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It was the kind of day Phillip thrived in- a typical, overcast London sky, a quiet, peaceful atmosphere, surrounded by the soothing aromas of sundry flowers arranged perfectly and precisely by color. The large windows along the line had been cleaned, the potted plants had just been watered, and Phillip was rearranging a sample bouquet because some of the stems had become crooked, and that was unacceptable.
Phillip hummed a little to himself. The flower shop was small, but he never minded closer quarters. In fact, it could be cozy at times. Just him and the flowers, with only enough space for maybe half a dozen or so customers to peruse. But for now, there was nobody else around, and Phillip was content in his temporary solitary.
And that was when he walked in. A man of long, brown hair, free to dangle and move with each step, unlike Phillip’s sandy waves locked up in a bun. His eyes were equally brown, sharpened by eyeliner and beckoning attention not by demanding, but by sheer magnetism. His complexion was too tanned to be from the London sun. He entered with a casual gait, curiously looking around, revealing the black studs pierced into his ear shell. He wore a tank top to cope with the summer heat, and his bare arms were covered with tattoos of thorny vines and rose buds in beautiful detail.
He was- well he looked alright. Not that Phillip cared very much.
Phillip cleared his throat. “How can I help you?”
The man startled and whipped his head towards Phillip. He stared for a moment, then, in a gesture Phillip wouldn’t have expected of someone who looked like a thirty-something year old punk, the man twirled a lock of his luscious hair.
“Uh,” the man said, “right. I’m actually opening a tattoo place across the street. Just thought I’d introduce myself.”
Phillip vaguely recalled the tiny arcade closing down and new signs being put up after months of vacancy. Once he’d noticed it was going to be a tattoo and piercing shop, he’d mostly minded his own business about it. It wasn’t a kind of place he’d ever had reason to go into before.
Though those exposed biceps might give him a reason-
“Oh,” Phillip said. “That’s you. Well, it’s, uh- nice to meet you.” He held out a hand. “I’m Phillip.”
The very pretty man took his hand and shook it. He had a pretty firm grip and Phillip would like to hold it for longer please.
“I’m Rome,” the man said.
Their hands lingered for probably a tad longer than necessary, but Phillip forced his hand away before it had the opportunity to become awkward. The man- Rome- glanced around the store again.
“Also, do you happen to have any yellow roses? I wanted to have something nice in the shop when it opens in a couple days.”
Phillip took a moment to process the request. “Yeah, I should, hold on...”
He stepped quickly over to where the yellow flowers perched sunnily between orange and green. He searched for the desired flower, finding them nestled amongst the daffodils and tulips. Yellow roses were not as popular as their red or pink counterparts, so he didn’t have as many of them in stock.
“How many did you want?” Phillip asked, glancing back at Rome.
Rome scratched his head. “I was hoping for a couple of bouquets. If there aren’t enough, you can mix them with other colors of roses. It’s okay, as long as some of them are yellow.”
Phillip began plucking the roses from their metal bucket. “I’ll do my best. Why yellow roses?”
Rome shrugged. “Sentimentality, I guess. They’ve been my favorite for a long time.”
Looking at what he had, there definitely weren’t enough yellow roses for two full bouquets. He travelled around the store, grabbing the stems of pink and white roses to match.
“So,” Rome said, a step behind Phillip, “how long have you been working here?”
“About three years,” Phillip explained. “I actually work at an office. I just come in here on Saturdays.” The owner had been happy to have someone watch the store once a week so they could spend more time at home and be with their family. It suited Phillip fine, too. The only thing he ever did at home was read, play the piano or watch tv, and he could easily do two of those things at the store.
“Ah, I see. For a little extra income?”
Phillip brought the flowers behind the counter and laid them atop the flat surface with care. He kneeled down to look for the plastic wraps and heard footsteps follow him.
“A bit,” Phillip said, “but I also just like flowers.”
“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite?”
Phillip grabbed a couple of wraps and ribbons and stood up. “I dunno. I like a lot of flowers.”
Rome hummed, and it was probably Phillip’s socially inept imagination, but it almost sounded amused. He didn’t look up- he was horrendous at deciphering strangers’ facial expressions, he wouldn’t even try- so instead Phillip focused his energies on arranging the bouquets. He split the roses into two smaller piles, even in color, before spending minutes adjusting the position of each flower until both piles were pleasing to the eye.
“What about you?” Phillip asked as he worked at wrapping the bouquets. “What do you like about tattooing people?”
