#writersmonth2020

Your feet carried you to a familiar part of the neighborhood and you felt a bittersweet taste in your mouth at the sight of it. The mom-and-pop businesses, people jogging, students walking home from school, the art running along the wall. You missed this place.

Once you had gone up to your apartment floor, you saw a familiar figure. Tall and lean man with neatly styled hair and a tailored suit.

“Robert?” you said in surprise. Why was he here?

He turned, those haunting blue eyes greeting you as he smiled. “(Y/n), I was hoping to catch you,” he said.

“Why are you suddenly here?” You walked around him, keys at the ready to open the door.

“You must be thinking of me,” he joked, “Or how else would I be here?”

“I don’t know.”

You opened your apartment door, cautiously letting him in. Since it was your dream, you could always manipulate a few things if it gets out of control. Until then…

“Now, why would I be thinking of you?” you wondered out loud, plopping down in an armchair.

Robert shrugged. “You must’ve missed me.”

“I don’t,” you answered sharply.

He looked around your apartment and sat himself on the couch near you, leaning back as if he owned the place. Your eyes scanned his form, wondering why he had showed up. He looked the same as the last time you saw him, back when he was trying to follow his father’s footsteps. So much had happened since then.

“So, what have you been up to lately?” he asked casually.

You crossed your arms. “You know what it is already.”

Robert huffed out a laugh at your stubbornness. “Humor me, (Y/n/n).”

“You used to hate it when I do. Nothing was funny to mister Robert Fischer, successor of daddy Fischer’s company,” you said sarcastically. “Nothing was right. Nothing was easy. Nothing was ever enough.”

He sighed in defeat, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I’m sorry. There were things I’ve said that I shouldn’t have said. I was angry and stressed and it clouded my thinking. I’m sorry, (Y/n), and you were right to leave me.”

You felt your heart squeezed at his words. It was what you had always wanted to hear from him all these years. After you broke up, you had not spoken to him ever again. You moved away and started your own business that had been gradually thriving.

He stood up, shrugging off his suit jacket and walked over to one of your many bookshelves where you had a couple of picture frames placed. Graduation pictures, birthday polaroids, and a few framed certifications and achievements on the wall next to them.

“I’ve been reading about your business in the news. I’m happy for you,” he said with a genuine smile, pointing at the picture that you took with the starting crew of your business.

“Thank you.”

He moved on to the books that filled the rest of the shelves, running a slender finger over the spines and stopping at the small photo albums. You quickly stood up as he pulled one out that you were sure he was familiar with. He flipped it open and was greeted with a picture of the two of you from college at a bar with your friends doing a pub quiz. He smiled, taking his time at looking at each and every photo that you had foolishly kept. This physical one was still in a storage bin, but it didn’t mean that it no longer existed.

“I miss you,” he whispered, blue eyes flicking towards you as you walked up to him.

You crossed your arms again. “You never called,” you said softly, and hating yourself because of it. Now was not the time to feel small.

He slid the photo album back and turned his body to face you. His eyes roamed your face, as if trying to memorize it, hands slowly rising to grab your arms. Then, he slowly led you towards the middle of the living room, leaving your side to fiddle with the record player that he remembered he had gifted you for your birthday.

Billie Holiday’s voice filled the room as Robert walked back to you, and offered you a hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

You laughed, looking away so he wouldn’t see you smile, but it was too late. You relented, taking his hand and allowing him to gather you in his arms. He began to sway with the music, resting his head against yours.

“I miss you so much,” he muttered again into your shoulder.

You sighed, wrapping your arms tightly around him. “I miss you, too. I hate that I do, but I can’t stay mad at you for this long.”

The two of you stayed like that until the song finished. Then, Robert pulled back, holding your face in his hands.

“Come back with me,” he said.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Wake up,” he said firmly, “Please. Wake up.”

You blinked in confusion. Suddenly, there were flashes of the streets of London. You had gone to have a quick walk to think when it started to rain heavily. The roads were instantly flooded, cars splashing water onto the sidewalks as they drove past.

Non, je ne regrette rien started to play, echoing around the room and seemingly not having any source. Robert looked around, eyes widened in panic.

“Please, come back with me,” he pleaded.

A car turned a corner near you and lost control.

“I… okay. But I don’t understand-” you said as the music grew louder.

You had been frozen in place as the car skidded onto the sidewalk, then…

Darkness.

Robert closed his eyes and you did the same, forcing yourself to wake up.

-

Non, je ne regrette rien was playing softly as you woke up. Your body felt heavy and your limbs were too stiff to move. You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the light as you looked around. White walls, white curtains, white blankets, white bed with metal railings, an IV drip in your arm and a cast on your leg. You were in the hospital.

You heard someone sigh in relief next to you. The music stopped and a thin man with dark hair came into view. The person that was next to you walked up to him and shook his hand.

“Thank you,” he said to the man.

“No problem, Fischer,” the man said. “About time we use this stuff for good.”

“Robert?” you strained to say with your dry throat.

He whipped his head around, showing his disheveled hair and bags under his blue eyes. The man looked between you two and offered a small smile, packing his things and left without a word. Robert rushed to your side, gently picking up your hand as if it might shatter with too much force.

“What happened?” you asked. “How did I-”

Robert shushed you, pressing the button above to call in a nurse. “I’ll explain later, love. You’re back now,” he said, slowly standing up.

“Don’t leave.”

You laughed, leaning towards her. You pressed your forehead against her shoulder, trying to stifle your giggling. You could practically feel her rolling her eyes.

“Okay, okay, no need to make such a big deal out of this,” she said.

She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her. Her eyes were sparkling despite the stern look on her face. You were still giggling, your tongue trapped between your teeth. Her eyes flickered down then back to yours. Your giggles stopped.

“I can think of a much more pleasurable way to spend the evening than being the overbearing boss at the club.”

You watched her draw steadily closer, heat rising in your cheeks. She was so close you could see every single eyelash, you could count the colours in her eyes, you could feel her breath ghosting over your lips. You might not have put it in to words before, but the yearning inside you was almost unbearable.

“Well that was a waste of time.”

You jerked away from Lou, your face feeling as hot as the sun. Daphne was striding past you, not even bothering to look at the two of you. You watched her go, shuffling away from Lou just a little. You picked up your slice of pizza again.

“There goes my quiet night,” you muttered.

“It was already gone, sweetheart.”

Lou got up, leaving you too.

2.

You sat on a bench in the park, people watching as you waited for the rest of the team to show up. A lake was in front of you, ducks quacking as they chased tourists for food.

A warm body bumped against yours as it sat down. You turned your head, recognising the blonde hair in your peripheral vision. An arm looped through yours, a body pressing close in the cold air. You shifted against it, drawing closer to share in the warmth.

“You’re here early,” Lou said.

“I thought I’d get some fresh air,” you replied.

“I’m glad to catch you alone.”

Something in your lower stomach tightened. You drew away from her, wanting to put some space between the two of you. If what you thought was coming, you did not want to be sharing the same breathing space as her.

“Oh?” You tried to sound light but weren’t sure you’d managed it.

“We were interrupted last time,” she said.

“By Daphne.”

“Yes.”

Her hand came up, cupping your cheek to turn your head towards her. You stilled, not sure what she was doing. This was hardly the let down you’d been expecting.

“I intend to fix that now, sweetheart,”

Her breath ghosted over your lips. Your eyes slipped closed, waiting, every atom in your body straining towards her. She paused.

“Or another time.”

You blinked your eyes open. Lou was staring at something over your shoulder. You turned, looking too. Debbie was sauntering up the path, her hands in the pocket of her coat. You sighed, drawing away from Lou.

“To be picked up another time,” she said.

“Sure.”

3.

The beat was thrumming through your body, your hips swaying in time. Alcohol had loosened you up, giving you the confidence you needed to join the dance floor. Your eyes were closed, feeling the music rather than watching the other dancers. You wanted to get lost in the moment forever. You were glad you’d accepted Lou’s invitation to visit her club, despite your initial anxiety. She hadn’t spoken of the almost kisses since that day in the park. You were hoping this was the olive branch to change that.

Warm hands settled on your hips. You jerked away, your eyes flying open. You turned your head, only to be met with blonde hair and the sting of vodka in your nose. You sighed, letting out a relieved chuckle.

You lent back against the strong body, following Lou as she picked up the rhythm you’d lost in your surprise. Her breath was ghosting over the skin of your neck. You shuddered, pressing against her more insistently.

