EVERLASTING BLOSSOMS, ni-ki ✓

07. Violet

Today, almost a week after I gifted the flowers to Rinne's parents, Riki's here with his camera, his sketchbook and his paint set.

My mouth falls open. "What—?"

"I just thought I'd kill some time here, before..." he hesitates. "Well, I'm not actually going to sit here and paint. I'm going to take a bunch of pictures and paint my favorite one at the café across the street."

"You can sit here," I sigh, "as long as you're behind the counter with me."

"I'm allowed back there?"

"Uh, no. But call it special friend privileges. Besides, as long as you're not being annoying nobody will really care. Not even my dad, who takes the night shift on school nights for me."

"I'm a special friend?" he looks at me with a wide smile.

I roll my eyes, fighting back a blush. "Not that I meant it that way, but if you want to, I guess you can be. I meant it like, special privileges for a friend."

"Oh."

"You should take pictures of the flowers here," I point at the aisle directly to my right. "There are some pretty colorful blooms there."

"Actually, I meant to take pictures of the ones you gave me," he says awkwardly. "And anything you, um, might have given me today."

Now it's my turn to blink and say, "oh." I know it doesn't mean much, but somehow the fact that is what he wants to do flatters me. I don't know. It simultaneously saddens and delights me. Human emotions really are a minefield.

"Well, you know where to find them," I finally say. "Get those pictures and come back while I choose what to give you today."

He obediently hurries away. I lean against the counter, close my eyes, and let out a long breath. This boy, seriously...

"Seiko, where were the sunflowers again?" he pokes his head out of the aisle to my left. I point to the one two rows away, and he disappears. It's kind of cute, his determination.

Sighing softly to myself again, I walk into the very first row, near the windows. Halfway down the aisle, I find the ones I want: a five-petaled flower in a purple color, one whose petals overlap at the edges. I pick two or three of them and bring them back to the counter, where Riki's already waiting, scrolling through his camera.

"Here we are," I say, dropping the violets into a glass of water and crossing around to sit down. "Violets worthy of a painting."

"Oh, they're pretty," he looks up and pokes them gently. "How do you guys even have such pretty flowers?"

"We're florists, of course we do," I laugh. "Come here."

I indicate the chair beside mine. He looks nervous, but he sits anyway, and opens his sketchbook and takes a pencil, leaning forward and studying the flowers and his camera screen, propped up on the table. I sit back in my own seat, watching as a look of concentration comes over his face, and he looks so serious that it becomes strange.

The only expressions I've seen on his face so far are sadness, shy smiles, disbelief, and the more often gratitude and relief. Extreme seriousness on Nishimura Riki's face—that isn't something that computed in my brain before now.

His eyes look back and forth between the flowers, his camera, and his sketchbook. He bites his lip in frustration when he gets some details wrong, erasing it very carefully and redrawing it. He squints at the violets and his pictures, considering them very carefully as he drags the lead tip over the paper.

The time passes with him pretty much forgetting that I'm right next to him and me actually forgetting about everything else but myself and him. I'm focused on nothing but my fingers tapping against my thigh silently, and watching him. I wonder if I look creepy, just staring at this boy drawing flowers, but I can't help it.

If he knew, I don't think he would look at me the same way again. I really don't think he would even think of me the same way again if he knew that I have feelings for him. Especially ones I've developed in a fairly short period of time.

I think about how good-looking he is. He has strong features, but they can look so soft and cute at the same time. The way he's so lost in his task, so focused...I wish I had that kind of concentration. Well, I do, but I tend to get distracted easily. For the past fifteen minutes, he hasn't even looked up at anywhere else.

"Here," I say after a while, handing him the unopened bottle of water on the table. I meant to drink it myself, but never mind. "Give your fingers a break."

"Thanks," he smiles at me. My heart does a little dance in my chest—I ignore it. I know I shouldn't be letting myself feel so strongly. Not when he's still so in love with the girl he can't ever have. "I usually forget about it myself."

"You're welcome," I say, studying the drawing he'd made. "Hey, this is good. I can see you've altered some of the details. What for?"

"You'll see," he says mysteriously. I raise an eyebrow at him as he hands the bottle back to me and continuing his sketch, falling back into silence. I decide not to question him.

Less than five minutes later, he seems satisfied with the final product and looks up at me. "Is it okay if I use my paint now?" he asks, like a child. "I mean, in a space like this, I wasn't sure if it's alright."

"Yeah, it's fine," I say, moving all the things that could be ruined out of his space. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out."

He carefully selects small paint, the brush he pulls out of his pocket skating over the paper, transforming it from a simple paint sketch into something even more beautiful. As he paints, he talks to me this time.

"So, what do the violets mean?" he asks me.

"Faithfulness," I say. "The blue shade represents faith, affection, and intuition. And of course, there's the royal symbolism as well."

I keep quiet about the other meaning: it's a suitable present for a friend you want to may want to pursue, but don't want to be forward with. Truthfully, as much as it's a present from me to him to give to Rinne, it's also a quiet way of expressing my own feelings towards him.

"Fits," he murmurs, spreading the golden-orange color over the drawing I presume is the sunflowers. The color he uses make them seem more striking, more permanent. It's striking, in its own quiet way. "There's something I want to tell you, Seiko."

"Hm?" I hum, but the seriousness of his tone suddenly make my chest feel heavy.

"I'm moving. Tomorrow."

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WORD COUNT: 1158

A/N: don't freak out just yet—even if the next chapter is the last...