Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics

I do not condone or encourage any behaviors in this story. It is simply a fictional story.

CHAPTER 17

gold dandelions

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Yukino dipped the wooden spoons in honey, twirling them delicately inside the pot. She brought the spoon to her lips and tasted it before pouring some from the crock over the cake they were making. Lucy stood on the side of a table in the corner with a large mug of frothy beer in one hand and a plate of strawberry cheesecake in the other. Her pencil-striped shirt was ruined from the rocking pint pot. Her cheeks were raised, and her feet wobbled from tickles. "Stop that, Erza. I'll drop your cake." That got Erza to stop the torture she was inflicting upon her friend.

It was a new day, so a new hat that went well with her khaki pants. Juvia didn't know why, but she knew she glowed. She felt it around her and inside her like dandelions of curiosity had burst out from every wish she had wanted to make. She finds herself curious about what would happen to her, what joys lay ahead of her, and what pain would not kill her but make her stronger. It had always been there but was born once again.

Juvia walked into the guild with hands on her hips, her chin up, self-possessed and her back poise. Her anklets tinkled with each gusty stride, refulgent upon her inky boots like stars raging on a twelve o'clock sky, often mistaken as part of their form. Her tresses overflowed from under her hat, and in her gait, there was the weight of a goddess and might of a queen. That must be what got Freed and Rufus to drop their pieces of pizza and jaws to the floor. But there was something weird about the glances she got from Laxus. It did not speak of draconic lust, not that it is barren of any attraction. But he looked at her like he knew something. The lemon tree inside the guild courtyard rustled a listless song that blew around and braided her hair.

She craned her neck to encounter whoever had just seized her shoulders. "Minerva-san?"

"You look as stunning as ever, Juvia..." Minerva tittered, a suggestive grin whorling on her face. Her makeup was as masterly dark, even more so than it had been. She had metallic rings in her ears as round as her voluptuous curves and feather fans roped to brooches on her ludicrously tight maxi.

Minerva was definitely not her favourite person in Sabertooth. She had met her on dozens of junctures but thus far had not established the patience for a proper conversation with the woman. They had a rocky start and couldn't see eye to eye for years. Hence her surprise granted that she wasn't used to being on the receiving end of flowery compliments, especially from her female comrades. It was not her aim or desire to seem more sisterly and chilled. Perhaps the recent odysseys that invigorated her might've drawn along an outlandish glamour.

She was taken aback along the same lines when Sting pulled a chair beside her, greeting her with a fist bump, doing it gently so his bulky rings wouldn't break her fingers. After they shot the breeze, snickering over the demented dance battle happening on the stage, he suggested she join Sabertooth if she were to relocate to Crocus. Lazily, she poses a bow, blurting a "rest assured."

"You didn't do it sooner. But thank goodness!" His brassy, impish remark caught her off guard.

She blinked him an unsure nod after Sting stretched his arms like a feline in his seat, asserting his prime position and the fact that he was the centre of attention today and every day in Sabertooth. He was impressive in the golden fur jacket with no shirt underneath, showing off the tattoos outspread on his tanned pecs and rippling midriff. They clanked their shot glasses, but Juvia cleared her throat doing so. What does he mean? Done what sooner? By the time it was evening, Juvia was very much annoyed with the occasional comments and fishy stares, to be honest. It felt nearly Rude.

Muttering, she swigs down the strong straight liquor in one go, an eye screwing shut. Yet she managed to do a shaky smile as she joined in for the photographs expected to be in the next supplement of numerous periodicals like Sorcerer Weekly. Sting's face was full of cream and cake, his blond hair almost a mango pudding. This is only moments after he had blown the candles and cut the cake with that big rollicking simper on his face, his friends and guildmates standing around popping confetti and clapping to celebrate their revered master's birthday. It was followed by a lot of cooing and shrieking. Fairy Tail, not to mention all other guilds, were all invited to Sabertooth for the same.

The theme was yellow, making the guild sequined in summery colour. Pineapple-flavoured popsicles, bumblebee socks, smocks, mimosa, flaxen flowers in pockets patterned like cheese, tinted aviator sunglasses, and fawn pumps. The list went on until the twelfth of never. As if on purpose, there was just too much sun in the courtyard, even with the canopy. Levy helped Reedus with colour pencils, who had painted a lemon tree on his canvas—that one that had materialised to make a whole umbrella of boughs over the courtyard—even Gajeel had brought his marmalade guitar.

Speaking of Gajeel, he looked like a true rockstar with that typical bandanna taming his bangs. However, if you think so, you are deceived by appearances. The problem was not his guitar skills. Trust her, her best friend was one of the best guitarrista she had ever met, but Gajeel was not satisfied with just playing the instrument. He was a greedy little rascal, in a good way, according to his self-appointed psychoanalyst, aka Rain Woman. He sang. Here comes the glitch in the system: he was certainly not the greatest singer one can find in a place like Magnolia, notorious for its disinterest in music. Thereby, people spangled the stage in banana peels, but one good thing about Gajeel was he was tenacious, a single-minded man on a mission. He sang through the rumbles and roars with his head stuck in Erza's death grip. He was unstoppable with a guitar.

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His sinking shoulders eclipsed the light from the window behind. Sitting on a forgotten chair with his hand cradling his chin, when he jabbed into the ashtray, the cigarette butt hissed violently.

