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The city is buzzing with activity as you walk though the city streets. The exhaust pipes of cars clanging loudly as they blur past you, the soft chattering of distant conversations floating through the breeze, and the glittering sunlight flaring off of the windows on numerous buildings…it all just feels exciting and lively as you make your way to the local book café for tea, books, and interesting company that goes by the name of Vergil Sparda.
I wonder if he’ll be grumpy or reserved today, you thought, laughing quietly to yourself because it seems that man is always a combination of both. You do not mind though…in fact, you find his surliness kind of endearing. The little crinkle in between his brow that seem to be there permanently scrunching up as his eyes spark in agitation and his jaw tightening as he clenches he teeth…most people would find him intimating, but you just cannot help but to admire such an expressive face.
Those distinct lines on his face do occasionally smooth out though. Every time you give him your homemade tea blends or a fresh flower that crinkle seems to fade as his lips curve into a grin. The lack of smile lines tells you that he does not smile often, so you feel honored to witness such a rarity. You feel yourself swoon as you remember the day he sought you out in the rain after completely blundering your attempt at conversation, holding your forgotten umbrella over you as he smiles down upon you. The thought of his gorgeous face makes you do a little twirl on the sidewalk, your purple floral dress flaring out as you feel a soft warmth settle on your cheeks. You solemnly vowed to yourself that you would do everything in your power to make him smile more. And every time you are successful you cherish every single one of those smiles, engraving them into your memory so you can look back on them in fondness.
The familiar chime of The Book Nook Café rings as you step through its threshold. You greet the barista with a cheerful smile and order a cup of chai tea before walking over to your quiet corner. You glance over at the chair that is usually occupied by a certain handsome devil, an amused grin spreading across your face as you recall that he claims this spot as his as well. You set your tea and purse down as you examine the bountiful shelves of knowledge and adventure, trying to find the book that Vergil recommended to you after he found out that you are a gardener and florist extraordinaire.
“Ah!” you whisper as you finally spot The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, sliding it out of its place and placing it on the small table next to your seat. You rummage through your purse, taking out a perfectly pressed pink and white clove gillyflower and remove a book you hope to recommend to him during your chat today. He has returned your books about gardening and botany to you, but the book about the language of flowers has yet to make it back into your hands. There is a chance that he will understand the message your leaving…that you have developed a bond of affection with him.
The thought of him knowing what your little gifts actually mean makes you nervous and giddy as you place the delicate flower into the book. The idea of him reciprocating has you blushing as you recall the snapdragons he gave you. You did not have the heart to tell him that you actually provide those for this particular restaurant, not wanting to ruin the moment as his uncertain eyes soften when you accept them. You may have grown them, but that is not what makes your knees weak and heart throb thinking about that moment...
They just…reminded me of you.
You snap the book closed, the musty whoosh of air blowing against your face doing nothing to cool your redden cheeks. A part of you hopes that he knows what those snapdragons mean, but he is probably referring to the petals since you can never stop your face from flushing pink when his hand touches you in some benign fashion. He may be cool and reserved, not really a man for unnecessary words, but that just means his actions are what your flowers are to you…a way to express the feelings you cannot say aloud. Your heart always quivers when he subtly caresses your hand and fingers. Your belly fills with fluttering butterflies as his eyes glance sideways when he thinks you do not notice.
Taking a deep breath you reel in your swirling thoughts, making yourself the very model of decorum. You make yourself comfortable in your seat as you reach for the recommended book on the table. You crack open the old book and your eyes widen as a pressed purple flower falls into your lap. Funny…I don’t remember putting one this book, you muse as you pick it up and inspect it. Instantly you know it to be heartsease, a type of violet that grows wild around certain parts of the city. It is also known by many other colorful names, such as heart’s delight, tickle-my-fancy, come-and-cuddle-me…warm tingles cascade down your body as its purple petals all but confirm your suspensions of Vergil being well aware of the language of flowers.
You occupy my thoughts.
You bring the flower to your chest as you lay the book on your lap, clutching it close with both hands over your heart. You are still for a moment, doing your best to hold back a squeal, but your lips slowly spread into a bright smile as your body begins to bounce like a bumblebee among the sweetest flowers. You are glad that he does not find your little antics foolish. After you almost ruined your chance with him you knew that conventional means of flirting will not hold sway over him.
So, you started this little ritual of leaving him flowers, then giving him the means of figuring it all out, hoping that your intent was clear. You really like Vergil and do not want to mess up this budding relationship by letting your blunt mouth do all the talking. For the first time since the passing of your family and moving back into the city you do not feel so alone in the world. He can be a bit prickly at times, but you are a very patient gardener and you will tend to the seeds of affection you have sown with him diligently.
When your done dancing in your seat you place the pressed flower next to your cup, a subtle way to let him know you got it his message. You open the book back up and begin to read while you wait for Vergil to arrive. After reading a few pages you fully understand why he suggests this poet to you. The short biography of Emily Dickinson did mention that she was more well known for her gardening and her knowledge of plants than her poetry during her lifetime. So there are many short poems about flowers and nature conveying intricate imagery and metaphor. It makes your heart soar that he knew just the perfect poetry for your personality.
