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The wind blows and the colourful petals dance at its rhythm, dyeing the field with matching tones. The gusts of wind crash into them, and it scatters all the doubts from the core of their hearts, taking them far away. The blooming field seems even more dazzling with every step, as if casting a spell to those who wander free. Fingers intertwined, without needing to calm no one down, they’re surrounded by infinite petals constantly swaying. Nezumi thinks about the last and only time he had been here; he observes. With Shion, everything seems more vivid: the flowers, the sky, the green grass; but he doubts it has changed that much. His gaze lands on him, and he admires the glow in his face, his eyes recovering the sparkle they had long lost.
To bring Shion to the blooming field was one of the many promises between them, some got to be fulfilled, and many others didn’t. Who would have thought that Nezumi, who had once despised the very idea of seals, would one day find himself facing a future he would never have dreamed of. Once he met Shion, the day after tomorrow seemed closer than never. Once he promised reunion, the near future started to gain meaning in his wanderer life; one he was used to, but one in which he was constantly looking back to where he temporarily set roots, to where he left his belongings, and a heart whose beat matched his own.
The smell of pollen and humidity brings him back to reality, and he daydreams of the last time he stepped on the daisies decorating the field. Shion, have you got to see a blooming field like this one? Where humans have not set foot yet; he had thought. Today, the wind was stronger, and so was his will to stay.
“Shion,” he said, letting go of his hand. His soft, grey eyes laid on him, caring, and engraving the view onto his heart.
“Mh?” He turned around, not ever getting used to being looked at by Nezumi. “Are you alright?”
“Is it as you imagined?” he asked.
Shion smiled, a childish one Nezumi recalled having seen during that stormy night, a careless and playful smile as he found the needle Nezumi was so scared to even look at.
“Even better,” Shion replied, taking Nezumi’s hands within his again, bringing him closer. “So, shall we dance?”
Taking a glance at the view, Nezumi acceded. “As Your Majesty pleases,” he replied, stealing the lead.
Their moves matched the gusts of wind, perfecting the steps all over again, those Shion had well learnt by heart. The memory of his first dance with Nezumi forever playing in his head; chords playing in his mind as if an orchestra was performing just for them. Nezumi lead Shion in, dancing close, chests touching. They both felt the heartbeats of each other, steady and calm, as if used to the warmth their bodies shared for brief moments; as if one could ever get used to the touch of their loved one, ignoring the tickles it produces. When they finally separate, even the wind that caresses the flowers feels cold to their skin. Without the shelter of their own arms, spring feels closer to winter. Their eyes lock again for a brief moment, Nezumi’s face is a little bit flustered, but it could be easily mistaken for a sunburn. Shion tackles one of his black hair locks behind his ear, leaving his face exposed. Nezumi doesn’t really care, not right now.
Shion thinks he will miss the field once they leave, the flowers won’t bloom as beautiful until the next spring, but he’s got used to waiting. “If I make a flower crown, won’t it be pretty?” he asks out loud. At the same time, he thinks it’s cruel to deprive some of the flowers of helping form the landscape they’re stunned by.
“Go ahead,” Nezumi replies, signaling all of the flowers Shion could choose from. “Daisies, tulips, poppies, asters… I shouldn’t be the one saying this.”
They’re interrupted by the chirp coming from Nezumi’s scarf, where two mice peek. “You’re excited, too?” Shion’s tone invites the mice to keep chirping.
Nezumi places his hand next to them so they can jump in. He brings his hand next to Shion’s shoulder, and one of the mice climbs up. It’s a quite tiny, sand-coloured mouse that Shion hasn’t had time to name yet. “You want to come with me? Let’s search for pretty flowers, then.” Looking at the mouse, he walks to his front and leaves Nezumi behind.
Shion starts picking up daisies as Nezumi observes. The mouse that was in his hand ran up to his scarf again, hiding itself after squeaking. From a pocket, he gets a tiny bag with small pieces of cheese in it. He shackles it and the mouse peeks again, now chirping louder. “Just one,” Nezumi says before throwing the piece towards it. He bends down a little and pulls up a red poppy, getting it near the mouse that starts sniffing it before finally stealing it from Nezumi.
”That’s cute,” Shion says from a bit far away, walking towards them.
Looking at the mouse, Nezumi ignores the statement. “I was telling him, if he’s hungry he can eat nectar or pollen. It was a survival lesson,” he affirms. Shion, who would be far from surprised if that would turn out true, just nodded and sat, letting the sand-coloured mouse rest in his lap. The sky was left with no clouds to hide the sun. The early rays of the dusk gave Shion’s white hair a soft orange undertone. Nezumi thought it was the same effect the lamps of his room gave to it. On the cold, winter nights, their warmth was the only thing to keep them from freezing. When they were underground, Nezumi would use it as an excuse to always caress Shion’s hair. From the day the parasitic wasp left as marks of its existence and proof of survival both the red snake and the white hair, he had been enchanted to it, and every time he had the chance, he would slide his fingers through Shion’s hair, peeking at his profile. As if imagining themselves in his lair, Nezumi’s hand reached for Shion’s white locks. Shion looked back at him and smiled softly. He was used to Nezumi being quiet, almost as if only talking with his grey eyes, which felt extremely docile today.
