Sweet As Honey (Five Hargreeves/The Umbrella Academy)

19

Things between them seemed to have shifted for the worse.

It left her cold, and solemn most days, thinking about how things used to be. Their casual banter, their coffee breaks, their meals shared together (now without even a word between them.)

Honey knew it was partially her own fault for retreating into herself but she couldn't stop it, as though watching her body from an outside perspective most days in a haze.

So while they spent a couple days in Osaka for the Christmas holidays, Honey decided to do something about the little silver box she had kept in her work bag for almost six weeks.

There never really would be a right time as they were constantly on the move and she wanted to get it done before he figured out the equations and took his leave.

They had stayed in a shitty apartment building in the city that was lit up by decorations and golden lights, ironically contrasting the dark living room they sat in where they could only get the battery packed fairy lights working around the edges of the ceiling. The electricity in the building was awful as it was so old.

Honey had found multiple sets of decorations and had set a string of lights around the shallow table in the middle of the room, and another lying along the hallway leading towards the bathroom. (Honey had already tripped on a little broken tile on the floor, and it had nearly taken Five as victim some time after.)

There were messy shelves in the small box like room, a single window above them where a dying house plant sat with dust covered magazines and books rarely used for years.

While sipping the Japanese lemon soda she'd bought from a vending machine down the street, she fiddled with the silver box in her large hoodie's front pocket in trepidation.

Five was sat at the table scribbling in his book with a closed off expression.

Never had Honey actually celebrated the holiday, but the Christmas decorations and thrum of excitement from the public had made her feel lighter. They had walked through the festival in the main city and she had been enthralled by all the petty lights.

Now, she watched his back bashful all of a sudden, not sure about giving him what was in her pocket.

Eventually as she walked past the table, she slid the little silver box across the wood as though it was nothing, not even bothering to check that it landed in front of him and didn't knock into his writing hand.

But she knew it had his attention as the sound of pencil scribbling over paper had stopped.

She moved to check the cupboards for something to snack on.

The man behind her sat silent for a while.

"What is this?" He sounded suspicious and she avoided looking at him.

"A gift." She said, but she sounded uncertain. "Sort of. I saw it in a shop once and thought you'd make use of it."

"Yes, that tends to be the definition of a gift, but what I'm asking is why?"

She shrugged lightly, checking the date on the back of a porridge pot.

There were a lot of reasons why. Maybe it was a goodbye to how things had been, a little departing gift so he wouldn't forget her. Maybe she was just tired of him complaining about his pencil led snapping on him.

He reluctantly opened it and when he saw the contents, he stared at it for a moment. Inside was a fancy fountain pen in a sleek box with a bluish-silver tip and some ink. His fingers brushed the edge of it lightly.

An unnamed emotion swelled through him and he suddenly couldn't recall the last time someone had given him an actual present.

Not for a long, long time. And that part of him seemed almost too far in the past to even be real.

"If it doesn't suit your little book you can always keep it in your pocket to stab someone with. I'm sure it'll do a good job if aimed at a major artery." The tip of it's nib could lodge quite nicely into the soft spot of someone's neck, or inner thigh, or crook of the upper arm.

He went quiet. She couldn't gauge his reaction and was reluctant to turn around.

She didn't receive a thank you as she quickly left the room, anxiety picking at her nerves. The pot of porridge sat alone on the counter and Five looked down, eyeing the pen in front of him.

The next morning Five had left early to take a walk around the city, leaving a messily scrawled note on the table.

Her gift to him was no where to be seen, the packaging in the bin, and she considered with disappointment that he had thrown it out when she saw a different little box on the table next to his note.

Inside was a silver pin with a little lotus made of tiny white pearls and bits of silver wire.

She blinked in surprise and ran her fingers along its bumpy surface, picking it up from the small, cushioned container.

Neither mentioned it after that.

But the next time Honey saw Five writing in his book, he had ditched the cheap one for the blue and silver gifted pen she had given him.

And the next time Five saw Honey, she had the pearl ornate pin clipped to her tie.