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One two three four, one two three four. Right foot and turn, right arm rising and left arm lowered, fall to knee and strike a pose, get back up in a jump. One two three four, one two three-
The music stopped, choreography finished. Staff members clapped and suddenly all of HEAVENS could hear their breathing again.
"All right, have a break everyone! Take five."
Eiji always lost himself in the exercise, his mind only focusing on the now, on the dance moves, memorizing them, the lyrics, remembering his goal- And as soon as the veil of the curtains lifted over his head again, he missed the adrenaline from the beat drop. In the quiet, all the memories started flooding in again.
He was approached with a smile. "Yo, Eiji! Hard at work as always, here have this. Today's practice ends soon, courage."
The staff member gave Eiji a thumbs up. Eiji smiled gracefully and thanked him for the water bottle.
True to his words, they repeated only twice more before calling today's session over.
"I'll go on ahead." Eiji told his bandmates simply, packing his bag. A chorus of 'okays' as mismatched as they all were answered him.
People always assumed he disliked the exertion.
But Eiji liked the soreness when going down the stairs and out of the studio. He liked the soreness while he walked and pushed the shopping cart, picking out healthy food for everyone. He liked the soreness while carrying the grocery bags inside, going up the short flight of stairs at the entrance, then waiting in the elevator.
Eiji opened the doorway home after another hard day of practice, keeping up with the rhythm of his bandmates, of the music and of the dance. He felt a nice kind of spent, with that good feeling of having given it his all today too, a nice buzz in his body that made his brain quieter.
So much quieter than when he'd started out as an idol. It was surprising, how much one could adapt, in how little time. How things could survive in harsh environments, grow between cement cracks, despite lack of sun, even in drought.
It surprised even him, sometimes, but Eiji was keeping up. With the industry, with all of HEAVENS— even with brother.
He smiled, looking at the plants that greeted him at the door- always there, reliable. A nice green presence in the apartment, even when no one else was there.
Things had surprising strength even while having little, yes. But if he had to pick, he'd choose to have all one needed to grow— and he had the power to give that, now.
And he liked the soreness when he crouched to grab the watering can.
A proof of his efforts. The plants' vibrant greenery a proof of his efforts, too. Muscles growing, when nurtured, it was the same in fauna as in flora. They proved the worth of him, pulling it out of him alongside the flowers out of their buds.
And his brain was quiet while his muscles tingled, getting back up. He had an errant thought again about what to make for dinner tonight, but he'd give the plants their meals first.
He opened the door to the balcony and breathed in, the air refreshing to breathe from the rows of potted plants inbetween the stacks of unused flower pots, cute and elegant patterns printed or carved on them. He looked at his tall figs, ficus umbellata and ficus altissima, climbing their height on a support spine proudly, his devil's ivy curling beyond reason around the railing, coriander and lemon balm overflowing their pots with small but thriving presences, impatiens blooming colorfully in a shrub in the corner.
He looked at all that he could accomplish, all the things in which he could matter. He breathed in, and the sound of it didn't sound so claustrophobic anymore.
It was time to water the umbellata and the devil's ivy. Currently, it was around twice a week, in the nice autumn breeze. He dutifully checked the dirt for how dry it was, touching it, just in case. He went around his balcony, stepping around the bags of dirt, watering them to each's unique needs. He'd memorized them as soon as he got them. The impatiens and lemon balm were moist… He'd give them water tomorrow. He took the plates under the pots to throw the excess water that'd dripped onto them away, putting them back shiny and clean.
Most would find having to water plants every day annoying, but he enjoyed it. It was what he'd signed up for, choosing to get each of them. He'd made many unexpected sudden buys seeing plants at the mall before, afterward getting gently chided by the rest of HEAVENS for yet another addition to the house, but it made him smile looking at all of them now. He caught a couple of rays as the sun started its descent, enjoying the nice floral scent about.
It was time to head back inside, watering can in hand. He knew the succulents wouldn't need watering for a good while still, his aloe cozy on his bedroom nightstand. But he freshened up the spearmint along the kitchen counter, walked by the elegant well-hydrated peace lilies in the hall.
He was about to walk past the marigolds as well, when he felt a scrunch under his shoe. He stilled, looking down. His heart dropping ever so slightly when he saw the stem reaching out from under his sole like an arm. Everything still, quiet, only the crunch of green bones echoing— His spirits dropped in synchrony with his crouching, lowering himself, moving his foot off of the fragile thing. How careless he'd been.
A marigold bud was on the floor, golden, crushed. It had fallen…? Eiji gently took it, looked to the flower pot next to him, and then back to his hands again, at the broken little thing in them. He wondered if someone had accidentally…- No, it looked natural. Oh he hoped it wasn't some disease…
Ah, he should-… He took the watering can again and tipped it forward into the pot- but stopped himself just before water could spill from it.
He put it back down, noticing the symptoms. Even now, he was still prone to overwatering sometimes, it seemed...
He looked at the plant, the flowers starting to droop… Ah… How had he let this happen? Leaves yellowing in sickness, shriveling in on themselves as if curling in pain. He'd done something wrong. Maybe he couldn't do right by them, after all. Eiji suppressed the ugly curl downward of his mouth.
He stood up, and when he raised his eyes to the wall he was faced by one of the pressed flower arrangements he'd framed.
