#perfectly normal maybe a little bit under the weather like 'I have the flu' and Janeway (who's been conducting a mini study in

[bumblingbabooshka]

How many times do you think Tuvok used the Tarkalean flu excuse before Janeway started going "Hmm..." Seven years is a long time and I'm certain that the first few times Tuvok got the 'flu' Janeway didn't remember or think much of it. Especially depending on how common the Tarkalean flu is (it'd be much less notable if it was the equivalent of being out sick with 'a cold') At what point do you think Janeway went "Let me make a note of this..." and then the next time his 'flu' rolled around, seven years later, she went back to confirm that note. But a good scientist needs more consistent results than that - so it really took a third period of seven years to fully cement this knowledge as fact in her mind. Meanwhile Tuvok's making detailed psychological notes on her. They're a perfect team!

[seriouslysnape]

Under the Weather

Harry Potter x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Sickness. 

Word Count: 1,518

“I just hate that you’re feeling bad.”

Harry felt bad. Correction: Harry felt terrible. He watched as you crawled into your bed with sunken eyes and a nasty sounding cough. He wouldn’t ever say this out loud, but you didn’t look so good at all. It was all his fault that you were sick, and he wouldn’t let himself forget it anytime soon.

He had just recovered from possibly the worst case of the flu that he had ever fallen ill with. It had knocked him on his ass for a week due to the fatigue, coughing, fever, and body aches. Pomfrey had done all she could to try to make him comfortable enough, but the strain was just a bit more than her remedies could fix this time around. He was stuck in bed with nothing to do but roll around in his sickness and complain about how bad he felt. 

In the end, Harry was able to recover swiftly and without any real problems. Before too long, he was as good as new thanks to your help. You had taken extra good care of him by keeping him cool from the fever but warm from the chills. You made sure he was eating, even if it was just chicken and soup everyday. You made sure he was hydrated and getting plenty of rest to ensure his recovery...which also included lots of snuggles and kisses.

It turned out that those snuggles and kisses were rather sickly ones, and about the time that Harry was fully feeling better, you had begun to feel crummy. Harry actually noticed it before you did. It was extremely rare for you to sleep later than him. You almost always were up and going before him, but on particular Friday morning, you were still knocked out when he woke up. Not only that, you were unusually warm and ill looking. He had pressed the back of his hand to your head, feeling a pit of guilt when he realized that you definitely were running a fever.

He had woken you up, feeling even worse when you began to cough. He had practically jumped out of your bed, wrapping you up and doing whatever he could to make you comfortable. You had all the same symptoms that he did, and you were guaranteed to be in for a long week. He had insisted that he take another week off from classes to watch over you, but he was already a week behind, and there was no chance that you were letting him fall back more on your account.

He went through all of his classes in a haze of worry. He knew that he had undoubtedly gotten you sick. There was no way that you could’ve gotten it from anyone else. He didn’t even stop in the common room after his classes, going straight back to your dorm where he had left you. When he did walk into your room, you were standing at your trunk, looking weak and drained. You would’ve thought that you had tried to mouth off to Professor Snape by the way Harry reacted.

“What are you doing?!” He shrieked, closing your door and rushing to you.

You threw your hands up in defense, sniffling more drainage out of your nasal passageway.

“What? I’m getting changed. I was in the same pajamas from last night and I felt gross,” You explained with a congested tone, not seeing the big deal, “I’m fine, Harry.”

He ruffled your hair when he noticed it was damp. His face fell into even more horror.

“Did you shower?” He asked as if it were a crime.

“Uh, yes?” You replied nonchalantly.

“But you’re sick! You could’ve...I don’t know! You could’ve fainted or sneezed so hard that you fell or-”

“Harry, I’m not dying. It’s just the flu.” You argued, giggling at his dramatic act.

That sealed the deal. He was dedicating his entire weekend to make sure you were at least on the road to recovery by Monday if you weren’t going to “take care” of yourself.

“Get in bed, you mad woman! What are you doing up?!” He shrilled again, ushering you to your bed again.

That was when you returned to bed to put HIM at ease, looking and sounding just plain awful. That was also when he REALLY started to feel guilty for your current state. He rushed around the room, setting things up the way you had in his when he had been sick. He layered blankets onto your bed, turned on some soft music, made sure the windows were closed to make sure you didn’t catch a cold draft. The only difference was that you had spoken to him in sweet, calm tones. Harry was running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

“Are you warm enough, my love?” Harry asked, adding yet another blanket on top of you, rushing to your desk on the other side of the room.

“Yes, Harry. I told you that I’m fin-”

“Do you want a book? Or maybe I can sneak into the kitchen and bring you a snack?” Harry rattled off, barely letting you get a word in.

“No, angel. I don’t want-”

“I promise I don’t mind! The castle is pretty quiet this time of night and Filch is easy to sneak around and-”

“Harry!” You finally croaked out through your already hoarse voice, “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.” 

Harry’s demeanor softened. His shoulders relaxed and his breathing slowed. He was getting himself worked up over nothing, and panicking wasn’t going to solve anything at all.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” He said, sitting on the edge of your bed, “I just hate that you’re feeling bad.”

You shrugged under the pile of covers, giving him a feeble grin. 

“I’m okay. I don’t feel that bad. Just a little under the weather I guess.” You brushed it off.

Harry smiled softly with an even gentler laugh. You certainly didn’t look “a little under the weather”. He had been much more difficult when he was sick. He kicked the sheets off of his body and complained that it was too hot, and then hissed that it was too cold each time he got a new chill. He whined when he had to keep changing clothes because the sweating from his fever dampened his pajamas. You, on the other hand, were perfectly content, even in your ill state. 

“If you say so. Can I squeeze in with you, darling?” He queried, wanting to hold you close in your bed.

“I don’t want you to get sick again. You’re already behind.” You shook your head.

“I don’t care about that. I just want to be with you, my pretty girl.” Harry bantered.

He knew you hated missing school, and you were sure to miss at least a week. The thought of you having to spend the next several days cooped up in your dorm made him feel awful. Worst of all, you weren’t your normal, healthy self and it was all because of him. He wanted you to be happy and at your best at all times, because seeing you happy made him happy. 

“[Y/N], baby, I’m sorry I got you sick. I shouldn’t have let you get so close to me and love up on me. If I had known it was so contagious I would’ve taken care of myself.” Harry apologized, his eyes lowering, finding your hand under all the sheets and giving it a caring caress. 

“It’s not your fault. I wanted to take care of you. I always want to...love up on you,” You remarked, laughing at his previous choice of wording, “I couldn’t let you be sick and not do anything. I care about you.”

Harry’s eyes found yours again, his lips upturning into a wide smile as he looked at your lovingly.

“You really love me that much, huh?” He questioned, bringing your clammy palm to his lips for a ginger kiss.

“That much and more,” You returned with a smirk, “Now shut up and get in bed with me. I need cuddles.”

Harry leapt up from the side of the bed, rushing to the empty, opposite side.

“Yes ma’am.” He joked, crawling in and pulling you flush to his chest.

He winced at how warm you still were, but he was sure that the fever would subside with time. Harry’s paranoia had subsided almost completely, but he still kept a hand on your back to make sure you were breathing...just in case. He’d cater to your every need to make sure you’d be better soon. You’d be back to normal in no time with Harry Potter as your caretaker.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Harry. I really appreciate it.” You sniffed, beginning to feel drowsy as your body fought off the horrid sickness.

Harry pressed a kiss to your forehead, keeping you safe and comfortable in his arms. It was something he would do until forever ran out...with or without a bad case of the flu.

“I’ll always take care of you. No matter what.”

******

Tags: @writingscape @lupinsslut @msmimimerton @thefilmcity

[artificialqueens]

Flower Files, Part 2 (Rujubee, Shangelyssa) - Albatross

AN: Here’s the second installment of Flower Files. Pairs featured are Rujubee in a cute little sickfic and Shangelyssa doing a bit of gardening!

Chapter 3: Rujubee

“You’re sick,” Jujubee stated, arms crossing in the process. There was no question, no uncertainty in her voice, just a plain, simple, factual statement.

Raven, on the other hand, wholeheartedly disagreed with her. She never got sick. Her scratchy throat, foggy head, and stuffed up nose were the result of something else entirely. She was quite confident of that and immediately argued, “It’s just allergies.” Never mind how the voice she spoke with sounded nasally even to her own ears.

Jujubee merely arched her brow at her stubborn girlfriend. She glanced up and down Raven’s form bundled up on the couch and wrapped in one of their oversized fleeces before settling back on the obstinate glare Raven was sending her way. Voicing her disbelief, she replied, “Mh-mm. From what? We don’t have any pets and it’s the dead of winter. No dander, no pollen.”

Raven’s eyes narrowed at her. It seemed like she might give in, or more likely, sulk silently in defeat, but that small hope went out the door as Raven snottily retorted, “Those flowers you sent.”

“You mean the ones I sent because you were getting sick?” Jujubee countered. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s the reason.”

The couple glared at one another for another moment or two with neither side willing to concede. Raven utterly hated feeling like anything less than 100% her normal self and loathed the thought of relying on anyone’s, even her own girlfriend’s, help while she recuperated. Jujubee was annoyed that Raven couldn’t let go of that self-confident bravado and let herself be taken care of, even for a little while. She wanted to help her girlfriend get better, ached to repay her for all the times Raven had cared for her when she felt under the weather. But Raven was still too guarded, even after all these months together. 

Sighing, Jujubee decided to try a different tactic. “Alright,” Jujubee relented as she turned away and walked towards the bathroom. “Be back in a minute.”

