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Azalea - Motherly love.
School trips are a most useless thing.
Goro’s peers say it's the atmosphere that makes them different from a normal trip by themselves, like there's some kind of implicit rule that states everything can happen during those few days far from school. Yet he can’t help but inwardly sneer at this type of well-concocted self-suggestion that intoxicates his schoolmates every single year and makes his work as the student council president something very akin to looking after a bunch of kindergarteners.
"I beg your pardon, senpai, but your presence is preventing me from seeing those flowers."
The deep voice belongs to a face that has its peculiar fame at school, and the dull reality insinuates in his musings. An apologetic smile stretches with practiced lack of effort on his mouth.
"Oh, sorry, Kitagawa-kun,” he says and steps aside. "I was absorbed into the singular appeal of this place."
Kitagawa nods with a cryptic smile and closes his eyes. On the sketchbook on his lap dark traits of graphite form an impressive reproduction of an unfamiliar plant with star-shaped. Kitagawa’s gaze moves up to focus on the bush in front of them.
"They're Azaleas,” Kitagawa discloses as if someone had just posed a question. "Their pink color and graceful shape are often associated with femininity."
He is wildly unprepared in the subject of plants, flowers and their meaning but he nods courteously nonetheless. "They're pretty, indeed, but I'm afraid I can't be of much help when it comes to flowers' language. I suggest asking the girls in the ikebana club for a more specific opinion."
"Azaleas stand for 'motherly love'."
The elucidation comes with a voice not quite as deep as Kitagawa's, veiled by that softness that only taciturn people own. Under a forest of black curls and behind thick glasses, ash eyes gaze at the pink flowers with a glint of recognition.
Another closed-eyed smile blooms on Kitagawa's face.
Some passing girls not so quietly whisper their amazement towards his charm, and Goro would somehow agree if his kouhai wasn’t an unfathomable weirdo.
Kitagawa’s eyes light up. "Ah, it's no wonder I felt some sort of bond with them."
"Are you thinking about Sayuri?" the black-haired boy asks, lips slightly curved upwards.
He knows those checkered uniform pants as much as he knows the name of 'Sayuri'. Relief floods his chest.
"Sayuri? As the famous painting of Madarame Ichiryusai's most talented pupil?"
Kitagawa's sketchbook closes with a flapping sound. "It's my mother's most precious memento, but I'm glad her feelings have reached the whole world."
There is only longing and a deep fondness in those words. Kitagawa talks about something so disgustingly heart-wrenching like the loss of a parent with an honesty that has the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. He hates it.
"You have my deepest thanks, Ren. I feel like this knowledge has further strengthened my bond with her."
'Ren' offers Kitagawa a quiet nod and adjusts the bag on his shoulder. "I'm glad to hear that, Yusuke. A single flower can often convey feelings more than words."
Goro fights the urge to scoff. "That's an interesting opinion but flower bouquets are, just like presents in general, nothing but a social and economic construct. After all, no matter how much one cares or tends for something so delicate, in the end they will wither and both parties will end up empty-handed."
Ren cocks his head to the side, grey irises mostly covered by the dark tufts of his fringe. "I guess you have a point," he says surprisingly. "But don't you think they’re the same, in a way? Yes, a plant will eventually wither, but its meaning is still there.”
"Its meaning?"
"Every flower has one. They help when a person can't find the right words."
It's probably one of the most idealistic things he's ever heard and, while to a certain degree actions do speak louder than words, a simple and frail object like a flower definitely can't represent the intricacies of human relationships.
"Then, if we follow your logic, just the act of drawing these azaleas should express Kitagawa-kun's longing for his late mother. But this fact itself proves to be meaningless since said feelings’ recipient has unfortunately passed away.”
Kitagawa's eyes trail along with the bush of pink flowers, smiling softly. "I think that what Ren meant to say is that what really holds importance is not the gift itself but the words it is bound to."
Goro swallows a bitter lump in his throat like a horrible-tasting medicine and schools his lips into his brightest smile. "I see. Then I'm glad for you, Kitagawa-kun, and we should both be thankful to your friend here for his elucidation."
Kitagawa replies with a solemn nod and clutches his sketchbook more decisively. People are so easy to manipulate that it’s kind of pitiful.
A few meters away a boy with bleached hair and Shujin’s trademark checkered trousers waves his hand with the same gracefulness of a wild monkey. “RenRen! We're moving!"
Ren, seemingly unbothered by the complete lack of respect for public order of his friends, moves his head in a quick bow. "Looka like I have to go. See you next week, Yusuke." Ash eyes meet Goro’s own. "It was nice to meet you."
And Ren dashes away just to disappear into the red, black and white crowd that populates the bright scarlet torii.
Goro turns around and Kitagawa, like some kind of dream-like illusion, is nowhere to be seen together with any kind of explanation regarding the flower boy. He takes his phone out of his uniform pocket. The display reveals the motivation of Kitagawa’s sudden disappearance by marking 5 PM.
He’ll need to run if he wants to reach the inn in time.
§
Adonis - Sad memories.
Warm sunlight filters through the white curtains to cast a golden path on the faded tatami. A gentle hand cards through his hair. He opens his eyes and the same russet irises as his own are half-closed into a smile directed at something next to him. He follows it to bright yellow petals around a brown core so similar to that of the gentle eyes that watch over him and a spontaneous question is born on his lips.
“Why do you always smile when you look at the flowers?”
A chuckle as bright as sunlight, russet gazing at russet. “They’re the flowers Goro caught for me, so mama is reminded of how much she is loved whenever she sees them.”
