attempt to recover from his flustered state, Hero quickly plucked the stem of his flower in half and returned her affectionate gesture. His hand lingered beside her ear, woven in her hair. Mari blushed, but she didn't look away. It'd be useless for her to try hiding her feelings for Hero now. Instead, she reached up to take his hand in her own.
"I'll never understand how your hands stay so soft," she said. "You wash them so often, but they're never cracked or dry. Even when we were kids, they felt as soft as they do now."
When Hero would be focused on the underlying feelings beneath actions and events, Mari was always present in the moment. She felt every blade of grass, every ray of sun, and every tear on her shoulder. Not only did she feel the physical, but the metaphysical as well. Her sensitive, yet strong, heart; loving was easier than breathing for Mari.
Oh, did she have so much love to share.
Before Hero could answer her question, a strong gust of wind came from behind.
The flower tucked behind Hero's ear dislodged and floated into the water.
He moved to catch it, but Mari squeezed his hand.
She pulled the flower from her hair and placed it next to his in the pond.
The short stems of the flowers crossed as their petals remained afloat.
Another gust of wind blew, and the flowers danced away, spinning around one-another as they drifted further from the dock.
Mari stared, smitten. "...This reminds me of the Waltz of the Flowers."
"The Waltz of the Flowers..." Hero thought.
"Tchaikovsky. Most recognize it from the Nutcracker." She hummed a few bars of the tune for him.
She was right, the melody really did suit the atmosphere and visual of the cornflowers. Not just that, the name of the piece was a perfect fit for the scene, too.
After that display of Mari's knowledge of all things music, Hero began to wonder how often she attributed pieces she knew to real events. When her family would host parties, she seemed to have a melody that fit the atmosphere perfectly. Before summer, when the pair would walk to school together, she would hum a new jingle each morning. To Hero, it appeared that Mari lived and breathed music.
"How often does that happen?" he asked.
"Hm?"
"How often do experiences remind you of music?"
"That's...a tough question to answer, Hero."
"And why is that?"
"Well, it's all in my head. Up there, it isn't music that revolves around the world. It's the exact opposite. So, I guess the answer to your question is: nearly anytime I experience something. I talked to my piano instructor, she mentioned this thing called synesthesia. It's a condition where the stimulation of one sense triggers the stimulation of another sense. For me, sight triggers hearing," Mari explained, carefully.
"I think I've heard of that before," Hero recalled his AP Psychology class covering the condition briefly. "So you're not reminded of pre-existing music pieces, but a whole new configuration of notes entirely?"
"Not always to that extent. Most of the time, I just get a note or two."
"Still, that's incredible, Mari!" he grinned.
"It's just a little thing, no need to make a big deal out of It!" She tried profusely to diminish his astonishment, but nothing could hide the red heating her face.
For once, Hero had succeeded in making her visibly flustered.
...
After the sun had been down for some time, the air grew chillier. Mari rubbed her arms repeatedly as a way of saying, "Let's head somewhere warmer."
Hero nodded, and they stood from the dock. Before she could start walking back to the blanket, he quickly removed his hoodie and offered it to her. She smiled, and graciously accepted it.
As Mari folded her picnic blanket into a tidy rectangle, Hero gathered two small plates and the tupperware containing the leftovers of their small meal. Once everything was tucked nicely away in Mari's picnic basket, she offered him her hand.
And so they walked through the trees, hand in hand, all the way back to their lamp-lit street.
As they drew closer to Hero's house, Mari's posture deflated. It appeared that she didn't want to say goodbye just yet. He squeezed her hand.
"Is something wrong?" He looked at her face, twisted and pained.
In an instant, though, that expression was replaced by one of subdued sadness.
"It's just...hm." She bit the inside of her bottom lip. "...How about we go to the treehouse? I'm just not ready for this night to end, Hero."
"Neither am I."
Passing the blue and orange pinwheels in his front yard, they stepped along the pale grey concrete of the sidewalk toward the back gate of Mari's home.
Suddenly, without any warning, Hero was overtaken by the strangest of feelings. Like he'd seen this scene before. Logically, he had. They used this gate all the time. But this scene was entirely different. It wasn't nostalgia he was experiencing, no. It was the loneliest of déjà-vu's.
For the second time that night, he felt hollow. And once more, that feeling disappeared when Mari broke him from his trance with a light squeeze of her hand.
