Disclaimer: I have no claim on anything Sailor Moon, or anything else that the claiming of would give me legal issues. Furthermore, I am not making any money off of my writings here. Right. Rub it in, why don't you?
A/N: I would like to begin this by apologizing. Profusely. I've actually had this written for a while, but I forgot to put it up. I honestly thought I already had. Which is kind of embarrassing to admit…so I won't force you to read any more of my ramblings before we get to the story. Just remember, all the notices from the first chapter count here, too.
Enjoy the final chapter!
Marriage: Rose
Serena Tsukino had always known what flowers she would hold when she got married; it had only ever been the color that varied
She was, after all, a truly hopeless romantic, and had therefore always been enamored of roses and weddings, and the pair of them together had been the most wonderful thought.
When she was very, very young, Serena had had a preference for yellow roses. Her parents later theorized that this was because her nursery wall had been white, with vines of yellow roses painted across the wall. And in her crib and, later on, her very small bed, Serena would stare at the vine and the yellow flowers thereon for hours on end. Yellow roses quickly came to mean home and comfort and the warmth of a bed.
Her love for yellow roses abruptly ended at the age of eight when her father brought home a bouquet of yellow roses for her mother and Serena, thinking of the flowers as the friendly, warm, painted variety she was used to, managed to prick herself painfully on one of their stems.
While the incident had ended her affair with yellow roses, it did nothing to stop her growing fascination with roses in general. And, less than a year later, Serena grew to adore a different variety of rose.
Pink, to be precise.
Pink was her favorite color at the time. Years later Serena would decide (okay, so her friend Ami would be the one who actually proposed the idea, but Serena verified it as correct) that this was because the color pink gave off a vibe much similar to her own state of mind from ages nine to fifteen: cute, simple, romantic, but nothing too deep.
She loved pink roses because she loved pink, plain and simple. She wore pink dresses, used pink bows to tie up her (later-referred-to-as-meatball-shaped) pigtails, imagined herself to be the pink fairy in sleeping beauty and dreamed of wearing a poofy white wedding dress and holding pink roses.
Until she was fifteen, she loved her favorite roses for the color, but, once she grew out of her pink phase, her next favorite was chosen for a different reason.
As she entered her mid-teenage years, she began in her preference—more like admiration—of the lavender rose. Not because she was particularly fond of lavender, though.
She admired the lavender rose because it was unique, individual, uncommon, special; just as she in all her teenage glory was striving to be.
But her fascination with lavender roses was short lived, because they were not easy to find, and Serena's gardener-friend Lita had told her that it would be far too much trouble to find an entire bouquet of the flowers without having to dye roses. Serena knew beyond a shred of doubt that she would not be having dyed roses at her wedding.
So she had, in her sixteenth year, promptly changed over to a more long-lasting preference: white roses.
White roses became her favorite for multiple reasons.
First of all, white looked good on her. Her favorite sundress was pure white with puffed sleeves and a circular gold pattern on the neckline. It made her feel like a princess.
Furthermore, white roses looked so clean and pristine and pure and fresh, as though they could never be soiled by the trials of life. Serena just never got tired of looking at white roses.
And they would look lovely, pure white roses complimenting a pure white wedding gown. She would be able to be not only a bride, but also an angel.
White roses, she decided, were her absolute favorite.
***
The first time Darien Shields gave her a rose, Serena was fourteen years old.
Oh, she had known him for years beforehand; that obnoxious guy at the arcade that she seemed to be magnetically (or, at least, clumsily) attracted to. She knew he was friends with Andrew, who worked at the arcade and was completely gorgeous, and she knew that he called her "meatball head" in reference to her usual hairstyle. She knew that he delighted in teasing her and saying nasty things to her and making her cry.
As far as Serena was concerned, that's all she needed to know about Darien Shields.
So when February 14th of her fourteenth year came around, and Serena was upset that no one seemed to like her at all, and all the other girls (okay, not all the other girls, but quite a few of the other girls) had valentines whereas Serena only had a few chocolates from her girlfriends, she avoided Darien at all costs.
This was difficult, since he spent a lot of time at the arcade and Serena and her friends happened to use it as their hang-out spot. For a while, however, she managed to secrete herself behind the tall form of Lita Kino.
Soon (actually, very late, but it felt too soon to the morose Serena), Lita had to go tend to her garden (her plants simply had to have water!). And Rei had to finish up the temple chores she had been procrastinating while she talked to he girls. And Mina had to get her beauty rest and Ami had to study for tomorrow's math quiz.
And, next thing she knew, Serena was continuing her verbal outpouring in the direction of the ever-sympathetic Andrew.
"I mean, I'm not really so horrible, right? I'm just as good as any other girl, but I don't get valentines like they do. What do they have that I don't? Am I really so not noticeable? I was feeling so excited for today, too, and then it's all ruined because no one loves me and I'm all alone and all my friends are gone and—"
Her self-pitying rant was silenced as Serena found a splotch of red right in front of her face—too close for comfort, in fact, causing her to jolt backwards. Getting a good look at the splotch, she now saw it to be a red rose, which she took shyly, following the hand that had held it down an arm and into the face of silent, sixteen-year-old, darkly handsome Darien Shields; Mr. Obnoxious himself.