“Yes, I love mama very much!” He smiles back, so much that his cheeks hurt.
Another caress through his hair. “They look like the sun, don’t you think?”
Then, would that make him mama’s sun?
There’s a knock at the door and the smile turns into a thin, stretched line. The sunlight fades.
“One of mama’s friends is here. Why don’t you go to the baths? I’ll make curry when you come back.”
He nods vigorously. He wants to see a smile bloom on her face just like a flower does under the sun.
They will be alright.
Goro’s breath escapes in quick, short gasps. His eyes hurt in adjusting to the darkness, making out the empty outline of the futon next to his own, likely a courtesy of his roommate’s girlfriend detaining the latter with delectable activities that keep him away from where he is supposed to be.
School trips might have some advantages, after all.
The numbers on his phone’s screen mark past 3 AM and there’s no way he’ll resume his sleep, not when he’s so drenched in cold sweat that his pajamas stick to his skin. Not after seeing images that squeeze the air out of his lungs with their vice-like hold. But he won’t bend to them. Forgetting and running away from pain would only equal wallowing in self-pity.
He kicks away the comforter. It’s so late that the teachers should be fast asleep but in the worst case scenario he’ll come up with a more than credible excuse if they spot him around the baths.
The hallway is deserted but the faint sound of male voices from around the corner is a clear signal of how his route won’t be devoid of nuisances.
“What? Koizumi has been rejected? Isn’t he one of the most popular guys in the second year?” someone he recognizes as Tachibana from his class gasps.
“Yeah, but it looks like it’s not enough to impress Miss ‘queen of shogi’” an unfamiliar male voice likely belonging to Tachibana’s creek says with scorn.
"No way, Togo Hifumi shot him down?"
"Crazy, right? Koizumi’s fanclub is even bigger than that of that prick of a student council president."
"You know, it’s not that big of a surprise, if you think about it. She's so frigid that she'll probably break if she spreads her legs for someone."
A chorus of vulgar laughter echoes from the changing room. Goro clenches his fists and inhales until his lungs are full of air just to turn around the corner with his most cordial smile.
"Good evening. Are you also here to enjoy a late night bath?”
Tachibana pales. "Shit, it's Akechi…"
"Oh, don't worry, I won't report you to the teachers for being out of your room past curfew.” His smile widens. “But if I’m allowed to express a small grievance of mine, you should pay more attention to the… epithets you use when you talk about someone."
Tachibana scoffs but averts his gaze. "What, now you're Togo's prince as well? Being the teachers' pet wasn't enough?"
The other guy, a third year from the soccer club, takes a step forward. "And what if we tell the teachers you were up this late?"
"Well,” Goro smiles, bringing a hand to his chin. "It's my word against yours, in that case. But given how you both are rather familiar with writing apology letters, the odds really aren’t in your favor."
Tachibana and his friend grit their teeth.
Goro’s legs part in a wider stance, better distributing his weight and his arms automatically move in front of his chest. He isn’t excessively fond of violence as a solution to mild inconveniences, but since that meddling woman forced him to take self-defence classes, he might as well give them some usefulness.
A hand belonging to Tachibana’s friend squeezes the latter’s shoulder. “Oi, if he rats us out to the teachers we’re done for.”
Chimpanzees do, indeed, retain some form of intelligence.
Goro turns towards the lockers and glances sideways. "Oh, and about Togo-san. Calling her 'frigid' won't make her magically, er, 'spread her legs' for you.”
Tachibana’s glare only magnifies in intensity, but testifying his nature of a dog that barks without biting, is only followed but the shuffling of their feet towards the door.
Goro smiles brightly. “Have pleasant dreams.”
The shoji close with a click and the soft sound of fading steps. A sound halfway between a sigh and a growl escapes his throat. Losing his cool won't bring him any advantage, so he hastily discards his yukata and underwear in favor of a quick but hot shower.
‘You little bastard… Don't you understand? If your mother hadn't spread her legs like the whore she was for that good for nothing of a man you wouldn't even be here.’
‘Apparently his mother worked as a call girl… Growing a child with a different man visiting the house every day, how pitiful…’
The steam of the open air bath drifts upwards towards the starless sky and full pale moon, protecting his body from the cool night air.
Unprompted, his hands clench in tight fists. "Damn pricks, acting like everything is owed to them, even one's dignity…"
"It's ironic, don't you think? Dignity should be one of those things mankind shouldn't trample on, and yet…"
Were he dizzy, he would have thought of the hot water lowering his blood pressure to the point of making him hallucinate. The voice coming from the cloud of steam is quiet, with no hint of teasing, and yet there’s a familiarity to it he can’t quite pinpoint. Then the steam moves and reveals curly black hair even water can't tame and gray eyes.
It’s that Shujin student Kitagawa seemed so fond of.
The cold sensation of panic spreads up his spine. Goro forces a polite smile. “Ah, good evening. Fancy meeting you here of all places.”
The boy offers a short bow of acknowledgment. “I imagined there was a possibility of bumping into you when I spotted Yusuke and Togo Hifumi playing shogi in front of the vending machines.”
“Well, it seems that we’re quite lucky since we meet under a weather that is perfect for a nightly open-air bath.”
The flower boy peeks up with intent, as if to observe invisible stars in the pitch-darkness above them. “Tonight’s sky is wonderful,” he says, drifting his gaze towards Goro with a lips curving up just so. “And that is why I was wondering why you looked so angry a moment ago.”
Shit.
