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That morning, like every morning, there was a flower in the keyhole of his shop door.
It was a small detail, to be easily missed by the preoccupied passerby still blinking sleep away on the sunny Monday morning; but to Wylan it was an unavoidable distraction. It was peeking out, a little lopsided, already weathered down by the bite of the cold, blocking the passage for his key.
It was lovely, despite its floppiness. Nothing more than a small branch filled with tiny white flowers that opened up to little dots of yellow and stripes of gradient pink, and Wylan couldn’t help but think it reminded him of spring. So he picked it up with careful fingers and slipped it behind his ear. He had to move it around a little bit so it wouldn’t get caught in his hair, and he checked out the results in the reflective surface of the shop window.
Staring back at Wylan was his own face: freckled cheeks, tired tilt to his lips, the upward slope of his small nose and the crinkle of his blue eyes. And to complete the picture, peeking out from behind his ear, there it was. White and pink and lovely against his skin. He smiled to himself, because the flowers were nice and they didn’t stop coming. They kept appearing at his door unannounced, every morning at opening – little stark reminders of the beauty of the world beyond the grey of the City. It was like clockwork, and Wylan had come to expect them. He didn’t dare imagine how disappointed he’d be if one day he’d walk up and there was nothing blocking the keyhole. It’d be mildly devastating, he thought, as he turned the key and opened the door.
He turned on all the lights with a flicker of his fingers, and his entire world came into view. A couple of reclining chairs, plenty of equipment, mirrors and his own art everywhere. A big fucking red sign he’d commissioned from a nearby print shop that read “we don’t do writing – drawings ONLY.” Home.
He had a home, a proper one - or at least, he had something that resembled the standard idea of what a home should look like. It was a couple streets over, tiny and cold. The walls were badly insulated and so thin that he could hear the sickening slap of skin against skin during his very-much-in-love neighbors’ nightly activities. It had a kitchen and bathroom and a sofa and a table and a bed and even chairs (mismatched, blue and green from Facebook Marketplace, and a sad grey one he had found on the pavement and simply couldn’t leave out there in the cold). So it was a home, by definition, and it was his, because he paid the bills and rent and lived there alone. But this, right here, was his home.
He closed the door behind him, hung his coat on the hook, and walked over to the counter. Next to the till was a tall glass filled with water. On top of the rippling surface floated a couple of short-stemmed flowers-- a pink one with petals folded inwards in a mesmerizing pattern and another white one, similar the one that had been left this morning. The latter looked a bit shriveled– it had been floating in the cup for at least two days– so Wylan tossed it in the bin and replaced it with the new one. He smiled at it before turning away.
And see, he had never once wondered where the flowers came from. You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Wylan’s father always used to say, in that tone of voice that meant sleepless nights and cold rooms and greenish bruises. He had learned, ever since he was a child, not to question the few scraps of kindness that came his way. Because when he did, when he let himself believe he’d finally deserved something good, life would be quick to take that away from him. And so Wylan didn’t question why the flowers had started showing up a couple of weeks ago, or who was leaving them, or why. He just accepted the small blessing wordlessly, and hung on to the feeling of it.
He turned the sign on the door. OPEN.
It was a slow day. His friend Nina came by around lunchtime, because she usually did. He didn’t have many bookings, and despite the sign outside that said “we accept walk-ins,” no one walked in. Wylan supposed it was fair – spontaneity was a gift that not many possessed. It was also seasonal, it seemed, and withered away in the fall, along with the leaves on the trees.
Nina. Nina was bright as Sirius, which Wylan only knew was the brightest star because he took a quarter of an astronomy elective at uni to please his father, before switching over to Introduction to Ethnomusicology. She was so full of life and light, though, that the comparison just made sense. She walked in around midday and took the liberty of flipping the sign back to CLOSED. He didn’t protest – it was useless.
“On the menu today: coffee and a bagel,” she chirped, before throwing herself onto a chair. She flung both the coffee and the paper-wrapped bagel at him, and by the gifts of God’s mercy and centrifugal force, nothing spilled onto his new sweater. “Matthias made it, it’s got some kind of, uh… poppy seeds in the dough? Pretty good.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, but it came out mumbled around the mouthful of bagel he’d already bitten off. They were sesame seeds, he thought, but he didn’t say anything to Nina.
“I think I want another naked lady,”
“Mm?” he questioned, disinterested, as he sipped his coffee. It was a daily thing, this conversation.
“Yeah, right on my left thigh under Venus? I want her thick as fuck, though, saggy tits and all. Celebrating the real, no-filter woman and the beauty of being unapologetic about the shape of your body.” She seemed to think about it for a second. Wylan chewed. “That was actually really good. I should jot it down.”
Nina was a columnist for a women’s web magazine. She had many letters after her name, and a wealth of knowledge that would make most men blush, about the human body and the way it was supposed to work and what to do when it didn’t. But she had decided at the last minute that medicine wasn’t actually for her, and now dispensed her gross facts about humans at parties, or dropped them into casual conversations with unsuspecting acquaintances. She knew all kinds of goop. Wylan was pretty sure she’d held a brain once.
“How’s the piece coming along?” He asked.
“They’ve got me writing about egg vibrators. I had three sent to me from different toy brands. Reviewing’s been fun.” She wiggled her perfectly shaped eyebrows suggestively, just in case he somehow missed the implications of her comment.
He didn't.
“That is disgusting,” he deadpanned.
Nina drew herself up indignantly. “Human sexuality is beautiful and varied and an orgasm is just about the best celebration of life there is, I’ll have you know.”
“I just don’t want to visualise you testing out egg vibrators, thank you very much.”
“Maybe you’d be less stuck-up if you got in a good shag or two,” Nina retorted with a perfectly pleasant smile. There was no bite to her tone, no sharp causticity to imply he was actually being teased.
“Yes, Nina. All these men,” he sighed. “All these men! Look at them! Tearing each other limb for limb to come put their dicks in me. The horror of the fight!”
“You’re not as funny as you think you are.” She crossed her arms. “What about that guy at the flower shop?”
“That guy at the flower shop?”
Nina narrowed her eyes. “You know exactly who I am talking about.” It was true. Wylan knew exactly who she was talking about.
The guy at the flower shop was just about the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life. He had perfectly shaped lips and striking grey eyes which contrasted with the darkness of his skin like stars against the night sky. He was much too beautiful for Wylan, much too fit and funny and confident. He was also tall, so tall. Wylan had spent countless nights imagining how it would feel to fall asleep snuggled up against him – how it would feel to slip into unconsciousness safe and protected, without the constant apprehension of vulnerability and danger that had always kept him from a sound sleep.
“I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend, you know?” he said, swallowing down the rest of his bagel and about a ton of rocks that were lodged in his throat. “It’s this tiny girl with super long black hair. She comes by his shop all the time. She doesn’t buy anything; she just hangs out there and they chat for ages.”
“Oh yes. A woman hanging out with him clearly means he is taken. Betrothed. Unattainable.” Irony dripped from Nina’s words like syrup. She gestured at herself and Wylan meaningfully.
“...Fair enough,” he muttered, though he couldn’t shake the feeling he was right. He’d seen the way he smiled down at her, with warmth and brightness and tenderness. No girl in her right mind wouldn’t fall for that smile.
“I say you go in there and ask him out. What’s the worst that could happen?” Nina had grabbed a folder full of Wylan’s flash sketches from the coffee table and was flipping through it nonchalantly, she stopped on an outline of a Medusa skull for a few moments, and Wylan observed her as he thought of a reply.
“He’s disgusted by gay people and punches my face in?” He finally offered.
