Work Text:
The spring air was warm and sweet, with just a hint of a breeze now and then. Koumyou sat against a tree, his origami paper abandoned beside him as he wove flower stems together. Some were a bit too short, but he didn’t want to discourage his helper, so those ended up tucked in his braid.
Kouryuu would wander back and forth between him and the flowers, with Koumyou’s watchful eyes on the three year old, and every time he returned with a handful, no matter what they looked like, Koumyou would give him the warmest smile and thank him every time. Alone like this, Koumyou could be just his father, rather than a Sanzo priest raising an orphan, with no jealous eyes or whispers to disturb them. Every moment like this was one he cherished beyond all else, and he hoped, as Kouryuu smiled when Koumyou plopped an admittedly messy flower crown on his son’s head, that Kouryuu would cherish them as well.
—
“ You didn’t have to accompany me you know.”
“Hell, man, not like I was doin’ anything else today.”
Gojyo always had a way of making it sound like any kindness he showed wasn’t a big deal, but Hakkai silently thanked him anyway. He silently thanked him for a lot, and often. Their walk here had been pleasant enough, even with Hakkai’s quietness; Gojyo talked about this and that to fill the silence. Hakkai thanked him for that, too. Listening to Gojyo kept him grounded with this.
Grass was already beginning to grow here. Soon it would become a field, filled with flowers and life and beauty, and show no trace of the horrors that occured. Even if Kanan’s body was lost to him, it had become part of the earth, part of this. It made Hakkai almost smile as he set down the two vases he and Gojyo had carried here, a single white lily in each.
One for you, Kanan, Hakkai thought to himself, feeling Gojyo’s eyes on his back. He wondered if Gojyo would ever stop watching to see if he’d disappear again, and one for Gonou as well, since he died here with you.
“Would you forgive me, for living for just awhile longer?”
—
The first time Goku saw cherry trees in full bloom, tears fell down his cheek before he could even wonder why. It was the first spring since Sanzo had freed him from the cage in the mountains, and he had never seen them before, so when Sanzo asked what was wrong, he couldn’t answer. The tightness in his chest and his tears were all that he had.
He hadn’t cried over them since that first time. He laughed now instead, as Gojyo failed to snag the last of the cookies Hakkai had made for their little picnic under the blossoms, as Hakkai scolded Gojyo, as Sanzo rolled his eyes at all of them.
Together like this, there was no room for sadness.
—
Hazel still didn’t remember much at all, but he did remember his name.
He couldn’t remember why it was important to him, but that didn’t stop him from keeping the bandana his was found with folded neatly at his bedside table. The cottage he was staying in was small, but it was quiet and peaceful and all Hazel needed at the moment. He didn’t know where else to go or what to do with himself, but a neighbor had brought him seeds and taught him to plant, so he busied himself with that.
Hazel brought the first flowers that bloomed inside and placed them in a glass jar. It wasn’t much, and they weren’t especially beautiful flowers, but he was the one who grew them. He placed the jar next to the bandana and rested his fingers on the fabric.
“I grew them myself,” He said aloud. He talked to the bandana once in awhile, even if he still didn’t know why.
There was a feeling inside him, though, as he looked at the flowers. It oozed around his heart, like ice, shaking him. Words that weren’t his own filled his head, and he gripped the bandana
Think about it. To make something bloom is to make it wither.
—
No one would leave flowers for him when he died, and Ukoku was fine with that. Flowers didn’t suit him anyway.
Koumyou, on the other hand, always looked sublime with flowers, when he got the urge to weave them in his hair, or tuck them behind his ear or in his ponytail. Ukoku didn’t care much about the types of flowers in the world, but Koumyou had often stopped to admire them in their travels. Koumyou always saw beauty in living things, even the terrible ones. Even the darkness was beautiful to him, and he watched over all equally.
No one left Koumyou flowers, either.