Cringe--is--dead - }!{

𝖀𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖞𝖆 𝕳𝖆𝖏𝖎𝖒𝖊 𝖝 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗; 𝕬𝖗𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖉 𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖌𝖊; 𝕻𝖙. 2

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 1

Word Count: 2,643

Your husband-to-be had a level of energy and happiness you found foreign.

He was bright, and his smile seemed to never fade. You found yourself nervous in his presence, and yet, it never seemed to stem from him. You felt comfortable being near him, despite having just met him that day.

“I hope the voyage was a calm one.”

You were seated at a table across from him, drinking a warm tea— something you never had at home, it was rather delicious.

You looked up from your cup, “It was.”

Despite your two word response, he beamed in response, “That’s good! Sometimes we get bad storms at our port so I was worried, but I’m grateful that the weather seemed to agree with your arrival.”

You two were sat in a room that seemed to have entirely open walls, letting you see outside, nature just a few inches from you.

There was a garden, lush and beautiful, trees reaching high and flowers in full bloom. You had a garden at your home, tended to and cared for. But it paled in comparison to this one.

Looking at it made you feel warm— the buzz of the insects, the singing of the birds. It felt warm, it radiated… love. It was well kept, cared for deeply.

“Do you enjoy gardening?”

You turned, embarrassed at having been caught staring outside so absentmindedly.

“Oh,” Your gaze lowered back to your cup, “I’m not much of a gardener, no. My mother used to take me for walks in our garden when I was younger. I just…”

You looked back outside, the swaying of the branches almost hypnotizing, “This garden’s just… so beautiful.”

He chuckled, and you found that the sound was as warm as his smile, loud and room-filling, but rich, “Well thank you. I spend most of my free time tending to it, I’m planning on adding a vegetable section next season.”

You turned, almost shocked at the revelation that he was the one tending to the plants. He kneeled down in the dirt, standing in the hot sun for hours on end— he had no gardener?

“You… tend to the garden yourself?”

He nodded, a soft smile forming on his face, “I have a bit of help from one of my friends, you’ll meet him soon, he’s quiet, but he’s a good man. I’ve found peace in gardening, taking care of things and helping sustain life that isn’t just my own.”

The way he spoke of it; so simple but he made it sound beautiful and rewarding. Your father once yelled at one of the gardeners for coming inside with dirt on his clothes, threatening to fire him should he ever let that happen again.

And yet Umemiya, the lord of this estate; regularly went out with no regard for cleanliness or what-not. He was a strange man indeed.

“You’re free to wander in the garden whenever you may want,” He continued, taking a small sip of his tea, “And if you have a favorite flower, or vegetable you wish for me to grow, let me know and I’ll till an area just for those.”

“Oh,” The startled noise left you before you could stop it, and your cheeks warmed at the look on his face, morphing from a simple happiness to something more soft, something deeper.

“I,” Did you have a favorite flower? You had never been given flowers to know if one smelled nicer than another, never studied them enough to know symbolism in the petals.

You didn’t need to say that, the look on your face must have said enough, and he nodded, more to himself than you.

“If you think of any, please let me know.”

“I will,” You murmured, voice soft as you, for the first time since arriving, smiled genuinely at him.

For a moment he felt mildly stunned, the looks on your face thus far had been apprehensive at best, and neutral at worst. Your smile, however small it may be, was breathtaking.

“Oh!” You jumped, slightly startled at the exclamation, both your attention turning to the newcomer who was staring in.

She was young, brown hair tied neatly back, wearing a kimono that bore the same colors as Umemiya’s, but was more toned down. Umemiya lit up at the sight of her, and you briefly worried you’d have to deal with concubines or courtesans. Your sister had gotten lucky to have women with respect for her, and grew meaningful relationships with them, but you had heard horror stories from the workers back home.

“Kotoha!” He stood up, moving towards you, offering his hands to help you up.

His hands were warm, his palms were… soft. Your father had always had a rough grip, tight and demanding. It felt natural, almost, as he held your hands, helping you stand.

