Unspoken
By mihoyonagi
Chapter 9: Gift
The rest of the week had flown by faster than Sephiroth thought could be possible. They had been together, he and the flower girl, stuck in the tiny log cabin in the woods on the outskirts of town, for nearly a month. Sephiroth felt that, by now, cabin fever should have spread through his veins, but it was relatively the opposite- a daily schedule and routine was quite comforting. It reminded him that while fighting still existed in the world, there were always times of peace and tranquility hidden in pockets away from the heat of battle. Waking up every morning and knowing what he was going to do served to calm his nerves into an even more relaxed state.
Aerith, much to the general's secret delight, had taught him how to bake that in which he had become enthralled with; cake. She had, however, introduced a new, just as delicious sugary snack in which Sephiroth was also infatuated over; pie. Oh the joys of it all. Though Aerith had taught him how to make the delicious treats in which he found great pleasure in consuming, he was highly critical of his own work and was convinced that Aerith's cooking was far better than his own. Besides- the fact that he wore yellow rubber gloves while he did the dishes took a large chunk out of his dignity already, not to mention an equally large portion from his ego. He was just thankful that Aerith didn't ask him to wear an apron. Oh the frilly, cherry-printed horror, complete with a breast pocket and several singe-marks.
Despite the amount of cake and pie he consumed, Aerith always made sure that the general ate just as much healthy and hearty foods. One night, as Sephiroth was working on his second piece of cake, she had commented with a light smile and laugh that at the rate in which he was currently ingesting his dearest dessert, he was bound to grow pudgy. From that night forth, Sephiroth declined seconds on cake.
The week, however, did not go on without some sort of progress, aside from cake and pie making, of course. Sephiroth had begun to write in his newfound diary every night before bed. With his thoughts having been jumbled, as always, by Aerith's 'I forgive you' line, he found that it was the best time to spill everything out. The diary wasn't, however, of just how he felt. He refused to talk anything of his past life. His former existence was a shadow that lurked over him now. Rather than that, he wrote of things that had happened from the beginning, when Aerith had saved his life and given up her birthright of the Promised Land simply to allow him passage back into his body. He wrote of how he owed her more than she could, quite honestly, comprehend, having given him a second chance when nothing else would even hear of such a thing. He wrote of her kindness, and how the people in the town were always happy to see her. He wrote of their walks, and in side margins would sometimes sketch little pictures of things they had seen in the forest during their walks. He wrote of little things, as well; not having a voice caused one to notice small things that normally are overlooked, like the way Aerith held herself when she walked, or even spoke. Her posture would change depending on who she was talking to and what she was talking about, and outside in her garden she would often make little sounds, soft coos, almost like that of a dove, when she was deep in thought, staring deeply down at her flower seeds that had yet to sprout.
Everything was changing, though it felt as if time was standing still. Their clothes smelled of a new laundry detergent than the week before. The windows seemed to sparkle in the afternoon sun, rather than in the morning, a sure sign the days were to become warmer and longer. The lawn had been properly rid of all weeds. A flower vase now adorned the dining room table, and every three days Sephiroth would accompany Aerith to the florists' shop while she picked out flowers. The florist was so enamored of Aerith's love of plants, as was as well very grateful for the several tips the small Cetra had given her, that he personally helped her pick out a new batch of flowers when they came in. Even on days that flowers were not needed, the florist would smile brightly at Aerith and hand her a single flower. The fact that the florist looked to be Aerith's own age and captivated by her kindness and beauty was the main reason Aerith was constantly supplied with fresh flowers. For some unbeknownst reason to Sephiroth, he felt rather offended the way she smiled at the young man and would often make a point of himself by standing as close as possible to Aerith while they were in the vicinity of the flower shop. She didn't, however, say anything to his closeness while inside the shop, and Sephiroth took such as a rather good gesture, meaning she either didn't mind the fact that the florist was flirting with her, or that Sephiroth was so close to her. Either way, the general had convinced himself that he didn't care, though he made it a point to give a nasty glare over his shoulder at the young man as they walked from the store, always careful to make sure that Aerith's back was turned.
It wasn't until Sephiroth watched Aerith place a calendar upon the wall did he even begin to think of the time of year it was. As soon as the thumbtack was rightfully in place and Aerith had once again set upon her garden, Sephiroth looked up at it. A beautiful snow-covered landscape picture adorned the first month to be shown- February.
