CamiBanani

dimitri does not handle flowers. or perhaps it is more accurate to say that if he can so much as help it, he tries not to make a habit of handling anything fragile.

the same could be said about most, whether they be objects or people. but flowers specifically are high upon that list. they are notorious for their fragility. one wrong move could snap the thin stems keeping them upright, or tear the delicate petals from the receptacle. it means little in the grand scheme of things, that is true. it is a mere flower, another can and will be grow and cultivated. but dimitri does not want to be the one to destroy something so lively, so precious and beautiful.

but dimitri is like a rock against glass — bound for destruction. it has followed him since he was young and will continue to do so until he is laid to rest. this moment is hardly any different. one could blame the precarious nature of his crest. after all, it's provided him with strength nearly unparalleled by others. but a sword does not swing and pierce through by itself; an arrow does not fly and lodged itself into its target on its own. the responsibility is his and his alone.

perhaps it makes him a hypocrite, considering how tenderly dimitri cradles his feelings for you close to his heart. if it does, then he cares not. it was a daunting task to allow himself this kindness when he knows he is undeserving of it. there are many days he considers letting go of them, despite the gaping wound it would surely leave. you deserve better than him. someone who is not tormented by their past and held together by a thirst of revenge that can't come soon enough. dimitri's hands shake around these feelings, handling them like the precious treasure they are.

but make no mistake, dimitri is well aware that you are not fragile. you are one of the strongest people he knows and he loves that. he loves you. he would worship you if you permitted him! dimitri swore to him that no matter what happened, the bloodstained claws disguised as human hands would never tear into you. he would use them to protect and love you. still, dimitri knows he must be careful. with this cursed strength beneath the flesh of his palms, he fears that a single mistake will leave you—

dimitri grimaces. a petal falls and lands atop the toe of his boot. he will not think of that. not today. but it is so difficult. all of this self doubt came rushing forward and revealed itself at the first opportunity presented. now it refuses to leave him lone, clinging to him like rotten flesh to bone. that is to say, dimitri accidentally crushed one of the flowers within the bouquet and the guilt was all-consuming. and now he is plucking the tiny petals from the mutilated plant, one-by-one, as he mutters, "they love me. they love me not."

dimitri has not played this game in years — literally. the last time he had, it was before the tragedy. those were different times, when things were simpler and the truth was hidden behind a veil of childish innocence. when he and his childhood friends were still young. when loved ones and innocents still drew breath. glenn taught the four of them this game, as a matter of fact. dimitri cannot recall how it came up in the first place, something about the holiday itself, but it ended with him, felix, sylvain, and ingrid each with a flower in hand.

he and felix only went along with it because glenn introduced it. sylvain, to no one's surprise, already knew of this practice and teased them, insisting that this method was reliable. dimitri hadn't believed it. but a bright-eyed felix had taken him at his word and tore through what had to be several flowers. ingrid was a little more reluctant and instead counted the petals. dimitri has never since seen her flush as bright as she had when glenn casually mentioned not needing a flower to dictate his feelings.

dimitri is quick to dismiss those thoughts before they, too consume him more than they already have. he forces himself back into the present and it takes him but a moment to recall that he is stilling sitting upon the fountain's ledge at the heart of the marketplace. a comically large bouquet of flowers is cradled in his arm like a babe, its weightlessness surprisingly intimidating. spring snowflakes, if he recalled correctly. they are so small and droopy that dimitri was almost convinced they were sickly. the florist had to assure him that they were, in fact, healthy.

the prince had not bought this bouquet with the intention of doing this. it was meant to be a gift, after all. a gift for the most wonderful person dimitri has been graced with meeting. it feels more like an honor, a blessing he is undeserving of. but the longer dimitri sits for, the more restless and nervous he becomes. now dozens of tiny white petals line his feet and the stem lays limp and pathetic in his palm.

