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He has never seen flowers so beautiful.
“They’re lavenders, Toji,” says the figure at his back, the voice soft, sweet, kind. “They grow very well in my home-town, but they don’t much like Tokyo too well, so it’s rare that I am able to see them. These few here, though, I brought them for you.”
The child—Toji—turns to the one speaking; her pure white hair is blowing softly against her face, but she doesn’t seem to mind at all. Her eyes, as bright a purple as the flowers themselves, twinkle with that same brightness she always has when looking at him, the only one who does look at him like that. His own mother, his biological one, doesn’t even look at him like she does. Part of him hurts because of it.
The other part of him is grateful she, the one kneeling down at his back, does. He is grateful to her and her alone.
She smiles at him, as she always does, and gently takes the flowers from his hands. He has no time to miss them, though, because she sets one behind each of his ears, between the strands of his hair, and giggles at her work. It makes him flush, but he doesn’t move to take them away; she put them there, he wouldn’t dare move them.
The last flower, though, she keeps in her hands, holding it out to him.
“You remember the story I’ve told you, yes? About how my eyes got their colour from a lavender’s petal, just like these?” She asks him, and he nods because he does—he will never forget the stories she tells him. They make him laugh and cry and smile; and everything in between.
“I’m happy that you do. Lavenders mean a lot of things: Elegance, purity, serenity, even devotion. However, it can also mean luxury; purple is a colour of royalty, after all.”
Toji does not scoff at her words like he would have if this were someone else telling him. However, he does scrunch his nose up a bit, not much caring for royalty or any specialness like that. He cannot bring himself to care for any of that, not when he has been treated the way he has by those who, too, believe themselves “special”. Not with the way she has been treated by those who believe themselves that way.
She laughs, though, apologetically, and she settles a hand on his cheek, making his expression clear immediately.
“Don’t misunderstand, Toji, I didn’t mean any harm,” she says to him, her laugh settling the frustration that had bubbled into his chest. “I know how you feel about that sort of thing.
“One day, however, I believe that you and I, we’ll be far away from this place.” She added on, her smile falling just so. Toji raised an eyebrow at her—he has heard her mutter such statements like this before, but he has never known how to respond to them. How can he leave this place? He knows no other, has no other place to go; he does not even know if she has any other place to go. How can either one of them leave?
“We’ll be far away from this place, its stuffy rules and even stuffier people, and we will be free of them; that, my dearest Toji, is when we will be in the lap of luxury. It doesn’t matter where we end up, so long as we’re away from them.”
Toji has no idea how to respond to that, but she brightens her smile at him as if she had not expected him to—and she more than likely does not—and instead hands the last flower back to him, pressing it back into his small palms gently.
“We do not need to be royalty to live like kings—in luxury, in freedom; not if we are away from here.” Was the last thing she told him; she stands as she says it, reaching down to press her hand—warm and so, so loving—to his cheek again before she moves to go back inside. He does not know for what, but he knows that he does not yet want to follow her; instead, he looks down at the flower in his hands, and tries to think on what she had told him.
We do not need to be royalty to live like kings—in luxury, in freedom; not if we are away from here…
He does not know, then, if he will ever be away from here, if he will ever be free—
—he does know then, however, that he wants her to be free. And to make her free, he must be strong; strong enough to get her out, even if it is not enough to get him out. He would do whatever it takes to get her out of this damned Estate, this Clan that hates the two of them. He can understand, by now, the hate for him, but not for her. She does not deserve their hate.
(He finds out, later, though again from her, that purple, the colour of the lavenders, is a colour that means power. Ambition.
His greatest ambition in his young life is to make her free.)
He, Toji, has never known flowers so beautiful—
—and he has never known hate so strong.
“Oh, Toji, please, don’t—”
“—How can I not?!” He snaps without thinking, snapping at her, something he will take the time to regret later. He will regret when he has calmed, is not trembling in rage.
“How can I ignore this?” He asks her, voice trembling just as his body is. “They’ve disrespected you; I can’t—won’t—forgive them!”
“Toji.” She says gently, grabbing his face in her hands. He stills, if only his restless feet, and tries not to let himself cry out in frustration. He cannot let her see him cry; he must be strong, must be powerful, for her.
“My dearest, my son,” she says to him, her voice as calm as it always has been for him. She is so gentle with him, so strong, herself, for him. If he cannot match her gentleness, he must match her strength.
“There is nothing to be done; I have always been disrespected by them,” she continues on, and before he can even grow angrier at the admission, at what he knows is the truth because he has witnessed and lived it alongside her, she presses her fingers to his lips, his scarred lips, to hush him.
“They have always disrespected me, disrespected us. You know this, my Toji.
“But, there is nothing we can do, for now.”
“No, there is!” He insists, suddenly so tired of this argument. She has always used it, and he decides, then, that he will not hear it again—never again.
