One Sunday afternoon.
Lucien woke from a light doze and found Eriri sitting at the foot of the bed, absorbed in the sketchbook she held. Every time she came across something that pleased her, a small smile flickered across her face and her canine teeth showed for an instant — a surprisingly cute detail that made the whole quiet ward look like a painting. Lucien watched her for a moment, slightly dazed.
"Eriri, I have a question," he said softly.
"You're awake!" Eriri set the sketchbook down with a little flourish and brightened. "What's up? Ask away."
Lucien hesitated, then said, "When I first arrived I missed hanami season. If I…I mean, if I can still be around next spring, I want to take my family to see the blossoms. Do you have any recommendations where the cherry blossoms are especially nice?"
Eriri frowned theatrically and gave him a mock glare, as if scolding him for even imagining such a thing. "Why would you say that?" she chided, but her eyes were kind.
After a beat she leaned forward, animated. "Don't go to the usual crowded spots like Ueno or Chidorigafuchi — they're full of tourists and you end up standing in line. If you want something calmer and just as beautiful, go to the Izu Peninsula. Specifically, Kawazu on the east coast of Izu. The Kawazu-zakura bloom early — around February to early March — and the town holds a lovely festival along the river."
"Kawazu?" Lucien repeated, puzzled — he'd never heard of it.
"Yes, Kawazu. It's famous for early-blooming cherry trees. The flowers last a long time, and the sight of the blossoms lining the river is unforgettable. You can also soak in hot springs nearby and the fields of canola flowers bloom at the same time, painting the hills with bright yellow — it's very picturesque."
As Eriri described it, Lucien pictured the scene: a slow river, long rows of pale pink blossoms reflected in the water, steam rising from a distant onsen. He smiled, impressed. "Noted. Kawazu, Izu Peninsula. I'll remember."
Eriri's expression brightened even more. "When you think of Izu, do you think of novels? Kawabata Yasunari's 'The Dancing Girl of Izu' is set around there — there's this very romantic, nostalgic image of the peninsula in Japanese literature." She paused, then added with a little conspiratorial tone, "There's a place called Lover's Cape. It's the go-to spot for couples. The legends are dramatic — people used to tell of lovers making oaths there. On clear days you can even see Mount Fuji, and in summer they have fireworks over the cape."
Lucien listened, caught up in the picture she painted. "It sounds…very poetic," he said.
"It is," Eriri agreed, eyes alight. "Izu feels like the kind of place that makes people fall in love with small things — the sea, a wind-blown cherry blossom petal. It's a place writers and filmmakers adore."
Lucien let the romance of the description settle. "If I go, I'll take pictures for you," he said lightly.
Eriri grinned. "Of course. And bring snacks — dorayaki, maybe. I want to see your hanami photos and judge the composition."
He laughed. "Deal."
They talked on — Lucien asked practical questions about when to book, where to stay, what foods to try — and Eriri answered with the carefree confidence of someone who knew her country and loved its quirks. She recommended small ryokan with private baths where one could watch petals fall in the evening, suggested checking ferry schedules, and warned against the busiest weekends.
At one point Eriri grew thoughtful. "You should go in the off-week of the festival if you want it quieter," she advised. "But even during the festival the atmosphere is lovely — stalls, seasonal food, people in yukata sometimes. It depends on whether you want solitude or a festival mood."
Lucien nodded, storing everything in his head. "Thank you. I didn't know there were so many variations in hanami."
Eriri cocked her head and teased, "You've been busy creating. Travel can be good for the soul — and the art."
He felt a warmth at the word "art" — a reminder of why he did what he did, and why he'd missed these ordinary pleasures. For a moment both of them were quiet, content in the easy company.
Then Eriri tapped her sketchbook. "By the way, when you go to Kawazu, you should try the local seafood. They have excellent fish and — don't laugh — a kind of plum-flavored sweet they're proud of. And the onsen food is so comforting."
Lucien smiled at her list with genuine curiosity. "I'll make an itinerary."
Eriri made a small show of writing notes in the air. "First: arrange dates. Second: buy warm clothing. Third: bring me back a kokeshi doll."
"A doll?" Lucien teased.
"What, you think I won't demand a souvenir?" she shot back, laughing.
They fell into more teasing — small, domestic talk that filled the quiet room with ordinary joy. It was a simple Sunday scene: two people sharing plans, joking, and making quiet promises.
When the sun shifted and the ward's light softened, Lucien felt a small, fierce gratitude for the moment. He'd been given so much — a chance at work he loved, friends who cared, and a future he could plan for now. He leaned back on his pillow and closed his eyes for a minute, picturing blossoms drifting like snow.
Eriri watched him for a moment then nudged his shoulder gently. "Don't sleep too long. If you're going to recover properly, you need to get out and see more than just the hospital."
"Then next spring, Kawazu," Lucien said softly.
"Promise?" she asked.
"Promise."
Eriri smirked, then folded up her sketchbook and stood. "You better keep it, or I'll come after you with a sketchpad."
He laughed and opened his eyes to look at her properly. "I wouldn't dare let you down."
Outside, through the window, a stray breeze lifted a single curtain at the ward's edge. For a few heartbeats, the room held the same fragile peace as a petal drifting down to rest on still water.
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