Raven watched her suspiciously and wrapped the blanket even tighter once she was sure Jujubee was out of sight. She heard her girlfriend rattling around in the bathroom, clearly looking for something in the cabinet next to the sink. Raven found herself feeling slightly curious as to what exactly Jujubee was searching but her head was so cloudy she didn’t get very far with her wondering. Before too long, Jujubee reappeared in front of her and dropped two packets of medicine into her lap.

In a no-nonsense tone, one very unusual for Raven to hear from her, Jujubee told her, “Take whichever you think is gonna work.” 

Looking down, Raven found the two packets were quite different from one another; one marked for allergies, the other for cold and flu symptoms. She glanced back up at Jujubee. Her arms were crossed once more as she silently waited for Raven to make her choice. For too long, Raven’s eyes darted between the packages, but Jujubee remained faithfully in front of her, watching her every move. She knew what Jujubee was doing; trying to push her into making the right choice but Raven still detested that kind of not-so-subtle nudging. Still, she found herself feeling surprisingly cowed…so she decided to meet Jujubee in the middle…and make a choice neither would be entirely happy with.

She tore into both packets, selecting one tablet from each, and popped them into her mouth with a taunting little smirk. As she swallowed them down dry, Jujubee cracked a tiny grin of her own. Shaking her head, Jujubee wandered off towards the kitchen, but as she left, Raven could hear her muttering, “Stubborn bitch.”

As soon as she realized there was no real bite to the words, Raven nestled deep into the couch with a pleased little smile tugging at her lips. Off in the distance she could hear the soft clanking of dishware drifting in from the hallway and in just a few minutes, Jujubee returned with two carefully balanced mugs for the both of them. Handing Raven hers, Jujubee collapsed onto the couch next to her and claimed some portion of the fleece for herself.

Taking a tentative sip from her mug, Raven was pleased to find warm, sweet tea rushing down her throat. “Chamomile,” Jujubee replied to her unasked question, grabbing the remote from the arm of the couch, “And honey. It’s good for a sore throat.”

Raven nodded her head and took a much deeper sip. She didn’t normally drink tea, she preferred black coffee instead, but it did seem like it was helping; her throat didn’t feel quite so rough and itchy as it had a few minutes ago.

For the next few minutes, the only sound that filled their living room was the program on TV and the soft sipping from their mugs. It was rather comfortable, Raven realized, Cozy, domestic silence.

Before she was even halfway done with her tea, Raven found herself readjusting her position and leaning just so into Jujubee. She told herself it was merely so she could share the blanket more easily but deep down she had to admit that right now she very much craved that extra warmth and closeness that always seemed to radiate from her girlfriend’s entire being.

When her mug was nearly empty and the pain in her throat mostly gone, Raven spoke up quietly, “Thanks…for the flowers and um…everything else, too.”

She didn’t look directly at Jujubee but still she could sense her smiling. “Anytime,” she whispered back, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.

Maybe, Raven thought to herself, it’s not so awful to rely on her…just a little.

Chapter 4: Shangelyssa

A proud smile tugged at the corners of Shangela’s lips as she looked around at the boring, semi-barren backyard in front of her. Today’s the day! she thought to herself. A perfectly comfortable spring morning to finally work on the landscaping of her home. She and Alyssa could truly make this house theirs…except Alyssa was a bit less excited about the prospect than Shangela. She had actually physically recoiled at the thought of a little gardening when Shangela first brought it up a few weeks ago. She actually had hoped (maybe even prayed) that Shangela would forget about the whole venture come spring time and move on to something else…or at least not rope her into it. She was not an outdoorsy girl, especially if it involves getting covered in dirt and sweat.

But Shangela was determined.

Over the course of two weeks, Shangela studied the backyard, learned what tools and plants she needed to make her dream garden, and then slowly set out to find the perfect specimens. And now today she had dragged Alyssa out of bed in the wee hours of the morning (at the purely scandalous time of 8AM) to assist with getting all of the work done. Even with Alyssa’s grumbling and whining, Shangela couldn’t help but feel giddy at the reality that everything was finally coming together today. 

The tools were already lying organized on the damp grass and all of the potted plants Shangela had splurged on lay clustered together just a few feet beyond them. Now it was time to get to work!

“Okay,” she began, excitement creeping into her voice, “So I guess first…we should make sure we have everything?”

“You weren’t sure when we bought all this shit?” Alyssa grumbled irritably as she wiped away the remaining traces of sleep from her eyes.

Shangela merely smiled back at her, her mood not dampened in the slightest, and replied cheerfully, “Won’t hurt to double check.”

Walking around slowly, Shangela carefully checked things off her mental list of gardening essentials. Just vaguely, Alyssa could hear her distracted mumbling, “Gloves, potting soil…plants are over there…shears, trowel…” Then perking back up, Shangela announced to her, “I think we’re good!”

“Great,” Alyssa spoke in a sarcasm-laden voice. The only thing missing was an eye-roll, Shangela noted.

But ignoring her girlfriend’s spoiled, prissy behavior for the time being, Shangela decided, “So let’s place everything where we want to plant it.”

Skeptically, Alyssa repeated, “'We’?”

“Yes, ‘we’. ‘We’ both own this house, don’t we?”

Alyssa looked at her with an utterly scandalized expression. No one told her she’d actually have to lift things! Immediately a flurry of protests spilled from her mouth, ranging from outright refusals to flimsy, half-baked excuses for why she couldn’t…or rather wouldn’t.

An exhausted sigh escaped as Shangela picked up the first potted plant, shifted around to face Alyssa, and told her, “Quit your bitching, it’ll only take a few hours.”

“Girl, hours? I had plans!”

“No, you didn’t!” Shangela scoffed, walking her plant towards the fenceline. Shouting back over her shoulder, she accused, “You were gonna veg out on the couch like you do every Sunday.” 

Alyssa watched her gingerly setting the pot down, her mouth gaping open like a fish’s. There was no way she could do this! It was so dirty and disgusting…and gross. Even the thought of that moist dirt against her skin completely repulsed her. But Shangela was insistent. Setting her sights on one of the largest plants she had bought, she ordered her girlfriend, “Now help me move this one.”

An hour and a half later, after a few rounds of haphazard reorganization, Shangela announced delightedly, “Well, I think we’re finally ready to start digging!”

She was practically vibrating with excitement. It’s really happening, she thought, Just a few hours and this backyard is gonna be perfect!

Alyssa on the other hand, felt quite another way. She returned to her angry grumbling as she reluctantly tugged her gloves into place and tied her hair up into a taut bun. True, it had been pulled back into a loose ponytail earlier but Alyssa was willing to do anything to delay the actual digging. Even if it was just for a few extra seconds. The instant she was done, Shangela handed her a trowel and dragged her over to the closest collection of plants sitting along the fenceline. “Gonna ruin my nails,” Alyssa grumbled, resisting every step, “Have to take another shower…Break my back.”

She groaned out as she knelt down against the grass and felt tiny little pebbles digging against her skin. She hated today. As soon as Shangela finished digging the majority of the hole with her shovel, Alyssa was set to rounding out the edges and ensuring it would actually be deep enough for the first plant. She eyed up the pot and the hole and decided Close enough, then shouted out to Shangela that it was ready. Slowly and delicately, Shangela worked the first plant from it’s cheap plastic pot and set it into the hole. Not quite a perfect fit (Shangela’s glare darting between Alyssa and the extra inch of the root ball sticking out over the top reiterated that) but Alyssa was adamant it was fine. Nevertheless, Shangela had her dig an extra two inches of depth before setting the plant back into the hole and calling it ‘acceptable.’ 

This pattern continued on for another half hour. The sun was truly starting to peak out and both girls were beginning to break a sweat. Despite her previous enthusiasm, Shangela was nearing her patience’s end. Between doing the heavy lifting, making all the careful adjustments, and Alyssa’s godawful whining, she felt close to snapping. She tried her best to remain calm but as she learned years ago; Alyssa’s bitching, especially when it’s this constant and insistent, can really work on your nerves.

They had switched roles for the time being; Alyssa was now in charge of the shovel and spent her short break leaning expressively against the fence as Shangela cleaned up yet another of the seemingly endless holes they had to dig. Her eyes wandered amongst the slow progress they had been making and tried to think of a new complaint to vocalize. She liked to keep her material fresh after all and if she had to be miserable during this little home improvement project…well, she was damn sure she wasn’t gonna be the only one. But then a small flurry of movement caught her attention. 

It almost looked like a bit of wind the way the tall, heavy flower began to sway but Alyssa quickly realized that wasn’t the case. It was the only one moving and instantly she felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest. She waved her hand at Shangela, the other woman too focused on the hole to notice right away, and let out a worried, “Oh…Oh-”

It was that scared vocalization that made Shangela’s head dart up in a flash. Her immediate thought was that Alyssa had hurt herself somehow but as she tried to ask what was wrong, Alyssa cut her off with a screeching, “Oh my god! Shangie!”

“Wha-”

“Kill it!” Alyssa interrupted, squirming in place as she backed herself further against the fence. Her eyes clenched shut for a moment as she pointed over to the bobbing flower and screamed,  “Killitkillitkillit!”

Shangela’s head tilted in confusion as she twisted around to find the source of Alyssa’s sudden, (and slightly hilarious) overblown fear. “What are you-it’s just a praying mantis, ‘Lyss,” she said consolingly. She was trying so hard not to laugh but so far she was not succeeding. Stepping closer to the flower the mantis had chosen as it’s perch, Shangela tried to calm her girlfriend with a soothing reiteration of, “It’s not gonna hurt you. It’s probably just curious.”

