#fluffball attack?

The first light of morning enters the bedroom, painting gold bands of light across their sleeping face. Smiling down at them fondly, Ramiel strokes the top of their head gently, bending down to press a soft kiss to their forehead. He doesn’t want to leave their side, but he has plans.

A touch of corrupted Grace ensures that they’ll stay sleeping while he carries out his plans. Carefully he extracts himself from their embrace, pulling the sheets up around them and giving them another fleeting kiss on their cheek.

The first bazaar he enters smells of incense and metals, sweat and brimstone. It’s warm, but the only flowers he can find are dried and pressed. That’s not what he’s after.

The second one is even noisier, with the marketplace covered by a canopy of masterful tapestries that turn everything into a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors. At first he believes that this, too, is a bust, but right as he turns to leave he catches a glimpse in his peripheral vision of a riot of glowing flowers being hauled away on someone’s back.

Heedless of anyone else’s comfort, Ramiel dives through the crowd, twisting and weaving through the various sundry denizens as he struggles to keep the bobbing flowers in sight. The streets grow narrower and the noisy din starts to fade, but Ramiel still doggedly pursues his prey.

He’s sure he’s finally found the flower bearer, but when he rounds the last corner he saw them disappear down, he finds only shoppers swaddled in dark cloths and not a single glowing bloom in sight. Mumbling under his breath about the nuisances of trans-dimensional markets, he once more goes to give up with a diminutive figure tugs on his pants.

“You seek something for a love?” they ask, too many eyes to count blinking up at him from beneath their headscarf.

“I—I wanted to bring them flowers,” Ramiel admits, knowing better than to ask silly questions like how this creature could know why he was here. It was relatively safe to answer anyways; the markets had their own laws preventing any acts that would endanger customers.

The creature grins, the teeth appearing above the eyes, thousands of little needles. “This way then! Java knows best. He speaks the language of many flowers.” The little creature scampers away, Ramiel following the tower of their bright head-wrap to a plain wooden door, no windows in sight.

“Here, here!” As expected, Ramiel fishes out a gold coin and tips the small creature. They toss it into a fold of their head-wrap, bow, and vanish in a puff of smoke.

Ramiel pushes the unmarked shop door open, a chorus of bells jingling softly as he enters.

“One moment,” a low voice like that of tectonic plates shifting greets him. It takes Ramiel a few moments to adjust to the darkness of the shop. He’s disappointed when he sees a ton of buckets with not a single flowering bloom in sight.

“What brings you to Java’s?” The shadow behind the counter moves, a hulking creature of rough angles and jutting protrusions speaking to him.

“I was told I could find some flowers here,” Ramiel admits, rubbing the back of his neck. Another dead end. He might need to give up and find an earth florist. Gabriel isn’t going to stay asleep forever.

“You won’t find what you seek,” Java responds. Ramiel sighs.

“I thought as—”

“I was not done speaking,” Java interjects, a note of reprimand in his voice.

Ramiel shuts his mouth.

“You will not find what you seek here,” he continues to rumble, restarting from before Ramiel interrupted him. “But you will find what you need.”

Ramiel arches an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure that’s what every merchant would prefer I believe,” he states with amusement. “And if you don’t have any flowers for me, then I’m afraid I must be going. I—”

Once more he’s cut across. “Old yet still so young and impatient. The lessons you learn best are the ones that come with a heavy price.”

Ramiel’s jaw clicks shut.

“You seek some pretty blossom to present to your soulmate.” When there’s a deliberate pause, Ramiel gives a cautious nod.

“But you are deaf to the language of the flowers, blind to the way they speak. I shall enlighten you.” Anywhere else, it would sound like a load of hyperbole and hogwash.

Here, Ramiel bows his head in deference. “I would appreciate that greatly, Java.” The huge figure comes around the counter, squeezing through a space that doesn’t look like it should hold him. Ramiel blinks, and decides not to think about it.

“Here.” Java jabs one blunt finger at a bucket. Ramiel raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Touch the flowers.” Wary, but curious, Ramiel reaches out and brushes his fingers over the stalks. A soft gasp escapes him as a riot of golden sparks fall onto his outstretched hand, a riot of color exploding into the dim interior of the shop.