“We can leave, Mother.” He tells her, calls her mother because, for him, that's who she is, and he knows she is not expecting it from the way her eyes widen, but he does not care for that then. Instead, he grabs her hands, careful not to harm her, and holds them in his own.
“We can leave, leave this place and finally be free.” He says, almost frantic, as he begins to look around the room, mentally thinking of the amount of clothes and things he believes of importance to her that he will take for her and will carry, all on his own if he has to.
“We can be free of this place, of this Clan, and live like kings.”
She gasps gently, she does, and her hands clench gently against his own. “Oh, my Toji, you’ve…”
Doubt gripping her once more, however, she looks at him, in pain, and says, “Toji, we cannot leave—Naobito, he has just threatened you with exile; how can you give him what he wants? How can you run, whether with me or not, from this place if that is what he and the other Elders of the Clan already want to make you do?”
“Because fuck what they want me to do,” he says to her with vitriol in his voice, overriding anything else he may feel about the threat. “What they want, it’s nothing to me, not like you.
“Besides, I won’t leave you here; once they call for my exile, they’ll have no reason to keep you here. I’m your last child, the last of the kids they’ve let you take care of—if I leave without you, they’ll kill you, I’m sure of it. I can’t let that happen.”
She—his mother, the only mother that he has ever known to be kind to him—looks at him, pain still heavy in her beautiful lavender eyes, but she knows, just as he does, that he is right; the Zenin Clan’s Head, Naobito, will call for her execution if she is left behind while Toji runs away. It is why he has never run away, has never done more than entertain the thought (though never doing so without thinking of ways he can take her with him), because she does not deserve such an early death, not at the hands of these cruel people and their cruel ideals. He cannot leave her—Toji will not leave her.
“Mother Chiyo, please, I am not leaving you here.” He begs her one last time, readying himself in his mind in the case that he has to abandon the idea for another day; he will not force her to leave if she is not ready, and nor will he leave a moment before she does. She will agree now, or agree later, and he will do nothing but wait for her because he will never leave her alone.
“Come with me.”
There is silence between them, in her small room, with its plain white walls devoid of life and almost cramped with how her furniture had been arranged. She had always lived here, though, since before Toji was even born, has always lived in her little room and never complained.
But it has always been such a lonely, painful life in which she has lived here.
“Just tell me what you need, Mother, and I’ll grab it. I have bags in my room, and while they’re not big, I’ll put whatever you need in them, I don’t need anything of my own—”
She, Chiyo, stops him again, however, and loosens her hands from his grasp to grab at his face again, still gentle. Her hold is firm, however, as is her voice, as she says,
“There is nothing in this room that I need but you, Toji.”
Toji has spent the last fourteen years training on his own, gaining physical and mental strength, so he could be strong for her, could one day make her free from the cage that was the Zenin Clan Estate;
But, right then, the strongest one of the two of them is her.
(He, Toji, has never known flowers so beautiful—
—and he has never known flowers so formidable.)
So that is how they leave; hand in hand, the only belongings they take with them the clothes on their backs, in the middle of the day, running straight through the Estate, from one end to the other, passing by other members—adults, children, teens, Elders—with little care or grace before they burst through to the entrance that has become their exit. Toji does not know if they are followed or even called out for, does not bother to even look back as he shoves everyone who is in his way out of it—making sure none of them even come close to his mother—and shoves them both through the large, black-iron gates of the Estate. He does not know if she looks back herself, but he is sure that she does not; they will not miss them. None of them will miss them, either.
Toji does not know what they will do, nor does he know where they will go.
All he knows is that, now that they have escaped, they will live like kings.
They will live in luxury, in freedom, for both luxury and freedom is anywhere that is not the Zenin Clan Estate.
“Mother.”
He, Toji, does not look at her. He is almost ashamed to—he has done no wrongs, not today, but he cannot help it. He does not want to do this, but he knows that he is making the better choice, at least for her.
He can no longer stay with her. He will only disappoint her if he does. He will not be able to handle disappointing her.
She has turned to him now, evident from the way the fabric of her skirt moves against her chair, but because he is not looking at her, he misses the look she gives him; it is one of love, unconditional, which he would believe he does not deserve.
“Toji?” She calls to him, an eyebrow raised. He glances up at her—she is dressed in a pretty lavender-coloured blouse, a gift to her from his newly-wed wife, and a long white skirt. Her pure white hair, which goes below her shoulders, is pulled into a low bun, not at all messy in looks. Despite the simplicity of her form, he thinks she is the very definition of the word “elegance”. She always has been, but it is clear in that moment to him. He does not hate it, though, as he hates others in whom bring the word to mind for him; he has never hated elegance, hated luxury, when it came to her.
