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Kenma slowly walked up the stairs into the greenhouse which had a small florist shoppe attached to the back corner. He took his time, enjoying the scent of all of the plants as he made his way to the small building, feeling the sun on his face.
He was careful as he took the step up into the place. It was an awkward height, one he’d traversed many times. The bell that rang as he closed the door behind him got the attention of the young woman at the counter.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, nodding at him, “What can I do for you today?”
“Is Kai here?” he asked, working his way over to the counter.
“He retired a few months ago,” she explained.
“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” he mumbled, “He can spend more time with all of those grandkids.”
“Exactly,” she said with a pleasant nod, “I’m unfortunately not Kai, but if there are any non-Kai things I can do for you, let me know.”
“I need a personalized bouquet,” he explained, leaning on the counter.
“Alrighty, so we have a few sizes you can-“
“Actually,” he interrupted, “I just want like a ton of things. You can charge me whatever for them.”
“Oh dear,” she said with a smile, “That order usually means you’re fighting.”
He chuckled, a soft smile appearing on his face.
“We haven’t fought in quite a bit now,” he said.
“Good on you,” she said with a lopsided smile, “Seems like I can’t go an hour without fighting with my boyfriend.”
“Oh, you’re young enough to have the energy,” Kenma smiled at her, “I meant to ask, do you know flower language?”
“Of course, Kai made us all learn,” she said with a nod, “But most of the time the bouquets don’t look great based on meaning, and nobody who doesn’t work as a florist knows what they mean anyway.”
“No worries,” he said, “It’s about the meaning, not how it looks. I’m going to put your knowledge to the test.”
“I love a good test,” she said, “So tell me a bit more what you’re thinking.”
“I need a vase. I forgot mine at home. I basically want a bunch of flowers that tell my relationship in a story,” he said, “And I brought some notes I wanna stick in there.”
“That’s so sweet,” she said, “I’m happy to help. Just so you know, we can print out the notes onto cards if you want.”
“Oh can you?” he asked, his eyes lighting up.
“I can. Let’s do it after we put the bouquet together,” she said with a smile, “Over to your right are our vases. Any of them look good?”
He took a look at them, taking a minute to see each. The vase wasn’t the part that mattered, but he was hoping one of them would just stick out, calling his name. He reached over and grabbed a tall, yellow one.
“Here, I’ll take that from ya,” she said, coming around the counter to grab it, “So what is our first order of business?”
“I’m starting off with a challenge,” he said, “Is there something for calming? Like a person calming someone?”
“That is a tricky one,” she admitted with a laugh, “The first one that comes to my mind is actually poisonous but I think I have two that should work.”
She wandered over to a cart where she grabbed a purple flower that looked like a cross between a rose and a carnation, before walking towards the back of the shoppe.
“No need,” Kenma called after her, “Those are exactly what I’m looking for.”
“That good?” she asked with a smile.
“It’s perfect,” Kenma said quietly, “What’s it called?”
“Prairie gentian,” she said, carefully placing three into the vase, “It means calming or ease anxiety.”
It was like all of a sudden, everything that was picking away at my soul was all gone. Neither liquor nor my anti-anxiety medications actually worked this well. I wish they did. I wish I could bottle this, the feeling of his hand gently brushing my hair behind my ear, over and over as I curled into his arms. Maybe my problems went away, but in his arms, more accurately, I think that maybe he’ll fight them off for me.”
“What’s next?” she asked, startling him.
“Sorry,“ he said, nodding the memory away, “Let’s do charming. I swear the man put some kind of spell on me.”
“How do you know he didn’t?” she joked, raising an eyebrow.
“Because it never wore off,” he said.
“Okay, so we’re doing charming, right?” she asked.
“Obsessed, madly in love with,” he elaborated.
“Hmm, that one’s harder. Violets and pansies both represent that pretty well, but they aren’t really bouquet-able,” she thought out loud, “Oh! Ranunculus! Buttercups. They mean dazzled by your charm.”
