this is one of the strangest, and oddest encounters he’s had in… probably ever. they’ve known each other for the majority of their lives and lived under the same roof for a decade; they shared a bathrooms and beds and hallways and living areas and, once upon a time, their hearts.
he looks at her and he feels both young and old at the same time.
she’s brilliant, a beacon —- and he’s fractured and rusting. he feels it as he turns with a shallow nod to the counter and places her order, the oxidized shell of his old skin, his old self, fraying away. it’s a process. sometimes he can shake it off; he can pace forward into the new daylight with a fresh heart and new mind, the past held in his fist and not at his throat, burning bright as the sun as the hero the world deserves. but other times he feels the regrowth sneaking back in, a black-tar anger pulling at his mouth and his eyes and his nostrils and blinding him from the path he seeks to follow.
he dunks his head in the water and dissolves it all away, those days.
once the tea is served to him, enji begins the process of fixing the cup, stepping aside to the smaller counter with the milk and the sugar and the cream and the honey. he reaches for one, but then stops himself. he can’t… remember how she likes it. it’s a thought that he wouldn’t have even blinked an eye at a time ago, but now, a heavy disappointment sits in his gut as he stares at the packs of sugar.
he turns and looks back at her for help, the cup held in one hand as the other silently hovers over the choices, not wanting to pick the wrong one and soil the whole thing.
❝ ah, rei, how do you—-… ❞ he trails off before his brow furrows, watching the way the sun hits the white sweep of her hair. it reminds him of a time in the winter when the rays bounced off the window just right, and illuminated her in a silver glow. there was a cup of tea on the dresser. the room smelled sweet— golden. ❝ i… it’s honey, isn’t it? ❞
ONCE UPON A TIME, you were fresh snow, and he was the shining sun. You twinkled beneath his light, your beauty brought to a glittering reality in your moments with him. You remember how warm his hands were when they curled around yours -- But winter couldn’t last forever, despite your delusions that things would never change. Soon the sun was blistering, the heat was unbearable. He scorched your snow to melting, and you spent your days wondering if he even realised you had withered.
A part of you unravels in your mind when you see him, a ghost over your shoulder, wondering why watercolor purples on the canvas of your skin and the silent plea of tears weren’t enough for him. . . When you reach for that image in your mind of unflinching posture, of scorching sun rays and the flicker of flame, you can map out every line on the scowl pinned to his features. It is enough to make fragile hands curl on your lap, the deafening blue of eyes so far from your reach.
You remember when they were robins egg, soft and yearning, the sky as morning washed over the land, the gaze of someone with big dreams. You remember when they turned overwhelming, the first grip too tight, the ignition of flames too hot to imagine, the gilded cage that surrounded you. The saturation was so frightening. . .
SEARCHING, you find them again, and for a moment you expect to see the same eyes that haunt the shell of your bones, but instead you find. . . navy. Like the sky darkens through the day you do not not recognise dusk in the tired look, the floundering of a man sinking, the isolating feeling watching a storm consume the coast. He is not a stranger, but the fear that once harrowed your guts into grime and knots instead feels. . . sad.
He looks sad too. And as a war wages behind your chest, squeezing your heart to bursting, you almost miss the question that follows, as a misery of memory wallows in his gaze.
It is a pain you didn’t expect to feel, the settle as you come to terms with the fact that he COULDN’T EVEN REMEMBER HOW YOU LIKE YOUR TEA --- You had spent almost every morning at the same table, the same cloudy white cups, the same tea. You’ve lost your skill in hiding your hurt as the years passed and you learned how to process the grieving of your own body and mind, how to replant the garden in your palms, how to feel in a healthy way. You know in that moment that the words sting your eyes and it passed through your face like a wake on the ocean. Maybe the flower was a mistake, a one off memory with no real intention, maybe your hopes were as naive as you had thought --
Or maybe. . . you were right the first time. Relief mingles with the storm in your heart. HE REMEMBERED. Even if it took him a second, he searched, the effort in his attempt calming a worry that gnawed through your throat --- Despite the warnings from your children, the gentle advisory of your doctor, you saw what he was trying to convey in the familiar petals of a flower you once loved. And you saw it again here. Just as you were trying to better yourself, so was he.
The soft upturn of your lips follows the gentle breath between closed teeth, reaching steady hand to tuck loose strands of white behind your ear --
“ Yes, I always liked the flavor of honey more. And a little cream. Though, the cream is new preference.
I’m. . . glad. That you remembered. ”
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