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On Valentine's Day, all of life’s mundane happenings should have been sweet. At least, that was what florists and bakeries wanted the common man and woman to believe. Theoretically, aromatic flowers and milky chocolates should have been able to compensate for some of the bitterness of a long, drizzly day, but on this Valentine's Day, Rudi Gillen was feeling incurably bitter, and all of that bitterness could be traced back to a single man. That man's name was Kenzo Tenma.
The foreigner stood at the corner of the boisterous pub, chatting up a stylish girl, enjoying a beer and chuckling carelessly.
He must have been quite pleased with himself. After all, the winter semester was already halfway over, and somehow, by some miracle, scheme, or perhaps even dumb luck, his grades were the highest in the medical cohort.
Throughout Rudi's entire education thus far, no one had ever been close to superseding him, but in the blink of an eye, that stranger had quietly, seemingly effortlessly, overtaken him.
Warmly coloured by the flickering lanterns and candles, Kenzo smiled easily as he spoke at a distance inaudible to Rudi, who was lurching at the bar with a crowd of near-strangers. He had ordered his favourite drink, an altbier, but even that was insufficient to cleanse the bitter taste of humiliation from his mouth.
Though some seats were still available, the pub was too crowded. Düsseldorf University's medical and engineering students had arranged something like a mixer, an arrangement Rudi discovered too late, for he was horrified to find his usually quiet sanctuary occupied by many unfamiliar faces when he entered earlier that evening.
One of such faces, probably from the engineering department, had taken apart and repaired the busted jukebox at the end of the bar, so just shortly after Rudi's arrival, any silence was compensated by the trill of a romantic oldie.
While the near-strangers he had made small talk with jabbered on, Rudi watched Kenzo and his companion laughing across the room. The foreigner wore a tie. When he was tying the knot around his neck that afternoon, he was surely aware, maybe even excited, that he was going to a social event and not a lonesome pub.
Rudi grimaced.
Kenzo had always seemed sociable in lectures and in the medical commons, but only upon seeing the midterm rankings on the student bulletin did Rudi realise that it was probably the man’s smarts that his peers were drawn to, and not his companionship.
Of course, school friends were always at least a little competitive, at least a little selfish, so back when Rudi first heard that Kenzo was a bright student, he probably should have put two and two together. Nevertheless, he was astounded to discover just how high Kenzo's grades truly were. How were there not more people talking about this man’s staggering intellect?
Rudi had always found that setting the following expectations was useful for achieving a personal goal. First, one should never be too loud about their wants and goals. In discreetness there existed less chance of sabotage. Second, one should never expect a friend’s support when they are vying for the same thing.
Judging by how quickly and quietly he had climbed to the top, Kenzo also lived by these principles, or at the very least, he abided by the first one. Why such a bright individual would surround himself with a crowd who would only sap at his study time was inconceivable. In fact, it had to have negatively impacted his grades. With this inference in mind, his remarkable success made even less sense. Perhaps he had cheated on his midterms.
“You keep looking over there.”
Raising an eyebrow, Rudi glanced at the gentleman beside him. The lumbering guy had been sitting there for ages, drinking fast and chatting up everyone within arm's reach.
He was an unfamiliar face, probably studying in a different department. Or maybe not. While Rudi tried to be cordial to his peers, to have their respect and admiration, he made little effort to befriend them or memorise their names and faces.
“You keep looking in that girl's direction,” the stranger said. He took a sip of his beer and asked, “Do you know her? Because I was thinking of asking her out if that Asian fellow doesn't beat me to it.”
Rudi slowly blinked. The realisation that he was half-drunk finally reached him after he heard himself say, “His name is Kenzo.”
The stranger laughed loudly, the booming kind of chortle that could be heard from a great distance and even through walls.
“So you don't know her, but you have a crush on her.”
Rudi grimaced. “I do not. You are merely assuming.”
Peeking in Kenzo's direction again, he didn't expect to find that black-eyed gaze returned to him. Rudi flinched and glanced back down at his half-empty beer. The sharp heat of bile briefly shot up his throat.
