#there's a few more I have percolating but my brain is mush I have not slept lmfao]

[raiiryuu]

Laxus's eyes used to be blue, before he got the lacrima. Once he woke up from the procedure and looked in the mirror, the eyes staring back at him were the orange they are now. He never comments on it, and is honestly ambivalent about their color as long as he can still see.

Carb-freak. 1000%. Will never admit any preference but just LOOK at how many times you can see him in the guild hall and he's just got some giant bread roll in his hand lmfao.

That said, he's not a picky eater at all. He's had some bad experiences with spicy food how much you wanna bet he tried to eat more than Gray, but otherwise he's willing to try pretty much anything once.

Laxus is a horrible patient. If he has enough energy to wake up and talk, he's probably also going to try to leave and claim that means he's fine. Also tries to just avoid going anywhere near any healing that isn't magical at all costs regardless. Bad memories.

If Laxus is alone or in new surroundings, he's an extremely light sleeper. But if there's people he trusts nearby, he's out like a light. Good luck getting through to him.

Tends to sleep with his back to a wall if possible. Will also sleep leaned against a hotel door if he's particularly mistrustful of the Vibes.

Very dense, even for his already bulky frame. He has Suspicions of what that might be about, but isn't keen on telling anyone.

[fadedseas]

inconsistent flowers: part iv

Druig x Makkari

Part 4 of __: sunflowers

Tags: Flower Shop AU, Modern AU, No Powers, Canon Divergence

Summary: Druig is a cantankerous flower shop owner trying to get through his day. Makkari just wanted flowers for her new apartment. Or the flower shop AU no one asked for.

Chapter Summary: As they neared, Druig could feel his stomach twist with nerves as he fought to keep the casual expression on his face.

“We could go somewhere else if you want. An actual restaurant or…” Druig could feel himself floundering for words. His usual apathetic nonchalance always failed him around her.

It’s perfect! Makkari signed, beaming at him.

or it finally happens.

TW: cursing

Word count: 5264

A/N: Hello readers!!I know I was supposed to post this on Thursday, but it turns out working for 12 hours a day multiple days a week turns my brain into complete mush. I offer you this chapter for forgiveness! Hopefully my week can get a little lighter so I can get back on schedule because I also hate posting off schedule too.This chapter is very dialogue-heavy, but you learn much more about Druig and Makkari! And more interaction between them!!

The walk out of the university campus and into the busy streets was filled with silence as Druig continued to reel from that moment…the glimpse of an intimacy far too brief with Makkari. 

He couldn’t stop remembering the centimeters of space between their lips that had seemed equivalent to a thousand kilometers at the time, nor the scent of her skin: cinnamon and cloves, nor the smooth give of her skin underneath her fingertips. It had taken every ounce of control to not throttle the student for his interruption before Druig had come to his senses.  

God, he was a fucking knobhead. She had taken him there to show him her work, her passion, and he had tried to - Druig broke his line of thinking, shoving his hands into the pocket of his pants. 

He risked a glance at Makkari out of the corner of his eye. The contemplative expression on her face urged him to ask her what she was thinking. But he refrained, allowing her to process her thoughts just as he was doing. He could feel her fingers brush his as he led her through the twisting streets and through the cacophony of early rush hour to…a dinner? A date…?

Shit. He hadn’t thought this through. The invitation had slipped out of his lips in a moment of desperation, in an attempt to preserve the feeling of her warmth against his body, in an attempt to keep her close. 

As they neared, Druig could feel his stomach twist with nerves as he fought to keep the casual expression on his face. 

“We could go somewhere else if you want. An actual restaurant or…” Druig could feel himself floundering for words. His usual apathetic nonchalance always failed him around her. 

It’s perfect! Makkari signed, beaming at him. 

The chippy exemplified true London austerity. The faded blue plastic awning wrapped around the small brick building that sat at a tilted square corner. Passerbys could still read the faded white letters printed boldly on its face: Walsh’s Traditional Fish & Chips. The smell of fried food percolated his senses as they neared the entrance, and he could hear Walsh’s thick brogue barking orders from inside. 

