#gardenverse

Jamil – Flower-eater

His symbiotic relationship with Kalim started early (around the time they were both kids) and he considers taking care of his flowers more a duty than a leisure time. This has slightly changed after his Overblot, but he still hasn't realized his feelings or anything. Simply put, he thinks everything going on between them is normal and in the realm of usual boutonnière relationships.

[Mob POV]

“Viper, stay still… Here, it was stuck on your uniform.”

   He handed a pink flower petal to his classmate, Jamil Viper. It probably landed on him during the short distance from the alchemy classroom to the history one. Still, it felt a bit unusual for someone as strict as Viper not to notice something like that – especially when the color stood out so much against the black of the NRC uniform.

“Ah, thanks.”

   Viper took a look at the petal before sighing silently. As the professor hadn't entered the classroom yet, he could get away with getting up and throwing it in the trashcan… But instead, Viper brought it to his mouth and ate it, his expression not betraying any thoughts. Then he wiped his mouth, ignoring his frozen classmate sitting next to him.

   Eh? Was Viper a Flower-eater? Since when? Sure, if he thought about it, he fit the criteria of being talented and pretty smart, but in two years of being in the same class, he had never seen any sign of Viper eating flowers… And wait, if that petal was edible, did that mean he had time to fool around with a Florist in the hallways-

“You,” Trein's voice called out and the student perked up, ashamed, “Class is in session.”

   Maybe that wasn't the time to think about his classmate's private life.

*

[Jamil POV]

   Contrary to popular belief (or at least what some rumors around the school say), Jamil doesn't have a hidden camera in Kalim's room. He doesn't know what his master is up to once the door is closed. One thing he knows though, is that Kalim is doing a very poor job of tending to himself. The flowers he gives Jamil sometimes lack a petal or two, and the tips of his fingers are stained with red, because of course, that idiot didn't think of using gloves or scissors before touching a rose. There's probably nothing going on in his brain. Maybe flowers replaced its content a long time ago.

   Kalim's flowers are still delicious despite everything though. Their taste isn't strong, more so breezy and the sweet aftertaste helps Jamil relax. There's been changes in all aspects of their relationship since the holidays, but it's temporary, surely.

*

[Kalim POV]

   Plucking the flower doesn't really hurt. Kalim isn't very good at it but still, it doesn't hurt that much. The easier ones to remove are the flowers blooming on the tip of his short hair, which he just needs to pluck out without any particular attention – he keeps the light-colored petals in a metal bowl on his night table. If Jamil wants some, Kalim will bring these to him later. His servant prefers it when they've just been plucked out – something about the taste or the texture, but Kalim who's never eaten one isn't sure – but by the time Kalim's finished pruning, some of the flowers have already wilted, their edges now a brown color.

   The look of fondness on his Mother’s face turned in an instant as Dedue showed her what was in his hands and it was not a trick of light. As he uncurled his fingers, the flowers that he unveiled were not from the garden but from him.

   “Dedue, my love, you must never show this talent of yours to anyone, understand?” his Mother warned him as she accepted the little, yellow flowers Dedue had produced from his palm. “And you must always avoid anyone who would want to eat them.”

   That was even unluckier. To be a Flower Eater. That was a curse far greater and heavier than the one which Dedue had upon him as a Flower Grower - or Florist, as he would come to hear amongst the mainland of Fódland. Turns out they were in tune with different bits and pieces of Duscur lore, filtered through inaccuracies. A long, long tale which had changed every time it had been spoken between two people. 

   Much like a school rumour, actually. 

   Deduce did his best, at the Officers Academy, to be as detached as possible but people talked. Even to him. Though he did his best to not talk back. 

   He minded his own business. He kept to himself, to the greenhouse, and no one was none the wiser to Dedue’s status as a Florist. People knew he had a green thumb but no one suspected that there was something more to his talent and gift with plants was nothing more than the innate knack that certain gardeners had.

   No one except Dimitri and Dedue had his own suspicions about what exactly Dimitri was.

   More than a friend, a house leader, a lord or a prince. There was a great darkness inside of him as well but Dimitri did his best to obscure it underneath a well-controlled and amiable persona. This extended far and wide to being close and personal.

   However, Dedue didn’t want to talk about Duscur traditions or lore with Dimitri. Though, sometimes Dimitri would pry about innocuous things. Food, fashion, geography. The most surface level things so he could try and be close with him but Dedue was ever a brick wall. 

   Though a watchful one.