“It’s looking at me all funny!” Alyssa argued vehemently, clutching onto her shovel. “Kill it already!”

“I’m not gonna kill it,” Shangela replied mildly, shaking her head with a small smile. Offering one hand as a new platform for the mantis and using the other to carefully usher it forward, Shangela continued with, “I’ll just move it over-fuck!” The moment she touched the insect’s legs, a pair of wings appeared and the mantis took off flying directly at her. Not wasting a single second, Shangela scurried out of the landscape area, screaming, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Running like a madwoman, she shouted to Alyssa, who followed hot on her heels, “Get back in the house! Back in the house!”

Slamming the door behind them, feeling sweaty, exhausted, and so fed up, Shangela gave vent to her feelings, “It flew! It fucking flew! Did you know they fucking did that shit? I hate gardening!” She and Alyssa were both near tears at this point. Fuck gardening! They’ll just hire a landscaper instead!

[dangan-rarepairs-secret-santa]

Date and Skate

Koimiki by @despairandrogyne for Sakiko @danganronpa-ask-class

If there was one thing she noticed about Mikan; it was that it was damn near impossible

to get her to leave the house. Trips to the pharmacy were plausible, especially if she were in a bad mood or someone was hurt, and of course she had no choice but to appear at the dining hall at least once or twice a day to eat. There were a lot of things that struck Mahiru first when she started spending more time with her crush, the way she bit her nails when she was nervous, her constant apologizing, and God those endless tirades of self criticism. But those things were easy to notice.

It’s not that Mikan was the type of person to stay home from a night out. Quite the contrary in fact; most of the few times Mahiru had seen her legitimately smile or laugh were compacted into a few short hours when Ibuki had decided to throw a night party for the entire class. She wondered if Mikan would have been a real party animal or wild girl in some alternate timeline where she wasn’t afraid to show her face in public for more than a few minutes at a time. Mahiru giggled at the thought. No, that’s not likely but it’s still not good for her to stay in like this.

Ever since she and Mikan had started dating, most of their interactions had been in Mikan’s room, or occasionally at the side beach if Mahiru didn’t think they would draw too much attention to themselves (no point in making your date even more nervous). But those didn’t really count if you asked her.

Mahiru pushed in on the doorbell.

“Hello?” Mikan’s voice was a bit more strained than usual. Mahiru wondered if she had walked in at a bad time.

Opening the door, Mahiru could see that Mikan was meticulously organizing what she liked to refer to as her “first aid kit”. If you asked Mahiru, it was more like a first aid cabinet but hey, she wasn’t the SHSL nurse.

“Hey, I came to pick you up for some quality outdoor time!” Mikan looked up from her work for a moment.

“I-is that really okay?”

It was. Mahiru had anticipated this response. “Sure, why wouldn’t it be? I want to hit up the beach!”.

“But that might not be safe!!!” Mikan looked legitimately concerned, beyond her usual anxiety about being seen in public. This Koizumi had not been able to anticipate. What was wrong with the beach? I mean sure, Usami seemed a little fishy but it hadn’t so much as rained on the island let alone done anything to prove that the outdoors would be dangerous. She cupped her chin and tried to think of how to even respond to what her girlfriend had said.

“What?” was the best she could come up with. Maybe she hadn’t planned this out as well as she thought…

“Well…,” Mikan looked down at the floor as if she was about to say something embarrassing. “Well, I might have overheard from Usami that-“

She didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence. Before she even had a chance to stammer a loud thud came from the outdoors, followed by a massive white sheet of what appears to accumulated snow spanning in every direction save for the ocean. Just a moment earlier it was perfectly gentle weather (if anything it had been a little hotter than normal), and there definitely weren’t any clouds to indicate that a weather change was on its way. Snow

covered the other cabins and the leaves leaves of the palm trees, God it looked weird. Koizumi wondered what the barometric pressure must be doing right now.

Snowflakes were falling from what appeared to be a partly cloudy sky, and she had to press her hand to windowpane to be fully sure she wasn’t imagining things. The pads of her fingers chilled as they touched the icy glass. Koizumi recoiled a little bit in shock, not sure whether she wanted to hide until the bizarre weather passed or dart outside barefoot to see if it was really snowing. She might have been staring out the window forever if the nurse hadn’t spoken up.

“She said that she was thinking about changing the weather to something less tropical”.

Koizumi inhaled. Well she had to accept it as true didn’t she? Mikan wouldn’t have lied about that, and it makes sense that she would be on edge if she was anticipating something no one else knew about.

“I found out it might get really really cold so I wanted to prepare everyone for flu season.” Okay, so that was it.

“Is that why your medical kit’s all out like that?”

“Umm yeah I didn’t want, that is, I didn’t want to think that, I wouldn’t be able to get a flu vaccine to everyone on time so I started searching through everything I had.”

That made sense at least. Mikan was worried about other people to a fault, although the more Mahiru got to know her the more she didn’t really seem like the type. There’s no way she would approach any unknown situation without preparing for any reasonably expected medical snafu. Not that anyone who got an illness under her care would have to worry.

“It’s not too messy is it?!?” Tsumiki panicked a little as she started to wonder what her partner might think or say.

“Huh? I don’t even remember what it looked like before you took everything out of the cases.”

That seemed to satisfy her anxiety, and she went back to her work rather quickly. It was then Koizumi remembered what she was supposed to be doing.

Without even thinking about it Koizumi pecked Mikan on the cheek and caressed her hand with the arm that wasn’t guarding the camera. Mikan gripped her bicep and shyly returned the kiss with one a little closer to the mouth. It was brief moments of intimacy like this that made Mahiru radiate with the same happiness she felt after Mikan accepted her confession a few short weeks ago.

The photographer nearly forgot what she was doing when she re-noticed the snow on the ground. She bolted upright and straightened out her jumper before heading for the door.

“Mikan! Outside!” Without waiting for a response she flung open the door. “I-isn’t it too cold?” Her red-headed girlfriend could just be so impulsive. Mahiru did not have a counterargument as she felt goosebumps instantly prickle the

delicate hairs on her exposed arms. It certainly hadn’t gotten any warmed since she stuck her hand on the window pane…

“Uwahhh is it too cold for you now?” Usami appeared out of nowhere like she always did; magical wand in her hand and the students’ comfort on her mind.

“I mean…” She would have informed Usami on the basics of human temperature regulation if she hadn’t been noticeably shivering as she spoke.

“Just a minute!” The bunny waved her wand towards the snow covered sand to materialize a box filled with winter clothing. Koizumi reached for a green puffer jacket with faux fur trip that happened to fit her quite well, and pulled out a black wool coat for Mikan, who had tentatively followed her onto the walkway by now. Mahiru gently tossed over the thick overcoat and reached into the box to pull out some gloves and a knit cap. As shocking as the temperature change was, the prepared clothing seemed to be sufficiently warm. By the time she was done adjusting the new apparel Tsumiki was already fully bundled up and ready to go. How did she even get dressed that fast?

Mikan locked the door and moved a bit closer to the path, signaling that she had accepted her girlfriend’s proposal to go on a date outdoors. “What do you want to do, Mahiru?”

It was wonderful that Tsumiki had agreed to go out like that, but Mahiru realized she had no idea what to do on a snow covered island. Her plans of messing around in the ocean suddenly fizzled out of existence. What did you even do with snow anyways except for swipe if off the car? She was about to suggest an indoor date when she spotted something light and glossy out of the corner or her eye.

“ICE SKATING!!!” Mahiru bolted across the platform towards the beach, leaving an uneven trail of shoe prints behind her in the fresh precipitation. Her eyes were set on a pristine sheet of ice just several meters away from the shoreline; just waited to be scathed and played upon by the eager student. Koizumi had always been a sucker for ice rinks and being able to go to one with someone she really liked was enough to make her grin in excitement.

The issue had been resolved just as quickly as it came up, as Tsumiki trudged behind at a much slower, more cautious pace. Mahiru stopped just short of the rink perimeter to see her reflection in the nearly clear ice. Upon closer inspection she could see granules of sand frozen to the bottom of the sheet, providing a sharp contrast to their usual balmy appearance. It really wasn’t much to see after she looked at it but Koizumi snapped a quick photo anyways just to have the information on record. She really took the moment to absorb as much of the scenery as she possibly could, her mind already plotting out ideas for shots and panoramas and a hundred miles a minute.

Upon closer inspection of the rink itself she noticed a pile of ice skates in various sizes and styles lined up, clearly in anticipation to be used. She chose a pair in her size and quickly laced up before gingerly trotting onto the rink and made the absolutely fastest figure eight she possibly could just to test out the ice.

Her girlfriend caught up and had done the same thing but was hesitant about actually setting foot on the rink.

“Mikan don’t you want to get on the rink?”

“Yeah! I want to spend time together with you!” Mikan was beaming; her choppy onyx hair creating static as it rubbed against the wool of her coat. Snowflakes were sticking to the puffball of her knit cap, and more were on her shoulders and shoes.

Despite her seeming exitment, she still didn’t move.

“Mikan what are you waiting for?” Mahiru asked. Could there have been something she forgot that was on her mind right now?

Mikan grimaced a little bit. “It’s just… I never learned how to ice skate,”

Oh.

“Uhhh…” Mahiru would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little embarrassed for not noticing. Perhaps she hadn’t kicked her denser tendencies to the curb as much as she would have like to think. Whatever, she has happy to teach Mikan how to enjoy one of her favorite pastimes.

“Here.” Mahiru wrapped her arm around Mikan’s waist; who blushed at the sudden intimacy. God, her girlfriend was just so cute. With their combined efforts Mikan gradually stepped onto the rink without too much issue.

