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Flowers and Notes

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"You look nice today." 


The note read. It was attached delicately to a bundle of daisies waiting outside of his door.


The grave keeper narrowed his eyes before he collected the items and quickly stepped inside of his room. He tossed the note to the side along with the others, and stuffed the daisies into a vase which was already overflowing with a variety of flowers. 

Every Sunday. Every Sunday he would receive pretty flowers that were wrapped together neatly and a note that contained a simple yet endearing message. It was insulting. 


To think that someone in the manor would go out of their way to leave him such inane and banal notes that he was supposed to believe was beyond demeaning. Whoever was doing this sought to fill his heart with false hope whilst they laugh at his foolishness. However he was not stupid, he knew what he was. No one could ever think of him as anything but a white-haired monster. 


Andrew would remain emotionless as he quietly gathered the contents, refusing to give this inexplicable person the reaction they desired. 

He enjoyed flowers greatly, and now that they were being used against him absolutely made his blood boil. It was indignant, but the grave keeper took a small victory in the fact that this person had to make the effort to pick him flowers, perhaps underneath the beating sun. He hoped they got burned. 


At the very least he received free flowers from this experience, it definitely did liven up his otherwise dull accommodation. As long as he wasn't reminded as to how or why they were there. As for the notes— 


He couldn't bring himself to throw them away. The words were so fake though on those cold, cold, nights he couldn't help but wonder if living a lie would be so bad. If he could trick himself into believing that someone would care for him, maybe he would be less miserable. The logical part of his brain would always then come back and tell him that he couldn't feed into it and give this person the satisfaction of knowing they succeeded. It would hurt his pride more than it already has. Not that there was much of that in the first place. 


He wrestled with these thoughts on a daily basis, and every time he was greeted with that stack of notes on his desk that contained the words he always wanted to hear, he would grimace. Andrew hated that someone was playing with his mind like this, sometimes he would even cry. It was pathetic really, and he became further upset at the fact that this was getting to him. 

Of course after this started occurring, he became a lot more skeptical of the other survivors. Every time someone would speak to him, he analyzed their words and body language. Subsequently, he grew more reserved and perhaps a bit more rude.


And if he felt so inclined, on cloudy days he would take a walk to the garden to witness the flowers that might be at his door next. How despicable, he only existed to be the butt of every joke. 




"You were amazing in today's match!" 


The paper was tied around a group of orchids. Whoever this person was knew his schedule. They couldn't have been in the match he just played because he retreats to his room directly after. They would not have enough time. To think they were on the sidelines, watching his every move made his skin crawl. 


Of course he wanted to know who was doing this and give them what for, but he figured that would only fuel their amusement. So he was stuck in this vicious loop of anxiety and vexation. 


Andrew shoved the orchids into the crowded vase then sat on the edge of his bed. He removed his gloves, and stared at the ghostly white flesh. He glanced towards the stack of notes on his desk, even the paper was more tan than him. 


He snatched the pile and flipped through a few. How sometimes he wished he was ignorant enough to believe them and live in bliss. But he knew better. 


"Your hair is very pretty." 


He almost smiled at that one. Most of them were plain but others were surprisingly thoughtful. Oh the lengths they go to aggravate him. 


"Nice save today! You're a great rescuer." 


"I've always loved the color of your eyes." 


"You look very handsome in your new skin..."  


He couldn't take much more, he felt like he might throw up. He haphazardly threw them back onto his sad excuse for a desk and flopped onto his back. How repulsive...




Today was the day, today was Sunday. The Sunday that Andrew was going to discover this bastard and put an end to their shenanigans. His plan wasn’t exactly foolproof but he had determination on his side. 


He had politely, (awkwardly) requested Naib to take his place as the rescuer in his afternoon match. His name would still, hopefully, be placed on the schedule in the time slot in which this person would normally deliver their ‘largesse’. Andrew apologized to the mercenary for such short notice, giving the excuse that he was feeling under the weather. He wanted to make sure that this person still believed he was on for today’s match. 