Goro schools his mouth into a sheepish smile. "Ah, some of my schoolmates just said something that left me a tad perplexed, nothing too concerning."
Ash eyes shoot him a curious glance. "You shouldn't force yourself to be nice when you really don't wanna be."
The way carefree people speak without any semblance of brain-mouth connection should be studied. At least, if there’s a scientific reason behind their being utterly insufferable, he will be more inclined to be patient.
"Oh, but I don't see the point of reacting too harshly over trivial things."
"Well, it wasn't trivial if it makes you so angry." The boy smiles. "And just so we're clear, I don't see anything wrong with being angry. It doesn't make one less likable."
"I highly doubt that people who often and openly express anger or disappointment are wanted around. We live in a society based on appearances, after all."
A frown finally mars the boy’s face. "Don't you think it's better having people around who like your real self rather than people who are just into the image of yourself you want to project?"
He curls into the warm bath with a frustrated sigh. "I don’t usually pursue fruitless endeavors. People are just too lazy to scratch anything but someone's surface.” A scoff spills from his mouth. “For example, you could try telling other people about this side of me and, addicted as they are to seeing only what they wish to see, nobody would likely believe you.”
A soft baritone laughter spreads in the cool September night. “Showing your true self to the world is something that's only up to you, I think. So." A hand is extended to him. "Amamiya Ren, a second-year at Shujin Academy."
Goro grasps it. It’s surprisingly callous yet unusually slender for a man. "... Akechi Goro, third year at Kōsei High."
"So, Akechi-senpai,” Ren says with an amused lilt in his voice. “What made you so angry?"
"No need to call me 'senpai', we don't even attend the same school.'' The warm water grazes his chin and he fights back a pleased sigh. "Some underclassmen were making comments that harmed the dignity of Togo-san."
"Togo-san sure is popular, huh? Though she isn't very happy about her fame."
"Are you acquainted with her?"
"Kinda,” Ren says with a shrug. “We often bump into each other at a bookstore in Jinbōchō and she looks so distressed when someone recognizes her."
"I see." He certainly doesn’t look like someone who frequents places such as Jinbōchō. "There are many people who are pathetic enough not to accept rejection. Which is why they resort to petty comments to harm the innocent part’s dignity and feed their own fragile ego."
"You have a rather good opinion of her,” Ren points out with a hint of surprise in his voice.
Goro hums. “I simply felt a little compelled to put those scums in their rightful place."
"And so you called them 'pricks'?" Ren suggests with a poorly concealed grin.
"Of course not. Even without considering the waste of breath, being crass would have equaled lowering myself to their level.”
“But still, it’s a shame.” Ren lazily stretches his arms with a slosh of water. "I would have paid big money to see their faces if you called them pricks.”
How juvenile.
“I suppose I could give it some thought,'' he deadpans. “Under appropriate compensation, that is.”
“What happened to your morals and not lowering yourself to scum-level?”
Goro scoffs. “Don’t be obtuse, now. I’m not a saint who would refuse money in exchange for something of little consequence.”
Ren laughs and it’s surprisingly loud and somewhat theatrical for someone who presents himself like a soft-spoken, unassuming kind of person. “Fair enough.”
§
Godetia - Your witty conversation delights me.
‘Art is a mirror of the human soul’, Goro once heard.
He’s not as conceited as to deem himself sensitive enough to comprehend, yet he can’t help but wonder how many, in the hordes of people that visit art exhibits, can actually grasp even a fragment of the artists’ intents.
In a crowd of melancholic oranges and yellows or bright reds and blues, he’s unavoidably attracted by the soft pink of a wall of azaleas and the austere black and white of Tenryu-ji temple, a scene that he has lived, but now seen through the eyes of another person on a canvas. Two roughly outlined human figures smile at each other like they’re sharing a secret only the flowers are privy to.
“Motherly love, huh” he mumbles to himself.
His voice overlaps with a familiar baritone.
He slowly turns around, only to be met by black-rimmed glasses and the vaguely shocked grey eyes behind them. Amamiya Ren – severely underdressed for the occasion in his plain jeans, jacket and t-shirt – blinks a few times and opens his mouth to formulate what Goro hopes is a valid explanation, because he can’t think of a single reason why someone like him would join such a mundane event.
“Oh, Ren, Akechi-senpai. I’m glad you both accepted my invitation.” Kitagawa – with a multicolored scarf of dubious fashion loosely wrapped around his neck – offers them a closed-eyed smile.
Goro smiles politely. “Good evening, Kitagawa. I’m the one who should thank you for the ticket you generously provided me with.”
“Oh, no, not at all!” Kitagawa’s voice takes an ecstatic note. “The fateful encounter between you two in Kyoto has ignited my inspiration and led me to this piece. As much as it doesn’t compare to sensei’s marvelous–”
“You did a great job, Yusuke. I totally felt like I was in Kyoto again.” Contrary to his own, Ren’s smile is genuine, a slight curving of lips that lights a spark in his eyes and gives off a completely different image of his face.
“Yusuke is very talented, isn’t he?” a crinkly voice says from behind their backs. “Modesty is a wonderful quality for an artist, but that doesn’t mean one shouldn’t appreciate the results of hard work.”
Kitagawa turns around in a brusque gesture and his lower lip quivers ever-so-slightly. “Sensei, I–”
Madarame Ichiryusai in the flesh pats Kitagawa’s back with a kind smile, the smile of a proud father reserved for his son only that.
Goro’s guts twist unpleasantly.
“Kitagawa-kun’s art is vivid and fervent, a true pleasure for the eye, indeed.”