One of her hands slipped around you, her fingers slipping under your shirt, brushing against the skin of your stomach. You groaned, turning your head to try and find her.

Blue eyes met yours, dark and all consuming. Your skin was hot, a coil within you tightening. Your eyes flickered down to her lips then back to her eyes. She tightened her hold on your hip.

Before ou could close the gap you felt someone grab your arm, pulling you out of Lou’s grasp. You turned, ready to shout at whoever it was. You met large dark eyes, Daphne grinning at you. Her eyes were a little glazed but other than that she looked as fresh as the start of the night.

“Come dance with me,” she shouted over the music.

You shot a glance at Lou over your shoulder but she’d already melted back into the crowd. You pushed the disappointment back down as you let Daphne lead you back into the dance.

4.

You were lying on your bed, legs stretched out in front of you as you lent against the pile of pillows against your headboard. You had a book open in your lap, your finger running along the rough edges of the paper. You weren’t taking in the words, your ears straining for noises from the rest of the loft.

You’d heard movement before, the door closing, voices coming and going. It had all fallen silent a few minutes ago but it was hard to tell if you were alone in the building. You turned your attention back to the book, assuming that if the person you hoped to see was still there then she would come see you. Your business was unfinished.

You turned the page in your book. Your door creaked as it opened. You dragged your eyes up, watching Lou slip in. She climbed onto the bed beside you, leaning back in your pillows. You closed the book, putting it on your bedside table.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she said, flashing you a smile.

“I have something more interesting now,” you replied.

“Must be quite captivating to keep you from an interesting book.”

“Oh, it is.”

She swung herself over, straddling your lap. Your hands settled on her hips as she wrapped her arms around your neck.

“Fourth time is the charm,” she murmured.

She lent down, drawing closer to you as you strained up towards her. Her nose brushed against yours, her lips close enough to feel as she spoke.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

You heard the door below open and close, loud as a gunshot in the silence. Lou stilled, a hair’s breadth from you. You dug your fingers into the flesh of her hips, trying to bring her attention back to you, but she was listening to whoever had returned.

“Hey guys, is anyone here?” The voice called up to you.

“Tammy,” you said at the same time as Lou.

Lou hauled herself off you, her hands slipping from you. You let out a frustrated groan.

“Can’t we ignore her?” you asked.

“She’ll be knocking on the door any.” A knock sounded on the door, “second.”

“Anyone in there?” Tammy called through the wood.

Lou gave you a pointed look. You threw your hands in the air in surrender and fell back amongst your pillows. Lou climbed off the bed and opened the door.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Tammy said.

“You weren’t interrupting anything. We were discussing literature,” Lou replied, stepping out and closing the door.

You sighed, picking up your book again. It was the only company you’d have that night.

5.

You had your hands cupped around a warm mug of coffee, leaning backwards on the bench in the kitchen. You were watching Tammy cook with a glass of wine in her hand, stirring something in a large pot. Whatever it was, it was making your mouth water.

“I didn’t realise Lou had such an interest in literature,” Tammy said.

“What?” She gave you a penetrating look, “oh, right. Yeah. She has all kinds of interests.”

“Interests you share?” You ignored the amusement in her voice.

“Sometimes.”

“And should we be worried about those shared interests?” she asked.

“I shouldn’t think so.”

“I hope not.”

The door slammed open, Lou striding in, a look of determination on her face. You gave her a smile but she ignored it, jerking her head to the stairs you. You followed behind, ignoring the penetrating stare of Tammy as you left.

Lou held the door to her bedroom open, waiting for you to enter. You slipped inside, looking around the room. It was clean, almost meticulously so. A large bed, white and soft, stood in the middle of the room, just waiting for someone to fall into it. The light streamed in through a huge window, bathing everything in warmth.

“Can I help you with something?” you asked after Lou had closed the door.

She plucked the mug from your hands, wrinkling her nose when she saw how milky you’d made it. She put it down on a shelf as you watched, not sure what she was doing. She stalked towards you, a fierce glint in her eye. You backed away, uncertainty keeping you from her. Your back hit the far wall. You inhaled sharply.

“I think it’s time we finished that discussion from the other night,” she said.

One hand landed on the wall by your head. You looked up into her face, feeling your skin burn with the intensity of her gaze. Her other hand grasped your chin, tilting your face up to her. She shook her hair from her eyes as she traced your bottom lip with her thumb. Warmth pooled in your stomach.

“I can’t take it any longer,” she said.

“Then kiss me.”

A loud banging started up on the door. Lou ignored it, drawing closer to you. Your eyes fell closed, waiting, every atom of your body straining towards her. The banging didn’t stop. With a growl she tore herself away from you, ripping the door open.

“If you can bear to, Tammy has finished cooking and we’d quite like you both to join us.”

Debbie. You pushed yourself off the wall, ignoring the way your legs wobbled beneath you. You walked past Lou and Deb, trying to regain your composure. You didn’t need to endure any more teasing. From any of them.

6.

There was something to be said for the quiet of a library. All you could hear was the rustle of paper, the scratch of pens, the click of keyboards. You scratched the back of your neck as you looked over the old newspaper.

Debbie had sent you off to do some last minute research. She needed some leverage on someone, and given how the last job went, you were willing to trust her on this despite not knowing how it connected to the new job. There was nothing that had turned up yet, but Debbie had faith in you so you couldn’t let her down.

“Are you going to keep reading all night?”

You jumped, dropping the paper to the floor. You grumbled, stooping down to pick them up again. Lou chuckled, helping you collect the scattered papers. Her fingers brushed against yours as she passed them over.

“This is not proper library etiquette,” you said. She grinned at you.

“The library is closing soon,” she said, “c’mon, there’s a great Vietnamese place around the corner.”

“I’m not done yet.”

“Yes.” She put her hand over yours, “you are.”

You hadn’t realised how close she was to you. You turned your head, ready to tell her what she could do with her Vietnamese place, only to find your nose brushing against hers. You jerked back but one of her hands shot out, grasping the back of your neck.

Her eyes flicked down to your lips, your tongue darting out to wet them. You took a deep breath in, waiting, seeing the precipice before you. You were ready to jump.

“The library is closing for the night.”

You jumped. A woman was standing at the end of the stacks, looking at the two of you. You drew away from Lou, putting the papers down on the closest table. You walked past the librarian, assuming Lou would follow.

“So Vietnamese?” you asked over your shoulder to her.

“Vietnamese,” she agreed.

7.

You were growing restless, Lou had been gone for a few weeks, putting plans into motion for the job. You didn’t like to admit you missed her but the loft felt empty without her snarky comments. You were lounging on the sofa, your eyes closed, listening to Amita and Constance talking.

You’d declined Daphne’s invitation to go out with her, you had ignored Amita and Constance’s attempts to draw you into conversation, and you hadn’t bothered listening to Rose’s mumblings about fabrics. All you wanted to do was lie there and think about things.

It was no secret there was something going on between you and Lou. Tammy had picked up on it weeks ago, Debbie probably knew longer, and finally, finally, the others were cluing in. If only something had actually happened.

The number of near misses were leaving you breathless. You were anxious, your stomach a roiling mess every time you saw her. It was a very specific type of torture. It was driving you crazy.

“Well, we’re ready to go tomorrow.”

You sat up, Lou had managed to enter through the door without you hearing it, masked by the chatter of your teammates. You blinked at her. She looked windswept, disgruntled, but satisfied with whatever she’d been doing.

“Then tomorrow we move out,” Debbie said from the upper level.

“Move out where?” Amita asked.

“To the west coast. Nineball will get us the tickets for tomorrow.”

“For all of us?” you asked.

“You better pack a bag.”

She disappeared back into her room, presumably to go through her extensive closet and pack what she’d need. You got off the sofa, wandering over to Lou.

She grabbed your face, pulling you towards her. She gave you an intense look, pulling you closer to her. Finally, you’d feel her lips against yours. Her eyes shone.

“Hey, there’ll be plenty of time to do that when we’re done with this job,” Debbie called down to you, “get packing.”

You slipped away before the disappointment could overwhelm you.

+ 1.

The job was a success. Or so you’d been told. You’re part had gone flawlessly, exactly to plan, just as Debbie had described. You assumed it had gone well with everyone else. Constance seemed to think so when you’d passed her as you’d left the building.

You rushed back towards the loft, detouring by your place to get changed to give you a better chance of not being recognised on any security cameras. Just like Debbie had told you.

The loft was quiet when you got back. You were used to people making all kind of noise, not the quiet strains of music from the upper level. You wandered up, hoping it was more than a forgotten radio.

