It's late in the evening, almost dusk. The weather is unusually humid, and she can feel the cotton shirt cling to her skin, absorbing sweat. She feels dirty, like the dirty old woman she is, down on her knees. Ren, she thinks. You naughty bastard. I'm busy now, later. She's busy, tending to her ortensia. Next, it's the azalia and the camelia, and the rest of her garden and, of course, when all is set and done, there is Ren in the house. The rest of the world is null.

Her name is Nana, and she was once a famous singer.

As she digs her fingers in the wet soil, she hums to herself. Na na na na, na na, naa na. She strokes a leaf and plucks two pretty blooms. She balances one behind each ear and doesn't care that the normally grey hair is now mud-stained. Na na na na na. The sound of the waves is soothing. The rest of the world is null.

Except for Ren... waiting.

Slowly, she picks herself up and goes inside. In the middle of the living room, there he is - handsome like yesterday, like the day before. Ren is untouched by time.

I'm back. Told you I wouldn't take long.

A few wrinkles deepen as she grins at him, that old catty smile of hers. Ren doesn't speak.

Did you miss me? I got dirt under my nails and on my hair, but you'll still take a bath with me, right?

He stares at her, as earnest as a flower whose core is hidden between layers and layers of petals can be. He floats – water is his element. Maybe flowers can't speak, but he tries, for this kind old lady's sake. She is notorious among Ren flowers - the lady with the faded tattoo of one of their kind on her left shoulder. Of course I'll take a bath with you. Just take me in your hand, as always, he seems to whisper in her mind – and her chest swells. It is just like the old days.

Her name is Nana, and she loves, loves, was loved. The rest of the world is null.