Madarame nods solemnly. “You have my sincerest gratitude for watching over Yusuke. I’m glad he has friends he can count on.”
He wears his best smile. Fooling people is easy. So, so easy. “I’m the one who’s grateful for Kitagawa-kun’s friendship. And I’m sure the same applies to Amamiya-kun here.”
Ren shoots him a side glance that makes him grit his teeth but nods politely, the portrait of innocence on the face of a high schooler.
A man in a black suit approaches them in a hurry. “Sensei, Kitagawa-san, there’s a certain Kawanabe Akiko that claims to be an acquaintance of yours.”
Madarame’s face lights up in delighted enthusiasm. “Akiko-san managed to come, after all!”
“So it seems, sensei,” Yusuke nods with fondness in his eyes.
“I beg you to forgive us, but an old friend of mine requires our presence. It was a pleasure meeting you,” Madarame says politely just to turn again towards the security agent. “Tell Kawanabe-san we’ll meet him this instant.”
Kitagawa flourishes into a slight bow and follows the man among the crowd that populates the museum, the title ‘Madarame Ichiryusai art school exposition’ emblazoned in bold letters on a banner hanging from the ceiling as the perfect frame for their duo.
Goro glances sideways, only to find a pair of gray eyes already staring at him. “Look who the cat dragged in. We always meet in the most unexpected ways, don’t you think, Amamiya-kun?”
Ren crosses his arms and his mouth stretches into a cheeky smile, the meek and silent student of a few moments before nowhere to be seen. “Artsy people like Yusuke would define this as a faithful encounter, Akechi-san.”
“I didn’t take you for the artsy type, though."
“I could tell you the same, but, if anything, I didn’t know you and Yusuke were friends.”
“It appears that Kitagawa sees me that way and as long as it doesn’t become a bother I’m fine with it.” A smirk stirs on his lips. “Lately I happened to cross paths with weirdos more often than I expected.”
Ren’s lips quirk up together with his eyebrows. “So I’m weird enough to be compared to Yusuke. You flatter me.”
Of course someone like him would take this as a compliment.
“You never cease to surprise me, Amamiya-kun.”
“And you never stop looking like you’re not trying to maul someone that has just personally offended you, Akechi-san.”
His eyes widen. He's good at making people take a liking to him, want him around. He's spent his whole life carefully crafting a personality for that very purpose, holding onto the conviction that no one would appreciate the sharp edges of his personality, just to run into someone that doesn't seem to care one bit about the artificial part of himself.
"Unfortunately we always happen to meet when I am too under-caffeinated to tolerate humankind."
The smile on Ren's face brightens like sunlight on water, both clear and blinding. "I can make you taste real coffee, if that's your problem."
And it's a horrible idea giving in to him, something utterly deleterious, but he really needs that coffee, he needs to wash away that gentle voice and warm smile that populate his dreams and seep into the depths of his weakened mind.
"I advise you not to get cocky, I won't accept anything mediocre."
"Oh, you won't be disappointed."
§
Yellow Hyacinth - Jealousy
The wooden and glass door opens with a jingle. A familiar aroma of arabica and spices wafts from the tiny kitchen and fills the air together with the quiet humming of a news program on the old CRT TV.
Leblanc has a distinctly retro feeling with its wooden furniture and consumed leather seats, but its atmosphere - favored by an unfair but appreciated lack of customers - relaxes him in an odd way.
The man behind the counter looks up from his crossword. "Ah, welcome, kid."
"Good morning, Sakura-san." He flourishes into a slight bow and settles in his usual seat by the counter with a smile.
There's no one in the kitchen aside from Sakura Sōjiro and the strangely talkative black and white cat the café hosts.
Sakura glances at the wooden staircase in the back of the shop. "He's upstairs, probably still sleeping."
Despite the disapproving tone there’s an obvious fondness in his gaze that makes nausea take over Goro’s senses.
He blinks and opens his mouth. He's there just for the unusual yet excellent combination of Leblanc’s curry and coffee, but Sakura shakes his head like he doesn't need words to grasp the intentions even he isn’t aware of.
"I'll go call him. These days the rain's been keeping all the customers away, so I gave him the day off."
And without further ado, Sakura Sōjiro approaches the set of wooden stairs. "Hey, kid! Your friend's here."
No answer comes from upstairs but Sakura just looks at the cat perched on one of the counter seats with a sigh that is telltale of how used he is to this charade. "Go wake him up, Mona."
The cat meows as if it perfectly understood what Sakura said and stretches to jump down on the wooden floor .
His eyebrow shoots up. "I didn't take Amamiya-kun for the lazy type."
Sakura scoffs with a smirk. "You should know him by now. He's a busy kid, so much so that sometimes I wonder if he actually sleeps during the night."
"You seem to like him quite a bit." The sentence comes out with far less bitterness than he intended, the harsh and ashaming feeling of envy tainted by the burn of a longing he isn't supposed to feel.
Sakura Sōjiro shoots him a suggestive glance. "Well, I'm not the only one who does."
A yowl and several meows erupt from the attic, followed by a lazy thumping coming closer. With Morgana clawing at his shoulder, Ren descends with heavy feet and askew glasses.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Sakura-san greets with a smirk.
Goro swallows the bout of laughter threatening to bubble up from his chest. "Good morning, Amamiya. I hope I'm not coming as a nuisance to your beauty nap."
"Ah, Akechi," Ren mumbles, voice still thick with the remnants of his slumber. "Sorry, overslept."
"He can see that, moron. The rain has let up early this morning, so you can at least go somewhere nice with your friend instead of spending the Sunday sleeping."