Druig had stumbled on this place shortly after he moved to London when he had first opened the shop. He had been wandering around the city during one of his few days off, with his head swimming with the stress of the new business and the thought of repaying the bank loans he had taken. His snarling stomach had run him off his course until he had found the shop. 

Walsh had sized him up, stroking his large, untamed beard. You look like right shit, mate. I’ll give you a plate of cod and chips for whatever you have in your pocket.   

That was the start of many meals. On busy nights, Walsh wouldn’t even ask for his order - he would just shove him a plate with a grunt and Druig would watch him berate the clueless tourists that would happen by the shop. 

Druig remembered Walsh’s reaction to the poor tourist who had inquired about adding some cheese to his gravy-covered chips.

Piss off! What the fuck do you think this is? Fucking poutine?  

Sufficiently cowed, the man had taken his plate and scurried away in silence. 

But on slow nights, Druig would sit on the rickety plastic chairs at the counter, and Walsh would tell him about his days in the RAF before he retired. 

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” Walsh had noted one night as Druig scarfed down dinner. 

Druig shrugged, “I just prefer to listen, is all…you seem to prefer that too.” 

Walsh’s bellowing laugh in return apparently cemented Druig’s status as a regular.   

Walsh was standing at the counter when Druig walked in with Makkari. He raised a grizzled eyebrow at Druig and Druig fought the flush that threatened to spread across his face. 

Makkari turned to study the short menu that was nailed to the wall. Druig shot Walsh a warning look, which he returned with an amused twitch of his lips. 

She waved in greeting before typing her order into her phone. If Walsh had found that strange, he didn’t say anything. He merely nodded in understanding before dropping two medium pieces of battered cod into the fryer. 

Makkari turned to dig in the large messenger bag she had strapped across her chest to presumably search for her wallet. Within a flash, Druig had materialized his wallet from his pocket, and snatched enough quid to cover both of their meals, shoving them in Walsh’s hand. He could see Walsh’s grin under his beard as he nodded in approval while Druig looked away, fighting to roll his eyes. 

Makkari held up her wallet, beaming in victory as she turned to pay. Druig quickly shoved her a paper plate filled with fried deliciousness instead and ushered her outside to the row of small plastic picnic tables. They had settled down at one of the tables, Makkari tucking her wallet away in her bag. 

You didn’t need to do that you know, she signed.

Druig shrugged uncomfortably, electing to sprinkle some salt and dose a liberal amount of vinegar onto his fish and chips from the plastic squeeze bottle on the table instead. 

Makkari smiled at him in that nearly frustrating manner of hers. It was the smile that tilted the side of her right lip slightly above the other, the one that contained a knowing glint in her eye that made him wonder just what she was thinking about when she looked at him. 

So how are you? She pressed her hands to her chest and closed them into two thumbs up. She popped a chip in her mouth, closing her eyes and swaying in enjoyment. 

Druig dug the little plastic fork into the flaky cod. He still felt slightly off-kilter, as if his mind and his body were at a slight delay with each other around Makkari.

He cleared his throat, “Nothing much honestly,” he replied, electing to sign the last word and cross his left pointer finger against his heart, “There was a woman that came in last week to choose her wedding arrangements with her mother-in-law. They both threw right tantrums over it - I thought it was going to be a bloodbath.” Makkari chuckled, and Druig could feel some of the tension in his chest release ever so slightly.  

“Kingo is…the same. He’s trying out for another audition tomorrow - I think it’s a musical? He keeps trying to practice his dancing in the shop, and crashing into my vases. I’ve also completely banned the soundtrack of West Side Story from the store - trust me, I’ve saved you his rendition of ‘I Feel Pretty.’” 

Makkari snorted, snatching up more chips and throwing them in her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, tilting her head and scrutinizing him closely. Druig felt that pressure in his chest rise again. He could tell that she had had enough now that the elation had died down; she was clearly tired of waiting for this to play out. Druig braced himself for the inevitable questions and accusations: did you really just try to kiss me in the artifacts room? I brought you there to show you something and you went ahead and jeopardized my job? That was a mistake. I don’t think we should see each other again.  

