#flowerbell

The bathroom is single occupancy, and Pierre dumps everything out of his pockets and onto the top of the toilet paper dispenser before he lowers the seat and sits down—he'd learned his lesson about that the hard way when he'd dumped his checkbook in once. Then he takes a deep breath and looks at the mark.

A lot of the Pens' players he's run into have had Flower's mark: a starburst of yellow that almost looks like petals. A mark which looks suspiciously like the one decorating Pierre's hand. And not all of the people who have your mark are soulmates, but usually marks come in with growing affection, platonic or otherwise. To have one appear this fast...

Someone knocks on the door, and Pierre flushes the toilet and washes his hands to make it seem like he'd actually been using the bathroom instead of trying to corral his thoughts. He likes Flower, has ever since he'd met him not too long ago. If Flower has his mark, he can't say he'd be adverse to seeing where things go, even with all the complications that being on the same team would bring.

Pierre turns off the water and uses the last of the paper towels, and it's not exactly a surprise when he opens the door and finds Flower on the other side.

"I told them I'd stay behind so you'd know the next clue," Flower tells him. "But I know where they're all ending up, and I think I've got something of yours, so."

He holds out his arm and turns it upright, and there, sitting on the inside of Flower's wrist, etched in the same blue as his veins, is Pierre's mark.

"Yeah," he says, touching Flower's starbust with the tips of his fingers and trying to push down a swell of hope. "Looks like it."

They've got hundreds of marks between them—a sign of being well loved and well liked, but Pierre can't keep his eyes off the blue of his own mark on Flower's skin.

"The way I see it, we could go catch up with the guys and just ignore this, or we could go hang out at the sushi place all the teams are going to end up at—Deryk told me," he says to Pierre's questioning look, "or we could go somewhere else and talk. Up to you."

"Scavenger hunts have never been my strong point," Pierre says, keeping his voice light. "And I've never been a big sushi fan."

"Yeah?" Flower's shoulder relax imperceptibly. "Then I know a place."

'A place' turns out to be an ice cream parlor down the street, with beat-up vinyl seats and records hanging on the walls. There's a list of 286 flavors lining the board behind the counter, and a couple of weekly specials scrawled on a whiteboard by the register.

"What's good?" Pierre asks, and Flower orders for the both of them. They slide into a corner booth, and Pierre doesn't pull away when his foot tangles with Flower's. They talk about nothing and everything until Flower finishes off his ice cream.

"So, what do you want to do about this?" Flower asks when Pierre's done telling about him about some of the stuff he used to get up to with the Flyers. Flower pushes his empty bowl to the side and pulls Pierre's closer.  

"It's up to you, but I... I think we could try it," Pierre says. "I like you, and it seems like you like me, and we could see where this goes."

"Yeah?" Flower asks, setting his fingers on top of the mark on the back of Pierre's hand. Pierre shivers, and not just from the chill of Flower's skin.

"Yeah."

Flower's fingertips aren't any warmer when he sets them against Pierre's cheek, but he can't find it in himself to care. When Flower leans over the table to kiss him, he tastes like the strawberry ice cream he's been stealing from Pierre's bowl: sweet and chaste.

Flower's eyes are still shut when Pierre pulls back from the kiss, From this close, Pierre can see the circles under his eyes, but he thinks that's to be expected. A new town, a new team, a new... something. Whatever it is that they are, or are going to be. He doesn't know if it'll all be okay, but he hopes so.

And then Flower opens his eyes and smiles at him, knocks their feet together, and goes back to stealing Pierre's ice cream.

"So, do you want to go to the chapel with me?" Pierre asks after the companionable silence has stretched out long enough. Flower chokes on a bite.

"Don't you think that's moving a little fast?" he manages to get out when he's stopped coughing.

"Not really," Pierre says, and then gives up the fight and starts to grin. "I think I left my wallet in the bathroom."