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There was something that Tamaki witnessed in his life unfold, something that couldn't be analyzed, studied, and broken down like he had been trained to do. He couldn't understand that 'something.' Well, maybe he shouldn't call it something since people were not things.
But they did things that unnerved him in the most pleasant way possible. How was that even possible? And when he said 'they,' Tamaki references, Fatgum, Kirishima, Nejire, and Mirio. Oh god, especially Mirio. That boy did things that made his heart sing with the angels and his skin burn like the sun; but it was nice.
Fatgum had this parental fondness planting a few saplings into Tamaki's desolate garden; and as the seconds passed that the leaves refused to wither; and the bark stood stubbornly against Tamaki's winter begging that it just rot and go away; he saw the beauty when leaves turned into flowers and the flowers into fruit.
It was incomprehensible and the emotions that sweetened ripe apples were things he couldn't understand.
Sure, Fatgum is naturally kind to everybody that didn't commit some major crime but there were moments where Tamaki would find that his grasp on reality and all things that surround him, begins slipping away because his subconscious is bringing him into the garden. The garden used to be so bare, so empty, and now he has to go check on it to see if any flowers have blossomed.
And he'd snap out of his trance back into reality, and see that Fatgum had moved him somewhere without the crowds, the cars, and the chattering. Away from noise. He'd anxiously look around, noting that the room was empty, save for the snack he knew were Fatgum's that sat readily somewhere close by; and if Fat himself wasn't busy with other things, then he'd be loitering nearby, if not then he'd check in the next time they see each other.
That kind of affection, Tamaki contemplates, it's so strange to experience it from someone who isn't your birth parents.
Though there was one thing worse than the misplaced kindness, it was that Nejire and Kirishima managed to convince him that they were his friends as much as he was theirs. That couldn't be possible? That shouldn't be possible? Tamaki was so enclosed, locked away into a metaphorical house with no doors or windows, surrounded by the metaphorical walls built using the time he spends wondering if they're sure that they're friends with him.
Every night before he goes to sleep, Tamaki wounds up resting his head behind the guards of his arms while his mind paves him a path to the house where his garden awaits for him behind it.
Other than the trees that wave at him in greeting, patting his back encouragingly with the falling leaves, there were these lilies colored white with a familiar blue to highlight its inner core. They always appeared to be inching closer and closer to his house. Tamaki remembers them being further than they were now, but he never minded as much as he did in their budding phase, because they echo to him a sincere desire to understand him.
It was frightening, but warm. He couldn't cut them. That’s impossible.
Then there were these unbearably bright and red roses with thorns protruding from its strong stems like bared teeth. Those roses faced him with salient hues. They were so threatening at first; but with petals practically radiating with an undeterred passion and sense of admiration that made Tamaki feel…, acknowledged, he nearly fails to see that they weren't trying to rouse fear in him.
It took a heavy rainstorm nearly blowing his windows in to learn that they weren't.
Tamaki had been curled up in the corner; the fireplace coughing and wheezing and struggling to keep the embers alive while it tries to spark a fire, but the sound of something moving outside piqued his curiosity, and the alarmingly heartwarming scene of those same roses blocking the needle-rain from shattering his windows convinced him that those flowers were amiable.
Tamaki only remembers one other person demonstrating the same heart-stopping act of kindness in his most vulnerable state.
Still, that doesn't stifle the occasional squeak of surprise whenever Tamaki enters the garden, and sees that the white fence surrounding his house and garden have become a set of posts for the flowers to latch onto. They were growing quick, untamed by anything he did and he was actually fine with that. They were genial to him, willing to accept him for the nervous wreck he is.
Tamaki learns from a time where he dared to grasp onto the stem of the roses, an act of reassurance so they know that they did him no harm when they were beginning to wilt away. His hand carefully and cautiously wrapped around the step, and he saw that the thorns would instantly recede back into the stems and the vines would curl around his hands gleefully, thanking him for his words, actions, existence.
In those little moments where Tamaki chooses to interact with his garden rather than anxiously watch and wait, the lilies would gather around him in a circle, the roses would hold onto his hands, and the trees would shoot up in surprise, their branches curling happily while their flowers burst into bloom. The fences would fall, his house windows would light up from a lit fireplace cooing its acceptance, and Tamaki would feel alright.
Around Mirio, however, Tamaki did not feel 'alright' — 'alright' was a simple word that generalized Tamaki's neutral feelings towards a situation or person, and he was never just 'alright' with Mirio. That seemed about as impossible as Mirio failing to be a hero, and even if there was that one percent going against the majority ninety-nine. Tamaki would rather sing in front of a crowd than let that happen.
He would for Mirio.
Despite how feeling alright with Mirio was impossible, because Mirio continuously invites a combination of intimate devotion and flustering wariness whenever he's near, Tamaki manages to live with it. But that is what Tamaki fears and is empowered by — the intimate devotion and flustering wariness that is otherwise known as love. Love for his best friend. Oh god. Romance between two best-friends hardly ever works out in the books or movies.
Of course, Tamaki would do something about it, but it's too late!
Mirio wakes up everyday already neck-deep infatuated by his subtle reactions. Reactions as in Tamaki's ears perking up during each of their encounters, specifically their encounters; the noticeable dilation in his black eyes that Mirio never stops drowning his attention into, seeing as how he's the only person that stares that intensely; plus the rare but bewitching smile that appears whenever Mirio does something right by him, and he'll do it again so he could see it more often.
Tamaki doesn't understand why his body acts like that, it's so embarrassing. His thoughts about Mirio are so embarrassing, and the things he wants to say but hasn't is pressing a gun to his head, demanding that he does. And he might, if Tamaki could just escape from the stuttering sensation that sends jolts of 'CAREFUL YOU MIGHT RUIN IT' down his spine when the first letter forms on his tongue.
One day, he comes back from school with his face flushed, ears burning, and feeling all too overwhelmed by events that took place earlier that day. So he goes where noise doesn't touch him, where the world's unblinking eyes can't see him, and fails to understand why there are so many sunflowers in his garden.
They just… appeared.
Towering over him with their face looking down on his startled, slouching figure. They weren't intimidating as he thinks they should be, because they reminded him of someone. Their golden petals curled like a smile, moving closer while he waited, astonished by their boldness when he feels them stroking his cheek lovingly. Like a pat on the back to tell him that it's alright; that there's always a next time; a word of praise to confirm his success, or Mirio reciprocating his embarrassing and perplexing feelings.
And he starts crying right then and there, because it was so damn nice and it had been such a long day full of apprehension and constant considerations of what he should say.
He doesn't at all understand what's done correctly in life to deserve such a beautiful addition, but he'll accept them all the same.
And somewhere in someone else's garden a butterfly lands on their windowsill.