Umemiya introduced you to her, “She just arrived earlier!”

The woman, Kotoha, smiled at you, and you were once again struck by how kind everyone you had met here was.

“This is Kotoha,” Umemiya continued, “My little sister.”

He sounded rather proud as he introduced her, and you noticed her roll her eyes, though her fond expression didn’t fade.

“I’m glad to finally meet you,” She looked you over briefly, “Ume, have you not let her go to her room to rest?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard, and he paused, before his eyes widened as if he just realized since you had gotten off your boat, you had spent your time with him.

“Oh my,” He turned to you, “You must be exhausted, I’m so sorry! Kotoha will show you to your room, feel free to freshen up and rest.”

The smile on his face seemed never ending, as bashful as he was seeming now, and he moved to clean up the cups of tea. You stood there, brain catching up slowly as Kotoha moved, ready to show you to your room.

“Are we—”

Your voice felt loud in the room, and both turned to look at you. You cleared your throat, feeling the warmth in your cheeks grow.

“I mean… our marriage. Are we not officiating it tonight?”

They both paused in their movements, looks fading into a mixture of shock and confusion.

Umemiya spoke slowly, “You just docked from a long voyage, to an entirely different country. I imagine you need time to rest and recuperate, I hadn’t planned our ceremony for another week.”

You were the one who appeared shocked now, hands ringing in front of you, “What— why would—”

Kotoha moved, hands gently laid on your bicep, smiling comfortingly at you, “I’ll walk you to your room, we can talk on the way.”

She turned her attention to her brother, “Mizuki and Momose wanted to talk to you, I imagine they’re still talking with Hiragi.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but thought better of it, nodding in agreement. He bid you a goodnight, and soon it was just you and Kotoha.

She nudged you forward, “That cat I saw in your room, I assume they’re yours?”

You swallowed, allowing her to slowly steer you down the hallway, “Yes. Her name’s Cherry.”

“She’s cute,” She hummed, “Her coat reminds me of Sakura, have you met him yet?”

You racked your brain for a moment, “Oh yes, he was one of the three who escorted me here.”

She laughed quietly, but didn’t move to explain what about that was funny to her, “I imagine you have a few questions?”

“Why… does your brother want to wait?”

She hummed, “Well, like he said, you just arrived to a new place, you don’t know anyone here, we all imagine you’d be rather tired. He doesn’t want to force anymore stress onto you.”

All of your siblings had been married within hours of meeting their betrothed, the weddings had been large and loud. Even as young as you were when your oldest brother got married, you remember how tired and just… sad his wife had looked.

As if sensing your thoughts, Kotoha sighed, pausing her steps, and you followed suit, turning to look at her.

“Umemiya and I aren’t blood related,” Your eyebrows shot up at the reveal, “My parents died when I was very young, and his died when he was a bit older; mindless violence that wormed its way into our city. We were taken in by the same couple, they were kind, took in a lot of orphaned kids. He went through a lot of… dark thoughts growing up, but ultimately, he had a goal. Protect the town he loved, and protect the family he had grown to cherish. He dubbed me his little sister, and he thinks of almost everyone you’ll meet as his family.”

The story laid before you began painting your husband to be in a bright light. He’d been kind thus far, talkative and energetic, but so different than the men you had met in your household growing up.

“The point is; Ume is genuinely a nice guy. He’s giving you time to adjust, because he knows ultimately this isn’t something you had picked for yourself. He wants you to be comfortable, he wants you to grow to be happy here,” She smiled, and though they weren’t blood related, you saw the resemblance in their smiles.

Bright and welcoming, kind and gentle.

Warm.

You nodded, hesitantly, but far more comfortable now than you had felt earlier. She took that, though, and continued to lead you to your room.

“I know this is all scary,” She stopped, moving to open a door where you saw many of your stuff dropped off, Cherry meowing once she saw you, rolling over on the bed, a futon, you believed.

