Author's Note: I've read too many High School Tidus/Yuna fics lately. Don't get me wrong; some of them are my favorite stories. But hopefully this story will be a break from the regularity. This idea happened on accident in the middle of the night, so please pardon any errors you might find. I would enjoy criticism very much, it helps me grow into the giant pink dinosaur that I am!
fait ac.com.pli 'fª-tə-,käm-'plē, 'fe-, 'fe-,ta-, -,kōn(m)-, Brit usu – 'käm-
(,)plē n, pl faits accomplis same, or –'plēz (F, accomplished fact)
(1845) : a thing accomplished and presumably irreversible
1ephem.er.al i-,fem-rəl, -'fe-mə-, -'fē- adj (Gk ephēmeros last-
ing a day, daily, fr. epi- + hēmera day) (1576) 1 : lasting one day
only an fever> 2 : lasting a very short time pleasures> syn
see TRANSIENT – ephem.er.al.ly -rə-lē adv
2ephemeral n (1817) : something ephemeral; specif : a plant that
grows, flowers, and dies in a few days
oOoOoOo
The man at the counter closed his eyes as the afternoon sun warmed his face. What seemed to warm him most these days were his memories. But that's all they were now. Memories.
A small smile played about his lips. With his eyes closed in darkness, past images were seen more vividly than present ones. And they were much more pleasant to look at. His hands ran through his plain brown hair, the tips a sudden shock of gold against their chocolate background. He used to bleach it, and he had looked quite handsome in his younger days. The man supposed he'd given up on his looks when he'd given up on his life. No point worrying about vanity, his youth was unquestionably gone. Lines wove about his eyes and cheeks, laugh-lines visible on his now dour features. Not that he was really that old; he was barely pushing thirty. His eyes still crinkled warmly over his sun-bronzed skin, the same way they had when he was nineteen.
Had it really been fifteen years? The man's eyes snapped open at the realization that it had indeed been fifteen years, and today was consequently the anniversary of… that day. The day the man had died while still living.
He started as the bell tinkled pleasantly above the door to his shop. A happy crowd of youths was suddenly milling about, the girls giggling and blushing at the fine chocolates displayed on the cases that lined the entire expanse of all four walls. The boys were also blushing to themselves, imagining no doubt the special girl they would purchase on of the delicate pink boxes for. Business was always best on Valentines Day.
Not that business was ever bad. The chocolate shop did well all year, and had built quite a reputation. The man's skillful hands were always flawless when making the chocolates that kept his shop alive. He was always strangely sad when someone bought them. They were his children. He loved to see his chocolate children taken home with someone who would appreciate them. The man enjoyed it when someone truly appreciated his work. No not his work; more like his lifestyle. He put his heart into his edible masterpieces, frail and broken thing that it was. He was known for even giving those precious glistening pieces away, when he saw someone who looked like they truly needed them. But he couldn't be fooled! More than one greedy soul had tried to cop his children away, but the man's deft eyes and clever fingers could always tell the distasteful hearts from the pure ones. Some pathetic people had even thought of it as a game, to steal away the man's chocolate heart. But no one had ever succeeded in fooling him. Well, all but one person, so long ago.
The man shook his head abysmally as he took the money from his customers, selecting the finest chocolates for them, much more valuable than what they paid. Their warm pleasure at his kindness was payment enough for the man.
"Sir, how much are these?"
The man turned to identify the sound, and took note of one of the boys pointing toward an arrangement of beautiful violet roses. The man shook his head again, this time in sadness, as he spoke the words now so familiar to his tongue.
"Those aren't for sale."
This boy was more persistent than most, urging him to name a price. "They would match my girlfriend's eyes perfectly," the boy argued. But still the man refused. He had never sold those roses that had grown in profusion in his back garden for almost twenty years. He never would.
The man's head turned as the bell tinkled again. An older woman had entered the shop. The man could tell she was full of mystery the minute he heard her loose skirt ruffle and the firm steps that led her to his counter. He couldn't guess at what she would buy, and that made him hesitate. Usually he could tell right away what a customer wanted by the way they entered his shop. That was another reason he loved his musical door chime. He could always examine his customers before they had a chance to speak. Once he had even been able to stop a robber and calmly call the police before the thief had even identified himself.