Perhaps it was time to leave. The comforting silence he craved could not be served at the pub that night, and he had already drunk enough. It wouldn't be satisfying to finish his drink anyway.
The following moments passed all too quickly. Rudi rose from his bar stool, the stranger beside him abruptly rose too, and suddenly much of the stranger's cold beer was spilled over Rudi’s vest.
Rudi, as well as a few others nearby, exclaimed in surprise, though he didn't register what had happened until a few seconds later, when his neighbour was roughly patting him on the back, saying, “Sorry about that, pal. You'd better go clean up.”
Just like that, he slithered into the crowd, towards Kenzo and the stylish girl, and he fell out of sight.
Rudi stood in an awestruck minute of silence before retreating to the restroom at the back of the establishment.
While he rinsed the liquor from his vest, learning from his reflection that the drink had stained through his shirt, he grumbled and cursed his regret for staying at a raucous event when he had no obligation to. No altbier was good enough to make this worthwhile. It was unwise to assume even a social gathering like a mixer organised by a student body wouldn't be laced with competition. Everything in life was a competition, even when it wasn't, even when Rudi had no interest in competing.
After rinsing out the beer and wringing out the water, he sighed and tucked his soiled vest into his bag, swapping it out for his cassette player. He put on his headset and turned on the device before leaving through the back door.
The chilly February air jabbed him in the gut where his shirt was wet, so he zipped up his jacket and crossed his arms over his chest. A light dusting of wet snow drifted through the air, illuminated by the lampposts and lanterns along the pub exterior. Looking up to watch the snow fall, the sky, faintly purple, was obscured by a dense patchwork of clouds.
While Rudi walked the city streets, treading prints in the shallow sleet, he listened to a summary he had recorded for the past week's Forensic Psychology lecture. This course was an elective. Briefly, though he tried not to think of him, he wondered if Kenzo would have surpassed his grade had he enrolled in the same course. It didn't matter. Hopefully, they would never share any electives.
The cassette Rudi had on hand was focused on the importance and treatment of memory in the realm of forensic psychology, particularly pertaining to memory of events and facial recognition of eyewitnesses. The lectures had been interesting that week, so the audio summary served as a pleasant cleanser for the sentimental jukebox oldies that had infected his head.
Though his lecture rang loud in his ears, the streets were otherwise quiet at night, only occupied by the occasional couple strolling hand in hand. Many of the stores were already closed, their front displays dark and obscure. Knowing what a sorry sight he was, small and slouching and stinking of beer, Rudi avoided his reflection in the windows until a vibrant display caught his eye.
Inside a radiant shop whose light spilled over the sidewalk was a small variety of jubilant flowers. Daisies and tulips were tied in bouquets, their vivid petals blending into each other like a sunset. Beside the display was a little sign written in chalk.
St. Valentine's Day Special! 1-Dozen Flower Bouquets
The bouquet closest to the door was bursting with yellow roses. The bins encircling it were notably empty, presumably having hosted roses of more desirable colours before the inventory was cleared by romantic suckers. Rudi paused.
The summer sunrise painted the sky vermillion. This was supposed to be an opportune day, the day that everything changed, but before the sun could fully rise, the happy adrenaline coursing through Rudi’s veins was already bubbling into something unpleasant.
“Where are my shoes?” he had asked upon arriving at school. “They aren't in my cubby.”
Peering through the dense, thorny web that comprised the rosebush by the corner house, he couldn't imagine how his friends knew that his shoes were in there. The creamy yellow blossoms were mostly closed, not yet welcomed by a wholly sunny sky.
Reaching a nervous hand to part the branches, he was pricked by a thorn.
When he returned to the schoolhouse with his feet tracking mud, his clothes scuffed and dirty, the hall was rowdy. Amid the muddled clamour, Rudi distinctly heard his friend.
“He wilts like a muddy rose from the bush on the corner,” he said, and Rudi realised with an ache in his chest that he had written similar words in a letter intended to be read by only one person, a love letter left in her cubby the previous afternoon.