"they love me. they love me not. they love me. they love me not."

dimitri has been muttering those same words for what feels like hours now. his tongue grows tired and numb after repeating them like a mindless husk of what once was. but dimitri refuses to give up. if he has so much as a chance for his feelings to be reciprocated, then he wants to reach out and take it.

dimitri's hand stills around that last petal and watches as it slips between his fingers like a lost opportunity. he reaches for another flower from the bunch and—

"dima?"

dimitri nearly rips the whole stamen off of the flower. that lovely voice rings in his ears like church bells and if he was standing, he's sure he would have fallen to his knees. his head whips upwards and his eyes find the most ethereal shade of color he will ever see in his lifetime. dimitri's heart flutters with a sort of adoration he has little idea what to do with.

"ah, you're here!"

an odd mix of exhilaration and anxiety bundles together in his chest. dimitri eagerly rises to his feet and it's a miracle he doesn't trip over his feet like a fool. the heavy weight of his cloak is a welcome pressure upon his shoulders and it's the only thing keeping him even relatively composed. dimitri clears his throat and stands a little taller, a little straighter.

"i was beginning to think you declined my invitation," dimitri confesses in an attempt at casual conversation, but his worry is unfortunately palpable.

"i wouldn't miss this for the world," you say. "i'm sorry for running late."

dimitri does not hesitate to offer his assurances, almost jumping at the chance to do so. "no, please do not apologize. it's quite alright. to be honest, i just appreciate you meeting me here today."

dimitri spots the relief in your demeanor, in that lovely expression you give him. he can feel his heart soaring and lodging itself in his throat. he would be perfectly content letting it asphyxiate him if it meant you would keep your eyes on him for even a moment longer. he forgets all about the world around them and the other heroes that pass with their special someone in celebration for this day. frankly, the only one who has his attention is you. always you.

it's during his incessant fawning that dimitri's eyes follow yours to the ground when it lingers elsewhere. specifically, to where the petals are scattered and the spot on the fountain's ledge where bare stems lie next to where he had been sitting. vague amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes and the slight upturn of your lips, and it only becomes even more prominent when you look back up at him. embarrassment washes over dimitri like the waves lapping over one's bare feet at the beach.

the prince pointedly ignores the fiery warmth upon his cheeks. he shifts so his frame hides the unfortunate sight behind him and steps over the petals. he can't even feel them beneath his boot, but the knowledge that they're there is like his own personal torment. dimitri chuckles, an awkward attempt at moving past this.

"in any case, it's good to see you. i'm aware it has not been that long at all since we last saw each other, but...i truly did miss you."

he offers his hand, palm to the sky. your hands slides so smoothly against his glove, his fingers curl so perfectly around yours, and he swears that he can feel your skin through his glove. his hand is a little bigger than yours, and yet dimitri is so certain that they were made to fit so perfectly together. dimitri bows his head, lifts their hands, and brushes his lips against your knuckles. even when he stands upright once more, dimitri does not let go just yet. he will be a little selfish today, even on such a pure holiday as this.

"this is for you. i hope you will accept it."

dimitri extends the bouquet in his other hand, and—

it is a single spring snowflake. the last from the bouquet he had bought, to be specific. it's blanketed neatly in the wrapping and tied with a blue ribbon, but it's like a child wearing their parents' clothing. it stands out so comically in all the ways it's not supposed to be. something like horror and guilt smacks him across the face and dimitri swears his heart gives out in his chest.

he has no chance to amend this horrid, detestable mistake when his offering is taken from him in tender hands, cradled with a gentility only you possess. he dares say that your eyes are soft as you observe the gift, your fingers brushing against the tiny white petals. anxiety bubbles in dimitri's chest as he looks between you and the gift. he doesn't know how to rectify this without hurrying back to the florist and purchasing another bouquet.

"oh, it's beautiful," you marvel. to him, your voice is as soft as a tender caress. "i love it. thank you, dimitri."

dimitri swears he falls in love all over again in this moment. the way the bright sky gleams down on them highlighting them in a light that makes them appear almost ethereal. the soft look in their eyes that dimitri is the always sole recipient of. dimitri does not feel deserving of it, nor has he ever. he doesn't think he ever will. but he has it. he has someone who looks at him, sees him, and likes what they see. he has someone who sees him as he truly is, this dark and ugly and foul creature, and still wants to stand at his side.

"anything for you," dimitri says breathlessly. he offers his arm. "i would love to see the rest of the festival with you. what say you?"