Fandom: Bloody Yuletide
Pairing/s: Nano/PJ (Nano is my OC and PJ belongs to akemi_chan05)
Summary: It was the best thing his hand can do. The best and lasting gift he could give her. Canon. Post-BY. :) This is actually inspired by All Time Low's Painting Flowers :)
Written for: akemi_chan of course! :) As well as iu_fanfiction's WC 39 || prompt: My Happy Place.
It was her 20th birthday.
Nano placed the metallic flowers on her grave, a can of paint laid on the grassy plains of her grave. Some of the paint was already in his fingers, yet he hardly cared.
He has been doing this for two years now. And every time he went back to her grave the day after, he would find himself a note of thanks, written in an ink as red as blood, signed with the same initials as the ones on the epitaph in front of him.
PJ. Such a cute name. Too bad she had to be a part of some shady shit and die like shit. She deserved something better.
Nano sat on the grass and opened the can of paint, the stain on his fingers a visible mark of his practice. He has been perfecting this particular trade for years now and whenever someone would enter his artillery store and see these beautifully-crafted flowers, they always offered him a price—a very wealthy price.
“Not for sale. Sorry,” was all he replied. No smile, no jokes. Just a curt nod and then he’ll proceed with guns once more.
After all, they were for her. No one else can have them.
“Your brother left a note last year,” he started talking to her grave, as if she was right there, helping him with the paint can’s lid.
It suddenly snapped open.
“He told me that I’m a fucking idiot and that you never really liked roses,” a chuckle and he took one metallic flower, pinching the tip of its stem and watching as the bud blossomed with the sound of mechanical machinery right behind it.
“So I’m doing lavenders.”
Nano never really had a penchant for living things. In fact, whenever he tried to take care of a pet, it ends up dying. Whenever he plants something, it ends up wilted. His hands were never crafted for organic things but only for steel, for gunpowder, for killing.
And every year, he uses his skills to give PJ a little gift—a mechanical flower.
And every year, he paints it for her. Right in front of her grave.
And every year, he cries.
This year is no different.
Nano cried as the paint touched the surface of the flower, smoothening it with its rich purplish color, a metallic aftertaste embedded into the buds, making them sparkle in the sunlight…and glow in the moonlight. His flowers never wilt, his flowers never die, his flowers live on forever.
Unlike the person whom he does it for.
“I-I was too late…” his voice was quivering, his hand steady on the last lavender, the paint half-finished. “W-When I came…y-you were gone…”
His tears mingled with the wet paint, creating blots that disfigure his flower, her flower, their flower.
“I-It’s…m-my fault…I-If I was there…you wouldn’t…M-Mei wouldn’t…”
And then he felt it. He felt the familiar sense of comfort, the familiar sense of love. It was as if an arm was extending, two hands wiping off the tears from his eyes and a body…so warm yet so cold…enveloping him and easing his pain.
And as he painted flowers for her, Nano would always find himself yearning, find himself wanting to go back amidst the dark past and the haunting memories.
He would find himself wanting to live.
“Happy birthday, Pajamas.”
Her grave had always been a place for hope.
Just like those metallic flowers.