ROOTLESS FLOWER

A Sei x Shizuka Fanfic


Synopsis: A promiscuous, self-indulgent, and acutely imperfect journalist, Sei writes for a Japanese-language newspaper in Rome and spends her time partying and sleeping with celebrities. Her life is about to change when she attends a concert by Italy's hottest new opera singer, Shizuka…

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A/N: Hi and welcome to my shameless homage to La Dolce Vita, one of my favourite films of all time and one that had an unforgettable impact on me personally. I'll say right from the outset that this story is not really original and if you decide to not read because of my shameless tribute to a famous movie (but with grown-up, slightly darker and more emotional Marimite characters in a grown-up AU), I don't blame you in the slightest. For those that are kind enough to stay for this story, welcome! :-)


Chapter 1: The Pursuit of Emptiness


She awoke with the warm sunlight on her face and another woman's arms draped on her chest. She didn't know much about her, except that her name was Isabella Biondo and that she was one of Italy's most popular young actresses of the past two years - the same time, coincidentally, Sei had been The Dawn's gossip columnist. It was a job that entailed accessing celebrities that usually had PAs and bodyguards shielding their preciously private lives. Sei's job as a journalist was to get past the chink in the armour for the scoop, and that chink wasn't some physical barrier. It was her source's heart.

It all starts innocently enough with Sei, usually with the interview over lunch or dinner. Then you find yourself intrigued by how quickly she takes notes, at how artistic and familiar she seems with the notebook and pen. Your interest is piqued by the effortless charisma, empathy, and curiosity that the skilled journalist blends into an irresistible mix, until you find yourself thirsting for more and happily accepting her invitations for more casual dates like afternoon tea or lunch. She no longer brings a pen or pad. To the protests of your bodyguards and manager, you can't think of much else except that woman's confidence and aura of mystery. You start taking her for tours around Rome because she says she, being Japanese, isn't really familiar with the landmarks (although even you don't believe that).

Perhaps all it took was that winning smile and those languid grey eyes you couldn't forget about when you met first her at that gala or that press conference. It isn't long before you itch for more from her than just a comforting pat on your shoulder. She knows what you want and obliges. A respectful yet intimate squeeze of your arm becomes a gentle finger lifting your chin. Her hand wanders to your waist, and you squirm inside in simultaneous guilt and anticipation. A pretentiously chaste kiss on the forehead becomes a violent, damp snog that ignites and blazes out of control.

The explosive, searing night under Sei's bedsheets (or, occasionally, in another home or a pleasant villa or hotel) is but history.

Sei crawled out of her bed and stumbled into her bathroom to take a cold shower. She lived in a small but retro, tastefully decorated loft a few streets away from Sapienza University. She was at the heart of the cultural and artistic beat of Rome, just how her editor wanted. She wrote for the Japanese expats in Italy, a motley community ranging from humble sushi shop owners to investors of major companies of Italian industry like the big fashion, pasta, wine, and olive oil brands. One thing united her readers: their interest in the gossip of the rising celebrities, washed out stars, and minor, purposeless nobility that frequented the palisades, cafés, bars, avenues, private clubs, and palaces of the Eternal City. And Sei delivered the scoop of this enchanting yet empty chatter to them.

Sei wiped her blonde hair dry and pulled on a white shirt and beige trousers. She was in her bohemian, retro lounge when her guest emerged from the bedroom, rich brown hair dishevelled and Sei's red blanket draped around her.

"And now you'll move on to the next star, and you won't write about me until I'm overdosed on drugs and out on the streets smashed."

Sei laughed. "You'll serve as my muse for much better reasons, I promise you," she said, popping a piece of toast into her toaster on the bench that served as her dining table adjacent to the kitchen. "Feel free to stay for breakfast."

Isabella shook her head, her smile turning sad. "You don't need to force yourself. I'd like to spend so much more time with you, but I like you too much to burden you with that. I'll get changed. Don't worry about me. I'll show myself out."

Sei's eyes shone. "I don't deserve to apologize to you, because that would mean that I thought I was capable of better. I hope you don't hate me for making love to you."

"Mia Dio, not at all," Isabella giggled. "I'm utterly complicit in this." The hurt was still there, but it was a pain that only Sei could make worthwhile. "Just promise me you'll come to my next movie's premiere."

"To each and every one, if you'll let me."

"So be it. I hope it's an incentive that draws you back to me someday."

Sei glided to her balcony and sat down on her creaking chair, lighting a cigarette and bringing it to her lips. She didn't look back at Isabella, who had pulled on her red dress and slipped quietly out of Sei's small flat. Instead, she picked up her IPhone which had been waiting on her small, circular coffee table, and dialled her editor's number.

"Yo, Alessandra," she said, "I need tickets to the Teatro dell'Opera di Roma next Wednesday night, and a press pass to the gala they're hosting tomorrow evening."

"You need access to Kanina Shizuka, don't you?" came the Italian-accented voice over the phone. "Personally tutored by Plácido Domingo... An unprecedented privilege. And her family is friends with some major operatic figures in Florence and Rome. Thanks to her magical voice, Italian opera is taking Japan extremely seriously."

"You know me too well, chief," said Sei, looking down at the bustling street below the rails of her balcony. There was a fruit and veg market every day except Sunday in her area, which meant that it was nice and lively during the morning and quiet at night, which was just the way she liked it. "I want her in our paper and on my column."

"Well, come by the office for once and you'll get your tickets. I'm astonished I haven't fired you for insisting on working at home every single workday."

Sei laughed as she exhaled, blowing a puff of smoke out into the crisp Roman air. "Usually I work at my favourite café, not home, so you're wrong on that count."

"Oh, shut up."

