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Lysandre cut off a flower, the raindrops splashing graciously everywhere.
He was waiting for Hikari, for his love, to arrive to their date: but as always, she was late, and it started raining, and...
Ah.
Wasn’t it maybe too keen to call her his love?
Wasn’t it maybe too wishful to call this a date?
Hikari had told him the other day that she loved birthdays because it meant delicious cake, and he had suggested that both went to eat delicious cake somewhere in Nimbasa he once came across off, and she agreed, and now he was waiting for her in the spot they settled, but as it was to be expected, she was late.
However, Lysandre had grown to see this with indulgence, after all, if she wasn’t always late to places, would she have met her at the vet? If she had showed up early that time, they probably wouldn’t have come across each other, and he’d be still spending all his days exclusively at Castelia, in his penthouse, staring longingly at the window, feeling alone, so alone.
And, given that it started raining as he waited for her, people had ran everywhere, trying to shelter themselves, which let the streets empty, empty for them to walk as they pleased, empty to share the umbrella Lysandre cared to bring with him for if it rained as it had been these past weeks, and...
He could only see the good side of all of this.
Because Hikari, in her forgetfulness, would show up here, already soaked, feeling chilly as she tended to pick casual, light dresses to wear when they hung out together, wearing that apologetic smile on her face, adorned beautifully with red lipstick that he wanted to senselessly kiss, her hair frizzy and fluffy due humidity, apologizing for the delay.
And Lysandre, grandiosely, would offer her his coat, insisting that she took it so she didn’t catch a flu, and he could listen to the little voice chuckling nervously, as she coyly joked about herself:
“Oh, I must look silly right now,” she would say. “I should learn to carry a sweater with me, but you know how I am, I suddenly drop things everywhere, and—“
And Lysandre would bend over ever so slightly, to hum, to cut her off, and wearing his heart up his sleeve, say, “I think you look lovely with it.”
And he would admire Hikari wearing his coat, getting lost on how big it looked on her, daydreaming with her tiny shape, thinking of how much he would want to wrap her, all of this to be matched with the lovely blush on Hikari’s face, and maybe, oh, maybe after the straightforwardness, she’d dare to be straightforward herself, and maybe she’d walk a bit closer of him, or maybe, maybe she’d payback the compliment, and call him handsome, or good looking, or nice, at least, and he’d feel his heart beating magnanimously on his chest, and out of this, he’d pull off the umbrella so both could walk to the bakery shop.
And Lysandre would cover the both of them with his umbrella, and to keep the pace, they would walk slowly, through the empty streets, and Lysandre would ask Hikari all sorts of questions about her fics, her novels, her cats, about Wallace, so he could listen to her enthusiastic, lovely voice for minutes on end, and hum kindly to all her excited statements, and enjoy her monologue like it was the finest of music.
Until the soft rain became heavy rain, and they were left helpless under the storm, for Hikari to apologize again for being late, deprecating to the voice of:
“I’m always so careless, if I would have showed up sooner we’d be already at the bakery, but no, I’ve always have to be this dispersed and... wow, it would be really nice to be neurotypical but I can’t make better than this and—“
In a friendly gesture, Lysandre would wrap an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in, close to his body, in a kind manner of support, of understanding, and he’d have a hard time picking his next words, trying to decide whether to keep this as friendly comfort, or instead, turn it into his most sincere of wishes and feelings, and simply let the love words slip from his nervous lips, to be able to finally call her his love out loud:
“You know... you shouldn’t put yourself down for it. I’m not angry, in fact... simply think about it. If you were more of an early showing person... I wouldn’t have met you. But, Hikari...” his lips would tremble, his tongue would get tied, his fingertips would shake. “I think I was the luckiest that day, I was so lucky that you showed up late. I never was happier that someone showed up late, in fact... I was... so very ready to snap at you, but it simply took to look at you, at how... gorgeous you are... to see the way you verbalized, the way you moved... for me to feel happy, and... simply want to know everything else about you.”
And because he knew Hikari was hermetic, that she had long decided to shut her heart because hurt was all it had received, Lysandre would know it wouldn’t be enough to simply say this, and because of that, he’d push a bit more, saying it all, like never before:
“Before you think I’m just senlessly rambling as I always do... I just want to say that... I don’t mind much if you’re late or not, if there’s something with you that doesn’t allow you to organize your days better, because... every little minute I get to spend with you, is a treasure for me. Because... I love your laugh, I love to listen to you talk, I love your presence, I...”