“But please know that everyone here will be nothing but kind and welcoming to you. No one here has a cruel bone in their body, Umemiya the least.” She smiled, “If you have any questions or need anything, you can ask anyone you run into, they’ll help you.”

She bid you a goodnight, leaving you alone in your new room. You knelt down, petting Cherry’s fur, her purrs comforting you as your mind whirled and ran.

You moved in a sort of haze, brushing your hair, changing into the sleep clothes you had brought, before snuffing out the candles in your room, burrowing into your futon, Cherry snuggling into you.

You slept for what felt like days, and yet when you opened your eyes you still felt rather groggy. The sun was rather high in the sky, indicating it was no longer morning. Cherry was seated by the window, watching the birds and butterflies float about, tail flicking.

You sat up, feeling an odd mixture of well rested and exhausted.

Your mother had warned you that the times were different and it would take a toll on you, but feeling it was different than hearing about it.

Allowing yourself more time to sit there, you worked your way through the previous events. Once you felt ready to move, you were up, haphazardly making your bed, changing into a thinner dress; the weather here was rather warm.

The hallway was empty, the floorboards beneath your feet cool. You allowed yourself time to explore, taking in the art that decorated the walls, the floral arrangements around the corners. It was so familiar but so different than what you were used to.

You found yourself back in the room from yesterday, staring out into the garden. It was just as beautiful as it was yesterday, but now, alone, you were able to study the little details more. There were nests in some of the trees, those pink flowers you had seen near the docks decorating the branches. There were sections, you realized; flowers, vegetables, what looked to be herbs. It was precariously laid out, and it took you a moment to realize there was someone in the garden. He appeared to be digging up the weeds.

His hair was rather long, down and almost messy. Even from where he was crouched over you could tell he was tall, maybe even taller than Umemiya.

He had mentioned yesterday that he had a friend who often helped with the garden, and you wondered if that was him. Part of you thought you should introduce yourself to him, he was friends with your husband-to-be, but the louder part of you told you to lay low.

Kotoha said everyone here was welcoming, and that may be true, but you were still an outsider. Perhaps their definition of welcoming would differ for you.

“Oh— good afternoon!” You turned, Umemiya strolling in, wearing a more casual outfit than he was yesterday.

He smiled, charming and light, and you found yourself feeling a bit more comfortable, smiling back at him.

“Afternoon?”

He nodded, “I wanted to let you sleep in, I figured a trip like that would have been rather exhausting.”

You hummed, not agreeing but not quite disagreeing. He continued, unfazed.

“I have a bit of free time until later this evening, would you like a tour of the grounds? I have plenty of people to introduce you to, but we can start small.”

“Oh,” You swallowed, hands suddenly sweaty.

“You can refuse if you’d rather rest still, if you’d like to bathe, Kotoha can take you to the onsen, I imagine it’s different than what you’re used to.”

Washing up did sound nice, but you also knew regardless of how much you pushed it off, you’d have to meet everyone sooner than later.

“I… later tonight. Maybe,” You hated how timid you sounded, but Umemiya was asking you questions and giving you options, giving you choices.

Those were simple things you had never been offered back home, especially by the head of your household; your father.

“I’d like to see the grounds.”

He nodded, offering you his arm.

He was patient, hesitation clearly palpable, but you took his arm. The smile you were rewarded with made your knees feel weak, a strange feeling, one not brought on by fear.

He led you into the garden, the grass still cool with dew, and the stone path warmed by the sun.

The man in the garden stood once he noticed Umemiya approaching.

“This is Sugishita, he helps me with the garden when I’m not able to get to it, so you may see him quite a bit.”

As if just noticing you, Sugishita started, before collecting himself, bowing towards you, but not saying anything. Umemiya laughed, as if it was a normal thing to witness.

“If you have any requests for the garden and I’m not around you can come to Sugishita,” The man in question nodded aggressively, before pausing.

He seemed to be having some type of internal struggle, and his cheeks turned a light shade of pink, before he turned quickly, fiddling with one of the bushes near him.

Before you could send a questioning glance towards Umemiya, Sugishita turned back around, gingerly holding his hand out towards you.

