Dream in Water - Vocaloid 神威がくぽx巡音ルカ

💜💗💜💗💜 Story 💗💜💗💜💗 Night had not yet fully descended. Along the horizon, a final ribbon of violet and crimson still lingered. Lanterns throughout the garden were beginning to glow, their warm golden light falling across the pond and breaking into fragments beneath the evening breeze. A wooden bridge stretched over the water, scattered petals drifting beneath it. In the distance, a pavilion stood half-hidden behind the flowers, its eaves darkened as though twilight had traced them with a careful brush. Megurine Luka and Kamui Gakupo sat side by side on the wooden veranda beside the pond. The hizakura blooming around them looked unlike the pale cherry blossoms most people knew. Their richly crimson flowers hung in clusters, each half-open blossom shaped like a tiny bell swaying gently in the wind. Now and then, a petal loosened from a branch, spiraled downward, and touched the pond, leaving behind a small and fleeting ripple. Luka rested against Gakupo’s shoulder. Her soft pink hair flowed over his sleeve, lifting lightly whenever the breeze passed through. Between her fingertips, she held a single hizakura blossom that had just fallen from the tree. It had not yet withered. The wind had simply carried it away from its branch. Against her pale palm, its deep-red petals looked unusually vivid, like a tiny flame burning in silence. “This kind of cherry blossom isn’t quite what I imagined,” Luka said softly. Gakupo turned his face toward her. “What did you expect it to look like?” “Something gentler.” Her blue eyes reflected the lantern light trembling across the pond. “Pale pink petals falling all at once when the wind blows, almost like snow.” “You don’t like hizakura?” “No.” Luka shook her head slightly, and the ornaments in her hair gave a faint chime. “I only feel that it looks as though it is trying very hard to leave something behind.” Gakupo did not answer immediately. He lowered his gaze toward the water. The pond reflected their two figures leaning together, as well as the layered branches of crimson blossoms overhead. Whenever the water moved, their reflections drifted apart. Once the ripples settled, they came together again. “Because the color is so intense?” he asked. “Perhaps.” Luka studied the flower in her palm. “Its season cannot last forever, yet it still blooms so brightly. Almost as though it knows it will eventually fall, and refuses to be forgotten.” After speaking, she grew quiet. The evening wind crossed the veranda, gently stirring Gakupo’s violet hair. The long strands framing both sides of his face fell to his waist, catching the lantern light with a deep-purple sheen. He lifted one hand and carefully brushed a loose strand of Luka’s pink hair back over her shoulder. “And what about you?” he asked suddenly. Luka looked up. “What do you mean?” “If you knew that certain moments could never remain forever, what would you do?” She stared at him, clearly not expecting him to return the question to her. A wind chime sounded softly somewhere in the distance. Luka thought for a long while before answering. “I think I would remember.” “Only remember?” “Yes. I would remember the expression that person wore, the words they said, the direction the wind came from. I would even want to remember where each petal landed.” Her eyes lowered toward the hizakura in her hand. “Some things do not have to remain unchanged forever to have truly existed.” Gakupo’s expression softened. The arm resting behind her shoulders drew slightly closer, allowing her to lean against him more comfortably. “But if only one person remembers, it would be rather lonely.” Luka paused. Gakupo looked toward their reflection in the pond. His voice was calm, yet somehow deeper than the gathering twilight. “So I will remember too.” The words were simple. There was no elaborate vow, nor any attempt to describe the future as something that could never change. Even so, Luka felt something gently touch the most tender part of her heart. She leaned closer, her ear resting against his shoulder, as though she might hear his heartbeat through the layers of fabric. “Then you have to remember for a very long time.” “How long?” Luka pretended to consider it. “At least longer than the hizakura in this garden.” Gakupo laughed quietly. “That does not sound too difficult.” “Don’t underestimate them.” Luka lifted her face toward him, looking unusually serious. “They will bloom again next spring. And the spring after that. And the one after that.” “Then I suppose I will have to come with you every year to make sure.” For a moment, Luka could only look into his violet eyes. Gakupo had spoken naturally, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was not a distant promise too grand to reach, but a small agreement that could be fulfilled little by little with every returning spring. They would come again next year. And the year after that. Until they could no longer count how many seasons of hizakura they had seen together. A gentle smile appeared on Luka’s lips. “If you say things like that, I’ll believe you.” “I meant for you to.” A stronger breeze swept through the garden, making the clusters of hizakura sway at once. Petals fell around them like fine crimson rain. One landed on Gakupo’s shoulder, while another settled among Luka’s hair. Gakupo reached to remove it, but Luka caught his wrist first. “Leave it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why?” “Because it looks beautiful like this.” “The petal is in your hair. You cannot see it.” “But you can.” Luka laughed as soon as she finished speaking. Gakupo watched her, amusement gradually warming his eyes as well. “Do you intend to leave it there all night?” “At least until we return.” She released his wrist and placed the blossom in her palm between them. “I want to take this one home too.” “To press it?” “Maybe.” Luka smiled. “Or perhaps I’ll simply let it dry naturally. Whenever I see it, I’ll remember tonight.” Gakupo reached out and gently enclosed both her hand and the blossom within his own. His palm was warm and steady. “You do not need to rely only on a flower to remember.” “I know.” Luka did not pull her hand away. She rested against his shoulder once more, their hands remaining loosely joined beneath the evening sky. They did not hold each other desperately, nor did they fear being separated. It was simply the most natural way to confirm that the other was still there. The ripples across the pond gradually faded. Their reflections became clear again. The hizakura, the lanterns, the deep-violet night sky, and the two figures in pink and purple leaning close together were all quietly preserved within the water’s mirror. Watching the reflection, Luka suddenly spoke. “Gakupo.” “Yes?” “Let’s come here again next year.” Gakupo did not look toward the pond. He lowered his gaze to the woman resting against his shoulder and answered without hesitation. “All right.” A petal touched the water. Their reflections trembled, yet never truly separated. The hizakura continued blooming beneath the night wind, vivid and silent, as though leaving behind the brightest possible proof of a promise that needed no further embellishment.