“Perfect.”
“You know,” he whispered in my ear, “Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t take the job at Bouncing Ball.”
“Why is that?” I murmured in response, keeping an eye on the stream of people flowing into the room. I’d have to start my presentation soon. Really, I’d rather talk backstage with my husband, but duty calls.
“Because I’d never get anything done,” he whispered, his breath on my ear sending a shiver down my spine, “That suit is practically begging me to suck you dry from under your desk.”
Jesus Christ. Maybe I ought to cancel this entire event. Clearly I have so many better things I can be doing. International conference be damned.
On top of that, I seem to be unable to speak, my mouth forming empty words as I try to whisper literally anything in return. I’m not sure how a mute person gives a presentation, but I suppose I’m about to find out.
“I love buttercups,” she said, carefully situating a few around the other flowers in the vase, “It’s such an underrated flower. Everyone’s favorite is rose or carnation, never buttercups.”
“Are buttercups your favorite?” he asked.
“Hydrangeas, actually,” she said, “I wish we had some here. I love them. They’re like a big ball of flowers. They come in a few different colors, but I love the baby blue ones.”
Kenma slipped his phone out of his pocket and looked up baby blue hydrangeas. He had to admit he liked them too. They were fascinating. It was exactly like she said, a big sphere of flowers.
“I wish you had some too,” Kenma told her, “I’d love to add one of those.”
She burst into laughter.
“I don’t think you would,” she said with an amused smile, “They mean heartlessness.”
“Oh dear,” he responded with a small laugh of his own, “Maybe not, then.”
“Let’s find something more positive for you,” she said.
“How about youthfulness or young love?“ he asked.
“For sure,” she said, walking over to a large display of flowers, “That’s an easy one.”
“I know you look at me and are thinking ‘there’s no way there’s youthful anything in that dude,’” Kenma said, “But when you have a love like mine, that honeymoon phase never goes away.”
“I wasn’t judging you,” she said with a laugh, “Your husband sounds awesome. I hope one day I can say I had as good of a relationship as you seem to.”
His eyes soften noticeably.
“I was a celebrity when I was younger,” he said with a laugh, “Pretty loaded too, but none of that matters. Really, just him. When you’ve got a love like that? Who needs fame? I never wanted to leave our bedroom.”
“That does sound like young love,” she said, both of her eyebrows raising.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, “Well, actually-“
“Respectfully, I do not want to know,” she said, reaching over to grab a few red flowers. They reminded him of the hydrangeas.
“I like those,” he said.
“Catchflys,” she said, walking a few displays over, “Or primroses. They both mean young love.”
“Definitely the catchflys,” he said.
She smiled and grabbed some. She returned to the counter and fussed with the flowers in the vase, clearly not happy with how they were laid out.
“Kenma,” Kuroo said, his hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah?” I asked, straightening my tie.
“My groomsman duties do not exist for the next forty-five minutes,” he said.
“I’m literally just sitting here drinking,” I told him. That wasn’t entirely true. I’ve had a ton of old friends I’ve caught up with, but that doesn’t matter. There’s no one I’d rather be with than Kuroo, so in a way, I am just drinking.
“You drunk?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said, thinking about it. I’ve had quite a bit, but I feel normal. My head hasn’t started to spin and my chest doesn’t feel warm. I think it’s fair to say I’m pretty sober.
“Oh, I am so glad to hear that,” Kuroo said.
I shot him a look. Wasn’t the point of weddings to get trashed?
“Why?” I asked, gingerly. He’d never had an issue with me drinking every now and then. Why is it an issue now?
“Because I wanna bone,” he said plainly, “We’re at a wedding and I’m free for a bit under an hour. When in Rome.”
“Where, though?” I asked.
I don’t remember seeing any bone-worthy rooms. The bathrooms were okay but the stalls were pretty small. I didn’t really see anywhere else.
“I have no idea,” he admitted, grabbing and pulling my hand, “But I’m optimistic we can figure it out.”
