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The last time he saw those flowers, was at her house.
She handed him a basket and made him help her pick flowers for the orphanage. Everything that could be heard was the waterfall and her cheerful voice telling him the different names of the plants. He remembers her profile as she crouched down among them, her bangs brushing against her cheekbone. He remembers how elegant her hands looked as she picked the flowers, unlike his own, clumsy and unkempt. He remembers the brightness of Midgar’s lights illuminating the garden; he remembers the darker hue it took on as evening fell, somewhere between green and the gold of sunset. He remembers her, standing between the yellow and the earth. He remembers her disappointment, her laughter, and the renewed spirit she felt upon returning home. He remembers asking the flowers to talk to her.
He approached them. He cupped one in his hand as she once did, with elegance and gentleness.
“I won’t let you down.”
The last time he held something with such delicacy, was with her.
She was asleep. Lying down, at peace. Her eyelashes rested still against her pale skin; a small smile graced her face. She was so calm. He remembers slowly placing his hand on her cheek, where it brushed her hair. Gently, so as not to disturb her or hurt her.
Wake up.
The last time he was willing to fight for the planet, it was for her.
Aerith.
"I promise."