“Your smile blooms like a pretty rose from the bush on the corner.”
A sudden hand on the shoulder returned Rudi to the present, to the flowery Valentine's Day storefront. He was delivered with such a shock he stumbled against the window as he turned around. The looming shadow that had seemingly appeared from thin air left him speechless.
Kenzo Tenma was imminently near, standing tall and lithe and glowing beneath the golden overhead lights, one hand slowly dropping its grip on him. An open overcoat made way for his unsullied, unwrinkled shirt and tie.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” Kenzo said, his perfect brow wrinkling slightly. The chilly air was pinching his cheeks pink and the gentle snowfall was dampening his hair. “I called your name, but you didn't hear me.”
For a short while, Rudi simply blinked, dumbfounded. He crossed his arms over his jacket and felt the wet impression of his shirt over his chest.
“What are you listening to so loudly?” Kenzo asked. He gestured at his classmate's ear.
Surprise still thundering in his heart, Rudi shrugged timidly and pulled off his headset, leaving it to dangle around his neck. The whisper of his audio lecture remained faintly audible. All he could think of was that Kenzo, the only man in Düsseldorf University nearly as smart as himself, had very likely just witnessed that embarrassing incident at the pub. He stammered like a fool before finding a one-word answer.
“Music.”
Kenzo smiled softly, a little lopsided, his dark eyes indecipherable but nevertheless intense beneath the strange lighting. He gestured at the array of flowers before them.
“Are you choosing a bouquet for Valentine's Day?”
“N–no,” Rudi sniffled. “I’m not.”
Turning off his Walkman, he wondered how and why it had happened that Kenzo, uncharacteristically alone, had appeared at the same storefront as him and was seemingly venturing for conversation. He had almost certainly witnessed the embarrassing ordeal at the pub’s Valentine’s Day event, so did he plan on mentioning that in addition to Rudi’s second-place grades? It was rare for someone to have such plentiful ammunition to humiliate Rudi, who made such an effort to be unblemished. A cold sweat beaded over his brow.
Returning to Kenzo's question, the appropriate window to purchase Valentine's Day gifts had already passed, as evidenced by the many empty bins at the storefront. The day was all but finished, and eventually Rudi would look back on it with a bitterness completely unrelated to romance. Valentine's Day as a concept, as well as romance in general, was something that had rarely concerned him, but, unfortunately, this day would likely remain memorable.
“Valentine's Day is only for married couples and florists,” he explained.
Oddly, Kenzo grinned at that comment.
“That’s interesting, really,” he said, little clouds of cold air puffing with his words. “In Japan, it's mostly chocolate that is exchanged today. People of all ages participate, though it's the girls who give gifts. I guess flowers are more popular in Germany, and it's mostly boys who give gifts, right?”
Rudi nodded wordlessly, impatiently, wondering how long he was expected to hold a conversation with this rival of a classmate, how long it would take for Kenzo to mention the new class rankings. It was only a matter of time, though they each already knew their place, even without speaking of it. What Kenzo might have been too naïve to guess was that his status as number one would not last long; his disruption of the ordinary had no guarantee of permanence, and Rudi would work as much as needed to ensure his reign was short-lived. Their conversations would be very different after that.
“Do you have a favourite?” Kenzo asked. He had stepped closer to the display window, peering inside with a few fingers pressed against the glass, his snow-damp hair cast with a halo by the overhead lights.
He glanced in Rudi's direction. Rudi shook his head no.
“Okay.” Kenzo pursed his lips and paused. “But could you help me choose a bouquet?”
Rudi raised an eyebrow before reluctantly conceding to politeness. How a stranger-rival’s input could aid the selection of a flower bouquet was a mystery to him.
Clearly, this was some sort of game or competition. Was Kenzo hoping to flaunt a mysterious date or girlfriend? Rudi was not so susceptible to jealousy through that avenue. Regardless, something was afoot, but as was Kenzo's signature, he was a few steps ahead. And while Rudi craved nothing more than to be at home in a clean shirt, he would not allow Kenzo to think he had won this interaction or to think his classmate rude.
