"What is this...feeling?"
Nausea. Inexplicable, terrible nausea. From the moment his vision blurred and his stomach lurched from discomfort to sick, Izou knew something was wrong.
He just hadn't known what…
It was now Saturday. In his old room at the rehabilitation clinic, Izou was sitting in bed, recovering. He had a sketchbook in his lap and a few bouquets of well-wishes on his table.
Over the past few days, the nausea and its subsequent disorientation had slowly begun to dissipate. However, the nightmares persisted: vivid flashes of grotesque faces, monsters with muscles that were warped like tree roots, and stone columns that reached to a black sky that was smothering as it was endless. A soft coursing of petals that always felt real to his cheek, and filling his blood with a strange sense of tranquility. A garden basking in sunrise; being held by someone warm.
And then he would always bolt awake.
In the quiet solitude of the room, Izou had always felt safe. Even though the anachronism would send his heart ramming or his stomach lurching, the simple tactility of his surroundings would always ground him back to reality. He could understand the things in this world, even if it took some time to remember them. The softness of the cream blankets, the coolness of the metal rails, the brightness of the flora on his bedside table. These were all touchable things, things he knew. Things that grounded his existence, confirmed he was alive.
Even if flowers occasionally filled him with a strange sense of melancholy...
A knock came at the door, and Izou paused from his sketching. When he saw his guest, he perked up into a big smile.
"Saitou-sama!"
The older man was standing in the doorway, in his casual clothes and long, heavy coat. Outside of his usual uniform, he seemed somewhat awkward and stiff, as if he wasn't sure what to do.
"Pardon my intrusion."
Izou quickly waved it off. "No intrusion at all! Please, come in." He pushed the book aside, and scooted over to make room for Kunihiro to sit on the bed.
Despite his enthusiasm, it took some time for Kunihiro to pass through the room. He seemed to be taking great care in his steps, not wanting to upset whatever delicacy he felt hung in the air. As he approached the bed, his eyes drifted over to the flowers on Izou's bedside table in succession: several bundles of classic red roses, a warm burst of peonies and other garden blossoms, clusters and clusters of daisies in every color and size. Finally, closest to him, a clear vase containing a single white rose.
Izou couldn't help but be amused at the slightly disconcerted frown on Kunihiro's brow. "Is everything alright, Saitou-sama? Are you allergic?"
"No," Kunihiro said automatically, his eyes lingering on the blush-pink peonies. "My apologies, I'm afraid I haven't brought anything to add to your...collection."
"Oh, please, don't worry at all!" Izou immediately waved his hands. "Any more of them and I wouldn't be able to bring them all home. "
Kunihiro nodded, and finally pulled his eyes away. He cleared his throat and opened his jacket to pull forth a manila envelope.
"I came to give you these," he started, but there was a note of hesitation in his voice. "A collection of summative assignments. I wasn't sure if you were up to it, but I also didn't want your hard work to go to waste…"
Unable to help himself, Izou felt his heart melt. It was so thoughtful for Kunihiro to go through all this trouble for him. Even if it hadn't been the man's intention, these assignments would bring Izou the sense of normalcy that he craved. He raised his hand to take the packet.
"Thank you," he said genuinely. "I could use the distraction."
"How long do you still need to remain here?"
"Perhaps another week, thereabouts. They want to observe me a little longer yet."
Kunihiro nodded. On one hand, he seemed to want to stay. His discerning gaze was trained on Izou, worried. But on another, he also seemed concerned about overstaying his visit.
"Perhaps I should let you rest, then," he finally said. "I don't want to be a both-"
"Oh, you wouldn't be a bother at all!" Izou exclaimed. He scooted over further, to give Kunihiro some space on the bed. "Please, stay. Just for a little while."
It was hard for Kunzite to refuse Zoisite when he begged like that. So awkwardly, Kunzite remained. Not wanting to intrude on Izou's space, however, he first thought to sit down in the guest chair - but then realized it was already occupied with a wreath of sunflowers and a teddy-bear.