Ren stretches his arms above his head and makes his bones pop with a pleased sound. The resemblance with his feline companion is rather appalling.
“Have you ever been to the Sendagaya side of the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden?” Ren asks him as if the question is completely coherent with the conversation they were having.
Goro quirks his brow in a silent question.
Ren shrugs, his still half-asleep face not giving away anything about whatever thoughts are crossing his unpredictable mind. “There’s something I want you to see, there.”
He sounds like the dubious tarot reader in Kabukicho that keeps flirting with both of them in the hope of spilling them money, but a cough stops him from initiating one of their usual banters.
“Here, coffee for both of you,” Sōjiro grumbles sliding two ceramic cups on the wooden counter. “The shop’s gonna be empty today as well, so it’s on the house.”
Goro gently holds the cup in his hands and brings it to his lips. The rich and familiar aroma of Leblanc’s trademark blend wafts from the dark liquid, accompanied by its reinvigorating bitterness, an addiction he’s not ashamed to call his guilty pleasure.
“Thank you, Sakura-san." He smiles at the man behind the counter. “It’s delicious as always.”
Ren savors his coffee in silence, eyes closed and brows slightly furrowed. He’s so serious when it comes to grasping the secrets of Sakura-san’s curry and coffee that it makes him want to tease him, to break his concentration and please that deep, ugly part of him that demands all of the attention of those ash eyes.
The door opens with a jingle, revealing a petite girl with a crimson bow in her dyed hair.
“Uhm, pardon the intrusion but, is Amamiya-senpai here?” she says, clutching tightly the shoulder strap of her bag.
A polite smile stretches on his lips as a reflex. “Good morning, Yoshizawa-san. I didn’t know you were a customer of this place as well.”
Yoshizawa bows gracefully. “Oh, hello, Akechi-san.”
“Ah, Yoshizawa, hello.” The smile on Ren’s face is kind and warm, granting a rare softness to his gaze. “Are you here for some coffee?”
Yoshizawa Sumire shuffles her feet, gaze fixed on the floor and cheeks red, and something claws at his lungs and knots his stomach, so much that it’s hard to breathe for how nauseated he is.
“No, uhm… I just wanted to ask if—” Yoshizawa looks at him with clear discomfort and fiddles with the ends of her frilly camisole just to squeeze her eyes and gaze at Ren once again. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted to go shopping with me, senpai.”
Ren tilts his head to the side. “Is this about that formal dinner you spoke about?”
A trembling nod, crimson ears and cheeks. “Since you’ve been so kind to accept my invitation, senpai, I thought we could choose our outfits together.”
Something rises from the depths of his chest and fills his throat, cool, faintly sweet, a stark contrast with the bitterness in his mouth. He forces the air out of his lungs in a shuddering breath.
“It seems my presence is inconveniencing Yoshizawa-san, so I’ll excuse myself to the toilet.”
He doesn’t breathe in the short distance that separates the counter from his destination or when his trembling hands open the wooden door. He leans over the toilet. Dark spots fill his vision and mouth opens with a retch, but nothing comes out of it, just a silent cough that violently shakes his chest and makes burning tears stem from the corners of his eyes.
A warm smile flashes in his mind, accompanied by soft grey eyes shadowed by long lashes. It’s something that he’s never seen on his face before, something completely different from the slight curving up of lips and glinting of steel irises he’s used to. His throat spasms and something flutters on his tongue.
Through the blur that is his vision, a single, long bright yellow petal rests on the water’s surface.
§
Hollyhock - Consumed by love.
There is no sunlight in the room.
She lies in her futon, her long chestnut hair like a halo on the pillow and a weak smile on her white and red lips. Like a fairytale princess, she sleeps motionless in a garden of crimson flowers, surrounded by petals on the faded tatami.
She’s waiting for the prince to save her with a kiss.
But even if he kisses her face through tears, he knows she won’t wake up ever again.
§
Daisy - I’ll never tell
“You said we were going through the Sendagaya side of the park, so why in the world did we stop at Shinjuku?”
Ren shrugs and puts two 100 yen coins into a slot in the gate. “You looked like shit when you came out of the toilet, so I thought about something different to cheer you up.”
He scoffs. He hates it when Ren can see through him so clearly. “I was just surprised to find out that a moron like you is so close to Yoshizawa-san. But I guess that was to be expected by someone who is inexplicably popular.”
“Hey, I was confessed to, not the other way. And besides, I tactfully rejected her.”
“Of course, a perfect person like you wouldn’t just break Yoshizawa’s pure maiden heart.” This time his voice comes out as bitter as he intended, a string aiming for Ren’s pride. “So. When’s the great event?”
“You mean the dinner?” The wind whistles among the dark trees and brings with it the earthy smell of soil. Menacing gray clouds move lazily in the vast sky. “On Christmas Eve.”
Something flutters up from the depths of his chest and stops him dead in his tracks. Ren turns around with a curious look in his eyes. Goro laughs, both bitter and bright, because it all makes sense, so much that he can’t stop himself from sounding like he’s gone completely out of his mind.
“I see.” Another bout of cynical laughter escapes from his mouth. “You really… you really are clueless, aren't you?”
“What is there to understand?”
The laugh subsides with a cough. He brings a hand to his mouth and peeks at the small white petals in it just to stuff them into the pocket of his tan coat. He's so hopeless that it’s somewhat poetic.
“Your dinner is on the 24th but Yoshizawa asks you to go shopping for it in the middle of October.”
