vi.
For reasons Eri loathed, sugar was a rare treat in their house. Her tea was always bitter – a too-strong green, made no more palatable by the dash of honey she was permitted – and on the lonely morning in the middle of the week she was allowed to drink coffee (the morning after her procedures, when she was often too weak to get out of bed and when Kai was at his nicest) Eri had it only with a sliver of cream.
But there were days. Days when Chrono would wink at her mischievously, placing a mug rather than a tea cup in front of her with a conspiratorial 'ssh'. Days when Kai didn't eat breakfast with them because he'd locked himself in his study all through the night and so was either asleep at his desk or still working in a frenzy. Those days, Eri and Chrono drank hot chocolate. Sometimes, if Chrono was feeling particularly generous or lucky, there would even be a white puff of marshmallows bouncing on top.
Today was one such day, and the delicious shock of sweetness could not have soothed Eri's stomach more.
She left a mini-marshmallow lingering against her tongue, the cloudy fluff melting richly, and tapped her fingers against the shell of the mug. There were apple slices on her side plate – she herself rarely ate anything more for breakfast – and rain tapping lightly on the window in misty gloom.
Kai's seat at the dining table being empty made mornings much easier. Or not easier, as such, but at least without him there Eri could swallow down upon her food without such a stuttering struggle.
Chrono read a newspaper with bored eyes while the maids washed dishes around the corner in a deaf, dumb stupor.
Eri's own book lay next to her plate, though she could muster no focus nor desire to open it. Her mind wandered. Her mind counted. Chrono would give her his phone that evening, and then she would cocoon herself in the secret safety of her bedroom and call Mirio. The promise of it bloomed beautiful before her like a poisonous flower. The anticipation left her dizzy and breathless, a shake about her fingers which refused to be quelled by food or distraction.
Sipping from her hot chocolate – oh, glorious sugar upon her tongue! – Eri steeled herself in an attempt not to sound too curious. "Kurono-san," she began quietly.
"Mmm?"
"Did Kai talk to you about his meeting this week?"
"He mentioned it."
Eri nodded, measuring her tone and next words with care. "Are you going to go?" she asked. "I'm just wondering. You know. In case I should–"
"As far as I know," Chrono interrupted gently, placing down his newspaper and blinking at Eri with no glimmer of suspicion, "Overhaul's planning on going himself. You know how he is."
The excited relief threatened to bubble over like champagne, and Eri had to conceal herself behind the rim of her mug. The promise bloomed wider: she'd phone Mirio that night before phoning Anya-chan; she'd see him but two sleeps after. It would have to be the last time, Eri reminded herself – only one more brilliant indulgence to convince herself that it was indeed all real. That he was real. It would be the last time, reluctant though she may have been to let it be so.
But still, the butterflies in her ribcage did nothing to stop their vibrant flurry. Her heart refused to be convinced that this wasn't only the beginning. The beginning of what? It made Eri sick to think about – but a good sick. A sweet sick, like a syrupy ripple. Would she be able to let Mirio go now that she knew his blood wasn't on her hands? More than that – would he be willing to let her go now that he'd found her again?
Leaning in, Chrono cocked his head. It was hard to say with the mask over his mouth, but there was an inkling of a smile in his eyes. "Would you like him to skip the meeting this week, Eri-chan?"
"No."
"He wouldn't mind if you asked him. If you wanted–"
"No," Eri insisted with softness enough to disguise her horror. "I was really, really just wondering."
Chrono's expressions weren't as easy to read as Kai's. Still, Eri recognised in the pale wrinkles a disappointed downturn like a white candle melting. Subtle. But distinct. As most things tended to be in their confused little household: patterns and peculiarities which would have been indecipherable were it not for the years Eri had spent picking them out like threads from a blanket.
And wanting as Eri did for Chrono not to frown because of her, she slumped slightly in her seat. She waited – waited for Chrono to say something more. About Kai. About her and Kai. Anything to which she could have obliged gently to see the expression on Chrono's face soften. She would have taken her darling husband his breakfast: that gross green juice with all the accompanying multitude of vitamins like coloured candies. She would have kissed her darling husband good morning; with mock tenderness on the cheek, with false sweetness on the lips, and with Chrono there to see, as though they were a picture of domestic bliss rather than Eri's own personal source of inspiration for when she needed to make herself vomit.
For Chrono, Eri would have done these things. Grudgingly. But she would have done them. Because even though she'd never been able to wrap her head around it, Chrono seemed to find endless fulfillment in seeing Kai and Eri act as though they were actually married – like it was all red roses and not red blood.
Maybe he was compensating for what Eri herself didn't feel.
Despite all of this though, Chrono only shrugged. His eyes glinted upwards once again with a smile of marshmallow softness, equally as white in the flows of grey light through the window (the window Eri had snuck through like a thief in the night!), and he reached his hand over the table to tap the rim of Eri's mug. "He shouldn't be coming out for another while still." He was talking about Kai. "Want another cup of hot chocolate?"
Eri gasped. With delight. With still more relief. "With marshmallows!"
"Oh, yes. Naturally," Chrono grinned, rising from his chair and taking both their mugs. "I also bought you a treat from the market this week, since we didn't get to have our taiyaki again. Our little secret, of course."
Eri had avoided their last trip to the market with claims and qualms that she'd been light-headed. Chrono had suggested she was still reeling from their last session of procedures. Kai had given her pills she hadn't needed, though light-headed she'd certainly been. Light-headed and whoozy and fluttering with the thought and fear of running into Mirio again.