“I guess...” Rome took his time answering. “I like the artistry in it, and being the person to make someone’s vision for their body come true. We all deserve to love our skin.”
The corners of Phillip’s mouth pulled up. It was a borderline saccharine sentiment, but the way Rome said it came across as sincere.
“Do you have any tattoos of your own?” Rome inquired.
Phillip shook his head. “No. Haven’t thought much about getting one, either.”
“Well, if you start thinking about it, you know where to find me.”
The two bouquets were wrapped up, tied with yellow bows. Phillip wondered if their soft colors would belong in a tattoo shop, but Rome was smiling, so he assumed it was fine.
He had... a very nice smile.
“How much do I owe?” Rome asked.
Oh. Right.
When Phillip gave him the price, and the transaction was over with the tap of a credit card, Rome gently took the bouquets from the counter, and Phillip had the bizarre inclination that he should have handed them personally to him. The flowers contrasted against Rome’s look even more brazenly once they were in his arms, but there was something captivating about it.
“Well, I’ll be seeing you around,” Rome said. “Take care.”
“You, too,” Phillip replied.
Rome smiled again, this time more directly at Phillip, and then he winked. And just like that, he left, leaving Phillip with a burning face and rapid heart rate.
Maybe he was coming down with the flu.
***
He thought it would be a one-off. Or, at the very least, that Rome’s patronage would be few and far between. How much need did a tattoo parlor have for flowers, anyways? And certainly, there were more interesting people to speak to than Phillip.
But no. Every Saturday, without fail, Rome came in to replace the two bouquets that had begun to wither throughout the week. After about a month, the pattern became apparent, and Phillip had to speak with the owner about ensuring that there were more yellow roses with their weekly deliveries. They’d switch up whatever flowers were paired with them in the bouquets, but no matter what, the yellow roses were the constant.
Yellow roses. Friendship. Joy. A good flower to give to someone to show appreciation or cheer them up. The beauty of the rose, without the romantic implications of the classic red variation. Phillip could see their appeal, and though he still liked too many other flowers to call anything his definitive favorite, he had to admit that this weekly order was growing on him.
Or maybe it really wasn’t about the flowers.
Every time Rome dropped by, he always made some small chat with Phillip. It was never as simple as waiting for the bouquets in silence. He asked about Phillip’s day, what new book he was reading once he noticed the presence of novels, even about favorite things like food and drinks.
You’d think, several months later, that Phillip would have the bouquets done in advance, to take up less of Rome’s time, to inconvenience the other man left.
He never did.
He told himself it was to get Rome’s input of what he wanted.
“Do you have any siblings?” Rome inquired casually one day.
“Yeah,” Phillip answered as he thought about what to use in that week’s arrangement. He hadn’t used lavender yet... “I have three younger sisters.”
“Oh, cool,” Rome said. “I’m an only son, too. I just have one little sister.” Rome rubbed the back of his neck. He seemed to do that when he was feeling tense or awkward. “Or, well, kinda. We haven’t talked in a long time.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” Phillip whiffed the pleasant smell of the purple flowers. “I don’t talk to my sisters very often, but I’d hate to not have them around. Without them, I wouldn’t really talk to anyone at all.”
Rome made an odd face Phillip couldn’t puzzle out. “Well, you’re talking to me now.”
Phillip felt his insides flutter. He must’ve been sick again.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess so.”
A few months into this routine, Rome came into the shop with a to-go cup in each hand. It’d confused Phillip the first time, until Rome reached out a hand to offer one drink to him.
“Here,” Rome said. “You like earl grey, right?”
“Oh,” Phillip responded, a little stunned. “Okay. How much do I owe-”
“Nah, it’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”
With such a nonchalant attitude, Phillip thought the gesture was just a random impulse of goodwill that wouldn’t repeat. But this, too, became part of the routine, and no matter how many times Phillip insisted on paying for his part, Rome simply refused.
So he started discounting the flowers instead and claimed it was for long-time customers.
He had to apologize to his boss for that one. But when he explained it, his boss got an odd smirk on their face and waved it off.
“As long as we’re still making a profit on those flowers,” they had said, “then fine. Just find better ways to flirt while on the job.”
Phillip’s face nearly burst into flames.
No. He wasn’t flirting.
He was repaying a favor. Simple as that.
The fact that the person he was repaying had a face that could be on magazines and a laugh that could be transposed into song and an unwavering patience that cracked open something in Phillip was a complete coincidence.
It was maybe about five months after their first meeting that the topic of theatre comes up.
