♡ when hanagaki takemichi unveils his newfound ability, he decides on avoiding one more death. all without knowing the consequences that come from it, or if he's able to handle them.
you, on the other hand, insert yourself into a narrative that slo...
i did it i rlly pulled it off. i'd kiss myself if i could.
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"My dad's a jewelry maker."
Sakura petals dance in the blue sky, a smell so delicate it's floral and fresh. Reminding of green apples, although one flies off, entering the opened window of the auditorium.
Silent despite it being full. Outside, the trees applaud in their own way thanks to the youthful winds. Someone coughs, then sneezes and sniffles.
"He designs and makes them, the ones you all see on the pretty shops."
You read with a wavering voice, your Valentine's Day project chosen by your teacher for the celebration. In your hands, the papers shake, letters swaying and doubling from it.
Squinting, you don't want to look up to the never ending rows full of elders and students. Your legs tremble, eyes rapidly pacing through the messy handwriting.
"But his favorite peac—" You cut yourself off abruptly, suffocating under a quietude you don't confront. Arm moving up, it scratches the back of your head. "Sorry, I dunno what it says here."
Adding a short and suppressed laugh, everyone retorts with echoing cackles and brief chuckles. Dying out, the room leaves you standing in solitude once again.
You want to be on your parents' arms, dreaming of the possibilities of the impossible with Nanako or bothering her dad to the point he lets you sit next to him.
Gulping, you take one long breath. As the air leaves you, joining the draughts entering without knocking, you skim through the rest of the text and calm your raging heartbeat.
"But his favorite piece is the one he didn't make, the least expensive one."
Looking up at the brimming auditorium, you can't hide the doubt dotting your determined presentation. Gaze fluttering over faceless people and nameless kids, it stops at your light in darkness.
Sitting by the central aisle, your dad's legs are crossed and his arm behind your mother's seat. She smiles, lips talking without parting, conveying the solace she knows you're seeking.
Glinting, you are drawn to the simple bracelet on your dad's wrist, so elegant on him. Downturned eyes, heavy and soulless, mix in with the lifeline of the golden thread.
He nods; it's all you need from them.
"Hello, all of you already know my name." A hint of a childish grin twitches, evoking snorts out of the younger ones and tittering from parents. "I'll tell all of you what love means to me."
With newfound confidence, you avert a stare of concentration and ditch it for a steadfast watch. The lone petal has landed on the side of your head, decorating your look in soft pink.
Birds chirp, whistling a tune that plays in the background of your speech. Imagining you're in your living room, coloring a book of flowers and animals while the mellow hum of your dad's piano guides your hand.
