Chapter Text
“Why should I do this?” Eto held the phone between her ear and shoulder and squeezed into a more empty part of the crowded bus.
“The rules of propriety.” Shiono sighed wearily. "There's no need to make yourself look bad.”
“I am their hope, and that will not change whether I follow the traditions or not.”
“Eto, please, Shoji-san is an old school who is very sensitive. Don't spoil your relationship with him for whim. Buy some flowers, say a few kind things to him, and be nice for once in your life. That's all you have to do.
“It's not my style to flatter an old man for the sake of propriety.”
"Yes, your style is to delay manuscripts. And Shoji-san is vindictive enough to get back at you.”
Eto rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Fine, fine. Ugh, you've convinced me. Tell I'm late.”
The bus interior was stuffy from the approaching storm. Eto gathered her hair into a loose bun with one hand to cool her sweaty neck and shoulders, while with the other she opened the maps on her phone. There should be a flower shop or something like that near the hotel.
Irritation simmered beneath her skin: she hated buses for the shaking, the crowds of people, the terrible smell, and she refused to wear a mask because the feel of polypropylene on her face drove her crazy, and on top of that, she'd get motion sick half the time and couldn't concentrate.
Her fingers tapped on her phone with unnecessary force. She should have taken a taxi, but she still hadn't learned to manage her finances evenly. Because of the publisher's new policy of paying for the finished product, her advances had become tiny, and she couldn't withdraw money from her savings account for another week and a half, unless she wanted to lose about 20%... right now, ordering a taxi would be tantamount to forgoing one meal. She was hoping the restaurant would have a buffet, so she could eat enough to last until the next day… and sneak some food out in a plastic container. This farce had to be good for something.
To get the flowers, she had to get off one stop earlier. The rain poured down as soon as she stepped off the bus, and of course, she didn't have an umbrella. Her stiletto heels ("Eto, please, dress formally just once") weren't made for walking fast, and her dress instantly got soaked and clung to her body, making Eto start to regret not wearing a bra. The dress fabric was thin and outlined her breasts perfectly.
The shop's sign was inconspicuous and, in her opinion, old-fashioned, but she had no choice. A bell chimed above the door, of course it did. Eto let her hair down, and it fell onto her shoulders in a heavy wave. Flowers. The space was small, but Eto suspected there was a second room. The walls were dark green, and the lighting was dim, casting everything in semi-darkness. Flowers were relegated to a meager corner; most of the space was taken up by plants, and she lacked the knowledge to identify what kind they were, but she assumed they were houseplants. And it seemed there was an aquarium in the far corner. What does this shop even specialize in?
Flowers, focus. Eto walked over to that corner. Well, they all looked fresh. She turned toward the checkout counter by the wall, though she doubted that it could be called so, despite the presence of a cash register. It was a large, dark wood table, half-covered with oilcloth. The shop assistant, ignoring her, was wielding something resembling scissors, methodically trimming the leaves of a plant.
Is customer service an unfamiliar concept? Eto studied the flowers again — she needed something inexpensive that didn't look cheap.
“Good evening!” She called out to the shop assistant. Finally, he noticed her… and turned out to be one of the most beautiful people she had ever seen in her life. “I need some help.” As he walked around the table, Eto turned to a mirror, fortunately hanging nearby, and made sure the rain hadn't smudged her lipstick. Her nipples, visible through the dress, suddenly ceased to be a problem.
“What can I help you with?” He, Arima Kishou, as stated on his name tag, slowly peeled off pale blue gloves from his hands, then wiped his hands on an apron of the same color. Tall, and wears glasses — she had always been drawn to people with poor eyesight. He looked sturdy, with unnaturally white hair and sad eyes. She'd never had a fling with a guy from a flower shop before, and the decision came to her effortlessly.
“I'm late for a corporate event, and my colleague insists” a fake sigh and a splash with hands “that I observe the proprieties, which in his mind means gratifing an old man. Gifts, not in the literal sense. So, introduce to me your selection.”
"Are you interested in flowers, then?" He gave her a look that was attentive yet utterly unreadable, and his expression didn't change. It could speak either to his professionalism or to a complete lack of interest. Eto was hoping for the first.
"A poisonous plant would be handy, preferably one that wouldn't show up in an autopsy." She smirked.
The shop assistant pondered, a vertical crease forming between his brows. "Poisonous plants are in that corner, but modern medical tests can detect the toxins in each of them." His tone remained unchanged as he gestured with his hand toward the opposite corner. "However, it depends on how you intend to use it."
"Amusing."
"That wasn't a joke."
Seriously?
"So, what do we have here?" The poisonous plants looked little different from all the others, yet their price was several times higher. The one with red buds caught her eye, and she pointed her finger at it.
