[ if she were asked why she spoke to him, aerith might tease and say it was because they had matching themes for their outfits. in complete truthiness, however, it is his hands that hold her attention; they bear something of command to them, as if his mere personhood begets attention. it is attention that he keeps, then, settling in next to her. even with her head turned to her work, she is acutely aware of qingcang's presence. something about it is lightning.

she had grabbed the scissors again, clipping one more rose with strong familarity— it's then that he gestures, and she sees it out of the corner of her eyes. her gaze doesn't linger there long: the flowers disperse as easily as snow melts, and when they come back into being, tied together with a perfect little bow, she's stunned into silence.

good call on the hands. ]

Warn me next time? [ there's a teasing tilt to her smile, half-shadow but all glossy-lips. ] But fair, much bigger. You do that to every girl you meet? Just surprise them with floral magic?