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Oh shit was not supposed to be Dominga’s first thought of today, but here she is.
First of all, she was not in her own bed when she woke up. No— no, in fact, she woke up in Arminda’s bed, which is in Arminda’s room , which is in Arminda’s base . Which— isn’t often a problem— Dominga likes being with her friend! She loves hanging out with Arminda, loves to play pranks with her, loves when Arminda laughs and loved how she looked on her wedding day—
Aha. See what she means.
Dominga carefully plucks the flowers from Arminda’s bathroom floor with a squinty eye. Daisies and asters this time. It was better than the ferns, which curled around her hair and took days to shake out of her head and when it did, it would fall out during the most inconvenient situations, and gardenias, which were a stark contrast to her dark hair. Dominga wonders what they meant this time, if it would make her sink like all the other times she dared to try and figure out what it meant.
Her condition was a… strange one, to be sure.
Her aunt Lunar found out first and explained it to her, that usually flower-related diseases were traced back to Hanahaki—and by that point, her aunt murmured a few words to ward against it—but Dominga’s seemed to be some kind of special variation of it. It was non-lethal, at least at first glance, but if the flowers grew from her head instead of her lungs, what would that mean? Dominga was under observation for that week, but Lunar couldn’t seem to find anything wrong with her except that…
Urgh. Except that Dominga found herself stuck in the clouds because of it.
It worsened whenever Arminda was around— but it wasn't like Dominga could control it. One time, she tried, and she ended up throwing a fit inside her house like a child . That was how Mom found out, and subsequently uncle Draco, aunt Gold, and aunt Rainbow.
But back to Dominga sitting in the toilet seat and plucking the flowers from the ground. What happened last night?
The day Arminda was supposed to get married was the day flowers started growing in her hair.
Dominga didn’t even notice until uncle Draco looked at her weirdly and remarked on her odd choice of attire. Dominga only stuck her tongue out at him, and snapped her head back to where Arminda was stationed.
In doing so, a couple of petals shook free from her head, tumbling down gently in the breeze. Dominga stared at it as it fluttered to the floor, until she fervently sped towards the restroom to shake her head free of flowers.
It didn't necessarily hurt , shaking away flowers that grew from her head, but she found that newly grown flowers were still more or less attached to her head.
When she got back to the wedding, she'd found out that it was canceled due to Percy not showing up, the jerk. Arminda was distraught , of course she was, but Dominga—
Oh boy. A new bouquet of flowers had sprung up right then and there.
Dominga doesn't usually keep her flowers, but the ones from that day still sit by Arminda's windowsill.
Dominga almost fell off the toilet seat as Arminda's voice echoed throughout the house.
"Dominga? Where are you, love?"
"Uh." Dominga scrambled to pick the flowers off of the floor and dump them into the trash bin. "I'm having a bathroom break!"
Arminda was quiet for a second before she called back, "Okay! I'm going to make breakfast!"
"Don't forget to put in the eggs this time!" Dominga jokes. It was easy when it came to that—jokes, teasing, and jabs were always Dominga's specialty—and it was always particularly easy with Arminda. It’s possibly what becomes Dominga’s greatest folly, in the endgame.
But intelligence was never a skill that Dominga seemed to possess, for all her prowess. So she just went with the flow.
Dominga closed the bathroom door, prepared to eat breakfast with Arminda and not pop a single flower— only to gape at the bed that was full of flowers and flower petals.
"Min, the food's ready!"
Dominga yelps and frantically shouts, "I'll be there in a sec!" before diving back into the sheets and gathering the flowers quickly. With an armful of flowers, Dominga rushed into the bathroom again, eyes darting for places she could throw them away.
"Min, love, the food's going to go cold!"
“I’ll be right there!” Dominga shouted, opting to stuff the flowers into empty drawers and spaces she hoped Arminda wouldn’t check. After making sure there were no more flowers in sight, Dominga tried her best to make it so that the bed looked undisturbed. After one last recheck— no flowers, no petals, no stray leaves that hid against Arminda’s green carpet —Dominga composed herself again.
She was ready to face Arminda this time, no more flowers, just good old friend vibes.