“And?”
“Yoshizawa just wanted an excuse to go on a date, you imbecile.” He catches up to him, the deep grey shoreline of a lake visible in the distance. “Well, it’s not like it’s my business anyway.”
Ren kicks a small brown rock on the path and sends it rolling onward. “I figured that much, but I think Sumire needs to wind down a bit. She looks like the approaching selections for the national Gymnastics championship are taking a toll on her mental health.”
“So you just wanted to help her.”
A silent nod. The wind picks up again and fills the heavy calm that has settled between them. Something cold hits his cheek.
“... Ren.”
His voice is stern, the name an unfamiliar weight on his tongue. A name that holds both the fragility and stubbornness of the lotus flower, that rises from the muddy depths of a pond towards the vast infinity of the sky.
“Did you change your mind about entering from the Sendagaya side because of the garden of Azaleas?"
“So you noticed.”
“I’ve been living in Tokyo for a while longer than you, I actually know this place fairly well.”
“That time in Kyoto, you looked like you had swallowed a whole can of overly sweet soda when I told Yusuke about the flowers.”
It’s so like Ren to be considerate of others to the point of noticing even the smallest details about a stranger. Disgustingly kind Ren who prefers his harsh and honest personality over his brilliant and polite facade; Ren who postpones a date with a girl that is head over heels in love with him just not to take back his invitation.
Goro suppresses another cough in his hand. “I guess it’s useless holding back at this point.” The deep grey surface of the Upper Pond is completely still, so much that the lapping of the water against the wooden path is barely audible. “I’ve already told you that I don’t have a family. While my biological father is in his well-deserved place in jail thanks to prosecutor Niijima, my mother who raised me alone died of an illness a few years ago.”
Gray eyes go wide in understanding and Goro smiles bitterly.
“Yes, Hanahaki. She refused to get the surgery and, according to her autopsy, she was found in a bed of hollyhocks, so I guess you could say I’m not particularly fond of flowers.”
“Hollyhocks, ‘Consumed by love’...” Ren murmurs pensively, lips in a straight, thin line.
“Quite the irony, don’t you think?”
“Goro, I —”
“Spare me the unnecessary pity.” Small, concentric circles punctuate the water’s surface. He turns on his heels. “The rain is picking up, we better hurry back to the station.”
With ample and brisk steps he walks towards the path that leads to the Shinjuku gate of the park against the sudden harshness of wind that makes freezing droplets of water lash against his face. He’s glad he didn’t get to see the Azalea hill.
“Goro!”
Ren’s already damp hair frames his pale face, the glasses gone. He’s never heard him so agitated.
He turns around, jaw clenched and eyes unflinching. “What now.”
The rain falls down in a violent and deafening flow that drowns everything on its path and sticks cold clothes to his skin. It has the same color as the irises that gaze straight into his own. The freedom of Ren’s heart reflects in the earnestness he pours in everything he does and Goro can’t help but love him, because, despite the roots, stems, and thorns that chain around his heart and twist in his lungs, being with him makes him feel free as well.
Ren shakes his head with a sigh. “... nevermind. We’re soaked to the bone, let’s go back.”
§
Thorny Rose - Pleasure and Pain
The distant echo of Sakura Sojiro’s voice fades away with a thumping sound. A bell jingles. Is it a fūrin? It’s hot, but somehow it doesn’t feel like summer. Everything aches, is he going to lose all of his limbs? There’s a constant pounding in his head that makes keeping his eyes open feel like some titanic feat.
“...Goro?”
The sound of his name is soothing, like a caress from his mother, yet painful. It stirs something in his chest that makes him feel like crying. Gray and black like the night sky. He knows these eyes like stardust, he loves them, he hates them for how they never cease to see right through him.
“Sorry, Goro,” Ren says weakly, voice muffled by their shared pillow.
“For what?”
“Y’know… everything.”
He shakes his head and regrets it immediately. It hurts so much. Ren’s irises have specks of black, his lashes caress his cheeks with every movement. His cheeks are pink, his lips are pinker. A hand caresses his cheek and it’s so soft and cool that it gives him goosebumps. No one has ever touched him with so much gentleness.
No one but her.
“Ren“ he croaks. The name is the air he breathes.
And Ren kisses him ever so gently, warm as sunlight in the middle of the rain, and Goro melts in it, ignores the pain blooming in his chest, wills away the petals threatening to spill.
There’s only Ren. Ren’s skin, Ren’s hands, Ren’s lips, Ren’s tongue.
Ren, Ren, Ren.
Darkness.
§
Daffodil - Unrequited love
[Ren]
U free on Saturday afternoon?
[Goro]
If your intention is to make me lose more school days with another cold or flu, then no.
[Ren]
No outdoors activities, I swear
But my class needs help with the school festival
[Goro]
I don't see a connection between me and your school festival.
[Ren]
My class hosts a maid café
But our PE teacher is a prick and spread fake news about it
[Goro]
I still fail to see how my presence is necessary.
[Ren]
There's a competition for the class that gets the highest income
And you're super popular even here
People would definitely come if you recommended our café
[Goro]
You want me to advertise your café, I see.
[Ren]
I'll give you the prize of the competition if we win
No one in our class wants it anyway
[Goro]
Prize?
[Ren]
Tickets for Lyn's Christmas concert at the Jazz Club in Kichijōji.
[Goro]
... Lyn as in 'Inaizumi Lyn', the jazz singer?
[Ren]
Yup
[Goro]
Fine, I'll help.
But I won't wear any ridiculous costumes.
