[677 words]
Florian can finally see all the rose garden has to offer.
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It was well past patrol time, Florian has no reason to be walking his usual route along the rose garden’s cobblestone paths. Arguably, it’s a waste of time, time that could be better spent training. He walks regardless, in a sort of desperate attempt to clear his head.
He allows all thoughts in his head to fade, replaced by the routine of the twisting path, the sound of his shoes against the stones, the gentle breeze moving the floral scent through the air… His eyes have been trained to notice any slight change in the garden, anything that might cause a disturbance. Everything else can easily turn into nothing more than a background, something to work around, not to observe on its own.
“You never even look at the flowers! What’s that phrase about stopping to smell the roses?”
Florian feels the sigh move through his entire body, his wings drooping down and his posture wilting. He came here to get his mind off of them, and yet he still can’t get their words to go from his mind. They had been so shocked when he said he didn’t find the rose garden particularly beautiful. It wasn’t that he actively didn’t find it beautiful, he just hadn’t put any thought into it one way or the other.
He stops in front of a yellow rose bush. One distraction, one small indulgence, he will allow himself that. Nothing more. Maybe this will get those thoughts fully out of his system.
Florian bends down and reached out one hand, examining the flowers. These are, presumably, Aster’s favorites. At the very least, they wear one in their hair, so it’s unlikely they hate them. Are these flowers… beautiful? What was that even supposed to mean?
It looked nice in Aster’s hair, at the very least. It suited them, something so bright and cheery. The soft texture of the petals only causes more unasked for thoughts to enter his mind. Florian can picture himself adjusting the flower in their hair, making sure it’s perfectly seated just above their ear.
He’s doing a rather poor job of clearing his head. It’s time to leave these roses behind, to continue doing what he came here to do. He doesn’t allow himself a second glance as he continues down the path. In his mind, he’s on patrol, he must be perfectly on time to his post, he must not allow anything to distract him, he must be perfect. Nothing less will be accepted.
But it’s as if a curse has been placed on his mind. He should’ve never allowed himself that moment of indulgence, should’ve known it wouldn’t just stop there. The very world around him is painted in different colors when thoughts of Aster arise. Every stone is one they’ve walked on together, every flower is a secret message that he’s only privy to thanks to them, every sight is judged through a painter’s eyes. What colors would they use, what details would be emphasized, what would be left behind?
It’s torture. He must be going mad. It couldn’t be normal, couldn’t be proper to allow any angel to occupy one’s thoughts so much. Surely, surely once he finishes his patrol, then all will be okay.
Florian makes his way uphill, as he does everyday, until he reaches the cliff. The end of his route. What should be the end of his troubles. He silently hopes to be met with relief, with peace, but instead he is greeted by the sky, stretching endlessly. It’s lit in vibrant hues of pink and orange. The puffy clouds glow as if they’ve been lit on fire as the sun sinks down past the horizon.
He freezes, it feels as if he’s been physically struck, and all he can bring himself to do is to sit on the soft grass, and marvel at it.
It looks just like their hair, doesn’t it?
The word escapes his mouth without making it to his mind first. Florian doesn’t even know what he’s saying it in reference to anymore.
“Beautiful…”