But as the kitchen smelled wonderful as Dominga descended the stairs— and as Arminda turned to look at Dominga with this blinding smile on her face —as the sunlight filtered through Arminda’s beautiful bay window and flecked her irises with a golden beauty— Dominga had to swallow and fight down the camellias and tulips.
“So,” Arminda started conversationally, flipping pancakes as she turned back to her work. “What are you up for today?”
Arminda almost caught her one time, as Dominga and her were manning the candy shop.
“What’s got you lookin’ all lovestruck?” Arminda had teased, eyes shifting from Dominga’s tomato face and her hair. “I didn’t know you put on, or even made, a flower crown! You gotta make one for me, man.”
Dominga stuttered then, and patted her head as she fought down the rising temperature in her neck. “I— it’s nothing! And I’m not lovestruck, idiot!”
“Sure.” Arminda laughed, but then her gaze turned all wistful. “Sometimes I wonder about Percy.”
Dominga growled, something ugly rearing its head within her, and snapped, “Why do you ever think of that jerk? He left you at the altar!”
“I know.” Arminda sighed, and wiped the counter. “But… it felt like my ending, you know? Like that wedding day, it was supposed to be it for me, dude.”
A dark thing crossed Dominga’s face as she rebutted, haughtily, “Well I think that Percy was a stupid, idiotic buffoon, who was too scared to face commitment. Get yourself someone who isn’t afraid of life, Minda!”
Arminda studied Dominga carefully, after that, to which Dominga instinctually responded back with a furious blush, so she turned away.
Inside, Dominga bit her tongue before she could say something stupid, like ‘ get yourself someone who isn’t afraid of seeing you , like me’, or, ‘ I’m not a jerk, like Percy ’ or— something else that makes Dominga just want to die saying. Maybe, even, Dominga hoped that when she looked back to Arminda, she would see something like a spark, a hope, an understanding of what Dominga wants to mean —
But she doesn’t. Look back, Dominga means.
Maybe if she did, then, she would’ve seen that look mirrored in Arminda’s face, a faint echo of what Dominga hoped she’d see. Maybe, maybe, just maybe, Arminda would have that same dark look Dominga had when she mentioned Percy— maybe that’s what Arminda wanted .
Dominga doesn’t look back. She closes shift with Arminda, and crushes the columbine and clover between her fingers. She doesn’t think about the mellow honey that drips from it as she washes her hands clean of that disastrous crush.
Dominga stumbles on the last stair, and Arminda is there to catch her, gently settling her down on a chair.
“You’re out of your wits today.” She laughs, humming a tune as she resumes her cooking. “If you want pancakes, you’ll have to wait a little bit longer.”
“You said the food was ready,” Dominga grumbles, calming herself down as she helps herself to a plate of eggs and bacon.
“I only said that so you would actually get down here and try my freshly cooked food.” From where Dominga’s sitting, she can see the light pout on Arminda’s face. “Honestly, I’m pretty sure you never would’ve come down here unless I said that!”
“Well I’m— tired.” Dominga resolutely settles on that, and fills her mouth with bacon. She doesn’t dare acknowledge the fact that she’s grateful Arminda has her back turned to her right now. Her next words are muffled, “And besides! Some of us have morning routines .”
“Says you.” Arminda snorts.
Dominga only indignantly spits out a bit of her bacon in the process.
It’s a bit silly, really, how Arminda finds out.
The villagers don’t often throw balls and parties, but this time, their little festival had it planned. Tons of villagers pitched in, and it even caught the eyes of the kids’ parents, so Dominga’s mom helped to fund it, while the others baked or sprinkled in a bit of magic to make the night slightly more memorable .
Dominga was taking a huge risk, growing all these flowers in her hair and putting them into a bouquet for tonight. She went the extra effort for tonight—a nice dress, nice hair, she hoped she smelled nice—and she even—
Dominga tries not to look at the flowers growing happily in her hair with dread. She forces it down.
Tonight, she was going to try to let Arminda know how she was feeling. Tonight, Dominga was planning, hoping on getting rid of the flowers that grew from her incessant thoughts.