Nodding solemnly and with something of a restrained smile, Eri whispered in conspiring thrill, "Our secret."
Mirio gazed wistfully at the gemstone collage of flowers, bundled and brilliant in baskets and tubs both outside and within the store.
He'd been there for a long time already. Too long, quite frankly, floating about in a floral-scented rapture at the thought of seeing Eri again. Finding her in every petal and bud. Look at this! A white dahlia like the curling bloom of her hair. And look at this! A ranunculus in hues of crimson nearly as deep as those of her eyes. Swooning over it all in shameless daydreaming, Mirio tried to imagine his eagerness into a bouquet. Something like jewels spilling out from their box, all shimmering petals of pastel. Or something richer, deeper, in moody glows and fiery brightness.
Mirio hadn't expected her to call again, and hearing her voice the other night had left him reeling upon a high. They hadn't spoken for very long – a few seconds at best; Eri had only wanted to tell him that nothing had changed. She would still be at his hotel room two nights from then (now only hours away!). And he, quite flagrantly, had told her he couldn't wait. He couldn't wait to see her again, indelicate though it may have seemed considering she was… married.
Married! It was a word around which Mirio struggled to wrap his mind.
Had he – this vague and nameless husband – been the one to rescue her from Overhaul? A fine and dashing prince. A hero. Swooping in to save the princess from the dragon. Mirio shook his head and sighed with a thin smile. Did said vague and nameless husband give Eri the world? The stars and sun? Did he give her flowers? Mirio hoped so, though he could not help but foster a vague uneasiness.
Perhaps it was only a silhouette of Nighteye's skepticism rubbing off on him. No, no! Mirio refused to let it be so. He would not let Sir's ever-rational sense get the best of him this time. Even though it sort of did make sense, and it did all seem rather strange, and perhaps Mirio should have been thinking more about what it meant that there continued to be no public records of Eri's existence. That she was not free to see him at holier hours of the evening – or even on just any evening, for that matter. She'd sounded rushed and restless over the phone. She'd still trembled silently in his arms as she had all those years before…
No, no!
Mirio bent down to consider a body of pale chrysanthemums, fondling their faces distractedly.
There would be a place and time for all these considerations, all these questions. However, for now, Mirio couldn't bring himself to quash the anticipation and the delight. He couldn't allow protocol to push Eri away. Not again. No matter how Nighteye might caution him against it.
The little old lady shopkeeper, who'd been looming curiously about the storefront since Mirio's arrival, came to pat him warmly on the shoulder. In an old kimono of greens and lavender, its silk hanging in a near-elegant shapelessness about her tiny frame, she seemed odd. Ethereal in a way, more so with the cobweb-spun cloud of hair which puffed itself about her scrunched and smiling face. "If you'd like something for a sweetheart," she said scratchily, "might I suggest lilacs? Or perhaps some sweetpeas."
"Oh!" Mirio straightened himself, and grinned down at the little old lady with a threatening blush. "No, no! No sweetheart for me. I'm just admiring how pretty these all are."
The lady cooed. "Now, a young man like you without somebody to woo? You must be joking with me."
Mirio chuckled, "I wouldn't exactly call myself a young man, Obasan."
Teasingly, she smacked his shoulder. "Don't tease an old lady."
With continued questioning, the lady convinced Mirio that if there wasn't someone he wanted to buy flowers for (If not a lover – then a mother? A friend?) then he wouldn't have been in a flower shop. Not that he'd really needed convincing, of course. He knew she was right even if he also knew it would have been absurd for him to even consider buying Eri flowers. It would have been absurd. Right? Right? Or maybe not, if he bought the right kind of flowers, and on this note the little old lady took the liberty of putting together a tight arrangement of daisies – "For innocence," she explained. "And friendship."
Ten out of ten selling skills.
Like a garden witch, sewing together her floral concoction of symbolism with a wrinkled smile which should not have seemed so youthful as it did, she captured Mirio and held him there.
He watched her through a charmed fascination. How her boney hands with skin like paper twiddled and twisted the flowers with pointed ease. How her muted kimono swished as she bustled about her bushy, colourful counter. They chatted easily like birds on the same branch, and as Mirio grew more confident in his decision he began to point out blooms in clueless requests. What about that one? "Oh yes," the lady would say all too knowingly. "White jasmine will suit this wonderfully." And what about that one? "Oh, of course. White daffodils will be splendid. For new beginnings!"
Only once did she shake her head at Mirio's selection.
"No, no, the hyssop won't do," she tutted with profundity. "Cleanliness has no place in an arrangement like this."
And at the end of it all, Mirio was handed a glowing swell of petals – all white. White like the shape of Eri in his mind. The lady sighed, and in true witchly fashion offered Mirio a generous discount in exchange for something of equal loveliness: that he tell her about the girl for whom such a bouquet was intended. It didn't even take Mirio a moment. Giddy, smiling like a young boy, he did nothing to stop himself.
He told her about the girl. The girl he'd met once before, so many years ago it was almost hard to believe he'd kept count. And though he hadn't expected to ever see her again, everything had conspired for and against him and now he'd found her. Or she'd found him. Or they'd found each other, and she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. And he wanted to know her. And he hoped against all hopeless hope that she'd found happiness beyond anything he could have ever dreamed she'd find.
The old lady pursed her lips at him. She hummed, either thoughtful or incredulous, and then huffed in a way which seemed almost furious though her eyes still smiled. "My boy," she said tenderly. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go with lilacs?"
A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed! I myself would kill a man in exchange for some good flower symbolism in a story... XD
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