“The man comes to work in a skirt at least once a week.”
“Fashion choices and sexuality have nothing to do with each other Nina, you should know better,” he fidgeted with a pen, and risked a look at the opposite side of the road. There, just a couple shops down, was Novyi Zem, with a window so colorful it lit up the whole street.
The window was overflowing with roses, lilies, carnations, dahlias, tulips, and countless others that Wylan couldn’t name. And there, between the leaves of a particularly lush bush, he could catch occasional glimpses of a smiling face.
“I’m just saying, flower boy clearly has no issue with toxic masculinity. So, I think, even if he’s straight, he’d hardly punch your face in.” Nina explained. She didn’t let him respond, though. “You know what I think? I think you’re reaching. You’re trying to find any excuse not to talk to him, no matter how absurd, because you’re scared.”
And here was the thing about Nina - she wasn’t afraid of confrontation. While most people settled for white lies, she would always voice the truth, however unpleasant it may have been. And this time Wylan knew it was useless to fight it, so he admitted defeat.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I think you’re right. It’s just…am I even ready to flirt? After…”
His ex – the way that shitshow had ended, going up in flames.
“Fuck him. The guy couldn’t even grow a mustache, Wylan. It’s been what, six months? The sooner you rebound, the better.”
“I guess,” he shrugged and glanced at the big clock on top of the door. He suddenly felt like he had to get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, before he said something he shouldn’t be saying. Like that rebounding from a four-year relationship is a terrible idea. Like that if he did have even the slightest chance with a man like that, he’d want it to be much more than a rebound. “You should go. I have an appointment soon and you’re in my good chair.” He said, as he threw away the empty coffee cup.
“Can’t I stay and hang out?” Nina pleaded.
“My next client needs to get her ass out, so definitely not. Get out.” He shooed her away and closed the door behind her. He couldn’t see her, because he’d turned his back to the door, but he was pretty sure she was holding up two identical middle fingers. Despite himself, he laughed softly.
Nina was bright like Sirius, and she brightened him up, too. She had been his only family for far too long, ever since his father kicked him out and he desperately needed to find somewhere warm and dry to sleep. Reaching out to the only friend he’d made at uni seemed like a crazy idea at the time, but it got him here: with a home, a job he loved and a sister - by everything but blood. He made a mental note to start drawing her next tattoo this evening. What had she said? Thick as fuck, saggy tits and all. Nina Zenik would get that and literally anything else she asked for from him.
Twenty minutes later, as he tattooed tree branches on a buttcheek, he thought about what she’d said. He thought about that man with eyes like the stars, and how nice it would be to speak to him for real and not just in his brain. All their previous interactions – consisting merely of a couple of waves and polite “good morning”s- had been awkward and stunted, like people who had seen each other before but definitely were not on a first-name basis. Which was exactly what they were.
But the real question was, could he handle it? Could he handle more than awkward little waves, and awkwarder little smiles? Could he handle full-blown conversations and laugh at his jokes without wondering whether he thought Wylan’s laugh sounded weird? Could he handle holding hands? Kissing? Could he handle intimacy?
“Ouch,” the girl said.
“Sorry, sorry,” he replied, steadying his hand on the buzzing machine.
He was getting way too ahead of himself. There was absolutely no way that the boy with eyes like the stars would be not only available, but interested in him enough to put up with all of his idiosyncrasies. Real life just didn’t work that way.
On Tuesday morning it was a pink peony, in the keyhole.
The boy with eyes like the stars was wearing a dress that day, a flowy thing in greens and yellows that grazed the skin of his calves every time he walked. He’d paired that with a battered up pair of All Stars, but Wylan wasn’t one to comment on fashion choices, what with his shapeless sweaters and big scarves.
He smiled at him through his window, and the boy smiled back when he caught him staring.
On Wednesday, it was a pink, swirly flower with many, many petals all over each other. Wylan liked it a lot-- he thought it looked a bit goofy, all poofed up like that – but in a good way.
That day, Nina came by again to check on the progress of her new tattoo.
“How’s the piece?” he asked, as he printed off his design.
“Coming along nicely. Just like me.” She wiggled her eyebrows. Wylan threw a pen at her.
“So, what’s going on?” She asked, as if she hadn’t seen him less than 48 hours before - but before he could answer she added: “Let me guess, ‘nothing much’”.
He almost told her about the flowers in the keyhole and that, contrary to what she was implying, he did have joy in his life, thank you very much, but he stopped himself before the words could tumble out. The flowers were his and his only, a little reminder to smile in the mornings, and he didn’t want to share them yet. He also knew that Nina would make a big deal out of it, would try to attach meaning where there was none, would build bridges and palaces and whole cathedrals of meaning, and he didn’t want that. Sometimes, meaningless was good.
Meaningless was easy.
“Nothing much" he confirmed. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it felt like one.
He pushed the sheet of paper over to her and she picked it up and examined it.
“She’s fucking hot,” Nina said, looking over the figure of the woman he’d drawn with a pleased smile. “Those curves? Yes. And her jewelry! I love it, get it on me.”
While Wylan flipped through his records for an open appointment time that fit with her schedule, she looked out of the window.
“Hey, is that the girl you were talking about?” she asked, pointing a finger towards Novyi Zem. There, walking through the door with the weightless grace of a nightingale, was the girl. Long black hair braided into a neat plait at the back of her head, slender frame wrapped in a heavy coat.
“Yeah,” Wylan said. He went back to looking at his laptop.
“They’re hugging,” Nina informed him, nose pressed against the glass to take a better look at what was going on inside the flower shop. Her hands were against the window, too, palms pressed flat. Wylan suppressed a groan. He’d have to bust out the window cleaner later.
“Thrilling commentary.”
“No, you don’t understand. They are hugging, ” Nina reiterated, turning to look at him. “When I say hello to Matthias, I sure as fuck don’t hug him. I give him a kiss, I slap his ass, sometimes I get a mouthful of his-“
“Nuh-uh. Stop right there.”
He could almost hear Nina rolling her eyes. “My point stands. Those two are definitely not having sex, Wylan. They’re friends.”
“Not everyone has an exhibitionist streak, you know. They are very much in public. They could still be a couple, and besides, even if he’s not with her, that doesn’t mean he’d be interested in me.” He hadn’t meant to let out the second part. Nina looked at him sideways.
“You haven’t been doing your morning affirmations, have you?”
His morning affirmations consisted of standing in front of a mirror and telling himself he was a “bad bitch” who didn’t “chase shit.” It was something Nina had read in a colleague’s article a couple of months ago, and had since implemented into her life without question. She swore by it now, said it made her skin clear up and people smile at her more in coffee shops. She’d tried to get Wylan to join her, but Wylan was far too skeptical to talk into a mirror, and he liked his coffee without an extra side of attention from strangers.
Wylan sighed. “No, I have not been doing my morning affirmations. And I doubt they’d make much difference – listen. That boy is clearly out of my league.”
“Wylan…” He could hear her voice softening. He hated it.
“No, listen. He’s so fucking handsome, right? So tall and strong and attractive, and he’s always smiling and he looks so fearless and charming and-“
“Wy!” She interrupted him. She had the big sister look in her eyes she reserved for when Wylan’s brain got the best of him. “You’re doing the thing again, sugar.”
The thing. The thing was him letting the voice in his brain sound like his father. He let out a deep sigh.
“I am a bad bitch,” he recited, resigned. “I don’t chase shit. I attract.”