Even if something beat in protest at the thought, like Dominga was working against what she wanted—which isn’t true, isn’t it? Dominga just wanted things to be normal, she just wanted to be friends with Arminda again—Dominga was going to— she was going to do this. She was going to go through the plan tonight and they’d go back to being friends again. Hopefully.
But then she was thrown off guard when Arminda wanted to dance.
And she was caught off guard again when Arminda looked so— so lovingly into her eyes! Her!
And— well, with how flustered Dominga gets around her, there's no way she's remembering the plan by that point. It's only luck that Arminda spots the bouquet Dominga was going to give her, teasingly asking her who it’s for. Dominga sputters, and immediately goes to hide the bouquet from Arminda, before she stops herself. And she takes a deep breath.
Dominga doesn’t remember anything past the shaking in her hands as she passed the bouquet, past the ever-present feeling of those damned flowers curling around her hair, past the way the moonlight was trapped within the silver of Arminda’s eyes, past the way Arminda’s face seemed to darken as Dominga’s confession made its way to her hands—
Gardenias. Gardenias and tulips and roses and marigold and aloe —
Dominga actually did fall off her seat, thankfully not spilling anything over herself or the floor.
Arminda shouted, rushing to Dominga’s side immediately, frantically fussing over her and checking her over for any burns. Dominga dazedly looks at her, and almost forgets why it’s such a bad thing that her face burns red and the flowers grow carefree—
Arminda almost looks betrayed when Dominga pushes her off and scrambles backward, chest heaving. Arminda croaks out, “Min—” before Dominga cuts her off.
“You know .”
Arminda softens at that, and reaches out her arms in a silent invitation. “Yeah. I do.”
“Why don’t you—” Dominga racks her brain for any sort of rational explanation for this . “How could you—”
Arminda doesn’t answer at first, letting the ragged breathing of Dominga push the silence aside. She looks at Dominga, for a bit, searchingly, studyingly , before clasping her hands together. “You know, you worried me so much when I saw you with those flowers.”
Dominga stiffens, but Arminda presses on in a more comforting tone. “I thought you’d got— that , you know. I thought I was going to be the reason you died .
“You never once thought,” Arminda whispers. “That I’d reciprocate. That’s what you told me.”
Dominga felt almost sick to her stomach. She was shaking a lot, too. Did she actually catch a fever from last night?
“Love,” Arminda continues, shuffling forward. She hesitates when Dominga tenses again. “Why do you think I never said a word when I woke up and our bed was covered in flowers?”
Dominga’s head was spinning, and she was sure that she might pass out. Because there’s no way— Arminda wouldn’t— their bed—?
“I don’t—” Dominga mutters, and winces, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I can’t— remember that. I— what happened last night?”
Arminda’s face fell. “You don’t remember?”
“We danced, and then I—” Dominga exhales. “I confessed.”
Dominga— tries to breathe for a few seconds, before she starts again. And even then, her voice is reduced to a wheeze, and hm, it’s almost like she’s panicking—
“Oh, Min.” Arminda closes the space between them, taking Dominga’s hands in her own. “ Dominga . You really were so sweet last night. You told me those were flowers you grew yourself, and I—”
“Gods, I’m so sorry for making you worry,” Dominga forces out in a half-sob. “I don’t know why— why—”
“We can take this slow,” Arminda encourages. Then, a fond smile replaces her concern. “I’d love that.”
“You love me.” Dominga breathes.
Oh. Arminda is looking at her again with that scrutiny and care . That’s what it meant all along. Flowers grew like crazy from Dominga’s head but she couldn’t bring herself to care at this moment, even as they grew to her cheeks. Arminda lets out an amused giggle at it, twirling a finger around one of the stems with a hum. “The flowers you grew are very lovely.”
Dominga laughs breathily. “Only the best for you,” she murmurs, feeling herself calm. “Only— the best.”
And— Dominga thinks she can live this way. Live with getting stuck with that care and sheer love from Arminda, live with the flowers that grow from her head, live with the possibility of a life together—
“Can I kiss you?” Arminda says, and that ugly thing from Dominga’s chest—that once sang with jealousy towards Percy, that once watered the hyacinths and marigolds and roses—finally bursts into something beautiful .
Dominga bridges the gap, and she thinks, for once, that having flowers would not be so painful as she once assumed it could be.