In his hand he was clutching a purple flower, one you didn’t recognize, so you assumed it wasn’t native to your home. You reached out, tentatively taking it from him. Before you could thank him, or subtly question the action, he bowed once more, before scurrying further into the garden, cheeks now red.

You looked down at the flower, the petals were thin and dainty, and it smelled rather sweet. You looked up, not surprised at the smile still adorning his face, but slightly so at the soft look.

“I see our azalea’s are growing nice and strong,” He reached out, gently taking the flower from your hand, before moving, placing it behind your ear.

He kept his movements soft and slow, as non-aggressive as he could show, before he pulled his arm back, happy with his work.

“Now, let’s continue.”

A/N: this will definitely be more than two chapters, considering you guys haven’t even gotten married yet! I have minor ideas, so it may end up being 3 or 4 parts! stay tuned! 💕

also! be so prepared for so much flower symbolism, I love flower meanings!

ρα૨ƭ σɳε

ρα૨ƭ ƭɦ૨εε

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again?

Umemiya Hajime x Reader

You often heard the saying ‘time flies’ as a child, and you rarely found yourself believing it. Adulthood and the freedom you sought appeared so far away, and now, you realized how true that statement was.

It felt as if once you grew old enough to learn to balance freedom with responsibility, your aging never stopped. One moment you were a child, listening to fairy tales from your mother, and the next you were betrothed.

Your husband was a sweet man, he was kind and he made you happy. He was strong and fierce, and you, along with your country, saw and knew this. You had met at a party, hosted by some nobleman your family knew. There had been nothing romantic about it, the stories you fell asleep to spoke nothing of a man falling out of a tree mere inches in front of you.

You hadn’t even been able to feel anything other than panic— but luckily the worst he had was a sore back, and a bruised ego. Once your adrenaline had died down, the first thing you noticed was how blue his eyes were. The next was that his hair, as tangled with leaves as it was, was as white as the sugar cubes your older brother snuck for you.

That night of conversation led to more, and it felt like one day you woke up as the wife of Umemiya Hajime, the crowned ruler of Furin. Your meeting may not have been magical, but your wedding night had put stories to shame.

“Your Highness?”

You hummed, not tearing your eyes from where you were watching your daughter run around the garden, chasing a butterfly as the creature fluttered from flower to flower.

“Some of the suitors are requesting an audience with you, madame.”

Hajime had built this garden for you, every fruit grown was one of your favorites, every flower he had planted had meaning. Baby’s breath, red camellias, pink carnations, chamomile, white clovers, forget-me-nots. You had refused to ever plant anything else, the garden remained unchanged for years.

“Shall I turn them away?”

How you wished to say yes, to demand her to tell them to just leave. To take their sorry-hides and leave your kingdom, your land, your country, to never return. How you wished even more to tell them to gouge out their leering eyes, throw themselves into the sea they claimed took your husband.

Instead you stood, brushing your dress to lay flat, turning to your hear lady-in-waiting, sending her a small smile. “No, I shall see them.”

“Are you certain?”

For years men had come to your kingdom, your home, to request your hand. They acted as if the empty space in your bed was an opportunity for them, that the ring you still held onto was merely decorative. For years you turned them down, for years you held onto hope that your husband would return to you.

But men grew impatient, and your people became weary. You had to begin to entertain them, all the while your heart screamed for your husband, begged you to give him more time to return to you.

Your daughter, seeing you stand, left her butterfly hunt to rush over to you, the smile that matched her father’s painting her face. “We’re going inside now?”

You brushed her hair out of her face, the wavy curls that reminded you so much of Hajime, but the color that matched yours. Her smile was contagious, and you sent her one back, “Yes my dear. I believe you need a bath.”

At this, she made a face, cheeks puffed in an exaggerated pout. She hated bath time, she hated all the pampering she faced during and after. She was a free spirit, opting to play in the gardens. Hajime had left for war while you were pregnant, and the pair had never been able to meet, but every night since she was born you told her stories of her father. Of the man he was, the man he is.

