Work Text:
Whenever Izumi visited Rohan, she couldn’t help but wonder who cared for his garden seeing as it was always so well-manicured. The grass was always cleanly green and well-mowed, the bushes always tame, and the flowers poised in a healthy prance toward the sun– not starvingly scrambling or desperately contorting for its nourishment, but rather comfortably– flowerbeddingly– welcoming its smooth bathing.
As she’d stroll the garden path toward the door she’d simper to herself, for a moment, indulging a rather absurd image. She pictured Rohan in the grass hands-deep in the flower bed, near-drowning in the muddy sag of old clothes, sweaty forehead shining in the sun– planting something, and she'd laugh, just slightly. Again, the question tugged at her– who cared for Rohan Kishibe’s garden? Because she knew damn well it was not Rohan Kishibe.
So, sat at the studio's tea table on a particularly sluggish March’s Monday, hands idle in her lap, Izumi raised the question.
"I hire a gardener," Rohan hummed, eyes remaining locked on the manuscript on his desk.
Izumi wasn't quite sure why the answer disappointed her so much. Nonetheless– with the day as slow as it'd been and the studio as pin-drop silent as it was– she persisted.
"Do I know them?"
With both of his shoulders, Rohan sighed, "How am I to know?" he huffed.
Izumi bit her tongue and, after some time, she tried again.
"Do you decide how your garden looks before the gardener does it or do they do it all themselves?"
Rohan groaned with a depth and vibrato that said he simply could not bear to reply– but much to Izumi's surprise– after a moment's murmur– he did.
"I select the flowers and their arrangements myself. I couldn't trust another with such a responsibility.”
Izumi hummed, resting her chin in her palm as if deep in thought, "So why did you pick them? I mean you have– daises, foxgloves—" as she listed, she counted her fingers, "—lillies, roses—"
Finally Rohan faced her, swinging his chair around and grimacing at her in a squinty sort of way.
"Could we discuss this when I'm not reviewing my manuscripts?" he shot.
"Oh…right."
Come the roll of afternoon– as they left the studio for what Izumi called 'springtime fresh air' and what Rohan stamped'thinking time'– their conversation, quite unexpectedly, continued.
Rohan cleared his throat, "I selected foxglove because the purples and blues very much compliment the whites of the daisies, lilies and roses. In tandem these colours compliment my home's rustic features."
Izumi's brows shot up, and she turned from the mountain's greenery to Rohan, "Sorry?"
Rohan sighed, shaking his head, crossing his arms.
Izumi blinked, "You were talking about the garden?"
"Yes, what else would I be talking about?"
"Oh!" She exclaimed. After pondering for a few steps– taking in the bits of Rohan's words she'd heard, she hummed,"That's a very 'you' reason to pick out flowers."
Rohan quirked a brow, "Huh?"
"I mean like– you're an artist and you're talking about all the colours complimenting each other– and all the 'emphasis.' It's like how you talk about Pink Dark Boy's volumisation covers."
For a stretch of path, Rohan was silent, giving nothing but a thoughtful 'hm', slipping his hands into his pockets.
"I suppose that's an apt comparison," he admitted after some time.
Izumi smiled, "I really like primroses, did you know? They mean innocence, youth and just freshness!"
"Yes, yes, I do know."
Between the top of August and the tail of September– when convention season's royalties had begun to slow, Izumi would sit at Rohan's veranda. She'd sigh, slipping between slumber and wakefulness, breaths coming as quietly rich as a garden flower's.
Rohan, quite honestly, found the way Izumi slept to be rather bizarre.
She never seemed to know when she'd been asleep. She'd just suddenly jolt– in a shake of the shoulders and a sharp nasally -inhale and let out a great yelp. Then, after a rub of her eyes she'd blearily ask, "Have I been asleep?"
On a better day, he'd reply, "Yes, you have," accompanied by a dry laugh. On a worse one, he'd toss her an exasperated, "How am I to know?" before quickly returning to his work.
On a Tuesday, Izumi, only half-awake sniffed– then sniffed again– then– airily breathed the words, "I'll be sad to see them go…" words as sleepy as a wisp in the wind. Nonetheless, Rohan perked up, hearing her as loudly and clearly as he'd ever heard her.
The words were cryptic— confusing, and just what he needed this afternoon.
Rohan smirked and immediately quit scribbling he'd been doing. He shut his sketchpad and slipped his pencil into his breast pocket.
His thoughts rolled through the thousands– no– millions of possible meanings. Perhaps Izumi had lost someone lately– or perhaps something. His curiosity welled up, balling it's fist in his stomach— tightening itself until he practically itched to know more.
He stood and began creeping toward Izumi, shoes barely a pad against the floorboards as he snuck.
With a thought, he summoned Heaven's door. He reached toward Izumi's face, concentrating the breadth of his curiosity– the parts of that almost made him shake– into his fingertips as he opened his palm. Just as her face began to peel, revealing a slither of white page beneath her jaw– her eyes flickered open.
She locked eyes with Rohan.
"Rohan?" she murmured, glancing left, then right, " What are you doing?"
Rohan swallowed thickly, hand returning to his side as quickly as a soldier's would.
"Is there something on my face?" Izumi hesitated, padding her cheeks gingerly.
Rohan cleared his throat, "It's gone now." he muttered, stepping back to his seat with an adolescent's awkwardness.
