Your Nightmares and...Fantasies

A woman's touch.

Soft, yet aggressive. One that's all too familiar by the hundreds of ladies and fan girls who threw themselves onto me whenever I got recognized in public.

A hand up my sleeves. Another on my thighs. A third stroking my back, the last one, frantic and desperate, managed to grab onto my hair. It was a full fledged assault-if I could even call it as such.

My friends, some acting as guards and one as my manager, pushed their way through the lingering crowd. One of them ruthlessly slapped those sausage fingers away from me. Nervously, I managed to escape the area just as I heard one of the girls confessed her marriage proposal.

Deep down, I knew the sacrifices. Being an online celebrity meant driving women and sometimes men, insane. And I meant literally insane.

At least the men who were interested in me would spew their confessions in the comfort of social media. Women? Unhinged. It didn't matter to the countless ladies that their feral behaviors occurred in public. 

As if they wanted the world to know just how much I was loved. How they could be the perfect girlfriend. How they could fix me. How they could make my music better. How they could be the new hottest model for my clothing brand.

When will I ever find someone who'd like me for me?

I snapped out of my thoughts when Emma pulled onto my sleeve. I had been staring at her for longer than expected, that she thought something was on her face. We casually strolled down the sidewalk for a while now, admiring homes as much as I had no interest in learning who the occupants were.

But Emma insisted in sharing who's living in my new community, so I shrugged and listened to the stories. That is, if I hadn't been so distracted by the way she smiled. Her words, articulated and quirky, contrasted the stuttering and anxiety attacks that I wouldn't have imagined this was the same person.

Her lips, rosy and plump, and her cheeks with a faint blush. Those eyes that reflected curiosity and genuine kindness. It's hard to believe she's related to an asshole. 

After what seemed to be like a mountain of stories, we finally reached our first stop. A shop brimming with assorted flowers.

And to my surprise, an elderly woman who looked all too familiar, stood in front of several rows of lilies and roses.

"Miss Iwamoto?!"

I gulped, just as the woman turned to glance at us. My fingers curled into fists as I stood frozen like a statue. Sweat trickled down my back; I had to prepare myself for a serious whooping.

But thankfully, either she forgot or she stopped caring, Miss Iwamoto returned a smile.

"Oh! Lovely to see you here, Emma," she side eyed at my direction, "you too, Ace."

"Aw you remember his name!" Emma exclaimed, as if remembering names were a bad thing.

"Courtesy, dear, especially after that interesting conversation."

Alright, maybe remembering my name wasn't a good thing.

"So, what brings you two here?" 

Emma turned her head towards me. I looked at her for a brief second before I realized she's giving me the stage to speak. 

"I-" I ruffled my hair anxiously, "Actually, we're on a date."

An audible gasp. Whether it was horror or genuine surprise, I pretended I couldn't tell the difference.

"Oh," Miss Iwamoto turned to Emma, "you two are dating?"

"H-he said we're just going on a date! Not that we're dating, we aren't boyfriend and girlfriend yet, I mean at all! It's just a date y'know, to see if we're compatible! Like a get to know each other and enjoy the day sort of thing!"

Mentally, I wanted to lie on the floor and go home.

Why bump into Miss Iwamoto out of all people? After my first impression was destroyed beyond repair, there's no way anything I do or say would convince her I'm a good partner let alone a neighbor!

"Ah," the old woman slowly nodded. Absorbing this kind of information must've been gruesome for her.

I decided enough was enough. There wasn't a point in being so nervous, despite my frozen posture and the rhythmic tapping of my foot.

"We came here," I started carefully, "because I thought it would be nice to start the day to get Emma flowers."

They abruptly turned their heads in sync. Emma, wide-eyed and flushed, furrowed her eyebrows as if to ask me, GOSH ACE WHAT ARE YOU SAYING.

On the contrary, it looked like Miss Iwamoto was impressed. With a modicum of respect even. That's right, being a gentleman was the end goal.

The old woman tilted her head slightly, before glancing back at the flowers.

"That's a very sweet gesture dear," she began calling me dear, "Emma was always fond of flowers. Has she told you which ones were her favorite?"

Nope. But I wish I knew.

I felt Emma wrapping her arms around mine tighter. As if a squeeze would telepathically inform me which flowers to get.

But perhaps a squeeze was what I needed.

Closing my eyes, I thought about it. Her room, scented with lavender. Her lilac candles, the amethyst stones. Surely, it had to be something purple, right?

Nah, that's too easy. 

I opened my eyes and observed the collection of flowers. The florist inside the shop was busy prepping orders, and when I saw what they were, it clicked.

"You," I turned to Emma, "like roses, don't you?"

Shit. That was cliche.

Emma grinned. 

"I do! The roses they're working on is for one of my grandpa's store opening!"

My heart dropped. As if she read my mind, Emma added, "Don't worry, it's not related to what he does now."

I wasn't satisfied with that answer. Roses are everyone's favorite flowers. It's the kind one would answer when they don't know, a safe option. Additionally, I had forgotten about Emma's upcoming speech for said opening. I don't think I had caught what day it was.

"Curious, when's the opening again?"

"In two days," Miss Iwamoto butted in, "it's very exciting to see what brilliant ideas Mr. Fukuyama has in store. That man's so charming, an angel to our town."

I clenched my teeth. I began to think I'm the unluckiest person in the world. Perhaps the only one screwed over by that son of a gun. 

"I see," was all I could muster.

Emma noticeably sighed. Turning away from me, she focused on another conversation with Miss Iwamoto. That habit of ignorance was the one little thing preventing Emma from perfection.

Shrugging it off, I took a step inside the shop. The air was fresh and a treat for my lungs. Glancing around, a bouquet of red roses enticed me to approach it.

Cliche, cliche, ah this is so weird!

I decided roses are saved for another time. This is our first date after all, I wanted to impress her beyond roses. 

Looking to my right, my heart fluttered as I followed the streak of fainted sunlight emitting from the outside. It happened to shine onto a bouquet of...

This is it. 

I called for the florist quietly. She rung up my order in a posthaste before going back to her assorting assembly. 

Excited, I nearly skipped back to where the women stood. Emma was distracted by some conversation about high school with Miss Iwamoto. 

"Emma," I called from behind, "for you."

Emma turned and nearly collapsed. She gasped and raised her hands to cover her gaping mouth, surprised that I actually got it right.

"Wait- how did you know! I never told you!" 

Her eyes began to fill with tears. 

Woah, hold on! They're just flowers, why are you crying?

Without hesitating, Emma held her tears and pulled me in. She buried her face onto my chest, silently weeping. I held the bouquet, confused but quite liking how she's so close.

I returned the hug, my other hand stroking and patting her back.

Miss Iwamoto approached next to me with a melancholic smile.

"I'm going to assume she hasn't told you," the old woman locked eyes with me, "Her parents sent her a bouquet of purple daisies during her high school graduation. Before they passed away in a fatal car accident."