pink dreams

Such vivid greenery and picturesque flora might have suggested that whilst the two sat within a town of plentiful breeds of class and wealth, they were actually in fact within a garden of their own design, a regal world of just those two and the chorus of poetic songbirds and the chimes of the occasional summer insect. Upon cream garden furniture they did waste their afternoon, the sunlight baking their outwear best and their laughter merely accompanying that late spring song. Postcards could not have rivalled such a scene; the Tsukiyama youth posing to the esteemed jade-eyed socialite a variety of scenarios, as well as the humorous quips he so never lacked when it came to jesting in relation to the folk of the town the pair found distasteful. 

Like elegant birds did they peck and prod at the unfortunate lacking of social esteem and pride that they so valiantly wore upon their chests, that reeked from their early wine and seductive perfumes. The pair were perhaps a suited matched in friendship, only to be confirmed by the frequent chortles of light laughter which spilled from their lips as the other mocked some poor plain individual they might have once known. Lifting the glass to his lips, Shuu found himself glancing towards the beauty of his host’s garden, the gardener tending to a rogue stem of the nearest rosebush as if merely one out of place petal was to be an insult to them both. 

Thin lips pucker at the sweet dryness of their wine as she sips from her glass. His fine taste only makes his friendship all the more worth it to her, as shallow as that may be. She lazily lifts her head, thick lashes heavy from sunlight and nectar, and gazes to the flowers in question. “Mm, I suppose,” she yawns, posture slumping to rest her head in a propped up palm. “Only the best are sent to maintain this place, you know that. Heaven forbid a Basilikos home is unfit for a magazine spread.” Eyes roll, fingers inch up and down the stem of her glass fluidly. She does love her garden but the perfection of it all is rather grating; especially when she is far from.

Her eyes roll again but this time at his incredibly stupid and corny line. How he gets the affection he does is beyond her. She briefly recounts dozens of instances when he’s whispered such things to that night’s object of his hunger as she stood nearby, watching, listening, thinking how foolish people are to throw themselves at strangers who sing sweet songs.