It's quiet this late at night. Though these days within this mansion’s grounds this is the case at any time of day. Those who once brought a terribly noisy joy into his life and home have moved on; they each come back to visit, of course, but they are busy people. Saint himself would like to consider himself a rather busy person also, but he supposes in comparison to a thief, doctor, and an inventor, he's leading a rather relaxed one with Cardia. But that, after all these years, suits him just fine.

 

He stands up to stretch, and then heard the quiet creak of the mansion’s large door in the distance. When he turns, Cardia is stood in her nightgown in the doorway; the purest of white, relatively long, and over her shoulders she wears a small blanket like a shawl. It's as though she knew he would be out here when she smiles at him, and though her feet are bare she still steps out into the garden. He supposes she must like the feeling of the soft grass beneath her feet, because the moment she reaches it she ignores every smooth stepping stone on the path towards him.

 

“Are you trimming the flowers again?” she asks, tilting her head and leaning as though peering past will answer all her questions anyway.

 

“Yes, but I was also gathering some.” There's no reason to deny the truth; it was her who made him come to love tending to his gardens again, and her who he does it all for.

 

“This late?”

 

Saint simply nods, turning back around to crouch down again. The last time they had spoken in the garden so late at night, with him trimming flowers, hadn't been the most favourable of conversations. Well, no; the issue hadn't been the conversation, and especially not Cardia, just himself. There are many times since he has met Cardia that he has been a fool. Supposedly a wealthy and mysterious man with his act together, he really didn't live up to that image. But perhaps that is the pitfall of love - turning even the bravest of men to cubs, and the wisest of men to fools.

 

Not that he would change it for the world.

 

He spares a momentary glance in her direction, and then reaches for one of the flowers nearer the back; the gathering makes it almost looks more like a multi-coloured bush, though they are all the same flower he has grown one of every colour he could find on his travels. Changing how he is holding the scissors, he digs into a little of the dirt around the panicle hydrangea. He could simply trim the flower, but it would die sooner. He lifts it from the soil with ease. “Will you fetch me a small flower pot from the greenhouse?”

 

“Of course. But, what are you doing?” Cardia questions, tilting her head again. It's adorable when she does it, but Saint must contain himself for the moment. She doesn't wait for an answer before she goes to the greenhouse, knowing fully where Saint keeps the stack of old and new pots for when he switches around the flowers that aren't in the beds. She suspects he's up to something, keeping so quiet about it. Anyone else might have assumed he was just switching them around but at this time of night where there's barely any with open flowers Saint cannot think to organise it aesthetically, so she knows. And when she returns, she gets her answer.

 

“Do you know the name of this flower?”

 

“Um…” She thinks; she has been taught many of them, at times when she insists helping Saint and they enjoy an evening in spring pruning the plants together. “...It's the hydrangea, right?” Looking at its position in the garden and using other ones like landmarks she was able to discern it.

 

“Yes,” he confirms, “but Cardia-san, do you know the meanings behind the flower?” He hasn't taught it to her, but he knows she often reads books about the meanings of flowers, especially when he's inclined to bring her bouquets of varying design without explanation. This time, however, she shakes her head.

 

“No…”

 

“Will you let me tell you?” He asks, because it's important to him. The hydrangea’s meaning of heartlessness lingers in the back of his mind; reminds him of who he was, while its other meanings would never have applied to him back then. But now it's the other way around.

 

“Please do!” Cardia is always happy and excited to learn new things, no matter when and where. Even if it is an ungodly hour and she had originally come here with the intention of having Saint return to bed. That mission was lost to the garden’s quiet, breezy, scented atmosphere; and of course the sincerity of the man stood before her. Of the one she loves the most out of anything in this world. While waiting, she feels the presence of the emerald ring on her finger - the warmest of smiles lighting up her eyes.

 

Saint places the flower into the pot, brushes off the soil from his hands, and moves to retrieve more from the ground to fill the pot. He could get fresh soil, but if the plant is used to growing in this one he thinks it would be unfair. Each time he goes between Cardia and the ground, he has something more to say.

 

“The hydrangea hold meanings of gratitude, of heartfelt emotion, of thanksgiving.” he explains, filling the pot in her hands.

 

“Like you,” she muses aloud, and Saint stops with his hands hovering above the flower after dropping in another handful of soil. “I mean, you are always heartfelt in your emotions, and you always say how thankful you are for me, and that I chose you to love.” Cardia feels the blush crawling across her face, but she knows better than to back down when Saint has gone silent. “Besides,” she looks at the white of the flowers, tinted just barely at the edges with purple, “aren't the colours just like your hair?” she shifts to circle the pot with one arm and hold it to her - her free hand gently caressing the petals of the few that adamantly bloom even in the shade of the night. “These ones in particular, are a lot like you.” she giggles, and Saint has to resist the urge to hold her tightly then and there - mostly because the flowers would be at risk.

 

“I-Is that so?” He clears his throat, and his hands return to work - but he, too, can feel the unusual heat in his cheeks. It's not often he can be taken by surprise, or riled in ways such as this, but Cardia; his sweet, beloved Cardia, is able to have so many effects on him he thought he'd long since lost the ability to experience. While crouching, digging at some more soil, he murmurs: “Thank you, Cardia-san.”

 

“You're very welcome, Saint.”