Not a date at all, but Erik had already asked for a no-work Valentine the week before. Not a date at all, but he had woken up early enough to be greeted by the dawn chorus on his way to the grocery store. There was still no way this could be a date, but he skipped the afternoon class for the sake of the beef stew simmering on the stove. He cleaned his apartment, made the table, and put the fresh flowers he got that morning in the most beautiful crystal vase he could find in the market.
Red carnations. My heart aches for you.
Erik lost count of how many times he forced his mind to stop wandering to the land of maybe-this-can-be-a-date bubble thoughts, for it was too risky.
It wasn’t a date, but Erik got out of the bathroom squeaky clean, and almost over-blown dry his hair in the process of staring at the cologne bottles on the shelf.
He re-emerged in the kitchen dining zone to turn on the rarely-used ambient lights, then kindle the cups of sandalwood-scented candles. The atmospheric illumination set the apartment’s owner out from his surroundings, something that his plain black tee and sweatpants of the same shade could never do. Usually, he was proud to be the dark of the starless night, like the scent he was wearing would imply.
But it was not a date. And there was a star coming over for the dinner between two best friends. In a Valentine's evening of homemade beef stew, flowers, and candles. And a DIY gift. And his overwhelming longing to write his name on the glory of Carter’s skin.
Red carnations. Alas for my aching heart.
Erik felt like he was walking on the clouds towards the ringing door. He opened it, and had to immediately summon all the strength of all of his muscle fibers not to jump toward Carter for a bear hug ~~and more~~.
“Still on time as always. Come on in, your Highness.”
He lightly bent his back and made an inviting gesture, waiting for Carter to get in before gently closing the door. And suddenly, Erik felt nervous.
That was just Carter, the best friend he had crossed the whole ocean to live a few minutes of walking away from. Carter was looking so Carter, in those years-old black, gray and white knit sweater that looked bespoke on his lithe frame, and the pair of black trousers that looked extra comfortable on his long slim legs. His coat and backpack, those Erik had rarely seen Carter without. The bottle of wine and the dainty red camellia on his hands.
Act normal, Erik, act normal.
“I’ve seen you come all prepared, 100 points for Thorn!” He cheered like one of those professors in Harry Potter, and failed to suppress a chuckle at his own silliness. Erik felt like a few decades had passed since the last time he uttered their schoolhouse’s name, but the familiar sound of it helped to banish the Shy Monster that was threatening to eat him up.
“Here, let me take care of them,” he extended his arms to welcome the flower and the wine bottle from Carter’s hands, probably this could be the closest he would dare to get to his best friend for tonight.
“The beef stew is ready, it’s right there on the stove,” Erik gestured by turning his head in the simmering pot’s direction, then turned back to look Carter in the eyes, and instantly realized it was a bad idea.
Damn, now Erik would love to blame the ambient lights and candles for making Carter look ethereal.
“Uhm, can you get the beef then? I’ll put the flower in the vase and open the wine. Be right back!”
Erik said, and without waiting for a response from Carter, he turned around and walked toward the dining table, as if the flower vase had suddenly become the most interesting object in the room. If his hands were not busy, Erik would definitely cross his fingers and pray that he would not go insane before this dinner ended.
