Work Text:
He carefully slides off his pink coat and folds it neatly by his feet, tucked away from from the patch of bare earth by his knees.
Fingers unhook his cuffs and he rolls his sleeves to his elbows, one by one.
It's so practiced, so careful, with a touch she feels like he keeps for her too.
But they've only touched once. Hand to hand. She didn't want to let go.
She's not a stranger to touch, but he is. Sometimes she wished she was, to be able to discover it for the first time with someone who treasured her. But maybe she could be a guiding hand, as much as he was one that needed.
Fingers tap against the window as she curls against the cold glass, breathing deeply, wishing she could taste the evening air. He promised he'd take her to the garden soon. Soon hadn't come. And she was done waiting. His hesitation wasn't malicious, she knew. Timid. Seeking the perfect moment.
But now, seemed quite perfect.
' Want some help?'
Ray looks up at where he knows she’ll be. He chose her room especially there so it would look over the crown of his garden. He wonders often if she looks at it. He hasn’t yet found the courage to ask if she likes it. He tended the flowers, watching their beauty bloom with a freshly found joy - but struggled to find reason. Everyone questioned his reason.
Now he has one.
She smiles down, her hair bunched against the glass as she waits for his reply. But for a while, he just watches, basking in her grace as she sits atop her pedestal, while he kneels below.
‘ I’ll be up in a moment.’
“You forgot your shoes,” says Ray, as he extends an arm for her, tentative. He half pulls it away as he waits, his confidence withering. But she just takes it, an airy laugh following the click of the door.
“I like it bare,” she says, a playful lilt in her voice.
Ray’s cheeks tinge red beneath her gaze, and he looks away, the timid touch on her arm twitching.
Marks. Thin etchings that could be licks of silver, bite his skin. This way, that way, from fingertips, down. It’s rare she sees him without his gloves and long sleeves. She guesses this is why. She wants to ask. But it’s not the time. So she just walks, lightly touching his finger with hers as they take the last of the steps, down.
She thinks he won’t notice that small touch. But he does. He almost stops to catch his breath. It’s like he’s only now noticed his gloves are off, his skin bare to her eyes.
But she likes it bare.
“It’s beautiful from my window,” she breathes, her words slipping in awe, “but in person…”
Ray watches as she reaches out to touch a rose, but stops, lithe fingers hovering by curved petals.
“Can I?” she asks.
You can do anything.
He nods, smiling kindly at her as she touches the petals and leans in to smell.
“Did you do this garden all yourself?”
He nods, looking away.
When he looks back, she’s here. Right before him. Where she was touching the rose, she’s now touching him, fingers to arm, pulling lightly to where he’d knelt.
“Show me.”
He stands still. Confused.
Show me? You….care?
“What were you planting earlier? I’d love to see.”
He turns the earth as he speaks, soft and slow, trying to hide the tremor of nerves. She thinks about touching his arm to help. But in the end, she’s sure it might hinder.
He pulls out a small flower from a pot and begins to plant it into the bed. “This is going to be my patch of peonys.”
“The pink matches your coat,” she says, helping him pat down the earth. They touch. They smile.
“D-did you know you can eat peony petals?”
“What? Like a snack?”
Ray laughs. A genuine, soft laugh she’s never really heard before. It makes her pause. But then she joins him. And for the first time, the garden blooms with more than just flowers.