Honey Garden

Chapter | 2

But that particular argument had the two grinding on each other's nerves—Genkai verbally more so, and continued to spew degrading insults at the younger Toguro. Lan could never figure out why they decided to settle their fury with cooking (they ended up having no dinner at all since the results were inedible), but the amusement watching the two waddle and slither in such a tight space—add the fact that Toguro was man of bulking muscle—was what made both humans swivel their fury towards her at the noise of her mocking chuckle, a hint of rosy cheeks painting their complexion in part embarrassment and part annoyance.

Such were the days.

The kitchen had been alive then; steaming smoke that carried mouthwatering aromas, filled with moments of Genkai attempting to teach Lan how to cook. There was no improving result, but Genkai wasn't an expert in culinary either.

Seeing the room so empty and hollow now flamed the dormant anger within Lan. It would've been lively still today, with or without her absence draping a sense of depression. If only Toguro. . .

Lan shook her head to stop the turn of her thoughts yet again. Bemoaning of what was lost will solve nothing, and time will go on still.

Meanwhile, Genkai's gaze remained fixated on Lan all throughout her musing, her hips idly leaning against the counter beside the sink with her arms crossed.

Genkai inclined her head in thought.

She had stayed the same. No outrageous changes—yet different from the withdrawn individual Genkai remembered.

Observing the demoness now as she subconsciously pulled open a cupboard and reached for three, ceramic yunomi cups (ones which Genkai realized were their usual teacups a long time ago) before setting them on a wooden tray, Genkai noted the little differences her friend now possessed. Except for her hair, perhaps. Lan's hair still fell in its thick, flowing volume in the same tint of soft lilac. If anything else, it had grown longer, from when it ended to the middle of her back to tumbling down to her hips.

Back in the days of her early twenties, Genkai looked back on how her own daring pink locks would clash against Lan's gentle lilac. They were—once upon a time—compared to dancing petals in battle, becoming nothing but blurs of cherry and lavender. Their tandem had been admired by many, if not legendary, though Lan had always been overshadowed by the younger Toguro. She preferred it that way.

Aside from the obvious growth of her hair, there was a healthy peachy tone to the pigment of her skin, Genkai noted with relief. It made the pinkette recall how ridiculously pale Lan used to be—pasty and pearly.

But what Genkai couldn't shake since the moment their gazes locked was the significant change in Lan's eyes. Of what, the pinkette wasn't sure, but it was obvious that the demoness had gained something in the years she was away. Gone was the mist of confusion and naivety often overlaying those oceanic eyes. Genkai was unsure whether it meant a good change or no, but for Lan to come back and stood by her promise meant that nothing drastic happened.

Of course, Genkai couldn't confirm that until later. Which was why she remained stoic, mute—observing until the kettle began to whistle and the two prepared tea without words exchanged. Lan had taken it upon herself to carry the tray as she followed Genkai back into the living room while the latter took out three aftermentioned zabuton cushions then switched the television on. It was all done in quick movements, ending with the psychic steadily settling herself on a cushion before reaching for a cup of tea, blatantly ignoring the presence of Lan sitting beside her now as opposed to her open observation earlier.

Her student chose that moment to enter. Clean, fresh and garbed in comfortable clothes with his messy tresses slightly damp.

"Hey," he greeted, striding to plop down on his own cushion situated to Genkai's left (though he sat facing across Lan) before assuming the same air as his teacher's without bothering his own steaming cup. Truthfully, the pinkette was pleasantly surprised to see him composed now, rid of his disconcerted jittering and decidedly collected.