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[Her proud smile falls slowly as Alex holds out the envelope and she absorbs his words, though it's not in a bad way; it simply has to make room for the open curiosity that overtakes her as she shifts the gift bag onto her wrist so she can take the envelope in her hand.

Something like that. After all the beautiful gifts she received on Candlenights, it occurs to her immediately: Is this a poem?

But she doesn't ask that, though there's a rather telling look of wonder on her face as she peers back up at Alex and holds up both the gift bag and envelope.] Which one should I open first?

[ Alex immediately clarifies, courage drying up: ] It's- I mean, whatever you want, it's not... It's not really, uh- good, so...so maybe take it first, so...

[ Covering his face. With a hand. Ohhh, the regret's hitting. ]

[Oh no. He's so embarrassed but not in a cute way this time.

She shakes her head and immediately makes to open up the envelope.] No way! I'm gonna read it first to prove it is good!

[So there!

She determinedly slips the contents of the envelope out of the...very enthusiastic tear she has made in the top.]

Wh- no-- okay.

[ Alex hunches his shoulders a little, wanting to run away a little. Here we go... ]

There was a sunflower who all adored,
A flower whose exuberance could not be ignored.
With each little day she watched all the land
Recording obersvations with amazing command.

The flower could craft with verse and with word,
So inside every creature, that compassion stirred.
She captivated all who felt her bright rays,
And they'd listen to all of her stories for days.

They'd leave all refreshed from each recitation,
But alone, she'd consider her days were damnation.
Each petal, each stem, each deep-seeded root,
Was hiding a darkness she worried would pollute.

Sunflowers, lovely though they may be,
Reach for the sun with intensity
To find the happiness everyone felt
That they couldn't touch in the place that they dwelt.

The creatures of wild could come and go,
And yes they would bring their troubles although,
Still they could feel the sun's pure, great light
While the sunflower despaired, try thought she might.

This wasn't anything that the others could see,
As the flower kept shining, bright and lovely.
So she'd greet the animals all with a smile,
Thinking herself horrible all the while.

How could she give everyone such great feelings
And still find herself in the dark, unappealing?
If they knew, would they still come to hear all her tales?
Would they think her a liar, concealing her ales?

Still the flower kept reaching, through morning and day,
Hoping the sun could chase the darkness away.
But not every day was clear or was bright,
And not any day could escape dusk or night.

Each bit of light she eventually captured,
She felt was a lie to the ones she enraptured,
But the flower, as desperate and friendly as she,
Was blind to the truth of the animals' glee.

Being rooted and stuck in a place full of shade
Didn't sour the smile or story portrayed.
Though not all of them understood what their company meant,
They would visit the flower without discontent.

It wasn't her stories, nor her bright shine,
It wasn't the need to uncover or refine.
What drew all the animals to this one place
Was the flower's own soul and unspeakable grace.

Though she couldn't look back and see what they saw,
The skill of her kindness filled them with awe.
Not everyone, flower or animal too,
Could look on each day with acceptance anew.

Though hard and unyielding the clouds and the rain,
The sunflower persisted, through fear and through pain.
The sun couldn't give her the light all the time,
So it came from inside, and it shone on sublime.

There was a sunflower who all adored,
A flower whose spirit could not be ignored.
The darkness she felt, they could not understand,
But the world loved her still, and they'd tell you firsthand:

There's nothing at fault for a gloomy, dark day.
The sunflower's still perfect, in every little way.

[She's quiet as she reads through it. Her first thought is that, strictly regarding technique, it's not what she expected from Alex. It does look like someone who hasn't written a lot of poetry, the vocabulary a little bit like someone might've used a thesaurus, but she'd never guess that he wasn't much of a writer.

And she'd probably have more useful input along those lines, but the further she reads the more the swell of emotion in her chest consumes her rational thoughts, and eventually she's got her bottom lip caught in her teeth so it doesn't wobble as her eyes water. She feels a little stupid, still crying like she'd never expect something like this, but— but she doesn't. So many of her friends who aren't writers have written poetry just for her, and it's—

She sniffles and holds the poem close to her chest, bowing her head so Alex can't see as the tears finally escape down her cheeks. Insistently:] This is good. It's really, really good.

[ Alex's hands hover protectively as Sayori reads the poem, especially as she...starts to cry, oh shit. ]

S- Say- I-I'm sorry, you- you really don't- you can stop, I swear--

[ But she's...she's saying- ]

You don't...have to just say that.

[Poor Alex. He should not have to deal with a crying girl, but here she is, unable to express the overwhelming emotion in any other way.

She shakes her head again, more vehemently this time.] I'd never just say that! [About other things, less important things, but the act of writing is so personal and important to her that she can't imagine lying to someone about it.

Another sniffle as she wipes her eyes with her hand, the other still holding the gift bag and the poem close.] There are parts that you thought too hard about so they didn't come naturally. And I can't imagine you saying a bunch of these words. But— but it's still really nice, and— [Her voice cracks, and then becomes a little quieter, a little softer.] I can tell that...all these feelings really came from your heart. That's the most important thing.