You pushed the door open, knowing what you were hoping to see. A tall frame was laying on the bed, arms behind her head, eyes closed as her foot bobbed in time with the music. You smiled, closing the door too quietly to be heard over the music.

Her eyes opened as you hauled yourself onto the bed, slinging one leg over her lap. Her hands grabbed your hips, ready to push you off. You smiled, leaning down.

“Eighth time lucky,” you said.

You pressed your lips to hers before she could say anything, before anyone could walk in, before anything could stop you. Her fingers tightened on your hips. She kissed you hard, intense, like a drowning woman looking for air. You couldn’t stop yourself moaning into her mouth.

You didn’t stop when you heard other people come in. You didn’t stop when there was a knock on the door. You didn’t stop when you heard an exasperated noise from the doorway.

Céleste had mentioned her grandson on many occasions during their friendly chats. Mostly she only mentioned him in passing, offhandedly saying that he had moved back home after a year in London, or boasting about what Virgil had gotten her for her 75th birthday (a vintage encyclopedia of 18th-century fashion trends which Roman had had the good fortune of borrowing). Though a few months previously, in an act of desperation, she had spoken much more candidly about her grandson. She had sought Roman’s advice on how she could help her beloved petite chauve-souris to become more confident in himself and overcome his severe anxiety.

Roman’s heart had warmed in hearing the old woman care so intensely about her grandson’s wellbeing. When Roman himself had been struggling with his confidence back in school, his parents had not exactly been forthcoming with support. It was refreshing to witness such unconditional love between family members.

His advice had mainly been that there was not much that Céleste could do to enforce a stronger sense of self-worth in Virgil, but that she should simply let him know that she loved and supported him and would be there for him as he grew.

Now, Roman presumed Virgil had come out of his shell, at least a little, given his rather eccentric makeup and clothing choices. Though he was still curled into himself protectively as he gave Roman a wary look through a wisp of his fringe.

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Céleste talks about you a lot,’ Roman said easily, offering one of his winning smiles.

It was, unfortunately, not met with the same enamoured responses he was accustomed to receiving. In fact, rather than dazzled by Roman’s charm, Virgil looked mortified.

Hearing that someone had been talking about you behind your back to a complete stranger was likely a little distressing to someone with an anxiety disorder, Roman realised. He moved the conversation on quickly.

‘I’m Roman Prince.’ He stepped forward to hold out his hand, which Virgil took tentatively. His fingertips were smooth. ‘I imagine your grandmother has mentioned me before.’

‘Um,’ Virgil stalled, pulling his hand back to himself and shaking his jacket sleeve so that it fell back over his fingers. ‘I’m not sure.’

Indignance overwhelmed Roman’s being.

‘Oh, come now.’ He leaned sideways against the desk, sticking out his chin just enough to profess confidence, not enough to intimidate. He had refined his poses down to a tee. ‘Your grandmother must have told you tales of the handsome young prince who brightens her days with a soft serenade,’ he finished the sentence in a lilting melody.

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up and his lips parted (they were a beautiful splash of rose against his fair skin, Roman thought). Pride swelled in Roman at the look of recognition on Virgil’s face. Céleste must have regaled her family with plenty of enthralling stories of Roman’s magnetism and penchant for chivalry.

‘Oh my God.’

‘Everything you’ve heard is true,’ Roman drawled with a confident smirk.

‘You’re the guy that grabbed the cactus like a microphone, aren’t you?’

Roman’s smile dropped instantly at the way Virgil’s lips tugged up in amusement.

‘Yes, well.’ He bridled a little, standing upright again. ‘T’was not my finest moment.’

‘Yeah, maybe not,’ Virgil mumbled. He bit his lip in what Roman assumed was an effort to contain laughter.

Heat flooded Roman’s cheeks and he promptly spun away from the table.

‘So she would tell you that story and nothing of my usual elegance,’ Roman grumbled, starting to delicately run his fingers over the blossoms displayed on the shelves. He had not taken Céleste for one to actively humiliate him.

‘No, she - I -’ Virgil stammered. ‘I’m sorry. Grandma - she has said plenty of nice things about you too, I just…’

Roman turned back to him, noting the stiffness in his posture and the pained look that pinched his features.

‘That’s just the one that sticks in the mind, y’know?’ Virgil’s long arm stretched upwards as he scratched at the back of his neck. Roman thought it might have been a way to dispel the awkwardness as Virgil’s elbow bent at such an odd angle that it partially hid his flushed cheek.

Not one to hold a grudge unnecessarily - especially not against such endearing young men - Roman smiled softly and nodded in acknowledgement.

Virgil fidgeted on his stool, seeming hesitant, then slid off of it to stand up. Though he didn’t seem much more at ease on his feet, shuffling nervously and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘You, um, you're the guy that brings her fruit tea in the mornings and texts her cute animal videos, right?’

‘C’est moi!’ Roman said with a bright grin, hoping his cheery disposition would comfort Virgil somewhat. He felt an inexplicable need to ensure the other man felt calm.

‘Well… thanks,’ Virgil mumbled, pulling his hands out of his pockets, picking at the frayed sleeves around his fingers, then burying them in his pockets again. ‘Dad and I kinda worry about her being here on her own every day, since we live a bit further out of town. It’s… nice to hear her talk about you.’

Not for the first time, and what he was sure certainly wouldn’t be the last, Roman’s chest filled with joy at hearing about the sheer love shared between the Tempȇtes.

‘But of course,’ he said, happy to see Virgil’s shoulders soften from their previous rigidity. ‘I make sure she does not go a day without seeing a friendly face, though I’m sure as wonderful as she is Céleste must have made plenty of friends in her years here.’

‘Yeah, but none like you,’ Virgil replied without pause. There was a small smile curling his lips and it was the first genuine show of happiness Roman had witnessed in him. It was quite captivating.

Then Virgil’s shoulders were suddenly raised to his neck again and he rocked backwards on his feet, putting some distance between them (at least as much as was possible in a 20-square-metre shop packed full with buckets and bundles of flowers). Roman tried to ignore the swell of disappointment in his chest.

He did not think himself skilled at much beyond his talent for tattooing and the great art of courtship, though he was confident in his ability to read the atmosphere of a room and knew to change the subject before the anxious man became any more uncomfortable.

‘So,’ Roman started, turning back to the various bunches of flowers that sat in the water troughs around the edges of the shop. He cradled the bright bloom of a sunflower in his palms and lifted it slightly from its water to better admire its beauty. ‘Where is the celestial woman? She must be on quite a grand adventure to have left behind her beloved blossoms!’

‘She’s sick.’

Roman’s stomach lurched and he felt the colour drain from his face in an instant. The sunflower dropped back into the bucket with a light splash and clang as the stem hit the metal base.

He snapped his gaze onto Virgil, who had opted to take his hands out of his pockets again and was twiddling a stem of white hyacinths between his fingers. He seemed completely undisturbed by the words that had just left his mouth.

‘My gosh, will she be all right?’ Roman asked, his voice shaking. ‘Is she in the hospital? When did this happen?’

‘Oh, shit.’ Virgil’s eyes blew wide and the white petals stopped their twirling in his hold. ‘I didn’t mean - she’s just got the flu.’

Roman was unconvinced of how reassuring that should have been, given Céleste’s ripe age.

Apparently his uncertainty was palpable as Virgil hurriedly continued, ‘My dad’s looking after her. It’s really mild, don’t worry.’

A massive sigh of relief escaped Roman and he felt the tension that he didn’t realise had seized his body begin to ebb away. Céleste had proudly proclaimed her son to be the most attentive medical nurse in the world, and given her compassionate nature Roman had not doubted for a second that that would be true of her own offspring. She was in safe hands.

‘Dear Zeus, don’t scare me like that!’ Roman cried with a steadying hand on his chest, though it was not a sincere reprimand and was followed by a breathy laugh.

‘Sorry,’ Virgil said, smiling apologetically.

Despite Roman’s brief upset, the misunderstanding seemed to have broken the last of the tension between them and Virgil did not flinch away when Roman took a step closer. He did it under the pretence of wiping his fingers dry on the tatty, damp hand towel that perpetually hung on a hook in the wall. They pulled away wetter than they had been before. ‘It’s no issue, Virgil.’

‘If it helps,’ Virgil offered, ‘I reacted just the same when Dad first told me.’

‘Oh?’ Roman prompted, feeling like he wasn’t ready for Virgil to stop talking yet.