“Good lad,” Nina said. She walked up to him and placed a big sloppy kiss on top of his forehead. “I gotta go– having lunch with Matthias during his break. We’re trying that new vegan restaurant I was telling you about.” She put her coat and scarf on. “Text me a time for the tatt, yeah?”
Nina left as she came, wreaking havoc like a hurricane - at least three sheets of paper flew from the counter, and one of his flashes fell from the wall. That woman was ten percent human, twenty percent devil, and a hundred percent lighting bolt. He loved her.
It wasn’t long before his phone buzzed, interrupting the post-Nina quiet.
I just had a wonderful conversation with a friend, the text read out-loud through his phone’s feature. He squinted at it, but the letters didn’t make any more sense that they had a second ago. She had just left a couple minutes ago, hadn’t she? And wasn’t she meant to have lunch with Matthias? He didn’t reply, focusing on responding to some bookings via email.
Another buzzing noise signaled the arrival of a second text.
Her name is Inej, and she is definitely not his girlfriend. He is very much single.
That got his attention. He spoke into his phone, a sharp what, before sending the text back.
Look outside.
And there she was: nose red from the cold, a wide, devilish grin, and a dozen red roses in her left hand. She’d gone to the flower shop. She’d talked to the girl, and the boy too – maybe. She’d bought roses, and he could imagine she had asked them whether they were together. He didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed, angry at her (for meddling and pushing him), or even a little bit grateful (for meddling and pushing him). He decided to shake his head at her smiling form, and go back to listening to his email through the metallic voice of the text-to-speech.
He at least hoped Matthias enjoyed the roses.
On Thursday, it was so windy the flower already looked battered when he got to the shop. It looked sad and cold, so Wylan picked it up with extra gentle fingers, and carefully dropped it in the cup – after having changed the water.
It looked a bit like a lily, sporting beautiful dark specks on the pink petals, the stem cut just enough to fit through the keyhole.
The day went by fast enough – he had a tramp stamp in the morning (it was beyond him how someone could make such a decision under the light of the morning sun) and a full back piece in the early afternoon. It was something he had almost full creative control over, and that was some of his favourite stuff to do. Making a sketch from nothing, working with a client until it perfectly fit the idea of what they wanted, and finally getting to see his own art permanently inked on someone else’s body? It felt unreal. He was so grateful he could wake up every day to this.
So, the day flew by, and by the time he was going through his closing cleaning routine, exhaustion had seeped through his skin and settled into his bones. He yawned loudly as he regarded the empty shop with critical eyes. Everything looked sparkling clean, and he wouldn’t have to do any extra scrubbing in the morning. A win in his eyes.
He emptied the till and closed up shop for the night, already thinking about the blissful warmth of the soup he was going to heat up when he got home.
“Hey!” A voice called behind him as he turned the key in the lock. It was rich and smok, a deep baritone, and it made all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He blamed it on the cold.
He turned around and there he was, even more beautiful up close than through two layers of glass - his skin a breathtaking dark brown, his eyes almost like silver, hair buzzed short at the scalp. And those lips, the most tempting he’d ever seen.
“Hi.” The boy with eyes like the stars smiled. “That Nina girl, she was your friend, right?”
Wylan nodded. He willed his brain to say something charming, charismatic, something that’d make him fall in love on the spot. Instead, he said, “How’d you know?”
“Oh, I see her in your shop sometimes,” he shrugged. “Anyway, I think she accidentally dropped this the other day.” He held up an earring, a golden wolf head.
“Yeah, I think that’s hers. Thank you,” he said, as he held out his hand to catch the piece of jewelry. It glistened under the streetlamps’ glow as it fell into his open palm. In Wylan’s fantasies their hands touched, instead.
“I’m Jesper, by the way.”
“Wylan,” he said, smiling politely. “Pleasure to meet you. And thank you so much for bringing this back,” Wylan held the earring up, examining it closely under the light. It was definitely not real gold and its eyes were little pink gems that looked equally as fake, but the worst feature of it was the creepy little grin on its snout, crooked and sinister - the stuff of nightmares. “I’m sure she really misses it.” He said, as earnestly as he could manage. But his expression must’ve betrayed what he really thought, because Jesper barked out a laugh.
As he awkwardly waved goodbye to a still-laughing Jesper, he took his phone out of his pocket.
You did this on purpose didn’t you, he harshly spoke into the mic and sent it off attached to the picture of the earring in his hand.
It’s a gift from Matthias’ mother, Nina replied , I half-hoped he wouldn’t find it so I’d never have to wear them again. So tacky.
Friday finally came. That morning, it was the sight of a slender stalk covered closely in pretty blue flowers that greeted him.
He got to work immediately, sending off the design he had finished last night after hours to one of his favourite repeat clients. Wylan liked that they were familiar enough with each other that he didn’t have to attach a message to the picture, he just put a bunch of question marks in the subject of the email.
As he sent it off with a satisfying whoosh , the bell over his door rang. He put his customer service smile on, but it immediately turned soft when he saw Jesper inside his shop, holding a to-go cup of coffee in each hand.
“Hey,” Wylan greeted him, trying to ignore the frantic beating of his own heart. “Come for a tattoo?” His voice cracked on ‘for’, and he hoped Jesper hadn’t noticed.
“Nah,” Jesper grinned. He held out one of the coffees to him. “I did an online coffee order, and there was some sort of promotion going on, so I got two for one. I probably shouldn’t have two. Would you like the extra one?”
“Sure,” Wylan agreed. For the briefest of moments, their fingers brushed as Wylan took the cup from Jesper’s cold hand. It sent a shiver running through him, like some sort of electrical charge. He had to stifle a gasp.
“Thank you,” he coughed out, still trying to recover from what he thought was a divine sign.
“Don’t mention it. Have a good day!”
And just as Jesper was about to leave, Wylan gathered the courage to speak up. “Hey,” he called, “that was really nice of you, the coffee. I was thinking…”
I am a bad bitch. I don’t chase, I attract. “… you wanna maybe grab a drink later?”
“I’d like that.” Jesper said. “Can’t do after work today though, got a thing. Tomorrow?”
Tomorrow was a Saturday, but Wylan’s shop was open most Saturdays and he knew for a fact Jesper’s was, too.
They exchanged numbers, and Jesper left with a cheerful "see you tomorrow."
“Sounds good,” he replied. Good was an understatement. Wylan was jumping out of his skin at the prospect.
Saturday passed in a blur, and Wylan was pretty sure his body was on autopilot for most of the day. Sure, he’d opened up shop and worked and cleaned up and answered the phone, and he had even eaten the lunch Nina’d dropped off for him, but he didn’t remember doing any of it. For the entirety of his workday, his mind was elsewhere, caught between the flash of a grin and the memory of silver eyes. As five p.m. rolled around, his stomach was in knots.
He was excited.
He was incredibly scared.
Was he about to go on a date? Was that what was happening? Had he asked someone out, and that someone – that beautiful, mesmerizing, someone – had said yes? Wylan must've misunderstood something. There was no way he could pull that off.
But there he was, clad in blue jeans and a puffer coat, waiting outside Wylan’s door when he got ready to leave.
“Hi,” he greeted him, and Jesper smiled back.
“Hi. You ready?”
Wylan nodded, like the filthy fucking liar he was. He would never be ready for this.
They ended up at a dimly-lit pub nearby– nothing too fancy, just wooden tables and plush booths, but it was quiet enough even through the Saturday evening rush, and they could easily hold a conversation without having to shout to hear each other.
“So how long have you worked in the shop?” Wylan asked, taking a sip of his drink. Job talk was a safe enough topic to break the ice.