“Himawari,” his wife, “offered for me to go and live with her. I—”
“—am going to go with her.” His mother cuts him off, firm, stealing the words from his mouth. He blinks up at her in surprise, even more shocked to find that her gaze is as firm as her voice.
“But, Mother Chiyo, I—”
She holds her hand up to stop him, and he does, the movement effective; he would never disobey her. When he does as she has instructed, she drops her hand some and holds it out, and he reaches to take it.
His hand, so much larger than hers now that he is twenty-five years old and not only five, envelops hers, much smaller than it had been when he was growing up. His hands are rough, calloused; hers are calloused, too, from her years of work, but they are softer than his from their six years of freedom and luxury. He has made sure she has not worked these six years they have been on their own, always sure to take care of her and provide. It may not have always been great money, and he certainly has not ever truly saved any of it, but he has always given to her more than he has ever given himself. It is what she deserves.
That providing, though, has made him want to leave her for some time. He has found that it is getting harder and harder for him to face her, to give her the lies he provides when she asks why he has been gone for many days and weeks at a time. He has never wanted to lie to her, but the way he is making money—assassination and gambling, not always winning but always succeeding in taking a life—is a way he does not want her to know of. His wife, he will tell in due time, has already been thinking of ways to do so; but with her, with his mother? He cannot envision it. He does not want her angry with him, disgusted with him. If his wife is, when he reveals the truth, then he will be sad but understand; if his mother is, if he reveals the truth, then he will be devastated.
He does not want to be devastated. He does not want to tell her the truth.
“Toji,” she begins gently, her voice still as calming and beautiful as ever. “I will miss you, my son, but I will not hold you back from living your life.”
She looks up at him, silently asking for his attention, and he gives it to her—his emerald eyes meeting her lavender ones. She smiles when they meet, and his heart constricts as much as it expands. He loves her so dearly; he must keep her safe.
“When we left, my son, I expected you to leave me. I have always readied myself for this day. I cannot force you to stay with me; I will not force you to stay with me.”
“I don’t want to leave you alone.” He argues, however, kneeling down so he isn’t looking down at her. He is the shorter one, now, but he does not care.
She, his mother, however, scoffs in disbelief; a teasing thing, not one meant to offend.
“Oh, my son, I won’t be alone,” she assures him, her free hand taking hold of his cheek.
“So long as you are happy, Toji, I won’t ever know loneliness. I will never know despair.
“Besides that, I have never once been lonely, all these times you have been gone on work. Worried, yes, but never lonely.” She giggles at that, patting his cheek gently as she squeezes his hand. He’s almost overwhelmed; Oh, Mother, you would not be so loving with me if you knew what I have done, if you had seen what I have done…
“So go on, my dearest Toji, and live with your love. Should you ever need me, I am only a call away; I will stay here in the case that you ever need a place to stay. I will be alright, I assure you.”
“But will you?” He asks her, still doubtful to some degree. He cannot help it; he is worried for his mother, the only mother he has ever known in his life. He is scared for her, scared of losing her, scared of her being on her own. “I can find someone to live with you, Mother, can have someone take care of you in my place.”
“Now Toji,” she says in a chastising voice, her gaze growing the slightest bit irritated. He resists the urge to smile; he hadn’t meant to offend her, but he thinks it’s funny when she attempts to punish him even minorly. She’s never been able to, has never known a consequence with her—not that he’s ever done anything to her that warranted one. Only with others has he received consequence.
“I’m not some damsel that needs someone watching over me every hour of the day,” she tells him firmly. Her thumb dances lazily along his cheek, dipping down to press to the edge of the scar on his lip; it is a loving touch, a touch a mother gives to her son. It does not hurt, and he does not move away. He remembers her patching it up for him, the day he received it, remembers the way she had cried as she did.
He does not want her to cry ever again. Not for him, not because of him.
“I am not so old, either, that I cannot handle a home on my own. I will be just fine, my son; you do not need to worry for me any longer.”
Toji frowns at that, almost offended himself. He rises, though, from where he had kneeled, and it is with weary knees and a full heart that he presses a quick kiss to her forehead; he hopes it conveys all the ways he is grateful for her, to her, for having cared for him all these years.
“I will always worry for you.” He tells her, almost childish in the way he argues. “Being free, that doesn’t change that one bit.”
He moves away from her, but still holds her hand; she is gazing up at him, expression almost unreadable, but she gives him a loving smile and stands herself, her now-free hand coming to hold the one she is already holding with the other.
“That, my son, I am glad we agree on.” She chuckles to him, squeezing his hand once again.
“But it is with that freedom that I want you to know that I will be okay. That we will be okay. We are kings in our own worlds, now, my son; we will always be okay.”
She leans up, then, on her tiptoes, to press a kiss to his cheek. He leans down for her, not wanting her to work harder than she must. When she leans back down, he smiles back to the smile she is still giving him, and he bids her farewell with a deep bow.
