it is red

Yael really has a way with this garden, it’s amazing. It hasn’t been that long, about three months really and things are just growing and growing. It makes me wonder if he doesn’t have himself the magic touch or something. I mean I don’t really believe in that stuff but still. It could be in his roots though. I mean, I figure that if kids can have parents of different colours, we demons can have parents of different gifts. At times I think about what my parents were, I know one of them was a weaver, whatever that means, but what if the other was something else? I really don’t know.

With him though, if his parents weren’t of the same gift, I’d have to guess one of them had a gift relating to nature and the other one relating to art in most of its forms. He’s still such a mystery to me. It’s interesting to slowly unravel the mysteries that make him who he is. Learning a little bit more about him every day as I know he does with me. This is a learning experience for us both and it’s a good sort of thing. We couldn’t complain about life, it has gotten better.

He’s had less nightmares over the past week more and I’m more than glad for that. I don’t know if he wants me to go back to my own bed but I will if he asks me to. I wouldn’t want to overstep my boundaries or to stay past my welcome. It is his room after all.

I went up into the garden today, while he was showering. I hadn’t been in about a month—beyond when I went to the wild flower section to prepare him a bouquet—because things have just been really busy and I was curious to see how things were coming along.

A lot faster than I had thought is how they were coming along and you can colour me more than a little surprised. Little Japanese maples that I’d helped him set up, they’d only been at my knees and now they were almost at my chest. Tomato plants full with ripening fruits in another section, cucumbers, salads. Even some sunflowers.

What caught my attention however was a deeply red patch on the mezzanine. Though at first, from below, it had mostly looked red, when I made it up there, it was red and pink and some purple, cream and violet and some other colours I hadn’t actually expected to see in rose bushes. I hadn’t been to the mezzanine at all since he’d set it up. Something about him stating it was off limits for the time being. I’m not really surprised. I can see and believe that these were meant as a surprise and they’re gorgeous. I think I can turn the surprise on him though.

He takes really long showers, especially lately. They help him relax and I know he needs all the relaxation in the world. So I look in the little mock-shed that was set up on the main floor and I find the clippers. I’m not going to cut anything down to oblivion, that’s not my thing and I would ruin it all, no, my little plan is much simpler and the image is clear as day in my mind’s eye as I climb back up the stairs, my lips quirking to a pleased smile beyond my control. I want him happy and I recall how he had reacted to the last bouquet.

The roses I select are those that are just barely beginning to bloom, petals mostly still curled securely. I only take one or two of the bigger plants, the ones I know won’t really miss the missing extras and it won’t even show on the bushes themselves. I find myself glad I had taken the gloves along because the thorns on these are very present and I can feel them trying to prick me through the gloves.

Once I’m done with my selection, I’m sure I nearly have a dozen if not almost two in my arms and I make my way back downstairs carefully. I listen intently at the door before going anywhere and I can still hear the water but I figure he’s almost done. I almost rush to the kitchen to find one of those long vases and I carefully snip the end of the stems and I set them to water, adding that small package of nutrients he keeps not far. I want these to last as long as possible.

I take the vase and slowly start on my way back to his room, careful of where I was going since I couldn’t really much see in front of me. I stop outside his door and I listen again. The water is off but I can hear him in his bathroom and not in his room yet so I step in, set the flowers down on his desk and I go back off to put away the clippers and the gloves, then to my room to finally change into something more fit for the rest of whatever we’ll do for our day.

When I finally step back towards his room, I stop in the doorway and lean against the frame lightly. He’s staring at the bouquet, eyes wet, one hand over his mouth. I walk in and I just hug him tightly to myself. He sniffles and turns to cling. This is something I welcome more than my mind really realizes. My body craves these simple moments. This is a good cling though and it’s even more important. His tears of happiness wet my shoulder and I let them, just hugging him as tightly as I can to me.

“I know you said the area was off limits but when the red caught my eyes I was mesmerized so I went and had a look… looking at them all, the only coherent thought in my mind was that you deserved all that beauty and even more. I cut the stems the way you taught me how and even gave them that feeder powder thing you keep with the rest of the garden stuff here on the first floor.”

His arms tighten about me and I breathe a sweet sigh of content. This is life in a way I can appreciate. It’s not like I went out of my way to get him that bouquet, it’s a simple thing and I can continue to offer him these gifts on a daily basis if it’s what it takes. I’m pretty sure he won’t even be thinking about the dead man today. That might just be what I have to do. Small, simple things like these.

“This is wonderful, Quentin, thank you.” His words are a little choked and he sniffles sharply, screwing his eyes shut. A moment later he laughs, a soft, slightly tearful sort of laughter and I chuckle in turn. When he straightens, I wipe his cheeks clean and I kiss him ever softly. I had intended for a simple peck but he kisses me back and I’m more than happy to let him have this lead. If this is what he needs then I’m more than happy to give it to him. I’d bare myself to him utterly if it was what he needed.

I wonder, is that what it’s like to love someone? I can admit the words to myself right now. Before too long I might just be able to tell him how I really feel without the fear that I may not be completely honest with him.

His lips become a little more insistent and I feel something melt inside me. I could almost survive on kissing him alone, I think. Love and water. I’m hopeless, I’m aware. It’s how he shifts and tugs me back towards his bed however, lips not leaving mine, that startle me back to the surface and I can’t help but wonder what he has in mind.

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