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Shao’s putting his feet up on his couch and getting ready to call it a night when there’s a rap at the door of the temple. He bolts upright–old habits die hard–but another knock follows, then a shorter rap again. He feels his shoulders relax at the familiar sound of Zeke’s knocking pattern and goes to open the door, grateful they’d worked out a kind of code so Shao wouldn’t come to the door with a gun or just jump out the window and start running at the sound of someone trying to get in.
“I’m coming,” he calls, voice carrying but still quiet, extravagant but not too comfortable with recklessness anymore. “I think I left it unlocked, just–”
The door opening interrupts him. God, even the recognition of the knock never prepares him for Zeke’s real actual face. So bright and soft and smiling and framed by–
“Man, what you got these flowers for?” Shao scrunches his mouth, confused. Zeke just keeps fuckin’ smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Maybe he doesn’t. Shao hasn’t seen him in days he’s lost count of, doesn’t know what’s going on in Zeke-world anymore.
Damn, he missed that stupid smile.
“C’mon Shao, don’t act like that,” Zeke says, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. The flowers are red; they kind of resemble crumpled napkins. “You know these are for you.”
Shao blinks. Which is stupid, it’s not like his eyes are broke, he knows what he’s seeing, there’s clearly an issue with his ears here. He doesn’t know what he just heard.
“Uh, come sit down, you wanna spin a record?”
Zeke’s eyes always have this deep brown intensity with them. It makes Shao feel dizzy, like his knees don’t work right or some shit. When they’re locked on Shao’s like this, it’s like they’re the only two people in the world. Makes Shao almost forget that he’s still not safe just here being himself. Makes him feel a lot of things.
“Nah, I thought I’d–” Zeke shifts a little. He looks unsure, a look Shao’s seen on his face a million times. Wordsmith always doubting himself as if he isn’t blessed with one of the most natural talents Shao’s ever heard. “Okay, shit, no, these are for you, okay? Like they’re yours. From me to you.” Shao spoke too soon on those natural talents, apparently. What’s this man fumbling like this for?
“You got something to say, just say it.” Shao’s palms are sweating for no reason. Zeke’s gaze makes them do that sometimes. He glances away, at the floor. It’s real clean ever since Napoleon started complaining about his dust allergy and took to sweeping on the regular.
“I did say it,” Zeke says, stepping forward. He thrusts the flowers forward–there’s maybe eight of them, not enough for a proper bouquet. “I got you flowers. You got anything to say about that?”
Shao isn’t sure why his fingers are shaking when he takes them from Zeke’s hands.
“Um. Thank you.”
Zeke scoffs, not unkindly. “I didn’t write anything because I thought I could fuckin’ freestyle this.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Didn’t count on being this nervous.”
“Nervous about what?” Shao isn’t really sure what’s going on here. Zeke’s eyes are off him on the floor now that Shao’s looking at him again. His fro has grown a bit since Shao’s seen him last.
“Yeah this sounds stupid as hell. God. Okay. I got you carnations because the lady at the store was telling me the meanings of the flowers and all, and she said red carnations means ‘my heart aches for you.’”
Shao blinks again, and something falls into the flowers. It takes him maybe four seconds to realize he’s crying.
“Oh. That’s cool.”
He doesn’t know if Zeke hears him, because he talks right over Shao: “And they’re a seasonal flower, so like, I thought it’s like, my love for you is in all seasons. Y’know, fall, winter, sp–”
“I’m not stupid, Books, I know the names of the four seasons.”
“Well you wasn’t saying nothing, so I thought I’d just keep talking till you did,” Zeke says, looking at him exasperated. “Man, that’s really all you gotta say? For someone who just said he isn’t stupid you really–oh, shit.”
It was definitely the fucking sniffling that gave Shao away there, but it’s worth it for the feeling of Zeke’s arms around him, crushing the flowers between them as he guides Shao’s head to lie against his neck and pushes his bony elbows into Shao’s back.
“Wow, I did not know you had a weak spot like that for flowers,” Zeke says, tone kind of teasing, mostly awed.
“Maybe it’s the fact you said your heart fucking aches for me, dumbass,” Shao says, though it comes out a little stuffy from the crying. “How’m I supposed to react to that?”
“I dunno! Shit, I’m sorry I made you cry.”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m not crying.”
Zeke pulls at his wet shirtsleeve, still keeping one arm locked around Shao’s back. “Yeah? Fuck’s this then?”
“I got allergies,” Shao mumbles. “If you bring me more flowers I’ll die, you hear me? You better stick to your words, Books. Just tell me in a rap next time you got some sappy shit to say.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Zeke says, and presses his lips down to Shao’s chaste and brief.
“I love you too,” Shao says. He isn’t sure Zeke caught what he said till Zeke kisses him again, and this time he can’t catch his breath so easily afterward.
Napoleon sees the flowers the next day on the low table in some shitty old pottery with lukewarm water keeping them alive.
“I’m allergic to that,” he tells Shao, using one hand to point and the other to hold a tissue to his nose between sneezes.
Shao gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Sorry, but we’re keeping em till they die. And they’re a seasonal flower, you know. That means they living on for fall, winter, spring…”