Shion had only gathered daisies, thinking an unicolour crown would be a better-looking product. He started weaving the stems together under Nezumi’s attentive look, who soon decided to lay on his back and direct his gaze towards the sky and the few clouds that had appeared in the blink of an eye. The mouse that had hidden in his scarf jumped off it when it touched the grass, emitting almost inaudible noises and running all over Nezumi’s jacket until finally deciding to inspect the surroundings. They fell in silence for the next minutes, and only the stronger gusts of wind could be heard alongside Shion’s weaving. When the mouse came back to Nezumi’s chest, it brought an aster within its teeth, and left it on Nezumi’s shoulder before hiding again. “Pollen is not part of my very strict diet, but I appreciate your efforts,” he said, lifting the flower to the sky. The petals were still wet from the dew of the morning, still cold from the lonely night. From this perspective, the aster had an unique tone, and Nezumi could appreciate the beauty of it. His eyes travelled to Shion, and he moved his arm so he could see the flower next to him. He turned and turned the flower around, searching for something that he couldn’t find from any angle. He knew well flowers’ beauty was nothing akin to humans’; flowers can wither, yet never travel afar from the beauty inside them, because even when they’re torn to pieces, there’s no force that can take away their meaning, their true beauty. Hidden inside lies a million meanings that make their colours unique. Nezumi thought flowers would never be capable of erasing themselves from this world, nor to make distinctions between them or stain others’ souls by imposing barriers. Every time the wind makes them sway, and every time a honeybee makes a stop in them, their beauty shines. Every time a man walks near one, it’s afraid of losing it all. Shion, so tell me, why do my eyes lay on you first? Why, out of everything in this field, is it your heart that shines brighter? If your sole existence should suppose a threat to them. Human’s true beauty lies within their soul, and it’s their own decision to stain it or make it glow. Your heart falters, but it’s become stronger; I envy you, and I see myself drawn to the sound of your heartbeat.
“Shion,” he said, keeping all the thoughts in his chest, “why don’t you add asters too? You’re named after them, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Shion replied, looking at the one Nezumi had in his hand. “I feel bad pulling them up.”
“Sure they will come out of the ground and eat you,” Nezumi joked back. Turning the flower to face him, he wondered, “Do you know Hanakotoba?”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
As much as Shion knew and studied ecology while growing up, everything he knew before leaving No. 6 was artificial. Their lives were artificial, and so were the colourful, blooming fields he so much liked. Until Nezumi appeared in his life, the artificial was all he ever knew, all he ever cared about; but when the nature itself appeared in front of his eyes, the artificial became all he could repudiate.
“Hanakotoba,” Nezumi continued, ”is the Japanese form of the language of flowers.” He put it in front of Shion. “Asters mean ‘I will never forget you’, they’re associated with remembrance. They have other meanings, though.” He handed the flower to Shion, and with it its meaning.
I don’t think there’s a timeline where I can forget you, his mind talked to itself just as Shion took the flower from his hand. At the very least, I wish to meet you in each of them.
Shion accepted it, with a smile growing on his face and his stare fixated on the purple petals, his eyes glowing. He weaved the aster’s stem with the last one he had added before. “There are so many things you still have to teach me,” he said, “so many stories you still haven’t told me.”
Nezumi got quiet, thinking about every lesson Shion himself had taught him. From the very beginning, to hang onto hope; to the very end, to face what he was most afraid of, showing his true self. In the middle, countless learnings he kept deeply into his heart. On the other hand, he thought, what had he given to Shion? Reality, which only made him suffer; a ton of responsibilities to bear on his own, and a trail of hope he desperately clang to. He taught him yearning, the very feeling he so well knew the years apart, a feeling he brought to himself, too. His soft eyes laid on Shion’s profile, and a swirl of emotions invaded his brain. Confusion, admiration, trust, fear, guilt; all consumed by one and only, love.
Shion kept weaving the crown, now adding asters in between the daisies, beautiful purple and white petals matching and making a perfect mix. He laid back next to Nezumi, and the mouse in his lap, which was comfortably sleeping, chirped at the movement. “Ah, sorry,” Shion excused himself, grabbing the mouse and gently moving it a little bit higher, next to his tummy where he held the flowers. The mouse started sniffing the flowers and scrunching his cheeks. Shion smiled at the image. “You can keep those,” he sounds cheerful. From Nezumi’s scarf it can be heard another chirp coming from the shyest mouse, which peeks and decides to climb down to pick up a daisy with his mouth and run back to his hide spot. On Nezumi’s shoulder, he starts to chew off the stem. Nezumi caresses its back, and Shion looks at the image as if wanting to carve the moment into his memory.
“Does he have a name?” Shion asks.
“Unless you’ve given one to him, negative,” Nezumi replies, teasing the mouse by moving his finger around.