The long petals fall across his fingers, bleeding from gold in the center to a fiery red-orange on the outside edges. The stamen reach for his fingers, dusted with more of the glowing golden embers, the entire flower casting soft flickering light like a torch.

“The Flames of Passion,” Java informs him. “All of these flowers bloom because of what you feel; they are not simply pretty items to be tossed hither and thither as part of an archaic courting ritual.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with the classics,” Ramiel protests, leaning forward. His surprise is increased when the blossoms smell like Gabriel, their Grace scent rising to meet his nose.

“If I did not appreciate flowers and the sharing of them with others, we would not be here,” Java reprimands.

“The Flames of Passion usually bloom for new lovers, part of a new relationship, a new, consuming love where-in there is room for little else. This love has not had time to mature, raw and consuming.”

Ramiel lets out a nervous chuckle. “I’m not sure—” This time he stops himself, letting Java continue at his slow and controlled pace.

“For you, it is a revival. This love has been a long time coming, but each day you wake to be surprised by its existence. You want to share some of that wonder. Which is why the Flames of Passion are not the only blooms I will share with you. Please, touch them all.”

Feeling like a child, with a whole new world of possibilities spread out before them, Ramiel reaches out, dragging his fingers across rows and rows of stalks, occasionally hissing as he encounters thorns or fine hairs that prick against his skin.

Several types of flowers open partially, some give him a token shudder of growth, but in the end three more open fully, creating patches of soft blue, white iridescent rainbows, and another one that doesn’t cast a wide aura but instead fills the air with stars.

“Misty Waters, Eternal Love, and Traveler’s Guide.”

Java points to the dark blue flower, something that looked vaguely like an earth lily, if Earth lilies were the size of small children and had glowing blue orbs at the center of them, freckles of purple scattered across the giant petals. “Misty Waters. It’s not always been the easiest course. Sometimes you’ve lost sight of each other. Sometimes you’ve wandered without direction, unsure of where or how to proceed. But the waters calm, and while your eyes may say you’re lost, the heart knows better. As long as you have each other, you will only wander, never again lost.”

“Eternal Love might seem self-explanatory,” Java muses, tickling the riot of gossamer white petals that send out an intense white light with rainbows dancing on the edges, as if refracted through some crystal or prism. “But the colloquial use is one that detracts from the truth this flower speaks. They will only bloom for those who have found an eternal soulmate. All the youth seem so concerned about romantic love, but the truth is there are many soulmates for a single person. Platonic, familial—there are many kinds. However, not all soulmates remain so across the multitude of existences.”

Java pulls his hand away, and the light narrows, chasing his retreating fingers. “Rarely do they bloom, for they only do so if the bond is true, returned, and eternal. This is the kind of love that death cannot touch, that survives and goes on even after whoever it binds has passed from living memory. The last one I saw blossom was well over six centuries ago. Many come in, believing they have found true love, and often it is true love, but true love is not the same as eternal. This love will pass the test of time, past the end of one and beginning of another.”

Finally Java trudges over to the last flower. “Traveler’s Guide. I believe an Earth equivalent might be the North Star. In this case, for you, it means your partner is the course by which you plot your life. No matter how far you wander or how far you drift apart, you will always come back together. They are your home, your light in the darkness, keeping you safe and warm, guiding you back to them.”

Ramiel swallows. “These are—something else, aren’t they?” he asks in wonder, watching the array of lights.

“That they are.” Java moves, and the lights slowly peter out, the flowers folding back up into themselves. “I’ll have them delivered.”

“You do deliveries? The penthouse is warded.”

Java chuckles. “Do not concern yourselves. The wards keep out any who mean harm.”

Ramiel doesn’t bother asking anymore questions. All he’ll get in response is more cryptic non-answers. “Very well. What do I owe?”

“Nothing much. To bloom they require a depth of emotion many do not possess. They feed on emotion, basking in it like the plants on Earth do in the sun. It does not lessen your own emotions. Simply keep them in a place of honor and nurture them.”