He is worried for her, he thinks, but he knows that, just as the decision to leave the Clan that day six years ago, this is the decision best for her, best for him. He can find a way to protect his wife, will find a way to protect his wife, while he lives with her; but his mother, he will leave her, for that is the only way he can protect her. Protect her from him, from Curses, from his enemies.
He will live a life of unease, of constant work and fear, if it means that her life of freedom and luxury stays intact.
Fushiguro Toji wakes with a start, sitting straight up at an angle as he tries to calm the way his heart is beating in his ears. He was sleeping on his side, it seems, because he is facing the open window as he surges up, the breeze moving his curtains slightly. The air is cool, and he is thankful for it because there is a thin sheen of cold sweat on his skin.
He is not, however, scared. He is simply worried—for his mother, he is worried for her. He has to call her in the afternoon, when it isn’t only two thirty in the morning. He is worried, but he will not worry her.
“Damn it all, that…” He mumbles to himself, still grumpy with sleep, as he shifts on the bed, his left hand falling into his lap while his right hand runs through his slightly-tangled hair. He absent-mindedly untangles it as much as he can as he tries to organize his thoughts, a sigh leaving him as he lets his hands briefly clench.
He is just about to relax when he feels the opposite side of the bed shift, and he freezes before turning, quickly, startled because that side of the bed was for his wives, both of whom are long dead by now, to his left, wondering what could have made the movement when he sees it:
His two sons, Yuuji and Megumi, are asleep on their sides right next to him, Yuuji’s back to him while Megumi is facing towards the window and thus to him. Behind Megumi is Toji’s daughter, Tsumiki, also facing toward the window, and she’s got an arm around both her brothers. All three of them are asleep, only Yuuji having been almost-roused from slumber as he felt Toji moving but already having settled down, breathing steadied. Toji’s almost shocked—he’d gone to bed alone, as he always did, but he always made sure to keep his door open at night, a habit from when the kids had been really young and they’d run to his room, crawl into bed and wake him up in the process. He’d never get mad at them, though, would instead groggily hold each of them and settle their little minds however he could, sleep coming for them both (or sometimes each, if more than one of his kids had a nightmare in the middle of the night) at the same time, always gentle. It hadn’t happened that his kids had nightmares—or at least, not any that warranted their seeking out their father—in quite a while, so he’s not going to assume that that’s what had led them to coming into his bed right then, but he can’t find it in himself to mind all that much. In fact, he’s grateful to them, even if they won’t know until the morning; seeing them, safe and sound and in serene sleep, has calmed him down, enough so that he smiles gently down at them. His left hand moves to Yuuji, ruffling his nearest son’s hair gently before he moves away, reaching over all three of the kids to his bedside table, looking to take a sip of the water he’d left there before falling asleep when he feels something, small, move out of his lap.
Raising an eyebrow, Toji chooses to ignore it—maybe not the smartest thing to do, but he’s really thirsty at the moment, so there’s not going to be any way he’s looking down until he’s not—until he’s taken a sip of water before he sets the cup back down and looks down to his lap. At first, it’s dark to the point that he can’t really make out what it is, but then the clouds outside the window clear and a little bit of light from the full moon streams in, and he has to fight he urge to gasp—How did a lavender petal get in here?
It’s not that lavender’s hard to find in Minakami—compared to Tokyo, it’s relatively easier—but he can’t remember ever going out and seeing the plant anywhere near his house. He does remember right then, though, something that Tsumiki had told him earlier in the day, after she and Megumi had returned from the store, and he turns back to the window, looks to the windowsill, when he sees it; there’s a pot, a good size but not overly huge, of blooming lavenders sitting atop it, placed there by Tsumiki after telling Toji she had bought it for him. It’s not a whole shrub of the flowers, maybe ten in all in the little pot, but the sight of it makes his eyes water, and he has to swipe an arm over them quickly so he doesn’t begin to cry and inadvertently wake the kids up.
He, Toji, has never seen, and has never known, flowers so beautiful—
—he has also, however, seen, and has known, love so strong.
A small smile gracing his scarred lips again, Toji leans over each of his kids once more so he can place the petal on the table; it’ll serve to remind him, when he and the kids wake up, to call his mother, Chiyo, and check on her. He is worried for her, and he misses her so terribly…
He is, however, comforted by the fact that he knows, surer than he knows anything else, that she is not lonely without him, that her life of luxury and freedom is still intact, despite him being away. And he knows that she will be happy to learn that he is not alone, either, despite being without her.
Because this, he thinks as he settles back to lay on the bed, closer to his kids now, chest to Yuuji’s back and his arm thrown across each of them so that Megumi and Tsumiki both, too, are under his hold, this is freedom.
This, right here, is the life of luxury that she always wanted for me.