Mikan gasped a little bit at the sudden change in balance, but she knew her girlfriend wouldn’t let her go anywhere. “Mahiru, would you mind teaching me a little bit about the ice?”

Koizumi tried her absolute best to teach her the basics, at least enough so that she would be confident moving by herself. Mikan wasn’t the fastest learner but then again that made it all the more exiting when she made progress. It took Mahiru a solid five minutes just to convince her to stand without support and another ten to convince her to move around on the ice. Mahiru stayed close enough so that she would be able catch Mikan if she was having trouble with balance but far enough away so that she would be able to skate without it. Eventually the less experienced girl was able to slide herself a few inches across the ice at a time without support, and in fact she seemed to be having fun. Mahiru’s heart fluttered a little bit in her chest. This was the side of Mikan that Mahiru had grown to know and love; it always impressed her to see how much her demeanor changed once she put her focus on something new.

Mahiru was demonstrated a more complicated move on a patch of untouched rink when she noticed three new people approaching. The on comers were Hinata, Komaeda, and- wait was that Souda? She was not looking forward to seeing her ex.

Hinata and Souda had appeared to get into some sort of bickering match that was holding most of their attention, with Komaeda interjecting whenever he had something particularly inflammatory to say. Komaeda had probably sided with himself only like he usually did, but his reactions made it seem like his talking points had very little to do with the actual argument. Whatever the conflict was, the boys had seemed to have dropped it by the time they were ready to join the two skaters. Thank goodness, Mahiru wasn’t in the mood to break up yet another one of their petty fights over who knows what.

“Hinata-kun, we should put on the skates and join the others on the ice!”

“yeah sure, why not?” Souda replied. Hinata didn’t protest and sat down on the snow in order to fasten his ice skates, gently pulling Souda down with him. Souda shirked at the sudden touch but soon was grinning like an idiot when he practically tumbled on top of Hajime. Hajime seemed to think it was pretty funny and giggled until Souda couldn’t resist the urge to throw a bit of the snow in his face. Now they had both entirely lost their composure.

Komaeda, the odd man out, was fastening his skate boots in peace, trying his best to pretend he wasn’t witnessing what he saw. Komaeda’s feelings for Hinata had to have mostly subsided, at least if he was heartbroken right now he wasn’t showing it. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice once he found out that he and Souda were a thing, but it’s not like that would have made it any easier. He took a moment to brush some snow off his legs that had gathered and put his efforts into skating across the ice. He was a surprisingly graceful skater.

Mikan paused her skating lesson for a moment to greet the newcomers, pleased to hear that everyone was doing well adjusting to the snow and the cold. Hinata cracked a few jokes about Christmas coming in the middle of summer, not that anyone knew what time of year it was anyways. Although neither he nor Souda were top tier skaters by any means, they seemed to be having a good time swirling around each other and the rink.

“Mikan, is this your first time on ice skates?” Komaeda paused what he was doing for a moment to ask when he saw the nurse flailing her arms in attempt to reorient herself on the rink. Mahiru was holding her waist with both hands from behind, so balance wasn’t really the issue fortunately.

“Yeah! Mahiru’s been teaching me a little bit. She’s a really good skater!” Her chest puffed up a bit at the compliment.

Komaeda turned to face Koizumi. “It’s so nice to see you teaching someone you love a new skill!” With that said he gave Mikan a few mostly obvious pointers for how to stay steady and even encouraged her to move a bit further than she otherwise would have.

Mahiru bit the inside of her lip. She never got enough quality alone time with Mikan, at least not on outings like this, and she really wasn’t in the mood to have it ruined by a nosy classmate. She was planning how to make Komaeda take the hint to leave, but then decided to take pity on him when she realized he was the only one who hadn’t arrived with a partner. Mahiru swallowed and tried to figure how to coordinate Mikan’s skating lessons with another person. She would have a chance to chance to cuddle up with Tsumiki later, perhaps even by the fireplace in the hotel now that the residents finally had an excuse to use it. Now that Komaeda would not be invited to.

It ended up being a good decision to get help from the lucky student. Apparently he had taken skate classes when he was in grade school and was actually quite a good teacher when he really focused on the task at hand. While Mahiru didn’t question her own skating skills, she had learned by herself and didn’t really know how to explain what she was doing to another person the way he did. Soon enough Mikan was moving pretty freely, and even did a small twirl with the assistance of her lover. Komaeda congratulated her on the new skill and decided to step back for a moment to relish success.

“Wow, I never knew skating was so much fun!” Mikan’s mood was the lightest Koizumi had seen it get in a while and she was hoping it would last as long as it could. She attempted a do a little hop on her skates before realizing she didn’t have enough leverage to get off the ground. Pulling out her camera, she took the moment to make a panorama of shots including all the skaters. She would have to review them later when she got back, but for now she was just going to focus on having fun.

“Hey Mikan you’re it!” Mahiru slapped her girlfriend across the shoulder and bolted off on skates as quickly as she could. Mikan tried her best to catch up, but needless to say she couldn’t do it. Soon enough Souda and Hinata had caught on just in time for Komaeda to get tagged.

It was only a matter of moments before every single skaters was circling around the perimeter of the rink in a chase, and it didn’t take long for chaos to ensue. Everyone had all but forgotten about the game of tag; which had devolved in to a game of chase with everyone working against everyone. It appears that Hinata had won, seeing how he was able to tag both Koizumi and Souda at once. The latter froze for a moment before aimlessly swatting at his

boyfriend for retaliation. Mahiru giggled. Maybe she could remember what she saw in Souda after all.

The game didn’t stop there, and with both Mahiru and Komaeda as chasers the difficultly level was enough to keep everyone on their toes, literally. Komaeda slammed against Souda with the brute force of his body, causing the mechanic to yelp. No one appeared to be hurt, but the scene was distracting enough to cause everyone else on the ice to stop dead in their tracks. That is, everyone except Tsumiki Mikan.

Mikan had stopped paying attention for a moment, which was not her proudest tendency but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. Disregarding the split second change in her surroundings was enough to cause her to go completely off balance, since she didn’t know to to screech to a halt on such a new medium. Mikan turned around sharply in intent to stop herself, but only succeeded in directing the fall backwards instead of forwards. The nurse toppled over backwards like a bowling pin, and would have landed flat on her bum had the space not already been taken up by a certain photographer.

What Mikan actually wound up doing was pummeling Koizumi to the ground; where she landed flat on her face with a howl, all her energy being split between lessening the collision with the offending party and protecting her favorite travel camera, which was still strapped around her neck. Mikan landed ass first on top of her girlfriend, legs spread out in the air wider than should really be possible for such a direct accident.

When Mikan processed what had just happened she was all but devastated. She had got up rather quickly considering how graceless the fall really was, and was rather upset to see that most of the impact had fallen on Koizumi. Koizumi was rubbing her nose where it had slammed

against the ice, and her cheek seemed to be developing a bruise. She also banged up her knee pretty badly but she wasn’t as worried about that right now. Mikan on the other hand, had gone into a full blown panic once she realized what she did.

“I AM SO SORRY ITS MY FAULT FOR NOT PAYING ATTENTION!!!” Mikan was in tears at this point from the sheer guilt of having hurt someone she cared about, intentionally or otherwise.

“Uggh Mikan you gotta watch where you’re going. If I hadn’t been able to catch the camera that would have been a disaster.” Mahiru had started standing up to see how much her knee would smart upon usage. Unfortunately, it hurt a little worse than she had expected. She would have to have her girlfriend patch it up for sure.

Tsumiki was whimpering, trying to devote full attention to inspecting the photographer for damage but she was crying too hard to really see what she was doing. “I don’t know why I’m so clumsy please don’t hate meee!” Her body shook as she played every possible bad scenario out in her head, save for the most realistic one. Mahiru was a bit salty about the accident but as soon as she got a chance to see her girlfriend’s face, her mood shifted.

“Look,” she said, placing her hand on Mikan’s shoulder, “I kinda wish I hadn’t fallen down but I’m really not mad, I promise. No one was seriously hurt, and besides, I’m just glad that you’re not the one who got injured.” Mahiru had gotten used to Mikan having this sort of episode by now. She didn’t pretend to really understand what Mikan was going through because in all honesty she didn’t, but she would insist on staying there until Mikan had calmed down, at least a little bit.

Mikan sniffled. “R-really?” she said, once she was able to stabilize her voice enough to talk. “I’m glad you’re not angry I just just, I…”

Mikan let out a few final sniffles before hugging her girlfriend in relief. Mahiru was could tell it was going to be a while before she was able to live this down, but if being there for support was going to help then that was what she planned to do. She hugged Mikan back, waiting for the nurse to let go before she loosened her grip. Both girls were still shaken up but the seemed to be recuperating at least.

Meanwhile, the boys had experienced the whole thing through observation, but none of them could find their words. Komaeda and Hinata just wanted to make sure both parties were okay before trying to intervene, and Souda was still caught up in ensuing awe after getting an eyeful of Mikan’s panties. It was Komaeda who spoke first.

“Can I help with something?” he asked, scanning the situation to see what someone with no medical knowledge and limited emotional skills would even be able to do.

“I think we’re gonna be okay,” Mahiru responded. “Anways, Mikan, would you mind taking me back to your cottage to patch up?”

“No, uh, of course not. Lets go make sure you heal!” The opportunity to apply her medical skills had salvaged Mikan’s mood in an instant, and soon she was dragging Koizumi off the ice by her hand so as not to waste any time. Both girls took off the skates before Mikan whisked her off to her cottage. The boys didn’t see any reason to stay around now that the couple had left and proceeded back to Komaeda’s residence.

