Notes: This goes out to soojinah, because I wouldn't have bothered translating it if she hadn't asked for it. Thank you.
Elle est entré dans mon cœur / une part de bonheur / dont je connais la cause.
"La vie en rose", Edith Piaf
1. Salmon Pink
The days are gray, as if a train pulled up a little of Sunday and not enough of Saturday with it. Winter has come and the temperature has dropped considerably: today, it will snow. He knows it because his eyelashes are frozen in the frigid air and his lips turn blue when he doesn't move them enough (he almost never does and so they're always blue these days). He walks to school with his hands deep inside his pockets, clinging on desperately to the warmth in his legs. She comes out of nowhere and is a clash of colour against the white snow.
"Yamato-kun!" she exclaims. "It's February, are you mental?"
He follows her gaze and knows she condems his lack of a scarf. He shrugs his shoulders because it's easier to do that than explain that, since his mother left, his father always forgets to remind him he must wear one during the winter. Sometimes Yamato forgets too. He doesn't blame him, Hiroaki is a practical man and proper accesorizing has never been a particular strength of his.
Mimi reaches him and removes her own scarf, long, thick and scandalously pink. She throws it around his neck and immediately, the warmth reaches the tips of his ears; not just because it's warm like a spring kiss or because it smells like Christmas, or because Mimi is so close that he can see the coat of clear, glittery mascara she has worn on her eyelashes, but because he can count the freckles on the bridge of her nose and he has a mind, suddenly, to kiss each one of them.
"Mimi-san...!"
"You can give it back when we're out," she says happily, turning around with a wink and adjusting her white earmuffs, running away from him before he has a chance to complain. He is left alone, lips half open and hand in the air. His lips are no longer blue, but he adjusts the scarf around his face and pretends it's to guard himself from the cold air.
He doesn't give it back because that afternoon, Mimi leaves school with a boy he does not know and he thinks it'd be rude to interrupt. He walks back home with Jyou and Taichi, but he refrains from actively participating in the conversation; there is little a boy can say when he's been wearing a pink scarf all day around his neck. Taichi tries to laugh about it but Yamato kindly reminds him of the ugly yellow sweater Sora has knitted and made him wear. That shuts him up, cheeks pink and ruddy under golden-kissed skin. Jyou, for the first time, enjoys not being the butt of the joke.
2. Cotton Candy
She has this bad habit of touching her hair when she's nervous, or happy, or tired, that puts him on edge. She has spent the entire hour asking what tone would look better with her pale complexion. Koushiro is tired of listening and has broken out his headphones since their second hour; Jyou scratches his head trying to figure out the difference between French rose and Persian pink; Taichi has frankly given up. Yamato reaches out to her, grabs a lock of her hair in between his fingers, surprising himself at how soft and fine it feels, and how good she smells up close.
"Maybe just the tips," he says, "like cotton candy."
He is even more surprised when she shows up next Tuesday, with the tips of her hair dipped in liquid candy.
"D'you like it?" she asks. "I hope so, Sora-chan helped me do it. Toshiko-san almost passed out when she saw the bathroom."
Mimi laughs and he doesn't know what to say; he never thought she'd listen to him. But now that he can see her, he thinks he wasn't wrong at all, she really does look good.
He smiles softly.
"You make pink look nice."
The colour of her cheeks matches the tips of her hair and she hides behind her hands, giggling. Yamato doesn't know why that makes him feel as if his stomach has been flipped around.
3. Hot Pink
He thinks summer is both a blessing and a curse. The heat is unbelievable and Yamato starts sleeping on the floor, trying to find the cool parts of the room before his father finally decides central air conditioning is a necessity. Now when he cannot sleep, it's not because he's hot. Well, not that kind of hot. The real problem is that summer has brought violent changes in his friends' wardrobes, Mimi's especially. Sometimes he thinks she does it on purpose, because there's no way she doesn't know how sinful those summer dresses are on her.
It's white, it's short and if you asked him, it's perfect for her. He slams his shades on and tries to concentrate on a nondescript point to her right, ignoring her while she runs around with Hikari and some stray puppy, dissolving in cool peals of laughter under the sprinklers. He thinks, too insistently, that he doesn't know what he'll do if she comes out of there with her dress stuck to her skin.
She does and Yamato ends up thanking Jyou for always bringing an extra towel in these cases. One must be prepared, definitely. He makes a mental note not to laugh again at poor Jyou.
By the time night comes the image of her laughing loudly while Jyou offers her the towel, is tattooed in his mind. She only looked at it for a second before extending it on the hot sand, removing her dress completely and revealing the pink swimsuit she wore underneath, wearing a large sunhat as if that fixed everything somehow. Sleep comes turbulently the next few nights.
4. Carnation
Sora tells him, for the tenth time, what a good friend he is. He knows this, but sometimes he regrets it viciously, and such is the case now. Offering to manage the flower shop while his friend went to her tennis match seemed like an insignificant favour at the time but now, he knows what a noble sacrifice it really is. Jyou really doesn't get enough credit, he thinks while he sets aside another bland arrangement that he knows would make Toshiko-san cry if she saw it. He is thankful, not for the first time, that she's too busy with her ikebana school.
The bell rings and he raises his eyes, unworried. Flowers are a more popular present than he thought and he still doesn't understand why. Fresh in the morning, blossoming in the afternoon, dead by the next day; they seem to have a truly depressing life cycle. Sora has said many times that it's part of their charm, but he has turned deaf to her words. She's said he isn't as sensible after all, but she always does so with a smile. He still doesn't know what's so funny about it.
Mimi appears in front of him and, as usual, catches him unaware.