“What else do you have for me?” she asked.
“I don’t think this one will work, but do you have ‘games’?” he asked.
“Games?” she asked, “Like chess?”
“Exactly,” he said with a smile, “Chess. Volleyball. Video games. Card games. Trivia. Bingo. You name it, we’ve played it.”
“Hmm,” she said, “That one’s tickling the back of my brain.”
“It’s not a big deal if it won’t work, but man, friendly, well, loverly competition is truly the best,” he explained.
“Promise me you won’t tell Kai,” she said, pulling out an old book with the title ‘Hanakotoba, a Beginner’s Guide.’
“Your secret is safe with me.”
He watched as she flipped through the book, searching intently. She seemed to know where to look but couldn’t quite find it. He was about to tell her not to worry about it, but then she pointed at an entry.
“Hyacinth,” she said, “I shoulda known that. It looks like red or pink would work.”
“Can we do both?” he asked.
“Of course we can,” she said, “Here.”
He followed her over to a display of flowers he found to be absolutely breathtaking. There was one that was so perfect he actually grabbed it and handed it to her. She picked out a few more before beginning to assemble them into the vase.
We need this point. It’s going over the net. Fuck. What now? They’re going to smash it. Send it over? Bait another net foul? Try for a rebound? I’m running out of time to decide. The ball is here in a fraction of an instant.
A figure darts into the corner of my vision. I don’t need to look to know who it is and where he will go. I don’t even need to think about it. Years and years and thousands of repetitions means I know his body, know him, and know exactly where his fingers are going to be.
The only issue is if I can actually get it there.
I’m exhausted. My sweat is everywhere. It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting. Every jump is sending a jolt through my knees but I have to make this. I push off against the ground, just high enough to tap it up with one hand.
I hear a slam and know that I hit my mark.
“How’s this?” she asked.
He took a good look at it. She’d been given a pretty awkward combination of flowers, but she made it work. It looked perfectly imperfect so far. It was an excellent monument to his love.
“It looks really good,” he said.
“I think we’re almost out of room for this vase, but we can switch or you can grab a second one,” she pointed out.
“No worries,” he said, “How about one more flower?”
“Perfect.”
“Well, there’s gotta be something for marriage, right?” he asked.
Her eyes darted to his ring. It was clearly old, the metal somewhat dull with a few scratches on the surface. She vaguely wondered why he didn’t bother to restore it. He clearly had the money.
“Ivy. That’s a great one,” she said, gesturing at the small vase that was quite overstuffed, “Normally with Ivy I like to have a vine or two hang down out of the front. Is that okay or do you want it more around it?”
“Yeah, totally fine,” he said, watching her begin to mess with the placement, her eyes squinting in focus.
“Hey, love,” he whispered against my ear. I picked my cheek off the towel, angling my face to look at him.
“Wh-“ I started before he cut me off with a quick peck. When he pulled back, I reciprocated the favor. I’m not sure when I’ll get tired of kissing him, but that day certainly hasn’t arrived yet.
“Stand up,” he said, a boyish grin on his face.
It warmed my heart. The older we get, the more and more I miss when we were little and didn’t have to go to work or cook or clean the house or pay taxes, but seeing that smile takes me back to when we were young.
I made a groaning-esq noise in protest, but got up to my feet, making sure to dust the sand off my legs on the way up.
“Alright, I’m up,” I said, raising an eyebrow and suppressing a smile, his clear amusement contagious.
“Close your eyes,” he told me.
“Are you planning on drowning me?” I asked, gesturing at the water, but closing my eyes, “I’m a bit concerned about the lack of witnesses.”
“Drowning you? Yes actually,” he said with a big belly-laugh, “With my love and my hand in marriage.”
My eyes popped open as I felt a piece of metal touch against my finger.
“What are you?” I asked, confused, but let him place the shiny gold band around my ring finger, “But we can’t.”