The slighter man tended to squirm a little as he spoke, though not in an uncomfortable way; it seemed to be habitual more than anything. Habit or not, his lithe body twisted in such a subtle way that it was almost reminiscent of a pulse or a rhythmic dance. Roman found himself entranced by Virgil’s mannerisms as well as his character. And, undoubtedly, his beauty. ‘How so?’

Roman leaned his hip against the desk, locking his arms in a way that gently pushed his chest forward and stretched his t-shirt lightly. He knew it would be subtle enough to avoid arousing suspicion. Though, he thoroughly hoped that would be the only form of arousal he was avoiding.

Right on cue, Virgil’s eyes danced down to Roman’s chest, then flitted sideways to the window, back to Roman’s chest (where they lingered for a couple of seconds), and then down to the floor where they stayed. Roman smirked.

‘Yeah, I -’ Virgil cleared his throat ‘- I freaked out a bit. I actually told her I was gay the day before she caught it and I thought I’d, like, shocked her body or something.’

A surprised delight washed over Roman and his teeth bared in a disbelieving smile. Wasn’t this just perfect?

Virgil’s dark eyes - which on closer inspection Roman could now see were mismatched, one being a rich brown and the other green - rose to meet his gaze. Roman watched as he crumbled into himself with the realisation of what he had just said.

‘Oh my God, why did I tell you that?’ Virgil lamented under his breath, squinting his eyes shut and bringing his thumbnail up to his mouth.

‘I wonder,’ Roman murmured through a wide smile. It never failed to invigorate him when his charms effectively ensnared a cute boy. His cheekiness ran high on the excitement. ‘Now as much as I would truly love to stand here with you for as long as the hours in the day would allow, I do have a request of you.’

‘Uh… sure,’ Virgil mumbled around his thumbnail. He had recovered quickly from Roman’s flirting, though the colour was still high on his cheekbones, and Roman knew better than to think it was just from the warm weather. ‘What is it?’

‘I need your assistance in gathering the gayest selection of flowers possible.’

A sharp exhale blew from Virgil’s mouth, slightly muffled around the hand which still sat flush against his chin. It sounded partway between a sigh and a nervous laugh. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Anything for you, darling,’ Roman said in his smoothest baritone. His heart skipped at how Virgil’s fingers clenched tightly around the hem of his sleeve. ‘I’m a tattoo artist at Rainbow Skins Parlour - have you heard of it?’

Virgil’s eyes lit up beautifully and his hand dropped back to his side giving Roman a perfect view of those rose petal lips that enamoured him so. ‘Oh man, that’s so cool. My friend got her tat done with you. She said you guys were super accommodating of her dysphoria and stuff.’

‘That’s the aim,’ Roman beamed. He was immensely proud of the atmosphere he and his coworkers had created at the studio. Their mission was to create a safe space for those in the LGBT+ community who wanted to get inked and it seemed from all of the positive feedback they received that they had achieved that vision. ‘One of my clients wants a design full of flowers that symbolise gay love, so I came seeking a florist’s expertise.’

‘I dunno if Grandma is too hung up on the symbolism of the flowers, to be honest,’ Virgil said hesitantly, picking at his fingernails then folding his hands behind his back. ‘She’s more about the biology and aesthetics of it all.’

‘Well then lucky for me that Aphrodite blessed me with your glorious presence today.’ Roman settled to sit on the edge of the desk. It being quite low rise, his figure sunk slightly so that he was now directly eye-level with Virgil. The other man’s eyes did not leave Roman’s face. ‘You look like the poetic type.’

Green and brown eyes squinted suspiciously. ‘I bet my Grandma told you I studied creative writing.’

‘Even so,’ Roman shrugged and inched his foot along the wooden floor, letting the toes of his Vans bump against the heel of Virgil’s Doc Marten boot. Virgil did not move. ‘Am I correct in assuming you’ve done your fair bit of research into queer imagery?’

There was a pause wherein Virgil pouted and remained stubbornly silent. Then, after a few seconds: ‘You can’t go wrong with a green carnation.’

The tip of Roman’s tongue stuck out with a smile and he bit it lightly in amusement. Virgil’s cheeks went an endearing shade of dusty pink and he spun around, quite inelegantly bumping into the workbench that stood in the middle of the room. He grabbed a pair of faintly rusted shears with trembling fingers.

‘Uh, so we’ve got a few of those back here,’ Virgil blurted, rushing to the opposite corner of the shop floor.

Roman sauntered after him quietly. He peered over the other man’s shoulder as he pulled a large bushel from a bucket. The plant displayed a large, beautifully frilly bloom of lime green blossom.

A sharp, metallic snap from the shears resounded around the small room and the large bunch was lowered back to the water to leave a single flower held gently between Virgil’s slender fingers.

When Virgil turned back around, a quiet gasp escaped him as he bounced back, only just preventing himself from crashing right into Roman.

‘What, you couldn’t wait over there?’ If Virgil was trying to sound anything other than flustered and breathless, he had failed miserably.

Roman held his hand out wordlessly with a gentle smile.

The flower was pressed into his palm, and Roman made sure to capture it quickly enough to delicately brush his fingertips against Virgil’s.

In the dappled beam of sunlight that penetrated the packed floral displays in the window, the carnation was much the same shade as Virgil’s left eye. Roman hummed quietly as he inspected the flower, then looked up, delighted that Virgil was watching him.

‘Beautiful,’ Roman purred, unfaltering as he looked into Virgil’s eyes.

A loud snort of laughter cut the tension between them and Roman felt his brow furrow.

‘Okay, Romeo,’ Virgil huffed, shaking his head with a faint smirk. He avoided Roman’s eyes. ‘This is a fleuriste, not a fromagerie.’

Roman felt a thrill rush through him (which was only in part accredited to Virgil’s sudden fluent French accent). Apparently such simple flirting tactics would not suffice with this suitor. The promise of a slight challenge was electrifying to him. He did love to play this game.

He lifted the carnation and tucked it behind his ear like a pencil, smiling when Virgil giggled under his breath at what must have been a silly image. ‘What else may you suggest we add to our beau, gay bouquet?’

A few minutes passed by with Virgil selecting and snipping flowers, explaining the historical queer culture behind them as he went. Roman nodded along and dutifully made noises of interest, though did not dare to butt into Virgil’simpassioned monologue.

It was enchanting to hear Virgil ramble freely on a subject that so obviously enthralled him. He spoke in such a way that made even the most mundane facts feel visceral with descriptive language and Roman couldn’t bear to interrupt such eloquent poetic prose.

He only realised how little he himself had contributed to the conversation when Virgil trailed off with an apology.

A pile of evenly cut lavender, violets, gladioli, calla lilies and, of course, green carnations lay in front of Virgil on the workbench and his fingers fidgeted with some of the lilac petals gently.

‘Please, don’t apologise,’ Roman insisted. He stood opposite Virgil on the other side of the islanded workbench and leaned his elbows on the shabby surface, carefully staying clear of the gardening tools that were scattered around it. ‘You’re incredibly knowledgeable of this subject.’

‘Yeah, employing really subtle methods of representation kind of became my solace in university, you know?’ Virgil said faintly, his eyes fixed on where he weaved a long, detached flower stem between his fingers. ‘Being a paranoid, closeted creative writing student will do that to you.’

A cloud of dejection smothered the sunny atmosphere in the room.

‘Classic fairy tales were my own escape as a closeted teen,’ Roman offered, suspecting Virgil would not want such a heavy topic resting on his shoulders alone.

‘Oh, yeah?’ Virgil finally looked up with an eager intrigue dancing in his eyes.

Roman stretched his arm across the table so that Virgil could better see the tattoo that decorated his right arm upwards of his elbow. He rolled the short sleeve of his t-shirt up to his shoulder to reveal the whole of it. (If he flexed his arm slightly to better highlight his muscles, Virgil did not say anything about it.) He was immensely proud of the artwork on his arm, displaying a busy conglomeration of various fairy tale motifs all interwoven including a bitten red apple, a shattered glass slipper, and a frog wearing a crown. Though the focus of the design was a bird carrying a golden chain and a pair of red shoes, with a millstone around its neck.

‘Fuck yeah, The Juniper Tree,’ Virgil breathed.

‘You know it?’ Roman asked, surprised that Virgil had recognised the more nuanced imagery.

‘I love the Brothers Grimm.’ With a slight creak of the wood beneath him, Virgil sat sideways on the workbench and leaned to get a closer look at Roman’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a fan of more macabre stories.’