Mikan had Mahiru sit down on the bed while she quickly pulled a few selected items out of her medical kit, which was conveniently strewed out across the table. Within moments

Mahiru’s knee had completely stopped hurting and she honestly wouldn’t have noticed that she was injured anymore had she not been wearing a bandage on her face. As much as being hurt sucked, it was always a treat to see Mikan get completely wrapped up in her work, it was almost as if the rest of the world had stopped existing entirely to her. Mahiru pulled up her legs as Mikan washed off one final time.

“Try not to put too much pressure on your knee and you should be fully healed in no time!” Of that Mahiru had no doubt. Mikan sat down next to her, waiting to see what Koizumi would feel like doing next.

She stared off in the distance, still not really used to the snowy tropical environment. Skating was fun but now was a good time to stay in. Mahiru wrapped her arms around Mikan, and readjusted so that they could lie down and embrace. Mikan lay down against her girlfriend’s back so that she would be the big spoon. Mahiru was a little surprised, since she had never seen Mikan do that before. She decided not to worry about it. Who knew what Mikan was capable of after she opened up to someone?

Mahiru lost track of time as she started to relax more and more in her girlfriend’s arms. Mikan was relaxed too, and made small circles on Mahiru’s stomach with her fingers, which were calming enough to start to lull her to sleep. She had nearly dozed off when the sound of Mikan’s voice caused her eyes to open.

“Mahiru?” “Yeah?” She asked tentatively. “I had fun skating with you today.”

Mahiru could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and she could tell that Mikan’s was doing the same. If this is what it was like, then she wouldn’t mind if it snowed on the island every day. She leaned backwards for a kiss and felt Mikan’s soft lips meet her chapped ones.

“I had fun today too.” 

[mayuuunaise]

fic post: a man for flowers (feel better)

a/n: apologies aren’t enough :’’)))) but i hope you like it!! thank you all for the support!!

read on: ao3 / under the cut 

Megumi manages to thank Ryouko for her purchase before she turns away and coughs. She's been sneezing the whole afternoon; Fumio-san has already asked her if she wanted to leave early to take care of her incoming flu, maybe she should grab something hot and stay warm under her duvet. Megumi, obviously, has declined the offer one too many times already. Ryouko looks as if she wants to say something, a hand on her hip as she stares at Megumi with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised.

Megumi looks at her sheepishly in return; she has an apology ready on the tip of her tongue before she stops herself. She knows Ryouko would only nag at her more if she did so. Instead, she opens the drawer underneath her desk and pulls out a face mask to put on, hoping it would at least placate her friend. Ryouko continues to look unimpressed, her tongue clicking in annoyance as she adjusts the bundle of flowers under her arm.

“Honestly, Megumi,” the red head chastises. “You should take a break. Isn’t your manager supposed to be here today?”

“Shinomiya-senpai is out today,” Megumi croaks out in explanation. Her voice comes out a bit mumbled and hoarse: partly due to the mask covering her mouth, mostly because of her constant coughing. “He’s making sure the arrangement for a client’s wedding is alright.” she leaves out that he had also been invited as a fill-in groomsman, and grumpily left the store in the wee hours of the morning mumbling profanities towards a junior of his falling sick on a mutual friend’s wedding day. Ryouko doesn’t seem to be impressed, perfectly painted red lips pursed into a pretty pout.

“You. Need. To rest.” She punctuates every word with a poke to the florist’s head. Megumi smiles in apology, although the only indicator of her change in expression is the crinkling of her eyes. She can’t leave the store unattended, having had Shinomiya-senpai explicitly order her to keep watch of the flower shop for the day.

“I’ll leave,” Megumi coughs into her hand.  “As soon as I end my shift.”

Ryouko stares hard, purple orbs boring into her own amber ones. Megumi surprises herself by not looking away until Ryouko relents with a roll of her eyes. The voluptuous beauty throws a hand up in defeat, clutching the purchased bouquet in the other.

“Tell that stupid boss of yours if he doesn’t get his ass into gear, then I’ll-” Megumi is saved from the string of profanities sure to come next by her friend’s cellphone. The merry little tune brings a grimace to her face, Megumi sees the affection clear in her eyes but her expression says otherwise. Must be Yuki. Watching the long-haired beauty struggle balancing a bouquet on one hand and scrambling for something to write with on the other, Megumi figures that planning a wedding must be hard. She’s tempted to remind her friends to keep it easy so they wouldn’t tire out, but that would be hypocritical of her.

As if her body wants to remind her that she is in no state to even think about such a thing, the florist goes into another coughing fit. Ryouko pauses to shoot the girl a glare, a silent “I told you so,” as Yuki whines louder about teal and aquamarine linen on the other side of the phone. Megumi flushes a beet red, scribbling doodles on the side of her own notepad as she attempts to appear busy. She’s fooling no one. Ryouko hangs up a few seconds later, promising to meet Yuki in about half an hour to assure the newly engaged girl that yes, she was being stupid, she didn’t even like green or linen.

“Wedding blues already?” Megumi asks fondly.

“Honestly,” Ryouko sighs out in exasperation. “Most of the stuff she’s worrying about aren’t even things she cares for on a normal day.” The bartender pouts, pocketing her phone and adjusting her grip on the floral arrangement in her arms. Megumi watches her move with a strange curiosity. For all the years she has known of the beauty, she still wonders how she can move so gracefully under any circumstance. If she had been the one to catch whatever virus that was causing her to practically hack a lung, Megumi doesn’t doubt how she’d still be the prettiest bartender this side of the town.

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Ryouko levels her a deadpan stare that could combat her manager’s. “And as for you,” she points an accusing finger at the blue haired girl. “Go home already. It’s not as if you’ll have any more customers at this time.”

Megumi glances at the clock after waving her friend off. She still had a few minutes before the shop’s dead period on the last few store hours. With a sigh, she finally slumps in her seat. Her limbs feel like lead, and her head is starting to thrum out an inconsistent beat. She supposes Shinomiya-senpai could cover for her tomorrow, if ever the heavy weight decides to stick around. Or maybe she could ask a favour from the grocer Isshiki-san next door.

Megumi shakes her head, blue braids floating around her; she really must be sick to even think about asking such a busy person to man the shop.

She thinks it's because of the weird weather recently. One moment it's raining cats and dogs, the next minute the sun beats down on her head ferociously. The work hours have been more than a little demanding as well, but she reasons that it isn’t her manager’s fault that he needs to handle most of the back work. She sighs, letting her head rest on the marble of their countertop. Megumi is pretty sure she hasn’t developed a fever (yet), but the cool sensation from the counter’s material does wonders for her headache.

If Shinomiya-senpai were here, she would have been easily reprimanded. Presentation is everything for a flower shop, he had once said. If the person manning the shop didn’t look like they’d be able to handle flowers, customers would never go inside. Megumi’s mind starts wandering, slowly but surely fading into black…

- o -

Megumi wakes up with a start to the soft tinkling of the bell above their front door. She flushes beet red, anxiously glancing at the clock on the wall opposite the displays. The florist squeaks out a hurried, “Welcome!” as she adjusts her clothes and hair into something that looks more professional.

The young man that greets her is familiar; she easily recognizes him as the same brunette who stopped her from closing the shop a few weeks prior. He doesn’t look as wound up with his crisp white dress shirt and pressed checkered slacks, but his brown hair still sticks up at odd angles. Isami - she recalls his name - grins cheekily at her, no doubt aware of her sleeping state just a few seconds prior. Megumi wants nothing more than to crawl into a hole at that very moment. Isami, possibly ignorant of her embarrassment, casually strolls in, surveying and taking a whiff of the flowers on display with genuine interest.

“Have I come at a bad time, again?” He teases, trying to look nonchalant as he inspects the hydrangeas. Isami steals a glance over his shoulder, and Megumi sees nothing but mirth in his baby blues. Although she feels her face getting even hotter, Megumi steels herself quietly and pushes back on the counter to stand.

“Is there anything-“ she coughs twice. “-I can help you with?”

Isami changes his expression from that of amusement to worry as he seems to realize that the face mask is not just for show. He takes quick steps forward, breaching the space between them in almost an instant until he’s almost - quite literally - face to face with her. The brunette’s hand shoots upward and Megumi flinches, memories of Shinomiya-senpai knocking her on the head whenever she messed up during training flooding her thoughts. Instead, she feels a warmth from a large hand resting on her forehead gently. When Megumi opens her amber eyes, she’s only greeted by endless blues.

(She has never seen so many shades of blue before. The ocean would be jealous.)

Surprisingly, Isami is the one who pulls away first, his cheeks tinted a soft pink but that might just be what Megumi’s sick state wants to see.

“You don’t seem to have a fever yet.” He shoves his hands in his pants’ pockets, clearing his throat to divert her attention. “But are you sure you’re fit to work, Tadokoro-chan?”

His worry is genuine, even in her hazed state. Megumi is oddly flattered at the thought, tugging a soft smile from behind the face mask.  Isami’s question doesn’t register in her thoughts until his own lips quirk into an amused smile. Flushing, she fakes a cough to cover up her daydreaming.

Someone help her.

“I’m fine,” she lies through her teeth, gathering her tools. She has the odd feeling that he’s probably going to ask her for another bouquet today. “What would you like today, Isami-san?”

The brunette perks at the use of his name, his grin easily morphing to that of a cheshire cat’s as he leans down on their marble counter. “You remembered my name?” he asks, ignoring her question easily. She makes no eye contact with him, attempting to look busy as she moves to step outside of the confines of her perfectly safe spot behind the counter. This only seems to amuse the brunette even more. “Are you ignoring me now, Tadokoro-chan?”