"Lycoris radiata. Or the flower of death, if you're interested in a more romantic name." He was standing behind her, leaning slightly towards her. A shiver ran down her skin.
"I'm only interested in romantic names," her voice naturally lowered, and she took a sharp, audible breath through her nose. "So, how does it work?"
"Every part of this plant is poisonous, so you should be extremely careful. It creates difficulties for breathing…”
"You've already created difficulties for my breathing," she said, turning around and biting her lip.
Absolutely no reaction.
"...and systemic intoxication, which in turn leads to a fatal outcome."
"Is selling something so dangerous even legal?" Eto twirled a strand of her mint-green hair around her finger.
"They are usually bought for a different purpose. Lycoris are planted in cemeteries.”
"I always thought they were associated with death because of their color. Red as blood. Turns out, it's much more prosaic: flowers that bring death... to the dead. It's even a bit disappointing. Although the legend... is rather lovely. Two spirits, I don't remember their names, were responsible for different parts of the plant. They were forbidden to meet, but prohibitions, as they usually do, only fuel curiosity. They met – and fell in love with each other in that same instant. And no matter how much they loved each other, it was forbidden, and they were punished. They could no longer see each other, and never did." For a second, Eto thinks about her own parents, but shakes her head and pushes those thoughts away. Not now. And never. "They say if these lycoris are blooming, people see each other for the last time.”
“Shall I wrap them for you?” Are you really willing to sell them to me, knowing I don't plan to plant them where they're supposed to be?
“I don't value Shoji-san enough to gift him death at a price clearly above market value. Well, I'll have to consider more mundane options. What flowers are usually given for a promotion?”
“No idea. But we can google it.” Isn't your job supposed to be knowing the answers to such questions, rather than specializing in poisonous plants?
His phone offered no clues about its owner. "Tulips could work, but not yellow ones. Also, it's customary to give narcissus to someone of higher rank."
"I like narcissus, but for a different reason. Narcissus for a narcissist." She smirked, and a small smile appeared on Arima's face. So, that's what gets a reaction out of you. "Three flowers will be enough."
Arima picked out what seemed to her the most beautiful ones and wrapped them in craft paper. Eto paid, reached out for the bouquet, and made sure their fingers touched, letting the contact linger longer than necessary. Again, no reaction, and if she weren't running late, she might have taken more direct action.
"Do you have far to go?" He called out to her at the door.
"Why?" She turned around.
"It's raining outside, perhaps you'd like to borrow an umbrella? Return it whenever you can."
She had no reason to refuse, and when Arima handed her the umbrella, black and austere, Eto noticed that his gaze was more attentive than he wanted to let on. Bingo. She should have come back for more than just giving back the umbrella.
The first thing she does when she gets home is kick off her shoes. They tumble over each other, but Eto pays no mind. In the dark, she peels off her pale pink, form-fitting dress, steps right over it without bothering to pick it up, and tries not to think about how Shoji-san was ogling her breasts. God, codger, I'm young enough to be your granddaughter. A boring, pointless event, the only good thing about it was that her container was filled to the brim: rice, pasta, carrots, spicy chicken, tofu. And the impromptu visit to the flower shop.
Eto turned on the kitchen light, grabbed some chocolate and a can of beer from the fridge, and settled in front of her computer. She intended to edit the last section, but the longer she read it, the more terrible it seemed: awkward, clunky sentences, too much description, too little description, not enough action, too much action.
The corporate event had sucked all the energy out of her. What was the point? Flattery, lies, hypocrisy, all wrapped up in fancy dresses and suits, expensive alcohol, and dreary toasts. Did people really have such empty lives that they were willing to waste them on a performance resembling a three-ring circus? It could have made a good idea for a book, but Eto had learned to distinguish good ideas from the venomous anger she was just venting onto the page.
Naturally, her thoughts circled back to the only pleasant event of the day. She wanted sex, and Arima was beautiful, and something about him was magnetic. Eto closed the manuscript file and typed the name of the flower shop into the search bar. The only information that came up was the address and opening hours – five days a week, from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. No website, even though she was sure these days any business had one, but instead a mountain of useless hyperlinks with useless information: 'Perhaps you meant...'.
Not particularly hopeful, she typed in "Arima Kishou". He wasn't on any social media – none that she was registered on, anyway, though she managed to find a few namesakes. But his name was mentioned several times in the media, under the tag "science," and in one article Arima was listed as a current professor at Kamii University. However, the article turned out to be outdated; when she went to the university's website, Eto discovered that Arima was a former professor and had resigned about a year or a year and a half ago – she couldn't say for sure.
Being a professor at 32 was something rare and remarkable at the same time. He specialized in botany, collaborated with scientific publications (Eto opened one of them in a new tab to look at later). The brief summary under "Education" stated that Arima had been homeschooled, enrolled as a freshman at 16, studied continuously, and later became a university lecturer, earning academic titles at a staggering pace. The awards section was far more extensive, and Eto scrolled through it without paying much attention.