Druig was used to it at this point. Ikaris had always said that his sullen silences and sardonic jokes were always too much for anyone to bear. He knew the dance by now. It was one that his ex-girlfriends had perfected with him. If she were the straightforward type, she would tell him that this had been fun, but she’d prefer to keep their relationship strictly professional from now on. Otherwise, she would thank him for the lunch, and make an excuse, likely homework or a test, to politely excuse herself from the situation. His exes often chose the latter. Then, Druig would never see Makkari again. 

It would be her quiet curtain call from his life. And all he could do was sit there, stone faced and waiting for the end. 

And he would deal with it. Druig always did. He would go back to the store, and relieve Kingo at his shift. He would toss out those ridiculous notes of everything that he had wanted to say to her, that he had wanted her to know about him and his days. He would try to weld together the fissures of his day left by her absence, and try not to think about her every time he so much as looked at a yellow daffodil. He would be fine. He would be fine. He always was. (Despite whatever the ache in his chest was telling him.) 

What about you? 

Druig had been so lost in his thoughts that he had nearly missed her question as she signed it.  

What? He signed, moving his finger from side to side. 

What about you? She pointed to him with her eyebrows raised in question. 

“What do you mean?”

Makkari rested her head in her hands, gazing at him. She pulled out her phone and began to type, sliding it over to the center of the table for him to read. You talk about Kingo, and about your customers, and about your flowers. But never about yourself. Why?

Once Druig had recovered from the shock of her question, he had to fight his smile. Makkari, the queen of the unexpected. “Dunno,” he shrugged, aimlessly stabbing at his fish, “‘s nothing really that interesting about me. ‘M just a florist. No skeletons in my closet or anything like that. At least not literally like you.” His lips lifted in a smirk. 

Makkari smiled faintly and continued to study him pensively. You know, you never answered my question. Not seriously anyway, she typed.  

What question? He signed.

What did you want to become a florist? And don’t bullshit me - there’s more than just ‘falling into it.’ she smiled that knowing smile again. 

Druig stared at her question. He hadn’t expected the trajectory of this conversation. Maybe…just this once, he didn’t have to prepare himself for a goodbye. 

“Did you mean what you said before?” 

Makkari furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“About…that thing about me having empathy and skill to help people through their big moments.”

She nodded slowly, making sure that he was looking her in the eye. Yes. I meant that entirely, she signed. 

Druig sighed and leaned back, considering how to articulate his thoughts, “When I first opened, I had this customer - he would come in every week buying different kinds of flowers every single time. And I couldn’t help but ask him how many mistresses does he really have -”

Druig’s lips twitched as he watched Makkari chuckle at his comment before continuing, “And he didn’t have any. All those flowers were for his wife because he felt guilty for working all the time - and she kept throwing them out. And it wasn’t until I asked him if he’d ever ask her what she really wanted that he realized that he never had.” 

Makkari’s eyes softened as she raised her hand, what a hero, she signed. 

Druig shrugged, “Well now he comes around and buys the pink petunias for his 25-year-old girlfriend.” 

He smirked as her face fell, “I’m just messing with you; I’m just messing around.” Makkari furrowed her brow and his hand half-heartedly attempted to deflect her annoyed punches to his arm, “He brings her into the shop every couple of weeks. They’re regulars - he always buys her a bouquet of her actual favorite flowers every time they visit.” His lips quirk upwards in a small smile, “Pansies. The insult is pretty inaccurate, y’know? Pansies are deceptively resilient and strong. They also symbolize loving feelings so I guess that’s fitting too.” 

Makkari snorted softly, smiling as she took another bite of fish. 

Druig watched the rush of commuters among the old cracked bricks of the streets. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “There’s a certain…intimacy in giving flowers. But it’s never about the flowers. It never is, and I dunno -  people are…complicated and stubborn and illogical. They just get so caught up in the bullshit of their lives, you know? They’re selfish and they’re cruel.” 

