Chapter 4: Petals of the Forget-Me-Not

It had been a week since our mission at the ballroom. On paper, it was a textbook success, but the feeling that lingered afterward wasn't one of triumph. It felt... unresolved, like the tension in the air before a storm.

Or maybe it was just Chou.

She'd been hovering around me more than usual, like an annoying—but oddly cheerful—shadow. Even now, as I trained in the agency's yard, she stood off to the side, watching me with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face.

"Hanaaaa!" Chou called out, her voice breaking my focus.

I didn't stop, releasing another shot into the target. A clean hit, dead center.

She huffed dramatically. "You're no fun. C'mon, take a break! Let's do something exciting!"

"This is exciting," I muttered, not bothering to look at her.

"Shooting targets? Running laps? Yeah, sure, totally thrilling," she shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You know, there's a whole world out there beyond being a boring perfectionist."

I finally turned to her, glaring. "Some of us actually care about staying sharp, Chou."

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes, stepping closer. "You act like the world's gonna end if you loosen up for two seconds. Guess what? It won't."

"Not everyone has the luxury to treat this job like a game," I snapped before I could stop myself.

Chou froze, the teasing glint in her eyes flickering out for a moment. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"Forget it," I said quickly, turning back to the target.

"No, no. Let's talk about this," she pressed, moving to stand in front of me. Her hands were on her hips now, her usual grin replaced by a frustrated frown. "You think I don't take this seriously? That I'm just screwing around?"

"I think you don't get how high the stakes are," I said, lowering my weapon.

She scoffed, shaking her head. "You think I don't get it? Hana, I've lost people too. You're not the only one carrying shit around."

Her words hit harder than I expected, but I didn't let it show. "Then act like it," I muttered, brushing past her.

Chou didn't stop me, but as I walked away, her voice followed, quieter now. "Meet me at the greenhouse after dinner. You might actually learn something."

I told myself I wasn't going to go. I didn't need Chou's lectures or whatever half-baked plan she had in mind. But as the hours dragged on, I found myself standing outside the greenhouse anyway, staring at the door like it held some kind of answer.

With a sigh, I pushed it open.

The warmth hit me first, followed by the scent of damp soil and blooming flowers. It was quiet here, a stark contrast to the sterile halls and constant noise of the agency.

Chou was crouched near a cluster of blue flowers, her expression softer than I'd ever seen it.

"You came," she said, smiling up at me.

"Don't make a big deal out of it," I muttered, stepping inside.

She stood, holding up a small flower pot. The plant inside was delicate, its petals a pale, sky-blue color.

"Forget-me-nots," she said, her voice unusually gentle.

I raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"They're a symbol of remembrance," she explained, turning the pot in her hands. "I used to plant these with my mom when I was little. She said they were for people you never wanted to forget."

Her tone caught me off guard. It wasn't the bubbly, carefree Chou I was used to. This was... different.

"You never talk about your family," I said carefully.

She shrugged, her smile fading. "Not much to say. They're gone now. But these flowers? They remind me of the good times. The times when things weren't so... heavy."

I didn't know what to say to that. I wasn't good at this kind of thing—comforting people, sharing feelings. So I stayed quiet.

After a moment, Chou looked up at me. "Why are you so closed off, Hana?"

I blinked. "What?"

"You keep everything locked up, like if you let even a little bit out, the world will fall apart. Why?"

"Because it's none of your business," I snapped, the words coming out harsher than I intended.

Chou flinched but didn't back down. Instead, she stepped closer, holding the flower pot out to me.

"Take it," she said.

I stared at her. "What?"

"Take it," she repeated. "You don't have to talk about anything if you don't want to. Just... keep it somewhere safe."

I hesitated, but there was something in her eyes—something raw and unguarded—that made it impossible to refuse. Slowly, I reached out and took the pot from her hands.

"Fine," I said, my voice quieter now. "But don't expect me to—"

"I don't expect anything," she interrupted, her smile returning. "Just... maybe let it remind you that it's okay to hold on to the good stuff. Even if it hurts sometimes."

I looked down at the forget-me-nots, my grip tightening around the pot. "You're exhausting, you know that?"

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Yeah, but you'd miss me if I wasn't."

"Don't push your luck," I muttered, but the corners of my mouth twitched upward despite myself.

As we left the greenhouse, the flower pot still cradled in my hands, Chou walked beside me, her usual chatter filling the silence.

"You know," she said suddenly, "there's a whole garden behind the greenhouse. Next time, I'm dragging you out there with me."

I rolled my eyes. "Next time?"

"Yep! Face it, Hana, you're stuck with me."

Her grin was so infectious that I couldn't help but laugh. "We'll see about that."

For the first time in years, the weight on my shoulders felt just a little lighter.

Maybe—just maybe—letting someone in wasn't such a terrible idea after all.