A small marking was written in pen upon one of the date boxes. Peering closer, Sephiroth took note that it was the seventh. Why the seventh? Sephiroth squinted his eyes in order to see the small handwriting in the corner of the box. It was clearly marked '23/25?'
What on earth did that mean? He read it again. Twenty-three slash twenty-five question mark- no mistaking it.
Sephiroth looked over the countertop and peered out the front door at Aerith, whom was busy watering her flower garden. The general furrowed his brow in thought. What on the face of the planet did that mean? He looked back to the calendar. Aerith had placed a small mark through the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth of the month. Assuming the obvious, Sephiroth dubbed those the days that had already passed, meaning that it was currently the sixth. The box for the next day held the strange message only Aerith knew the meaning of.
Still confused, Sephiroth turned his head back toward the window in the front. Aerith stood with her back toward the general, hands on her hips, apparently deep in thought. The flowers that she had planted earlier that week were showing no signs of wanting to sprout, despite Aerith's constant watering and weeding. On more than one occasion she had expressed her unhappiness to Sephiroth, but Sephiroth knew no more of flowers than he did about females, so he simply shrugged with a passive look upon his face.
"I'll be old and crusty by the time you decide to sprout for me!" he heard her exclaim through the open window. Again, his brow furrowed. Surely what she said was merely a figure of speech, but Sephiroth could not help the mental image that sprang into his head; an elder Aerith, hunched over the flower patch, sour look upon her face, glowering down at the seeds that lay hidden under a thin later of topsoil. He didn't know if he should laugh or not.
Then, something hit him. Age. Of course! Sephiroth turned back to the calendar on the wall. In the hospital a month before, Aerith had commented that it was two years since they had died. February seventh was her birthday, and Aerith was confused; physically, she was to be 23, however, technically, she was to be 25, ignoring the fact that she had been gone for two years. She plainly was rather confused over the predicament, so she marked both ages on the calendar.
Wasn't it a tradition to give someone a gift on his or her birthday? Sephiroth pondered this for a few minutes. Should he get her something? She hadn't plainly marked anything on the calendar indicating that she wanted the general to know that it was her birthday, so perhaps she wasn't expecting anything. The reminder was, most likely, simply for herself. However, Sephiroth felt compelled to actually do something different for a change. He had started writing in a diary, he washed dishes, swept floors, set tables, went on leisure walks in the woods, and even wore bright yellow rubber gloves; doing things he wasn't used to was becoming a daily regimen for him, so why stop simply because he had never before celebrated a birthday? Besides; she had bought him the gift of the pencils and notebook in which he used nearly everyday to communicate with those around him- she deserved something in return for her kindness and thoughtfulness, didn't she?
Baking Aerith a cake was the first thing that sprang to Sephiroth's mind, but the general had to remind himself that his cooking skills were lacking, and Aerith could cook far better than he could. The small fact that it was, indeed, crossed his mind; it was only he who was enamored with the spongy frosted substance.
She liked flowers, but she had enough of them from the florist in town, so Sephiroth's second idea flew out the window faster than the first.
Never having had to shop for a woman before, Sephiroth's brain was, quite honestly, being put to the test. Chocolates were out; what was the point of store-made things when Aerith could just as easily make better tasting sweets in their own kitchen? The general's mind drifted to the chocolate-dipped strawberries she had made only two days prior and his mouth began to water at the mere memory of them.
Frowning, Sephiroth pushed the notion of sweets from his head. She needed something unique, something that could be both beautiful and practical. Thinking of something that met such standards proved to be much more of a challenge than was expected.
After nearly a half an hour of debating with himself over gifts while leaning against the countertop, Sephiroth ran into another problem: money. Having nearly all of what they needed provided for them by the generous people of the village, he hadn't seen a single gil. The words of the kind doctor, however, filtered through his mind, and he remembered the offer the doctor had made: 'Any time you need a job, come on by. I am sure that we can scrounge up something for you to do around here.'
Perfect. With his money problem solved, Sephiroth merely needed to decide on what to buy Aerith for her birthday.
His thoughts, however, were interrupted as Aerith entered the house and removed her shoes next to the door, being careful to take her gardening gloves off and place them atop her boots rather neatly. Sephiroth looked to the window again; it was beginning to grow dark outside.
"Care for dinner?" Aerith beamed at him, walking to the kitchen.
Sephiroth nodded and followed her.