"I'm sorry, the girls at the coffee shop maybe went a little overboard," Izou giggled behind him. "Please, Saitou-sama, sit. I really don't mind."
Sighing, Kunzite turned away from the chair, and carefully sat himself on the edge of the bed. He tried to keep himself contained in his space, not wanting to accidentally trigger another memory too suddenly. But, the echo of Zoisite's voice still drifted in the back of his mind.
"Kun-...zite-...sama…"
"Saitou-sama?" Izou's voice broke him out of his daze. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Kunzite blinked. "Yes, yes," he said automatically. "Sorry, I was... distracted by the flowers."
"Do you not like them?" Izou asked, as he pulled the assignments from out of the packet.
"No, it's not that," Kunzite said honestly. "It's just… a bit hard on my eyes. It's a lot of colors."
Izou peeked up briefly, an amused smile on his face. "What would you do differently?" he asked innocently. As he waited for Kunihiro to answer, he flipped through the sheets of the assignment, relieved to find all the equations familiar. So he hadn't lost any memories this time, as far as he could tell.
"...Separate them," Kunihiro finally answered. "When they are all clustered, they compete and clash with one another in the same space. It becomes hard to appreciate their singular, individual beauty."
This reply surprised Izou, and he raised his head. He hadn't expected Kunihiro's response to turn so… serious.
"I think there's times when they look good together," Izou countered. "Like in a garden. Then they become concentrated bundle of beauty. A cluster of joy, like the sun."
"Yes," Kunihiro agreed. "I suppose I prefer to view them as stars in the night. That way you can see each bud's personality, admire its individual imperfections. Appreciate its unique charm." His voice dropped a bit then, and his eyes grew distant, as though he was just realizing something.
"Yes?" Izou prodded, transfixed.
Kunihiro still looked like he was in his own little world. And give it your utmost adoration, Kunzite had been about to say. Give it the love it deserves…
"Like that one there," Kunzite quickly said, breaking away from his train of thought. He gestured to the single white rose in the vase next to Izou. "There's simplicity in its elegance. And I couldn't help but notice it's the one closest to you. It must be special to you."
Izou glanced over to the flower in question. "Oh! Yes." His smile grew soft. "This one was from Kuroi. It's his favourite flower."
Once more, Kunzite felt his gut shrivel up and die a little inside him. At every angle of Izou's life, this man was wedged between them. This man who shared some similarities to Kunzite, but who was ultimately not. He wouldn't treat Zoisite the same, give him what he really needed, or truly understand him. The flower wasn't even Zoisite's favourite - it wasn't even pink!
Carefully, Izou pulled the flower out from the vase, and brought it close to his lips. Its scent was calming - clean and fresh like a spring morning. It smoothed his anxieties, sanitized him from his dreams.
"Kuroi-chan used to be a patient here, you know," Izou started quietly. "He woke up one day in a room like this, without memories, with no recognition of friends or family. But the one thing he knew for sure - the one thing he knew before he remembered his own name - ...was that this was his favourite flower. White roses."
There was a moment of silence then, as the new information seemed to sink into Kunihiro. Izou continued to hold the stem carefully, twirling it slowly to admire its open petals from all angles.
"I'm surprised," Kunihiro finally confessed, with some care in his voice. "I would have thought red to be his favourite color."
"It would seem that way, wouldn't it?" Izou agreed. "But it's actually white. White flowers, greenery, the sea. Those were his favourite things, the earliest things he could remember with total certainty." He slowly returned the flower back to the vase.
Kunzite watched Izou closely, considering if now was a good idea to ask what he was thinking of.
"When you woke up, what could you remember?" he finally asked softly. "Was there anything deep inside you that you knew, for sure?"
Izou paused, and his face fell. His hands dropped as well, back down to his lap, and Kunzite couldn't help but notice they had started to play a little with each other, a little anxiously.
