Chapter 28 - The Sharp Scent of Flowers
“Hmm hmm hmm~”
Today was our last day staying in this rural village.
We'd actually gone out for a quiet walk together, just the two of us, without any morning sex or anything like that.
Luckily, it was a small inn with hardly any guests, so we hadn't been kicked out.
The innkeeper had just given us a mild warning to keep it down a bit.
Knowing she'd overheard everything was a little embarrassing.
Anyway, as we strolled down the country roads, we were heading toward the sanctuary.
We'd decided to actually visit the monastery we'd talked about last time.
It was smack in the middle of the mountains, so we couldn't easily bring a carriage.
We were walking the roughly hour-long distance on foot.
The bonus was enjoying the perfect weather—warmth mixed with a cool breeze.
In the end, Irene and I were having a great time walking together.
“There are so many flower fields~”
Irene said, gazing at the flower fields scattered around.
She even walked right into one of them.
“What kind of flowers are these? Maurice, do you know?”
Irene spun in a circle among the flowers, arms outstretched.
What could I say? She was breathtaking.
The famously beautiful Saintess stepping into a field of gorgeous blooms—she looked like a flower herself among them.
Even I couldn't deny how stunning Irene's beauty was.
“Hmm, no idea. That sharp scent... maybe camellias?”
“Camellias? What's that?”
“I've only heard of them. Could be something else. Forsythia, maybe... No clue.”
There were red flowers, yellow ones, all sorts of colors mixed together—who knew the right answer?
But they definitely put people in a good mood.
“The fragrance is amazing~ Can I pick one~?”
With that, Irene plucked a flower stem.
She gathered a whole armful and came back to me.
“What'd you pick so many for?”
“Just wait a sec...”
Irene wove the flowers together into a circle, combining colors into flower crowns.
Yellow, red, purple—super cute ones.
One wasn't enough; she made two.
“Here, yours~ And mine!”
She placed one on my head and one on hers.
Her beaming smile was adorable.
“How do I look? Pretty, right?”
“...Yeah, pretty.”
The Saintess before me, flower crown and all, standing against the flower field backdrop—it was a stunning scene.
A refreshing breeze blew just then, making her clothes flutter.
It was like the wind itself urging me to savor this beautiful Irene.
“We used to play like this when we were kids, remember?”
“Yeah? Of course.”
Irene took the flower crown off her head, cradling it in her hands with a wistful gaze.
“I'd make crowns from the neighborhood flower fields and give them to my friends... My parents loved it too.”
Parents.
That word made me flinch for a second.
Talking about Irene's parents was taboo between us.
I never expected her to bring it up first.
“Everyone loved getting pretty flower crowns...”
Irene looked at me and grinned wide.
“But you, Maurice—you liked them more than anyone!”
“...How could I not?”
It was a gift from Irene, after all. No one else.
I smiled and answered that way.
Irene put her flower crown back on.
“Maurice... I...”
Irene gazed at me with distant eyes, unable to meet mine properly.
Her face was flushed, like she wanted to say something specific.
But her lips hesitated, struggling to form the words.
I had a feeling I knew why.
I could guess what she wanted to express.
I clenched my fist and grabbed her waist.
“Eek...?!”
I kissed her.
The scent of flowers and scattering petals rode the breeze.
Birds chirped overhead, as if announcing our moment.
“...!”
Irene's eyes widened in surprise at first.
Then she realized something and wrapped her arms around my waist, accepting the kiss for a moment.
A simple lip-to-lip kiss, no tongue.
We stayed like that for minutes before pulling apart.
Irene looked away, face red with embarrassment.
I was too shy to meet her eyes right away.
After all we'd done, getting flustered over a plain kiss like this?
Definitely the sharp camellia scent's fault.
Yeah, blame the camellias.
Then.
“Hmph.”
Irene shoved me into the flower field, knocking me down.
The pungent floral aroma enveloped me.
And atop it all.
“Maurice.”
Irene climbed on.
Without stripping off clothes or even exposing key spots.
“You're doing it on purpose, aren't you?”
We lost ourselves in the heady fragrance, craving each other without clear thought.
“Doing what?”
“You know...”
Irene seemed too shy to say it outright—or maybe conflicted.
She turned her head side to side, searching for the words.
“We've done everything together already.”
“Yeah, everything.”
Biting, sucking, thrusting—all of it.
“But... somehow, Maurice, you keep dodging it.”
“...”
“You die in about 80 days... Is that why?”
It was spot on, but I couldn't give a straight answer.
That might ruin our relationship.
Answering honestly would just fill our remaining time with sorrow.
I stayed silent.
“Maurice.”
“Yeah.”
“I like you, Maurice.”
Irene rested her face on my chest, looking sad.
Like she was asking why I kept avoiding it.
“I really like you. From childhood, you were always my close friend, never abandoned me, and even after I became the Saintess, you stayed by my side without hesitation...”
Irene looked up at me.
“Even knowing the curse dooms us both to die together, you stick with me without complaints... I really like that Maurice.”
“Yeah...”
“What do you think of me, Maurice?”
“...”
I couldn't say it.
Saying it would turn our ending tragic.
If I expressed my true feelings, they'd build to an even greater despair by the end.
So I hesitated.
That's why.
“I like you too, Irene.”
“...!”
“As my longtime childhood friend, I really like you.”
Irene's face twisted in complicated emotions.
It was true, what she wanted to hear—but something was missing.
And she seemed to know why.
“The cute, lovable Saintess... I really like her.”
“...”
“But...”
I sat up and hugged Irene.
Hoping she'd understand.
Hoping my feelings got through.
Hoping she'd grasp our situation.
“If we go further... our ending will feel our end too heartbreaking.”
“...I hate sad things. Especially if you're sad, Maurice.”
“Me too. Especially if you're sad, Irene.”
So...
“Please understand the feelings I can't fully say. And... if the chance comes someday...”
I kissed Irene.
“I'll express my heart then.”
“...”
Irene stared at me quietly, her wistful eyes shifting between me and the flowers.
Unable to speak.
I hoped she understood.
“...”
I had no idea.
About our relationship.
Maurice.
My childhood friend, and... the person I like.
I know exactly what feelings you're trying to express.
I get what you want to say.
I understand why you keep dodging answers.
Why you say you like me but tack on "childhood friend."
Why you want to stay together yet keep postponing real expression.
I know it all.
I'm your childhood friend who's spent years with you. I can read you like a book.
And... we've shared our bodies so many times.
I know why you feel affection for me but keep delaying, dragging it out.
Yeah, I understand.
But sometimes it's frustrating. For me too. This endless postponing.
The curse with its deadline... turning joy into inevitable sorrow.
That's why I've been pushing too, right? Demanding more intimacy to force that feeling I crave.
Deep down, did I know?
That without doing this, we'd have to face those emotions head-on.
That we both have to keep delaying.
Maurice.
I really like you.
Truly.
But... I want to go further. For our relationship to advance.
Yet we're scared, holding back.
Because of this terminal life.
Maurice...
Is our relationship doomed to stay like this?
I don't know.
Do you... not know either?
Until Irene and Maurice's death.