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“Do you like flowers?” Phichit smiles to himself, turning his head to look over at the shade of a man off to the edge of the meadow he’s reclining in. He never steps from the shadows and Phichit never moves from the sun. They have a system; Phichit thinks it’s silly as he holds up the cherry red blossom in his golden fingers.
Does he like flowers? He’s never thought about it with much depth. He has always been surrounded by flowers, has always nestled into the silken embrace of their petals and inhaled their heady perfume, but he has never actually wondered if he liked them or not. What a good question.
“I believe I do. Do you like flowers?” The shade seems to pause in his breathing, head giving the smallest little tilt as he considers the question. He, clearly, agrees with the worth of the question.
“I..don’t know. I did not know what they were called until you told me the last time I was here. I have never felt one.” Reasonable. Phichit takes a white bloom in hand as well. When he decides that he likes the combination he gathers more of both flowers and stands elegantly, flower petals falling from his pale pink gossamer robes. The shade watches with interest as he crosses the meadow. “Do those have a name?”
“No.” Phichit holds the flowers up to the sun thoughtfully, brushing the back of his fingertips over the velvety petals. The lack of a name doesn’t mean he loves the flowers any less, he thinks the same of this shade. “Do you?”
The shade pauses again, his head tilted down towards the flowers as if that would help him take them in better. He has eyes, they glow a warm blue, but Phichit isn’t sure they can truly see. “..I must have. I don’t remember what it was.” He reaches out for the flowers just as Phichit holds them out, hesitating at the very edge of the shadows he was cloaked in. “What if..”
“I do not care what you look like in the sun.” Phichit steps closer and lets the flowers rest half in shadow. He smiles, wide and warm like the sun’s light, as the shade reaches the rest of the way to curl around the stems. “Would you like me to give you a name?” He watches the shadows melt away from the shade’s hand as he takes the flowers, watches the delicate and pale skin see the sun for once more before it melts away to meet bone. True to his word, Phichit does not care.
“I think I might like that.” The skin and shadows reform once the shade brings his hand and the flowers back to his chest and into the safety of the shadows. Phichit wonders if he knew the shade in his previous life. He also wonders if he had a previous life. When the shade came into his life all those months ago, he brought so many questions. “Do you have an idea?”
Phichit doesn’t know where the name comes from, but it pours from his lips like honey from the comb and it sounds perfect. “Seunggil.”