"I don't know," Izou mumbled. "When I woke up, apparently all I was speaking was gibberish."
"Do you remember what kind of gibberish?" Kunzite pressed.
Izou shook his head. "Nothing anyone could understand. Some names, maybe, but I don't remember them now."
"Any persons? Reoccuring dreams that felt right?" Kunzite pushed some more.
Izou shook his head again, now feeling a rise of anxiety in his chest. "No," his voice cracked a little.
"Familiar colours, scents, places?" Kunzite was desperate. He knew that it was in Izou, it was accessible, Zoisite was there - but for some reason Izou was sealing everything in, hard. "Flowers?"
"Only that I like them!" Izou suddenly cried. Tears rushed to his eyes and heat flooded his cheeks. "Only that I love them," he repeated, heart thudding loudly in his chest. He brought his hands to his face, hiding his eyes and cradling his forehead. "I- …"
Realizing he had overstepped his bounds, Kunzite's urgency burnt to ashes, and dropped like coal into the pit of his gut. On one hand he wanted to reach forward to comfort Izou, but on the other, he realized that this was his doing. If he wasn't careful, he could send Izou to another breakdown.
"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. He glanced around and offered the tissue box on Izou's bedside table. "Forgive me, I - … didn't mean to upset you."
Izou was swallowing his tears now. But he accepted the tissues, and Kunihiro's apology.
"It's okay," Izou managed to say, dabbing his eyes. "I'm sorry, Saitou-sama. I'm just...not ready to talk about these things right now."
Kunzite felt even more ashamed now. "Please don't apologize. It was my wrongdoing. I'm sorry." He let Izou have some time to breathe. "If you prefer, I can go…"
"No, it's okay," Izou insisted. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Kunihiro off. His tears had mostly stopped now, and his heart rate had resumed to a more acceptable pace. "I'm afraid I haven't progressed as far as Kuroi-chan has. I have figured out some friends and family, but…" He shivered a little. "But I still get nightmares that don't make sense."
Kunzite continued to hold the tissue box. "What sort of dreams, if you don't mind me asking?" he ventured carefully.
Izou took a deep breath. "Just...really scary stuff. Monsters. Scary faces. Shadows, terrifying-looking trees. The feeling of being smothered underground, buried alive. A crystal castle, and it suddenly grows these thick green veins, and a heartbeat."
Kunzite reconsidered how far he should push. These were clear examples of Izou remembering his past life in slumber. Nightmares to him, but dreams to Zoisite.
Izou couldn't read Kunihiro's emotionless stare, but he feared the worse.
"Kuroi used to have bad dreams too," Izou was quick to explain, desperate to show Kunihiro that he wasn't crazy, that in time he could be normal too. "He had nightmares of him fighting people. Like the sounds of metal clashing, flashes of a gold and red in a uniform. Winning over someone. Possibly hurting them. Stabbing them, sometimes over and over!"
Kunzite sat up straight. "Izou, are you safe with him?" He immediately asked. "Has he hurt you?"
"No, that's not it at all!" Izou exclaimed. "Don't you see? Kuroi figured it out, in the end. The fighting he was dreaming about was his past sword matches. The red and gold he saw? Those were his competition colors. His dreams of hurting people? They were anxieties that stemmed from not understanding what his dreams of fighting were referring to." Izou looked off to the side. "For the longest time, he didn't want to find out who he was. He feared he was someone horrible. But then it turns out - ...he was fine."
Kunzite took a moment for all this to sink in. Izou glanced back at him hesitantly, waiting for his response, almost anxiously. His fingers drifted up to twist the ends of his ponytail. He pulled so tightly that they frayed out of their curl, like storm-blown hay.
Finally Kunzite spoke, and when he did, his voice was solemn.
"You've dreamt about something similar, haven't you?" Kunihiro asked softly. "That you've hurt someone."