“Who said anything about legally being married?” Kuroo asked, handing me another ring, “I know you want to get married, so it’s easy as that, we’re married now. If you say ‘I do’ anyway.”
Tears welled in my eyes, threatening to spill over. There is no one out there like him. He’s just so- so everything.
“Do you take me,” I started, the words tearing the tears right out of me, “As your non-lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” he said, kissing me, his lips warm, “But will you take me as your non-lawfully wedded husband?”
“Of course, I will,” I told him, sliding the ring onto his finger.
He laughed as he pulled me into his chest for a hug.
“I think we just did all of that in the wrong order,” Kuroo said with a laugh, “Aren’t you supposed to say the stuff, then do the rings, then kiss?”
“Oh shit,” I said, pushing out of his arms, “Now it doesn’t count. We’ll have to do it again.”
“I’ll marry you every day of my life, Kozume Kenma,” he said, bringing his hands up to wipe my tears.
“You need more or do you want me to start putting your notes on the cards?” she asked, looking at the interesting combination of flowers and vines.
“I think we can do the cards now,” he said with a nod.
“Alrighty,” she said, walking to the small computer on the other end of the counter, “Here are the options.”
She slid four little cards towards him. They were all decorated very differently, but he immediately knew which one he wanted. He pointed at the light blue one with scalloped edges and gold lettering.
“This one for sure,” he said.
“That’s my favorite too,” she said, nodding her appreciation, “So I can give you a pad of paper and you can write them out if you want or if they’re short you can just say them.”
“I’ll do you one better,” he said, pulling a few slightly crumpled index cards from his pocket. He looked down at them for a moment before handing her the first one.
“‘Can I get a fucking sanity check here?’” she read with a laugh, “That might be the funniest thing I’ve ever printed.”
“I imagine you’ve seen some ridiculous things,” he said, smiling warmly.
“You don’t even know the half of it,” she said, typing the question into the computer, “I’ve learned so many synonyms for genitalia since I started here.”
“Ah, young love,” Kenma said.
If my heart rate gets any higher, I might have a serious medical emergency, but maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing. He’d look so good in one of those little nurse costumes with all of the lace- oh my god. What is wrong with me lately?
I’d never thought about him like that, ever, well consciously, I mean. I’ve been having those kinda dreams about him since puberty, but hey, who’s mind doesn’t concoct weird sexual dreams? Certainly not mine.
I look over at him, expecting to see him looking at his phone, but instead he’s looking at me and I can’t help the blush that spreads on my face. I can’t help it. The more I try not to blush the worse it gets. I’m sure I look like a fucking stop sign, but ‘stop’ isn’t written on my face. If anything, it’d be the exact opposite, a huge ‘go’ sign hanging right from my forehead.
The eye contact was getting to me. I had something to say but his eyes snatched all of the words away. I stood, frozen, as his gaze shifted away. It was a momentary relief before I realized just where he was looking.
Am I crazy or is he staring at my lips. Am I? Could it be? Are we both feeling this way? How do I ask?
Let’s do it delicately, to preserve the friendship and whatnot.
“Can I get a fucking sanity check here?” I blurted, “You’re into me too, right?”
Kuroo snorted.
“Oh, Kyanma,” he said, “I’ll answer that question when I pick you up tonight at seven. Wear something pretty.”
“Here,” she said, “Look good?”
“Perfect,” Kenma said with a smile, “Here’s the next one.”
They swapped cards, the beautiful printed one on the decorative card for the crumpled index card with Kenma’s scribble, ‘I’m so toxic I’m going to out cancer the cancer.’
“Are you a survivor?” she asked.
“My husband out cancered his thyroid cancer when he was in his forties,” he clarified with a smile, “I used to make fun of him because women are three times more likely to get it, but he did always like to defy the odds.”
“I’m glad to hear he’s okay,” she said.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, carefully.
“See that dude in the hallway?” Kuroo asked.
