the gardener - komahina

One

-Nagito's POV-

I first saw him when I was around the age of seven, standing on the balcony as he was chasing after his mother in the gardens, giggling as his she turned around and picked him up, presumably to tease him.

It was summer, so the sun shone without disturbance across the large span of lush grass. The boarders of said section of grass were flowers of different sizes and types, but each and every one was a vibrant red, and behind that were bushrow. At the time, as a naive seven year old, I had no idea that the colour represented the death of my parents. I only really started to grasp the concept later in childhood, but by then I didn't really mind their dissappearence. I hardly remembered them.

Looking into the garden was a slight struggle. With my height, my eyes barely peeked over the smooth stone mantle that lay across the support beams, so to improvise I would always sit, cross-legged, and look through the empty spaces.

And with this, I would continue to stare at the gardener's son.

It was about 3 months after I had noticed him when we finally had contact. I say that, but it was very limited.
The summer's warmth had began to cool in the transition from summer to autumn, and the gardener's son was finally starting to actually help around the garden. He mainly remained in the grass plain near my bedroom's balcony that I resided in, de-rooting dandelions. Occasionally he would spend days solely in the flower garden, which meant the only time I could really see him was through the shrubbery that separated the two picture-perfect sections.

On one of the lucky days, in which the gardener's son was yet again picking weeds, my gaze was kept on him and his work. He seemed to be struggling with a thistle. He brought his head up for a break, accidentally making eye contact with me. My straight face turned into a dopey smile as I waved towards the figure below me. He bashfully returned the gesture, a shy smile playing across his lips. His head jolted away as I assumed his mother called him to finish up and go home. The voices were muffled due to how high up I was.

He glanced back up at me, and bit his lip. I was unsure whether he knew I was the prince, since I was hardly known at sure a young age. Despite that, he bowed towards me and ran off in the direction of his mother's voice. My smile didn't leave my face for a while after that.

From that point on, for about a week, the two of us would give each-other a shy wave before he started weeding. Often times we would attempt to shout to each other, but it never really worked. In hindsight, I should've asked one of the maids for his name sooner, but my seven-year-old brain was pretty limited in it's ideas.

"Hey, Kirumi?" It had taken a lot of effort to get the guts to ask the head maid about the boy in the garden. I was afraid she wouldn't tell me, since I wasn't even allowed in that area if the garden until I was older.

"Yes, Master Komaeda?" Her stone-cold voice and expressionless face made me feel slightly sick with nerves: when I was younger, I always had a big issue talking to people I considered "authority", even though I probably could've fired her if I so desperately wanted to.

Taking in a breath, I composed myself, as I was told to do if I was ever talking to someone. "I- I was wondering if you knew who the gardener's son is." I watched as Kirumi pursued her lips slightly, furrowing her brows.

"You're curious on Mrs. Hinata's son?" My anxiety was slowly increasing, and I remember the ridiculous amount of trembling my hands were doing.

"Y- yes. I am, so if you would please tell me, that would be fantastic..?" I said, and at that time I was probably trying to convince myself that it would work, rather trying to convince the head maid to tell me.
To my relief, she only let out a small chuckle, signaling she wasn't angry or annoyed at me for asking.