Disclaimer: Hana nomi zo Shiru/Hana no Mizo Shiru belongs to Takarai Rihito.
Title taken from a Yellowcard song.

For a lack of better words, perfection was just a mere fragment of a whole dictionary of terms that could be used to describe the serenity of this very moment. A chilly autumn's breeze shook the branches of the tree the two boys were laid beneath, gently swaying the leaves hanging above their heads as it passed through. The setting sun cast beautiful hues of red and orange over the vast plains and bathed everything in its path, illuminating the two bodies snuggled tightly together against the frosty air. Misaki dared not interrupt the silence he and Arikawa had been situated in, and instead, snuggled further into his lover's embrace, the rise and fall of his chest a melodic tune that sounded throughout every inch of Misaki's being. Arikawa's arm had a secure hold around Misaki's slightly slanted form, and in return Misaki's hair gently tickled the tip of the other's chin, his hand resting atop him, fingers splayed over his chest. The rhythmic thump of his heart beat was enough to lull Misaki to sleep, but his trance was disturbed by the feeling of a familiar weight being lifted from his neck. He glanced downwards, and smiled softly as he witnessed a set of well known hands playing with the metallic chain, twirling the flower pendant it adorned between his fingertips.

"Did I wake you?" Arikawa worried as he acknowledged the gaze that had been turned to focus on him. Discarding the necklace he'd been preoccupied with before, he took his now free hand and rose it to Misaki's scalp, running his calloused digits through the soft, creamy locks he'd become so accustomed too.
"No", Misaki assured, tracing circles against the abdomen of the one with whom he laid.
It was becoming increasingly dark as the evening wore on, and although they both knew the time would come where they'd have to depart, the two boys were hesitant to desert the sliver of peace they'd established for themselves under the great oak. Taking the initiative, Arikawa rose from his laying position, his action forcing Misaki to, begrudgingly, do the same.
"Come on, you look tired," Arikawa insisted, "we should go". He brought his hand to Misaki's cheek, sweeping away an eyelash that had fallen with his thumb, the backs of his fingers grazing delicately over the velvety skin as his hand retreated.
Misaki nodded in reply and as he stood, allowed the taller of the boys to take his hand, entwining their fingers as they walked the path back to their everyday lives. On the way back home, Misaki thought about his life, their lives, and all the little things that made his days feel so fulfilled. The way Misaki would assist Arikawa with his tie each morning, his skilled and efficiently paced fingers knotting the long strand of material in such a way that Arikawa's clumsy ones just couldn't muster, or the way Arikawa was persistent in always suggesting that he wash Misaki's back for him during his evening bath. From this, Misaki decided that even if given the option, he wouldn't have things any other way.

A/N: My second story for this community. Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome and highly appreciated. Thanks for reading!