But maybe, Serena thought as she wiped away her tears and sniffed the red rose and uttered a small, "Thank you," he was a good guy after.
"Hmph. Well, if I'd know that that would be all it took to shut you up I would have done it hours ago. Honestly, your self-indulgence is utterly pathetic."
The again, maybe not.
***
The second time Darien Shields gave her a rose, Serena was sixteen years old.
Furthermore, it was because he didn't make her cry.
Darien had made Serena cry quite often in the time the pair had known each other. In fact, making her cry had become rather a sport. Serena was—as Darien pointed out at ever chance he had—a complete and total crybaby, prone to tears at even the slightest of comments.
Years later, Serena would forget precisely what he had said that day and would ask him to please jog her memory. Darien would claim that he had forgotten, too, though whether he had or not he actually had forgotten no one save Darien himself would ever know.
Anyway, what he said was irrelevant.
What was relevant was that Serena did not cry.
She just looked at him coldly, hurt, angry and dry-eyed. Then, as he braced himself for tears and screams and all the other indications that this was just more banter with the blonde girl, she turned around and walked away.
And the truth was, as odd as it was, that as long as she cried Darien knew that she'd eventually forgive him. Now, he didn't know. For some reason, this bothered him.
The next day, as Serena walked her normal route home from school, she found a certain dark-haired boy walking in time with her. She stopped angrily. So, after a moment, did he. Then her anger turned to confusion as she noted the red rose in his hand.
He held it out to her.
She took it silently and looked at him expectantly.
"This is as close to an apology as you're going to get. Enjoy it, meatball head, because it isn't going to happen again."
Somehow, she found herself smiling.
***
The third time Darien Shields gave her a rose, Serena was seventeen years old.
She was surprised, of course. After all, it was not as though Darien Shields, Mr. Obnoxious himself, made a common practice of—
"What are you doing sitting—no, not sitting; lounging—on my front steps, hmm? I'm in a bad mood, and you and your mean jokes are not about to make it any better."
The dark-haired man—for he was now far more man than boy—smirked, "Wow. A tall dark and handsome young man is sitting" at her sharp glance, he amended, "—okay, lounging in front of your house, clearly waiting just for you in all your meatballheadedness, offering you a single red rose, and you don't even ask him why he's here."
"Excuse me, but I see no roses, red or otherwi—" she suddenly found herself confronted with a single crimson rose. She looked up at him—for Darien was no longer lounging on her front steps, though she was not entirely certain when he had moved.
As soon as she managed to catch her breath, she suspiciously asked, "Why are you here?!"
"Ah, there you go." He smiled at her, and then blushed, "I wanted to ask you out. On Friday."
"As a date?"
"Yes, meatballhead. As a date."
"You're not joking around?"
"No, I'm not."
"This isn't another nasty trick?"
"No, it isn't."
"But….but you don't like me!"
"Yes I do."
"Oh."
"So…is that a yes?"
Serena, her face now flushed a brilliant pink, almost automatically nodded yes.
After that, Darien gave her roses—red ones—far more frequently.
***
Serena looked around the room with a nervous excitement, nearly unable to contain herself at the thought of what she knew was right behind the large pair of double doors before her.
Her entire body on edge, she could barely hear the muted chatter of her four closest friends, whispering at each other was they fixed their bows and smoothed their dresses. She felt her father take her arm with a sense of detachment.
In fact, she felt this sense of calm detachment from everything, everything except her wild joy and the scent of flowers and the sound of the band suddenly changing music into a traditional wedding march.
The others had heard it, too, because a moment later those large, wooden, carved doors swung open and the procession began.
Her father whispered something to her, but she didn't hear him. All she could see was him, and all she could feel was joy.
She began to walk.
The sunlight strewn along the aisle was a shimmering golden yellow, the blush on her beloved's face was the palest pink, her best friends all wore pretty dresses of lavender, and she herself was gowned in ethereal white.
Then she looked down, and she smiled.
After all, she had always known what flowers she would hold when she got married; it had only ever been the color that varied.
Her roses were red.
The Very Last A/N: This, of course, has no bearing on the story, but the traditional meanings of different roses are:
ROSE (YELLOW) - Decrease of Love, Jealousy, Try to Care
ROSE (PINK) - Perfect Happiness, Please Believe Me
ROSE (LAVENDER) – Enchantment, Love at First Sight
ROSE (WHITE) - Innocence and Purity, I am Worthy of You, You're Heavenly, Secrecy and Silence
ROSE (RED) - Love, I Love You
This was actually my very favorite chapter to write, despite Ami/Zoi actually being my favorite pairing. Go figure. I think I just like colors.
Anyway. That being said, this is the final chapter in Blossoming, and it was really fun to write…so please! Review! If you are not an author, you cannot quite fathom how it makes my day just to see even one little review notice on my screen. If you are an author, I bet you quite get it, and you know just how cruel it would be to have thoughts on this story and not share them.
So, with a final plea that you review, I bid you adieu and the end.
Love,
~FB~