A specially created university forum showed that all his colleagues without exception admired him, but some of that praise reeked of something rotten. Students described him as "strict”, "pedantic", and "demanding the impossible”. Occasionally, there were harsher, and in her opinion, more accurate remarks. "Weirdo." Her brief conversation with Arima made it obvious that he was not of this world. But nowhere was there a word about his leaving the university, and Eto didn't believe that in their society of triumphant capitalism and the cult of lifetime employment, a resignation was just a resignation. A scandal? Most likely.
But she found many photos from his award ceremonies, where Arima was always in suits that undoubtedly suited him, and with a blank expression on his face, as if he had no relation to the awards he was receiving.
The longer she scrolled through these photos, unnervingly bright, identical, and lifeless, the stronger her interest grew, a hunger-like feeling, and a sketch of their future meeting gradually took shape. A one-night stand is always a game, and Eto enjoyed playing it, and she already knew how to approach Arima Kishou. He was undoubtedly a professional in his field, and she always needed extra inspiration.
She waited two days. Going back the very next day seemed too obvious to her. Lipstick, because she had worn lipstick the first time, but a redder shade. Heels, like the first time, but more comfortable and allowing for the desired speed of movement. A dress yellow as butter, loose enough but revealing part of her back. In this game, not only facial expressions, gestures, and lines matter, the costume is important too.
She had hoped there wouldn't be many customers on a monday afternoon, but she was wrong. Two elderly ladies were talking to Arima, who stood behind the dark table. Which fertilizer is better? How much water does it need? And listen, will cats react okay to the flower? Blah, blah, blah. Eto hoped she wouldn't become like that in her old age, or simply wouldn't live to see old age. The latter was preferable.
Arima Kishou noticed her, his gaze was brief and unreadable. He methodically and patiently answered all the questions, his tone was polite and indifferent. What it's like to work at one of the country's best universities and then spend days explaining the same mundane information day in and day out. Then again, maybe that's exactly what teaching was like.
Eto walked over to the corner with the poisonous plants. Her little research had shown that it was common to sell lycoris bulbs, not the flowers themselves, and she suspected such sales operated in a legal gray area. A humming sound was coming from the second room, who knows what kind of weed is growing in there.
A bit further back was a glass box, resembling an aquarium. No, it was an aquarium. Eto stepped closer and saw fat black spiders crawling over soft bedding. "Weirdo" was definitely a mild description.
"What else does your shop specialize in, tell me again?" Eto turned to him with a note of accusation as soon as the door closed behind the two old ladies. She pointed her finger at the largest spider for emphasis.
"Plants. Those," he stepped closer and nodded towards the aquarium, "are not for sale. A hobby."
The 'mad scientist' type suited him better than the 'brilliant scientist' type. Good thing she always found normal people boring.
"I want to return your umbrella." Their hands touched again, longer than necessary, and Eto confirmed that at least a drop of interest in her existed. "And also," she walked past him, spreading her arms wide, "I discovered that you are a prominent scientist. Kamii, endless internships, your own lecture course, must be exhausting, being in the spotlight? Is the shop a side gig or a hobby?"
"Do you make a habit of compiling dossiers on shop assistants?"
"Only if they're handsome or did me a favor." She smirked.
"Apparently, my favor was insignificant, since you didn't try very hard."
Oh?
But they were definitely playing the same game.
"Just don't tell my boss, or he'll think he's paying me too much. Actually," Eto sat down on his table, crossing her legs and exposing part of her thigh, "I'm actually looking for an expert for my article. I'm a journalist.”
"And where can I read your work?" Part of her wanted to blurt out "in any bookstore," but she had a cover story. "Tokyo Shimbun. But I won't tell you my pen name. If you're truly interested, you'll have to figure it out yourself."
"I'm so sorry, but I don't give interviews."
Really, so sorry?
"Perhaps I phrased it incorrectly. I don't need an interview. I'm writing an article about plants in the Tokyo area and how to distinguish safe ones from dangerous ones. You see, an educational piece. Unfortunately, I know nothing about botany; I'd die in the forest within the first ten minutes, so I need someone to help me understand it all."
"What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't say." Suddenly, she forgot the name she had prepared and said the first one that came to mind. "Ukina."
"Nice to meet you, Ukina-san. So, you must have some basic knowledge.”
"Don't touch Lycoris radiata, to which you gave a rather vulgar and pompous name, if I'm not tired of living yet. I'm afraid that's not enough? I'm telling you, I'm completely hopeless."
"I've received worse answers from students after a whole lecture series. But I'm afraid we won't be limited to just one meeting."
Eto raised an eyebrow expressively and then laughed.
"I have plenty of time, Arima-sensei.”