"i want to breathe with you always, don't you know what i feel?" - going crazy ; treasure.
treasure imagines for our lovely treasure! (requests closed)
— plot. to confess or to not? a question y/n thought about while sitting on the railing of an abandoned building. but when a boy walked in in the middle of her deliberation, she decided to think about the question another day.
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flower petals fall down gracefully, slowly down from above, maybe from heaven. the sight was rather wholesome from the perspective of the passers-by, halting their steps before raising their curious hands up to the air and catching the pretty petals with their palms.
"to confess.." another flower petal.
a child tugged her mother's wrist, pleased by a light blush pink colored petal falling in front of her.
"or to not." a petal was sent away.
unbeknownst to the child nor the other people, the person responsible for the petal throwing was sitting on the very top floor of the ruined, one of the tallest buildings, asking a question to herself.
her legs swung casually— left and right, left and right— as if they weren't half-dangling from the silver metallic railing bars of the building, possibly one slip from death.
but she wasn't stupid, obviously. she knew she could meet a fatal death if she shifts or moves in the wrong direction on the thick railings that were enough for her to sit on, yet thin enough to slip out from.
she knew that. that's why she was here, plucking the petals from a flower while mumbling coherent words that echoed on the open, unpainted, graffiti covered concrete walls of the floor.
"to confess.."
one lonely petal remained.
"or to not?"
until there was none.
the girl hummed, staring at the petalless flowers, little to no emotions in her eyes. "oh," she let out quietly. too loud to be a whisper, yet too audible to be a mumble.
she discarded the remains of the flower. she threw it off the building. this time nobody held their hands with glittering eyes. her eyes watched the remains plop to the ground without being caught. after a second, it got stepped on. and again. and again.
"i wanna confess though," the girl sighs, the sight of the flower disappearing.
he was as pretty as a flower. an uncrushed one, not the one the girl let go of to be stepped on— she'd never let go of him, a blossomed flower like him.
the flower's name was kanemoto yoshinori, yoshi as he liked to be called. even the thought of his name tugged a few strings on her poor heart. what else could her heart leap to when she stood face to face across from him?
heart attacks must've been common for her age too.
regardless, she'll gather all her courage and tell him she likes him. because she really did. but, maybe not today. probably not tomorrow either.
