Maruki pretended—very badly—that the sound of his keys hitting the floor for the second time (and nearly a third) wasn’t mortifying. Or out of the ordinary. Just a regular night. Totally normal. Definitely not the first time in ages he’d invited anyone over this late, especially not in this state.
The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, he just blinked at his entryway, vaguely aware of how surreal it all felt. Huh. He hadn’t even had Shibusawa over this late, not really. And Morning had already half-bolted toward his room the moment the door opened, mumbling something indistinct. Poor kid was probably more drained than he let on.
Maruki bent down to straighten the pair of borrowed sandals kicked to the side, then slipped off his own, neatly lining them up. His keys jingled softly as he hung them on the little wooden key holder mounted by the door—a whimsically carved branch with four painted white birds perched on it, mid-chirp. It clinked against the background of Ichinose’s off-tune humming.
He followed after her, fingers moving absentmindedly to the collar before pausing—no tie. Right. Yukata. The satchel stays on across shoulders.
The living room was warmly lit, the kind of gentle amber glow that filtered in from a half-shaded lamp and the streetlights outside the balcony doors. A window was cracked open to let the night air sweep in, bringing with it the faint scent of city spring. A few boxes still sat along one wall—overflowing with stray research papers and half-sorted files—and two familiar notebooks lay open on the coffee table like forgotten thoughts.
But it was the plants that dominated the space.
Clusters of potted greenery lined the kitchen windowsill, the tops of bookcases, and a few end tables. Pale orchid blooms peeked out from beside a stack of psychology journals. A tall fiddle-leaf fig rested stoically beside the TV. Nestled among them were decorative odds and ends: a tiny ceramic watering can, a wind-up owl clock, and a coaster shaped like a cat hanging from a tree branch, with the words “Hang in there!” in cheerful lettering along the edge.
"What can I say—" Maruki said with a small, sheepish smile as he came to stand beside the couch, one hand briefly ruffling through his hair. "I get lonely without them."
He gingerly pressed his fingers to his temple as the room tilted a little too enthusiastically, but he caught himself before it became an issue, adjusting his stance with practised care.
"Back in my world last summer, one of my neighbours was moving and planning to get rid of some of her tsuwabuki—Farfugium japonicum, that is," he added absently, academic habits kicking in. "And some hozaki-nanaka? Nanako?" He stumbled over his tongue.
"Nanakomada. Ah, still got it."
"Beautiful shrubs—Japanese rowan. I couldn’t let them go to waste, so I ended up adopting them."
He motioned toward two of the more vibrant pots by the windowsill, one with glossy, rounded leaves and yellow blooms, the other dotted with tiny clusters of berries.
"Pretty sure I’ve got at least half her garden now," he chuckled, a bit dazed but clearly fond of the memory. "They’re good company. Very judgement free."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2025-05-14 01:03 am (UTC)The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, he just blinked at his entryway, vaguely aware of how surreal it all felt. Huh. He hadn’t even had Shibusawa over this late, not really. And Morning had already half-bolted toward his room the moment the door opened, mumbling something indistinct. Poor kid was probably more drained than he let on.
Maruki bent down to straighten the pair of borrowed sandals kicked to the side, then slipped off his own, neatly lining them up. His keys jingled softly as he hung them on the little wooden key holder mounted by the door—a whimsically carved branch with four painted white birds perched on it, mid-chirp. It clinked against the background of Ichinose’s off-tune humming.
He followed after her, fingers moving absentmindedly to the collar before pausing—no tie. Right. Yukata. The satchel stays on across shoulders.
The living room was warmly lit, the kind of gentle amber glow that filtered in from a half-shaded lamp and the streetlights outside the balcony doors. A window was cracked open to let the night air sweep in, bringing with it the faint scent of city spring. A few boxes still sat along one wall—overflowing with stray research papers and half-sorted files—and two familiar notebooks lay open on the coffee table like forgotten thoughts.
But it was the plants that dominated the space.
Clusters of potted greenery lined the kitchen windowsill, the tops of bookcases, and a few end tables. Pale orchid blooms peeked out from beside a stack of psychology journals. A tall fiddle-leaf fig rested stoically beside the TV. Nestled among them were decorative odds and ends: a tiny ceramic watering can, a wind-up owl clock, and a coaster shaped like a cat hanging from a tree branch, with the words “Hang in there!” in cheerful lettering along the edge.
"What can I say—" Maruki said with a small, sheepish smile as he came to stand beside the couch, one hand briefly ruffling through his hair. "I get lonely without them."
He gingerly pressed his fingers to his temple as the room tilted a little too enthusiastically, but he caught himself before it became an issue, adjusting his stance with practised care.
"Back in my world last summer, one of my neighbours was moving and planning to get rid of some of her tsuwabuki—Farfugium japonicum, that is," he added absently, academic habits kicking in. "And some hozaki-nanaka? Nanako?" He stumbled over his tongue.
"Nanakomada. Ah, still got it."
"Beautiful shrubs—Japanese rowan. I couldn’t let them go to waste, so I ended up adopting them."
He motioned toward two of the more vibrant pots by the windowsill, one with glossy, rounded leaves and yellow blooms, the other dotted with tiny clusters of berries.
"Pretty sure I’ve got at least half her garden now," he chuckled, a bit dazed but clearly fond of the memory. "They’re good company. Very judgement free."