"Where's Sora?" she demands. She doesn't ask why Yamato, why there, why then, just where's Sora?
"Tennis," he replies, uninterested. "I'm covering for her."
Mimi seems to hesitate for a moment and then her shoulders drop, disappointed.
"Sometimes I wonder what she's got a phone for, if she never uses it."
"She didn't tell you?"
She gives him a look and he swears, deep inside, some flowers actually wilted.
"It's all Taichi's fault!" she exclaims irritably. "She's starting to become like him!" She sits suddenly in one of the small flower-cushioned chairs and Yamato can't help but laugh.
"You're staying?"
"Whatever," she scoffs. "I'm already here."
She spends the next two hours floating from corner to corner, kissing the flowers. She picks a bunch of daisies and knits them together in a makeshift crown that she places on his head. Yamato, too busy dealing with clients (people really buy too many flowers), lets her.
It's time to close up shop and he makes sure he counts the money, locks the register and updates the inventory like Sora taught him to do, paying for the daisies out of his own pocket, behind her back.
"I'm off," the girl announces, looking at her phone. "Mum wants us to have dinner together tonight. Again."
Yamato stares at her and for a moment, the silence between them becomes uncomfortable. Mimi opens her mouth but before she says something he takes a long-stemmed carnation and softly whacks her on the head with it.
"Yama..." she says, taking the flower.
"Don't be late, then," he begins removing the daisy crown and Mimi shakes her head, hanging onto his neck and giving him a quick hug and a loud peck on the cheek.
"Keep it," she says. "I'll keep this one."
He does, for some reason, and when he gets home he hangs it behind the door.
5. Cherry
She's changed, though he doesn't know exactly what.
She's still her, bubbly, delicate and with a temper, air of a diva, delusions of grandeur that make all her friends laugh (and roll their eyes more often than not). But something's changed, he can feel it, though he doesn't know exactly how to put it in words. He takes longer than he's willing to accept to realise that, growing up, her tones have been steadily dulling. Now she doesn't wear pink on her hair, like she did in her adolescence, but her nails are painted a bright cherry and this is what he notices when, under that great tree, he kisses the tips of her fingers.
She pretends not to notice, like it's not a big deal. But they both walk on paper thin hearts on the way back home.
6. Ruby
He's a complete mess, she has made him so.
There are accidental touches and innocent looks that are anything but; secret smiles and whispered words, more desperate and rushed than either of them would want them to. He thinks of the night of Koushiro's party, how her deep ruby red lipstick brought out the gold in her eyes and how she laughed, drink in hand, hair hanging low behind her.
He tries not to think about her dancing, lifting her hair up and giving him that sultry, over-the-shoulder, come hither look. But all he can think of is soft, white, creamy skin, a soft aroma of lavender and full lips against his pulse, collarbone, bony cheek.
The dark mark of her lips remains hidden on the collar of that shirt for weeks before he finally washes it.
7. Coral
He has trouble remembering at first but when he does, he knows he won't forget again. She wore a soft colour on her lips, something between orange and rose, between sunrise and sunset, between sweet and opaque; between having her far away and knowing her his. She tastes like sweet, ripe peaches at the peak of summer, the first rose button in spring, drops of morning dew and honey on the tip of his tongue.
He touches her hair and buries his nose in her neck and it's like being back in grade school, her scarf wrapped tightly around him. He's fifteen again, nervous because a girl is kissing his cheek. Or seventeen, and nervous because her hugs last a couple of seconds more than he's used to and his body reacts like a handful of nerves about to explode. Or he's twenty-one, giving her what he hopes will be her last first kiss.
Fleur du corail, he thinks, but he does not say it, too busy calling her so much more.
8. Mauve
Her body hides too many mysteries and Yamato does not have enough time to figure them out in one night. That if he kisses her behind the ear, if he sighs upon the valley between her breasts, if he bites the inside of her thighs or touches, so softly, behind her knee. That if she gives him laughter, or sighing, or if she writes his name on the ceiling of his mouth, and turns back to laugh again.
Lips of nectar, hip like a city, eyes like a universe. The offensive garments remain on the floor, forgotten, seen for only a few seconds to memorise their colour and then ripped appart to untangle her legs like the ribbon off some prized present. He loses himself within her and if it's as such, he never wants to find himself again.
9. Carmine
They carry the evidence in their eyes, their mouths, the blood-tinted cheeks (not to mention the white columns of their necks). Natsuko asks if he will ever bring her home to her and Yamato chokes on his soup.
"S-sorry?"
"Take your time," his mother says, calm. "Just let me know ahead to make something special."
Satoe, on the other hand, falls in love with her husband again when she sees her daughter daydreaming. She changes the water in the table's vase (it's tulips this time), and she hums a song she thinks she heard some years ago.
Mothers know more than their children think.
10. French Rose
It takes him long to say it but when he does, there is no doubt in his eyes. Mimi stares for a moment that feels eternal, giving him a chance to see every detail in her face that has called out to him since they were but kids.
"Say it again," she says, face straight.
Yamato arches an eyebrow and repeats:
"I love you."
Mimi closes her eyes.
"Again."
"I love you."
This time, the corner of her lips twitches and Yamato fights down the urge to smile.
"Mm ... again, yeah?"
He comes closer, placing his big hands on her small waist and crushing her to him, eating her smile one kiss at a time.
"As many as you want," he murmurs. "It'll still not be enough."
He kisses her cheek, her lower lip and the tip of her tongue. Mimi opens her mouth in protest and he takes the opportunity to capture her lips again. He memorises it like he has memorised every note out of her mouth, every look out of her eyes, every funny gesture in her pale face.
Warm rose, soft rose, deep rose, Mimi rose.