‘Well, I must admit in terms of imagery I appreciate the darker motifs,’ Roman indicated the depiction of a bloodied dagger hidden amongst a tangle of thorns on his bicep, ‘but when it comes to the stories I do prefer a good old-fashioned happy ending.’

Virgil sucked his teeth and leant his chin on his hand with a sigh, putting on an exaggerated air of disappointment. ‘Of course you do.’

‘Please, how could I not appreciate a handsome prince bursting into song and falling for a mysterious, beautiful stranger then doing everything in his power to woo them?’ Roman angled his body closer to Virgil. The edge of the workbench was pressed quite awkwardly into his thigh, but it was worth the slight numbness in his leg to watch Virgil’s eyelashes flutter and his chest rise and fall more quickly in response to how close they were. Roman purposefully allowed his eyes to linger over Virgil’s lips. ‘Doesn’t that remind you of someone?’

The lips pulled into a smirk and Roman’s gaze climbed up to see mirth sparkling in Virgil’s eyes.

‘What?’ Roman asked, only mildly offended.

It was proving to be something of a quest trying to ascertain which methods of flirting were working on Virgil. One minute the man was a blushing, stuttering mess, then the next he was openly laughing at Roman’s attempts to court him. Still, as the knights in his favourite stories never gave up in the face of extreme danger, he would not be deterred by Virgil’s stubbornness. It was obvious the man was interested in him but was perhaps a bit bratty. If anything that only made Roman all the more eager to win him over.

‘Nothing at all,’ Virgil shrugged. His tone was remarkably insincere. ‘So are you just thirsty for medieval knights or do you have some delusion of grandeur that I should steer clear of?’

It was cocky, and the man’s posture proclaimed it. He held his head high, baring his neck (and what a lovely, slender, pale, begging-to-be-decorated-with-splotches-of-purple neck it was). Though Roman saw through the bravado instantly.

He leaned in further, the edge of the bench completely cutting off the blood flow to his leg now, though he hardly cared. Virgil’s eyes darted between Roman’s gaze and the edges of the room hastily, as if the urge to look away and the urge to hold his ground were battling each other in his mind. His confident stance faltered slightly as Roman drew closer, their faces now mere inches apart.

Roman murmured lowly, ‘Why, Virgil? Are you struggling to find a reason to stay away from me?’

The once-pearly cheeks in front of him were now practically glowing pink.

The adrenaline that so often accompanied a successful courtship was running rampant in Roman’s veins and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Matched with the fact that he was practically drunk off of the lidded quality to Virgil’s gorgeous eyes, Roman almost missed the melodic jingling of a bell.

It wasn’t until a loud, cheery voice called out that Roman realised they were not alone anymore.

‘Kiddo, you forgot your packed lunch!’

Virgil scrambled off of the workbench, and Roman followed his lead by standing back upright, albeit a lot more calmly.

‘Dad, I’m with a customer,’ Virgil grumbled, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

Roman indulged in watching Virgil’s face go even pinker before turning to the entrance of the shop.

A stout man stepped out from the entranceway with a wide grin and a tupperware box cradled in his hands. His freckles were unmatched by either his mother or his son, though Roman could spy the slight similarities between their features. This was Patton Tempȇte. His face lit up with joy when his gaze fell on Roman.

‘And who’s this?’ Mr Tempȇte asked excitedly, his eyes sparkling at his son as he bounced on his toes.

‘Grandma’s friend, Roman Prince,’ Virgil mumbled. ‘The one who brings her tea and stuff.’

Mr Tempȇte made a delighted noise of surprise.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Tempȇte.’ Roman smiled widely, offering his open hand. He winced slightly as he stepped forward and pins and needles exploded in his thigh. ‘I truly adore your mother, and your son is quickly beginning to grow on me too.’ He shot a quick wink to Virgil.

The look of utter betrayal on Virgil’s face made it difficult to contain a chuckle.

‘It’s wonderful to meet you too, Roman!’ Mr Tempȇte beamed, shuffling the tupperware into the crook of his elbow to shake Roman’s hand energetically. ‘And don’t bother calling me “Mr” or “Sir” or any of that silliness, Patton’s my name so feel free to wear it out! I would give you a big old hug, but I don’t wanna pass on Maman’s flu.’

‘How is she?’ Roman immediately asked, truly concerned for his friend.

‘She’s just fine,’ Patton nodded, seeming to approve of Roman’s concern. ‘She’s pretty much through it all now, I’m just forcing her to stay home for a couple more days as a precaution.’

‘I can’t imagine she’s too thrilled about being housebound,’ Roman sniggered knowingly.

Patton rolled his eyes dramatically with a smile. ‘Not at all. I tell you, she’s untameable, always raring to get out with her friends and go experiencing the world. Honestly, I always say she’s more of a 22-year-old than Virgil is! Isn’t that true, kiddo?’

A faint swell of dread built inside Roman’s stomach at the way Mr Tempȇte had phrased those words. He had probably meant no harm, but it didn’t sound like that kind of critical comparison would do much to heighten Virgil’s confidence.

Sure enough, when Roman’s gaze flickered over to him it was clear those words seemed to have struck the wrong chord. The younger man tugged his sleeves further over his fingers and shrugged, though the movement was so stiff and frantic that it was more resemblant of a reflexive jolt.

‘Whatever, Dad,’ Virgil muttered under his breath, scowling at his feet.

It was disheartening to witness Virgil’s fiery wit be snuffed out so swiftly. Roman felt out of place in the exchange and feigned interest in a sprig of leaves in the flower pile. He subtly massaged his thigh under the table to ease the remnants of tingling from his pins and needles.

‘Oh…’ The energy was drained from Patton’s voice, and Roman looked up to see hurt briefly flash in his eyes before he plastered on a bright smile once more. ‘Well, I’ll be out of you guys’ hair. I just wanted to bring you your food.’

‘I don’t need a packed lunch, I can pick something up on the way back.’

‘Either way, it’s here if you get peckish before closing time.’ Patton placed the tupperware beside the register and apparently couldn’t resist drumming the lid in a gentle rhythm. Virgil groaned and Patton giggled. ‘Listen, be thankful I’m your delivery man. I caught your grandma lacing up her running shoes wanting to bring this to you.’

Roman chuckled lightly to himself. That certainly sounded like Céleste.

For the first time since Patton had entered the shop, Virgil looked up from the floor and his eyes locked onto Roman. It was as if his laughter had reminded Virgil of his presence.

Virgil quickly shot his father a pointed look. ‘Okay thanks, dad. Bye.’ The words merged into each other in his haste.

To his credit, Patton didn’t seem to be upset by his son’s eagerness to get rid of him.

‘It was lovely meeting you, Roman!’ Patton waved with a wide smile, already making his way out of the shop. ‘See you later, ma petite chauve-souris!’

Virgil’s huff of annoyance was drowned out by the bell jingling again.

The awkward tension was thick.

‘So, can you make flower arrangements?’ Roman asked casually, choosing to entirely ignore the stunted exchange with Virgil’s father. It seemed like Virgil would not have wanted to acknowledge it, given his obvious embarrassment.

‘Um, not really,’ Virgil mumbled, still hugging himself tightly. He peered out from his fringe hesitantly and Roman did not miss how his body relaxed when their eyes met. ‘I mean - okay, yeah. Kind of,’ he corrected. ‘Grandma taught me a little bit when I was younger. Mainly I just do it for fun, though. I’ve never made one for a customer.’

It would have been responsible for Roman to simply take his flowers as they were, pay for them, and get back to work, leaving Virgil to do his job. He could even have left his number and hoped Virgil would have the confidence to text him later on. Though, looking at the slump of Virgil’s posture and the way his sleeves were clawed and pulled taut by his painted fingernails, Roman felt a desire, nay, a duty to ensure Virgil was smiling again before he left.

‘Fancy trying your hand at it?’ Roman suggested gently, not wanting to pressure the man who was clearly on edge.

Virgil’s gaze flitted between Roman’s face and the workbench. His fingertips danced on his sleeves as he considered the flowers and Roman realised he was itching to reach out and touch them. ‘I can try, I guess.’

Hesitant hands pulled away from purple sleeves and within seconds Virgil was rustling through the stems with intent. Roman leaned over the surface slightly, though with no sly objective in mind to fluster Virgil this time. He simply wished to watch him craft.

‘I’m not very good,’ Virgil said quite stunted, even as he started rearranging the flowers into colour-coordinated piles with a clear artistic goal in mind. ‘So, you know, don’t expect much.’

