[ENG]Shoto Todoroki : Modern-day Terrorist

Chapter 17

"Shoto, are you okay ?"

I blinked.

We stood in front of a lacquered wooden door.

Two large white ceramic vases framed it. Inside were Higanbana.

The flowers of death.

"Yes"

The nurse exchanged glances with someone over my head.

He had his hand on the handle and had not yet opened it.

"You can come back another time if you prefer"

"Oh no, it's been so long since I saw Tou-tou..."

Natsuo added:

"Yeah, we didn't come all this way for nothing !"

I had to see him.

I had to know.

I had to understand.

I met the nurse's eyes.

"Yes. We didn't came for nothing"

New glance exchanged over my head.

The nurse opened the door with a smile on his face.

"Touya is always a bit busy at this time of day, but I think you'll be able to surprise him if you enter discreetly"

Fuyumi and Natsuo looked forward to it.

They slipped through the door, suppressing their laughter and elbowing each other.

A triangle of yellow light fell on the brown carpet. Rei was the next to enter. I could hear their cheerful voices from the other side of the door.

My eyes went back to the Higanbana.

There were no leaves, only scarlet flowers.

A hand slipped into mine. I looked up at Enji.

"I am here"

His hand was warm. Comforting. Familiar.

I squeezed his fingers to thank him.

And then we entered.

The room was as large as a Haussmann apartment.

The white walls were covered with golden moldings, as fine and detailed as the finest embroidery.

The ceiling was frescoed like the Sistine Chapel.

A crystal chandelier with brand new candles was the main light fixture.

Three huge golden windows, as high as they were wide, gave a breathtaking view of a marble terrace. Sculpted busts of illustrious personalities were placed between them.

Flowered silk curtains framed the windows and were held to the walls by ribbons.

The bed on the left, against the the wall, was a four-poster. There were hand-embroidered pillows, and the blanket was perfectly ironed. Someone was probably making his bed as well. On the nightstand was an open book.

The right side was a living room.

There was a rough wooden fireplace with candlesticks on top.

Armchairs and a cream-colored sofa surrounded a coffee table with golden legs.

A sable coat had been negligently left on one of the arms of the big chair. Golf clubs had been left on the large Moroccan carpet.

I felt anger bubbling in my chest as I finished observing the place.