“Oh, it’s my Da’s. He owns a flower farm, outside the city, and he used to sell at farmers’ markets and such. But then I was born, and my Ma got laid off, and he thought he’d need to ramp up supply. So he got that tiny thing.”
“Oh. I’ve never seen him in there, I don’t think.” Wylan could’ve slapped himself across the head – that was the most insensitive, careless thing he’d ever said. Not to mention he’d just accidentally outed himself as a part-time stalker.
“Yeah, he’s been exclusively tending to the farm now that he’s older. I take care of the shop.”
“That’s nice. Do you like it?”
Jesper smiled. “Yeah, I do. Always smells nice in there, and it’s great to be able to meet all sorts of people. You know, boyfriends that want to get anniversary gifts for their girlfriends, some brides, couple CEOs that want to make the office look nicer…it’s a good job. I get to chat shit all day. Plus, the flowers are pretty…” he arched an eyebrow, before adding, “almost as pretty as you.”
Wylan’s hopes of not blushing too hard were tragically shattered as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the mirrors hanging on the walls. He said nothing.
“Pretty flowers, pretty boys,” Jesper shrugged, still smiling, “I like stuff that’s nice to look at.”
“I’m sure you don’t have any trouble surrounding yourself with both,” Wylan said. He meant the comment to be teasing, but there was the slightest hint of an edge that betrayed his self-doubt.
“Seems to be working so far,” Jesper said with a wink, mercifully not seeming to notice his tension. “What about you? Is the shop yours?”
“Yeah,” he said, proudly. “Opened up about a month or two ago. Before that, I worked from home.”
“I was looking at your art through the window, before. It’s amazing. You’re really talented.”
“Thanks.” He beamed at the compliment. “You have any? Tattoos, I mean.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jesper wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Wylan felt his face burn hotter than the sun. At this point he was pretty sure Jesper was trying to rile him up. “I do. They’re all– surprise surprise!-- flowers. I’d like more, though.”
“I like drawing flowers,” Wylan said, truthfully. “Maybe I can do your next one. I’d even slap a nice discount on there,” he joked.
“Hey, I said your art was nice, not that I’d trust you with a vibrating needle,” Jesper teased.
“I went to school and all, I’ll have you know. Plenty of certifications on my walls. I know my way around a vibrating needle,” he said.
Wylan let himself observe Jesper: the way his hands were always moving, wildly gesticulating as he talked, and restlessly playing with his glass as he listened; the way his eyes would wander, sometimes, attracted by a bright flash of light or a particularly loud sound; the way he seemed to take up the space. He wasn’t like Wylan, he didn’t make himself small. He let himself be loud, he let himself attract attention, and Wylan thought there was bravery in that.
They chatted about Wylan’s school, and how he’d met Nina, and Jesper’s past in competitive archery, before the conversation looped back to the shop.
“Did you grow up knowing you’d work in the family business?” Wylan asked, trying not to think of his own father’s expectations and how he’d failed them.
“Not really, it kind of just happened,” Jesper admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “I dropped out of uni in my second year, and struggled to find a job for a while. It was around the time my Da started needing extra help, and I had already worked at the shop over the summer in high school, so I kinda just fell into it.” Jesper tapped his fingers against the wooden table as he spoke. “It’s been long enough that I could look for a job somewhere else, but… look, don’t laugh, but I’m a total gardening nerd. I guess, growing up with my Da, it was natural. Plants are simple, beautiful, hard to kill. When you can look around you and see them healthy and happy and know it was you who did that, you can pretend for a moment that you’re a responsible adult who has his life together and has never put a pot with a plastic lid handle in a blazing hot oven.”
“That’s oddly specific.” Wylan said with a slight smile. He disagreed – plants were incredibly easy to kill, for him. He briefly thought of the three cacti that hadn’t made it a month in his care.
“There was black smoke everywhere, Wylan. The smell!” Jesper grimaced at the thought. He chased the memory away by finishing up the dregs of his beer. “And I like reading about flowers, too. Their meaning, their stories, the legends surrounding one species or the other. I like the way it makes my brain feel.”
Wylan nodded. That, he could understand: he imagined it was similar to the way Wylan felt when he would spend his afternoon lost in the smooth glide of pencil against paper.
“So, what flower do I remind you of?” he asked impulsively.
“A daisy,” Jesper said, without hesitation. The energetic charm had melted away for a moment, leaving only an unexpected softness in his eyes. Wylan had to look away for a moment. He could feel the way Jesper was practically vibrating to say more, but Wylan didn’t ask him to elaborate. He was scared of what Jesper could say, what meaning he could attribute to it - and he preferred blissful ignorance. He didn't let himself believe, not even for a moment, there could truly be something between them.
“That’s nice,” he said instead.
They drank another round, and before Wylan knew it, it had been hours and his cheeks hurt from laughing. They bickered over the bill before Wylan insisted that since he’d invited Jesper out, he should be the one paying - Jesper grinned at that, shooting him a wink and joking that well, I am going to need to find a way to pay you back. As he handed the waitress his card and Jesper left to use the facilities, Wylan grappled with a decision. There was nothing he wanted more than Jesper’s gorgeous, lanky body draped over his, and wasn’t that where the conversation was heading, anyway? Jesper had been so flirty, so forward, what with his pretty boys and wouldn’t you like to know. That comment had sealed it: he was clearly expecting this night to end in bed.
Wylan resolutely chased away the pang of disappointment as he decided that of course, that made perfect sense. Sex had obviously been the only reason Jesper would have accepted Wylan’s invitation. He must have come off as pathetically desperate for attention, an easy fuck, so of course Jesper had readily agreed.
And Wylan – Wylan wanted so much more. It was like an ache, how deeply he wanted to know Jesper better. To sleep next to him. To listen to each and every one of his happiest memories, and hold him through his worst. To make him breakfast, and lunch, and dinner.
But Jesper didn’t want that, clearly. And if sex was the only way to have him, then fuck it. Wylan would take the scraps, and he’d savour them for as long as he could.
“Do you…” Wylan finally got the courage to ask, when Jesper returned from the bathroom. His eyes lingered on the curve of Jesper’s mouth and the way it deepened at Wylan’s invitation. “Do you want to go back to mine?”
“I thought you’d never ask, little marguerite.”
They walked to the apartment hand in hand. Wylan told himself he was just holding on to avoid slipping on the ice, but the lie sounded weak to his own ears. They counted dogs, on the way there, pointing at them with gloved fingers and rating just how pissed the owner looked to be walking in the snow so late in the evening.
When they got to the flat, Wylan didn’t even have time to apologise or be embarrassed, he didn’t even have time to say I know it’s not much, but-, because Jesper’s lips were already on his. He returned the kiss with as much passion and energy, fisting the thick material of Jesper’s jacket and drawing him closer and closer, so damn close he could feel the heat of his skin through the layers of their clothing.
They were kissing, and it was just as breathtaking as Wylan had imagined: Jesper’s full lips were so soft against his own, and he tasted like alcohol and something sweet, and Wylan couldn’t get enough. He kissed him and kissed him, tongue darting out to savour the taste of him, and Wylan felt Jesper shiver under his hands. It was intoxicating, the rush of power that that reaction gave him.
“Fuck,” Wylan breathed into Jesper’s mouth, Jesper let out a breathless little laugh and pushed him against the door. The impact with the hard, wooden surface should’ve hurt, but Jesper was so careful with him that Wylan barely registered it.
