midnightdiddle

For

luv_wiz. Never again will I write Okane ga Nai. Or at least, not for a very long time. It's so...odd.

Ayase stared at the flowers in front of him, fingers stretched out so they barely touched the silky petals. He'd been in the kitchen, getting a drink of water, when he'd caught the scent of the bouquet, and, like a man possessed, he'd followed it, until he reached the entrance. He dragged a fingernail along the underside of one of the petals, watching as a dark line of broken veins sprouted up where he touched the flower. He loved and hated flowers, just like he loved and hated the sickly sweet smell that'd dragged him from the kitchen to the hall.

The scent of flowers always reminded him of funerals, of standing to the side, dressed in a black suit too big for him, of faces too pale and hands too cold and a scent of death and flowers too strong. He'd been young when his parents died, young enough that the scent of so many flowers, mingling and climbing over each other as the smell climbed into his nose, became ingrained with dead people and dead homes and dead lives.

He tugged at the mutilated petal, pulling it off the blossom, and pulled it up to his mouth. When he rubbed his fingers together, just so, the smell became stronger, and he felt as though he was choking.

"Do you like flowers?" The voice was deep and gruff, coming from behind him, and Ayase clenched the petal, startled.

"Ah...Kanou-san?" he stammered, tongue thick and heavy, and Kanou stepped forward, looming over him.

"Do you like flowers, Ayase?"

Ayase shrank back, then looked back at the bouquet, placed so innocently in a delicate blue vase. "Ah, yes." He watched Kanou touch the flowers with his big hand, fingers bruising the petals slightly, and when Kanou then reached to touch him, pressing his hand against Ayase's cheek, Ayase could smell the bruised petals on the older man's fingers.

"Why?" Kanou asked, and he looked almost curious.

"Because they remind me of my family."

!-!-!

Kanou watched Ayase bring the petal back up to his mouth and nose, tip of the silky, torn petal touching his upperlip. More htan anything, he wanted to kiss Ayase, cover Ayase's face with his big hands, pull the delicate body hard against his, and bite it, mark it, make it his. Kanou had never cared for anyone before in his life, not his parents, his brother, or those very few people he could ever call friends. People had never been important, but now, with Ayase looking down at the flowers, he wanted to care.

He could distantly remember his mother setting flowers about their home when he was young, the way she would arrange them carefully, as though all the problems in the world would be corrected if only the flowers looked perfect, and somehow, they always did. Lilies, irises, and other blossoms he couldn't even begin to remember, were always everywhere, on tables, in niches, surrounding the family shrine.

"Did you ever eat flower petals?" he asked, fisting his hand in Ayase's hair. Ayase looked almost sickened at that, dropping the flower petal through slack fingers, and Kanou pulled the younger man closer to him.

"No," Ayase whispered, but if it was a negation to the thought of him eating flower petals or to the way Kanou was sliding his hands down Ayase's body, Kanou didn't know, and didn't care.

He wanted to say something, needed to say something, but there was nothing to say, when Ayase was looking at him with a sick look upon his face. He gripped Ayase's waist tighter, fingers sinking into the skin, and was angry, irritated, though he couldn't understand why.

"Damnit, Ayase," he whispered, or screamed, or only thought. He was confused and disoriented, and he could smell flowers, just like the ones his mother would set about, and he could feel Ayase, nearly shaking beneath his fingertips. "Damnit," he groaned, or howled, and whimpered, and he leaned down to kiss him.

Hmm... Well, why did I write this? Other than it was a promised cookie? Well, I was wandering through WalMart, looking at their plants, to see if they had any bonsai trees (I can't find any, anywhere. *weep*), and I could smell the flowers, and the only thing I could think of was my cousin's funeral.

My cousin, Tiffany, was hit by a train when she was only eighteen, and I was eight. It wasn't the first funeral I'd been to, but it's the first time I can remember everything, from the time we found out, to the way her mother tried to be so strong, to the way her little sister just cried and cried and cried, to the way the flowers were surrounding her.

Whenever I smell flowers, or a lot of flowers, a bouquet, I can see her, dead and pale and almost blue, and the way they'd dressed her in a white dress, and her hair was arranged just so, and her hands were clasped around her grandmother's (who was still alive) handkerchief and a necklace, like that. Maybe that's gruesome, that I can see it all so perfectly? But yes, that's what I always see when I smell flowers. Her closed eyes and pale lips, and the way she didn't look real. And the smell of death and the scent of flowers are so intertwined in my head. One always makes me think of the other. And black roses. She had black roses in her coffin, which was white. Everything was so perfect, just the way she wanted it. And heavens, it was a train.

I'm not the first person to lose someone, of course, but I was eight. I have friends who have never even been to a funeral, and I've been to so many... But Tiffany's was the hardest, I think. We were having a family reunion on my mother's side, Tiffany's side, and she was at work. She was a janitor at her old high school, and during her break (this was during the summer), she decided to walk down the train tracks. She was listening to music, a walkman, with headphones on, and she never heard the train. There was a pond at the cabin we were staying at, and it was raining, the drops hitting the surface, when one of my aunts came up to the cabin. She'd just found out, and came to tell Tiffany's parents and sisters, and the rest of us. And Tiffany's boyfriend...

But I think I'll stop now. I'm kinda sad, and I keep replaying it over and over in my head.

Must go clean my Isis's kitty litter.

Ah, a question for people! I know that I used this in a story, or I think I did. If you can tell me what story, I'll write you a drabble, or something. Any fandom you want, too. The sentence:

"(something here, I'm not quite sure what)," he said, as though it was an excuse, and maybe it was.

Do you know what it was in? Because I looked through my journal for the past while, but I couldn't find it, and it's bugging me so bad. So yes, if you want a drabble/one-shot/cookie of your choice, just tell me what story? Please? Thanks.

Ah, and a download link for Okane Ga Nai, again. This is the manga that the little cookie is based on. Not Worksafe. http://s28.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=0KRF6FPWA53E939UMZFMKT6YTV