"Hey, I deliver the scoops, plus I deliver you the amazing, mind-blowing head, so there's not much you can threaten me with."

"Tell me, Sei. Have you fucked every woman with even a smidgen of fame or note in this city?"

"Have a nice day, mia cara." Sei hung up and walked back inside her flat, pocketing her iPhone and scooping up her wallet and keys on the couch. She pulled on a brown jacket that fit her curves nicely, before opening her door and walking down the cold stairwell in her apartment block.

It was time to go to her favourite writing haunt.


Café Paradiso was a single-level café that lay in a quiet alleyway, hidden from the tourist-filled avenues of Rome. Its interior was dark but filled with ambient gentle light, with wooden tables and chairs that had decadent but practical red cushions. It also had an outdoor area, which was actually best used during the evening, because it was cold and dark and the atmosphere of the café's candles, combined with its cobblestone and fern leaf surroundings, was magical. Although had played its part in attracting some English-speaking visitors, this coffee joint was still mostly frequented by Italians, and Sei was the only Japanese person who cared remotely about this place.

Well, one of the only people.

"Good morning, Sei-san!" cried a cheerful young lady in pigtails. She wore a smart waitress's dress with a white apron. "Glad to see you at the usual time!"

"Yumi-chan, how are you?" greeted Sei warmly, as she took off her coat and hung it around her chair. "Just the usual. A double shot and some of that great cheesecake."

"Coming right up, Sei-san."

Sei took out her notebook and put it on the table, sitting down. "How's the exchange going?"

"Good. One more year at Sapienza, then back to Japan," said Yumi, as she began to press the fresh coffee (Sei came for the quality of the beans and roast). "I'll really miss Rome, and I don't exactly have the money to come here every year. I almost don't want to leave," she continued, her smile fading. She looked at the many mouthwatering cakes on display at her counter, and took out a slice of white cheesecake. "It sucks that there's no full-time work on offer at this café."

"Times are hard. You're lucky your university's funding for overseas scholarships didn't get cut." Sei watched Yumi fondly as the latter brought over the fresh espresso and cake. "And it's better that you take the skills you learned at Sapienza and bring them over to home. You'll get a higher salary with a foreign degree." Yumi set down a fork and knife wrapped in a napkin, and Sei took the fork and tucked in. "Mmm. The best cheesecake around here. You've given me a sweet tooth."

"You were always the wise mentor, Sei-san," said Yumi, standing across from Sei's table and watching her (there were no other customers). "I'm open to ideas. I'm embarrassed to say that I don't know what I want to do after this Arts degree."

Sei wolfed down the cake and downed the espresso. "Join my paper. The salary's average, but I smoke pot and stuff around with famous people. That's pretty much my job."

Yumi shook her head. "Not quite the life for me, let alone onee-sama."

"Speaking of that, how's your other half?" She meant Ogasawara Sachiko, an heiress of one of the families that owned several Italian companies. A long time ago, though, it was not certain if Sachiko would have ended up as Yumi's other half.

"She doesn't mind seeing your face again, after you and I worked things out," laughed Yumi. "Trust takes time, though. Make a move on me again and she won't forgive you. And, sadly, I've promised I will tell on you."

"Ah, I deserve it. I'm not going to put you through such a hard situation again." Sei smiled guiltily at her. "I've hurt you and Shimako enough."

Yumi shifted her feet. "If I may say so, Sei-san..." She stopped, looking almost afraid to criticize a woman she respected so much.

"Never hold back with me," said Sei softly. Her half-eaten cheesecake lay to one side, forgotten. "If it's one thing I need more than anything, it's your guileless, no-bullshit honesty."

Yumi took a deep breath. "It's not me who you should regret hurting. Shiori-san… what would she think of what you're doing right now? I don't want to sound judgmental, but if I were her, praying in her church - " Yumi turned away in sadness, unable to face Sei. "I'd hate it. I'd hate every moment of how you seek out new women. Of how generously you share your affections with them." She hugged herself, throat dry. "I'm so sorry, but... How could you? Somehow it didn't feel so awful when you were seducing me, but now that you've set me free and I'm looking at you from a distance... It feels... Horrible."

Sei bowed her head. This is what she loved so much about Yumi. "You know about... Shiori's sisterhood. You're one of the only ones who also know she violates her vows every moment she is with me," she replied sadly. "I pledged to devote myself to her and only her a long time ago. She told me to cut the bullshit. That I could never be that kind of person. Yes, we had run away together, and I would love her always, but as long as she was a nun, and she stayed confined to her cloister for the rest of her days..." Sei was no longer smiling. "She consented for me to live life without her. Even if I still do sneak into her church as often as I can. I know it makes her feel worse."

"Just because she gave you permission to, doesn't mean you have to. You know you're hurting her, and she knows you're hurting her too. But it's a mess anyway," cried Yumi, her voice rising briefly. "Whether you stay faithful and date a nun, or go around getting with so many others, you're making some horrible romantic choices!"

"I've told you each and every one of my excuses over the past year, and you've swatted each of them away, as they should be," said Sei helplessly. "Shiori is breaking her vows whenever she touches me. So she has given me license to break my own vows to her." she paused. "Does that sound stupid?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it does. But I guess it does make sense, in its own perverse way," said the waitress darkly. She turned away. "I can't know what you and Shiori are thinking. I'll always be here for you. But I'll leave you to it for the moment. I should probably keep on the lookout for other guests, even if no one else comes."

Yumi's reminder, expressed in an unusually emotional outburst, struck a chord. Sei suddenly couldn't stop thinking about Shiori as she looked down at her notebook. She raised her fountain pen, which was resting in her frozen hand. She wanted to write, but nothing came out.


NEXT CHAPTER: SEI GOES TO THE GALA HOSTING KANINA SHIZUKA...