Jesper pulled away for a couple of seconds, searching his eyes for something, before coming close again and tracing Wylan’s bottom lip with the tip of his tongue – the wet heat of it made Wylan’s knees buckle, and he was suddenly extremely grateful he had Jesper’s body pinning him to the door: he wasn’t sure he could’ve stayed upright if it wasn’t for him. And then they were kissing again: Jesper kissed like he was searching for answers on Wylan’s lips, one hand keeping his jaw in place while the other roamed freely across his abdomen, under his shirt.
Wylan’s own hands were shaking with the intensity of his arousal – he could feel himself straining against his trousers, rock hard from little more than heated kisses. It was Jesper. Jesper had this effect on him: his smell, and the way he tasted, and those tiny moans he kept suppressing into Wylan’s mouth. The bright patchwork of him made Wylan feel something: something real, something vibrant and warm, right in between his ribs.
He was so lost in the sensation he barely even noticed when Jesper slid his hands under his thighs and lifted him in the air, effectively trapping him between his body and the door. Wylan’s legs instinctively wrapped around Jesper’s hips, and in this position his hard cock brushed against Jesper’s. Even through the layers of clothing, that simple contact was enough to make Wylan feel like he’d had all the breath in his lungs pulled out of him.
“I wanna fuck you,” Jesper murmured into the skin of his collarbone, trailing hot open-mouthed kisses over the base of his neck. “I wanna make you feel good.”
And God did Wylan want that. He had to screw his eyes shut to avoid embarrassing himself with something like the high-pitched whine that was threatening to escape his throat. “Yeah,” he gasped instead. “Please.”
“Bed?” Jesper asked between kisses.
“Bed.” Wylan confirmed. Jesper put him down, brushing one last tender kiss on top of his curls and then they stood there, against the closed door, looking at each other for a couple of seconds.
“Wylan I don’t...I don’t actually know which way your room is. Unless...you want to stay in the kitchen for this?” he teased with a wink.
“Fuck, yeah, sorry,” Wylan apologized around a giggle. He took Jesper’s hand in his and led him towards the bedroom. He was so glad he’d given the room a straightening before he left.
They kissed as they made their way to the bed, and Jesper guided him until the back of Wylan’s knees made contact with the soft mattress. He didn’t close his eyes, not for a moment, as Jesper began undressing slowly and revealed the art on his skin. He was still standing as he took off his clothes, and Wylan drank in every single inch of his chest, of the multicolored flowers that wrapped around his waist and hips like creeping vines and framed his abdomen with splashes of blue and red and yellow. The ink on his body was stunning, the bright colours of it standing out starkly against the darkness of his skin, and Wylan would’ve been content just to stare at him for hours on end.
The soft light coming from the floor lamp gilded the firm outline of his body so deliciously Wylan wanted nothing more than to trace every ridge of it with his tongue. He followed Jesper’s movements as he came closer to him, stepping out of his neon-pink underwear and standing there naked and so, so beautiful, before him. He couldn’t help but think about his art classes at uni, about his favourite professor, who said that art doesn’t always look like we expect it to.
“You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met,” Wylan confessed.
Jesper grinned. “Can I take your clothes off?”
“Please,” was Wylan’s breathless reply.
Jesper stepped closer, moaning softly as his erection brushed against the rough fabric of Wylan’s jeans, and began gently pulling his shirt off. He made sure his fingers grazed against Wylan’s skin, because Wylan could feel their slow, upward drag on his chest. He lifted his arms in the air automatically, shivering as Jesper brushed purposefully against his sensitive nipples.
Even as the shirt was on the floor, Jesper’s eyes remained trained onto the pale expanse of Wylan’s abdomen as he traced with his fingertips the outline of his tattoos there - he could feel his short nails against the elephant on his solar plexus, before they moved to trace the ballerina walking a tightrope stretched between his nipples. It was the lightest of touches, yet Wylan thought he could explode from the feeling of it, the way it sent hot arousal coursing through him.
Jesper’s fingers slid down to tease at the waistband of his trousers, and Wylan just wished they’d dip in, lower, and finally touch him where he wanted Jesper the most. Where he was hard and already pulsing with need.
It was almost as if Jesper had read his thoughts, because he stopped teasing and popped open the button of his trousers. Wylan sighed, softly, as Jesper followed with his warm palms the journey of the fabric down his legs, all the way down. He slid the waistband past his thighs, and got on his knees to keep touching him, down to Wylan’s calves and the slope of his ankles. He let Wylan step out of them, and as soon as he was on both feet again, he leaned forward to mouth at the shape of Wylan’s clothed cock.
“Fuck,” Wylan moaned, as he scrambled to find purchase on Jesper’s strong shoulders.
Jesper moaned, too, as he slowly kissed Wylan through his underwear, letting his lips brush purposefully against where he was the most sensitive.
“Please,” Wylan begged, hands tightening into fists.
“What do you need?” Jesper asked, kissing the hot-air balloon inked on Wylan’s thigh and softly stroking his thumbs over his hip bones.
“You. Please, I need you.”
Jesper hummed, low and soft in his throat, before hooking his fingers into the waistband of Wylan’s boxers and pulling them down in one swift move. Time felt like it stopped – it was so uncharacteristically quiet outside, and all Wylan could hear was their ragged breathing and the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. The anticipation was going to kill him, he needed Jesper’s mouth on his cock right that second.
Jesper didn’t make him wait too long, and before he knew it there were full, soft lips wrapped around him. It was tight and wet and so warm, and Wylan had forgotten how good it felt to be taken care of like this. Jesper was making little encouraging sounds as took more of him into his mouth and the hum of the vibrations traveled straight through him, making him gasp and moan, before he brought a fist between his teeth to stifle any noise.
"No, no," Jesper tutted, pulling away from him to take that hand and bring it to the back of his head. "I wanna hear you."
And then his mouth was back on Wylan. Jesper didn't bring a hand to grip at the base like Wylan would've-- he simply took it all the way down, until his nose was buried in the little tuft of red hair there, and his throat was fluttering around Wylan and there were tears streaming down his face. It was like some forbidden little corner of heaven.
“Fuck, you feel so good, so good…” he breathed into the silence, now broken by the obscene noises of Jesper on his knees for him.
Jesper did something with his tongue, then, brushing it alongside the head, and at the same time he brought a hand to squeeze Wylan’s ass, and it felt. It felt like Wylan’s entire body was made of fire and energy and – and all the muscles in him were so tense in the effort to make this last as long as possible, to hold on to the moment.
His knees buckled with the pleasure of it, eyes rolling back into his head and he was so close, so close. But he didn’t want it to end like this, so he forced himself to look anywhere but at Jesper, who was stroking himself in time with the movements of his head.
“Wait, Jes, stop, I’m gonna…” he said, and gently pushed at Jesper’s shoulder so he’d pull away. “I wanna come with you inside of me.”
The sight of those beautiful silver eyes looking up at him through wet eyelashes was enough to make his legs give, and he fell back onto the bed behind him. “C’mere,” he murmured, and Jesper was on him in a second. His body was warm and so strong and so tall, and Wylan felt exactly as safe as he’d thought he would.
He spread his legs when Jesper nudged him with his hands, letting him settle in comfortably between them. It was a wonderful sight. Jesper, on his knees between Wylan's open legs, looking down at the most hidden parts of him and touching himself lazily.
Wylan reached with a hand to open up the drawer in his bedside table and retrieve a little bottle of lube, which he pressed into Jesper’s other hand, impatiently.
“Do you want me to fuck you, baby? Mhh? Do you need me right here?” Jesper murmured, brushing a couple of lubed fingers against Wylan’s rim in the softest caress as he spoke – not pushing in yet, just letting Wylan enjoy the way it felt to be touched right there, where the skin was so sensitive and delicate. Wylan’s toes curled and his cock twitched a little bit at the sensation, so familiar yet capable of making him fall apart in a new way every time.