"I'll set my basket down inside. Wait for me?"
Hero nodded, but he didn't want her to go.
"Please, don't leave me here alone." he thought.
He didn't want her to fade away.
Relief crept through his mind when she kissed his cheek. Her warm lips, her nose, and her eyelashes brushed against his skin. She was alive. Mari hadn't gone anywhere, and Mari would still be there, even if she left his sight.
Why he thought this way, Hero had no clue. Confused, he swept those thoughts into a dusty, cobwebbed corner of his mind labeled; "Feelings I'll let myself feel later." And yet, he never did.
He smiled and looked at her with open eyes.
She frowned, worried.
"You don't need to smile if you're not happy, Hero," she said softly.
His smiled melted.
"...You should put that away before we head up," he dodged.
So she did.
Hero had the chance to wipe a few unprompted tears from his eyes while she was inside.
...
When Mari returned, she was wearing a black cardigan over her dress. Draped over her arms was Hero's hoodie.
"I didn't want you to get cold either." She handed it back to him, and he carefully pulled it over his shirt. It was still warm from her, which warmed him in more ways than one.
Short blades of grass swept at the sides of their shoes as the couple meandered back to their hangout spot. The moon shone overhead, silver and lustrous. Leaves of the trees were coated in the light, painted a bright shade of aqua. Mari's hair emanated the aura of a navy void, as deep and mysterious as the sea. Her irises and cardigan seemed to blend with the darkness, creating the illusion that they didn't exist to begin with.
She looked straight out of a polaroid. Her image composed only of shades of grey.
That is...until a firefly danced near her face.
Its yellow, lantern-like light illuminated her cheeks and nose. Like a brushstroke of watercolor slowly losing its moisture, her pale, washed-out face became lovely, tinted with vibrant hues.
Hero watched, amazed.
"They're like little suns," Mari expressed. "Fireflies have the ability to create small pockets of daylight. Isn't that beautiful? None of them ever have to be afraid of the dark."
"Reminds me of you."
Mari smiled, bashfully. "You're just saying that."
No, no he wasn't. He meant it. Hero believed, without a doubt, that the girl walking alongside him was a culmination of every bright and warm thing. This, to him, was fact. However, a firefly will never see firsthand how brightly it shines. It was up to him to make her rea-
Hero stopped. Next to him stood a tree. Or rather, what remained of one.
A stump. One he didn't recognize.
"There used to be a tree here," he mumbled. "...There was a tree standing here just yesterd-"
Yesterday? What happened yesterday?
Hero looked at the ground in his confusion. He was looking for an answer. There, in the short blades of grass, lay a jumprope.
He felt like he may vomit.
Every single detail of the last twenty-four hours flooded back to his conscious mind.
The forget-me-nots, the asphalt, the screams, the sirens, the tree, the jumprope, the toy box, the body. Mari's body, hanging limp from a tree that no longer stood. Her funeral. The fact that this night was never supposed to happen.
The realization that the girl beside him is dead.
Hero hit himself.
Wake up, wake up. Get me out of here. This must be a dream, she's dead. Mari is dead and she killed herself. This can't be real, I'm dreaming. This is a dream. God, no, this is a fucking nightmare. She's dead. Mari is dead. That is not Mari.
"Hero, wait, please listen to me," the thing cried.
That isn't Mari.
"Let me explain," it asked.
The real Mari is buried in the cemetery.
"I'm sorry, please, just look at me," it begged.
Against his will, he did. He half expected to see a mutilated version of the girl he loved standing before him. But that wasn't the case. Instead, there were multiple fireflies surrounding them, illuminating every inch of her guilt-ridden face.
Her cheeks were red and splotchy. Remnants of tears gave her under eyes a glossy appearance.
She looked alive. Unlike the last time he saw her, during the funeral.
Mari drew a shaky breath. "I don't know what this is or why this is happening. All I know is that I'm here, and that I won't be here for much longer. I'm still finding a way to cope with that knowledge."
Hero didn't know what to believe. This couldn't be Mari, he knew that. But the feeling in his heart was the same as any other time he'd been with her. His soul felt like it belonged with her. His heart and mind clashed in a battle of feeling and logic. And his heart won.
Though his limbs felt heavy, he drew his arms around Mari's shoulders. He held her, and she held him. They stayed this way until both decided they could part. Neither knew how long the embrace lasted, and neither cared to learn. Time did not matter, because they were together.