He stared at the rush of honking vehicles and faint curses of cyclists during London rush hour, turning back to her  “But sometimes, just - when you give them this thing. This colorful, beautiful, living thing - all of that falls away for just a second. And you can see this expression of joy - and it’s like - for a moment, you can understand them just a little more,” he scoffed slightly, shaking his head, “It’s hard to explain - and I’m shit at it.” 

Not at all, Makkari lowered her hands to the table. She seemed to hesitate for a split second before sliding her right hand across the table where Druig’s laid, placing hers on top of his. 

Druig ripped his eyes away from the bustle around them and before he could stop himself, he flipped his hand over, holding it in his and caressing her pulse point with his thumb. The feel of the steady drum beneath his fingers soothed him. Thump…thump…thump.  

“My mam had told me that I was shit dealing with people and their emotions,” he blurted out, “She said that I had low emotional intelligence, and reduced affect display - that was how she put it. I was never good at making friends or just…talking to people when I was a kid - not like my brother.” Druig shrugged, running a hand through his hand and fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt, “I dunno. Maybe this could also just be me proving her wrong.” His chuckle was without humor. 

Makkari frowned, pulling her hand away from his. Druig smirked, as he felt the nerves squeeze his insides. He released a slow breath. Fuck here it comes, he couldn’t help but think, you scared her off with your fucking mummy issues. 

Makkari raised her hands. Druig had learned the sign for goodbye a long time ago during one of his first BSL lessons. But that wasn’t what Makkari signed. Instead Makkari…Beautiful Beautiful Makkari raised her hands and signed two words. 

She’s wrong.  

*

Druig ducked his head, meticulously studying the plastic of the table. Makkari could see it happening again - Druig disappearing within himself. She placed her hand back on his, feeling the calluses of his fingers on her skin.

She allowed the silence between them to linger, allowed him the time to process. 

She found that she often enjoyed these silences with Druig. There was an inherent kindness, a gentleness in them that relieved the burden of speaking. It had always irked her that there seemed to be an expectation for everyone to be loud and commanding the moment they entered a room. There would be people that she would meet that would be constantly speaking with their lips moving and shaping at rapid speeds. Makkari did not need to be able to hear them to know that they were not saying anything at all. It was all just visual noise.  

So she could wait. And she would. She would wait for as long as it took for Druig to find his words again and emerge from his own head. 

Eventually Druig looked up at her with a self-deprecating smile, “I’m a shit date.” He chuckled.

Makkari found herself smiling in spite of herself. This is a date? She types into her phone. 

She could see Druig’s face blanch as he fights to maintain his composure, running a hand through his hair. He hides it well, Makkari thought as she watched Druig’s easy smirk emerge as his eyes pin hers. 

“It is if you want it to be.”  

Yes, I want it to be. Makkari signed before returning her hand to his, lacing their fingers this time. She didn’t understand the point of games, of delaying and dancing around what you wanted. 

Druig nodded at her, and Makkari fought the urge to laugh. For all of his bravado and his arrogant facade, the soft joy in his eyes told the entire story. 

“If this is a date…” Druig started, can I have your phone number? He signed, tapping his fist to his chin. 

Bold move for a man who’s doing this date backwards. Makkari grinned in amusement as she handed him her phone and Druig inserted his contact information.  

Druig then pulled out his mobile, texting her quickly so she had his number. He shrugged, “What can I say? I’m unconventional with my dates.” 

She laughed.  

“So what about you? Historic conservationist, protective dog mother…what else do you spend your time doing? How many miles do you have on that red tracksuit?”

Makkari froze, with her fork halfway to her mouth. She placed it back on her plate, trying to casually shrug her shoulders. Not many. She signed.  

“Are you one of those charity marathoners? We get floods of them every year during the holidays.” 

She shook her head, No. Nothing like that. Not anymore. Makkari typed and quickly speared a few more chips into her mouth, and polished off the rest of her fish. I desperately need a walk after this. Are you still free?