“You look so pretty, all spread out like this,” Jesper kept talking, one hand on Wylan and one hand on his own flushed cock. “Can’t wait to feel you around me, fuck.”
It felt so good as Jesper was rubbing the pad of his finger against him, so full of tender care – but as soon as he started pushing one finger inside of him, Wylan felt something shift. It was imperceptible, at first, just a small flicker of discomfort under his skin. He chalked it up to the way his body had to open up for Jesper, to the faint stretch of the breach, and said nothing. Jesper was doing everything so right, so carefully, and Wylan was sure it was just a momentary thing.
So he closed his eyes, tried to focus on the sensation of Jesper’s finger warming him up, opening him up. It was slow, and gentle, and Jesper looked hungry as he watched his fingers disappear inside of him. He wondered how he must’ve looked, and his mind started to wander away. Was he blushing too much? Did his body look okay? All the tattoos he had poked on himself to practice, did they look weird and uneven now?
Jesper added a second finger. It didn’t hurt at all, and there was plenty of lube to make the transition smooth – but Wylan couldn’t relax. He tightened around Jesper’s fingers instead, so stiff and rigid and unable to let the tension melt away. He knew he was making it worse for himself, that it was going to be more uncomfortable if he didn’t breathe, but his muscles seemed made of stone.
“Wylan?” Jesper asked, brows knitted in confusion. But Wylan ignored him, and started pushing back on his fingers instead. It didn’t feel right, at all, he could feel his erection flagging down, so he brought a hand to touch himself in an attempt to stay hard.
Of course, Jesper noticed. He noticed the frantic pace he set with his hand and the furrow in his brow, and again, he said, “Wylan, hey. You okay, beautiful?”
Wylan just nodded, trying to hide whatever was wrong by pushing upwards to kiss Jesper, seeking comfort in the warmth of his mouth.
“Are you–wait, Wylan. Stop.”
Wylan did. He immediately pulled away, putting distance between their bodies and stilling the hand working away at his own erection. It was a lost cause, anyway.
Jesper seemed uncomfortable, now. “Something’s obviously not right. What’s going on?”
Wylan didn’t speak, looking away. He was trying to find the right words to explain that it wasn’t Jesper’s fault, that he’d done everything right and it was so fucking good until it wasn’t. The right words to explain that he had issues trusting people. To explain that he felt so vulnerable that he thought maybe he wasn’t ready to give himself to Jesper like this, to welcome him inside his body, no matter how badly he wanted to.
“Are you a virgin?” Jesper finally asked. He must’ve seen the way Wylan’s eyes widened at the question, because he hastily added, “it’s okay if you are, I just want to make sure I make you as comfortable as possible-”
Wylan thought it was laughable, so he laughed. It came out a little choked, a little hysterical, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “No, I’m- I’m not a virgin.”
“Oh sorry, I just thought-“
“It’s fine. Really, it’s fine, it's just…” Wylan sighed, and crawled back from Jesper and into a sitting position on the bed. His stomach felt heavy with lead and cement, and at the same time like it had shrunk down to the size of a pence and lodged in his throat.
“It’s been a while,” he confessed. He suddenly felt as naked as he was, the weird sensation of lube on his skin making him shiver. It felt a little bit too vulnerable having to explain something so intimate without the consolation of covering himself; so he brought his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly. “I haven’t been with anyone since my ex, and, uh. He was also my first. So It’s…weird, being with someone else.”
Jesper nodded. “Can I hug you?” He asked. There was absolutely nothing that Wylan wanted at that moment more than being held, so he nodded. It was so lovely, being wrapped up in Jesper’s arms, that he forgot for a second or two what the issue even was.
“Listen, I know I was joking, before. But we don’t need to do anything at all, if you aren’t ready. We can call in a pizza and watch a Christmas movie, the ones where the love interest is always kind of fucking ugly.”
Jesper was clearly trying to make him laugh, but the frustration lingered, simmering at the seams of him. He didn’t want a pizza and he certainly did not want to watch a Christmas movie. He wanted to have sex, to feel Jesper hard and hot inside him and enjoy it like a normal fucking person. He sighed, and snuggled in closer to Jesper, placing small kisses on the slope of his neck. His skin tasted sharp, there, perfumed with some kind of cologne; beneath the artificial fragrance, though, there was still a flowery hint from his days at the shop.
Wylan wanted him so fucking much.
“No,” he said, into Jesper’s pulse point. “I don’t want to order takeaway. I want this, I do.” He punctuated his words by rubbing his hips against Jesper’s. His erection had softened into a semi, but even that small movement had sparks flying inside his bones again.
“You sure?” Jesper asked.
“Yeah…but…can we switch, maybe? Can I top?” He felt silly, asking so bluntly when Jesper had taken the lead. What made him think Jesper would be into it? There was no question, no hesitation before, when he’d spread Wylan’s thighs with his hands.
But, surprising him once again, Jesper moaned. It was low and rumbling and so fucking hot Wylan felt himself stiffen back to full hardness.
“Fuck. Yeah, please, wanna ride you,” Jesper said, and Wylan didn’t need any more encouragement. He pushed at his shoulder gently, so that Jesper was laying on his back on the bed, and he climbed on top of him, bracketing Jesper’s hips between his pale thighs. He started by kissing the smooth, hairless expanse of Jesper’s chest, licking and sucking at his nipples while he reveled in all the beautiful sounds coming out of Jesper’s mouth. He was impatient, trying to pull Wylan down with his hands towards the place where he needed him most.
“Shh,” Wylan whispered soothingly into his ear. “There’s no rush.”
But he couldn’t deny Jesper anything, not for long. So, he grabbed the lube off the nightstand and shimmied down until he was kneeling between Jesper’s legs, spreading them with a gentle touch of his knee to Jesper’s thigh.
He coated his fingers absentmindedly, watching the way Jesper gripped at his pillow in anticipation, eyes closed and breathing heavy. The feeling of pushing two fingers into him made Wylan’s eyes roll to the back of his head: the tight, velvety heat, the way Jesper’s body opened up for him so beautifully. It was enough to make grown men cry. Wylan almost did– with happiness.
As he let Jesper get comfortable with the stretch, he shuffled in closer to place chaste, soothing kisses on his pelvis, dragging his lips over the ink there and inhaling the scent of him.
“Ah! Stop!” Jesper suddenly exclaimed, and Wylan pulled back immediately, scared he’d hurt him.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he pulled his fingers from his body as gently as he possibly could.
“Yeah, just…” He definitely looked amused, now, as he laughed. “I’m very ticklish.”
It was the kisses, Wylan realized, the ones he’d been trailing across his hips as he stretched him over his fingers. He felt himself blush. Surely that’s not how one-night stands were supposed to work? Sure, sex could be awkward at times, but weren’t movies always making this shit seem so smooth? A no-strings-attached arrangement such as this one should’ve brought with it a level of recklessness, the confidence of knowing no matter how bad you screw up, you could forget about it the next day. Little mishaps like these shouldn’t be happening.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said. And then he laughed a little bit, too, because it was a bit funny in its own way. “You good to, uh…continue?”
Jesper rose up onto his elbows to quickly press a kiss to Wylan’s lips. “Yeah.”
Wylan took that chance to brand the image in front of him on the inside of his eyelids – Jesper, splayed in front of him, chest damp with a light sheen of sweat and eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Long legs spread open, guiding his gaze to the place where Wylan’s fingers were disappearing into him. He shifted his digits, looking for that spot inside of him, and it didn’t take Wylan long to find it. He kept steady pressure there, drawing little circles on it with the pads of his fingers, until Jesper was whimpering and begging for more.