The boutique was small and humble, with a jingle bell at the door, though the fluorescent lights were a little too bright and the saccharine smell of flowers and gingerbread was a little too potent, especially for Rudi's half-drunk sensibilities. The shop was unoccupied but for the staff behind the counter.
Rudi followed Kenzo to the flower display.
“What do you think?” Kenzo asked, his nose rosy and sniffling from the cold. They each dusted the snow off their jackets, a bother quite minor against Rudi's shirt problem, a problem Rudi had no intention of revealing or reminding Kenzo of.
“Which kinds do you like? Roses? Daisies?” Kenzo suggested.
Rudi shrugged. “Those are both popular.”
Knowledgeable as he was, he was not well schooled in the feminine fondness for flowers nor did he understand their secret meanings assigned by floriographers. Unsure what else to say or how he was expected to help, he cautiously asked, “Shouldn’t you know better than me what sort of flower your girl would like?”
“Ah,” Kenzo hummed and wrought his elegant hands together, “I’m not choosing a bouquet for a girl. You see, I just want to buy something nice.”
Rudi’s eyes narrowed.
“We have been working so hard to achieve our goals,” Kenzo continued, “so I think a treat is warranted, especially now that midterms are over and said treat happens to be on sale.”
Before the awkward, lopsided smile pulling his lips could spout any more strangeness, he sniffled and sneezed, abruptly and squeakily. Rudi struggled against a smirk at the unexpected sound.
“Gesundheit.”
The subversion of Kenzo purchasing flowers for himself as opposed to a girl from the mixer was surprising, to say the least. Purchasing flowers for oneself was altogether strange, regardless of context, but Kenzo of all people should have easily found someone to buy flowers for at the mixer. Bouquets were made to be gifted, Rudi had always assumed. Few things wrapped with ribbons weren't.
He almost wanted to laugh, or more accurately, he wanted to want to laugh, but he didn't, which was nearly as surprising as Kenzo's honest intention. There was a simple vulnerability in his statement that was unwarranted, but the notion was so weird Rudi quickly abandoned his initial skepticism.
He cleared his throat before responding.
“Well, it looks like pink and red roses are sold out, so that pretty much leaves you to choose a kind of daisy, if you like those.”
Still wringing out his hands, Kenzo quietly implored his classmate further with his penetrating doe eyes. Rudi could not fathom what else he could have been expected to contribute. Did Kenzo lack the simple decisiveness to choose a trinket that would wilt in a week? Why did he need a rival's help?
“I don't really know what else to say,” he said, gulping beneath Kenzo's gaze. The sugar-sweet air of the shop was gradually engulfing him, clouding his groggy mind. “I don't like flowers very much.”
“Is that so?”
Like a balloon pressed to a pin, Kenzo deflated.
“Sorry,” Rudi blurted before he could wonder why he felt compelled to apologise. Surely, he had no reason to. The onus should not have been on him to know what sort of flower Kenzo wanted for his dorm. Still, upon a moment's contemplation, he discovered a minor curiosity to know what his classmate would select.
Seemingly deaf to Rudi's unwarranted apology, Kenzo had returned to surveying the bouquets, gently humming one of the jukebox oldies from the pub. The lonely bouquet of yellow roses Rudi had first noticed from outside seemed to likewise capture his attention, and quickly, too. Odd. There was nothing appealing about it.
“The roses do come in this pretty yellow colour. And there's only one of its kind left,” he noted, ogling the bouquet and curling a finger as if to summon Rudi. “Come over here.”
Rudi ushered in closer, and suddenly Kenzo drew near enough that the malty alcohol on his breath tickled his ear when he whispered, presumably so the staff would not hear him, “This bouquet has thirteen blossoms instead of twelve.”
He took inexplicable pleasure in this finding, giggling giddily, though he stifled it.
