#and came back weeks later to bring me a bouquet of irises!!!! to say thank you and to tell me how she did!

[b-blushes]

i'm so excited because i've gotta go to the supermarket tomorrow to get a couple of missing items (we've had groceries delivered for as long as i can remember due to various family health issues and the fact that doing a weekly shop at a supermarket would knock me flat out for days/longer) and i was thinking about a little treat i could get myself to really get pumped for going and i remembered. the supermarket sells FLOWERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[kuroosweakness]

first time buying him flowers | kuroo, sakusa, atsumu, suna 

a/n: i keep seeing posts about how the first time men get flowers is at their funeral, so i immediately thought of sending these pretty guys pretty flowers :( 

you can’t tell me that sakusa doesn’t give off daisy and gardenia vibes! atsumu, lilies!  kuroo...irises! suna, violets! 

kuroo 

╰ “huhhh?” as the front door swung open, his eager expression turned into curiosity. not only did your beautiful bring yourself, but also a beautiful bouquet of irises and roses. 

╰ “my, my, what do we have here?” he teasingly asked. his arms settled on his hip as he shifted his weight onto one foot. (his eyes were all starry as the sudden thought of you walking down the aisle to him with a bouquet of flowers fogged his mind) 

“a bouquet of flowers, just for you!” you exclaimed, scanning somewhat messy, somewhat clean apartment for a place to set the flowers on. 

... “were flowers on sale today or something?” he chuckled as he sheepishly scratched his head. “oh yeah, you want some water? or juice maybe?” 

as he padded across the tiles in the kitchen to get you a drink, you gently set the flowers on the counter. “tetsu, do you have a vase to put these flowers in...?” 

“...i have a really tall glass cup that might do.” after many opening and closing cabinet doors, he finally brought glass cup out. “do we...fill it up with water and put it in?” 

you gave him a small nod, a little surprised at how naive he was when it came to flowers. “you’ve never gotten flowers, have you?” you tease. 

“nope, there’s kinda no one who’ll give them to me,” he chuckled. he placed the tall glass on the counter and shifted over to you and the flowers. “not that i mind, of course, but just sayin” 

“so i’m the first one to gift you flowers,” you beamed. 

he took one good look at your satisfied grin and looked back with a small, “i’m still a shocked you got me flowers though...is this your way of bribing me??” 

you dramatically pulled back, looking offended. “of course not! i would never do such a thing...” 

“yeah right,” he chuckled and side-butted you, whiched you attempted to side-butt him back, but of course he moved away just in time. a few moments went by as you meticulously placed the flowers one by one in the the glass cup. 

(kuroo’s glare could’ve killed the poor plant when you pricked your finger. of course your injury resulted in him running around the room, trying to find the first-aid kit he swore was in the cabinet)

 after a small ‘how to maintain flowers’ lesson with kuroo, he carried the glass cup into the living room and carefully placed it on the coffee table. 

“and now everytime i see these flowers, i’ll think of you!” 

“too bad they’ll wilt after a few weeks....or maybe days” 

kuroo swung his head back and flashed you one of his pretty smiles. “looks like you’ll have to regularly give me flowers then” 

(does his pretty smile send butterflies off in your stomach? every single time.) 

sakusa 

╰  when he saw a bouquet of flowers in your hands, he immediately wondered why, where, and how you got it (it’s not everyday he sees you with a bouquet of flowers in your hands! is he pleased? as ever) 

╰  but thanks to his reticent personality, he only gave you questioning looks when you walked over to him, deciding not to mention anything until you spoke first 

“omi, i picked these flowers up from a nearby flower shop before i came,” you beamed, turning the bouquet around for him to get a good look. “these are for you!” 

sakusa blinked in silence. his eyes slowly travelled from the bouquet to your smiling face. as he slowly removes his black masks, he utters out, “you got...flowers for me?” 

(one point for him for stating out the obvious! jkjk) “who else?” you joked and handed the flowers toward him. “do you not like daises?” 

“...oh no, it’s not that,” he gently took the bouquet and walked toward his kitchen. “no one has ever gotten me flowers before...” 

you took off your shoes and followed him inside, watching as he frustratedly looked around for a flower vase before realizing he doesn’t have one. 

“looks like i’d have to buy one then...” sakusa holds the flowers up to eye level and gives you a small smile. “thanks, i like these :)” 

atsumu 

╰ right as the front door swung open, atsumu opened his arms wider than the door frame, a giant smile plastered across his face. it’s his first time seeing you in days! can’t blame him for being so excited 

╰ when you don’t immediately fall into his arms, he frowned and motioned for you to get close. “why’re you not accepting my hug???” 

╰ “tsumu,” you slowly brung the bouquet of flowers into his view and he audibly gasped. 

╰ “someone gave you flowers??”

“no, no, i got these for you!” you exclaimed, shoving the flowers toward him. atsumu’s mouth drops open. 

he took a small step forward and lets you inside his place. his eyes scanned the beautiful bouquet in front of him. his cheeks were rosy. “wahhh, you got flowers for me?? wait...is this your indirect way of saying i should get you flowers?” 

“i mean, if you want to give me flowers too, then go ahead :) no complaints!” 

