비가 오는 날엔 - BEAST; iwaizumi.
After he meets you, Iwaizumi thinks his heart is a like a morning glory. He can’t stop all the thought of flowers after you - flowers in your hair, flowers in your home, flowers on your wedding day. Flowers on your grave.
He learns their meanings and commits them to memory. And he remembers all the flowers he’s ever given you—
Red peonies— devotion, for when he first asked you out.
Red camellias— unpretending excellence, “My destiny is in your hands.” Those were for your wedding day.
Red morning glories— attachment. Those, well, those he laid on top of freshly turned earth, nothing but cold wet air at his side.
Sometimes, in the glaring emptiness of your shared home, he catches the scent of your perfume - fresh and light and pure, like jasmine - and his head jerks around, thinking that maybe, just maybe, in his grief, he somehow missed the click of the door unlocking and that he might catch a glimpse of you standing there, smiling. Apologizing for disappearing so suddenly.
“It’s okay, Hajime, I was only at the grocery.”
He imagines you petting his head, even though your half his height and weight. And he’ll never be able to think otherwise, he’ll never be able to forget your words—
That his heart is like a morning glory. Fitting, in the language of flowers, because it means instability. That’s what he has, if he doesn’t have you. Other than the painful awareness of your absence, the thought makes him ache because morning glories aren’t even your favorite flower.