Roman knew the self-deprecating tactic well; how one hoped that by lowering everyone’s expectations, they could avoid harsh critique of their work. He had employed it plenty of times himself before he had grown more confident in his artistic abilities.

‘It doesn’t have to be perfect,’ Roman decided on saying. It would hopefully relieve the pressure Virgil had put on himself.

A small smile tugged at Virgil’s lips and he raised his eyes briefly from the flowers to send what seemed to be a look of thanks to Roman.

‘Besides, I trust that you have an artistic streak in you.’ Roman felt more comfortable in reigniting their previous flirtatiousness after having coaxed a smile out of Virgil. ‘I mean, with such a steady hand and aesthetic eye for that makeup, I’ll be lucky if the bouquet is half as beautiful.’

Virgil swiftly knelt down on the floor to reach under the bench - where Céleste kept the floral foam, Roman remembered - though Roman caught a glimpse of a wide smile and pink-dusted cheekbones before his face was hidden.

‘Basket or pot?’ Virgil called up from the floor.

Roman dropped to his knees and sent Virgil a bright smile underneath the table. ‘Whatever you want. I’m giving you full creative control.’

‘Risky move.’ Virgil raised his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk. ‘Our most expensive arrangements can rake up to one-hundred-and-fifty quid.’

‘All right, full creative control as long as it’s under forty pounds.’

Time went by fluidly from then on as they chatted over Virgil’s work. His flower placements were tentative at first, and his eyes kept darting up to check Roman’s face for a reaction, but Roman only ever smiled lightly and continued the conversation. (A couple of times his text tone rang out loudly, though their talking remained unfettered by the mild interruptions.)

Eventually, Virgil became more certain of his decisions and was tapping into skills Roman was wholly unprepared for. His slender hand pulled a leaf stripper swiftly down long stems with practised ease, he shuffled the flowers around between his fingers fluidly and his features smoothed as he lowered the blooms into their rightful places in the arrangement.

Roman had no idea how long he had been in the florist by the time Virgil finally deemed the display finished, but he could hardly bring himself to care. The bunch of flowers which were already such a beautiful collection before were now a piece of art, the lilac and emerald blossoms broken up by leafy ferns and surrounded by spindly branches of waxflower. The bouquet was truly stunning.

And as for the glow of pride on Virgil’s face? Absolutely breathtaking.

‘I think I’m happy with it,’ Virgil said nonchalantly, though the excitement hidden behind his tone rang loudly in Roman’s ears.

‘This is amazing, Virgil,’ he gushed, entirely sincere. ‘You’re a natural!’

Virgil bit his lip, stifling what Roman knew would have been a bright grin. He notably did not refuse the compliment.

‘Um, do you mind if I…’ Virgil brought his phone out from his pocket and opened the camera app, showing the screen to Roman with an eyebrow raised in question. ‘Kinda wanna show Grandma later,’ he admitted with a shy smile.

‘Of course,’ Roman held his hands out to the arrangement in invitation and stepped back so that he would not interrupt the photoshoot.

He watched from the sidelines as Virgil tiptoed around the workbench to find good angles, taking a few pictures of his work. Once the phone was placed back in his pocket, he turned back to Roman with a lopsided smile. ‘Thank you.’

Roman was fully and wholeheartedly smitten.

‘Don’t thank me before I’ve paid.’ Roman took his wallet out and waved it with a mock-frown of disapproval. For all of his years of acting classes, though, he could not wipe the smile off of his face. ‘That’s not a very sound business practice.’

Virgil shook his head lightly but moved back to the front desk carrying the arrangement with him. He rang up the numbers on the mechanical till quickly and Roman paid with a soft smile.

‘So,’ Roman said after Virgil had given him his hand-written receipt. He leaned toward Virgil slightly and delighted in the way Virgil mirrored him, bringing them even closer. ‘I don’t suppose a mysterious, beautiful stranger such as yourself would want to -’

Primadonna by MARINA suddenly blared from Roman’s pocket.

He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling a blush stain his cheeks. Though his smile still did not falter.

‘Very fitting ringtone,’ Virgil teased, his voice strained with concealed laughter.

Roman opened his eyes and sent a weak glare to Virgil even as his cheeks ached from smiling so much. He took his phone from his pocket to silence it, seeing that it was Remy’s contact flashing up on the screen - then his expression finally dropped as he saw the time.

‘Oh, fuck!’ His next client was due in five minutes.

‘You okay?’ Virgil asked shakily, clearly anxious by the sudden shift in mood.

‘Everything’s okay,’ Roman quickly assured, ‘but I really have to go, I’m running late.’ He shoved his phone, wallet and receipt into his pockets and pulled the flower arrangement to his chest protectively.

Virgil had stiffened. Evidently his defences were rising again due to the sudden change.

‘I really do have to go, I’m sorry. Seriously,’ Roman paused with a sigh as he gazed over Virgil’s beautiful face once more, ‘you have no idea how sorry.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Virgil nodded in agreement, but his voice was as quiet as it had been when Roman first came in however long ago. His disappointment was painfully obvious.

‘I’ll be back later this week,’ Roman promised as he reluctantly made his way to the door. There was absolutely no reality where Roman would not come looking for this enigmatic emo again. ‘I look forward to seeing you soon, my chemical romance!’ The doorbell jingled overhead as he rushed out of the door and called behind him, ‘Give my best to Céleste!’

Roman darted through the streets with a sharp stab of regret piercing his chest, though he really could not have afforded to indulge his infatuation much longer. He was a professional artist, he had to be back in time for his client.

Being incredibly protective over his cherished flower arrangement, Roman made it back to the studio in record time. It was not the first instance in which his high stamina had saved him face.

Panting for breath, Roman peered into the front window of the parlour and winced at the look of rage on the receptionist’s face as he sent a choice hand gesture to Roman from the other side of the glass.

‘Get your arse in here, Prince!’ Remy’s muffled yell met his ears.

Accepting that he would have to make a Starbucks run later to make up for his tardiness, Roman shuffled over to the glass door. He cradled Virgil’s arrangement in one arm as he reached for the door handle, then paused.

In his reflection, he noticed the green carnation from earlier still sat behind his ear. It looked utterly ridiculous. He had apparently been running around town with a massive green flower protruding from the side of his head.

In any other circumstance, he would have felt embarrassed. But the memory of Virgil’s huffy giggles played in his head, and all Roman could feel was giddy.

He pushed into the parlour with a wide grin that quite probably made him look like even more of a fool.

He didn’t care.

oOo

Inspired by a prompt from @writersmonth

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

His eyes were lazily gazing around him, waiting for the concert to start when suddenly his attention was snagged. Leading a row of orchestra members was the most gorgeous man Dean had ever laid eyes on. He had messy black hair that refused to be tamed. His face was square with high cheekbones and a strong jaw and Dean wanted to know what those lips felt like against his. He was tall, at least six foot with a lithe muscular build. Dean raked his eyes down the man’s body and nearly drooled at the thick thighs that were encased by the black dress pants he wore. Dean felt the breath leave his body as the man’s eyes quickly glanced at him before facing the front again. They were stunning blue sapphires that sparkled in the low light and Dean was already lost in their depths.

Dean refused to look away from the gorgeous man. He watched as the man settled in his chair before pulling a large stringed instrument towards him. Dean was mesmerized by the nimble fingers that ghosted over the strings, being careful to make a single noise. He stared as the man flipped through his music and imagined what those fingers would feel like trailing over his body. He shivered in anticipation.

Sam elbowed him lightly. “Dude, are you ok?”

Dean swallowed dryly. “Yeah, I’m good Sammy. I totally gotta get that guy’s number. Maybe Eileen could help a brother-in-law out.”

Sam looked to at the man that Dean was still staring at. He snorted before saying, “Good luck. That’s Castiel and according to Eileen, refuses to date anyone and everyone. He’s solely focused on his music and says he doesn’t have time for frivolous relationships.”

“Yeah, well he ain’t ever met me yet! I won’t be frivolous, hell, I’ll give him a hundred reasons to be with me if you know what I mean?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Ugh, gross,” Sam huffed. “You can try, but I’ll be here to pick up the pieces when Cas turns you down.”

“Whatever bitch, just you wait and see. Cas is gonna be mine,” Dean argued.

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you get Cas to go on more than three dates with you,” Sam challenged.

“Deal! It’ll be like taking candy from a baby.” Dean smirked.

The men fell silent as the conductor held his hands up and the whole orchestra readied themselves. Dean jumped when the next sound was the loud bang of a drum. His eyes glued in on Cas and they never left. Dean hardly heard the music, his gaze so intent on the man in front of him.