She yelped when a hand grabbed her waist and pulled her behind a shelf. Gray blocked her path, knocking the wind out of her lungs when he locked her with hands on either side of her waist against the wall. The window athwart had the faintest whiff of peppermint oil. One-third of her face was soused in that scent and light, and he adored how her face sparkled like sand on the beach. He met her glare through the veil made by the strings of pearly beads hanging from the rim of her hat, casting a luminous waterfall over her lovely visage. He pushed the beads out of her face to thumb her swollen lips.

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Was it true what Natsu said?

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Did she smell like Loke?

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She had passed the doors to this room on her way to take a few things from the storage as requested by Yukino. It didn't cross her mind even once that a man would watch her every movement like a hawk from the shadows. He called her name and tried to catch her gaze to be greeted again with her half-hearted glower. Juvia turned away, wanting to rip the bandaid off and bite the bullet.

"So. Are you finally done with my bullshit?" He asks, a hint of melancholia dripping in his chuckles. "How funny!" He knocks the hat off her head and sinks a whole hand in her hair—her windswept sapphire swirls. "I thought you'd follow me around forever. Giving up already?"

She tries to tug his damn hand out of her hair, but it's no stroll in the park. Shit. She was backed into a corner.

A daring smirk breaks out on Gray's face. No escaping this now. Don't even try.

Seeing there's no way around it, she makes an upsetting lie, hoping her words touch him somewhere tender and on a different note, hoping they didn't.

"I have a boyfriend."

To tell the truth, Gray didn't know what to ask her, what to talk to or tell her—now that he saw her. He had wanted—wanted to—what did he want to do with her. Hug her? Hold her? Kiss her. Love her. Fuck her. Love her more. His mind was a mess, had been a mess ever since the last time he caught sight of her at the carnival, and saw how much she had changed. He refused to believe it, couldn't bring himself to do so. Gray is snow. He knew he was cold, but when she drew back, it took the pang of detachment, the rift that kept growing, out of what he could not hold together with his bare hands, for him to realise that she had been the rain that had watered his springs—the blooms that had brought his heart joy.

Is it too late? Gray knew that his eyes were getting moist. His tongue lay numb in his mouth, wordless. Without warning, Gray sank his face into her shoulders, nose poking her collarbones, inhaling the scent of the soap she had used this morning. He feels her hand on his face, leaning into the touch, the love he may have lost. "Would you give me another chance? Or had I lost you forever?" His voice trembles through his lips, gripping her shoulders.

"I'm still your friend, and I'll always be."

"What if I wanted more?" After he complains,s he feels his chapped lips against her skin, stretching for a soppy smile.

"I'm sorry, Gray. I can't be what I used to be." She drags it out, thinking of how she could say what she is about to say and hoping to choose the one that'll hurt him less. She sucks in a breath, the hand on his cheek pressing hard to feel his stubble. But still, no matter how much she thought, she couldn't find one that could cease the pain that would follow. "You know, Gray?" She works her fingers in his mane and caresses his neck. "Loving you hurt so much. It took a lot from me, and I nearly lost myself. I had to stop to stop my heart from breaking." Picking the shreds of a broken heart and sewing it back together is a school of hard knocks.

I loved you, but not anymore.

I can't start now and lose the happiness I had found. I can't risk what I have to give you another chance.

I'm done waiting for you. I'm done suffering.

"I can't. I shouldn't. I won't do it again." What am I if not a fool if I repeat the same mistakes? "Once again, I'm sorry for all the inconvenience I've caused you and for coming on too strong with my love."

Gray's hand fists on her corset top, crumpling the fabric, gruffing. "Why would you apologise? You don't have to, much less to someone like me." He sniffles, tears slipping out of him into her clothes, dousing the spot it met. "I loved you. And now, I love you more than ever." He laughs, hurt and lost. "Aren't I a loser!" A pathetic moron! And finally, he says, a broken voice, muffled by his sobs.

He shouldn't have given all of her cakes to Natsu, shouldn't have avoided her, shouldn't have ignored her existence like a plague when she asked him to dance with her at the ball, shouldn't have made her feel so pathetic, shouldn't have taken her for granted, and thrown her love away like it's worthless. He shouldn't have left her behind during Alvarez, left her to die from the rain he chased away and brought again. He shouldn't have broken the person who had done so much for him, even sacrificed herself for him.

And so Gray let it pour. And she lulled him as he spilt it all out, bringing her arms around him while his head nestled in her warm breasts. "I'm so fucking sorry. So fucking sorry, Juvia..."

"It's okay, Gray. I forgive you."

At that moment, Gray truly feels how much he missed what they had. How much he missed the old her who had pined for his love as much as he did now, for hers? The old Juvia who tailed him with her warm, heart-filling Gray-Samas, wanted him, loved him, made him cookies and scarfs, and would wait for him for an eternity—or so he thought. Now, having found her happiness somewhere else, she wouldn't ever be back home to him. And so, for now, he held onto her longer than he should. Because once he lets go, she'll be gone. Perhaps this was the last time he would ever get to do this: cry into her chest, feel her caramel skin and subtle scent. He might never be able to again. Gray almost kissed her in this vulnerability, but he didn't, out of the respect he must show now in return for her kindness, her forgiveness.

Darling, she may not be the reddest rose. But she was an entire field of gold dandelions.

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