“That seems too simple.” Ramiel tilts his head.

Java turns around, and suddenly his back erupts into a riot of colors, a rainbow of living lights. “Our existence is symbiotic. The flowers need a voice, and we need their light.”

He turns back around, and a smile spreads across his rough-hewn features, showing off a mouth of crystals. “Not unlike your feelings for…” Java inclines his head. “Gabriel.”

Ramiel sucks in a breath, a smile curving his lips. “They are my everything,” he agrees, rubbing his chin. “And I want to—I want to be there for them.”

Java nods. “You are now. Or will be, shortly. You should go, return to them.” Ramiel holds up his hands, chuckling.

“As you say. Merry meet and farewell again till the suns shall rise and the moon hold safe your slumber, the mother mountain’s embrace home as the meadow flowers share their secrets for your soul.”

Java lets loose a chorus of grating, rumbling noises Ramiel recognizes as laughter. “Merry meet, traveler. Journey safe to the arms of your love.”

Farewells exchanged, Ramiel steps out the door—and into another shop. He takes a breath, and blows it out, cheeks puffing as he looks around.

“You again.”

The voice is airy, and sounds bored.

“Me, again?”

Ethereal hands appear in front of him, crossing. Even without seeing more of a body, he gets the impression that they are less than pleased. “Most people only share one, uggg, how to say this in your simplistic understanding of language, hmm… heart? Heart-fruit. You share it with your love, and you will never be alone again.”

Ramiel’s eyes widen. “You! I remember you!”

One hand flaps at him while the other wanders off. “Yes, yes, the impressive multi-dimensional being whose shop you stumbled into because you just had to try showing off your language skills and instead insulted a whole troop of Rhivunians. I’m fairly sure your name is still considered a foul word in their native tongue.”

Ramiel shrugs, cocky grin in place as he leans back. “I’m memorable, what can I say?”

Something comes hurtling out of the interior of the shop, and he catches it by reflex. “Now leave, before you do something,” the voice orders.

“I don’t even know how I got here! For once, I am completely innocent.” The hand still in front of him points at him, the large forefinger tipped in a blunt claw approaching with such vehemence that he stumbles back a step.

“You? Innocent? I’ve never had to give someone two of those! I don’t want to know what your love life looks like, but take it and get out.”

Ramiel rocks his head from side-to-side, a chagrined smile affixed in place. “Well, to be fair, I think you used a different word last time and I might have shared it with my nestmates not realizing it’s only meant for lovers—”

“GET OUT!”

This time the finger jabs at him, and then at a barely visible exit. “Are you sure? I’d be happy to—”

The other hand reappears from around a corner and Ramiel takes that as a sign to make his getaway.

This time he exits into the main square of the marketplace. It’s easy enough to hop a few portals back to earth, though he doesn’t return home, not right away.

“Oh my goodness gracious is that my favorite fallen angel?!” The voice that greets him is quickly followed by a chorus of squeals. In a moment Ramiel is surrounded by a group of dryads, all of them fawning over the strange fruit he has cradled in his arms.

“Is that for us?” Veracaea rises up on her tiptoes, reaching for the strange looking fruit. Ramiel quickly holds it over his head. Only Betulacaea is tall enough to reach, and he’s observing calmly from the edges.

“All right, settle down!” Salix claps their hands, and with some mumbling, the dryads give Ramiel.

“What can we do you for? Need snares? Instant forest growth?” Salix has their hands on their hips, appraising him.

“Nothing quite so dramatic, but much more important,” Ramiel informs them, lowering the fruit so he can cradle it against his chest again. “I…need two flower crowns. For me and my lover.”

The squeals this time could pierce eardrums. Betulacaea is the one who restores order this time. “Finally settling down?”

“Finally returning home, to where I should have been,” Ramiel responds, his smile rueful.

Varacaea bustles him over to a chair. “Wait here. We need to confer.”

The dryads disappear into the back of the shop, leaving Ramiel alone up front. He hopes this is quick. If Gabriel wakes up before he returns, then the surprise will be ruined.

