no, you couldn't buy yourself flowers...
because nanami kento did that for you.
meeting nanami was a blessing, the biggest one in your life. stoic, blunt, direct, and a man of his heart.
every month since your relationship began, he never failed to bring you flowers. they were reminiscent of those he gave you the first time he politely asked you out on a date, one month before it became official. since then, nanami kento made sure your flower vase was never empty.
he was confident you would care for them like your own child, ensuring each petal lived as long as possible. and how couldn't you? you were certain each bouquet was hand-picked by your lover, never seeing the same arrangement for sale in stores. it was only right to keep them alive for as long as possible.
but flowers are only living things, after all.
so when the last flower wilts, the room feels colder, the space around you vast and unwelcoming. you trace your fingers along the vase's edge, feeling the cool glass against your skin, wishing desperately for the flowers to show again. but they don't. they never will. not anymore.
you can't help but wonder if you had taken care of your flower well enough.
but you know that isn't what he would say; it's never your fault that your flower withered away.
and it isn't your fault that nanami kento could no longer stay.
so you speak to the flowers that no longer exist, whispering secrets and confessions to the ghosts of petals long gone. you apologize to them, to him, for not being enough to keep the garden of your shared life flourishing. the silence in response is deafening, a reminder that the only answer lies within the echoes of your memories.
yet as the tears stream down your face, you find a small comfort in the knowledge that, somewhere, nanami kento is watching over you, his love as enduring and unyielding as the roots of the flowers he once so lovingly chose for you.