he leaned in and smelled a light pink rose. “i need to step up my game, yeah? gotta buy you even better flowers next time~ now lemme give you a kiss of gratitude”

~~~ three days later ~~~~ 

“y/n baby :( are flowers supposed to wilt after three days?? i even dipped them in water!” 

suna 

╰ “hi~,” suna yawns as he ruffles his hair and shows you the living room as if you don’t practically live there. as usual, he leans in for a kiss but misses your lips miserably and squishing your flowers in the process. 

“rin, watch out! you almost crushed these flowers,” you scold as you check every flowers’ petals to make sure they’re not folded up. 

“what flowers??” with half-lidded eyes, suna slowly pads across the room and plops down on his coach. “c’mere baby, we should take a nap” 

“....but you just woke up??” 

“and what about it?” 

“i got you flowers, rin,” you say, your voices sounds deflated from his lack of interest. 

suna peeks over his arm and glances at you and the bouquet of flowers at your side. he immediately sits up and walks over back to you. “why’d you...decide to get me flowers?” 

“do you not like them? :/” 

“no, it’s not that. just a little caught off guard. you even the expensive and pretty ones too...” he gently takes the bouquet from your hands and turns it 360 degrees. “pretty...and expensive...just like you,” he says and pinches your cheek. 

“is that a compliment??” you tease. 

“it can be,” suna chuckles. “thank you for the flowers, i’ll make sure to take good care of them~ ...back to what i was saying about our nap-” 

[queerchoicesblog]

The Nightingale

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing projectcontinues after a break with a miniseries set back in the City of Lights - & Love - at the time of the Belle Epoque, at the turn of the century.

The story finale is served: hope that you enjoyed the journey so far.

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous chapters: Paris, Paris ; One Night At The Moulin Rouge , The Handkerchief, The Cage of Fools,  La Vie Bohème, Broken Dreams

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

__________________________

It takes some time to persuade Élodie that my idea could actually work. Before sharing it with her, I pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge and discuss it with Laurent, Carmine and the other friends she has there. They listen to me carefully and ponder my words. When they speak, they evaluate possibilities and chances of the new plan. They even ask Valerie, the singer I saw on stage on my first time at the 'First Palace of Women', to hear it out and share her thoughts on that. She takes a long meditative pause before conceding that it's not a bad idea, after all. "And I think Monsieur Zidler won't have much to object, honestly. He likes Lila, he hired her personally" she adds, shrugging and flashing an encouraging smile. We all share a look. Laurent speaks first, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. "Time to break it to Lila!" "Léa's idea, Léa's duty" Carmine winks. "Let us know if you need backup and we'll send the chivalry". And so I do. The following day, when our shift is over, I wave Marie goodbye and head towards Montmarte, cherishing the news in my chest and hoping my idea won't make her too nervous or uncomfortable. Or even worse, offend her.

"A singing act?" Élodie looks at me confused when I share my foolish idea. She almost spits out the coffee she's drinking. "But I'm not a singer!" She keeps looking at me without understanding, furrowing her brows. I wonder if she's thinking I'm speaking nonsense out of the blue. If so, I'm thankful she tries to conceal it. "I know...you sing well though" I notice, smiling. I take a seat beside her and gently wrap an arm around her waist. I ponder what to say next: I know how badly she's suffering despite the brave face she puts on now and hurting her is the last thing I want. On the contrary, I only want to help her, if I can. "I know it's different from what you're used to and what you want...but I genuinely think you could do well. And it doesn't have to be forever, it could be temporary...the doctor said you have to be patient with your recovery. As much as it pains me to remind it, you can't go back dancing now" "I know" she grimaces. "Consider this a...distraction?" I suggest, guiding her face towards me. "When you feel better, you could give it a try and see how it feels. You could sit on a bar stool and play an accordion like that singer at the Cage, remember? Maybe you'll even have fun" I try to be as bubbly as I can given the circumstances and my naive enthusiasm draws a tiny smile on her face. "Maybe" she sighs, half-convinced. "Just think about it: no rush, no pressure" I press a kiss on her forehead. I don't tell her of my conversation with Carmine and Laurent at the Moulin. They go visit her a week or so later, bringing a colourful bouquet of irises on behalf of all her colleagues who "miss her dearly and can't wait to have her back". To my surprise, Élodie mentions them the singing act plan. Of course they pretend to hear it from the first time; it could work, they say. Everything to get her back to the stage she belongs to, they add. I am unbelievably happy to see my love improving as weeks go by. She now leaves her room more often with the help of a crutch and take "little walks" up and down the corridor or simply sits in the main room, chatting, reading. I make her promise not to exert herself but I am glad of this change: keeping her mind busy and quitting her self-imposed isolation seem to do her good. It's in the main room that I find her one evening. The atmosphere is as lively as one would expect from an artist apartment in Montmarte. Luis is discussing of an upcoming exhibition sipping wine in the kitchen with a couple of friends and colleagues or so I wager. He greets me with a nod and hands me a glass of red. I gladly take it and head to the main room where the music comes from. Élodie is sitting on the sofa with a girl I have never seen before. They both greet me with a smile and my love pats the armchair by her side, beckoning me to have a seat with them. The girl stands and offers me her hand to shake: it's Sidonie, the actress roommate. She had a role in a comedy show lately, that's why we didn't get a chance to meet sooner. "El asked me to teach her how to play the accordion" she explains, cheerfully. I am pretty sure my face betrays my surprise. "And it's way trickier than I thought it would be" Élodie protests. "How can a little instrument like this can be so hard to play? I don't get it" Sidonie and I take a seat as she lets out a loud sigh of defeat. Her frown doesn't last long though: a quick smile appears on her face at our proximity. Dropping the instrument in her lap, she reaches for my hand and places a kiss on my knuckles. "Well, Rome wasn't built in a day, right?" I smile back as she steals my glass of wine. "Right, and you still have time before the big day" Sidonie adds. "What's the big day?" I ask, a little confused. "You haven't told her yet?" she shoves Élodie's shoulder, gaping. "C'mon, El, spill the beans!" Élodie sighs and take a big sip of wine as if to steady her nerves for some big announcement. Saying that curiosity is killing me is an understatement but I try not to pressure her. "So..." she starts, turning to face me. "The doctor visited me yesterday and-" "And?" I fail to refrain myself. "And he is happy with how my recovery is going. Very happy, actually. True, I still cannot dance and probably my days as a can-can dancer are over" a shadow crosses her face but I am proud to see her fight it back. "But I am improving and that's what matters, right? If I keep up the good job, I can get rid of that crutch in weeks, he said" "But that's amazing, El! I'm so happy for you" I cover my mouth to prevent the lump forming in my throat to ruin the moment. I don't wanna cry here, now, in front of her. "And there's more to it" Sidonie winks. "Keep going, El" "I...I may have written a letter to Monsieur Zidler, explaining my