“I try to go see a stage show at least once a year,” Rome said, “but it didn’t work out last year with trying to get the tattoo place off the ground. But I might be able to do it now. I should see two this year to make up for it.”
“What kind of shows do you watch?” Phillip asked while bounding roses and daffodils together.
“You’ll make fun.”
Phillip shrugged. “Maybe.” He had done so in the past.
Rome’s mouth twitched. “Well, I’m sorry if your refined palate is too delicate for the fun of musicals.”
Phillip blinked. “I actually like musicals.”
And really, Phillip had no one to blame except his damn self, because it was all too easy for Rome to rope him into his annual tradition once those words left his mouth. He normally didn’t even tell people he liked musical theatre. It was more mainstream than his normal taste. Most people assumed he hated it outright, and he usually didn’t bother to correct it except this time.
But, well… he and Rome were sort of friends now. And friends told each other things about themselves that they didn’t tell other people.
This was probably normal. Really, it was just easier to follow Rome’s lead in these types of things, so Phillip convinced himself that if Rome was inviting him out that it was fine. It was just a natural progression of their dynamic. He put the date- the date of the show, not date as in like- never mind- in his calendar.
***
It was one of the rare Sunday afternoons all of the Hart siblings had the time for lunch, so they went to their favorite bistro to convene. They shed their winter coats as they scooched into a u-shaped booth together, piling them all up into an empty space. He was sandwiched between Jane and Penelope, with Elizabeth on the far side.
“I can stay for a while,” Phillip said, “but I have a show to catch in a few hours.”
“Oh, fun!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I hope you have a good time.”
“Thanks. I’m going with Rome.”
Phillip glanced away from the menu he already had memorized and found three confused pairs of eyes trained on him, which made Phillip confused himself... until he remembered.
He’d forgotten to tell anyone about Rome.
“He’s, uh... a friend, I guess. He opened a tattoo place near the flower shop a few months ago, and he comes in to get bouquets for decorations.”
But those stares did not became any less bewildered.
“You...” Jane said, trying to process. “Made a friend?”
“...Yes?”
His sisters exchanged glances with one another, speaking with facial expressions at a rate too quickly for Phillip to keep up with. He could only translate the big picture, which was that they had a lot of opinions about this development that they may or may not collectively decide to express.
Sometimes, he wished he were a little better at reading things like this.
“Well,” Penelope spoke up after the non-verbal congregation, “it’s good to see you putting yourself out there.”
Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
“It’s not like I was going out of my way,” Phillip told them. “He just happened to keep dropping by.”
“Just on Saturdays?” Jane questioned. “Coincidentally?” Her eye twitched.
“Jane...” Penelope warned, though Phillip had no idea why.
“Yes?” he confirmed, now the one puzzled. “He’s consistent.” Phillip appreciated that reliability. “And a week is a good amount of time to wait between getting new flowers.”
Somehow, this wasn’t a good enough explanation for whatever they were thinking, because his sisters merely looked at each other again. After Penelope gave Jane an especially pointed look, Jane laid back against the booth.
“Whatever,” Jane huffed. “I guess this guy just really likes flowers.”
***
They met at the theatre. They didn’t hug like Phillip would expect friends to do- that was okay, he was used to only hugging his family members anyways- but once they were inside, and the weaving crowds threatened to separate them, Rome grabbed hold of his wrist, and Phillip was suddenly very aware of the sudden spike in his pulse and hoped Rome didn’t mind.
He was also, for no particular reason, very aware of the warmth emanating from Rome’s palm, a hearth wrapped around something Phillip hadn’t known was cold all along.
The audience seats were hot and stuffy from the bodies packed inside, and Phillip’s palm was definitely sweating, but Rome didn’t retract his hand as he slid their fingers together into a proper hold. Phillip was incredibly proud of himself for not stiffening at the sudden change in contact, because if Rome got the idea it was unwanted and pulled away Phillip might have curled up and died.
“So…” Phillip wondered in the minutes leading up to the show. “Why Mamma Mia?”
Rome shrugged. “Because it’s not trying to be too serious. I wanted to see something fun. But you can pick next time.”
Next time, Phillip repeated to himself, dazed. When was the last time someone was this serious about spending time with me?
He stuttered, “O-Okay.”
And because Rome had a car, he ended up driving Phillip home. The car radio had been turned way down, and Phillip could hear the breaths of the man next to him if he listened hard enough. Neither of them spoke very much, but Phillip didn’t mind at all.