“I do,” I responded, busy readying the wheelchair. They should make bigger wheelchairs more accessible. This motherfucker’s legs are so long and this one isn’t adjustable like the last one. Looks like he’s going to have to have his knees at nipple height. That’s what he gets for being so fucking tall.
“He’s a fucking criminal,” Kuroo told me, a sly smile on his face, “A garbage human being.”
“How do you know?” I asked, watching him gingerly plop down into the chariot I readied for him.
“That piece of shit stole my thyroid!” Kuroo exclaimed, trying to move his legs around to find some semblance of comfort.
“Wow,” I told him, rolling my eyes, “That was like two whole days ago. You should learn some forgiveness. Stop holding grudges, you dick.”
“You see, that’s part of my strategy,“ he explained, “I’m so toxic I’m going to out cancer the cancer.”
He watched as the printer spit out the card and handed his next one over.
“Is compassion supposed to be missing the ‘P’?” she asked, hesitating.
“Yes,” Kenma said, a silent laugh falling from his mouth.
“Com-assion?” she asked, an amused look on her face as she typed it into the computer.
“Oh, it’s just an inside joke,” he said, the side of his mouth twisting up.
“Gotcha,” she said, clacking a few buttons until it started printing.
My eyelids are heavier than a barge filled with, I don’t know, heavy stuff. I’m too tired to think of an equivalence. I feel like I’m becoming one with the armrest of the couch that I’m laying on as my entire body gets heavier with mostly sleep, but also the tiniest prick of disappointment.
We’d kissed yesterday, like seriously kissed. I can still feel his lips against mine, his tongue in my mouth, and I don’t think the insistence I felt then has dissipated in the last twenty-four hours. I might even want him more, but there’s only one issue.
Azumane Asahi.
It feels wrong to call him an issue. He’s really kind, and typically the opposite of imposing, but he was the only one left in the lounge besides Kuro and I, his enormous hands struggling with another sewing assignment. I tried to tell him that focusing on a teeny tiny needle when you’re this tired is stupid, so hopefully he’d get the hint, but he didn’t. It had been almost an hour by my count, but I’ve been close to passing out, so honestly it could be more or less.
I let my breath deepen, willing myself to nap at least until Azumane-san leaves, but thankfully, his voice scares the absolute shit out of me, something I’m not usually grateful for.
“Goodnight, you two,” he said kindly, as he tiredly got up from the armchair he was sitting on, “Don’t stay up too late.”
“We won’t,” Kuro said, but I was too focused on waiting until the exact moment the door would shut behind him to respond.
The second felt like an eternity, but finally I heard that click and I sprung into action. Suddenly the weight surrounding me lifted. It looks like horniness makes all the difference in the world.
I fumbled across the room to my boyfriend, who was getting ready for my landing by sitting up and moving his binder to the table with a haphazard toss.
I had to stop from physically throwing myself at him, but I went quickly, straddling his legs, up on my knees, and bringing my lips to his. It’s very possible that this was the fastest time from nearly being unconscious to kissing someone ten feet away ever seen in the history of the world.
I never really understood the point of kissing- like it was only something to make sex less awkward- but I get it now as my hands are in his hair and I’m already breathing like I ran a marathon.
At first I thought he might not be quite as eager as I was, but his tongue immediately found its way into my mouth. It’s not like I’m going to complain; It’s not like I’m going to do anything but keep going, faster and faster.
I want more, so I’m going to get it.
I’m not going to lie, there’s a bundle of nerves pricking at the back of my throat. This is all new to me. I don’t know what I’m doing, but it’s completely surrounded by a massive wave of excitement.
I’m approximately a half second from ripping his shirt off, okay, taking it off- I’m not that strong, when suddenly he stands up, his hands under my thighs.
A thrill shoots right into my chest as I grin into his mouth. He’s so damn big. Obviously I know that about him, but that realization hit even more considering the fact he’s having no issue hoisting me in the air and keeping his lips on mine.
My mind only darts for a second to where we’re going when my back touches against the wall. I feel him tug at my hair tie until my hair falls out of its ponytail.
