the father, the son, the end of the world (x)
[ID: two digital drawings of three iterations of kiryu kazuma that are intertwined in a downwards sequence. the background is a night sky with two framing clouds, and city lights, moon backlightning the three figures. the colors are tinted blue, and the image is held in a frame that is transparent on the outer part.
on top, kiryu is shown in his yakuza 3 okinawa outfit, in the middle in his yakuza 0 pinstrip suit and at the bottom, in a black shirt as he appears in infinite wealth.
y3 kiryu curls his right arm around y0 kiryu's neck, hand in a fist, his right hand comfortably lying on top of lad8 kiryu's head. his expression is a deep frown, as he stares at the audience.
y0 kiryu is turned to the left side of the image, as if running away, his left arm resting over y3's left forearm, hand slightly curled into a fist. his right arm curls forward over lad8 kiryu's shoulder protectively, palm held upwards. he is frowning at something off-frame, mouth slightly open.
lad8 kiryu has his right hand in a fist over his stomach and the left one reaching up to hold y0's left forearm. his expression is blank, as he stares at nothing, mouth slightly agape.
The second image is the same, only slightly less dark for visibility. /End ID.]
(ref) (edited)
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Kiyoomi scrunches her nose. She’ll never get Motoya’s obsession with plants. It was fine when it was just succulents, those are easy enough to take care of, but flowers fucking reek.
It’s not a bad smell per say, but it’s stupidly strong in this shop, even with her mask up. They’re pretty at least, she’ll give them that.
She’s debating between the pretty blue flowers and the silly, warm yellow ones. Motoya should have never trusted her judgment, how’s she supposed to resist the urge to tease her for always being in a yellow coloured team? At least Kiyoomi can say she’s escaped it in the Black Jackals cause gold isn’t yellow.
“Is there anythin’ I can help you with?” A pretty blonde girl in a red apron asks. Kiyoomi nearly jumps out of her skin, where’d she come from?
“Um, can I get these?” Kiyoomi points at the two, ready to bolt out of here because Employee Girl is way too gorgeous for her to not make a fool out of herself. Her palms are sweaty and she’s so grateful her mask is covering half her face.
The girl leans in way too close to Kiyoomi’s space and reads the labels, “Cornflower and fressia? I can put them together for you but d’you wanna check out the white freesia’s instead? They’d be real pretty together.”
“Yeah, sure.” Kiyoomi could be asked for her credit card information right now and she’d hand it over no questions asked. What did she ask her for again?
“Great, they’re over this way.” Employee Girl walks away and what else is Kiyoomi supposed to do but follow?
The flowers they stop at all look the same to Kiyoomi but she holds her breath as the girl talks about a few different ones, pointing them out and saying stuff about how pretty things look prettier together. Her name tag reads “Miya O.” A pretty name for a pretty girl. She wonders what the O stands for.
“That sound good?”
Kiyoomi nods, Miya’s voice sounds great in fact.
“Well you’re in luck! We finished our orders for today so I can put it together for ya right now but please submit a request a few days in advance next time. We’re pretty busy during the afternoon so ya picked a decent time to come in.”
Miya picks a few different flowers and the blue ones from before – the cornflowers – and heads to the back. Kiyoomi wants to protest but she’s just a customer and Miya’s an employee doing her job.
Miya peeps her head out after closing the door. She bites her lip before calling out, “Can I ask ya for a favour?”
“Uh, sure.”
“If ya see a girl with my face try an’ clock in, tell her she’s s’pposed to be in bed right now. My sister’s a bit of a workaholic, I stole her name tag this mornin’ for her own good.”
She assumes Miya means that she’s a twin but that’s not fair to her at all. She’s just a girl. Kiyoomi only hopes she won’t have to see the two of them together. One pretty girl’s bad enough for her heart as is.
The time passes by in a blur. At one point she’s keeping a vague eye out for Miya’s clone to walk in while looking at the different flowers; the next she’s being given her bouquet, paying for it, and waving bye to the prettiest girl in the world.
Oh well, it’s not like she’s the main character in a yuri manga.
Kiyoomi drops off the flowers at Motoya’s. She’s supposedly too busy taking care of her sick girlfriends to make the trip herself. Kiyoomi wonders if that excuse is just bullshit since it’s been months and she’s still not met Osamu and Rin yet. Unfortunately, Motoya’s apartment’s stuffy and reeks of sickness so maybe there’s some truth to Motoya’s words.
Maybe.
“You got the flowers?” Motoya closes her room door behind her, thankfully right before a loud sneeze is released by one of her definitely real girlfriends. Well there goes that bet Kiyoomi had going with Yachi.
“Yeah, I still don’t get why you can’t have a normal hobby. These things die in like, a week.”
Motoya fusses over the flowers for a bit, making them nice and pretty in a clean vase that held her last bouquet. “One, Samu gets all blushy when I give her flowers and two, I just like them. It’s low stakes responsibility that forces me to have my shit together.”
Kiyoomi snorts. Motoya’s always had her shit together, even if it looks like a mess on the outside. Her cousin is one of the most ruthlessly competent people she knows.
“Hey Kiyo, where’d you get these by the way?” Motoya asks cutting the store tag off a stem.
“Doesn’t it say there?” Kiyoomi asks. “Miya’s Boutique I think.”
“Well whichever employee rang you up left you a little something.” Motoya tosses the label to her with a smug little smirk.
Kiyoomi wants to shove her hand into her face to wipe it off, but Motoya would lick her first and she doesn’t want to think about where her tongue’s been, sick partners or not.
She takes a look at the what Motoya meant and pretends like the name and numbers aren’t sending a rush of blood straight to her face. She carefully tucks it into a pocket while maintaining eye contact with her menace of a cousin. Motoya can smell the smallest twinge of embarrassment in a crowd and she is not to be trusted to mind her own business.
She laughs at nothing, like the airhead Kiyoomi’s always known her to be, but there’s something unsettling in the knowing glint in her eyes. Kiyoomi firmly ignores it: if it isn’t acknowledged, it isn’t real.
“Oh this is killing me, Kiyo you’ve gotta come over next week. Please I think I’ll die.” Motoya abandons her flowers in favour of hanging off of her arm and giving her stupid puppy eyes. “You can bring whoever left you their number. Actually, please bring them, you’ve gotta.”
Fuck, how’s Kiyoomi supposed to say no to her puppy eyes.
“Fine, but fat chance I bring her over.”
Motoya sniffs hautily, like Kiyoomi’s doing her a great disservice. “You’ll regret it.”
“Doubt it,” Kiyoomi sighs, hoping future-her doesn’t give in to Motoya’s ridiculous demands.
She leaves with a halfhearted wave, feeling preemptive disappointment in herself because she knows Motoya’s not going to let her go so easily. Whatever. She’s got better things to spend her energy on.
How many i's in a “hi” is too desperate to send?
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