It was one that always got praise and smiles whenever he showed pictures of it to people, so he'd decided to frame it and put it up in the hall. It radiated beauty, they all said. The osmanthus, a deep orange verging on red in the right lighting, framed by marigolds true to their name, stems interweaving. Bright colors full of life on gentle yellowed paper, the frame a square dark wood more elegant than rustic— Inexpressive, but perfect.
He'd liked it a lot too- the osmanthus was a very fragrant flower. The smell of it was long gone now that it was dead, behind glass, but even just looking at it always made the smell vivid at his nose again. Its scent always brought him back to sunny days, basking in a garden green.
Osmanthus, like truth. Green, like envy. Marigolds, like—.
The frame, with not even a splinter jutting out, unnaturally smooth.
His fingers felt the urge to move, and Eiji turned away.
Well, he always only composed his arrangements with aesthetic in mind, after all. The only deeper meaning was that beauty was indeed beautiful. It was much better than wilting, wasn't it?
Eiji liked pressed flowers. They were engaging to arrange into the prettiest composition, relaxing to make, and satisfying to pull off. Pinning the subjects in place into perfection. The gradual push down on the subjects, until compressed but never crushed. It even made him something like proud- to see his work, physical and finished. Immortalized. Appreciated. Especially when it was his own plants… Something his hands had nurtured— grown and gorgeous, admired.
He walked away and absentmindedly placed his brown hair again so as not to stick out with his fingers.
Inexpressive, but perfect.
Seeing wilting made him feel queasy. He couldn't press every plant, of course, and couldn't always tell when one would wilt. Sometimes maybe he snipped them a little too early. He liked pressed flowers.
Wouldn't it be nice? To be preserved at his best, as a symbol that brought beauty to the world, in an untainted state. A pressed flower, preserved only for its observer's sake- was there more noble purpose?
Eiji retrieved the clippers from his gardening tools and a chopstick from the kitchen. He gently put the fallen, wilting flower bud on the table beside it. He walked back.
For immortality in memory, being coiled, or suffocated between paper and cardboard, if it's to end up in a picture, an album, a scrapbook, a bookmark, or even a paperweight- Yes, they were nice to see spread around. If he was to be haunted, he'd like it to be by the ghosts of his achievements.
He wondered if this was how dad felt too, with his agency.
He crouched back again next to the marigold plant, tools in hand.
He cut a yellow leaf off. And then another. One other, and some more. Leaves fell from the clippers like hairs from scissors.
Clipping plants helped them grow healthily, by slashing off dead weight. When they were sick, it was something to cut off to make the group thrive. It wasn't cruel, only true. He couldn't blame anyone for it, much less the plant, couldn't blame anyone but himself.
More clipping than person- clipping of leaves, of a magazine. But maybe he'd gotten here by overextending, in the first place.
He sat back on his knees and sighed, looking at his progress. The plant still drooped but looked pruned enough now, hopefully this'd allow it to get more sun and expend less energy.
Maybe this was an occasion. Maybe… He could put a support pole here to make it grow this way, and nick the stem here and here to simulate leaf growth in these places. Then the curls of the leaves around it would fall so nicely. You could never give a thing too much attention, really, only do it in the wrong way.
Pushing some leaves to look under, he saw a new flower bud, just barely starting to bloom. Opened up despite its unfortunate hidden spot, shadowed, sickly red tingeing violet. And the thought of a bud fated to become either discarded or a decoration suddenly felt a little emotional.
Finally, he created air channels through the dirt around the plant. Poking holes in the dirt, the soil aerated, so the plant could intake more air and drink better. Breathe.
Red was the color of fire but purple was the color of asphyxiation. What an ill match. He couldn't make every flower pair off well in compositions, together, after all.
He broomed the clippings away, putting them in the compost bin.
He did one other round of all his plants again, looking for yellowing, looking at the floors while he walked, just in case. Looking at plant after plant, more stressful than relaxing this time.
His achievements, concretized. Taking up space where he couldn't, to the point HEAVENS complained about how many there were around the suite. They had more of a presence in the apartment than he did, probably. Eiji didn't like to think of hanakotoba very much. If they could talk, he thought he preferred not to hear the things they learned to say from him, with that mysterious knowledge only plants had. See me. See what I do.
A plant was to be nurtured, to stay and grow as planned. Still, reliant. Quiet. Only the boquila trifoliata could reveal the true shape of him without speech.
And when all were watered, and all was checked, when he'd poked some holes through soil again and cleaned some more pots a bit, Eiji stood there, descending back into himself.
He stood, watering can still held in hand, not wanting to let it down. The clock's hand moving was suddenly audible again, filling in the silence vacuum of this place at the same rate that air left it. One two three, one two-
Tension raised, and Eiji worried again about moving more plants onto the balcony, moving their pots a little closer to the sun. He opened the windows. Pots scraped. Ah, he should vacuum the floors again- Was the fridge full enough-?
And then he heard a door open, far away— the door of the apartment complex– He stilled. And unlike the last times the footsteps were headed for HEAVENS' suite instead of another, he recognized the instant he heard them. They were Yamato's and Nagi's.
Eiji let out a breath, just before the door opened.
Nagi walked in with his usual confident gait, if a bit tired, walking past the latest HEAVENS cd displayed on the entrance shelf and pouting while Yamato asked about dinner. Omelette and coriander.
Eiji bloomed in relief, smiling at them, a weight like lifted off of his shoulders as he turned to make himself of use.
Ah, to be a pressed flower, tucked away on a bookshelf until someone wanted to look at you.