Stepping aside and examining his pinkish complexion for a drunken flush, Rudi realised that he wasn't sure what the baseline colour of Kenzo's cheeks would have been if he were sober. Also, he had been rosy from the cold since he had initially appeared outside, so any residual rosiness could be attributed to winter. If Kenzo was truly drunk, it was only evident in the heat of his breath and that brief, peculiar giggle.
Without any further questions (and thank goodness—Rudi was already drowning in questions of his own), Kenzo eagerly purchased the bouquet and soon the pair discovered they would be heading home from the same bus stop on the corner.
The snowfall had stopped, leaving the quiet street incredibly still. While they sat in silence, Rudi shivered in his wet shirt and impatiently traced shapes in the sleet with his foot.
The lame bouquet was placed between them, a thorny sort of barrier. In a gesture that seemed to break the quiet, Kenzo gingerly plucked a rose from the bouquet. As he reached for it, their eyes met, though Rudi quickly looked away, down at the marks he had drawn on the ground.
The moment to mention the class rankings was surely imminent; Rudi could sense it by the weird, hot adrenaline pumping inside him and the pensive arch of Kenzo's brow.
“So,” Kenzo finally spoke in a hesitant voice, fiddling with the creamy petals of his rose, “what do you want to focus on when you’re out of school?”
There it was. Talk of school had been avoided for an impressively long time, and it probably seemed a natural thing to discuss, but Rudi was disinterested in discussing something so inherently competitive before the competition was over, before he had won. He would have been satisfied to push any conversation beyond final exams, after he had asserted who was truly the brightest student at Düsseldorf University’s medical school. Fortunately, the bus was scheduled to arrive in a matter of minutes, so their time together was running out.
“I want to be a psychologist,” he reluctantly admitted. To reveal an aspiration was akin to revealing a weakness. “A criminal or forensic psychologist.”
Kenzo ahhed. The street was dark, with no more shops open and the sky quilted with clouds, but his black eyes glittered like two starry skies.
“You’re probably good at inferring what someone is thinking or feeling, then,” he said, his lips curling into a slight smirk.
Rudi's chest tightened. “That's a bit of a cliché,” he snorted, crossing his arms, “It’s not like I can read minds. How about you?”
“I can't read minds either,” Kenzo chuckled.
Returning to the flower in his hand, he fiddled with the petals between his fingers, unfurling them for a few beats and sneezing before finally realising what Rudi had actually asked.
“Oh,” he chuckled again, “I mean, I want to specialise in neuroscience. Neurosurgery, if I can. I guess you could say that's my dream.”
Rudi tried not to roll his eyes. That Kenzo aspired to be a neurosurgeon was completely unsurprising—of course, a man of such staggering intellect sought the most arduous and impressive pursuit. He then considered himself, intrigued by the minds of criminals, and how that intrigue would paint his reputation in a less noble light than the motives of an aspiring neurosurgeon. It was not difficult to imagine Kenzo's swarm of friends applauding how honourably he wished to employ his genius.
Still, the fields of psychology and neuroscience were intertwined; Rudi and Kenzo would likely share some classes even in their upper years. The mere thought sent shivers up Rudi's spine, and his shirt was still regrettably wet beneath his jacket, which did nothing to help.
“A friend of mine told me you two share a forensic psychology class and that you're a wiz at it, so I'm not surprised you're an aspiring psychologist,” Kenzo said, and before Rudi could interject to ask who in his elective was also a medical student and why his name had arisen in conversation, he continued. “It sounds fascinating. And come to think of it, together we have a more complete understanding of the brain, yeah? Psychology and neuroscience? They help each other out. That's kind of cool.”
Rudi’s brow softened. “I… guess so.”
“Maybe we can help each other out too. We can share notes,” Kenzo suggested. He smiled at his rose as if he were speaking to it.
“Maybe,” Rudi stiffly shrugged.
“Yes, the brain is truly fascinating—” Kenzo blabbed, though he was interrupted by yet another squeaky sneeze. "Sorry,” he sniffled.