situation and mentioning the singing act plan. And asking for an audition to see if I can still fit in. Carmine offered to deliver it when she visited, the answer came in earlier today" She takes a dramatic pause. "He may have said yes" I squeal and wrap my arms around her neck, making her giggle. "He said he will receive me whenever I want. I just have to write him a note and he will give me an appointment" she adds, hugging me back. I linger in her arms a bit longer, longer than I meant at first, suddenly unwilling to resist the wave of joyous relief washing over me. I try to make it last in the familiar warmth of Élodie's embrace. "It's...oh El, it's...I don't even have words for it!" I say, eventually parting. "That's why I asked Sid for help. With the accordion and in general: she's a professional, right?" "A great professional" the actress playfully corrects her. "A great professional" Élodie chuckles. "I know how to dance but not how to take the stage solo, how to move, what to say, how to engage with the audience...oddly enough, it's all quite new to me. So I thought that a little training could help me to pass the audition and stay at the Moulin" "And Theo, our music-hall virtuoso, has been recruited too. He will assist with the singing part" Sidonie finishes her sentence then turns towards me. "Trust me, Léa: we'll turn this dancer into the new singing phenomenon the likes of which Paris has ever seen" True to her word, in the weeks that follow, my indomitable love works hard with her roommates and improvised tutors. She keeps me and her friends from the Cage updated over dinner when we visit her; she asks for suggestions on the songs to sing, songs that might make a good impression on Monsieur Zidler. She's keen to impress him, certainly out of pride but also - I have reason to believe - in the hope that he allows her not to leave the Moulin. That place has come to signify so much for her, more than most could probably understand. Maybe she landed there almost by chance as she said but it's clear what it means to her now: it's her life, her passion. I bet that sometimes at night she dreams the extravagant hall filled with dancing couples and careless costumers sipping champagne. I'm sure the furious rhythm of la quadrille still haunts her sleep: I can only hope it doesn't torment her. I know that she's suffering deep down, that every limping step, every accidental look to her injured ankle reminds her of that night who put an end to the career she was born for. I see it in her eyes when she thinks I'm not looking. But I also sense a sparkle, a fire burning brighter than the shadows crossing her face and her heart. A month later, she finally decides "it's now or never" and writes a note to Monsieur Zidler. I cannot go with her to the audition because of work, luckily Theo has a free day. Monsieur Zidler listens carefully, smoking his cigar in a first row seat, and claps his hands when the last note dies out. Green light for the singing act! The night of her debut I make sure to get tickets for all my friends. Eventually, I let them know of my friendship with Élodie and the other dancers of the Moulin. I didn't tell them well, everything and I am thankful they don't dig for more. I am also grateful for their genuine concern for my love's accident and the enthusiasm they showed for her debut. The guys insisted to buy some flowers to throw her on the way here and they all dressed up to meet her after the acts. When I look at them, I think back of my first time here and I cannot help but smile to myself. Before venturing to the backstage area, I wave at Pierrette - well Pierre tonight - Amélie and other girls I saw at the Cage. We smile at each other across the room: I knew they wouldn't have missed such an important night. The night of her debut Élodie is so tense she keeps saying she's going to puke and asking for champagne to find the right amount of liquid courage to walk onto the stage. Laurent, Carmine and I try to discipline said amount and escort her till the velvet curtains when time comes. She inhales sharply and gives us all a tensed look when on the other side Valerie announces a little novelty, a second singing act. Her singing act. She squeezes my hand tight till the moment the curtains open and she steps into the stage light. As I predicted, she had no reason to be so nervous, even if I get where her fears came from. When the lights of the music hall wash over her, the audience erupts in a round of encouraging applauses and cheers. The whole room resounds with her name - Lila! Lila! Lila! - as she proceeds towards a bar stool positioned at the centre of the stage. She's still limping but no one seems to notice or care. Especially when she clears her throat and after a gracious greeting, she starts singing. Then everyone goes quiet, enraptured by the sweet melody of her voice. She may not dance anymore but the paying guests seem to love her all the same. After every performance, they whistle in appreciation and clap their hand loud, asking for more songs. Night after night. Week after week. They don't stop. Journalists and regulars end up giving her a nickname that consecrates her new career. They start calling her 'The Nightingale of Pigalle' or simply 'The Nightingale'. With the unexpected yet unmistakable success, she gains a mention on the playbill and the posters advertising the Moulin all over Paris. As a consequence, her acts evolve and become more complex. Élodie asks for new tips to Sidonie and Theo and practises regularly with a newfound determination. She tries to find and memorise new songs to enrich her repertoire. Sometimes she sings them for me when we are in bed and she plays with my hair or holds me close in a loving embrace. Now she performs in duets with Valerie twice a week, and solo, winning the favour of adoring fans over and over again. Paris falls in love with her and well, I can't blame her. I don't think it's possible to know her and not to love Élodie. There is something inside her, a light so bright that encompasses her figure and is now showing. Better, glowing. As her new career takes off, something changes in my life too. I make what my superior calls "a most foolish decision I will regret dearly when it's too late" and quit my job at the atelier. In the end, I don't end up regretting it because, prevailing over a fierce competition, I join the tailor entourage of Les Folies Bergere. When one night I overheard a dancer at the Moulin saying that they were looking for a new seamstress, I just knew I had to throw my hat in the ring. And so I did. The pay is a bit lower than the one I would have now if I had stayed since my supervisor wasn't joking about that long-awaited promotion but I am happier this way. I got my share of Vie bohème sewing and fixing the most extravagant costumes Paris has ever seen. And I heard that Marie, who has been working thrice as hard over the past few months to make up for the time the girls and I covered for her, got 'my' promotion. She deserves it and some extra money might come in handy if Alain makes his move and gets down on one knee, at last. Who would have told, like....a year ago or even just a few months ago? Marie in tears at the thought of being fired and me, the quiet seamstress from the North with an ordinary life. Now my life is less ordinary and the world seem like turning faster and faster. It's thrilling, maybe a bit scary at times. It's like...being caught in a whirlwind, I notice as I share my thoughts with Élodie one night in bed. "Things change fast in Paris" she ponders, smiling to herself. "It's the magic of the crazy times we live in" "Maybe you're right" I agree but then a thought crosses my mind, an uneasy one. I look at her and my heart aches a little: she is always so beautiful I'm the moonlight but she also looks distant, so ethereal she could vanish any minute just like a dream when morning comes and you open your eyes. But I don't want to wake from this dream. I roll to the side to face her and speak again before cowardice gets the best of me. "But there