Megumi only flushes further, thankful for the mask covering half of her face. “The- the request, please?” she isn’t sure how he switches so easily, casually falling into comfortable banter with her. Isami spares her from further embarrassment and chuckles instead. He moves to follow her as the florist surveys the flowers they have available.

“Would you be able to make a ‘get well soon’ bouquet?” he asks. Megumi immediately turns to look at their inventory, humming (and sniffling) in thought. An easy enough bouquet, and one she does often. Her fingers glide across the daisy petals, searching for imperfections Shinomiya-senpai would never dare to have in his shop. She wonders if Isami is giving the bouquet to the same person she had arranged flowers for before.

“What was that?” Isami pipes up, appearing by her side.

“I, I, I-! Uhm, was saying maybe daisies would be nice!” she squeaks out. She doesn’t realize she’s been murmuring distractedly until he snaps her back to the present. The florist grabs a handful of the colourful gerbera daisies to choose from, but sneezes ferociously as she does so. Her cold is getting worse; she wonders if being around pollen when your sick makes you more susceptible to sneeze attacks? Her head aches afterwards, Megumi thinks her sinuses are about to explode.

A warm hand gently takes the daisies from her near iron grip. When Megumi looks up, she sees Isami smiling down at her, worry still clear in his eyes. It takes time for her to process what’s going on until Isami shifts the pile of daisies in his hands to the crook of his arm, looking at her expectantly. When it hits her, she squeaks in protest; “I-I, I! Please give those back!”

“You’re sick,” he says simply, easily holding the flowers out of reach from her. Megumi sees him trying hard to suppress the grin on his lips. “Let me help, Tadokoro-chan. Think of it as thanks for the last time I was here.”

Her pride tells her to remain firm; her aching muscles, however, are yelling at her to take his offer up without any question. Still, her body just can’t seem to handle the facade any longer as she goes into another mini-sneezing fit. Isami waits for her to finish, not saying a word and even looking away to give her some semblance of privacy. When she looks up at him through her lashes, embarrassed beyond her comprehension, she can’t quite place his expression. It’s a cross between fondness and amusement, she suspects. Megumi blinks and he’s turning his back to her, placing the daisies on her work desk.

“What else do I need to bring?” he asks, walking back up to her. Megumi doesn’t protest this time, and points to the rest of the flowers on the shelves. She names the ones he gather and tells him what each means and how they fit the bouquet he requests for. He hums in delight with each of her quiet explanations. When Isami isn’t looking, too busy balancing delicate flora and beautification tools to notice, Megumi plucks a few white hyacinthus to add as an afterthought. A nice little piece to tie it together, she thinks.

She works mostly in silence after that, unlike the first time Isami had been to the flower shop. She wonders if it’s for her sake, knowing that if he asks questions now like before, she would be unable to turn him down. With slightly trembling fingers, she works nimbly to hurry up the job. Sitting around without any hint of a distraction wouldn’t be a very nice experience for her customer.

(She sneaks glances up at him from her work table from time to time; each time, her eyes meets his and Megumi can only quickly look away, attempting to look busy)

When she’s almost done, she finally pauses her work to find Isami snooping around her shop. Flustered, she hurriedly scurries to his side when he nears the break room.

“I-I,” another cough. “I’m sorry! But-but, that’s a restricted area, Isami-san,” Megumi squeaks out, hurriedly latching on to the crook of his elbow to stop him from going inside. She recalls leaving used tissues all over the room and she absolutely cannot let him see that in such a state.

Isami’s eyes dart from her face to her hold on him. When she notices her tight grip on his arm (she can feel ropy muscles tensing under her touch, but that isn’t the point), Megumi quickly lets go. Isami’s cheeks colour a little red, though that could easily be just the setting sunlight playing a trick on her eyes. He coughs out, eyes darting to the side, embarrassed.

“No, I should be the one who’s sorry, Tadokoro-chan.” Isami rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. He seems to be considering his next few words carefully. “I thought it might help your cold if I prepared some tea,” he explains, and Megumi wonders how she hasn’t melt into a puddle at his thoughtfulness. “I didn’t want to leave you alone in the shop to buy some. I figured you must have had a break room, but I realize that was very rude of me, still.”

“No, I,” the next few words she wants to say die from her mouth. His kindness shuts her up easily. An apology is on the tip of her tongue, “…Thank you,” she mumbles instead, not really knowing what else to say.

Isami straightens, having gotten back his confidence and bearing from her words it seems. His grin is almost cheeky as he steps closer to the florist. “Thank me by getting better soon, Tadokoro-chan,” he teases softly. “Maybe tea with you will have to wait ’til then.”

Megumi flushes red at his implication, quickly turning back to her work desk. “Your bouquet will be finished soon,” she announces, attempting to change the topic. Isami hums in response, amused as he moves to follow her.

“Do you still have things you need to do before you close shop, Tadokoro-chan?” he asks, checking the clock on the wall while leaning his weight on her cluttered work desk. The hands are almost on closing time, and often this is the time Megumi would clean up a little before locking up. She wonders slightly how long it will take considering her current physical state and the fact Shinomiya-senpai wouldn’t be around to help her.

Absentmindedly, she lists her chores out loud as she finishes wrapping the ribbon to tie bouquet together, a pretty white silk to tie it all together. Inventory of the flowers, delivery reports, watering the plants, updating the to-do list, and a little sweeping maybe, especially in the seedling section where a child accidentally scattered soil earlier that day. It really isn’t too much should she be in her usual state of health. She secures the ribbon with their signature white four clover pin.

Isami stares at her, his baby blue eyes seem to be boring holes into her face. The florist holds his gaze, a little unsure of his sudden pause. Isami surprises her by abruptly pushing off of her work desk and rolling his sleeves up until his elbows. Megumi is unsure how a simple change in outfit can make someone appear even more handsome than they already are. She’s still a little confused (she blames it partially on his rolled up sleeves) as he casually picks up the broom she left by the counter.

Isami shoots her another of his chesire grins, the one that doesn’t take no for an answer.

“Where do we start?”

- o -

Isami patiently waits for her to gather her things. He ends up doing more than half of her list of pre-lock up chores. If her head isn’t so fuzzy and her body not as heavy, Megumi might have protested (and apologized) even more than she already had. Isami assures her that this is nothing compared to his usual prep work in the bakery (he’s a sweetheart and he knows how to bake - it makes her think perfection isn’t but a distant dream). Perhaps she might actually take up his offer of helping out part-time. Shinomiya-senpai definitely wouldn’t mind when he sees how quick and efficient the young man is.

Megumi shakes the thought from her head; her almost-flu sure likes reducing proper decision making skills into a practically non-existent level.

They exit the store together, Isami readily reminding her to go straight home afterwards. There’s a subtle question in there, asking her if she’s sure she doesn’t want to let him walk her home. Megumi readily ignores it, her embarrassment already at sky rocket levels. She has definitely had enough slip ups for the day to last an entire week.

Before they part ways, the brunette plucks a white hyacinthus from the arranged bouquet. Megumi would normally be just a little furious at the action, cute boy or not, but his next words cut her short.

“For you, Tadokoro-san.” Isami extends his hand out and quietly tucks the flower into her hair. Isami smiles at his handiwork before his blue eyes find hers. “A ward to help you feel better.”

Megumi’s face turns red, but she’s almost a hundred percent certain it has nothing to do with her flu.

(scientific name: hyacinthus orientalis genus: hyacinthus colour: white meaning: sincerity; loveliness; my sincerest prayers for your well-being)

[theseadagiodays]

April 13, 2020

Interstices

Definition: an intervening time or space

Synonym: Aperture - an opening or gap

Gap - a space or pause between two things

Pause - a suspension of movement or activity

Space - a continuous area or expanse which is free and available

Whether our rhythms have slowed or accelerated in this moment, we all currently sit at an interstices.  A place in time between what came before and what comes next.  An uncomfortable spot for most of us, because humans habitually seek certainty.  But this time is also an opening, an opportunity where we can be free to explore new ways of being.  A time to suspend old habits, and invite shifts in perspective.  In some schools of Buddishm, they have a term for such in-between times.  “Bardo is an intermediate, transitional, or liminal state between death andrebirth.  A state of great potential for liberation, since transcendental insight may arise with the direct experience of reality” Wikipedia

But most of us resist making space in our schedules because it gives too much room to look at the bold truth of our lives.  Like the clear expanse of a mirror, this time is revealing much that we need to remember, but also much that we don’t want to see.  The decreased GHG’s from limited transport have clarified our skies and caused animals to rapidly return where humans had previously dominated.  The gardens we’d neglected are being tenderly tilled.  And the friends we’d forgotten for decades are reaching out to reminisce.  But the work that does not feed our souls, or the incessant self-deprecating thoughts, or the spouse who irritates us (speaking generally of course), or the wallpaper we regret having bought, all glare us in the face daily and force us to reflect on our real priorities and desires.  However, all at once, this can be too much for us to take in.

I remember a Vancouver talk, on my birthday in 1998, where the Tibetan monk, Chogyam Trungpa said it amazed him “how much North Americans busied their lives so as not to know themselves”.    If this is true, it strikes me that in order to assuage our fears about looking at the skeletons in our own empty closets, perhaps we can try to look at space entirely differently.