[ With each critique, Alex feels his tense muscles relax. Okay, yes, she's telling him he's not great at this; it's true, he wrote and rewrote this thing, she does not want to see all the wasted paper he used, the two thesauruses he kept flipping through in Leon's library. But... But that does mean she liked some of it...right? ]

I- I don't...know how to write anything. Like...at all, poetry wasn't- i-it wasn't one of the things I got 'round to learning. [ But somehow the mix of praise gets him even more embarrassed...in a good way. ] Still, I... I wanted to...to try. And...express what I felt.

[She offers the critique because she thinks it will make it easier for him to accept her praise as genuine, too. Which she thinks about explaining, but express what I felt gets her eyes welling all over again. Even if overthinking might have gotten in the way of showing his personality, it does show clear effort. He worked really, really hard on this. Because...this is what he really thinks of her. And he wanted her to know that.

A watery laugh makes its way through.] You did a really good job. I wouldn't've guessed you've never written a poem before.

[Lights. Sunshine. Sunflowers. So many people associating her with such beautiful things. The impossibility of it wrestles with the truth and intimacy inherent in writing something for someone, but despite that complex and conflicted knot in her chest, she's...really happy.

Another sniffle. She has to remind herself not to crumple the poem as she holds it closer.] Thank you, Alex. I love it.

[ He's heard the expression before, my ears are burning, but only now Alex understands it's not just an expression. His everything's burning. A compliment from Sayori will do that, generally--but something about trying to make her feel better, with something she knows and is good at, it's.

It's a different kind of sheepish joy. He already has horrible posture, but this whole thing's making his neck dip into his shoulders something fierce. ]

Well... I'm glad. [ Stupidly, that's all he can settle on. ] It... I'm glad it's good for you.

[ It's not the only thing, of course! The box she's got is a reminder. ]

[Bold to think she might not forget the entire world around her when someone writes her a poem!

Which she absolutely has. Thankfully she's already holding the other gift, so she'll come back around to remembering it in a moment. Right now she's still trying to get her face under control, stop crying and sniffling and just— stop feeling way too much. Her chest aches with how full her heart feels and it's always really hard to speak when it's like this; she doesn't begrudge Alex the awkwardness because she doesn't have the words either. That's why she writes. It's so much easier than trying to articulate the intensity of her too-much feelings in the moment, when she can barely understand them much less describe them.

She wipes her face again and takes a step starting towards him. Only as she's clearly about to open her arms for a hug does she remember—] Oh!

[The other gift she's holding. There's a bashful chuckle as she regards it.] Wow. Sorry, I got really distracted, huh?

[She tucks the poem back into its envelope first to ensure its safety. But then she'll open this mysterious other present, a little more delicately than one would probably expect.]

[ It's fine. Because guess who else forgot? The dingus who got it. Alex's eyes shoot wide and he stammers out: ]

What- oh, shit, it's fine. It sort of...slipped my mind too...

[ He trails off. When he gave Mista his gift, there was a little note with it, a little...This part belongs to Sayori. So she should've gotten that, a dumb pun shirt. But there's something else here, obviously. It's...a scarf. Pink, with little pencil designs, googly eyes and all. Cute more than anything, and Alex clears his throat and kind of mumbles: ]

I know it might be dumb, but I thought... 'Cause...you know, sometimes you just sort of...wanna distract from it.

[ It. He flexes his hands self-consciously, rubbing at a burn scar on one. It's been two months, but it looks to be sticking. No skin grafting this time. ]

[She does have to wonder if this gift will also perhaps be breakfast-related. Perhaps some pancake pants?

It is not pancake pants. She's not actually sure what it is at first, but she does make sure to say,] Oh my gosh, this pattern is so cute! [as she tugs the end of it out of the box and sees how long it is. A scarf. A few people have gotten her scarves since then. Since...it happened, as Alex puts it.

She smiles again, though it's subdued with the weight of the reminder. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches the motion of his hands—and remembers keenly unwrapping the very injuries he tries to distract himself from.] It's not dumb. It's really thoughtful.

[Slowly, she winds the scarf around her hand, over and over until she can lift the entire length of it out of the box. She considers it for a moment before speaking again, a little airy the way she often is when she's trying not to make a big deal out of opening up.] ...sometimes— sometimes, y'know, I see a cute shirt or a necklace I wanna wear, and I go to try it on and I— I can't.

[Because it's too close to her neck. Because the feeling of something pressed to the jagged collection of scratch scars brings her back to that place.

She brings the bundle of the scarf in close to her chest, her smile warm despite it all.] But scarves are nice to practice with. I can just wear them looser if I want.

Edited (html dont do me like this) 2020-03-19 08:08 (UTC)

Yeah. ...Yeah, I thought...maybe that'd be a good way to start. [ One of his hands is trembling. Not...because he's afraid. But because it just does that sometimes. Because that's his normal.

It's awkward, and it's hesitant, but Alex returns her smile. ] Just uh...one step...one day at a time, right?

[ It doesn't sound entirely convincing when he says it. But, he's trying to make himself believe it. That's the first step. ]

[She wants to reach for his hand and steady it in her own. Doesn't, ultimately, because she knows how difficult it is for her to let anyone touch the site of her own injury and she knows how Alex is.

Still, he has to know what's coming. She laughs a little and repeats back,] One day at a time, [without any hesitation.

And then she tucks everything back into the box and makes sure she has a good hold on it before ducking forward to wrap her arms around Alex.]

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dabs two months later

DABS FURIOUSLY IN RETURN

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