“You look… fuck, so beautiful. I like watching you like this,” Wylan said, as withdrew his fingers and pulled a condom on. It was slippery, because he still had lube all over his hands and the condom itself was full of the stuff, too – so he fumbled a little bit.
But Jesper came to his rescue, once again, and rolled it with deft fingers over Wylan’s hard, aching cock, before pushing him to rest on the pillows and climbing over him. His thighs were strong around Wylan, and he couldn’t help but lightly run his fingers over the muscles there.
“Ready?” Jesper asked, as he held Wylan in his hand and lined himself up.
“Yeah, please, need you.” Wylan was breathing hard now, the anticipation coiling unbearably inside him.
Jesper lowered himself until the tip of Wylan’s cock was at his entrance. Then sank down slowly, letting the head slip inside him, and the pleasure was almost blinding. Jesper was so tight, so hot, and the little moans he made as he took more and more of him were the sweetest music he’d ever heard. Wylan’s hands flew to grip at Jesper’s hips – not to push him down, just to be able to touch him and feel the way the muscles of his abdomen tensed and jumped at the sensation.
Jesper paused for a second or two to adjust, and placed his forehead against Wylan’s, panting at a breath’s width from Wylan’s lips. His brow was damp with sweat, but so was Wylan’s – curls stuck to his temples. Then, Jesper let himself sink the rest of the way down, and they both gasped when Wylan was buried deep inside him.
“Fuck. Oh god, so tight,”
“Yeah? You feel so good inside me,”
Soon, they were moving. Jesper lifted himself up just to let himself fall back onto Wylan’s cock, and Wylan watched as his strong thighs flexed, allowing him to lift himself up with each stroke in a steady, urgent rhythm. Wylan thrusted upwards, too, meeting him halfway. The pleasure built quickly in waves deep in his belly. It was cresting there, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. It felt like the word had zeroed in on the place where their bodies met, to the sound of skin against skin, to the electrifying pleasure that was filling his lungs and humming beneath his skin
Wylan sat up against the headboard, and Jesper threw his head back in pleasure when the change in angle ensured that every thrust hit his prostate. Wylan kept his hands on Jesper's slim hips, but flexed a little bit more to help lift him up and take some of the pressure off of his thighs, which were now shaking with the strain of the movement.
"Fuck! Fu-I'm so close," Wylan muttered. He was trying really hard not to come too soon, but watching Jesper fuck himself on Wylan's cock was too gloriously filthy a sight for him to hold back.
"Yeah, baby, come for me-c'mon," Jesper urged as he wrapped a hand around his own cock, his mouth opening and his head falling back as he began to pump his fist desperately.
That was enough to send Wylan crashing over the plummetous edge. He emptied himself into the condom in a couple of shallow thrusts, whispering nonsense about how beautiful Jesper was and how good he felt around him.
When he came back, it was with Jesper's soft lips on his. He realised Jesper hadn't come yet, and looked up into his silver eyes.
"Let me…" he started, as he pulled away from the heat of him. Jesper moaned at the loss, dropping onto the pillows.
"I know, fuck, sorry," Wylan apologised. He threw the used condom in the bin and quickly came back to the bed, settling in between Jesper's spread legs and immediately taking him into his mouth.
"Can I have your fingers? Feel so empty," Jesper asked, and Wylan wasted no time in pushing two fingers in to fill him up as he sucked harder on his cock. He was still so beautifully loose that they slid right in, and he quickly found his prostate.
He kept that up until Jesper's legs were shaking and he was gripping the sheets tightly between his fingers. "So close, so close," he whispered, and Wylan kept doing what he was doing, gently massaging that spot inside Jesper and hollowing his cheeks around him at the same time. Soon enough, Jesper was coming in long, drawn out spasms as Wylan swallowed around him. He carefully drew his fingers out and held Jesper in his mouth for a few moments as he softened. Then, with clumsy hands, Jesper tugged Wylan up into his arms.
Soft and sated, they kissed and kissed and kissed, Jesper licked the taste of himself from Wylan tongue and smiled, pulling him closer.
They kissed until they grew tired, and then they settled in under the covers as the sweat drying on their skin made them shiver. Holding Jesper’s body was both heaven and hell: the exhilaration of finally feeling its shape between his arms wasn’t enough to dull the torture of knowing it was never going to happen again.
“I can hear you overthinking this from here. So loud. Turn brain off, please.”
Wylan smiled a fond smile. He let a couple of seconds pass, just listening to the silence between them and the soft sounds of their breathing. “Was that good, for you?”
Jesper turned to face him, the rustling of the sheets the only noise in the room. “That was amazing, Wy.” He said, once he was facing Wylan again. “Was it not for you?” He asked then, fingers lightly trailing the snake running down the length of Wylan’s naked arm.
“No, no it was!” There was nothing but sincere conviction in his voice. “Of course it was…you’re…” amazing. Breathtaking. Wonderful. Too good for me.
"The most handsome man you've ever met?" Jesper teased, repeating what Wylan had said before.
“…yeah," he replied, smiling even as he rolled his eyes.
Jesper smiled again. “Then what’s the issue?"
“You’re right,” Wylan said, cuddling in closer and burrowing his face in the crook of Jesper’s neck. It had taken him some time, in his previous relationship, to accept that sex didn’t need to be a performance. That he could just enjoy the feelings, and ask for what he needed, and not worry about looking good for his partner. But sometimes, the need to be good at it remained. And the switching, the tickling and the slippery condom – he still had trouble seeing that as normal, and beautiful. But it had been, somehow. The way they'd laughed together when Wylan accidentally tickled a gasp out of Jesper, and the way Jesper had so carefully rolled the condom over him (he still shivered at the memory of those fingers on him, even though the barrier of the latex). Most importantly, the way Jesper had not been disappointed or angry but held him close when their first attempt hadn't worked as they hoped it would. How safe he’d felt. "You're right. There is no issue."
All of it had been absolutely beautiful. All the little mishaps had made it real, and present, and imperfect - but oh, so good.
Jesper had to be thinking the same thing, because he hooked one finger under Wylan’s chin and used it to tilt his face upwards so he could look him in the eyes.
“It was great, Wy. You made me feel so, so good.” Jesper whispered against his lips, before placing a chaste kiss there.
They fell asleep holding each other.
“What are you doing?” Jesper’s gruff voice interrupted him, the next morning, with his trousers raised to mid-thigh.
Wylan turned back to look at him– still snuggled up under the covers, and fuck, was he beautiful. He had the imprint of the pillow on his face, and his eyes were foggy and heavy with sleep, but he looked like one of Wylan’s dreams.
“I am uhhh…going?” and though he prayed his body worked as it should to save him from further embarrassment, his prayers fell on God’s deaf ears, and his hands automatically closed into finger-guns.
“You were trying to sneak out.” Jesper stated. He made finger guns back.
“Yes.”
“Of your own house.”
Admittedly, now that Jesper had said it out loud, it sounded a bit stupid. Or at least more stupid than he’d realized. Wasn't that how hookups went? He let the trousers fall back to the floor and he stepped out of them as gracefully as he could manage.
He sat back on the bed, sighing. “You’re right. That was not my best plan.”
He thought Jesper would be hurt or offended, but he just laughed at him. A full-bellied laugh that shook his entire abdomen – he wasn’t like Wylan; he didn’t hide a smile behind an open palm. Then, as his laughter quieted down into an amused smile, Jeaper shot him a questioning look.
