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Mrs. N’twine said she would buy the flowers herself.
From the second her father died, Val N’twine suffers the morbs of grief. She claimed she’d be in great ecstasy, but she didn’t. She claimed she’d buy him flowers, but she didn’t. She claimed she’d attend her father’s burial, but she didn’t for Mako has taken that job for her; whilst she herself has gone missing for a few nights in turn.
No one know the story behind those nights she was in. Though in the end of school hour, she finally appeared to Mako at the roof top.
Thump, thump, thump. Her heavy shoes aching the ground with her steps. Her movement shows unclear emotion of what she’s feeling. Mako, who was just smoking and sitting at his usual spot were startled. He almost stood up in instinct but then was interrupted by her hand gestures, motioning him to sit back down as she spoke;
“Let me come to you.”
The ground is hard, Mako’s cigs filling their nostrils, and they sat down together. The evening wind brushing against their skin, hair, and feelings. Avoiding each other’s irises, No one dare to speak up for God knows why.
“. . .”
“Care for a smoke, Mrs. N’twine?” Mako began, his gaze still focusing at the bright sky while his fingers took the cigarette from his lips and lend it to her side.
She gave him a strange look upon his particular use of ‘Mrs’, before taking the cigarette and bring it to her lips. She inhales the tobacco; the cloud of sharp bliss fills her lung. She stays like that for a few passing seconds before asking in curiosity;
“What’s with the ‘Mrs’?”
“Well, your father just died.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
The birds chirping as they fly, taunting the silence they are in.
“. . .Get it? ‘Mrs’ for grieving people? You know. . . loss as a symbol of maturity. . ., Don’t your family use that. . ?”
. . . Dead silence. Again. Oh, what a tradition he has, an odd thing to say. She didn’t even feel irritated by his words and feel amused instead.
“. . .”
“Sorry.”
“Pass me another cig.” She demands. Throwing the finished cigarette across the school building. Mako grabs a pair of cigarettes from his pocket and shove one to her palms—didn’t forget the lighter too, of course. She places the cig on her lips and lights it as Mako does the same.
“. . .How are you? Where did you go yeste—”
“This is the second time we did this.” She cuts his sentence.
“What?”
Unbothered by his raging confusion, she inhales the smoke from her cig. Her expression shows no grief, her composure stays as usual, and she spoke, smooth and deft;
“The same exact thing—the student council president and the vice at the roof top, smoking together.”
He sighed in defeat; He can see her avoiding the topic he picked and gave no space for it. knowing she’d do anything but talk about the mystery that haunts his head, he has to step back and let her drag him into another conversation.
“Indirect kiss, yes.” He mumbled in response as he inhales the smoke. Memories from a year ago played inside his head; whereas they are in the same position, sharing the same cigs to smoke. A small laugh broke from his side and he averts his gaze to her.
“Why, that’s the first thing that came to your mind?” a smile painted across her face as she remembers the scene he refers to.
He laughed too in response, he was about to open his mouth before she again, cuts him off—but with her lips pressed against his cheek instead.
His eyes widen for a brief moment as he feels his cheeks heated up by her sudden action. Her body pressed against his side, and her breath warm—reeking of cigarettes. He couldn’t endure his lips to smile at her small gesture even if he was lost in confusion. He’s fond of her, and this brings joys to his lonesome heart. But it was all broken when she pulled away, and his spirit missing her merciful closeness.
“. . . Wow, what was that for?”
“I’m simply recreating the scene.” She smiled again, tenderly, and leans back to her spot.