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“I want to buy flowers.”
Shuji, putting down a pile of empty pots below the wooden desk, then leaning forward with his chin resting on the long intertwined fingers of his hands, scoffs. “No shit, Sherlock. Why else would you be in my shop?”
Terrible idea.
But he remains firm in his decision, so Haruchiyo swallows the insults he was ready to burst out and appeals to all his self control. Chifuyu recommended him for a reason, therefore, despite that dickhead attitude he really gotta be good at his job.
Inhale. Try again.
“I want to say something with flowers, it’s for someone important.” all in a single breath, heart jumping at the sole thought of his name, unsaid and concealed with jealousy. Shuji doesn’t need to know more than the essential anyways…
The florist grabs with a foot the old stool chair behind him, without breaking eye contact with his customer. And, after ungracefully sitting on it, he serves a wide unnerving smile. “Well, I’m all ears.”
This love is torturing me.
The first word on the tip of Haru’s tongue is ‘adoration’. Bright and warm like the sun, a light he could never live without: the star he’s drawn to, like dwarf sunflowers reaching for its shine. It’s the first color staining him, yellow, framing his face with its handprints of jealousy. Scratching the skin with sweet torture, mixed with the fake happiness radiated by the vibrancy of that shade and the striking allure of his muse. So inebriant, blinding, dangerous. Inhuman. So, ‘You are my divinity’ is the next note added in, brought by small american cowslip blossoms forming constellations all around.
Heavens he can admire, touch, smell.
You’ve been my reason to breathe.
The air filling his lungs, his entire existence aimed to serve him like the god Haruchiyo sanctified him into. Halos of ‘magnificent beauty’ towering with callae ethiopica in its floreal starry arrangement, that can only grasp a fraction of the unreachable, heavenly essence he’s devoted to. No longer a person, but an ideal. Pure white sprinkled like snow freckles joins the marks on Haru’s body, cold to the touch as much as his siren’s demeanor in his regards – but what should he expect? As the bouquet takes shape, a single full white rose is brought in, the center of his universe, surrounded by the other flowers in its deafening solitude. A loud bringer of the haunting emptiness he silently welcomed in his heart and is unwilling to let go. It’s fine, it’s right that way.
‘I am unworthy of you.’
The gravity that pulls me in.
Red the color of his insides fiery and blazing like earth’s core, and the pumping heart held by lithe fingers, eager to be offered as a token of his undying love. Because love’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Because love is what he can’t hold back anymore, too needy, too desperate… isn’t he? Burning with passion, while kept at distance by the same star that holds him together, holds the air he breathes, inevitably pulls him closer because Haru loves loves loves. Red the color of chrysanthemums and tulips that speak for him, confess on his behalf. That would grow out of his lungs, leisurely planting roots there, where his heart used to be. Feeding off obsession, blooming in rage. Red, the color of aggression. Of this violent dependency he doesn't want to give up – or can’t.
I can’t escape the weight
of your ultraviolent heart
Would he, if given the chance? If he wasn’t so irremediably lost in his fixation? Probably not, may be Haruchiyo’s answer, whispered to soothe the lingering fear of losing everything. Seeking comfort in an oath – ‘I live for thee’ – elegantly written in imaginary ink on every tip of the cedar leaves enfolding the composition’s base, kneeling to the floral message as he would, knight to his king, loyal and devoted – his figure adorned by an emerald green connubial veil, their union in music an alloy of trust and dedication that tastes like arsenic.
Lastly, the cellist’s ‘fidelity’ statement is strengthened by ivy branches plunging down, raptured by gravity, and completing the cascade bouquet now wrapped with a golden ribbon, its long tails glimmering like comet dust.
‘YES’ he had replied with too much enthusiasm, unable to refrain, when after practice Mikey mentioned he was gonna perform that same weekend and casually asked if any of those present wanted to attend. Haruchiyo would’ve never missed it for anything in the world. He had taken courage and showed up with a simple but meaningful gift, held with the utmost care while devoured by a mix of trepidation, awe and wonder.
Letting Mikey’s empyrean singing lull him.
‘You got this’ he thought to himself, approaching the stage with resolute steps. Inflamed heart beating like a hummingbird.
The singer, with golden hair and engaging smile, raises a hand in a welcoming gesture and Haruchiyo’s self-assurance wavers.
“A gift for me? Oh they’re gorgeous” he says,
holding the bouquet and sinking his face in warm colored petals to capture their sweet fragrance. “ Ken-chin! Ken-chin look! Aren’t they pretty?” exclaims, grabbing and pulling his partner’s sleeve – but he doesn’t seem much interested, so the gentle request for attention turns more aggressive, with a strong elbow hit that finally causes a reaction. Mikey pouts, offended; grumbling turning into chuckles, accompanied by ‘meanie’ and other chatter that Haruchiyo doesn’t hear through the static noise rising in volume inside his head.
I’ve been splintering apart,
breaking open from the start.
He would give his all, but it’s not him at his side right now, nor in his thoughts. Forgetting too easily, too often, that there’s no place for him other than behind Sano’s back. Convictions shattering at every reminder, then patched up with the next act of kindness.
Gates of heaven are closing
What did you do in my head?
“I hate how much i love you…”
Escaping from his lips, inadvertently. Loud enough to be heard, but lost between meaningless chit-chat.
‘Did you say something? Sorry I wasn't paying attention’ came in response, just as trivial.
“Nothing, just talking to myself”
Nothing.
It was nothing.
Always been nothing.
And yet…