“I don’t…uh. I’ve never done this. One night stands,“ Wylan clarified, bringing a hand to scratch behind his neck, where he was suddenly and inexplicably itchy. He looked away.
“I gathered. Turn off the flame you’ve got under your ass and relax for a minute. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, my marguerite.” The tone was the same one Wylan had come to be acquainted with in the past few days – a sort of mix between a melody and a well-crafted joke – and Jesper was smiling, too. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes, this time, and something in his voice felt hollow.
This is how it goes, Wylan thought, as he slid back in under the covers. You have sex with a stranger, you never see them again. It makes sense, Wylan told himself. This is how it goes, his brain repeated, as Jesper left with an awkward smile and a wave.
He texted Jesper to ask him if he got home alright, and received no answer.
Only later as he was brushing his teeth, he looked at himself in the mirror and thought: if it makes sense, then why does it feel so wrong?
On Monday, he was almost glad for the black ice on his way to the shop. It forced him to pay attention to his movements and to the grip of his feet instead of everything that was going on in his head. Treading carefully to avoid slipping, he almost managed to escape the conviction that if he hadn’t freaked out, maybe Jesper would’ve stayed. If he’d been a better lover, maybe they would have grabbed breakfast together. If he hadn’t been so unmistakably Wylan , if he had shown less of himself, then Jesper wouldn’t have left.
The truth was that Wylan knew deep down that he’d been right when he’d said Jesper was too much to even look at him twice. Sex had been a fluke, a way to relieve tension and to get off. Wylan could’ve been any warm body in the neighborhood, and he was sure it wouldn’t have made any difference to Jesper.
(Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Nina’s voice boomed. You’re doing the thing again, she said, where are my affirmations? Wylan chased it away.)
When he got to the shop, he paused at the flower he found in the keyhole. It was a red rose, stem cut to make sure it could snugly fit in the tiny fissure in the door, and even Wylan didn’t have to google to know what it meant, this one was pretty self-explanatory. He felt himself blushing, though a passerby could’ve confused the redness of his cheeks for the harsh slap of the wind, and he picked it up gingerly.
He stared at its vibrant petals for a minute too long, the intense colour reassuring him. Yes, even if Saturday night had been half a disaster (not to talk about that morning) Wylan felt heartened by the knowledge that there was someone, out there, who cared about him enough to send him these little reminders.
So screw it, if Jesper was never going to talk to him again, he was sure that at least the person that had been leaving him the flowers would be more than happy to take him on a real date. To do things properly.
(It was stupid. Wylan knew he was kidding himself, that fostering this idealistic image of a stranger could only result in heartbreak. It could’ve been a woman, for all Wylan knew, and he’d have to decline her attentions politely. It could’ve been someone he had nothing in common with. It could’ve been someone much older, or younger, or even a person with no attraction to him at all. But the fantasy was so comforting and Wylan wanted to play pretend for just a minute longer.)
Wylan put the rose in the water, discarding the oldest flower still floating in there, and got to work.
It was barely an hour later when the little bell on the door chimed, as Wylan was bent over his tablet and his latest design. “Sorry, we don’t take walk-ins today,” he called, without even glancing upwards.
“No exceptions? Not even for the most handsome boy you’ve ever met?”
Wylan’s throat felt tight. He stared fixedly at the tablet. “You should really stop milking that.”
“I’d sooner cut my own toes off,” Jesper replied with a smile that was all teeth and cheekiness. Not that Wylan saw it, intent as he was not to glance away from his design, but he could hear it around his words.
“Wylan,” Jesper said, after a brief silence. “Turn around.”
“No. I am working.”
“Turn around, you knob.” And Wylan did, setting down his digital pen and swallowing around a sigh.
“What.” He said, though his voice died in his throat when he saw Jesper. He was smiling, so wide, and in his hands was the most beautiful bouquet he’d ever seen. It was made entirely of different flowers, each so unique and different from the other – yet all of them looked so familiar to Wylan, for some reason.
He said nothing, and his brain seemed to twist and turn inside his skull, trying to come up with a reason for what he was seeing. Jesper pulled out the first flower: it looked like Wylan had seen it before, and he desperately tried to remember where. Then a second one, and a third, as Jesper started carefully lining them up onto the counter. It was when Jesper’s deft fingers pulled out a specific flower that it started making sense: it was a small little branch, filled with tiny white flowers, that opened up to little dots of yellow and stripes of gradient pink. Wylan immediately thought of spring and oh. Oh.
Jesper must’ve noticed his sudden epiphany, because he smiled as he set the flower down.
“This is from a Kolkwitzia bush,” he said. There was a fondness in his voice Wylan hadn’t heard before. “It is informally also called a beauty bush. It symbolizes beauty, of course, and grace.”
Wylan nodded, incapable of doing anything else. His mouth was still hanging open, so he shut it. It was so dry, and his palms felt clammy, and his heart was beating so fast inside his ribcage he was afraid it’d pop right out of his chest if he wasn’t careful.
“This one,” Jesper continued, as he showed Wylan a pink peony. “It’s a peony. Lovely flower. It symbolizes bashfulness but also romance. It’s been associated with flirting for thousands of years. There's a funny myth about it: it’s said that the Greek god Apollo used to flirt with a beautiful wood nymph named Paeonia. The goddess Aphrodite was jealous, so she turned the girl into a peony in a fit of anger.”
His counter was starting to look like a spring garden, full of perfectly aligned, parallel flowers. Jesper held a pink, swirly flower with many many petals all over each other. “A Ranunculus. Symbolizes charm and attraction.”
“This, instead, means devotion. It’s Alstroemeria.”
There were only two flowers left in the bouquet. Jesper picked a long stem full of tiny blue flowers, a perfect copy of the one wilting away in his glass. “Delphinium. It means many things: laughter, fun. I like to think it means you’re funny, when gifted to someone. Or something along the lines of thank you for making me laugh.”
There was a single flower left in the bouquet. It was wobbling around a paper wrapping that was now too big. Jesper gingerly picked it up. He smelled it, for a second, and his lips distended into a smile.
“This one is a rose. It can mean many things, but when it's this red, it means passion. Love.”
He didn’t set it down next to the other ones, though. Jesper held it as he let the paper wrapping fall to the floor. He didn’t say hey, it was me all this time, I’ve been crushing on you since before you noticed me. Hey, you’re pretty and I like you. He didn’t say any of that, he just held the rose between careful fingers before stretching his arm out towards Wylan, offering the flower to him.
And Wylan stood up. He didn’t speak either, in fear of ruining the moment. He just accepted the rose and held his breath.
“I never meant for it to be a one-night thing. Not for one minute, not ever. Not since the first time I saw you, the first flower I left for you to find.” His eyes, beautiful silver eyes, like stars in the night sky, were searching Wylan’s – but he already had a winning little grin on his perfect lips. “Every day, for weeks, because I just hoped you'd notice me. Now that I’ve had a taste of you, why would I want to let you go?”
Wylan held on to the rose - if his hands were shaking, nobody mentioned it.
“So I think I’m not going to,” Jesper said. “Let you go.”
The clock above the door striked midday with a heavy click, as the world reduced to those three words. Wylan felt like all the breath had been punched out of his lungs as he sought Jesper’s eyes for any sign of uncertainty. He found none.
“Yeah,” Wylan replied, hiding a grin behind the crimson petals. “Don’t.”
“So let me get this straight,” Nina said through gritted teeth, on the other end of the crackling line. “Someone had been leaving you anonymous flowers every day…”
A breath.
“And you didn’t think for one second it could have been the fucking flower shop owner?”