Izumi gave Rohan a strange look, something near confusion– perhaps bordering on a quiet annoyance, nonetheless she eventually laid back, sighing peacefully.
Rohan watched her— studied her— as her breaths began to draw deep and blinks grew half-lidded and sluggish. He wondered if he could figure out what she'd been referring to without the use of Heaven's door. An afternoon as stagnant as this one needed a good scheme– a challenge– an investigation. The thought alone was enough to make him smirk so widely, and so self-satisfiedly that his cheeks began to ache.
Unfortunately for Rohan's investigative fantasies, it was at that moment that Izumi chose to tell all.
"The flowers are so pretty…" she sighed "I'm going to be so sad to see them go…next month they're going to start dying…"
Rohan grimaced, watching the fall of his afternoon's plan through his mind's eye.
"That is how flowers tend to work, Izumi," he frowned.
Izumi went on.
"It's just that they're so pretty–! Hey Rohan, are you gonna plant any autumn flowers— ones that'll survive the cold? That'd be wonderful."
"I haven't thought about it…" Rohan muttered.
"You should! Your garden will look pretty all year around!" At once, Izumi appeared possessed by some new energy, palms wide, arms gesturing wildly as she pointed here– and there– and oh! over there! "You should do primroses! Do you like primroses? They're really my favorite flower!"
Rohan rested his chin in his palm.
It was no secret that Izumi's 'rantings' could be rather grating to Rohan– perhaps due to some cosmic clash of energies. However, whenever she 'waxed' like this— spoke in healthy, passionate, soul-deep bursts he simply couldn't bring himself to feign as severe of an annoyance as he usually would.
"Why are they your favorite?"
Izumi beamed, "I just love the way their vibrance– they always look so lively. In high-school I did calligraphy for a while, and I remember one day we did our favorite flowers and I picked primroses and I think I still have my paper for that at my parent's house. I think some bright ones would really work for your garden– and the timing is perfect because you're supposed to plant them just before autumn, and autumn is soon, isn't it?"
Rohan hummed, shading a small– lightly-valued primrose sketch at his page's corner.
"Maybe."
Come March, the primrose path sprung in a great watery lunge from beneath the frost toward the new season's sun. All sorts were in season. From the grass, tulips reached hopefully. From above, wisteria wept, slouching into a teary lament of winter's season's end. On the other hand, the cherry blossom had a decidedly more positive outlook, from atop all, it proudly swung its flowers like celebratory confetti.
Outside of her favorite Morioh florist, Izumi watchd. She stood, feet together, arms crossed–watching the pink flurry fall like last season's snowflakes.
"Kyoka!" the florist squealed when Izumi finally entered. He was a beardy sort of man with a toothy grin, "I've got something very special for you!"
The shop was like a mother’s hug- stuffy, perhaps a bit too warm, a little too tight- but nonetheless as familiar as her knowing perfume. Flowers of all sorts– standing ones and hanging ones, spilled and leapt from their pots and shelves with a child-like enthusiasm. An arrangement so wild it had an irresistible appeal to human eyes, a buried yearn for greenery and earth’s scent, suffocated by a city-scape’s industry-grade clutch.
"Eh?" Izumi shut the door behind her, brushing the entry bell with a small 'ring', "What is it?"
The florist reached beneath his desk and in a scoop, revealed a crinkling brown-paper wrapped bouquet, utterly stuffed with a world's worth of primroses. It was organised– quite neatly– between oranges and reds, shocked by a pop of blue near the arrangement's center. Izumi squeaked, "Oh my gosh!" she took them into her arms. "They're beautiful!"
The florist rubbed his hands together, smile somehow widening, "Aren't they?! They were ordered yesterday."
Izumi took a deep breath of them, letting them tickle her nostrils till she sniffed, "Who ordered them?"
"Not a clue— I got the order over the phone you see, and from someone with a really strange voice, almost like they'd just woken up. They paid digitally too so…" he shrugged, "Yeah, not a clue."
"Strange voice…" Izumi wondered, "Like a gravelly one you mean?"
The florist nodded.
"Doesn't seem familiar," Izumi hummed.
"Maybe it's a secret admirer. It's just been Valentine's day hasn't it?"
Izumi giggled, cheeks growing warm, "Valentine's day was more than a month ago!"
"Hey– you never know!"
Izumi pulled the bouquet to her chest, taking it into a hug. The primroses tickled her chin.
"Since the rose died—"
Rohan crossed his arms, "—you mean, 'was dying.'"
"Yes yes, since it 'was dying' I decided to replace it for you."
Rohan glanced at the vase, and the five primroses– two red, two blue, and lonely yellow– then at Izumi, "With primroses?"
She nodded, smirking, "you won't believe me but this morning I got a bouquet from an anonymous person— the florist thinks it's a secret admirer and I kinda think so too—and now I have a lot of primroses, so I thought I'd give you a few!"
Rohan shook his head, clicking his tongue, "No no, it was a gift to you– take them back."
"Hey!" Izumi crossed her arms, "It's my gift and I'm giving it to you so accept it!"
Rohan sighed.
“Just…ask next time you replace things.”
He'd send her another bouquet next month–and make sure she kept it.
Behind his grimace, he wonders if she'll like sunflowers this time.