[REBORN! FIC SERIES] oo1 : ソメイヨシノ
i wrote just for the sake of writing on my brother's laptop. excuse the lack of consistency.
can be read as iemitsu/basil from reborn! because i'm just sick like that, or as just any au story set in the meiji era out there.
622 words
The cherry trees are in full bloom. It’s the middle of April now, the air warm against bare skin in the aftermath of a cold winter, leaving pure white snow as nothing but a memory of one season among so many others. The young man sits under the pale hues of pink and white, knees folded up to his chest and ankles crossed as his frail arms are wrapped around his legs. He ignores the chill of morning, his wooden geta discarded somewhere beside him, leaving his feet bare while he buries his toes in the vibrant green grass - about an inch long. Soft brown hair covers most of his face, which is angled downwards, chin dropping, his eyes screwed shut.
One of his slender fingers twitch. The wind seems to pick up and become colder all of a sudden, rustling through the cherry blossoms, messing up his hair. Still, he does not move, nor does he seem to react to anything - one would assume him to have fallen asleep there, body weakened by some training or other, but he isn’t. He sits still, oblivious to the way dark clouds cover the morning sun, stays unmoving even as gooseflesh appears all over his skin that is bared. It tastes like blood in his mouth.
“Basil,” comes a man’s voice, deep and low. The young man - Basil - looks up sharply, long fringe still covering his right eye. The clouds diminish and the cold wind becomes a warm breeze just as quick as everything has started. He scrambles to get up and bows awkwardly, the Japanese custom still far from coming as a reflex to him.
His voice sounds high-pitched and immature to his own ears, as if speaking in the foreign language made him sound even more naïve than he used to be compared to the older man. “Master.”
“What did I say about training without me first thing in the morning?”
“I-I wanted to meditate. I only wish to become stronger, Master.” One of the cherry blossoms detaches itself from the branch and falls on his shoulder unnoticed. His master takes a few steps forward and reaches out to take the lone flower between his large fingers, sliding the soft petals against Basil’s parted lips, intensifying the frightened look on his face. They feel light against his skin, light and velvety.
“Don’t ever do this again. You might have had a night of refreshing sleep, but your stomach is empty. Your mind is weak; your whole being is not centered in one place. That is why your energy caused all of this,” he says, still brushing the flower across Basil’s lips, Basil who does not look up in fear of crossing the older man’s gaze. The breeze moves hair away from his face, uncovering a sea blue eye that is usually always covered by the slightest curtain of hair. Suddenly the softness of the petals leaves his lips, leaving him secretly wanting the feeling to say for a little bit longer - but he doesn’t say anything. There are so many things he wants to say, but doesn’t, held back by the high respect he has for the man he calls his master. Some would think their relationship was the one of a rich man and his commoner though they were far away from such a thing; Basil was a student, and they had mutual respect for each other. The young man was thankful for this; he felt that it was a gift from God to feel like he hadn’t gone to Japan for nothing. He was getting used to this country where the sun rose first, where people bowed and held back every single feeling they had for reasons unknown to him.