You often woke in tears, dreams of your husband and daughter laughing in the gardens ringing in your ears. You only hoped one day they may come true.

“Now,” You turned back to your lady, “Have them gather in the foyer, refuse them any wine or ale they ask of, however. I don’t wish for any of them to be drunk when hearing what I have to offer.”

“Of course, my lady,” She bowed, heading inside, the worry in her eyes apparent.

Your daughter tugged your hand, “When can I have wine and ale?”

At this, you laughed, reaching to bring her to your chest, “Not for a long time my dear, I highly doubt you would enjoy them.”

She grumbled as the pair of your made your way inside, unknowing of the pair of eyes that tracked the two of you moving.

You had a small group of women working for you that you trusted with your life, of women you knew were faithful to you, and you alone. Years ago that number had been larger. You handed your daughter off to them, cited to have her bathed and ready for her afternoon nap, as unhappy as she was about this plan.

You took a moment for yourself, steeling the courage you needed. You held power, you could command armies worth of men should you need it, but you so often felt afraid without the comfort of your husband with you. But you refused to show this to these men. Once your main lady returned to you, you made your way where the entourage was awaiting you.

The doors opened, and whatever conversations that had been had paused. All eyes were on you, and you felt your skin crawl at the disgusting thoughts you could feel pouring towards you. But you kept your head high as you walked, making your way to the front.

You said nothing as you took your seat, refusing to stand when speaking to anyone. They didn’t deserve that, half of them hadn’t even waited for you to give birth to your daughter before showing up, seeking your hand, claiming your husband had no doubt perished at war.

“I suppose you all have waited long enough,” Was how you began speaking, pausing to allow the sneers and jeers to echo the room.

“I propose a challenge for all those still wishing for the throne, all those aiming for my hand.” Your left hand brushed your hair from your face, aiming to show how you still adorned your wedding ring, a challenge in itself.

“My husband had made many allies for us, and these allies are tough, formidable men. I have reached out to many, and have since then received my answers.” With a nod of yours, the side doors were opened, and more men filled in. For them, you stood, walking towards your husbands allies— his friends— to greet them.

“Shishitorin has been Furin’s closest allies for years, and have been a reason we have been able to hold our own against opponents who came to steal power. The only man who has ever held his own against their own leader, was my husband. No man had ever come close.”

It was a rare sight to see Togame serious, but it was even more rare to see Choji without his smile. Their letters in response had read serious, and you knew they wished to do what they could to ensure these suitors were unable to get their hands on you— or the throne.

They looked ready to kill, as did the rest of their men that arrived with them. They would play nice, as Choji stated in a letter, for you and your daughter.

“If any man can defeat their five strongest fighters, including Sir Togame and Sir Tomiyama, then they have proven themselves worthy for the throne, for the crown, and my hand.”

It appeared simple in writing, but you had been there when Furin and Shishitorin had begun their companionship. You had witnessed the blood shed, the tears, and the pain that came, and had been privileged to witness the relationship that came after. Had it not been for their strength for you to fall back on, you worry grief would have had you years ago.

“May the most worthy man win,” You nodded at the group of men, turning to nod at the guests, before taking your leave.

Murmurs broke out behind you, and for once, you heard the worry in the voices of the suitors. It filled you with a level of vindication you hadn’t known one could feel.

You knew there were very few men able to win five consecutive fights against Shishitorin’s strongest fighters, even if there was nothing on the line. But now your friends were armed with the determination to ensure your husbands place remained untouched, you felt strongly that no one would even come close to winning.

Despite the confidence you had in your friends, your heart still hammered, and you couldn’t fight the tears that filled your eyes. Silently sobbing was something you had long since mastered, you refused to appear weak in front of the men who had taken residence in your home, show fear to your daughter who looked up to you so.

You took a moment to collect yourself, eyes screwed tight as you willed the inevitable headache to leave you be. Knowing it was unavoidable, you continued down the hall, making your way to your daughter’s room. To no surprise, she wasn’t asleep.