is a thing I don't want to change" I reach for her hand and she rolls to her side too, listening. "This. You and me, together. I...I don't want to change that or that to change" I feel my cheeks burn as soon as the words leave my mouth but I had to say that. To make it clear. I have already lost her once and it was awful, I don't want to go through that again. The mere thought of it make my stomach turn Élodie's hand is cold on my cheek as she caresses it with the soothing tenderness I have come to love about her. "We don't have to change that, Léa" One night I am almost late for her act. I come straight from Les Folies but I wouldn't have missed it for the world since Élodie asked me to be present. She didn't tell me why, she just kissed me and said "you'll see". So here I am. I join my friends at the table reserved for us just as the first dancing act starts. I sip my champagne and do my best to follow even if my mind is somewhere else, backstage. I take a relieved sigh and clap my hands with the rest of the audience when her name is announced. This time though, she doesn't make her entrance straight away, leaving us wondering what she has in store for us. No one seems bothered though, they just whisper excitedly with the neighbours and keep clapping their hands to call her on stage. Then Élodie steps in, emerging from the velvet curtains in a new costume that elicits gasps and cheers among the audience. My friends and I clap encouragely as she saunters towards her stool in an elegant male suit just like the one Laurent wears on scene and swaying -and helping herself with - a walking stick like a dandy. I am suddenly reminded of our night at the Cage of Fools and my cheeks turn rosy. She greets everyone with affable cheerfulness and a mysterious smile that catches the attention of the paying guests. She takes a seat on her stool, with her usual grace and taking her time. When she speaks, she has the general undivided attention and curiosity. "I wrote a song, a little tune for tonight. Would you like to hear it?" An excited murmur spreads in the hall then everyone goes quiet. That's when she starts singing, a gorgeous smile on her lips. She sings of a Parisian boy who once bumped into a fisherman on his walk by the Seine. The old man told him that he didn't like Paris because you can only get small fishes here and pearls are hard to find away from the seashore: there are none in the City of Lights. The young Parisian listened to the man and resumed his walk, quickly forgetting about fishes and oysters. But he soon discovered that the old seaman was wrong. A few days later, the boy actually found one, the brightest pearl, down the River, on the quays of Paris, where Lady Luck is gentle with hopeful lovers. His pearl has hair of gold and a smile sweeter than cherries: she didn't make him rich but turned his life into paradise. He didn't make a necklace out of her like people do when they find those tiny shiny treasures, but he always bears the image of her face in his heart because his Pearl gave him the only wealth worth calling your own in this world: Love. When she hits the final note, it's clear everybody adored it. Loud appreciative whistles and applauses, a chant "again, sing again!" and flowers, so many flowers landing on the stage like a colourful rain. Another success but...this one is different. Élodie bows to the adoring audience and picks up one rose, rising. Her eyes search the crowd until they find me. With a tender smile, she throws it my way. It lands in my hands as someone starts chanting her name over the clapping of hands and stomping of feet. But I don't register it, I only have eyes for her. My heart is on fire. With one last lingering look before basking in her well deserved triumph, Élodie mouths words meant for me only. Words only I can hear in the crowd. "My little pearl"

[ragdollrory]

The Jasmine Snapdragon

The sky was still a pastel mix of orange and pink when Azula’s name was called by the barista, and she picked her latte up at the counter. The shuffle in her phone switched to a calm tune, and she walked the two blocks that separated the coffee shop from her uncle’s shop, a hand searching through her bag for the heap of keys the man had given her the previous night.

A couple of minutes and several light switches later, soft music filling the room, she was comfortably sitting behind the counter. Paper cup in a hand, and a book on flowers and their meanings in the other. 

It was only a couple of weeks until Iroh returned from his trip, but Azula figured if she’d been tasked with taking care of the place, then she might as well do her research. Plus, Zuko had assured her time and time again he could do with some weeks of her being absent at the company, and promptly taken her workload from her hands. So it was not like she had a lot more to do, as she waited for clients to show up. Once she tackled this, she’d start a novel, or another econ book, whichever caught her fancy first.

The place was nice enough to be in, once you got past the array of colors and aromas. Neat and varied, with some really exotic numbers as well. Or bright, happy, and completely adorable, in the words of Ty Lee, who often visited to have tea with her uncle. That was a friendship Azula could understand, but would rather stay the hell away from, lest she got her aura read, and cleaned with the weird blends the chubby man and hyperactive friend were so fond of.

Once the coffee was done, nose still in the book, Azula went onto checking the water in the vases, removing the withered flowers, and finally flipping the sign on the door over to Open. It was just a couple of weeks, she could do it, she’d lived through worse after all. The vultures at the company’s legal department, university, the institution, her family… This would be a piece of cake.

And really, as days trickled by, running the shop turned out to be effortless. Between her good memory, and knack for reading people, Azula found bouquet making to be an easy enough activity. She’d spotted several types- or stereotypes even- of customers so far.

First on her list, and last in her esteem, were cheaters. Those she could smell the second they walked through the door. Anxious as they looked through the store's varied options, toying with their wedding band when they were married, and checking the mobile an excessive amount of times while at it. They were easy to spot, and easy to sell to, and since Azula couldn't really skin them, at least she made sure her uncle's shop made a profit out of their disgusting habit.

"You don't really want to pick those." Came her usual opening line, with a discreet roll of her eyes, as they automatically went for the red roses. "Those are nice, sure, but it's a bit obvious, don't you think?”

She made her way around the counter, to point out some other options, not trying too hard to hide the disenchantment in her voice. “I’d say some chrysanthemum could be nice. Red means love, of course. White is for loyalty, and devoted love.” She let a second tick by before continuing. “Then yellow is sorrow, neglected love… perhaps an array of them would be good.

“Unless it’s not for the wife, but the lover. In that case I’d go with the red roses after all.”

It was most amusing how they just itched to buy and get it all done with, no matter what she decided was best to sell them. Always paying in cash, and oftentimes buying for both the spouse and lover. Sometimes Azula wondered if whoever received them understood the message behind the pretty arrangements. If they stayed together afterwards as well. Sometimes the client would return, and she’d known they’d not read between the lines of the flowers. Sad, really.

Probably one of her favourite type of client was the opposite of the first one, the long-run partners. They usually went in with a clearer idea in their mind, having gifted flowers throughout their marriage, or having read certain species was best for the current anniversary they were on. And their smile as they talked about their loved one was contagious.

