I wrote this one a while back, but I'm not too good with the quiet, soft romance of this. I tried, so let me know what you think.

Star Kissed Flowers

His pink hair fell across his forehead as he leaned across the handlebars to reach for the flowers that were resting on the edge of the porch. Earlier that morning she had spent the hours before the sun rose to carefully cut the best flowers of her garden to form the perfect bouquet. Wrapped in ribbon and laid in a bed of white cloth, she placed the bunch on the patio and retreated back to watch from behind the curtains of her living room.

Every Saturday for the past two months, this boy had shown up by her house, picked a few of her better blossoms and left. Like clockwork, almost robotic. The first few times waves of anger rippled through her system. Those were her flowers. Her hours of work spent caring for the bulbs, coxing them into bloom. They were her treasures. And he would come pedaling by on that bike of his, ripping roots from the ground, stealing the best of her batch, and leaving without a word. Like the world owed him this. As if he was doing nothing wrong.

Her cheeks had once flushed red with anger, eyes glinting dangerously, and she swore she would confront him. And she was going to. She had her speech written in her mind, each word picked for maximum effect, each sentence- a punch. Practiced in the mirror, she had pepped herself up and waited by the door, watching from the window that sat alongside it. And there at nine o'clock on the nose, he crested the hill in front of her house, rolled alongside her fence, and reached through the slats towards the flowers that grew behind. Taking a deep breath, she drew herself up to her full 5'3" frame. Her hand was on the door handle, ready to open the door. She was going to confront him with her sharp tongue and cultivated argument. She was.

But as she was turning the handle, she looked out the window one last time and she stopped. And in that instant, she felt all the anger drain from her body, all she saw were his eyes. Such lifeless eyes on a man who seemed to be made for fire. But they were nothing but empty voids of colourless emotion. Her hand slid from the unopened door.

Ever since that day, she had watched him. Watched the way his hair stuck up in every direction as if he had ran his fingers through it just seconds before he arrived at her house. Watched as he picked three flowers, never more, never less and left as quickly as he had arrived. Watched his dead eyes stare in front of him, never truly seeing.

It was those eyes she saw as she kneeled in the dirt, back heated in the sun and she stared at the new blooms of her garden. She wanted more than anything to see that man smile, his face made for one. She had pictured it time and time again, until she personally took it on as a mission for herself to see it through. But as many times as she thought about it, the picture always seemed to be blurry and her mind always ended up back at those eyes. Lacklustre without their sparkle. And they were what made her do it.

Made her wrap the flowers in the last of the white lace that had made up her mother's wedding dress, then tie it in her favourite red hair ribbon. She wanted to know the story behind those eyes. So again, she sat behind her door as she watched him. This time was the time. The time she was going to confront him.

The door hardly made a sound as she opened it. Didn't even alert the boy still sitting at the end of her drive to her presence.

"I hope the girl you're giving them to is special." Her voice caused him to jump back, almost losing balance on his bike. He didn't say anything for a couple of moments, as he rested one hand on his handlebars, the other cradling the wrapped flowers to his chest.

He looked her up and down, studying her as he had been doing to the flowers moments before. "She is." His voice was velvety smooth, slipping through the air like a ribbon as it made its way towards her. It was rich, but hollow. Just like his eyes.

"Well, I hope she likes them then," she said, tilting her head to one side as she met his eyes.

He looked back at the flowers, taking a petal between his fingers. "I've never seen flowers like these before."

She took a step forward to look at the flowers also. "And I doubt you ever will again. They are called Moon Drips and are extremely rare. They are known only to grow in one part of Fiore- on the Mountain that touches the Moon. To most, they went extinct years ago."

"And these?"

Reaching forward, she caressed the bud of one with her fingertips. "My mother was a botanist, she loved the rare and the bizarre. Loved proving to people that whatever she touched she could grow. Most believed that these flowers couldn't be grown off the mountain, but she took some seeds and found a way. It was a secret she told no one but me, these are some of the last Moon Drips the world will ever see."

"Then why give them to me? You could make a lot of money selling these."

"I could," she agreed, tearing her eyes from the flowers to catch his eyes. "But my mother never called them Moon Drips because she said the Moon wasn't the keeper of these flowers."

"What did she call them then?" He asked with his voice, his eyes asking a different question. Why did you give them to me?

"She called them Celestial Gifts, as they were the star's gift to us. She said that each seed held a different spirit inside of them, and that any two were never the same, and in all the years I have watched her grow them, then I myself have grown them, she has been right. I have never seen any two the same. I draw all of them and each has a different patterning on them, a different shape, a different personality. She always told me to treat each blossom as a person, seeking their needs and they will provide for me. And every year they bloom more beautiful than the last." These were the good memories she had of her mother. Before the sickness took her out of the gardens she loved and into endless hospital rooms. When no matter how many flowers she took up to her mother's room, they never seemed to help. But she still smiled every time she walked into room with a fistful of half-wilted wild weeds clutched in her grip to add to the growing piles of them around the room. These were the memories of her and her mother spending hours together in the cocoon of their garden.

"Now Lucy, look around and tell me what you see," her mother said, gesturing to the blooming beds around them. They sat in the middle of the rose maze, their favourite part of the grounds. Where the white gazebo was wrapped in vines full of flowers of every colour, and the stone bench they sat upon was surrounded in a lush carpet of grass. Hanging baskets full of even more colour hung from every corner.

"Pretthy flowers. Loths and loths of pretthy flowers!" she lisped around the gap of her newly lost front teeth.