I have no idea what it is about being pinned to the wall, being manhandled, but I’m out of breath already. I could die right now and be happy.
We kiss for a long time against this wall, my neck getting sore and surely his back as well, but I don’t say a word. When I say I want this forever, I mean it. I only interrupt us for one singular reason.
“Put me down,” I breathe against his lips, pulling back some.
An adorable pout appears on his face and I lean forward to kiss it.
“We’re wearing too much clothing,” I told him and I watched his big, dark eyes widen in excitement and he slowly released me down the wall.
Something caught on my back, but I wasn’t paying attention. My fingers were at the hem of his shirt already, wanting it off a long time ago and as I was pulling it up, he let out a chuckle.
“What?” I asked, confused. Was he laughing at me? Did I do something wrong?
He reached his large arm around my back and pulled off a paper ‘P,’ and waved it at the wall where he’d had me up against.
“Have some com-assion, Kozume Kenma,” he said with a laugh.
I looked up to see that we destroyed the lounge decoration, but I didn’t dwell on it long. Kuro’s long fingers were at the hem of my pants.
“Hello?” the florist asked, gently, placing the newly printed card in front of him.
“Yeah, sorry,” Kenma said, shaking his head.
“What’s next?” she asked.
“Uh, this one,” he said, sliding another one of the index cards over.
“‘Until you don’t have the luxury to pursue it anymore’,” she read to herself as she started to type it in, “Pretty.”
God, I don’t know if I’ve cried this much since I was ripped out of the womb a month too early. It’s embarrassing, too, my shirt absolutely doused, but hey, at least it’s only my boyfriend here.
I’m sad at the dead stop in my career, yes, but I’m also deeply frustrated with myself. This was my fault. I knew what attack to use. My fingers were even halfway there on their own, but my stupid, stupid brain second guessed it and I switched it up, leading to my untimely demise.
In the game at the tournament, I mean. Obviously I’m still alive. Dead people don’t drench their shirt with tears. They do piss themselves though so hopefully that’s not in my near future.
“It’s okay, love,” he attempted to soothe, his voice vibrating against the cheek I have pressed against his chest.
“How long do I keep trying?” I choked out, “I can’t win tournaments. I can’t qualify for any real ones, so when do I throw in the towel and admit I’ll never be able to make a career in video games?”
“Until you don’t have the luxury to pursue it anymore,” he said warmly, “You fight for this. I’ll take care of us in the meantime.”
“So the next one is actually a drawing,” he said when she handed him the card, “It’s a yellow butterfly, so I assume we can’t do that on the card?”
“I can do you one better,” she said, a glint in her eye, “A yellow butterfly, huh?”
He watched as she disappeared into the back of the shop, through an old wooden door.
I guess I’ll play on the middle school team with him. I don’t really want to. I don’t really want to play at all, but he asked me to do it, so I’m going to do it. I was going to say it’s not like I mind, but that would be a lie. I absolutely mind, but I’ll do it for him.
I can’t help it. I kinda feel bad. The only time he smiles is when he’s playing volleyball, so I guess if I can make that happen more, I’m doing something worthwhile with my life. It’s better than doing nothing all day, or at least that’s what my parents refer to playing video games as.
Even now, he’s grinning at me. I’m just setting him the ball, but I guess he’s always wanted to be a real hitter.
“Woah,” he said, his eyes catching something behind me, “It’s my mom.”
I knew he was weird, but I didn’t know he was insane. His mom was dead. My dad told me. That’s why they moved here. I don’t know who’s behind me, but it’s definitely not his mother.
I turn around, not sure what to expect, but the only thing in sight is a huge, yellow butterfly, not my friend’s dead mother.
“Uh,” I said, turning back around to look at him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, crossing his arms, “I know it’s not really my mom, but my dad said that yellow butterflies are our dead loved ones visiting us. Do you have anyone you love who’s dead?”
“Well, my grandma died when I was little, I guess,” I said.