They had gone through three songs and Dean couldn’t recall what a single one of them sounded like when Castiel suddenly stood up and moved towards the front of the stage. Dean’s gaze followed him like a hungry wolf stalking it’s prey.

“I would like to introduce our very own Castiel Novak. He will now perform a solo that he has written himself for the very first time. I know all of you will be blown away by his talent and skill.” The crowd applauded lightly as Castiel took a lone seat in front of the rest of the orchestra.

For the first time that night, Dean listened to the music being played. Cas’s fingers moved gracefully, making the instrument sing. The notes that echoed throughout the hall told a heart wrenching story. They described a man who was looking for love but had no idea how to find it. The tune was slow and melodic, and Dean was captured in its sad embrace. The minor chords resonated through the air and Dean felt a single tear roll down his cheek. Once the last eerie note had floated through the air, the crowd erupted into applause.

Dean jumped to his feet, his hands stinging with the force of his clapping. He watched as Castiel bowed deeply a few times before picking his instrument up and walking back to his original seat. He glanced at Dean again and flashed a small smile in his direction. Dean felt his heart beat faster at the minute gesture.

The rest of the concert was a blur as Dean only had eyes and ears for Castiel. When it was over and the orchestra stood for their final bows, Dean clapped along with everyone else. His eyes tracked Cas for as long as possible until the man walked out of sight off the stage. Dean sighed heavily, hoping he would get a chance to talk to him.

“So, what did you think?” Sam asked as they waited for Eileen.

Dean shrugged, “It was better than I thought it was going to be. Still prefer my classic rock but this wasn’t half bad.”

“Well, I’ll count that as a win in my book,” Sam said before walking around his brother and pulling his wife into a hug. “Congrats pumpkin, you did so good tonight! I’m so proud of you.”

Dean watched his brother and sister-in-law with fondness. Eileen was a perfect match for Sam in every way. After years of trying, they were finally pregnant and Dean couldn’t wait to meet his niece who was due in a few weeks. He pulled her in for a tight hug and congratulated her on a wonderful performance.

“Psh, you didn’t hear her. You were too focused on Castiel,” Sam interjected.

Dean felt his cheeks heat up as he glared at his brother. “Shut up bitch. I was not!”

Sam snorted. “Yeah you were. I bet you couldn’t even describe any of the music tonight besides his solo.”

“Well, I would love to hear him describe it,” a deep voice rumbled from behind them.

Dean spun around to find the gorgeous musician standing a few feet away. Up close, Castiel was even more gorgeous and Dean couldn’t suppress the small whimper that escaped his throat. He felt the blush staining his cheeks deepen. “Uh, hi,” Dean croaked.

Castiel’s lips spread in a small grin. “Hello. My name is Castiel. From what Eileen has told me, you are Dean.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m Dean and the moose behind me is Sam,” Dean explained as he held his hand out.

Castiel’s palm was warm and smooth as he shook Dean’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Dean. Would you please tell me what you thought of my solo? I heard that you prefer classic rock and I must say I’m curious as to what you thought about such a different genre of music.”

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “Uh, well, it was haunting and sad for one. I mean I had a tear rolling down my cheek by the end of it. I’m not usually a fan of slow songs but there’s no other tempo that song could have. And, um- I mean, well, I’m sorry that you haven’t found the person you’re looking for.”

Castiel tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Dean dropped his gaze, afraid he had said something wrong. “Well, the whole point of the song is about being lonely and how you want to find love but don’t know how, right? That’s why it was so dark and gloomy because you’re lost, and you don’t know how to find your way. Since the song ended on such a long eerie note, I’m assuming you haven’t found what you’re looking for and you’re calling out to anybody who will listen.”

It was silent and Dean finally looked up. Sam and Eileen were staring at him like he had grown a second head while Cas looked like he was close to tears. Dean felt his stomach tie itself in knots. He wanted to ask the musician on a date but instead he had offended him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean,” Dean started to say.

“Stop,” Cas ordered as he stepped closer. He reached out and hovered his palm over Dean’s cheek. “You just described that song perfectly. Writing it was very difficult for me because of how much of myself I put into it. You’re right, I am lonely, and I wish I wasn’t but nobody has been able to alleviate that loneliness.”

Dean wanted to kick himself for his next words. “I thought you didn’t do relationships and were focused on your music.”

The corner of Cas’ mouth quirked up. “That’s what I tell people to try and hide how I truly feel. Besides, no person I’ve ever met has been able to describe my music the way you just did. I would be honored if you would go on a date with me.”

Dean’s eyes were saucers as he stared in shock at the man in front of him. “Are you serious?” Castiel nodded. Dean shifted his head, so Cas’ palm rested lightly against his cheek. “I’m free now.”

Cas’ face split into a large gummy smile. “Let me go grab my things and then I will be right back.”

Dean watched him walk off before turning to Sam and Eileen. He smirked at his brother as he said, “There’s one date. Three more and you owe me a hundred bucks.”

Eileen gasped. “You guys are betting on Cas!”

Sam wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Dean fell heads over heels the moment he saw Cas, but I told him he’d never have a chance. I bet him a hundred bucks if he could get Cas to go on more than three dates with him.”

“Trust me, I’m not messing with Cas. I really want to get to know him, money or no money,” Dean said hastily, wanting to stay on Eileen’s good side.

She eyed him warily and warned him not to hurt Cas but otherwise wished them the best of luck. She never had to worry because Dean treated Cas like he hung the moon. He did, in fact, end up going on more than three dates with Cas. It was a whirlwind kind of romance and two years later they were married. At their wedding, Cas played a brand-new song for Dean.

Dean was in tears by the end of it because this song was different than the first solo he heard from Cas. This song wasn’t sad and dark but light and jovial. This song was about a man who had been searching for love and had finally found it. It told the story of an epic romance that was just beginning.

“Well?” Juleka’s dry voice snaps his attention back.

“Well what?”

She waved a hand towards the door. “Are you going to get a tattoo?”

Luka splutters. “W-What? Why would I – what makes you think –” How’d she known I’d considered it?!

He’s saved by the bell – literally – as Rose walks in. “Jule’s, what are you doing to your poor brother this time?” She asks, joining them at the counter which was suddenly feeling a little cramped.

Pecking her partner on the cheek, Juleka smiles innocently. “Trying to convince him to get a tattoo.”

“Oh, you totally should!” Rose claps her hands. “You have to go to Marinette – between her and Nathaniel, you’ll get the coolest tattoo! Marinette was the one who designed ours!”

“Really?” Luka glance at Juleka’s uncovered wrist. It was ringed by a flower wreath – red and purple roses (passionate love and love at first site), hot pink dahlias (commitment) and bright red gladiolus’ (strength and integrity). Rose had one exactly the same. It was a beautiful representation of their relationship – one Luka was waiting for them to consummate with a marrige. It was also a nod to their shared brainchild.

The Secret Garden might have only been a few years old, but it had blossomed into one of the most successful flower shops in Paris, often completely selling out around any holiday, and with a reputation for incredible flower arrangements, which Luka was proud to say he had a hand in.

Luka smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a tattoo,” he said after a moment, “Maybe something for you and mum – like her raven tattoos.”

Juleka’s smile was small, but no less terrifying for it. “Then go talk to Marinette now. Doesn’t look like she has any clients.” She was still sitting outside her shop.

As Luka was pushed out the door, Rose shoved a small posy of cherry blossoms into his hand. “Give Marinette these – they’re her favourite!”

How does she know her favourite flowers? Luka thought wildly as the door locked behind him. Slowly crossing the narrow avenue, he could feel their gaze burning into the back of his neck, and his hands became sweaty. They were making him nervous. He didn’t normally get nervous. He normally wasn’t going to ask a very cute girl to give him a tattoo.

Marinette looked up as he approached, and he couldn’t help but notice how adorable the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks were. Luka dug his fingers into his leg. You’re here for a tattoo, he reminded himself, not to check out the artist! But he couldn’t stop himself from taking in the blue sheen to her pigtailed hair, the welcoming smile stretched across her face, the impressive artwork which looked even better close up. Spiralling around her arm on pale green stalks and vines were cherry blossoms, pink orchids, blue morning glories, larkspur, hyacinths and bright yellow daffodils. Renewal, fertility and abundance, affection, cheer and goodwill, sincerity, luck and good fortune… he thought absently. After so long working with flowers – and even longer hearing about them from Rose – the symbolism came to mind automatically.