“My dear,” You sighed dramatically, making your way to her bed, “I told you a growing girl needs ample rest.”

“I’m not tired!” The same old song and dance, truly.

“No? You woke so early this morning,” An exaggerated yawn left your mouth, “Even I find myself in need of an afternoon nap today.”

She narrowed her eyes at you, “You can nap with me, then. I guess that’s fine.”

“How gracious of you, my little princess,” You shifted to lay beside her, allowing her to move to lay so her head was on your chest, ear against your heart.

It was quiet for a bit, your fingers carding through her hair. At one point, you had thought she’d fallen asleep.

“Mama?”

You hummed, “Yes, my dear?”

“Am I ever going to meet daddy?”

It may have been less painful had she plunged a dagger into your chest, but you schooled that pain, your hand continued to brush through her hair, “You will, little princess, one day.”

“But when?”

“I don’t know,” Admitting that felt the same as admitting defeat, but you couldn’t lie to her.

She was quiet for another moment, “Do you think he’ll like me?”

That was enough to give you pause, and you moved her to look at you, noting the tears in her eyes.

“He loved you the moment I told him I was pregnant with you,” You brushed the first tear that fell away, “He often spoke to you in my belly when you moved around in the morning, he sang you lullabies every night, even before your ears had begun to form.”

You tickled the tips of her ears, her little giggles easing the ache in your chest, “He cried more than I did when he had to leave before you were born. He promised you, the day he left, he was fighting for me, and for you. He promised nothing would stop him from returning to us, that he’d destroy anything nature sent his way— every storm, every whirlpool. He’d even fight the gods should he have had to.”

“Is that where he is? Fighting gods?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps he’s commanding the storms to bring him home to us, and clouds aren’t the greatest with directions.”

She smiled, but it dimmed after a second, chewing her lip before speaking, her voice quiet, “Some of the men here said he was dead… said you were in- in denying that he was dead. They said I need a dad, that you need a King.”

The hatred you had in your heart originally swelled, and you felt anger eat at your heart, and she continued, “But I knew they were liars! I have a dad, and when he’s back they’ll have to leave!”

“That’s right,” You smiled at her, a forced feeling, “Now, my dear, a nap will do us both well.”

She laid down, her eyes fluttering shut soon after. You felt yourself drift off with her, the feeling of anger still fresh in your chest. You hadn’t realized how tired you were, until you were woken hours later. The sun had begun setting, the sky a bleeding red. Your heart was hammering, and you were holding your daughter close to your chest. Blinking blearily, you stared at the bedroom door. Why had you woken so afraid?

A muffled scream echoed throughout the building, and that gave you enough answer. Your daughter was half-awake, and you held her tight to your chest. The door was flung open, and your ladies rushed in, panicked looks on their faces.

“What is—”

“One of the men has gone mad,” One of them whispered to you, tone frantic, “The others were conspiring, ma’am, they were— they planned to—” Her eyes flickered to your daughter, but her message to you was clear as day.

The man had grown tired of waiting it seemed, perhaps some had gone to fight and lost, and they decided to act on their own accord.

“Shishitorin—”

“They took up arms against many of the suitors, but we came to find you, you two must hide,” Her eyes were frantic as she tugged at the two of you.

Your heart was hammering, your palms sweaty as you held your daughter to your chest. She had no idea what was happening, but her grip on your dress was tight.

You left your daughter’s room, taking up in a small room, one you recalled your husband saying was to only be used when necessary. Unfortunately, that necessary was here. You were all huddled close, your daughter, naturally, the most protected. You’d kill any man who entered that room before they touched her, and you would ensure if you died trying you wouldn’t be the only one.

Your dedication ladies were around you, ready to sacrifice themselves for you. But you prayed to whoever may be listening that shouldn’t happen. Hours crept by, slow as the sap that dripped in the garden during the springtime. There were screams and yells, the sound of gurgling and people choking on, what you assumed, was their own blood.