In music, space or silence can be incredibly potent.  Violinist, Isaac Stern describes music itself as “that little bit between each note—the silences which give the music form.”  One of my favorite composers, Arvo Part is a master of silence.  The pauses in many of his halting melodies require the listener to become an active participant - to fill the space with their own interpretations,  just as we can do during this time.   His Psalom for strings is a mesmerizing example of such writing.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-Ssbik_dmY

Visual artists have also created substantive beauty from negative space. The images below play with absence and presence, illustrating that our perception can entirely shape what we choose to see.  Similarly, if we can stretch our understanding of what is currently missing from our lives to recognize the space this allows for other things to present themselves, it may fortify our patience and acceptance with the way things are.

But if none of this brings solace during challenging times, and we still need to cling to hope, we can remember that, invariably, after rest always comes activity.  Bamboo is a prime example of this, as noted in this proverb about the slow but mighty grower, “the first year it sleeps, the second year it creeps, the third year it leaps.”

So, if we emerge from COVID anything like North America emerged from the 1918 flu epidemic, maybe we can finally look forward to an era where flapper dresses come back.  I know that I’d personally find the next Roaring Twenties a welcomed resurgence.  

April 14, 2020

Finding Stillness in Uncertainty

For hours last Tuesday, in a persistent drizzle and strong wind, I wandered my neighborhood aimlessly with a broken umbrella, mourning the shut restaurants, scared faces, and unhugged friends I hadn’t seen in weeks.

But today, the air is still and warm, and the scent of pregnant magnolias saturate my senses while I bathe in birdsong.  

Photo by my friend Cheryl’s 12-year-old son, Noah

Such is the mercurial nature of life in this pandemic.  Still, as best I can, I try to walk my talk.  Be the master of my own attitude.  Contribute where I can.  Live mindfully and gratefully.  But some days this is much harder than others.  However lately, Vancouver’s unseasonable summer weather has made this infinitely easier.  As someone who suffers from seasonal effective disorder, and who’s had a love/hate affair with my rainy though lush city, it makes me realize how important it is to find conditions condusive for optimal living. With the improved weather and a large park right behind my home, I am enticed to greet each morning with a slow, present-minded walk.  A moving meditation.  

I have also been grateful for the opportunity to lead weekly guided meditations for my husband’s work team.  His colleagues are front-line workers of a different sort.  They run our local transit system which is still critically needed by those who must continue to work in public settings, or who do not have the privilege of their own vehicle.  But with covid-fear and enforced social distancing measures, Translink is losing $3 million a day in ridership fees.  So, they are under enormous stress to adjust their service plans, make difficult decisions about lay-offs, and continue to try and plan for a very uncertain future.   However, it heartens me to know that people who find themselves even more work-burdened during this crisis still recognize the need to slow down, even for brief moments, in order to be more productive later. So, I thought I’d share a recording of one of these sessions, which people can follow at home.  It is less than 15 minutes long, just short enough to carve out of any day but still possible to dramatically alter your nervous system.

https://youtu.be/x2fjRvBB6x0

And finally, this poem by Martha Postelwaite speaks to the gifts stillness can bring.

Do not try to save the whole world or do anything grandiose. Instead, create a clearing in the dense forest of your life and wait there patiently, until the song that is your life falls into your own cupped hands and you recognize and greet it. Only then will you know how to give yourself to this world so worth of rescue.                       -   Martha Postlewaite

April 15, 2020

Timely Artists’ Responses

I am normally a minimal social media user.  However, ironically, my Facebook and Instagram feeds have been my saving grace during this period.  This is probably helped by the fact that, over the years, rather than racing to accumulate friends, I have mostly only followed those people in my life who I trust to direct me to moments of grace and beauty.   Consequently, many of the links in this blog have come from my own community of thoughtful, kindness-oriented, arts-minded friends and family to whom I’m hugely grateful.

Some of my friends are the actual creators of these daily doses of inspiration.  Like my Toronto-based buddy, Lorne Bridgman (https://lornebridgman.com), whose in-demand work has graced the covers of En Route (Air Canada’s in-flight magazine), Monocle, and Travel & Leisure.  (A coup for us, since way back in 1997, we were probably the only people who ever landed him as a wedding photographer). Fittingly, his stirring nighttime images of abandoned playgrounds during the pandemic tell a very powerful story.

I have been keeping my own mental ledger of these “never before corona” scenes (like our yellow-taped playgrounds) which I observe every day.  The most striking of these I captured with my iphone just yesterday.  These four beachcombers appear to be metred-out models of social distancing with their perfectly proportioned pose.

Artists the world round are similarly documenting this time through a variety of expressive mediums.  Below, are a few of the most creative that I’ve discovered so far.

The New York Times delivers again, with 17 Artists Capture a Surreal NY from their Windows

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/04/16/nyregion/coronavirus-nyc-illustrators-window.html?action=click&module=Editors%20Picks&pgtype=Homepage

Katherine Lam, Queens, NY

Or this Beijing-based British map artist, who instead of his elaborate filligried-illustrations of sprawling urban areas, now maps what’s between his four walls.

https://www.cnn.com/style/article/gareth-fuller-maps-coronavirus-quarantine/index.html

Globally, graphic designers have also used their talents to advocate, provoke, or amuse: https://www.dezeen.com/2020/03/18/coronavirus-covid-19-graphic-design-illustration/?fbclid=IwAR3bUYBwSkCtlj_yhlDkvUtGOFBDBJGMYXiDl3do74Gqm4JdHbkxTET48H8

Oliver Jeffers, beloved Irish children’s author and illustrator

And for 80’s kids like me, this new release, No Time to Love Like Now, from an old fave, REM’s Michael Stype, sends a sparsely-layered musical message from his home studio that feels highly appropriate for the times:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=1&v=MYgpEcXf2S4&feature=emb_logo

Finally, as I’ve stretched my social-media muscles, I confess that I’ve even ventured to Twitter and Tik Tok at times.  Most of us over-30 have probably been oblivious to the phenomena of social-media influencers, like the 15-year-old "reigning queen of TikTok", Charli D’Amelio, whose whether-you-like-it-or-not, down-to-earth appeal and smooth moves have charmed 48 million followers! But, as vacuous as many of her make-up tutorials have been, she is now using her reach for good with her originally choreographed Distance Dance which, for everyone who posts their own #distancedance video, will trigger Proctor & Gamble to donate to one of a variety of non-profits feeding those most vulnerable and hit hard by the virus.   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fS6913bBVek

April 16, 2020

Home Cooking

I truly believe that we all have an “inner artist” if we just find ways to tap it.  But it saddens me to hear how quickly many people say they have “no talent”.  Creativity is not magic.  It’s what humans have harnessed since time immorial to survive, adapt, and thrive.  Creativity also increases exponentially when there are constraints on our resources. The elegance of a haiku is a pure example of this.  Limited to just 5, 7, & 5 syllables per line, this simple container lends itself to essential and beautiful nuggets of expression accessible to all.  Here’s a timely one from the #quarantinehaikus project that I mentioned earlier:

I’m in quarantine But all my ideas are not. This month, they happen.

Similarly, another creative pursuit that has most given humans a window into their own creativity is the culinary arts.  Sure, for some their adventures as gourmands consist of little more than ramen, canned tuna, a boiled egg and Dijon mustard for a pantry version of Julia Child’s Salad Nicoise.  But quarantined living is certainly inspiring more imagination in the kitchen than usual. Though this expression may be overused, “necessity is the mother of invention” has perhaps never been more universally true.  However, if you’re trying to limit your grocery trips to once per week, and your mind happens to draw a blank when you open your cupboard, here are dozens of recipes that you can try with what you might likely already have on hand:

https://cooking.nytimes.com/topics/self-quarantine-recipes

My own constant culinary muse is my great friend, Belkis, whose Instagram page, Epicurious Travelista (below) is a visual and delectable treat.  Most of her images include recipes.  And while they might look elaborate, and sometimes indeed they are (this is a woman unafraid of churning her own butter, or making her own tortillas from scratch), her resourceful Honduran roots influence many exquisite meals that she makes from only a few simple ingredients.  So, for those wanting to spread their chef’s wings a bit wider, you can check out her page here:

https://www.instagram.com/epicurious_travelista/

April 15, 2020

Zoom Masters

Of course, Zoom has been the victor and the enemy in this digitally-dependent time, both allowing multi-generational families to share seders, while at the same time stealing private details from citizens.  But one can not deny that the extent to which people have exploited this format for good has been inspiring.  I’m biased towards the musical collaborations that the format has spawned.  But don’t be fooled.  This technology, designed for one-speaker-at-a-time, does not render performances like the one below, easily.  Each frame has to be recorded separately (with consistent click tracks, to keep everyone in time), and then carefully edited together in post-production. These are highly stylized efforts. And this one takes it to another level with its choreographic complexity.  So, while I wish everyone to have a weekend where they can Get Down, Stay Down, here’s a treat to enjoy:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/4/8/21213608/coronavirus-zoom-music-video-thao-and-the-get-down-stay-down?fbclid=IwAR3PIGg8lcGMLgQrJGISDcjrRbcy3eQG2XI-sqbc-BOGs5f8s5PNRPf54H4

[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 21: Skirting and Sketching

I brought my sketchpad, charcoal pencils and the book of poetry by W.S. Merwin I’d been reading earlier in the week with me over to Ari’s house. When I got there I took my shoes off and left them on his front porch, Japanese style, so I wouldn’t track any dirt inside. I rang the doorbell and Ari’s mom greeted me.

“Dante, it’s so nice to see you. I’m glad you’re here. Ari’s been having a tough week.”

“Yeah he said on the phone he’s had a bad flu. I think getting sick during the summer should be illegal, don’t you? It’s…incongruous.”

“Incongruous,” she repeated with a laugh. She had a lovely low honey laugh like Ari’s. He must have inherited it from her. “It certainly is. His fever broke but he’s still a bit out of sorts.”