And there wouldn’t be nowhere to hide, anymore. But in exchange, there wouldn’t be more ghosts to haunt him anymore.
“I... simply love you, Hikari.”
And... Hikari would grow stiff in his arms, he knew, and he’d have to stop for a second to check on her, and her eyes would shine, and her cheeks would blossom in red color, and she’d babble a bit as Lysandre held her better between his arms, and she would say those words he ached to hear, that he could only dream to listen:
“Lysandre... I love you too, just... I was... too shy to tell you, thinking that maybe you wouldn’t feel the same, that maybe it was all in my head...”
Not being able to bring himself to give a damn about everything that wasn’t this petite woman between his arms, his petite, he’d drop the umbrella, and he’d stroke Hikari’s cheek ever so softly, taking in the gaze of her beautiful face all flustered, all nervous, drinking on every single detail of it, smiling reassuringly at her, getting closer, so deliriously closer.
And he’d feel her sweet breath so close to his, as the only source of warmth in this chilly, rainy day, and before falling, free falling, he’d say it one last time:
“Je t’aime, Hikari.”
And she’d gasp softly as he trapped her lips with his, in the softest of motions, implying with such simple, overused act all the utter adoration that had grown and flourished inside of him, hoping that for Hikari, for his petite, this was the most special, the loveliest, the most tender she had ever got it; oh, he’d kiss her like all those idiots making her feel like she was hard to love hadn’t ever kissed her before.
He’d give her one good real movie kiss, one that he was sure a woman as creative, daydreaming, amazing like her would want and cherish forever in her memories, and not just one, no, as many as she wanted; whatever she wanted, he’d give it to her.
And when they’d pull away, he’d sprinkle kisses all over her face, he’d kiss her hand, the palm of her hand, her fingertips, and she would know how much he loved her, and not only her, the empty streets will also know how much he loved her to cherish this memory forever, and they would walk, and kiss, and it would be his gaze on hers, and they would kiss and kiss more, and—
“Lysandre!”
Finally, Hikari, his love, showed up, and...
Her hair was puffy, yes, and she was wearing a white skirt, with... a pink, fluffy sweater, that matched the color of her own umbrella.
“Hah,” she gasped. “Sorry I’m late! I got out of my house but then realized it would be raining and I didn’t want to be a bother to you being all soaked and chilly while we went for our cake that, heh, I went back to change my outfit and get an umbrella!”
“Ah, I see, good thing is that you’re here already.”
“Did I leave you waiting for too long?”
“Nah... I just arrived, I got very busy last minute, I was in fact about to call you telling you to await for me because I thought you’d already be here, and...”
Hikari tilted her head, “what’s that?”
“Oh, this, well... I.. was... here and, tu sais, je...”
He started babbling, trying to make a convincing explanation that skipped the part in which he stood for minutes on end imagining an entire life by her side, scheming all the beautiful things he’d say to her when she arrived, how he’d kiss her, how he’d confess all the beautiful feelings he held for her, how he’d make it real, how he’d make her his petite amie, trying so hard to not make a fool of himself, feeling ridiculous, amazed that, a man like him, who had gone through enough stuff to lose all the energy to act this way, was acting in this helpless, lovefool way.
“I... saw this rose, and... y’know... how it’s... pink, and I... thought you’d like it, because it’s pink.”
Maybe he would tell her all those beautiful things that were on his mind...
... or maybe he would simply give her a rose.
“Oh, well, thanks! It surely is a beautiful pink color! This is so pretty, but sometimes I feel so guilty when I cut them, like, who am I to cut them? And before you point out that, yeah, they grow back again... what if they’ve got an owner and they get angry at me?”
Yes...
Maybe it was better off to just give away the rose.
And as Hikari kept on rambling about stories of her cutting flowers as a kid and her neighbors getting angry at her, until her mom decided to grow some herself, for Archi to ruin them, Lysandre just listened, his coat remaining on himself, opening his own umbrella to cover himself, and as they started to absentmindedly walk, he swore he could listen to Malva’s voice in his head, saying:
“You’re such a loser.”
And feeling ridiculous over all the things he planned to make real only to have Hikari acting perfectly platonic around him, Lysandre thought that...
Maybe it had been better off to just give her a rose.