The silence that followed it all was deafening. None of you moved, no one shifted. You heard it then, a muffled call of your name. You felt the women around you tense, but you sat straight, “That’s Choji.”

Still weary, you ensured your daughter was safe in their arms before you stepped outside, clutching tight to a dagger you had grabbed on your way out the door.

“Choji?”

The shorter man looked frenzy, hair disheveled, blood on his clothes. But he was smiling— his eyes looked watery.

“Choji— are you—”

“He’s back,” He rushed to you, hands gripping your forearms, “Umemiya’s back.”

It was a blur, really, after Choji uttered those words. The night had shifted, darkness surrounding the walls of your home. Your daughter was whisked away, exhausted but placated by whatever you had said to her in a daze. You found yourself alone in your bedroom, as you had found yourself so many times before. It felt different now, and your wrapped your arms around you, an attempt of soothing yourself.

The door opened, and you couldn’t stop the wild beating of your heart. You turned only partly, looking at the man who entered. He wore your husband’s face, at least what you had assumed your husband would look like after eight years. This time of seasons, it was almost nine years.

He was taller than you recall, or perhaps it was how he held himself. His hair was longer, the ends curling almost identically to your daughter’s. His eyes, the same shade of blue as the ocean, were far sadder than you could ever remember.

“Is it really you?” Your voice was a whisper, but it echoed loud in your chambers, “I’ve often dreamt of you coming home to us, and I must admit each waking moment is more painful than the last.”

He stepped forward, and you couldn’t stop the step back, mirroring his closeness. The pain in his eyes intensified, and your resolve cracked some.

“Every time you reach to touch me I wake up, if this is another dream I’d wish to stay in it as long as I’m able.” He nodded slowly at your explanation, eyes staring at you, as if he was as afraid to look away as you were, “You look far different than you have when you’ve visited me in my dreams. You’d always great me with a smile.” Your voice cracked as you spoke.

He looked pained at this, and his shoulders tensed, looking as if he were hunching in on himself, “I’m not the same man I was when I left you.” His voice was quiet, deeper, but the same voice you wished to hear for years.

“I’m… different now, I’m afraid. War was not kind, and the journey home, my journey to you was unforgiving.” He swallowed hard, eyes pleading as he looked at you, “I’m not the man you took as your husband, and I’m afraid you won’t be able to love me as you did before.”

“Your journey took six years longer than you promised,” You all but whispered towards him, hands trembling as you fidgeted with your ring, “There was talk that you had died.”

He shook his head, “I had to come back to you, to— to our child. Nothing would have stopped me, not even death herself. She tried though,” His voice was thick, “I watched many men die, I took… so many lives. Their blood stains my hands, no matter how much I bathe.”

He looked at his palms, as if searching for the stainage.

“When I returned there were so many men here. They spoke vilely of you,” The words left his lips like poison being spat, “They spoke of your body as if it were a prize they sought after, one they would’ve taken if it were not given. Their fight with Shishitorin was a genius move on your end, my love.”

He smiled at you at that, and the tears that had been building spilled over. That smile had haunted your dreams and nightmares alike for years. And now it was here, mere feet in front of you.

“But they grew angrier. I wished to plot my arrival to be less dramatic, but the threats they spoke of. I’m only a man,” He closed his eyes, holding his breath for a moment before looking back at you, “They cannot, and will not, ever harm you. Look at you. Or speak of you again. Years ago, the blood staining our home would have had me feeling guilty, but now I see it as a means to an end. I fear my hearts turned cold, it’s closed in my time away. I fear your husband doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Doesn’t exist?” He nodded at your whispered question, a shameful look on his face.

You turned away from him, the tears still steadily falling down your cheeks. The garden, your garden, stood as pristine as it had earlier, the cherry blossom tree standing in the middle, her branches swaying peacefully in the night wind.

“If you wish to prove you’re still my husband, or worthy of being so,” Your voice was thick as you spoke, your nose stuffed, head throbbing, “Then I shall give you a task as I have the others.”

“Anything for you.” The sincerity in his voice was borderline painful.