Druig’s eyes skimmed over her message. He furrowed his eyebrows, likely confused by the quick turn in conversation. But he nodded, “Yea. Let me ring Kingo and tell him he’s closing up for the night.”

He got up, with his cellphone in his hand and walked a few steps away. Makkari took the time to examine him as she picked at the rest of her food. Her previous boyfriends had all been somewhat similar in that they were mostly the academic, bookish type. Druig was…definitely not that. Her eyes trailed over his lean muscle and broad shoulders, sweeping over his dark hair and cobalt eyes. They lingered on his full lips as he spoke to Kingo. 

God he was so… fit. 

Makkari resisted the compulsion to giggle. Druig was studying the floor with one hand on his hip as he continued to talk to Kingo on the phone. He tilted his head up, and caught her eye. She saw a flash of his smirk as she quickly averted her gaze. Druig finished the call and walked over to the table. 

“Good to go?” He asked. 

She nodded and he gathered their plates, tossing them in the rubbish. Druig then turned, holding out a hand for her. Makkari didn’t hesitate this time, placing her hand in his and allowing their fingers to twine together once again as they walked.  

The sun had decided to make its first and last blaze of glory for the day as it began to sink below the horizon. The darkening sky illuminated the pinpricks of light in the skyscrapers of London as Makkari strolled along the Victoria Embankment, her hand still firmly clasped with Druig’s. 

Her other hand was swiping through the letter of the keyboard on her phone, piecing together interesting and grotesque things that she had remembered about the Thames to make Druig laugh. 

And there was so much human excrement and pollution from citizens just dumping their waste into the river - that the stench that summer was unbearable. They named it the “Great Stink.” 

Druig scoffed, “Jesus fuck. What a tourist attraction. How did people survive it?”

Parliament decided to design and fund the city’s sewage system in response. It was one of the most ambitious urban design and public health projects at the time. The plan actually created the Victoria Embankment. 

“Trust Parliament to ignore the problem until they literally couldn’t stand the stink of their own shit,” Druig snorted. 

Well now the Thames provides most of London’s drinking water. 

Druig’s wince of disgust made her laugh. 

I wonder what floral arrangements you would even give to people to celebrate surviving cholera and the era before a sewer system, Makkari pondered. 

“I could imagine…purple dahlias for change and excitement, maybe even pink chrysanthemums thrown in to honor a full life lived. Probably some baby’s breath to round out the shape.” 

Very specific for a bouquet. 

“Well it’s a very specific situation,” Druig retorted, squeezing her hand, “There are whole bodies of thought about the meaning of flower colors, and the shapes of their petals, and the symmetry of an arrangement - it’s like a different language,” Druig looked down at her, running his thumb across her knuckles, “Sometimes people want to speak without having to say a word.”

Their eyes met once again and they both looked away quickly. Makkari could feel the blush start at the tips of her ears. Druig cleared his throat, “Although, if I really wanted to be an arse, I could give them sea holly.”

Makkari tilted her head and raised an eyebrow in question. 

“They’re a pretty color - this vibrant blue. But they smell like potent dog shit. I ‘spose it could help serve as a reminder for what they survived y’know.” 

Makkari cackled. 

And then Druig laughed. A full one this time that squinted his eyes and tipped his head upwards towards the rapidly darkening sky. And Makkari was reminded of just how rarely he laughed. But when he did - his face just relaxed and opened . Makkari watched the mirth play across his face in the blazing light of the setting sun. 

She wanted to make him laugh more often.

They continued to walk, their hands linked together as Makkari peppered Druig with increasingly ridiculous scenarios to arrange flowers for. 

Your least favorite cousin’s graduation?

“Carnations - they’re cheap but colorful, and geraniums for the ‘fuck you, you’re still an idiot factor.’”

It’s Valentine’s day but you’ve cheated on your partner with the delivery driver. 

“Splurge on the hydrangeas - they defy cliche and make it look like you care more than you actually do. And then spring crocuses for forgiveness.”

Your little sister’s favorite clown dies?