He could feel the woman's eyes rove his shop, and he felt naked before her stare. The eyes were listless, seemingly uninterested. But by the way the woman's shoulders were tensed and her breathing ragged, she was unsettled about something.
The man felt, more than saw, the woman's eyes stop on the violet roses. The shock that hit her body was evident. Perhaps this woman wasn't as mysterious as he first thought. She actually seemed quite innocent and unguarded.
"Do you like the roses?" Why had he asked? Normally the man never spoke of the roses. He even avoided them during the day, preferring to tend them at night under the cover of moonlight. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he chose to call them simply Moon Roses. But he knew he way lying to himself the moment he thought of it. The man knew the true reason they held their name. He mentally shook himself. He had a customer to attend to! But each Valentine's Day brought the same result, the same torrent of memories. They ebbed at his mind like the tide, slowly wearing him down at each easy drifting current.
The woman nodded deeply. The man prepared to tell her the same thing he said to everyone who inquired of the price, but the question never came. Instead a thick silence fell over the pair like a woolen mist. He could feel the lady's eyes probing in to him instead, and it gave him gooseflesh. For he had no doubts now that this seemingly genuine woman was indeed a noble lady of high stature. It would have been inappropriate for an ordinary lady to be dressed so finely or have a manner of such high bearing.
She parted her lips however, to speak a different request. "Tell me about them."
He blinked in uncharacteristic surprise. "What is there to tell, madam? I have grown the roses for almost twenty years now in my garden."
"And yet you never have sold a single one." She smiled in a sad sort of way, a kind of lopsided smirk that confused the man. He was filled with the urge to protect this overcast woman that he had just met. It took a few seconds for her remark to register with him, but when it did it worked to further unnerve him. He picked over his words carefully.
"How… how did you know?" It sounded dense even to his own ears.
If he seemed half-witted, the lady took no notice. "It become quite infamous, the roses of the chocolate shop. They grow, flower, and die within a few days, but bloom the most beautiful violet. Then again, I've always been told the shortest of pleasures are the ones held most dear." Her eyes glittered.
The man was suddenly afraid. "What do you want?"
She seemed satisfied with his question. The man drank in her satisfaction like and tasted its suffocating sweetness. She answered. "To know the story. Behind every mystery is a secret, behind every secret, a story. I wanted to hear it, to know the truth."
The truth. Had one truth ever been so hard to tell? It had been so long since his story had been shared. Well, fifteen years exactly now.
She responded as though he spoke aloud. "Why hold on to it? Why not give it away?"
He chuckled to himself. "The roses or the truth, I wonder?"
Her perfect smile revealed her triumph. She had him. "Both dearest, since they are both so exquisitely connected."
He flinched at the pet name, but let it pass. "But I can't find where to begin."
She smiled that sad smile again. "At the beginning, I should think. For isn't that where everything begins?" She was laughing.
The man couldn't help it; he laughed as well. Her laugh was infectious, and strangely familiar. Beginnings were always a good place to start. It just simply wouldn't do to start anywhere else. Clearing his throat, he spoke with a clarity that surprised him. Shouldn't his life's truth be harder to tell, especially to a stranger?
"I was born in a great city, now in ruins. My parents and I left Zanarkind when I was young, but I still remember it in its prime. Unfortunately I was one of few, as many died shortly after at the city's destruction. We chose to live in a small town to get away from the bustling city lifestyle. I was happy there, and made many friends throughout my childhood. Though I made one friend that I shall never forget.
"We were both so young at the time that we hadn't even come of the age to choose our names yet, as everyone does when they reach ten years old. I still think of her sometimes as a child, so happy and brimming with life as children often are. I knew I loved her as a child, but I never knew what my love meant. When I approached my coming of age, she made me promise to choose a name with her. We would pick names that went with each other, so everyone would know our friendship. It was she who chose my name. It fitted me really, and when she came of age two years later her name corresponded with mine. We thought ourselves rather clever, to name ourselves after the sun and moon. For didn't the sun and moon share the eternal love, with only the stars to bless them? Ever since I had met her I knew that I was the sun that would protect my moon. I was Tidus, and I would protect my Yuna."
oOoOoOo
A/N: Yep, it's different. All the more reason to review! They help me stay strong, keepa livin long. I have no idea what I'm doing.