The minutes tick by painfully slow on the clock. He squirms in his seat, and glances down at the fruit in his arms. It hadn’t tasted great the first time, but apparently it was supposed to tie together the hearts and souls of whoever ate it. Strange, it hadn’t seemed to work the first time. Maybe that was because he hadn’t understood what he felt back then.

The thought of him and Michael being tied together permanently makes him snort. That would have been a disaster.

Salix pokes their head out. “Come here. We need you to listen and learn.” They smirk. “Not your specialties, but I have a feeling you are particularly invested this time.”

Ramiel grumbles, but gets to his feet and follows the cheeky dryad into the backroom. A pair of flower crowns rest on the table, a myriad of plants artfully woven together.

Salix picks up the first one. “Each features a centerpiece of an acorn,” they say, pointing to the little oak nut. “This symbolizes life and immortality. The base of ambrosia is reciprocated love. Arbutus sprinkled for you only do I love.” They point to yellow-green flowers and then the white waxy ones in turn.

“Varacaea wanted some camellias, but they’re just not well-suited for crowns.”

“But I won on the daisies,” Varacaea chimes in smugly, pointing to the delicate chain of the small white and yellow flowers. “Daisies for loyal love.”

“Technically innocence too, but we all know you don’t have any of that left,” Betulacaea interjects. “But add a dandelion or two for faithfulness and happiness, contrast with some blue forget-me-nots for true love, and it works out.”

“I wanted to add some grass to yours for submission,” Varacaea takes over the conversation again. “Never seen you so in love.”

Salix smacks her with the back of one of their long-fingered hands. “Instead some white heather to represent wishes coming true, as well as protection of your love and life.”

Varacaea waggles her wispy brows. “Especially the bedroom ones.”

“I am never letting you hang out with the Greek gods again,” Salix moans, pinching the bridge of their flat nose.  “Anyways, bells of Ireland for luck—”

“Heaven knows you need it,” Varacaea interrupts, dancing out of Salix’s reach.

“Some myrtle for yet more love, and stock for an expression of your bond and that you will always find each beautiful.” Salix finishes, turning to Betu.

The tallest of the dryads takes a breath and finishes the spiel. “Lastly, stephanotis for happiness in your relationship. Technically most understand it as happiness in marriage, but we take it as happiness in your bond, may it be eternal, for unlike mortals, death is not a given and marriage is not a state endemic to your kind.”

Ramiel nods his head.

“You’re not going to remember half of that, are you?” Salix asks, sympathetically.

“Nope,” Ramiel affirms.

They pass him a list and the two crowns. “Don’t get caught reading from the list. It’s not very romantic.”

“Hey, I can do romance!” Ramiel protests.

“No doubt about that, you flirt.” Varacaea pushes him out of the back and towards the front. “Now go and be a romantic sap elsewhere and leave us to our business.”

They all wave him off as he juggles the crowns and the fruit. Glancing about, he slips into an alleyway, moving between planes to arrive in front of the high-rise he now calls home.  

He carefully opens the door, tiptoeing in and relieved when he doesn’t find Gabriel awake and waiting for him. What he does find, however, is a fair amount of the flowers from Java’s shop, still closed up, resting on the counter.

Now that he has everything, the real work begins.

The first problem he discovers is that the second he makes contact with the flowers, they bloom, and none of them are the paltry size of the flowers found on Earth. So he wraps a pair of kitchen towels around his hands and carries them to the bedroom like that. The second problem is that he can’t arrange them until he touches them because he has no idea what they are closed up.

The towels come off, and he only gets hit in the face by one of the large Eternal Love. To check the ambiance, he artificially thickens the blinds until the only light comes from the flowers. Closest to the bed is a low blue glows and a scattering of stars projected above the bed. Then comes the rainbows within the white light, and finally a core of flickering orange-red at the foot of the bed.

Not bad, if he says so himself.

The next stage is breakfast. A single plate, the fruit centered on it with a pair of forks crossed above it, and two cups of coffee. Cream and sugar just like he knows they like it.

Carefully he brings it to the bedroom, and then slaps the heel of his palm to his forehead. The crowns.

