he'd once heard that talking to plants would help them grow . although the notion seemed ridiculous to him , yone could still remember the way the wizened vegetable lady of his past life had insisted on the correctness of her gardening methods . look --- look at how well my harvest has grown . it's got you coming around every week , hasn't it ?

... surely there was nothing to lose from trying . when they die ( and to his pessimistic self it is a when , not an if ) , he can at least say he tried .

and so he does --- he talks to them --- in secret , and only out of earshot . just this once though , he lets his guard down and fails to realize robin has returned .

a sigh . ' ... it's yet to get easier , talking to myself like this . this sore lack of conversational skills in me may be doing more harm than good . shall i recite a poem instead for you all ? ... you all , hah ... very well . ' eyes slip shut , drawing verse from memory , but when he opens his eyes , he tenses when he realizes he's not alone .

more cute stuff pls 🤲 yone is 😳💀

═══ UNPROMPTED INTERACTIONS ═══ LEAGUE VERSE

Like that of a dandelion was his step, gentle and silent as he crossed through the deepening woods - careful not to step on anything besides the path of least resistance. How many times had he walked the same steps? Too many times to count… Loneliness was strange in that way, how it grasped its talons in and turned its sufferers into puppets, strings pulled every which way and settling into the other rhythm that brought joy. It was as constant as the sun setting and the moons rising, how the cicadas cried and how the same birds called their loved ones home. The mage had grown so accustomed to the sounds of the wood that he practically predicted each one; that was until that soft gait paused when another voice entered the swell.

Robin lowers his selenic gaze to the path infront of him as he listens to the soft, husky whispers of a familiar face - or well, the blurred visage of what he was quick to find out was less a beast, and more a man. His head tilted to the side and eventually swiveled towards the northernmost part of his garden…and he took that first step into the wild, untamed brush. Bending low around each branch he came to see Yone settled amongst his flowers, and not just any, a small pool the mage had dug that was now fluttering full of water lilies.

The flower Yone gifted him when he first arrived.

Two moons rimmed with verdant beauty watch the samurai from the shadows of the brush and he finds himself being drawn out by the soft recitation of poetry within his birth language. Ionian had such beautiful tones within, and while Robin could understand most, others were lost on him. The mage does not hesitate when Yone stops his words, and emerges from the forest with a rather relaxed gaze. It is…strange how foreign it looks on his face, those wintry lashes covering his stare as he comes close and lowers himself down to the grass beside him before reaching his hand out to the petals of the lilies. They flutter as though he had tickled them, and softly he recites a poem of his own.

A delightful tone leaves his lips as the melody of his words pour like sweet honey; his voice lacks the dexterity of Yone's when reciting the language, but its worship of the life infront of him rings forth with each syllable. The mage hardly notices when the fawn and doe approach their sides and two white mice peek from his cloak, one cautiously lifting its nose towards the samurai while the other settles close to Robin's pale hair. Once the final sigh leaves his lips he faces Yone, a look of realization coloring his cheeks a faint red whilst he turns from the man and retreats his hands from the flowers. And when he finally does return the stare, he focuses downward to Yone's nose, unaware that the moons within his eyes have turned to mirrors to reflect the setting sun, bright and powerful. His words tremble,

"P-Pardon my enthusiasm."