“Hyacinths - they’re common in funerals but still colorful, so they have more life to them than white lilies.” 

Your favorite comedian dies? 

“Jesus, you’re quite morbid, you know that?”

Yes - I suppose it comes with the territory for studying dead people’s items. 

The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence again as she watched the rush of the Thames and London nightlife emerging and stretching to life around them. The blanketing dusk made Makkari feel brave enough to ask her next question. 

What flowers would you arrange for a first date?

She feels Druig’s sharp inhale as he read her question. There was a pause before he spoke. “Usually I would recommend pink lilacs for affection, lilies for beauty, lavender for color and the smell. I would recommend taking your date to a real restaurant instead of a chippy-”

You can always save that for a second date.

The smirk on Druig’s face made Makkari’s stomach flutter with nerves. 

“That’s true,” his expression settled, “I’d recommend against bringing up your estranged mother - it makes for awkward conversation on a first date, fucks your chances for a second one.” 

Makkari frowned. She quickly pulled Druig to the side of the street, away from other pedestrians by the river. She studied his face under the flow of the streetlamp, at his laid-back facade, at the shame that he tried to hide in his eyes. 

No it doesn’t. If not the first date, then tell me on the second date. Or the third one. Or the fourth one. Or any one that you choose, she typed. Frustrated, she shoved her phone in her pocket. Druig, she signed his name with purpose. Tell me in whatever language you want. I want to know you, her pointer finger poked his chest as she signed wildy, I want to know everything. 

Druig stared at her hands for a moment, swallowing hard. He turned his head at the dark tumultuous tumble of the river for a moment. Makkari watched his face, shuttered, as he attempted to process her words. He turned back to her. 

“Sunflowers,” he finally said. 

What?

“If I could redo this date, I wouldn’t have given you the usual. I would’ve given you sunflowers. Beautiful. Bright. Warm,” Druig met her eye, stepping closer to her, “I would’ve given you sunflowers,” he repeated. 

*

Druig could feel the heat of her body, so close to his as he slowly lifted his hand to cup her cheek. 

You’re trembling, she signed, raising her eyes to meet his. 

He swallowed, “I’m nervous,” he kept his voice low. You make me nervous, he wanted to say.

But then her smile - the teasing one that made her tongue peer between her teeth - the one that made her so achingly adorable - appeared. And Druig knew he didn’t have to say another word. She already knew. 

He wasn’t going to fuck it up this time. No annoying students to interrupt this. “Can I kiss you?” He murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. His voice was low and hoarse.

Instead of answering, she gripped his shoulders, pushing herself onto her tip toes and pressing her lips against his. And it was everything. His mind seemed to short-circuit, but then he could taste her smile as her lips curved against his, and his nervous trembling morphed into a yawning desire that threatened to engulf him into its void. He was happy to let it. 

His hands, spurred on by a desire to touch her skin, cupped her head with his thumbs stroking the fragile curve of her jawline and the stubborn jut of her chin. 

She pulled away for a moment, quietly breathing with her eyes closed and a smile on her lips. One hand traveled to the back of her head to pull her into another kiss while the other trailed down her spine, reveling her shiver, until he reached her lower back and pulled her close, holding her against him. 

Her hands traveled to his hair as the kiss deepened, threading her fingers through his dark strands. He could feel her quiet sigh as her lips molded against his and he was overwhelmed by the taste of her. 

It was enough to shatter him and piece him back together all the same. 

“You go mate!” A raunchy whistle from an annoying, likely drunk passerby made Druig reluctantly part from Makkari after placing some final short, chaste kisses on her lips. He kept his hands on her face, gently stroking her cheek. 

“Anothing fucking interruption…it never ends for us” his chuckle cut any real anger from his words. He continued to stroke her face as Makkari’s face cracked into a grin as she giggled. 

She pulled away, grabbing her phone from her pocket, My apartment isn’t far from here. Do you want to come over? Sersi isn’t home. We don’t have to do anything. We could just…spend time together.