[Ren]
No costumes, promise
§
"You didn't mention any blindfolds."
Ren waves the hand holding a black cloth dismissively. "Don't worry, you just have to recognize what the customers feed you with."A cheeky smirk. "You have the reputation of a Gorourmet, after all."
His brow shots up at the cheesy pun. Sometimes Ren is such an idiot that he wonders how girls can actually like him this much. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head in resignation. “Whatever.”
"You’re doing this for the greater good, Akechi-san. I heard that the tickets for the concert are already sold-out even though there are still two months before the actual show. The Jazz Club isn’t that big of a place, after all…”
“Ugh. Fine. I’ve already told you I would help, so let’s get this over with.”
Ren shoots him a wink and bends in a courteous bow. The black gilet of his butler uniform reveals an unsuspectedly athletic build that elicits appreciative murmurs from the girls sitting at each of the tiny tables in the class. “You have my deepest gratitude, master.”
Something familiar burns within him, an ache that’s different from the one that announces one of his coughing fits and that fills him with both a sense of longing and desperation. It’s the misery for something he can’t have, the Sehnsucht many artists wallowed in, but at the same time, it’s the missing of a piece, like a memory time has reduced to a blur of colors. He wonders if this is the seed that holds within itself the flowers of Hanahaki.
“Gentle masters and mistresses, we bid you our warmest welcome to Le cafè du fantôm.” Ren’s voice is soft but clear, enticing enough to catalyze the attention of everyone in the room and he’s different, a new Ren that he’s never seen, perfectly at ease in his new act. “Today we have the honor to host Kosei High’s Prince, the aspiring detective Akechi Goro. Akechi-san has kindly accepted to take part in our special Gourmet Challenge, so I beg you to welcome him with warm applause.”
A smile settles easy and practiced on his lips at the enthusiasm of the crowd. “Thank you, Amamiya-kun. It’s my pleasure and honor being a guest of this lovely cafè. I hope not to disappoint our kind guests."
"And now, the rules of the challenge." As if on a cue, a blond girl in twin-tails and a frilly red maid uniform walks at the center of with a small cart. "Under this cloth there are 5 different ingredients that Akechi-san, while blindfolded, will taste… by your hand."
Excited murmurings belonging to gazes alight with interest fill the classroom. It's somewhat degrading how easily people get enamored with someone even slightly popular. It should please his selfish need for appreciation, for the bastard son his family paid not to have around is now loved by everyone. And yet what he feels is hollow, just the lingering phantom of the happiness he thought he would attain. Meeting Ren has been his demise.
"Akechi-san will try to guess the ingredients and live up to his reputation as a gourmet. You can make a reservation by raising your hand when an ingredient is shown." Ren turned towards him and dangles the blindfold with the hint of a teasing smile. "Are you ready, Akechi-san?"
"Of course." He flashes a smile towards the customers. "I'll be in your care."
The first ingredient is familiar, fed with a slightly trembling hand. It's hot, rich and slightly bitter and he wouldn't be worthy of being one of Leblanc's regulars if he didn't recognize the unique flavor of the Blue Mountain breed of coffee.
The second is exotic and slightly sweet, with a fresh smell. He's tasted enough weird delicacies to tell with confidence, among clapping hands and awed sounds, how this is the peculiar flavor of maracuja.
Then it's something salty, somewhat grainy on his tongue but crunchy under his teeth. Kitagawa's pleased expression flashes through his mind as he recognizes a jagariko.
The fourth ingredient is both sour and sweet, a unique flavor that reminds him of his childhood, when his life still had a resemblance of normality. Honey lemons, a simple snack his mother prepared to cheer for him when he had something important coming up at school. He wonders if somehow Ren knows about it, or if it’s just one of the many ironic coincidences in his life.
The last trial feeds him something fresh and somewhat juicy, with an intense smell he’s not particularly acquainted with. He chews slowly in an attempt to recall the name of the ingredient.
“Hey, isn’t the girl that has just fed him Yoshizawa?”
“Huh? You’re right, but isn’t she a first-year? What is she doing here?”
“She entered a few minutes ago and I saw her talking to Amamiya. Maybe she’s here to help?”
“Do you think they’re dating?”
“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me. They’re often together during lunch break or on the road to school.”
“I know, right? They look cute together, their outfits are even matching!”
He swallows the foreign ingredient and freezes at the stinging sensation in his throat.
“Oooh, look! Amamiya-kun is smiling at her!”
“It’s the first time I see him smiling. He’s really handsome, now that I give him a better look.”
The ginger strings his tongue and throat and its name escapes from his lips with a coughing fit that squeezes the air away from his lungs and bends him to its inevitability. His limbs don’t respond to the information the brain inputs but a warm hand wraps around his own and yanks him away. The petals flutter up from his trachea and he purses his lips hard enough that the muscles of his jaw ache. Light and color return to his tears-blurred vision and through the mess he recognizes Ren’s concerned stare, the heat of the hand on Goro’s bare wrist burning searing his skin.
Another cough. Like raindrops of sunshine, large yellow petals fall on the floor under the terrified realization of ash eyes.
§
The bonfire crackles with an orange light through the night. Couples of students wearing Shujin’s red, black and white uniform dance with gleeful smiles at the sound of an old-fashioned folk song that grates his ears.
He leans against the wall with a sigh to revel in the darkness, away from the whispers and flirtatious smiles of his admirers.
“You look awfully grumpy for being someone who got a couple of tickets for one of the most exclusive musical events of the year.”
Goro closes his eyes with a scoff. “So exclusive that people were actually fighting not to go.”