   Maybe he was channelling his Mother, her spirit and her memory, too much but he saw the signs. Dimitri was exactly the type of person she used to warn him about. The Flower Eater. No Fódland name for it, as far as Dedue had heard, anyway.

   They were characterised as the tragics, the obsessives, the ones who were always hungry for… something. Be it flesh or… be it flowers. 

   Dimitri was exactly that person and a little quip that he let slip confirmed it in Dedue’s mind. To anyone else it would have been funny but Dimitri wanted to eat the weeds. They had been assigned to gardening related tasks, like pulling weeds, by Professor Byleth to help. 

   And it only worsened from there, Dedue would observe from Dimitri’s side.

   He was a very different person. 

   To everyone bar Dedue.

   He had always sensed that one day Dimitri would snap. That he was hungry in a way that civil society could not provide as it went beyond a need for food but for vengeance. For blood and flesh and… flowers.

   After everything that had happened. Edelgard’s assault on the Academy. His separation from Dimitri and the allies that he had amongst his Blue Lion classmates, Dedue shuddered with recollection. There was still much to be done, such as restoring the Holy Kingdom, clearing the name of the Duscur people, and more. 

   “I’m … I’m happy to know you are still alive, Dedue,” Dimitri grovelled to him. “And that you are real.”

   “Yes, I’m real.” Dedue replied.

   He let Dimitri touch him. To confirm his warmth, his heartbeat, his breath. 

   Though much of Dimitri’s sanity appeared to have returned to him as he got catharsis from facing Edelgard or returning to tutelage in Professor Byleth’s stead, and yes, of course, Dedue’s return to his side as vassal. There was still more to be regained, if it could at all, and an underlying fragility despite Dimitri’s present calm and serenity.

   There was still more that Dedue could do for Dimitri.

   He waited until an appropriate time. He had never disclosed this to anyone. His family had known but no one else knew. So, Dedue waited for a calm, blue night when the moon was big and full and the purest white. He invited Dimitri for a late night walk to the gardens. Just them and their companionship. Nothing more, nothing less. 

   Standing by the gazebo with his hands behind his back, gazing out over the lawn, “Can I tell you a secret?” Dedue asked.

   He was finally ready to open up. He watched as Dimitri visibly perked up and for a moment, Dedue saw a flash of Dimitri’s seventeen year old self in the world weary and one-eyed face that he now bore. It made Dedue’s heart falter but he steeled himself.

   If he was correct, if Dimitri was a Flower Eater like he thought, then his Mother’s wisdom was too far gone on him. Dedue had doomed himself the minute he pledged allegiance to Dimitri in gratitude for saving him. 

   “Please, go ahead.” Dimitri told him.

   “I want you to know this.” Dedue said.

   As he had grown older, it had become less easy to hide his condition. As a child, it was a painless magic trick, like a sleight of hand, to produce these flowers from his body but as he went through adolescence, that was part of his body which changed. He had to shave them off like he would the whiskers on his chin, sometimes it would even hurt when these pretty, dainty little yellow flowers would bloom. 

   Dimitri watched, mutedly amazed, as Dedue showed him this legacy of Duscur, too. 

   They lived in a world, amongst people, who conjure lightning and fire, control the winds, and yet this simple little thing elicited such oddness and mystery. It was strange. 

   Dimitri caressed the petal of the flower, he followed the natural arc of it with his finger. It was soft, he noted. All whilst Dedue told him bits and pieces from his Mother’s fairy tales. How his siblings used to be jealous of him because he had a gift that they did not and that was unfair. 

   Dimitri listened intently.

   “I had no idea that such people existed.” Dimitri said, quietly awed. “I must be quite fortunate to have you by my side then.”

   “Yes, about that…” Dedue murmured.

   He plucked the flower and his fingers reacted as though he had given himself a paper cut. There was a thin line of red on his palm, like a scratch, and an involuntary twitch amongst his fingers. He offered it to Dimitri but when Dimitri tried to accept it with his hands, Dedue glared. He kept going. He offered to feed it to Dimitri and Dimitri, confused, did open his mouth.

   Dimitri chewed thoughtfully. Dedue had never once wondered what the flowers he produced would taste like. He had never seriously thought that he would encounter a counterpart to his own condition but Dimitri’s expression.

   “I like the taste of it.” Dimitri whispered. His lips quivered, like he was holding back an involuntary smile. Colour, ever so slightly, was added to his cheeks, too, that he could not interfere with.