“See, so that’s her, and my mom,” he explained, “It’s nice to see you guys.”
“Which one?” she asked, walking back into the room, holding two long sticks with model butterflies on them.
The first one was very cartoony, sparkly and glittery with mesh wings and the second one was more mature, though a bit smaller. It took him a second to think about it.
“That one,” he said, pointing at the latter.
“I kinda figured, but I also figured I should ask,” she said, “Oh, do you want to try placing these or do you want me to do it.”
“Uh,” he said, looking at the little cards and butterfly in his hands and on the counter in front of him. He intended on doing it, but that seemed impossible all of a sudden, “You can do it.”
He felt it coming on again. He wasn’t particularly surprised. He actually expected it, but he’d gotten so far through it that he thought he was going to make it to the end. He felt like his throat was closing up, rendering him unable to speak.
Luckily, it wasn’t required of him as the florist was busy, rearranging all of the notes, the flowers, and, of course, the butterfly.
He focused on his breathing, his own heartbeat. He tried not to focus on how quickly his mouth was filling with saliva or how quickly his stomach was filling itself with nothingness.
He ended up being able to handle himself, paying more than needed for the arrangement as he carefully walked it out to the car. He set it on the floor in front of the passenger seat, next to the picnic basket. It had been a long day, but it was their anniversary, so he needed to keep going, keep moving. He drove in a trancelike state, all the way back to the park they used to play at when they were kids and took two trips to take the flowers and the basket with him.
He searched the nothingness inside of him for peace, but he came back with only more nothingness as he set out the blanket.
He sat there, quietly, for a few minutes, before moving on, always moving on. He pulled out the bottle of water and bento he’d packed and slowly began to eat.
The food all turned to a tasteless, endless, sticky, mush in his mouth. It must have taken him an hour to swallow it all down. At least the view brought him some happy memories to reminisce over.
When he ran out of his food, he also ran out of the happy memories.
The grief has corroded my entire body. Every single movement I make takes an Olympian amount of effort. My joints hurt. They have for years, but this is different. I can hardly breathe. I can hardly keep going. This world is far too miserable without you here.
As I sprinkle some of what’s left of you into this water, I feel like a part of me is turning to dust, too. It makes sense that we end here as it’s essentially where we started. I wish I would simply turn to dust, but I know I’m not that lucky.
I prayed to anyone that would listen, starting when we were little kids, that I would be the one to go first, that I would never have to live through the loss of you, but that wish wasn’t answered.
It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.
It was so much worse.
I know one day I’ll take solace in the fact that you went peacefully, that we had our final goodbyes, and that you felt like you lived the best possible life, leaving with no regrets, but today, all I can feel is the absence of you, and it fucking hurts.
I learned that you can be numb and in unbearable pain all at the same time. I keep wondering why I’m still on this earth. There is no purpose for me here without you.
The only thing that keeps me going is the nagging idea that I was shaped by you through my entire life so that a large part of me is intrinsically you and therefore is much too sacred to ever harm.
I vow to take care of the you that is left in me. I’m not sure that’s a battle I will win, but I promise that I’ll try.
Kenma stretched his legs out on the blanket, suddenly exhausted. He’d grown around the grief in the last few years and had come to accept that it’d never go away until he did, and he was right. It never actually went away; He just got better at living with it.
He took a deep breath before getting up. He feared that if he stayed much longer, he’d be there forever. He carefully folded the blanket and set it into the basket.
When he bent down to pick the basket up, he felt something hit the back of his leg. He left the basket on the ground and turned around to see a volleyball a few feet away from where he was standing.
He smiled and went to grab it, but a young girl beat him to it. She swooped it off of the ground and threw it over to a group of girls who were waiting.
“I’m sorry for hitting you,” she said, turning to face him.
“No worries about it, little-“ he started to say, but the words got caught in his throat when he looked down at her, catching a glimpse of the clip sitting in her hair:
It was a small, yellow butterfly