He goes back to the living room and puts his on, trying not to look at any reflective surfaces. It probably looks ridiculous on him, as ostentatious as it is. Instead he reads over the list again, trying to commit all the components woven in together. Then he takes his off and switches it, realizing that the one he had been holding had grass. Looks like Varacaea had snuck some in anyways.

Gabriel probably didn’t even put any stock in these meanings humans had conjured for the flowers. Still, he wants to do this. Even if it is silly, the gesture alone is important.

Carrying the remaining crown carefully in his hands, he slips back into bed.

Gabriel murmurs restlessly in their magic-enhanced slumber. Smiling, he leans down and presses a kiss to their forehead, removing his magic in the same motion.

A pair of sleep-befuddled eyes open, blinking up at him. They squint, following the motion of small stars through the air.

Then they take in his appearance. Their mouth drops open as their eyes widen. “That is, uh, quite a statement going on there,” they murmur, reaching up and tucking a strand of his hair back behind his hair.

“I hope you like it, because I have one for you!” Ramiel produces the crown from behind his back and holds it out for Gabriel.  

Gabriel arches their eyebrows, trying to conceal a smile. “Did you make this yourself? Should I be concerned about spiders in it?”

Ramiel pokes the tip of their nose. “One time. It was one time. No one specified checking for insects prior to putting them on someone’s head.”

Gabriel shakes their head in mock pity. “Some would say it’s self-explanatory.”

“If my life made sense, I wouldn’t have you,” Ramiel murmurs, leaning over and placing the crown on their head before kissing them gently. “My own personal miracle.”

Gabriel strokes the side of his cheek. “What brought this on?”

Ramiel laughs, the sound seeming to increase the intensity of the light the showers shed. “You.”

“Me? What did I do?” Gabriel looks confused.

“Nothing and everything.” Gabriel scowls at that answer and swats at his crown. Chuckling, Ramiel catches their hand, kissing the inside of the wrist. “Time is a construct that is subjective and we often move outside of it. But I want you to know I love each moment, each second. Waking up with you is the only way I want to start every day, until the sun dies and beyond.”

He reaches out, touching the centerpiece of Gabriel’s crown. “Acorn for eternal life—immortality. Ambrosia forming the foundation, as our love does. Arbutus, because it is you alone I love.”

Gabriel’s eyes soften, watching him carefully as he continues, trying to recite everything perfectly. “Mine has grass, for submission, for as I am your equal, I want to submit to your love, let it rule over me.” Ramiel licks his lips. “Forget-me-nots for true love, for you are the only one I have ever, and will ever, truly love. My heart and soul are yours. Heather, white, so that all our wishes together come true, and that our life together, our love, is protected.”

There’s a green one, with vaguely bell-shaped blossoms that takes him a moment. “Oh! The Bells of Ireland for luck, because with my record, I need all the luck I can get.” He threads his fingers with Gabriel’s. “Though I think I used it all up when you told me you loved me,” he whispers, voice choked with emotion.

Gabriel squeezes their clasped hands. “You forgot a couple. I know daises are for loyal love, ,and dandelions for happiness. Daniel made me a flower-crown once,” they explain.

“Right!” A nervous chuckle escapes him. “That leaves… you know what, it’s all more of the same. Love, happiness, good wishes and that we may never part.” He leans forward, Gabriel meeting him halfway, pressing their forehead together, breathing in each other’s spirit.  

“You’re a dork, and I love it,” Gabriel whispers. They find his lips, their free hand grasping the back of his neck, holding him captive. Unnecessary; he’s already spell-bound by the smile he can feel against his mouth.

Then Gabriel’s eyes flick sideways, motion catching their attention. Their brows lower and they pull away. “Okay, the flower crowns I get, but what are the rest of these?”

“Er…” Ramiel stares at the flowers. “Flowers from the bazaar on Aadzt. They only open in the presence of emotions. The red ones are the Flames of Passion.”

Gabriel’s lips curve in a knowing smirk. Ramiel blushes. “Eternal Love,” he points to the white flowers, their outline hazy due to the light they emanate.

“What is the one that is putting out stars?”

