Notes: Part two of #digiOTPweek's event on Tumblr. Also, I'm trash, I'm trash, I will never not be trash.


Title: Cavatina: In Bloom (Le lilas mauve)
Rating: G
Genre: Friendship/Family/Romance
Prompt: "The First Emotion of Love"
Word Count: 930
Summary: It's so obvious. [Toshiko x Yamato]


[17/08/16]

His fingers touch the little heart-shaped petals, wondering at their soft, velvety feel. He has been in the shop countless times with Sora, a couple on his own, covering for her when she runs late from practice. So he's no stranger to the flower-buckets that line the walls or the fragrant, smooth cherrywood tables that occupy the centre of the establishment, but he has never actively practiced ikebana before. That is, until now.

"I'm not sure I'm doing it right," he mutters under his breath after pricking his finger with an uncut thorn.

"You're doing fine," Sora assures him, patient as ever. "Just do whatever you feel like doing."

A cool, smooth voice that is completely unlike Sora's sweet, high tones, speaks behind them, making them both jump up.

"There's a purpose to everything in ikebana," she chides gently. "You of all people know that, Sora."

Sora nods, fingers deftly cutting the top of a thin bamboo pipe and introducing it into her arrangement. She steps back, observing the way the camellias bow down into each other and frowns. "Yes, you're right," she admits. "It feels all over the place."

At this point, Yamato is scandalized. His own arrangement consists of nothing but bamboo grass, a few twigs he thought looked sturdy enough and bits of yellow fern. He has no idea what he's doing, or why he even agreed to it in the first place, shooting Sora a dark look as she sets her hands on the table, smiling.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm—,"

"Is it okay if we order takeout?"

Toshiko looks up at her daughter's eager smile, lips spreading like a flower in bloom. "Why don't you two go out? It's early."

"I'll change then," Sora says, touching Yamato's arm lightly. "Wait for me?"

"Wouldn't dare not to," he sighs, setting his tools down and dusting his hands over the table.

Across from him, Sora's mother is still very carefully clipping tiny twigs and twisting them into elegant archs with sweet, strong colours and he is once again astounded at how different mother and daughter are. In comparison, Sora's arrangement looks small, still hesitant, too bright and bulky and too much of everything and his — well, his is just all shades of wrong.

"Her mind's not in it," she speaks, and Yamato looks up, ashamed to have been caught staring.

"I'm sure that's not exactly—,"

"It's quite alright. She's had a lot going on, with school and," she coughs into her hand, very politely. "Other things."

He's thinking about homework, and tennis, late-night phone conversations and unexpected knocks on his bedroom window when he nods absently, saying, "Yeah," and doesn't seem to notice that Toshiko's hands have stopped moving for a moment, glancing at him out of the corner of her ruby eyes.

"Ikebana is about telling a story," she says, pulling out a long branch of peach blossoms and holding it carefully between expert fingers. "You need to focus on the most important elements and find a way to make them work together, for you. It is the way of flowers."

He tries to focus on what she's saying, but he's still thinking about all the things he should've said, and all the things he hasn't and won't. His hands brush against the heart-shaped petals, vividly purple and beautiful and breathes in the familiar scent. He hesitates only a moment but then his fingers are back on it, twisting it into a long arch, like a hand reaching out to something or someone.

He reaches for a single long twig and fresh sprigs of lavender tied around a few camellia leaves. He leans closer, and the smell is just barely there, enough to make him blush and straighten at once when he catches Toshiko's eye.

"Lilacs?" she asks, as though confused at his choice. Yamato is at a loss, because he doesn't know how to explain why he does the things he does, so he shrugs in what he seems to believe is nonchalance.

"I like the way they smell," he answers, as honestly as he dares. "Sweet, kind of like fruit; and flowery, but not that fake flower-soap smell, I guess."

Her hands twist knots and strings and her smile is softer this time as she pulls back the folded leaves and clips them one by one, thinking about the sweetness of youth and how grateful she is to be able to witness it. In a bout of impatience completely uncharacteristic of her but brought about by this sudden thrill, she walks around the table next to him, her hands deftly smoothing out the most visible wrinkles in his work. She steps back, admiring it with her chin on one pale hand.

"It's beautiful," she tells him. "And it's your first. You should keep it."

Before she can say anything else (and there are so many things she wants to say), Sora is back through the door, changed and carrying a small purse in her hands, adjusting a sunflower clip on her hair. She looks beautiful and he looks relieved, like only young people like them can be.

"I'm ready! Sorry for the wait."

It's so obvious.

Yamato shakes his head before turning to her, bowing slightly. "Thank you for everything, Takenouchi-san."

"Have fun."

You're in love

"Hey, Yamato," Sora calls over her shoulder, right at the door. "I asked Mimi to come, can you walk her home?"

It takes all but two seconds and his smile slips slightly, cheeks colouring, and he almost stumbled as he looks away, sighing.

"Sure..."

—and it's not my daughter.