A tall man glimpsed at a small plant pot he was holding in his right hand. It had been particularly hot all day and he pondered if watering the poor flower that looked like on a brink of dying made any sense. He touched the soil inside the pot with his long finger again. Yes, it was definietly humid. So the damn black cumin flower was just...
„Ehhh..." He sighed with resignation and placed the clay pot in not too sunny-not too dark spot on a nearby garden shelf. He hopet that the tiny growing creature would come back to life after his overzealous watering strategy. „This is harder than killing a zolom while blindfolded and weilding sword in the right hand." That meant, it wasn't too hard... but it really required even more... „Patience?" He wondered aloud. „Heh, I'm still a rookie in gardening." He giggled and his eyes flashed with even brighter shade of emerald green.
The „garden" as he liked to call it now, was one of few places he had courage to actually talk to himself. Far enough from sneaky individuals. Just a small hideout for yet another quirk he happened to acquire every once in a while. It was tolerated. As if anyone would dare not to tolerate his occasional whims. It was enough to give a dirty look to any annoying collegues who tried to object. But he only did this to people he disliked. There wasn't many, actually.
The heat was starting to fry him a tad too strong, even though he changed his coat to something much more comfortable. He stretched his hands and yawned. It's been a long night and even enhancements couldn't kill his body's natural needs. He touched top of his head to check how hot the hay pile of his hair got this time. „Quite hot." Hair was a pretty good insulation up to a certain point.
He ignored a light, yet nagging feeling of thirst and crouched by a row of sprouts pertruding from the ground below. The small-ish strip of fertile soil was healthy dark and smelled of natural freshness that always brough him joy. Joy... He winced for a moment, realising that he never told anyone, even his only friends. „Scent of fresh, humid, healthy soil brings me joy..." Had to shrug, hearing his own voice saying such thing.
A few days ago he removed all the intrusive weeds with his own hands. And today, there they were, just below him. Sprouts... Caring for something as simple as plants wes oddly satisfying and equally frustrating.
„So this is how you grow radishes, huh?" So far they seemed to be much more resilient and easy to grow compared to flowers. „It's probably because you taste so nasty." He sent a silent smile to the tiny, green leaves.
How much time before he needed go baqck to work? He glanced to the left where the old and rusty door to his garden were. Behind them, tossed with his coat, lied PHS.
He finally decided to get up and strech. His mouth opened and he let out another, inaudible yawn. Had a few small rounds along the „path" that led between other tiny plots, most of them still either completely dry or overgrown with all kinds of random weeds. This wasn't even a walk. Maybe if he were a cat, this place would seem big enough.
Ending his stroll by the wall of Shinra building, he crossed hands on his chest and mindlessly stared at a random bush now slowly waving in awoken wind. This bush was planted here by someone from the lab. Was it a real plant or a surveillance device? A sign of Hojo's not surprising but still disappointing paranoia?
A surprising breeze played with a few of silver bangs that immediately flew into his eyes. He squinted and pushed his hair awkwardly awya from his face. Hair in the eyes. He grunted and then smirked thinking about all this bullshiting fan-club rumors claiming that he used so and so much shampoo and a conditioner every single time...
Pale hand patted silver hay stack of hair and the other joined to straighten the bangs around his face. He muffled another giggle. Spots of sun lazily wandered along the garden, giving some minimal light to the barely alive but well-watered flower on the shelf in the opposite corner.
„If they only knew..." He murmured, looking down and half-closing his eyes. „If they only knew that I never use a hair conditioner..." His hair had to be stiff and stable enough, yet shine and wave in the wind, to look good in the pictures. He just liked them long, protecting his back... „I think I may never be able to reveal that terrible secret... It's not some magical shampoo. My hair is just -"
And then the phone rang, reminding him how much relaxed or maybe crazy he was going left alone in the garden, talking to some silly plants and a suspicious bush. He scowled, sighed and reached to the door. Turning around, he caught one more glimpse and intoxicating scent of that still messy, but peaceful place. Plants were great listeners...
...maybe excluding that bush...