#asksky

[zelda-the-sacred-realm]

Sky, can we go on a date?

[askylark]

for your prompt request! how about mcmercy? some prompts: eye contact, green thumb, or poetry. Hope you get through your writer's block <3

(thank you you’re so nice I’m gonna rly try i’m sorry if this is rly bad)

Something Blue 

Angela has always wanted a garden. Her heels click quietly against the well worn floorboards, the scent of wet earth and roses thick and potent. Perhaps with the time off she has she can lose herself in soil and clay pots, in seeds and pitchers of water so that she would be distracted from–

She bats the thought away with a wave of her hand, her thin fingertips skimming over damp lilies. 

“These will do.” She plucked the bouquet of snow white lilies, oblivious to the water she sloshed over her boots and trench coat. She kept walking through the small flower shop, blue eyes critical of every arrangement. “No.” She sighed. “Why are they so difficult to find?” Or perhaps I just can’t find them. 

She looked over at where the cash register was but saw no one still, the shop oddly empty for such a lush selection. It was a new shop however, so that could explain the sparseness of customers. Perhaps the lack of apparent employees could also justify the disinterest. She was sure she could walk out with her arms and pockets full of flowers with no one being none the wiser. 

“Can I help you?”

The smooth voice startled her, her fingers crumpling the plastic around the stems. She opened her mouth to speak but lost her voice at the sight of the man, his deep dark eyes catching hers intently. He was tall and broad shouldered, shaggy brown hair sticking down and up in odd places. His clothing was streaked with soil and sweat and wrinkled quite hopelessly and she couldn’t help but think of the old western movies her mother used to watch when she was a child. 

I’m being silly. 

She cleared her throat. “I’m looking for blue flowers. Not violet or purple or fake blue roses. Blue. Like the ocean or the sky–” 

He grinned. “I know what blue looks like.” He pushed his hair back with a filthy hand. “Follow me.” 

She followed him as he headed towards the very back of the cottage-like shop, trying to peek over his shoulder as he pushed open two large glass doors into–what she presumed was–the backyard. 

“I keep the special ones back here.” He admitted, a hint of pride in his voice as he stepped aside to let her see. 

“Oh.” Angela faltered mid-step, her eyes sweeping over the impossible richness of colors. “This is…beautiful.” It was not a large piece of land but every inch was covered in thick heaps of flowers, oranges and pinks and violets with shapes she did not know flowers came in. 

“It’s not quite done yet.” He shrugged. “Still a few types I’m working on. Others I haven’t had luck growing in this cold clammy weather or with the limited space.” He walked towards a small porch as he spoke, bending down with a pair of rusty clippers in his large knuckled hand. “Even so I think I’ve got what you’re looking for.” 

She was fiddling with the closed bud of a sunflower when he was suddenly quite near, the scent of sweat and wet dirt enveloping her. She tipped her chin up–and found his eyes on her mouth, her lips parting like an invitation. 

She shut her eyes and stepped back, clearing her head. How long had it been since she’d been so close to anyone? 

“The same color of your eyes.” His smile was charmingly crooked.”Here you go sweetheart.” He lifted the bouquet between them and the shock of blue made her give a small gasp.  

“Oh. Oh. They’re blue!” She took them eagerly. “Something blue.” Her smile echoed his. “Jack didn’t have anything blue for his wedding.” She murmured, more to herself than anyone. She glanced up at him again–he had to be almost six feet–and let her smile nearly crack her face. “Thank you so much. Here.” She stuffed several bills into his rough palm, trying to ignore the chills that broke across skin at the contact. “You’re a lifesaver, ah…?”

“Jesse.” He filled in. 

She nodded. “Thank you, Jesse.” She stepped away. “I’m running a bit late.” She admitted reluctantly, bundling the flowers into the crook of her arm. She turned towards the doors, every step she took stilted and difficult. 

“Don’t you want to know the name?”

She paused at his question, her look one of confusion. 

“Of the flowers.” He nodded his head towards them. 

“Yes, of course.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Who knew when she’d need blue flowers again?

