A/N: Oh, it has been years since I wrote something that isn't a term paper for university! I'm trying my hand on this because I'm thirsting for some Shiraishi-Yukimura lovin'. *wink*

Undying Disclaimer: All characters belong to Takeshi Konomi.

Pheasant's Eye

He sat there, on a wooden bench in a nearby park, as the soft, warm rays of the afternoon sun reflected off his light brown hair. His mother and younger sister were shopping in the adjacent mall but the little boy was tired. He enjoyed buying new supplies for school but his little sister was extra whiny today. Shiraishi didn't feel like getting dragged as his mom took them from one store to another just to find the perfect black leather shoes to go with their uniform. So he politely took off his leave with the promise that he would be sitting quietly in the park, waiting for their shopping to be finished.

As young as three years old, Shiraishi Kuranosuke had shown a talent for tennis, which his father promptly encouraged. He bought his son all the necessary equipment – a racket, the proper shoes, tennis balls. Shiraishi enjoyed the sport so much he wanted to always have something related to tennis with him. And so, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ball as he climbed onto the wooden bench. He let his legs dangle off from his seat and began dribbling the ball on the soft grass below him. His tiny hand cupped the ball swiftly every time it bounced back up.

For a while, Shiraishi was contented playing with the tennis ball like that in a calm, quiet garden. But a small buzz passed by his ear and his head swivelled to follow the sound. His eyes landed on a potted orchid to the side of the wooden bench. On one of its leaves perched a bright brown beetle. Shiraishi's eyes widened with excitement as he jumped from the bench. Momentarily forgetting about the tennis ball he was dribbling, he ran over to where the beetle was.

He reached over with his hand, intending to gently catch the creature in his palm. But with one twitch, the beetle jumped to a flight and Shiraishi could do no more but follow the beetle with his eyes until he could no longer see where it went to next.

"Ahh, too bad. He could've been my pet," Shiraishi sighed, walking back to his seat. He stopped in his tracks as he realized that his tennis ball had rolled off elsewhere. Shiraishi looked around, wondering where the ball might be. He crouched down on his knees to check the underside of the bench but the ball wasn't there. He heard a soft chuckle behind him. Shiraishi turned.

Another boy stood a few feet from him. He was holding a flower in his left hand and on his right was Shiraishi's ball. Shiraishi stared at the navy-haired boy. He couldn't be much older than five – perhaps they were of the same age. There was laughter playing in the other boy's eyes and his face wore a gentle expression. Shiraishi decided to speak to him.

"Hi," he began. "I think you have something that belongs to me."

"This one?" The other boy asked, lifting the tennis ball towards him.

"Yes," came Shiraishi's soft reply and he took a step forward. But the other boy retreated his hand behind his back.

"I like it. The colour reminds me of fresh grass after the spring rain."

"But you can't keep it. It's mine!" Shiraishi retaliated, his hands balling themselves into fists.

The other boy merely smiled. He walked over to where Shiraishi stood. "I'll give you something in exchange," he said, and he pressed the flower he was holding onto Shiraishi's chest.

Shiraishi stared at the flower. It had deep red petals that softly curved over the centre. He took it in his hand and examined it closer. "It's beautiful..."

"It's special," the other boy agreed.

A woman came behind them. "Seii?" She called out and the navy-haired boy turned to her. She nodded at him as if to say, "Come on."

The navy-haired boy turned to Shiraishi. "Take care of the flower," he said, and leaned in to peck a quick kiss on Shiraishi's cheek. He turned on his heels and ran towards his mother.

Shiraishi was still staring at their retreating forms when he heard someone calling him.

"Suke...Kuranosuke!"

"Mother!" Shiraishi replied, turning to the voice.

"Suke, we're done shopping. Let's head home now. Your father's waiting."

After dinner, Shiraishi went to his room and gazed at the flower he placed on his desk. He touched the petals ever so carefully, afraid that a slight force would break through the tender, velvety smoothness of the flower.

Moments later, his sister was knocking on his door and making her way towards his bed. "Nii-chan, what are going to do with that flower?"

"I'm going to keep it forever."

"You can't. Mom said it'll wither."

Shiraishi's eyes widened with worry at what his sister said. "I don't want to lose this flower!"

Shiraishi's eyes filled with tears as he got up and ran to his dad. "Dad! Dad! Save this flower!" His father sat him on his lap and looked at his son's sincere expression.

"What's wrong, Suke?"

"I don't want this flower to wither."

"Don't worry," his dad smiled. "We can always get you another one. Maybe buy you a pot and you can take care of your own plant."

"But that's not the same! That won't be this flower anymore."

"Why does it have to be that very flower, Suke?"

"It's from a friend."

"Which friend?"

Shiraishi was silent for a moment. "Seii. Yes, I think his name's Seii."

His dad went over and picked up a thick book. He opened it in the middle and told Suke to put the flower there.

"But you're going to snap the book shut and that will crush the lovely petals," Shiraishi protested.

"Yes but it will keep the flower in form even for years, Suke."

"But won't that break the flower?"

"Sometimes, things break so they can learn to endure."

Shiraishi didn't exactly understand what his dad meant but Shiraishi trusted enough to put the flower between the pages of the thick book. His dad handed the book to him and told him that Shiraishi could keep it in his room so the flower could be closer to him. Shiraishi took the book and placed it inside his drawer and the flower remained there for years until it was forgotten.