“I was worried about him when he didn’t show up at the pool this week.”

“I’m sorry about that, I didn’t think. I should have let you know he was under the weather.”

“It’s ok, I’m just glad he’s feeling better now.”

“He’s in his room. Would you like anything to drink?”

“No thanks, I’m good. I’ll just go see how Ari’s doing.”

“Ok, let me know if you two want a snack. I still have half a big pot of chicken soup left and Ari is going on a soup boycott, so you’re welcome to have some.”

“Thanks Mrs. Mendoza, I bet it’s delicious.”

“Lilliana. Mrs. Mendoza reminds me of my students and this is still summer break after all. You remember where Ari’s room is? Just down the hallway on the right.”

“Yes, thanks.”

I approached Ari’s room and stood in the doorway. He was lying in his bed on top of the covers, wearing his ratty Santana t-shirt and checkered pajama bottoms. He wasn’t reading or anything, just looking up at the ceiling. He had dark under eye circles and his hair looked exactly how you’d expect for someone who’d been stuck in bed for four days: a little greasy and matted and pillow-flattened and cowlick-y. His rumpledness made him look younger and more vulnerable, which isn't a word I ever thought I'd use to describe him. He turned his head and looked at me. Smiled, but with sad eyes. All the mess of hurt feelings that had been cycling through me all week seemed to slip instantly away the minute I saw that tired little half-smile. My chest felt tight. I was so happy to see him.

“Hi,” I said.

“You forgot your shoes,” he said. Honestly, he was obsessed with my shoes (or lack thereof).

“I donated them to the poor.”

“Guess the jeans are next.” (The jeans I was wearing were basically in tatters, but I didn't care because they were my favorite and unbelievably soft).

“Yeah," I said and we both laughed. His honey laugh was still there, just a little raspier than normal.

I examined him closer. “You look a little pale.”

“I still look more Mexican than you do.”

“Everybody looks more Mexican than I do. Pick it up with the people who handed me my genes.” I’d meant for it to come out flippantly, our regular joke, ha-ha, but was surprised to hear more than a tinge of bitterness in my voice.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “So you brought your sketch pad.” He knew me well enough to change the subject away from all the Mexican stuff.

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to show me your drawings?”

“Nope. I’m going to sketch you.”

The idea to sketch him had come to me earlier in the week, after my parents told me about Chicago, because I wanted a way to remember him if we ended up moving. We didn’t have any photos of each other (I planned to remedy that by convincing him to go into a photobooth with me the next time we went to the arcade). I’d drawn pictures of him from memory, but they didn’t quite capture his features in a way that I was happy with. They were my filtered and cartoonish reinterpretation of him, which is not the same as when you can draw someone when they’re right in front of you. When they let you really look at them.

“What if I don’t want to be sketched?” he said and I smiled at what a typically obstinate Ari response it was.

“How am I going to be an artist if I can’t practice?”

“Don’t artists’ models get paid?”

“Only the ones that are good-looking.”

“So I’m not good-looking?”

He arched an eyebrow and we looked at each other for a brief moment. Was he messing with me? 'Good-looking'? Who was he kidding? That was like describing the sky as simply ‘blue’ when there are words out there like azure, sapphire, cerulean, or cornflower. Heart wrenchingly beautiful.Those are the word I would have chosen, if he’d asked me sincerely, not as a breezy offhand joke, what I really thought when I looked at him. Even in his post-flu state, all disheveled hair, sallow skin and blood-shot eyes, he was still the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.“Don’t be an asshole,” I said, pure deflection, because I was beginning to feel my cheeks and neck get incriminatingly hot but I tried to shrug it off, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Of course he'd notice. He had eyes and my face was probably redder than a fire engine. Cardinal red. Russet. Sanguine.

Then something happened I wouldn't have predicted. Ari’s face got red, too. Was this some sort of belated fever symptom? He was the last guy in the world who I thought was capable of blushing. “So you’re really going to be an artist?” he asked to the ceiling, not me.

“Absolutely. You don’t believe me?” I found in that moment I could look nowhere else but his flushed cheeks and his lips, which were a little chapped, but still perfectly pink.

“I need evidence,” he said.

I sat down on his rocking chair and got my pencils and sketchbook out, fiddling a bit and taking more time than was probably necessary, since I realized that if I looked at him again right away I was afraid of what might come out of my mouth. It took a second for my heart to stop jack-hammering. When I’d gotten all my supplies ready I looked back at him, this time in the subjective and focused way an artist looks at a subject, not the confusing and dizzying way a friend looks at another friend’s lips.

“You still look sick.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe it’s your dreams.”

“Maybe.”

“When I was a boy, I used to wake up thinking that the world was ending. I’d get up and look in the mirror and my eyes were sad.”

As a child the idea of atomic bombs and nuclear war had both terrified and fascinated me, especially after my grade school teachers made us practice emergency “duck and cover” drills. Later when we learned about the Vietnam War and I read that Little Boy was the codename for the bomb dropped in Hiroshima, I thought immediately of those drills. All of our little bodies crouched in rows by our hallway lockers, our little hands covering our little heads.

“You mean like mine,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“My eyes are always sad.”

The way he looked at me made me wonder if we were still talking about our dreams or were we talking about something else?

“The world isn’t ending, Ari.”

“Don’t be an asshole," he said. I liked that he’d repeated my phrase from earlier. It made me smile, despite the seriousness of the subject we were skirting around. “Of course it’s not ending.”

“Sad, sad, sad,” I said.

“Sad, sad, sad,” he said, turning it into another one of our little games.

This time I laughed in earnest, because it was almost like he’d read my mind, knowing how much I liked my words repeated back to me from his lips. Like I’d given him a present and he’d given me one, too, and when we opened them up we couldn’t help but laugh because we’d both given each other the exact same gift.

“I want to draw you.”

“Can I stop you?”

“You’re the one who said you needed evidence.”

I threw him the book of poems I’d brought. “Read it. You read. I’ll draw.”

I turned my attention to studying the room around him, my focus narrowing to lines and light. I looked at Ari, wondering how I could possibly capture in two-dimensional markings, shades and shapes the complexity of him and what he made me feel inside? But I had to try. I blurred my eyes momentarily to get a sense of just the light hitting his face and skin, like the smooth under painting before all the details are added to the surface of a canvas. I could tell he was nervous because he kept fidgeting and hadn’t opened the book. I was nervous, too. But I tried to project nothing but calmness so he would let me keep looking at him. I furrowed my brow in slightly exaggerated concentration so he’d get that me looking at him was just an artist-subject thing. Nothing to be scared or uncomfortable about.

“Make me look good,” he said.

“Read. Just read.”

He relaxed eventually. I did, too, though in a way that is similar to swimming, when you get ‘in the zone’ and a different part of your brain takes the reigns and you stop second guessing what your body is doing, so you are focused and relaxed at the same time. Breathing helps. He got caught up in reading the book of poems, which I knew he would like. There was one poem in particular I liked the most, "Youth". One line—from what we cannot know the stars are made—reminded me of my favorite Carl Sagan quote: “The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.” I thought about the carbon in the pencil I was holding, how it was made of the same starstuff as I was and Ari was. I tried to not only capture him on the paper, but cement all the little details of him in my memory as well. I knew I’d need them stored up so I could call upon them later, if the unthinkable happened and my family ended up moving to Chicago.

I drew and drew and drew. I was greedy for the smallest of details. The precise curve and thickness of his eyelashes. The twin crescent creases that formed between his eyebrows and the way he’d stick his tongue out a little when he was really concentrating on understanding a difficult line of poetry. The way the sunlight wrapped around his jaw and cheekbones, softening them and drawing attention to their attractive angles at the same time. And his hair. Since I couldn’t actually touch it, my pencils became a proxy for my fingers and I tried to capture the exact way his hair swooped lazily across his forehead, the nearly infinite shades of black, the tiny wisps at the nape of his neck. I could have drawn just his hair for hours.

At some point, he shifted his position so he wasn’t leaning up against his bed's headboard to read, but lying on his side, one hand propping up his head, the book of poems open on the bed in front of him. I watched him close his eyes briefly. Then shift so that the pillow was under his head, not his hand. He made a valiant effort to keep reading but eventually closed his eyes again. His breathing evened and he drifted off to sleep. I drew him just like that. It was the best gift he could have given me.

When I was certain he was sleeping deeply enough that I wouldn’t disturb him, I quietly moved off of the rocking chair and pulled his blanket up around him. I sat down next to him for a while, matching my breath to his. I was careful not to touch him, so I wouldn’t accidentally wake him up. He looked so peaceful it almost made me want to cry. I hoped that his period of nightmares was behind him.

I looked around his room and my eyes were drawn to the rocking chair I’d vacated. I liked the way the light hit it and the long shadows it cast on the blank white wall (since Ari had taken down all his posters). I tapped the curved base with my toe to make it move back and forth. It kept rocking for a long time on its own after I’d lifted my foot away because his window was open and there was a slight breeze coming through. Or maybe, I thought, because a ghost was sitting in it. An old world-weary ghost enjoying its ghost retirement relaxing in a rocking chair. For some reason, that made me smile. The chair was alone, but not alone, since I was there, and maybe the ghost, too. I drew the chair and it wasn’t until I was done that I realized that I was actually drawing Ari.

I left the drawing for him. Maybe he’d think it was just a chair. Or maybe he’d see something else, like I had.

I left a note with the drawing for him to read when he woke up.

Ari,

I hope you like the sketch of your chair. I miss you at the pool. The lifeguards are jerks.

Dante