Those, Azula helped with genuine interest, taking her time to put together a bouquet that would bring out the same joy in the receiving end as it did to the buyer.

“Perhaps it’s not the most common flower to gift, but Honeysuckles carry meanings of devoted love, and lasting bonds.” She explained to a man in his mid-sixties, who was looking for a gift for his wife of over forty years.

They’d gone over several options already, before he asked for the trumpet-shaped flower, and Azula couldn’t help but to monologue a little about the things she’d read on the plant. She even went as far as to mention the properties attributed to it when using it in a tea blend. The whole flower shop vibe was clearly getting to her, although she’d rather believe it was the man’s willingness to listen to her.

“If you plant this,” Making a quick trip to the back, where her uncle had the greenhouse, Azula plucked a little sprout of the plant in vivid coral color, to hand to the man alongside the bouquet, “then hummingbirds and butterflies are bound to come to your garden.”

He’d returned twice since then, once with his wife, who had brought her homemade cookies, and showed her pictures of the little plant in its new pot. It had been a nice day.

Other clients in her list were teenagers, and those were most amusing to tend to. Never sure of what they were looking for, blushing every couple of seconds, or everytime Azula asked them a question about the person receiving the flowers.

They usually came with limited money also, wrinkled in their pockets where they nervously pushed their hands, or in their backpacks under a pile of trash they often had to take out over the counter to be able to find the bills.

“Okay, listen to me, take lilies.” Azula’s patience was running thin with this one, but she’ll try her best not to throttle the girl, because it reminded her a little of Mai. And well, because it would not look good on the store. “They stand for refined beauty, and orange ones are passion. She won’t just like it, she’ll love it.

“Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.” Whatever it was that made the girl believe her, she was thankful for it, and she left with a stuttered thank you, and a nice arrangement of four lilies, while Azula was left methodically straightening the rumpled bills against the counter’s edge.

No, tending to the store was easy, fun even. And somehow- and Azula wasn’t pointing at people, but it had been Ty Lee- her uncle found out just how well she’d been doing her job, and decided to extend his trip a couple more weeks. It wasn’t the most awful thing to happen, but she’d been itching to go back to the company already. Still, Iroh hardly ever left the city, and two more weeks could harm no-one.

Azula had just sold a large basket of pink tulips for a baby welcoming gift, and was at the back fixing the vase, when the door chimes announced a new buyer. She called she’d be there in a minute through the parted door, getting a ‘take your time’ in return.

“Oh, you really don’t want to pick those.” Came her already trademark phrase, as she walked back into the shop, and caught the look of the newest customer.

Tall, big- so freaking big, probably a gym fanatic by the looks of it. He was tanned, with messy waves of ombré hair to his shoulders, and black ink tattoos spiralling down his arms from under his t-shirt sleeves. So, a surfer maybe? He had the aura of it, and Azula was positive the tattoos were Hawaiian.

“I’m sorry?” He turned to her from his inspection of some peonies, curiosity very vivid in his expression, a raised eyebrow towards her. Half his face was hidden by a heavy beard, but Azula had to blink a couple of times under the deep blue of his eyes. A smile tugged at his lips, and she shook her head to clear it.

“Peonies, you probably won’t want to pick those.” She took the tulips back to their fridge, taking a moment too long under the cool air, before turning back to the man. “They are linked to romance, and marriage, often times used to propose.”

“Okay.” He agreed without fuss, and Azula thought she was closer to her goal of guessing correctly. “Should I worry that you’re a mind reader, or-” His smile widened with a breathy chuckle, and she found herself smiling back at him.

“Not at all. I wouldn’t be in a flower shop if I were.” Rolling her eyes playfully, Azula moved onto what she figured were the flowers he was looking for. “So maybe roses, those are always popular, or irises-”

“Where would you be?” He cut through her speech.

“What?” She really wasn’t used to getting questions that were not flower related, not by first time buyers at least.

“I think this is a nice place to be, a happy one. But if you weren't here, where would you be?” The man commented, hands pushed into the back pockets of his worn-out jeans. She tried to ignore how he towered over her, giving a perfect view of the shirt hugging his chest as he did so.

"I, um. I'm a lawyer actually. I work at my family's company." Azula wasn't sure why she was hesitating over that, almost as if she regretted her position there. Or the fact that her name was on the very building she worked at. "I'm just covering for my uncle here. The shop is his."

"Hmm" The man gave her an appraising look, as if he were trying to picture her in a suit, maybe. Or maybe she was thinking too much into it. "Well, you seem to know quite a bit of flowers for being covering for him, then."

"Yes, well- I read a lot." Her answer was probably a bit off, but this whole conversation was. He was here to buy flowers for someone, some Barbie girl he met at the beach probably, and she had a book to go back to. Azula moved back to the flowers. "So, lilacs are good too, a magenta one is passion, so you could combine it with a-"

"Passion? No, no." He interrupted again, and this time she huffed, and turned to him with a hand on her hip. "I think you got the mind reading wrong here, who do you think I'm buying for?"

"I don't know." It was her turn to give him a once over now, and what a mistake it was. His smile was full of mischief, and her stomach had the gall to flip dangerously. "A Tinder date?"

His laugh filled the shop, loud and lively, and his eyes tightened with it, happy lines forming at the sides. Azula frowned, arms crossing at her chest.

“No, God no. Tinder dates, yeah- those aren’t my thing, really.” His voice was breathy when he spoke, shaking his head with a smile. He ran fingers through his hair. When his eyes found hers, there was softness in them. “I need something for my daughter. She has a ballet recital today.”

“Oh.” Oh, indeed. Azula’s arms dropped to her sides, shoulders losing the tension she’d gathered in about ten seconds. A daughter. “Okay, that’s- that’s nice. And easier, I guess.”

She was ashamed to say she was ashamed, and was too proud to apologise for the mistake. And there was also the fact that he seemed completely unfazed by the whole thing, and followed her around the shop in silence for the next couple of minutes as Azula pointed out options for him to pick. She could feel his eyes on her, making warmth climb up her neck, and making her breath catch whenever she turned and caught them on hers.

“I think daisies and sunflowers will do.” He said after some time, and she nodded, picking up one of the vases to take to the counter. He took the other one.

The music around them was the only thing filling the silence as Azula trimmed the stems and prepared the arrangement on a bright colorful paper. Her eyes trailed to the tattoos on his arm every so often, where he leaned on the counter.

“So what about me made you believe I was on a date?” The question definitely made her blush now, and she just focused harder on the flowers, thinking on an appropriate answer. There was none.

“Your looks.” She shrugged, not really wanting to say more, but the rise of his eyebrows encouraged for more. There was a line through his left one, Azula noted, a scar. It made him look better somehow. “I don’t know, okay. I just-”

Her hands motioned over to him, as if that made any sense, as if she made sense anymore.