“Snowflake,” he said, looking directly at the mouse, “you have a very beautiful white colour, just like me.”
“Snowflakes in spring sound quite utopic,” Nezumi added.
Shion’s memories from the snow were always with Nezumi, always sheltered in his lair from the cold outside, the wind that could freeze you in a breath. If he could be granted a wish, it would be to live every single season next to Nezumi, accompanied by him. To go through rains, storms, and hot days by his hand. To see the cloudy sky, shooting stars and snowflakes walking through the lands he had yet to set foot in. To get to know the world with him. He sighed, dedicating a glance to the blue sky above them, the same sky they saw even when separated. He kept weaving, adding some final touches to the crown, petals in between, as well as some stems to make it more compact. Asters and daisies seemed like they belonged together, forming a mix of colours that could make any other flower jealous. Shion lifted it to the sky, then showed it to Nezumi, “Do you like it?”
Both Nezumi and Snowflake directed their attention towards Shion. A crown of flowers could never be nothing more than a mere crown, nothing more than whatever its flowers could tell with their colours, their hidden meanings. In Hanakotoba, daisies can mean innocent love, pure and simple. Intertwined with asters, Nezumi thought, it was perfect for Shion to wear. As if a magician, Shion had the capability of turning everything he touched into something people would cheer for, even a whole city, from scrambles to solid foundations. From the most innocent, ignorant boy, to one who shouted for justice.
Nezumi got up, stretching out his arm towards the crown. “Do I have the honour of crowning Your Majesty?” he asked, a picaresque smile appearing on his face as soon as Shion nodded. Handing out the crown, he got on his knees and lowered his head so Nezumi could reach better. The mice sat together in the grass, tilting their heads and admiring the view in front of them.
With the flower crown within Nezumi’s hands, and the sun still rising in the horizon, he placed it carefully on Shion’s head. The image in front of him felt exactly like it was out of a movie, a frame so etching everyone watching would gasp at first sight, because the beauty in it wasn’t something ordinary, not something you could find outside of fiction and plays, those in which Nezumi would take the main role and shine the brightest. Today, the spectator was him, and he could barely grasp how it felt to watch him on stage, how it felt to see someone burn his retinas.
“How do I look?” Shion asked, lifting his head and interrupting every thought crossing Nezumi’s head.
Nezumi refrained himself from using his usual sarcasm, but he couldn’t find the correct words to give him either. He thinks a gesture might be enough, and he has been dying to do this from the very moment they set foot on the field. He cups Shion’s jaw and gets himself closer to him, the flower crown decorates Shion’s hair and gives it the colour it’s been missing. Nezumi looks at it, then at Shion’s eyes, a darker tone of purple than the asters; then he lowers his gaze. He presses a soft, shy kiss on Shion’s side of his mouth and his thumb caresses Shion’s cheek. The look on Nezumi’s eyes makes Shion blush, just a tiny bit.
It surely feels like a play, and Nezumi thinks, he wants to keep playing a role in it.
“How about I dub you knight?” Shion’s voice resonates with the wind.
Nezumi doesn’t give an answer either, he softly nods with tender eyes and helps Shion stand up. They reverse positions, and it’s now Nezumi who’s kneeling on the grass. With a hand on his heart, his mind goes back to the million plays he’s read, and his mouth starts gaining life without consent. He swears an oath, one not to a nation but to the one in front of him. “Foremost,” he finishes, “I shall never let the king walk alone, not in the most arduous battles.”
Shion would carry every single word with him from now on. He mimics the accolade and pronounces the magic words, “Arise, sir Nezumi.” On his own, Nezumi stands up and gets closer to Shion. Their little play is about to finish, the last scene taking place. Even though Nezumi was a big fan of tragedies, pain and despair; he can’t think of any other way to finish this act than to seal and sew their hearts with a kiss.
When they separate, the crown on Shion’s head has slipped slightly, and the curtains come down.
“You’ve read too many of my books.” Nezumi breaks his character first.
“Henry V,” Shion replied.
“I see you’ve grown fond of Shakespeare,” Nezumi said.
A cascade of images passed through Shion’s mind, coloured by the orangish light of the underground room. He replays every time he had read Shakespeare out loud to Hamlet, and how the other mice surrounded him and slept hearing his voice. He replays the vague memories of Nezumi’s eyes laying on him, at the exact time when he couldn’t look back. “Very much,” he says.
The silence consumes the meadow, and they fall in it. There’s a question wandering in Shion’s mind, bouncing from one side to another and not letting go. The quietness doesn’t last much longer, and it’s Shion who breaks it.
“Hey, Nezumi. Now, is it a good moment to ask for your name?”
Nezumi lifted his chin, a soft smile drawn on his face, one full of charm and comfort. Shion smiled back, locking his eyes with Nezumi’s, and inviting him to press a soft kiss to his lips.
A gust of wind slips between the two as Nezumi’s lips part, and it takes the word away from his mouth, carrying it through the blooming field. The flowers sway beneath them, and Shion repeats it. The wind blows stronger, and it takes it to the blue sky, where no one can hear.