His slow spreading grin made her insides do flips as he moved closer to her, his hand lifting to the side of her cheek. “Forget me nots.” He murmured. He lifted his large hand higher and she felt something wet and thin slip behind her ear–the stem of a flower–and his hand was gone as quick as it had touched her. “To help you remember me.”    

[askylark]

‘your apartment is next to / above mine and i can hear you and your partner dancing, singing / the bed moving / you two laughing and talking and i can’t sleep so i bitch about it to you 24/7 and one day it stops and one day turns to months and i haven’t seen you smile in forever please let me in, i’ve been knocking for ten minutes’ au mercy/genji

(ty so much I didn’t think I was gonna get anything lol) 

Genji prepares the tea methodically, steam curling about his furrowed brow. 

“Miss Ziegler.” The words fell awkward on his tongue, and he blushed despite the lack of any presence within his apartment. “I was wondering–” He shook his head. “If you would be so included–” He frowned, putting the ladle down absentmindedly as he muttered to himself. “That is not the right word…” He pulled the small Japanese/English dictionary from the pocket of his stained apron, the pages curled from ever restless fingers. “If you would be so inclined to join me for a cup of hot tea?” His voice cracked at the last word and he sighed, pressing the frayed book cover to his forehead.  

There had been a time when speaking to the woman that lived in the apartment next to him hadn’t been such a trial–but all of that had changed two weeks ago. She was the type of woman that fed stray cats and always had candy for children–and her warmth had radiated with a grace he’d only ever seen his grandmother possess. She’s like a fairy, he recalled telling his brother over the phone once. She just needs a pair of wings. It’s ridiculous.  

Yes, perhaps he did not have to deal with hearing her peals of laughter at 3am or the moans and bed creaks of Angela and her handsome fiance’s lovemaking as he tried to sleep–but the awful silence and muffled crying was gut wrenching. 

She no longer smiled and waved at everyone as she skipped up the stairs. Instead she held her lab coat closed shut much too tightly, feet lifting up over every chipped step with much too much effort. There is no sound of music in the mornings or even the ridiculous sound of the cartoons she religiously watched. 

With each passing day his suspicions of a broken engagement solidified. She only went to work then shut herself in her apartment and he knew that it was not healthy. For the sake of every time she had smiled at him, helped him find the right word in English or given him directions in this bustling city–for his own peace of mind–he had to try and speak to her. 

He had to know if she was really okay and if he should be concerned if darker thoughts had her in their grip. 

He left the stove at a simmer as he left his apartment, determination and nervousness warring within him. He pushed out a breath as he faced her door, skin pressed white as he balled his fist. He rapped on her door twice and wiped his hands on his apron–why did he still have it on?–and held his breath while he waited. 

The door opened and he was greeted with dull blue eyes, the creak of the door much too loud. She looked much more worse up close. She’d lost weight, cheeks a bit too hollow, her collarbones much too pronounced. The inside of her apartment–once fresh and bright and tidy–was dark and messy, shelves bereft of photos, dishes and trinkets scattered across the ground. He blinked rapidly, realizing he was gawking.  

“Hello.” Genji bowed deeply–his head almost awkwardly hitting her chest. “I was okay.” He shook his head and inwardly cursed himself. “I mean to say you are okay.” He fumbled frantically. “I am worried!” He finally managed, his brain snapping onto the right track. “I came to ask if you were okay, Angela.” His swallow hurt. “I know it is none of my concern and that you have most likely been through a breakup before but I…” 

 He searched her lovely blue eyes for a sign of welcome, of relief, or discomfort. 

She looked up at him hollowly, something like pity in the shake of her head. 

“Breakup?” She smiled and the gesture was anything but bright. “He’s dead, Genji. He died in front of me and I could do nothing to save him. I have no one to blame but myself and–” She had her lab coat in her fist and she shook it with a self loathing he knew all too well. “This. This degree and how much I’ve learned and–I tried so hard but–I couldn’t.” 

She threw the lab coat onto the floorboards and Genji could not take his eyes from her. 

“Angela.” His voice came out too softly and he hated that it made her eyes fill with tears. She hunched in on herself–and suddenly she was in his arms, her body breaking with every rough sob. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, his hand threading through her hair. “I’m sorry.”