“You just look like a man who would pick someone up easily, and- have many dates probably. Just, forget about it, okay?” She did not plead, she never pleaded. Azula tied the ribbon on the bouquet, and handed it over. “Here, these are on the house.”

He stood there for a moment, considering her words perhaps, about to laugh at her again maybe. And then his hand brushed over hers as he took the flowers. A shiver ran up her arm. God, please make him go now, before she made more of a fool of herself. 

“I insist.” Her voice was just a tad strained, and he stopped in his pulling out of the wallet.

“Okay, then.” Azula dared to look up, and he was sporting a really soft smile that made her chest ache. Damn it, why wasn’t he going away already? “Tikaani will be very happy with them, thank you.”

A sigh she didn’t know she was holding left her lips as he finally reached the door, but he turned once again, and she had to hurry to school her face to something that didn’t say ‘I was checking you out’.

“I didn’t catch your name, if you don’t mind me asking.” There weren’t many times in her life where she’d felt like this, spellbound by a total stranger, but this right here- as he stood by the door with a corner of his lips pulling up on a charming smile- this was one.

“Azula.” And then it was a full grin, and who had given him the right to just look so happy?

“A beautiful name. I’m Tonraq.” Azula thought she managed a nod before he left, but wasn’t even sure about that, and then she dropped herself very unceremoniously on the chair.

She had only managed to take a couple of steadying breaths, when the door chimed again, and she tried to clear her head to take on this new customer.

“Hi, can I- Oh.” Tonraq was there again, plucking two flowers from the vases, amaryllis, and daffodil. She tried very hard not to bring forward the meanings. It didn’t work; joy, new beginnings, and worth beyond beauty. She didn’t dare breathe.

“So I was wondering, since you wouldn’t let me pay for the arrangement, that I could pay for dinner? Friday night? It’s not Tinder, but I did bring flowers.” He smirked, and she had the sudden urge to push a finger to his chest and tell him a few truths, and- and kiss him as well. How unfair that he could do that.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Azula couldn’t help the smile from reaching her lips, no matter how hard she tried. She plucked the flowers from his hand. “Fine. Only- because you picked them wisely.”

Grabbing a pen and a store card, she wrote down her number, and handed it over. His fingers lingered on hers a little longer this time, her heart hurried behind her ribs.

“I’ll pick you up at six, Princess.” He winked, and turned on his heels.

“I’m not- don’t-” She tried calling back on him, but it was too late, he was hopping into a Jeep already. And she was smiling at the nickname anyways. Azula smelled the flowers as if she wasn’t surrounded by them, her cheeks burning with the promise of the date. 

If he thought she were a Princess, he should’ve picked a purple iris.

[wildefiction]

Of Course...Mr. Collins

TWENTY-THREE

The rest of the week passed quickly as you finalized plans for the southern California convention taking place the first weekend of December. When you'd asked what would happen once the convention circuit finished for the year, Misha had reminded you that he was in the middle of filming season thirteen, and that it was likely the two of you would be spending a substantial part of the next several months in Vancouver. Although since he lived so close he often came home on the weekends, so he assured you would have some down time. Not that you minded, spending a bunch of time with your prohibitively sexy boss who you also happened to be sleeping with? It was a no-brainer.

Thursday morning dawned chilly, a cold wind and drizzling rain pelted the worn shingles of your roof. Drawing the Venetian blinds open filled the living room with a grey light and you smiled as your cats appointed themselves door guardians, keeping a wary eye on the crows who enjoyed taunting them from the deck.

Padding into the kitchen you set to work gathering the materials to make cheesecake. It was your favorite dessert, and you saved the lengthy process for the holidays. Reaching up to the top shelf of your cupboards required a step stool, as even on tiptoes the mixing bowls eluded you. Whoever had designed the kitchen failed to realize that putting cupboards above the dishwasher made them out of reach for all but the tallest people.

Straining for the stack of glass bowls occupied your attention. Just as you got a good grip on the lip of one your phone rang. Looking around you in search of the source quickly revealed that you'd left the device on the couch. By the sounds of the muffled tone, it had slid between the cushions. Setting the bowls on the counter you ran into the adjacent room, just catching the call before it went to voicemail.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Collins.” Groaning, Misha sighed on the other end of the call. “You're lucky I need you Ms. [Y/L/N], otherwise you'd be in serious need of an attitude adjustment.” 

The gravelly admonishment made you flush, a crimson heat pooling through your belly. Clearing his throat, your boss quickly changed the subject. 

“So, ahh, I hate to do this but..do you think you could come help us in the kitchen? I may have bitten off more than I could chew with this menu.” 

You were about to tell him you'd be happy to, but he continued, hastily adding that you could bring your sister if you wanted to and that he'd give you a bonus if you'd save his ass. Laughing through the line, you agreed - on the condition that you could bring dessert. “Thanks [Y/F/N], you really are a lifesaver.”

You weren't about to turn down more time with Misha, the salary boost was just an added bonus. He need never know that you had planned on spending the day stuffing your face with cheesecake; deciding to forego the big spread when you realized you'd be spending the holiday alone had saved you a lot of time and money.

Gathering all of the ingredients into a grocery tote along with several mixing bowls, your biggest springform pan and the fresh fruit used for garnish, you moved into your room to change. The bright blue fleece pajama pants littered with sheep that you currently wore didn't exactly feel right.

Not wanting to overdo things, you decided on a pair of soft, plum colored leggings and a form-fitting black tunic top, the hem falling just a few inches past the curve of your thighs. Pulling knee-high, oatmeal colored wool socks on before lacing up your pair of soft leather boots completed the outfit. Spreading a thick layer of dark eyeliner on to accompany the purple and black smokey-eye was just enough to tie everything together, your [Y/E/C] irises framed by the heavier makeup.

Pulling a brush through your long [Y/H/C] hair was enough, you knew if you were cooking that a fancier hairstyle wouldn't last long anyhow.

The highway held few cars, making the drive pass quickly. Pulling into Misha’s neighborhood, you were surprised by the number of cars parked both in his driveway and lining the street. Knocking on the heavy front door left you standing on the porch for a few minutes. After several tries,  you squeezed the handle, and finding it unlocked, let yourself in.

The maelstrom that greeted you was intense. West chased Tom and Shep through the house while JJ sat on the plush rug of the living room and stacked blocks with Maison. Gen and Daneel reclined together on the overstuffed sofa, glasses of red wine clutched in their hands, chatting as they kept a watchful eye on the girls. Rather than being overwhelmed, you felt like part of the family, a smile passing over your face as you took in your surroundings and made your way to the kitchen.

Vicki stood behind the cool marble covered island that dominated the center of the room. The sharp knife in her hand sliced through vegetables with ease. Seeing you walk in, she lowered the blade, and, wiping her hands on the half apron tied around her waist; enveloped you in a bone crushing hug. 