There are only two kinds of people: those who appreciate Lyn’s music and fools.
“Still can’t find a partner?”
He shakes his head with a bitter smile, eyes focused on the dancing flames. “Maybe Lyn’s music is better if enjoyed alone, without distractions.”
“Why not invite Togo-san?” With a rustling of fabric, Ren drops against the wall next to him. “I can put in a good word, if you want.”
The genuine care and sadness in the way Ren speaks only tighten the hold of hanahaki’s vines on his heart, squeezing it with enough force it might burst if he fails to keep it in check. A cough, more yellow petals in his hand. What a miserable end for the infamous second coming of the Detective Prince. A miserable end for a miserable faker.
“Goro, look at me.”
There’s a plea in Ren’s voice and eyes.
“I don’t want you to die for something like this. Get surgery, I know a doctor that could–”
Nails dig into his palms with the clenching of his fists. With a whistle, colors bloom into the dark sky.
“I don’t need your pity.”
§
“We’re witnessing an unexpected cold wave on this Christmas Eve in Tokyo. Snow has been falling since the first hours of the afternoon, granting to all the lovers going out to celebrate a textbook example of White Christmas. The authorities recommend-”
“Kichijoji. Station of Kichijoji.”
The train doors open with a soft buzzing sound, followed by the tapping of a multitude of feets. Despite the late hour, the station is still bustling with people. It’s unsurprising, given how many popular places Kichijoji hosts, but also somewhat frustrating with all the couples exchanging sickeningly sweet looks and holding hands.
He’s always been a loner. He knows the exact science that hides behind the concept of popularity and can practice it with a complete lack of effort, but it just feels hollow. People sometimes recognize him when he walks through the streets, many of his peers fight to gain his attention and he’s just eager to please, to offer bright smiles and polite words while his hands remain empty.
The ticket in his coat’s pocket weighs like the singularity of a black hole, a condensation of unspoken feelings and bitterness and all that comes with it in a thin layer of paper. Maybe it’s the stupid flowers blooming in his chest or maybe he’s just become the very kind of person he despises, but everything feels pointless. If there’s an invisible clock silently dictating how much time he has left before burning out like a pitiful candle in the wind, it better hurry and put an end to his misery.
His chest shakes in a violent cough and a bunch of tiny green leaves fall in his hands. The small alley is deserted, the footprints on fresh snow the only trace of human presence.
Sometimes blurry images flash through his mind, leaving a vague but lingering sensation of warmth, heaving on his chest. It's like watching the damaged photograms of a movie he's already seen.
He swallows the urge to puke.
They were both feverish and delirious. It was just a temporary and reckless abandon to their most basic urges, an outburst of hormones with no feelings involved.
He just has to forget.
§
Jazz Jin is warm and cozy, only lit by the soft lights of the stage and the candles lit on each of the small, round tables.
His seat is placed in the farthest corner of the room. Lyn, dazzlingly beautiful in her red dress, bows to the public with a bright smile just to be showered with applause. She approaches the microphone with a clacking of heels and a soft melody starts to play, the notes of a piano mingling with the gentle rhythm of percussions.
‘People come and they go. Some people may stay with you though.’
It's one of her less-known pieces but one of his personal favorites, a simple story of complex feelings, where envy, admiration and a will of self determination sketch a vivid portrait of a conflicting relationship that strikes a chord deep into his soul and fills the emptiness with some sort of acceptance.
"I am all alone tonight and I kept on asking myself questions."
Lyn's voice lightens the burden on his chest. He's glad that he got to hear her live, it's one less regret to leave behind when he'll run out of time.
‘But tonight got me thinking about it all, if I am the fool or whatnot.’
"Please, tell me that I'm not too late."
He blinks several times at the familiar voice and Ren is there, sitting in front of him, white snowflakes in his dark hair and a grey coat over a black turtleneck.
"You. How did you–"
A ticket identical to the one in his pocket waves right in front of him. "Seems like I have a talent for pickpocketing. You should be more careful with your belongings."
What about your dinner with the Yoshizawas?"
Ren tortures his fringe. Without glasses his eyes gleam like quicksilver in the warm light of the candle. "I just, well, sorted my priorities."
"I've already told you that I don't need your pity. Did you think I'd be happy being treated like a poor, unfortunate soul that needs to be coddled?"
"I'm here because I want to, not for a matter of pity." Ren’s pale hands grip the table, their knuckles turning white. It fills him with both selfish happiness and dread seeing Ren get so emotional for him.
His eyes widen and the sight of Ren’s resolute gaze is too much to bear. The candle’s flame flickers just to burn with more intensity. "Ren. Let's forget about what happened when we had a fever. We clearly weren’t lucid."
"I don't want to,” Ren says firmly, the color of his irises akin to that of steel in the dim light of their corner. "I kissed you because I wanted to. And I would have told you, if only you had given me the chance to do so instead of avoiding me for nearly two months.”
“You wanted to?” The words tumble out of his mouth, low and graspy. “You should see yourself when you look at Yoshizawa, then. I don’t need your half-hearted feelings.”
‘My story will be starring me just like yours.’
A hand pulls his sweater and yanks him forward. Ren’s lips are warm, unbearably so, but there’s no fever, no flowers crushing his lungs to remind him that, just like everything in his life, love is excruciatingly painful. The hand lets go and with it, Goro exhales a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.
"This has never been about Yoshizawa, but about you. It's always been you, Goro."
‘What matters most is how you bring joy to life, so…’
Mistletoe - I want to kiss you.