“Uh… hello?”

Luka blinked. Her eyes are really blue. Then he remembered himself and smiled. “Sorry. Are you Marinette?”

Her grin became wider. “Yup! Are you Juleka’s brother?”

“Yeah. She and Rose said that these were your favourite flowers?” He held out the blossoms. “They asked me if I could give them to you.” Well, technically they did. Even if it was meant to be more from me than them.

“Awww, thank you!” Marinette buried her nose in the pale pink petals and breathed deep. “They’re beautiful!”

“You’re welcome,” Luka said numbly. Her smile was almost blinding. “Uh, there was something else.”

Marinette’s head tilt made her pigtails bounce. It should be illegal for someone to look this adorable. “How can I help?”

“I was wondering about getting a tattoo.”

“Oh, of course!” Marinette leapt to her feet. “What else do you come to a tattoo parlour for? I’m so sorry, come in and we can get started right away!” She babbled. “Or should I say, welcome to Charmed Ink! Do you have any ideas for what you want? I’m partial to flowers as you can see, but I’m good at more tribal stuff too, and lettering, but Nathanial’s the best for portraits and a lot of the animal stuff..”

She continued to talk even as Luka took in Charmed Ink. The art on the inside of the tattoo parlour made it look larger than the comparatively small storefront suggested. The back wall was painted with an incredible mural of cherry blossom trees in full bloom, framing a red bridge arching over a river. The side walls were white and in scattered groups were photos of tattoo art – in one clump was a variety of dragon tattoos, in another was various words in all different fonts. The two tattoo stations were set in the back corners, with a small waiting area directly before the entrance. This was where Marinette led him, stopping quickly at a desk partially hidden by a folding screen.

She noticed his awed look at the back mural and smiled, a little calmer now. “That was a collaboration between Alix and Nathanial – he’s my other tattooist. They were all in my class in collége and lycée – same with Juleka and Rose, actually.”

“They did a great job,” Luka murmured. “And I’ve seen your work before – the tattoo you did for my sister was incredible. I was kinda looking for something similar.”

“Were you wanting a tattoo on your wrist too?” Marinette sat on one of the plush couches, and Luka sat across from her.

“No, I was thinking of something on my shoulder – my left shoulder,” He gestured, “Maybe going down my arm a little? I don’t want to go for a full sleeve now, but looking at your tattoo, I’d definitely consider it for the future.”

Marinette’s blush travelled across her cheeks and up her ears. “That – that’s a good plan. I can definitely work with that.” She made a note before looking at him under he lashes. “Were you wanting flowers?”

At Luka’s confused look, she continued, “You said you wanted something similar to your sisters, but you didn’t want it on your wrist…?”

“Ah, that’s right.” Luka tapped at his knee a little, quick staccato beat. “Yeah, I was thinking blue iris, gladilous and maybe daffodils.”

“Is there a meaning behind those flowers, or…?” Marinette made another note.

Luka nodded. “Yeah. Gladiolus’ are mum and Juleka’s birth flowers, not to mention their symbolism – strength and integrity. Blue Iris’ are my birth flower, meaning faith and hope, and daffodils are good luck and good fortune, but I also like the yellow.”

Marinette hummed. “I take it your favourite colour is blue?” She asked, waving her pencil at his blue hoody and matching Jagged Stone t-shirt. With a wince, he realised he was still wearing the Secret Garden apron over his faded jeans. Whoops.

“How did you guess.” Luka deadpanned, and he grinned at Marinette’s chuckle. “But seriously, yeah, I like blue and yellow. And, if we’re going for something like the start of a sleeve… think you could incorporate a snake or something in there?”

“Snakes are transformation and renewal, aren’t they?” Marinette murmured as she wrote. “There was this one symbol I remember, with a snake biting its tail…”

“The ouroboros,” Luka nodded, “It’s an eternity symbol.”

“Hmmmm…” Marinette started sketching in earnest. “So we’re going for something that can be added to later, definitely going for a circling snake – probably around your arm – but should the head be going up or down – put the flowers in colour clusters, or mix them up… maybe have them growing out of the snake? But if the snake is blue… you’ve got the more teal tips to your hair, so I could go for something more on the green side of the spectrum to help tie it in, but the snake should also stand out…”

All Luka could do was watch as Marinette seemed to get lost in a creative haze. Her pencil moved rapidly over the page as she sketched, occasionally going back over a line with her eraser, muttering about her hand not listening to her brain. Once or twice she looked something up on her phone before continuing – at one point, she leapt out of her seat to go and stare at one of the photos on the wall.

This process went on for about twenty minutes, Luka browsing through social media in between watching Marinette with what Juleka would probably class as a ‘disgustingly lovestruck’ look on his face. He couldn’t help it! She was just so vibrant, pouring all this passion into her work. Not to mention the cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she seemed to struggle with something at the bottom of the page.

Marinette slammed her sketchbook down with a bang that made him jump. “So! I have a tentative outline – tell me what you like and don’t like, and we can work from there.”

The sketch – and Luka didn’t know how Marinette could class this as an outline given the level of detail – featured all the aspects he wanted. On the front and back sketch of his arm and shoulder was a winding snake, the head sitting just under his collarbone and the rest of its body circling his arm before ending just above his elbow. But it didn’t just circle his arm. It also twisted around the gnarled and knotted stems that supported intricate bursts of flowers. An iris sat directly below the snakes head before more flowers dotted the stem around his shoulder to a larger, more detailed flower on his shoulder blade. Gladiolus’s tangled with the main body of the snake, interspersed with tiny iris’ and leaves, merging with daffodils close to his elbow. Each flower differed in size, though the iris on his back was the largest, probably about the size of his palm if he got the proportions right. Notes on both sides of the sketch were arms with arrows and a frankly scary amount of question marks. Luka looked away when he saw the words ‘dark coffee brown’ and ‘burgundy vs wine’.

“This… this is incredible Marinette.” He looked up at where she was wringing her hands. When she bit her lip, he had to refrain from reaching up and biting it for her. Concentrate Couffaine!

Marinette giggled, the sound high with nerves. “Thanks Luka. It’s a bit rough, and I’d want to go over the colours with you before we start anything, but I’m glad you like it. Anything you’d want to change?”

“Not really,” He hummed. “How would you continue this, if you were going for a full sleeve?”

When Marinette took a seat at his side, leaning into his shoulder a little, Luka stiffened. He hadn’t noticed before, but she’d split the posy of cherry blossom flowers into two and attached them to her pigtails – their scent wafted over him, and he tried not to breathe too deeply. “Well, if I was going to do a full sleeve with the snake, I’d make the snake the body of the tattoo,” she said, pointing at various parts of the sketch, “Probably make the circuits wider and accentuate the gaps a little more with the flowers. The head would have to be a little bigger, to make it proportionate, but otherwise not much would change.”

Luka nodded slowly. “So, say, if you maybe did that – the thing with the head and the – the circuits? And then have the snake ‘end’ in a clump of flowers above my elbow.” It was his turn to point, dragging a finger along the clump of daffodils and trying very hard to ignore the way Marinette pressed just a little closer to see. “Maybe if you added some of the gladiolus and iris here as well, and then if I add more to the tattoo later, you can have the rest of the body kind of emerge from there.”

“That would work really well actually,” Marinette said as she took the sketchbook back. Luka tried not to pout as her warmth moved away. “I can make a wreath just above your elbow – kinda like what I did for Juleka and Rose – and have the snake’s body ‘disappear’ into that. It would be easy work to make it ‘reappear’ beneath it later.”

Marinette scribbled these notes in as she spoke, before turning back to him. “So, about price… for a piece like this – half sleeve, colour and design… you’re looking at about one and a half grand.”

His eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. “That low?” While he hadn’t seriously thought about getting a tattoo before today, he’d spent time with a lot of people who had. A full sleeve tattoo could cost as much as four grand – a half sleeve would be at least two.

“You’re getting the friends and family discount.” Marinette shrugged. “And I’ve been in a bit of a designing rut lately – all people seem to want are dragons or family names. This is a bit of a godsend, actually.”

Luka smirked. “Friends and family discount, huh?”

With her nose in the air, Marinette sassed, “Of course. Juleka’s my friend, and you’re her family.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Luka leaned in a little. “That’s why, huh? I’m hurt Marinette.”

“Hopefully you aren’t so sensitive when it comes time for me to break out the needles, Luka. I don’t want to listen to you crying for the six hours this is going to take.” The smirk she shot him sent a thrill through his chest. She’s got some fire.