"Yes, and do you know what you do with those flowers my little Lucky?"

She squished her eyes together in concentration as she tried to find the answer her mother wanted. "Tho look ath." she finally decided upon, eyes opening to fix on her mother.

"That's true little Lucky, flowers are to be looked at, but they are also meant to be shared. A flower is to be shown to as many people as possible, to spread beauty into everyone's lives. To keep it for yourself is selfish and never as beautiful. Remember that, Lucy."

"She also once told me that flowers kept for one's own need were never as beautiful as those given to share. Each flower is a life, and lives are made to touch as many people as possible," Lucy explained, almost to herself in a way. As she didn't know what to make of her actions this morning.

"She sounds like a very smart woman," the boy stated, startling her out of her thoughts.

"She was." Saying no more on the subject, she looked back to the flowers he held. "Those aren't without a cost though."

He didn't say anything, but slowly reached for the backpack he wore. "I doubt I have enough for what these are worth, but I'll give you what I have."

She considered him for a moment. "I don't want your money, this price is a little different."

He paused in his action, his bag half off his back. "How different?"

She shifted to her other foot as she gathered up all the courage she had to ask for what she wanted. "I want to meet her. The girl you keep bringing my flowers to. I want to know that they are being appreciated- especially these ones. You already said she was special, so I want to see for myself."

He looked at her then- really looked. Took in her blonde hair blowing softly in the breeze. Took in her melting eyes and ruby lips. He looked at her and for the first time through this whole exchange he saw her as beautiful. But this was too much. "I can't."

She blew a huff of air past those perfectly full lips of hers. "Can't or won't?"

A sliver of a smile formed on his face, nothing like the real thing. But one could see the shadow of it was still there, it was not quite ready just yet though. "You really don't want to meet her. It's a long bike ride and it looks as if it will be hot today."

"I'll bring a hat," she dryly answered.

He took another minute to answer, considering the harm in having them meet. Looking for something that would cause him to say no, but finding none. "She would like you."

"You mean I can come?" The way her eyes lit up made something in his chest flutter, caused the breath in his lungs to catch.

"On one condition." Narrowing his eyes in a challenge, he caught her gaze.

"What's that?" She squeaked, blood rising to her cheeks under his stare. Eyes she would have sworn earlier this morning were lifeless. She couldn't have been more wrong.

"You ride with me." Balancing the flowers on his handles, he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes never leaving hers, yet another challenge.

She narrowed her own eyes in response. Even though on the inside she was a mess of confusing emotions, all tumbling around her small frame, she refused to back down. "Fine." Wasting no time to the "What ifs" of the scenario, the carefully swung her leg over the back of his seat, balancing on the spokes of his wheels. She gently wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he pushed off and started pedaling down the road.

They didn't exchange words as the world passed them by, the occasional car would pass, but they soon cut off the road and continued down a dirt path for a while before they stopped. He turned and looked at the girl behind him. "We have to walk from here."

He climbed off, then held the bike for her as she dismounted. They had stopped in front of an iron fence, the gate to the side of them open wide. "She's just this way," he said, the life she had thought she had seen in him earlier, all but vanished.

They walked through the gates and she gasped.

Rows and rows of gravestones watched them as they progressed down the main path before branching off to climb a gentle hill. There, below the giant oak tree stood a lone grave.

Leaning down, the man rested the flowers at its foot, fingers brushing against the name carved in the cool white stone. "Hey there Lisanna. I brought someone to meet you."

It was if the world chose that moment, to cast the perfect ray of light onto the headstone, a light breeze making the petals resting on it dance. And her breath caught in her lungs. She glanced at the man at her side, but he wasn't looking at her.

She knelt down beside the grave. "Hey Lisanna. I heard you were pretty special and wanted to meet you. See what all the fuss was about you know?" A small smile danced across her face as she traced the dates. Only 18 years old.

She looked up to catch the look the boy was giving her. One of curiosity and shock. She smiled and patted the ground next to her. "I'd love to get to know her, but I might need someone with a little louder of a voice."

He paused before he sat where she had beckoned. "Well I guess I'll start with the time she and I rescued a pregnant cat from the alley."

For hours they spend under that tree, the sun causing the shadows to pull long behind them. He told tales of her and this girl through their childhood and the accident that occurred to take her away. It was if he wanted to share the stories with someone, but never had the chance. It was always the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong people. And she finally got to see him smile, one she would never be disappointed about. It lit up his face as if a fire was ignited behind his eyes. It wasn't there for long, but she could see the beginnings coming back.

When he finally stopped, she asked if she could have a few moments alone with Lisanna. She had a few things to say. He didn't say anything as he rose and took a few steps away to give her space.

The white stone shone in the evening sun. "Thanks for letting me meet you. I think if it had been different, then maybe we could have been friends. I know I would have liked you. And I know this might seem odd, but I would like to thank you. You seemed to have brought a little colour into my life when you sent him to me. I don't really like to believe in coincidence. But before I met him I was living alone in my house. And maybe I needed a kick to get back to living too. My mother's death struck me hard. So I would like to thank you, Lisanna. You made him so happy you know."

The pink haired man made his way back up the hill, he offered her his hand and she took it. "It's Lucy," she said as she made her way to her feet with his help.

"Natsu," he laughed as they walked down the hill together. She spared one last look behind her and the perfect white stone. The wind whispered past her and she could almost swear she heard it whisper. "Take care of him." It seemed to say.

She looked to the sky and squinted at the sun, a smile on her lips. I will.