𝙄𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘼𝘿 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙀𝙈 | k. muzan

PRUNUS MUME: 01

"The plum blossoms are quite beautiful, aren't they?"

Your voice startles the elegantly dressed man standing beneath the plum tree. He turns to look at you, hand still cupped around a flowering branch. Even in the dim light of the moon that does the tree no justice, the flowers' charm is stunningly clear. The sublime beauty of the man standing beneath them is extraordinarily apparent, too.

"...Yes, they are," he agrees. You lean against the door to your shop. You were watering your flowers before you noticed the person outside admiring the blooms and decided to say hello.

"Are you the owner of this shop?" he asks, releasing the branch he had been holding.

"Yeah," you answer. "If you want to buy any flowers, you'll have to come back tomorrow. We're closed." Although it wouldn't be much trouble for you to let him in, you feel particularly tired today, more so than usual. No matter how much you would welcome the extra money, the thing you needed most at the moment was rest. The quiet, sleepy ambience of the street does little to help your exhaustion.

"It's fine," he says dismissively. A small, amiable smile rests on his features. "I was just stopping by. I'll be leaving now." His voice is smooth and quiet, nearly lost in the warm breeze that combs by.

"That's okay! If you're ever in need of flowers, my shop is open from seven to six," you say brightly, mustering a tired smile. "Have a good night!"

The man gives you a silent, polite nod. He then steps forward to leave, shoes unnaturally silent against the ground. As he passes you, you manage to make eye contact with him.

His eyes, you notice, were the exact same shade of red as the plum blossoms he had just been admiring.

It's alluring in an odd way, one that manages to wash all your fatigue away.

You clear your throat awkwardly. Suddenly, you aren't so against the idea of reopening your shop for him.

"On second thought, would you like some tea?" you offer.

~

Wan candlelight shines over your simple wooden table, the surface of which is slowly becoming more damaged over the years. The man, whose name is Muzan, sits quietly as you pour him a cup of fresh tea. He and his sophisticated manners look out of place in your humble living quarters, tucked away at the back of your shop. Seeing him in better lighting, he's even more ethereal than before.

"Thank you," he says, taking a careful sip. You set the pot down with a smile.

"So, Muzan," you start. "What are you doing in such a poor town? You look rather well-off, judging from your clothing and the way you talk. Doesn't the upper-class tend to avoid places like this as if they were the plague?" Amusement laces your voice. You meant no harm by asking the question, you were merely curious.

He shrugs. "Is that so?" he asks. "I was just taking a walk. I suppose I strayed a little far."

You hum in response, deciding to pour a cup of tea for yourself.

"Is it surprising, seeing the state of affairs here?" you inquire. "Most rich people that pass by seem rather surprised by the disparity of wealth."

"Not very," Muzan answers. He takes another sip of the tea, seeming not to mind the way it must scald his tongue. Is your tea really that good, you wonder? "I've seen no small amount of things throughout my lifetime. Poor people and places are just one of the many," he continues.

You aren't surprised that he's traveled a lot. He certainly looks like he has the money to, and by the way his eyes eagerly devour everything around him, you assume that he also appreciates seeing new things.

"I've always wanted to travel," you admit, swallowing a bit of the hot beverage before you with much more care than Muzan. When you set the cup down, you begin absentmindedly rubbing a dent in the table. "Y'know, to see all the scenic vistas and exotic plants. But, I can't afford to leave my shop unattended."

"Ah," he says quietly. "That's a shame." His eyes are downcast, as if he's mourning the plight of a stranger he met barely half an hour ago.

"Don't feel bad. I'm happy with what I have," you assure, tone softening. Your eyes flick up to his. "This is just how life is. You gain some, you lose some."

"I suppose," he murmurs. His dark eyebrows press down as a strange, indecipherable emotion swirls in his eyes. You swear his eyes are the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

There's no other shade of red quite like it- other than, perhaps, the plum blossoms outside.

"Your vocabulary seems quite advanced," Muzan states, changing the topic. He sets his teacup down with a gentle clink. "I wasn't aware that there was a school nearby."

...

He's quite perceptive.

You chuckle softly. "There's never been a school in these parts," you say. "I taught myself how to read and write using a few books my parents left behind."

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. "You taught yourself?"

"Mhm," you nod. "It took a while, but I improved eventually."

"How impressive," he muses. "You seem quite intelligent." You giggle at the praise.

"I'm only smart enough to get by," you respond modestly. "I'm sure I can't measure up to someone like you."

"You're very humble," he remarks as he shakes his head, his lips curved in a smile. "I'm sure you're much more knowledgeable than you think."

You can't stop a grin from blooming across your face after hearing that. It's been so long since you'd had a friendly conversation with another that you've forgotten just how nice it was to be complimented.

"Actually," Muzan starts after a short pause. "I came here intending to ask you a question, since I've heard you're quite an expert when it comes to plants. Seeing as it is rather late, I see it fit to ask it sooner rather than later."

Something about his tone is off, but you shrug it off.

"Oh?" you say, taking another sip of tea. "Ask away."

He leans towards you, his entire aura changing. It rapidly intensifies into something much sharper and much more dangerous, sending a slight chill down your spine.

Suddenly, his eyes seem darker than before, barely glinting under the light in which they'd previously shone. The whole room seems to dim as he looms over you. You flinch a little, taken aback.

His voice is low and serious when he speaks, with no trace of the lighthearted friendliness that had graced it just moments ago.

"Do you know of the blue spider lily?" he questions.