Izou's eyes flew wide open and his heart stopped. How had Kunihiro known? Izou felt his soul wither and he buried his face in shame. He couldn't tell Kunihiro the worst of it. The worst of the feeling that had surged him in the park.
The feeling of triumph…
"I can't shake the feeling I've done something terrible," Izou whispered. Something terrible, but something also so very good. He deserved it, whoever he had been. The rush of peace, tranquility, confidence at the aftermath. The twisted sense of pride made Izou sick to his stomach.
Very gently, he felt Kunihiro lay a hand on his knee.
"Will it make you feel better," Kunihiro said softly, "if I told you that I know of no criminal record or juvenile offenses committed by a Kozakura Izou?"
At this, Izou's head lifted up. His wide eyes tracked across Kunihiro's face for any kind of lie or deceit, but found none. Kunihiro's face remained as soft and passive as the day he first heard Izou's story.
"You- you're sure?" Izou whispered, desperate to believe it. "Really?"
Kunihiro nodded. "Really," he confirmed quietly. "If any such thing had happened, I would have known."
Izou's eyes lit up, and his heart flooded with relief. The dreams must've been something else. He sank back, hand over his mouth as he tried not to cry.
"You are young," Kunihiro continued. "And have a bright and sensitive soul. It's very possible your dreams are your imagination's way of abstracting your past. But that doesn't mean you've done the things you fear."
Izou's eyes scanned over Kunihiro again, and slowly his hand dropped, revealing a tentative little smile.
"You really think so?"
Kunihiro nodded. "And if your friends are any indication…" He gestured to the flowers and gifts all around the room. "Who you fear you were is not who you are now. Nor, who you choose to be." Kunihiro's eyes were so beautifully kind, even if his expression hardly ever changed. "Your choices in the present are what truly defines you."
Izou let his hand slowly fall to his lap, unable to express to Kunihiro just how much he appreciated all this.
"Thank you, Kunihiro-sama," Izou whispered. He slowly glanced over at the white flower in the vase next to him. "Kuroi-chan says the same thing…"
There was a heavy sigh from Kunihiro, and the weight on Izou's knee pulled away and disappeared.
"He is right," Kunihiro admitted. "You are lucky to have him."
Izou turned back to Kunihiro, and reached forward to lay a hand on his arm.
"I'm lucky to have you too."
There was that moment again: when the world grew quiet and everything around Kunzite seemed to pause. Izou's hand felt so warm and lovely on his arm, even through the thickness of his coat. And the way those bright green eyes were gazing at him so clearly…
"Ahem."
Both were startled out of the moment and looked towards the door. Izou pulled his hand away.
"Kuroi-chan!"
The dark-haired man stood in the doorway, this time with his white-haired friend, as well as the receptionist. Kuroi had another bouquet of red roses collected in one arm, while Shirai was bearing a more eclectic collection of sunflowers, carnations and random greenery. The receptionist was peering into the room, and upon seeing Kunihiro, frowned quizzically.
"Are we interrupting anything?" Kuroi asked from the door.
Before Izou could respond, Kunihiro rose to his feet.
"No, I was about to leave," Kunihiro said, before Izou could protest. There was a certain note of finality in there than quelled any chance of Izou convincing him otherwise.
Kuroi nodded as Kunihiro gathered himself. He turned back to Izou just to say:
"No need to rush the assignments. Whenever you're ready, you can pass it back to me by leaving it at the coffeehouse. Goodbye."
The abruptness took Izou off-gaurd, but Kunihiro was already heading out the door before he could even say anything.
As Kuroi stepped aside to make space for Kunzite to pass, the receptionist's brow furrowed some more. Then, a light of recognition sparked in her eyes.
"Ah, you must be -"
"No," Kunzite cut her off curtly. "I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else. Good day."
And before anyone else could say anything, Saitou Kunihiro had disappeared down the hall.