“I wish for you to uproot the garden outside,” You didn’t turn as you spoke, “My husband planted all types of flowers years ago, said there was meaning behind them. I have never met another man who understands the language flowers hide as he, and I have done my own research.”

Truth of the matter was you had found the notes your husband scribbled years ago, lists of flowers and their meanings, which ones he felt for you and which one he swore he’d never even look at.

“Indifference. Refusal. Disappointment. Resignation. Stupidity.” You forced a mirthful chuckle, “All things I fear my husband felt for me. Towards me.”

There was silence, not even the sound of breath other than yours. For a moment, you were terrified he had left the room, and you turned.

He was crying, silent tears falling down his face as he stared at you. Anger was written in his eyes, but he didn’t move, wasn’t even looking at you anymore. His gaze had matched yours, looking at to the garden and all her loving plants.

“For you to even suggest that—” He took a breath, his cheeks red.

“Everlasting love, the flame of my heart, an oath to never forget you, promised twice, patience, a wish for you to think of me, and only of me.” His voice grew louder as he spoke, “I had wished to plant hibiscus bushes under our window, but the scent made you sick while you were pregnant, and you told me on our wedding night that roses were too simple to express our relationship.”

He turned to you, the bright fury behind his eyes unleashing a storm of emotion. “I’d have burnt any flower, any tree, any bush that even suggested I thought such awful things about you.”

You stepped towards him, your chest bubbling with anger, with sorrow, love, pain— everything you had kept in for eight years.

“And the only man who knew all this was the man I married,” You were in front of him now, his faces inches from yours, “So I suppose that means you’re still him.”

The anger wavered for a moment, before you watched his face crumble. The silent tears turned into ragged breaths, and you stood tall, the pain in your chest aching to join him.

“I fell in love with you, and I have never stopped loving you. Time, distance— nothing will ever stop those feelings. Do not come into our bedroom and state I won’t love you as much as I did all those years ago, as much as I do now.”

“I have waited eight long years, alone and worried, but as in love with you as I was when we were first married. I was waiting for my husband, for you,” You poked at his chest, the first contact you had with him for eight years, “You absolute idiot.”

You weren’t sure who broke first, but the sobs causing your breath to hiccup broke free. His arms were around you, and you were weeping into his shoulder, as he was in yours. He was as warm as you recalled all those years ago, as solid as ever. He held you, as if he was terrified you’d move too far from his reach if he gave you the space to do so. You held him back equally as tight, if not more.

“My dear, how I have missed you.” He whispered against your hair, and the warmth of his lips against your forehead brought forth a fresh wave of tears.

“I knew you’d return,” You pulled back, cupping his cheeks, staring at the man you had loved for nearly a decade and a half.

He pulled you forward, crushing you into a kiss. His lips were rough, you could almost feel every crack in his skin against your own. But you melted into his embrace like it was your first kiss all over again. It was messy, both your cheeks still wet from your tears. You held each other, lips molded into one until you both had to pull back to breath, panting in each others space.

“We have a daughter?”

You laughed, broken and whole all at once, “Yes. She acts so much like you, I nearly named her Hajimia.”

He made a face, “Please tell me she isn’t named that.”

You shook your head, “No, Fumiko.”

Hajime echoed your laughter, just as wet and unbridled as yours, “Hibiscus.”

“I told her stories of you every night,” You traced a scar on his forehead, cutting straight through his eyebrow, “She already adores you so much.”

He grabbed your hand in his, the palms rougher and more calloused, but as warm and protecting as ever. He brought your knuckles to his lips, a kiss pressed against them, “And I already adore her, I did the moment she was conceived.”

“You fought nature and men’s deadliest armies to return to her, to me,” You pressed forward, your face in his chest, the sound of his heartbeat was music to your ears, “I love you. I never stopped.”

He took a shuddering breath, “I love you.”

a/n: so I whipped this out in one sitting, sat here and wrote for like 2 hours straight. if you can’t tell I’m a little Epic obsessed. I don’t even know if this is good or not!