“Traveler’s Guide. It means that you are my North Star. I will always find my way home to you, guided by our love,” Ramiel murmurs, nuzzling Gabriel’s cheek. They laugh, and this time Ramiel’s certain the flowers glow brighter.

“Lastly, Misty Waters. We haven’t had the easiest of stories, which is mostly my fault. But sometimes it takes setting aside what you take for granted or obvious to find what you’re truly looking for.”

Gabriel leans against him, nestling their head beneath his chin. “I’m impressed,” they admit, still holding one of his hands captive.

“Then wait until the grand finale!”

Gabriel tilts their head back. “Ramiel, I love you, but hearing those words from your mouth strikes a chord of fear deep within me,” they inform him.

Ramiel kisses their brow. “Have some faith,” he chides, using his free hand to awkwardly bring the tray to his lap.

Gabriel stares at the fruit. “Is that the awful tasting fruit you brought back that one time?” they demand to know, nose wrinkling in disgust.

“We were eating it wrong,” Ramiel informs Gabriel, picking up a fork.

“Oh really? And what do we need to do differently this time?” They pick up their own fork, but use it to poke Ramiel’s side instead of the fruit.

“Well, for starters, you’re only supposed to eat it with your soulmate,” Ramiel comments. He nudges the thick skin of the fruit.

“If you’re trying to say the company you eat it in makes all the difference, then I have questions,” Gabriel comments. Ramiel squirms away from their offending fork, only to still as the coffee cups lurch precariously.

Gabriel’s smile turns devious. “Nowhere to run,” they murmur, kissing his throat and up to the underside of his jaw, rubbing the faint trace of his stubble against their cheek.

“The only place I would run is into your arms, and I’m already here,” Ramiel retorts. He narrows his eyes at the fruit. “I’m certain that it isn’t as bad as we remember it.”

“That makes one of us,” Gabriel says in resignation, moving their fork to also tentatively stab at it.

“Hmm.” Ramiel drops his fork, and tries to dig in his nails to peel back the skin. “Well, last time we ate this part so maybe we shouldn’t?”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

“I have some ideas.”

Gabriel snorts, dropping their fork and grabbing the fruit to stop it from tipping the plate.

Abruptly the top starts to curl away. Both of them jerk their hands back, exchanging a glance. “It didn’t do that last time,” Ramiel offers helpfully.

“No, it—oh, that’s different.” As the skin falls away, it reveals a mound of pearl like seeds, their insides swirling with different colors. “You’re still trying it first,” Gabriel declares, reaching out and prying one from the strange tower. It comes away easily.

“You feeding me by hand? Of course it will be goo—oof,” Ramiel’s mouth opens as Gabriel elbows him, popping the piece of fruit between his lips.

He chews ponderously, lips quirked to the side.

“So?”

Ramiel takes one and offers it to Gabriel, raising his eyebrows and smirking without offering a word of comment.

“If it’s as bad as last time, you will regret this Ramiel,” they threaten, before taking it delicately from his fingers.

It’s worth it to watch the way their eyes widen in genuine delight and surprise, touching their lips in wonder. “I don’t—that’s not at all like it was before.”

“It really is all about the company though. It’s to be shared between soulmates. A taste of the bond between us.” Ramiel takes another piece, holding it up to Gabriel’s lips. “You are the light and love of my existence, so for me, it was sunshine and hope and the comfort of your arms.”

Gabriel takes the second piece, eyes closing and head tilting to the side as they chew, slower this time, savoring the flavor. “It’s familiar, like an old friend, but matured with age.” Their eyes open, meeting his. “It’s full of love and wonder, untouched by the darkness you think consumes you because you are good, and you are loved, and you are my soulmate as I am yours.”

Ramiel feels a well of emotions rise within him. Once again he leans down, pressing his forehead to Gabriel’s. “Yours, always and forever, pinna.”

“Always and forever,” Gabriel echoes.

Then they pull away. “But you’re going to have to fight me for this fruit because there’s only the one and after last time, I think I definitely get a larger portion to make up for it.”

Warm laughter, rich and full, fills the air. “We’ll just see about that, love,” Ramiel retorts, picking up his fork again, dueling with Gabriel for the fruit.