"Look, I really didn't mind the fact that I died and reincarnated into Ansatsu Kyoushitsu. I didn't really mind that you gave me a hole in the heart. That was a real dick move, but I didn't complain. So god, Void, whatever, I'm sorry I punched a stu...
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39. Languages.
There are plants on the counter.
It's daybreak, and Nao had to get to school.
These flowers were probably meant for him, from Ms Sakurai-- so he picked up the little bouquet, just a little more than a flower, vines, and grainy shrubs-- and he inspected them as he left, whispering a word of 'I'll be off' to no one.
He is the son of a florist, after all. He can identify quite a few by heart, after being here his whole life. Now, what could his often non-verbal mother want to tell him?
A zephyr flower, sweet basil, and... moss. Iceland moss.
In sickness and in health, I offer my blessings.
"Isn't this basically a 'Have a safe trip'?" he chuckled. And well, in a more literal sense, maybe this means Ms Sakurai was anxious about his condition, too.
Nao's used to it, though. It doesn't quite feel real when someone tells you 'you don't have long to live' when most of your days are deceptively calm.
(When he gets a break next time, he should take Ms Sakurai out for a meal. As a family, just to do something nice for her.)
He sighs, taking in a cold breath. The sun was rising quickly, and this was later than Nao was comfortable setting out. He's going to be late again.
(Well, that's fine.)
(A couple late days for Class E is no problem.)
"I guess I should pay a visit to Doctor Matsukawa sometimes," he sighed. Even if they've already deemed him hopeless and are no longer looking for a cure or a checkup, a chat over tea for their old friendship wouldn't hurt.
He looked over his bouquet again.
(Come to think of it, Flower Language is linguistics too, huh.)
(Adding one more to the lists of languages he's fluent in.)
"I wonder if the Board Chairman would look at me weird if I start texting him in Flower Language," he muttered. "Ah... but it's not a one-dimensional language, so maybe he won't be able to understand."
(I could teach him, he thinks, and then laughs at the incredulity.)
He passed by a van, a young man setting up a stall of fresh flowers in bundles. His hat was set low on his head, but when Nao crossed his path, he looked up.
Nao's eyes were drawn to him as well.
The Second Reaper stared back at him, his light hair, pale skin, and innocent demeanor-- just as Nao remembered.