So as he stood and watched the match he was supposed to take part in begin, he swiftly snuck out of the room and dashed down the corridors towards his room. His heart was pounding in his ears as he rounded the corner and—

Andrew swallowed hard. His heart dropped a little as he witnessed the quiet postman placing a note and a bundle of flowers at his door. Or at least that was what he was going to do until he saw the grave keeper make an entrance. The blond nearly jumped out of his skin. 


He felt a hint of betrayal, Victor was one of who he least expected. The postman had been nothing but sweet to him ever since he arrived. They weren’t exactly friends, but Andrew felt more comfortable around him than most. 


The grave keeper felt a deep sadness before it transformed into ire. Of course, one of the nicest people he had met turned out to be just as wicked as the rest, if not more so. 

He scowled a bit as he watched Victor tremble, “...So it’s you?” he said lowly enough to send shivers down the postman’s spine. 


Victor’s big golden eyes raced back and forth, he wasn’t entirely understanding the situation and he slowly began to flush at the confrontation. He never expected to be caught, Andrew was a bit more crafty than he looked. He refused to meet eyes with the other as he remembered every embarrassing thing he had written for the grave keeper. 

“Do you… do you think that ridiculing me and degrading me in such a way is funny? Are you amused from my suffering? Have you no other means of entertainment… it’s humiliating for you to think I would believe such lies on paper.” 


His voice wavered slightly, Andrew did his best to keep from snapping and cussing out the postman. He had to keep some dignity after all, and he couldn’t bring himself to at the way Victor’s eyes were slowly watering with tears.   

The blond was bewildered, and his normally warm and soft features were now dreary. He blinked a couple times in astonishment, processing Andrew’s words. The grave keeper’s dark slim figure was tense and quivering ever so slightly. 


The postman’s eyes blew wide, he frantically waved his hands and shook his head. He fumbled for a slip of paper and a writing utensil out of his satchel. 


“W-What are you going to say? Whatever excuse you have I won’t believe it.”


Andrew watched the other’s hands shake as he quickly scribbled something on the paper. Victor held it out for the grave keeper to read. It was somewhat messy, but it was undeniably the same handwriting as the one on his notes. 

“I am not at all making fun of you, Andrew! I deeply apologize if I made it seem as such.” 


Andrew narrowed his eyes into slits, about to criticize before Victor began to write another. 


“You always seem so glum… and I notice that you wear an iris on your coat, so I assume you liked flowers. I just wanted to do something nice for you to perhaps liven your spirits. I never meant for you to take offense to any of this.”


Victor was awfully convincing, but he still had his doubts, “Those notes, they were so… banal.” 


The comment made the postman shrink further into himself. His eyebrows furrowed before he wrote another. 


“I’m sorry, I don’t know much about you, and I don’t know how to give compliments.” 


He exhaled a puff of air from his nose as an awkward chuckle. 

The grave keeper glued his eyes to his feet, so Victor was being serious? Someone truly was trying to be nice to him. He couldn’t exactly comprehend that. That meant… everything he had written he had meant. He felt his face heat. 


He snapped his head up, “But you said I was— said I was, handsome,” the words left his mouth before he could stop them. Andrew felt bad that he was causing the poor postman more embarrassment than he already has, but there’s no way he could just shake the subtly romantic implications held in those notes. 


Victor’s face became as red as his uniform, he turned away slightly.


“That— that can’t possibly be true.” the grave keeper continued, “No one thinks I’m…” 


The blond fiddled with his watch, gaze fixated on the floor. 


His expression softened, he couldn’t fathom it but, there was something just so honest about Victor. Andrew’s heart thumped in his chest as he felt warm all over, he was sure he was red to the tips of his ears. 

The postman was hiding under the brim of his hat so adorably, the albino felt inclined to embrace him. He enclosed Victor’s body in a loose hug, unsure if he had actually hugged someone before. Lanky arms resting awkwardly around the postman’s trembling body. 


He was relieved to feel Victor reciprocate the action as he firmly wrapped his arms around Andrew and pressed his head into the other's shoulder. 


“Sorry,” he breathed into the man’s blond hair. He felt a pat on his back reassuring him that it was alright. 

The next Sunday Victor found a group of irises tied together with a note attached at his door.