Rudi raised an eyebrow. “Gesundheit. Do you have a cold? You have been sneezing a fair amount.”
“No,” Kenzo answered, his voice still stuffy. He cleared his throat before saying, “I promise I’m alright. Excuse me.”
Rudi paused. The question seemed counterintuitive, but he asked, “Do you have pollen allergies?”
Kenzo responded with one word, but in that word he managed to be perplexing.
“Perhaps,” he said.
Rudi's eyes narrowed, focusing on the single rose the genius was twirling between his fingers.
Perhaps?
Would Kenzo not know the feeling of pollen allergies if he felt it? A stuffy, sneezy, itching nose—it was as simple as that, and one would have to be dense not to recognize the symptoms and even denser not to know by adulthood if he had an allergy. Was he mocking Rudi? Or was that single word somehow coy?
“Are you sure you don't like flowers?” Kenzo asked, and Rudi looked up from the blossom to find him smirking.
“Huh?” Rudi blinked.
“I was trying to think of a better way to say this,” Kenzo twisted his lips, “but I was thinking that maybe you ought to have the bouquet. I mean, I wanted you to have it.”
Without another word, he reached for the bouquet between them and held it upright. Rudi watched in bewilderment as Kenzo carefully tucked the blossom in his hand back with the others. In doing so, he pricked his hand and winced.
“Careful,” Rudi urged, and he shifted closer, hovering a hand over the blossoms. “You need to be gentle with them.”
He checked Kenzo's hand—it had only been poked slightly—and then his expression; his wince had melted into a smile, blossoming in such a way his whole persona seemed to transform in a matter of seconds. His supple cheeks creased with dimples and Rudi remembered his classmate was not only handsome but also hypnotising, that the entire class was already under his spell and that his friendly smile was wildly contagious. And while his smile bloomed like a rose and his black eyes sparkled enough to light the night sky, he began to glow from the emerging yellow headlights of an arriving bus.
“That's my ride,” he said, rising from his seat. Gingerly, he placed the bouquet in Rudi's hands.
“But Kenzo, these are yours—” Rudi stammered, rising too, though the incoming bus would not take him home.
While the bus pulled to the side of the road, Kenzo said nothing, his hypnotic smile subduing, wringing his empty hands until he finally shrugged and said, “That mixer was a bit of a bust, huh? But Valentine's Day isn't quite finished. Have a good night, Rudi.”
“But Kenzo, why—”
He waved goodbye as he stepped onto the bus, and just like that, Rudi was watching the red taillights dim into nothingness.
The February night air was chilly, and though his fingers trembled around the bouquet of yellow roses, Rudi's face suddenly felt hot as the summer sun. He shivered beneath the freezing fabric of his shirt and checked his watch. His bus would arrive in one minute.
Looking at the bouquet Kenzo had left with him, the rose that had been pulled still stuck out farther than the rest. The light, sunny blossoms were dotted with some other tiny flowers that were easy to miss. Rudi hadn't verified until then, but there were indeed thirteen roses in the bouquet, and the arrangement was wrapped in intricate pink paper and tied with a golden ribbon.
The trinket was quaintly pretty and less condescending than it had initially seemed, but regardless, Kenzo was no mind-reader. He could not have known how Rudi’s stomach wrenched at the initial sight of the yellow roses, but had he noticed Rudi eyeing them? Had he truly intended to gift them all along? Were they truly a gift and not some kind of joke? What motivated him and why had he appeared at the boutique in the first place?
With every unanswered question sprouting farther and farther from academics, Rudi's initial inclination that Kenzo intended to mock him was dwindling. Was his hypnosis deliberate and calculated or was his true aspiration friendship?
No matter the intent, Rudi was left with that confusing adrenaline still throttling his heart, and looking at the thirteen yellow roses, he was overcome by an unexpected urge to smile.
He didn't fetch his cassette player during the bus ride or even during the remaining walk home, at which point he surrendered to humming the contagious tunes from the pub's repaired jukebox, a sentimental sound that was candy-sweet on his lips.