It was really nice.
“Thanks for entertaining me,” Rome said. “I wasn’t actually sure that you were going to go along with this.”
“Well,” Phillip replied, “thanks for inviting me. I had a good time. I don’t do this with other people very often.”
Rome glanced at Phillip for a mere second. He was smiling.
“Then I’m really glad you chose to do this with me.”
The sky is black as the void when Rome pulls into a parking spot at the tenement. The streetlights illuminate the ground below, washing out the stars that would otherwise twinkle above. Nonetheless, there was something enchanting about the crickets taking refuge somewhere in nearby grass, playing simple lullabies to fill the silence. Being inside the car was like being under the cover of a bed- quiet, cozy, almost intimate.
It was time to leave.
Phillip’s body wouldn’t move.
“See you Saturday,” he said, just to stall.
Rome leaned against the arm rest between them. His face was closer than it’d ever been before, and Phillip felt his chest beating out of control. Phillip wondered if he’d get any closer, really make Phillip’s head swim with nebulous impulses that he’d only been half aware of.
“Of course,” Rome answered. “Who else can I trust with my bouquets?”
His hair was so close. It looked so soft.
His lips looked really soft, too.
“Goodnight,” Rome hushed.
“Goodnight,” Phillip whispered back.
He forced himself out of the car, because if he stayed another moment, he might have done something truly stupid. And when he threw open the door to his flat and slammed it behind him, he had only half a mind to internally apologize to his neighbors for the loud noise.
The other half was occupied by the world-shattering revelation that he had somehow developed feelings sometime in the last five months.
***
Rome’s weekly bouquets continued. So did the gifts of tea. And so did the erratic thuds of Phillip’s heart that taunted him every Saturday.
He had to do something. He just had no idea what.
***
Phillip had deliberated over the details of this plan so that on Saturday, he could get to work and finish the preparations before the bell signaled Rome’s entrance, reliable as ever in its timing. At the sight of Rome’s handsome face and soft smile, Phillip willed himself to remain calm. He had a mission.
“Any idea what you want this week?” Phillip inquired, keeping his tone steady.
“Surprise me,” Rome requested, “as long as there are yellow roses.”
Phillip swept around the shop, knowing exactly what he was going to pick in case Rome left the decision to him, which was almost always. Yellow roses, then poppies, and then pink daisies. Warm colors, inviting and so perfect for someone like Rome. Like clockwork, Phillip wrapped them into crinkling plastic and white bows. Rome paid for the discounted flowers and reached out for them-
“Um,” Phillip said, interrupting the act. “Actually, there’s one more...”
Phillip kneeled under the counter and retrieved the extra bouquet he had prepared beforehand. He breathed in deep before he stood, holding out the surprise in full view for its recipient to see.
Rome’s eyes went a little wide. “Phillip...”
Phillip probably overdid it, but there were too many feelings to be contained to one or two flowers, so he threw in about half a dozen. Lilacs and lavender cozied up together. Pink camellias and red chrysanthemums shouted confessions while gardenias and primroses repeated them in softer hushes. Forget-me-notes and baby’s breath shyly poked their heads between the small gaps.
And, of course, a single yellow rose sharing the center with its flaming red twin.
“It’s for you,” Phillip murmured. “Just for you.”
Rome still stared at the busy bouquet. He reached for it and gently took it into his hands, holding it like a glass vase as he regarded it from a new angle. His expression barely moved, and he continued to say nothing. The longer the silence dragged on, the more Phillip felt nervous bile rising into his throat.
“Or,” he continued to mumble, “if you don’t like it, I can just take it apart and make something better, it is kind of messy-”
“Phillip.”
Long, strong fingers cupped the side of his face. Rome stopped gaping at the bouquet and looked directly into Phillip’s eyes. Phillip’s face flushed, heating it hot enough to become a furnace. Rough finger pads rubbed against the hinge of his jaw.
“Thank you,” Rome said quietly. “It means a lot.”
Phillip’s breathing stopped altogether. “No problem.”
He was back in that car again, with its silent intimacy, except now Rome’s face was closer, and he was touching Phillip, and that touch was traveling up his chin, lighting little sparts until the nail of a thumb bumped against his bottom lip. The faintest whiff of an ocean body perfumed by body odor wash drifted into Phillip’s nose, and if Phillip could, he’d bottle it up in a candle and never burn the wick.
“May I?” Rome asked.
Please.
“Yeah.”
And if he could, he’d make a candy of the apple taste in Rome’s mouth.