Druig lifted her hand, kissing her palm, “I’d go anywhere you’d ask, Makkari.”  

*

Makkari had been kissed before: a tentative press of lips from first dates, amorous kisses with too much tongue, and fleeting touches on cheeks. 

But this? This kiss. She wanted to sear this kiss in her memory; she wanted to send it off into the universe, allow it to exist in its own delicate bubble, so that in sixty, eighty, a hundred years, she could remember what it was like to be so at peace, she didn’t want to be anywhere else. She wanted to remember what it was like for something to feel so right. 

Because for the first time in a long time, Makkari wanted to slow down. And stop.  

Maybe it wasn’t the perfect romantic setting, not like in those ridiculous movies that Sersi always denied watching. But Makkari didn’t care. She didn’t care about the rush of the river next to her. She didn’t care about the countless dots of the city lights shone so brightly against the thick black of the night that Makkari could have mistaken them for stars. 

All she could feel was him…him…him.  

Makkari felt as if she could’ve lazily floated into the air as she tread through the streets of London, held down only by Druig’s arm around her shoulders holding her close. She could feel the frenzied energy of the streets as the mildly tipsy to the horrendously drunk spilled from the doors of the bars and nightclubs. 

But she didn’t particularly care about that either. 

Not when she was surrounded by Druig and his scent and the occasional press of his lips against her forehead.Not when she could feel her desire for him twitch underneath her skin. 

We’re almost there! She signed, as they waited at an intersection. She could feel Druig nod, pressing his lips against her hair. The excitement made her heart thrum. 

She was so focused on willing the light to turn that she had nearly missed the man charging at them. She caught sight of his figure out of the corner of her eye, and both her and Druig turned, confused. 

The man’s lips were moving too quickly and it was too dark for her to see what he was saying, but the sight of his phone camera held to her face made her stomach drop in dreaded suspicion. Fuck. This hadn’t happened in so long. 

He was advancing closer to them, the light from his phone camera making Makkari see stars. Quick as a flash, the warmth from Druig’s arm was gone. He was suddenly in front of her, shoving the man’s shoulder. She didn’t have to hear him to know the kind of language he was using that made the man’s eyes widen in surprise and slight fear.   

Her head spun as Makkari attempted to understand what was going on. She placed a hand on Druig’s arm, feeling the tense muscle that was rigid from stress. The man held out both his hands, appeasingly now. But as he stepped more into the gold glow of the streetlight, she could see bits and pieces of his sentences… wicked fall…could’ve gone to the Olympics…what a shame. 

Makkari could feel the nausea rise in her stomach as her hand fell from his arm uselessly to her side. She could feel her breaths quicken. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not with him. 

Druig turned his head to her with his brows furrowed and an expression of confusion and worry on his face. He opened his mouth to say something before his attention was stolen by the man again. 

And there it was. Her pain, immortalized on the man’s small phone screen. 

It was the photo that she had never wanted to see again. Her crumbled body on the floor of the track with her face twisted in agony. The shocked looks of the spectators in the background as her promise drained away.  

She could see Druig’s shoulders, still rigid, as he continued to interact with the man. But she couldn’t do this. She had to leave. She had to leave before she vomited up the contents of her and Druig’s date on the sidewalk. She had to leave before the memory of the shame and disappointment and pain threatened to bite and claw its way through the soft tissue of her insides. She had to leave before Druig turned back around and saw what an utter fucking failure she was. 

So she did the only thing that she knew how to do. The thing that she had failed at when it had mattered the most. 

She ran. 

iii. african violets

v. hyacinths

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A/N: When I was in London, I literally couldn't stop thinking about how much human waste was once in the Thames?? Honestly, I think that a sewer system and sanitation workers are the most important part of making a city habitable: 

Also, in case anyone was interested: Sunflower meanings include happiness, optimism, honesty, longevity, peace, admiration, and devotion, which is rather fitting for Makkari I think.

As always, please like and review!

Please DM/comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist for inconsistent flowers!

Links

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Taglist

@wooya1224

@wanda-my-beloved