“[Y/F/N]! Thank you so much for coming to help with dinner...you know how Misha can be.” Thinking back to the first night you’d met the Collins’, you rolled your eyes and laughed. “So, what scheme has he thought of this time?” 

Lifting your bags up onto the counter, your [Y/E/C] eyes widened in shock at the thick piece of cardstock Vicki handed across her work station. 

“He..he actually made a menu?” “Where is our host anyhow?” Vicki snorted under her breath in mild amusement, motioning vaguely over her shoulder with the knife she’d taken up to finish her task.

Turning your attention to the set of double french doors behind her, you wandered across the cool wooden floor and looked through the glass. Misha, Jared and Jensen were all huddled around a large grill, where two twenty-pound turkeys were trussed and stuffed with herbs; slowly turning over the open flame. Jared noticed you first as you leaned against the oak door frame, impressed at their dedication. 

“Why am I not surprised that you are actually roasting turkeys over an open fire?” Jensen held up his hands and backed away from the heat, shaking his head while he tilted an amber bottle to his lips.

“Not me, Jared and I are giving him shit. There’s no way Misha can do this and have them finish before next year. We’re taking bets on how long it’ll take until we get to eat.” 

“Supervising, you might say..” Jared quipped as he moved to wrap his arms around you in greeting.

Misha’s attention finally rose from the spit and his eyes met [Y/F/N], a slow smile twisting over his face at the woman standing in his doorway. She looked amazing; a glass of wine in her hand as she smiled back at him, an amused expression on her face. 

“Well boys, have fun out here in the cold. I’m going back inside to surround myself with beautiful women...and cheesecake.” A torrent of wind off of the bay swirled around you as you stepped back into the warmth of the house.

There was a great deal of work to be done for the two desserts you had promised. Melting white chocolate over a double boiler while simultaneously reducing fresh raspberries into a puree forced you to abandon the glass of merlot Vicki had poured you. With those tasks complete you began assembling the base recipe for the cheesecakes themselves, the onyx monster of a stand mixer working overtime to whip the ingredients together. Crossing the kitchen to pour freshly ground coffee beans into the espresso machine for the tiramisu cheesecake took only a moment, the compelling smell warming you from the inside out.

Two hours later, you pulled the hot desserts from the double ovens set into the wall. Lowering the cakes to cooling racks well out of reach of small hands, you sighed; content. The smell of roasting turkey wafted through the open door when you poked your head outside to check how things were going. Rosemary, thyme and orange married together beautifully, a hint of sage rounding out the bouquet. The smug look on Misha’s face at his success caught your eye, his piercing blue eyes lit with satisfaction, that damning smile of his adding to the heat that burned through you.

Setting the expansive table distracted you well enough. A smaller, square oak table had been set aside just for the kids and you found your mind wandering to how it would feel to have your own child joining the others as they clambered up into their chairs. Shaking your head, you huffed at the thought. You didn’t like children. Mentally berating the biological clock that occasionally screamed at you to procreate, you shoved the idea away from your conscience. You could barely take care of yourself, adding a two-legged little gremlin to the mix wasn’t even a somewhat good idea. Pouring yourself a second glass of wine, you settled into one of the twelve heavy chairs that flocked the stretch of dark wood quickly filling with a myriad of dishes.

Dinner played out as if it were the scene in a hallmark movie. The  food was delicious, Misha spending twenty minutes carving up both turkeys before setting large, oval platters of meat at each end of the table. Tureens filled with mashed potatoes, both sweet and gold sat nestled amongst casseroles of stuffing, whole cranberries lending their beautiful color to the tablescape. Massive biscuits rested in napkin lined baskets; an old recipe handed down to Gen from her grandparents. Misha’s homemade wine flowing freely while the kids enjoyed fresh squeezed lemonade, West excitedly telling anyone who would listen that he’d help make it.

“[Y/F/N], where’s your sister? Did she not want to join us?” Jared’s hazel eyes were warm as they turned to you, his fingers laced with Gen’s. 

“She’s decided to stay in Hawaii for another week, actually.” Vicki’s eyes widened as she realized that you’d planned to be home alone today and she grimaced.

“If Misha hadn’t called you to help, what exactly would you be doing right now?” Shrugging, you swallowed another drink of the fruity liquid in your glass before answering. 

“Probably stuffing myself full of cheesecake and watching movies in my pajamas.” 

“What?! There are at least three food groups in cheesecake, it’s a nice, balanced meal.” 

“I’m not complaining though, this turkey is a-maaaazing Misha.”

After hours spent shopping, prepping and cooking the veritable feast laid out before you, everyone was overfull within thirty minutes. Jared and Jensen herded the children upstairs to change into pajamas and get cleaned up while Daneel, Gen and Vicki cleared the table. Back in the kitchen you pulled the fresh raspberry puree and heavy whipping cream from the refrigerator, spreading the fruit topping evenly across the surface of one of the cheesecakes. White chocolate curls and whole berries decorated the outer ring and sides of the confection. 

Adding the heavy cream to a stainless steel charger produced beautifully fresh cream for the tiramisu cake and, carrying them out to the table gleaned the interest of everyone in the house. A concerned look fell over Jensen’s face as he warred with the idea of whether or not he could fit additional food in his stomach. Laughing, you assured him there was plenty and that he could eat it later. With a curt nod of his head, he and Jared followed Misha back outside and you turned questioning glances to the women sitting around you. 

“It’s become a bit of a tradition when we’re all together to light up the fire pit and disconnect for awhile. C’mon [Y/F/N], you’ll see what we mean.” Vicki’s fingers stretched out to envelope your own as she moved to lift several large blankets from a basket by the door. Tilting her head in invitation, you followed her and the others outside where the boys already sat, the small children clambering up into their father’s laps. As you moved to sit in one of the adirondack chairs huddled near the iron pit of dancing flames, Vicki glared at you. 

“Don’t even think about running off by yourself, you come sit with us. You’re family now, whether you like it or not.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

TAGS: @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

[sunliteuphoria]

monday. cold tiles send shivers up my legs as i watch mix-matched socks tumble and turn, the smell of fresh linen lighting my senses ablaze. your back was turned to me as you folded your colors by shade, ginger tresses pulled up into a shapely bun, strands of hair spilling like leaves from a willow around your face. it was this day our eyes first met, your lively blues a shimmering pool for my golden irises to reflect off of, illuminating the once dimly lit caverns of my heart. hope that had once fled from the gates of my heart slowly crept back in as i watched you move unaware of the world around you, the only moments you seemed to come back to earth was when you turned my way, smiled that smile i remember all too fondly, say ‘have a nice day’ and left, cold air following behind you as the door shut slowly, pulling the air from my lungs as you walked away. tuesday. it’s not that i pretended to be going to a friends apartment to see which one you lived in, but i definitely made a conscious effort to get off on the wrong floor when we ended up sharing the elevator when i was coming back from work. i was still in my uniform, the mock referee shirt showing you that i have no stable career at 23 years old and i can also tell you about our buy one get one half off sale on sneakers going on through the holiday season. you smiled at me again, a friendly acknowledgment of our shared existence, something that lingered in the air between us long after you looked back down at your cellphone. your eyes reflected the screen, an endless moving array of photographs by hundreds of people that were apart of your life, reminding me that i wasn’t one of them. a strange jealousy overcame me, and i wished that you’d stumble upon a photograph of me somehow and wish i was in your life just as i wished for you to be in mine. wednesday. 7.04 AM was at the mailboxes, the sound of jingling keys beside me alerting me of your presence, just seconds before the scent i yearned to become familiar with hit my nose, reminding me of the youthfulness of our relationship, floral notes masking the scent of light perspiration that seemed to always cling on to your apron. 'morning,’ i said casually, reaching into my own mailbox and sifting through the envelopes while trying to covertly look at you from the corner of my eye. you looked up at me and smiled that smile, inviting me into your life for a brief moment, and said 'i’m just getting off, unfortunately.’ i didn’t know what to say, but i turned to you and offered my own, slightly crooked, not nearly as sweet, bare toothed smile, and said 'well, goodnight then.’ you let out a soft chuckle and reciprocated, closing your box and leaving me again with just the memory of our encounter. i told myself to pull each thought that was racing through my head together, collect themselves, and straighten up. i didn’t even know your name. 5.56 PM was at the grocery store two blocks from our building. you were standing outside the building, your small hands gently traipsing over the petals of fresh flowers, stopping every so often to bring one to your nose and inhale the sweet scent of flora. i came up beside you quietly, hands shoved into my pockets, and you stopped moving your hands when you realized i was there. 'tulips are my favorite flowers,’ you said in a hushed tone, not looking up at me as you began gliding your fingers over a bouquet of pink and purple, and not two seconds later was i reaching into my back pocket and handing the cashier a ten before i plucked the same bouquet that your delicate touch graced up from the rest and handed them to you. red spread across your face and you finally turned to look up at me, hands gripping onto the flowers tightly, and muttered a soft 'thank you,’ before bringing them to your nose to inhale their scent once more. i still never asked your name. thursday. it occurred to me when i lay in my bed at night, staring at the textured ceiling of my small apartment, that i was becoming increasingly infatuated with the idea of you. my gaze began to linger on you for longer periods than what would be considered socially acceptable, and i somehow always found myself in the same vicinity as you, luckily our campus was small so it wasn’t too hard to find you somewhere inconspicuous, as it always just seemed to be happenstance that we were always together, even when we were yards apart. contrived was my daily routine, as i began to change the routes i walked and the places i studied just for the off chance that i’d catch a glimpse of you walking past my table, book in hand, as your skirt billowed behind you, skating on the air of purity you seemed to drag with you.  friday.  i haven’t seen you in 26 hours, and i’m not sure what i’m doing but i’ve been sitting outside of our building for at least three now and i’ve smoked more cigarettes than i should have but i can’t risk the chance of not seeing you again. you haven’t been anywhere, i’m starting to worry, and i don’t know if i should knock on your door and check up on you or just keep a cool head, but i figure i’ve never been the one to choose rationality so i muster up as much courage as i could and went inside the building, punching the button for your floor. i knocked four times, but you never came to the door. i debated leaving a note, but the chance of being overly creepy i decided against it, though anyone could say the behavior i was displaying was already a bit much, but i tried not to think about that. saturday. i asked the doorman about you today, he said you’d been by the building a few times yesterday, and i wondered how i missed you. i asked him if he’d seen you today and he said no, but his voice was hesitant and for some reason i felt like he was lying to me… did you tell him to? i didn’t understand why you would, i’d never been anything but polite to you, all i wanted was to know your name but i could never bring myself to ask it. i stayed in my room for the majority of this day, ignoring the work that waited for me at my desk and the calls that kept coming to my phone. i withdrew from the world for a few hours, shutting out everything except my thoughts, and tried to come to terms with the end of us – an end that never was, since the beginning barely was. sunday. there was a u-haul truck parked outside our building today, and this was the last time i ever saw you. you had your hair pulled back again, the same lioness look you sported the first day we met graced you yet again as you rolled up your long sleeves and lifted up boxes upon boxes into the bed of the truck, and i watched as you took time in between lifting to look at some of the memories you were packing away, as if you were trying to relive them in that moment. i waited until you seemed to be finished, let you take your hair down, and then came up to the truck offering a cautious smile. 'moving out?’ i asked, hoping you’d say you were helping a friend, as it would make this less painful. 'moving back in with my parents,’ you replied, the strangest look of sadness appearing on your face for a split second before being replaced by a bright smile. 'at least now i’ll have free meals,’ you added, i’m guessing to lighten the mood, or to convince yourself that things were going to be okay. 'that’s a shame,’ i said quietly, putting my hands deep into the pockets of my ratty jeans, looking down at them and wishing i had chosen something different to wear the last time you’d ever see me. 'it’ll be okay,’ you said, walking to the door of the van slowly, and climbing in, and i shut the door behind you, watching as you put on your seat belt and start the truck, signaling the end of the chapter of our lives that we shared. 'i’m glad to have met you,’ i said as you adjusted the radio, and i wish i could get in the passenger seat and come with you. 'i just wish i could have known you.’ i spoke again, this time finding confidence in my words as i spoke them, letting them fill the silence that came between us after they were uttered. you gave no verbal reply, just a soft smile and a wave before pulling off into the street, leaving me behind. it was the smallest heartbreak i’d ever experienced, but for some reason this one hung heavily on my mind. monday. the warmth from the towels in the basket attached to my hip radiated warmth that made me think of you, of the time we first met, and how that just a week ago i’d never known anything in my life like you, nor could i ever. the elevator let out a soft ding as it approached my floor, and i walked to my apartment as i always did, slowly, and came upon a surprise as i made it to my door. a post it was placed just over the peephole, and there was a small note written on it in cursive that reminded me of sunshine and blossoming flowers (or perhaps that was the sun and flower doodles that were all along the edge of it). it read, and the words have been forever etched into my memory,  '212-490-0051 know me. – gwen (apt. 320)’

hopelessly romantic // m.g.