The signature chime of the door has your eyes instantly glancing up to see a tall and imposing figure clad in very distinctive clothing and a charming scowl that only Vergil can pull off. Uh oh…it seems he’s in one of his cranky moods, you observe, wondering what ever present nuisance makes him so easily irritable all the time. Your lips lift into a sunny smile like they always do when he is around and he slightly nods his head towards you as he makes his way to the barista to order his tea.
While he is distracted you mark your place in the book and reach into your purse for the tin of tea you have prepared for him. Guess it’s a good thing I brought him a little pick-me-up gift. You also grab a handful of today’s flowers, sweet alyssums, since it looks likes he could use a flower shower. You hide both beneath the fabric of your dress as you hear him thank the barista and approach the cozy corner. You put on a face of pure innocence as he appears, eyeing you suspiciously while he places his tea on the table.
“What are you hiding this time?” he warily questions.
“Whatever do you mean, Vergil?” you say as you tilt your head to the side feigning confusion. He just continues to stare at you with those striking silver eyes like a leery cat. You try to fight off the urge to smile, but the sight of that little crinkle between his brows bunching up has you grinning impishly in seconds. His eyes narrow at the sight of it and he leans down a bit, reminding you of the tall sunflowers you used to look up at when your were a child…minus the obvious agitation.
Slowly you lift one hand to reveal a tin of cherry blossom green tea. “Well, it seems I can longer take you by surprise, huh?” That crinkle instantly relaxes when he glances down at your hand to ensure that you are indeed holding one of your homemade blends. His eyes soften a little, that lovely shade of blue coming to the surface to blend harmoniously with molten silver. He reaches for his gift and just as his hand grabs the tin you feel his familiar touch, a gentle fingertip grazing one of your fingers. This never fails to make your breath hitch slightly as your heart thrums like a hummingbird.
Before he fully withdraws his hand you stand up to get a better view of his stunning face that you hope will grace you with the presence of his smile soon. “And since I can no take you by surprise, then you already know what comes next,” you say, voice brimming with enthusiasm as you stare up at him excitedly. “Vergil…lose the glower…”
His expression turns weary. “Must you insist on-?”
“And smell the flowers!” you exclaim as you bring your other hand up and toss the tiny white flowers into the air as you give him a big joyous smile.
His eyes never stray from yours as the small blossoms fall down upon you both, even when one lands right on his shoulder. Those lips you so want to smile are in a tight line as he sighs through his nose. “Evidently, you must…” he comments wryly before the corners of his mouth twitch, flashing you a small amused smirk.
Success! You are absolutely beaming as you let your thumb brush against his fingers before releasing the tin. You quickly gather the fallen flowers before the barista notices you have pulled this stunt once again in the café. A soft chuckle reaches your ears and you look over to see him shaking his head at you as he picks up the lone flower off his shoulder. You give him a mischievous shrug as you finish cleaning up and get back to your seat, opening your book to continue where you left off. Vergil grabs a book he has been reading for awhile and takes his seat, placing the one survivor of the flower shower next to his cup of tea.
Out of the corner of your eye you see him pause when he spots the purple heartsease on your side of the table. You can practically feel those keen eyes gazing at you, surely noticing the light dusting of pink on your face as you continue reading while trying to focus on the imagery of the current poem. I’ll have to really up the ante in our quiet flower game, you ponder, the gears of your mind already turning. Something even more bold than the ice plant flower...pff! Who am I kidding? I already went straight past bold with the forget-me-nots...maybe a flower of passion? I hope those hybrid roses I’m working on for him will bloom soon…
“I see you’re reading my personal recommendation.”
Vergil’s smooth voice breaks you out of your frantic flower thoughts. You head snaps over to see him staring back down at the heartsease. Those captivating eyes slowly lift to meet your gaze, openly admiring every inch of you. Hmm...a variegated tulip it is, you mentally note as a fresh burst of tingles rise through your skin. You do not need a mirror to know that your face must remind him of those damn snapdragons. The corner of your mouth twitches into a grateful grin as you reply. “I am! I wish I knew of her poems sooner. The way she describes flowers and uses them as metaphor is brilliant!”
“Do you have a favorite thus far?” he inquires, resting his arm on the table as his hand cradles his head, his eyes never leaving yours for a moment.
“Hmm…” You flip the pages to the table of contents and swiftly skim the list of poems until one sparks your memory. “Ah! The Daisy follows soft the Sun speaks to me,” you inform him with a fond smirk as you meet his eyes again.
“Read it to me.”
You blink bemusedly at what you refer to as a “commanding request” because Vergil has a habit of just not emphasizing the question mark that usually goes at the end of such requests. Admittedly, that is part of his charm, but you are not so easy to command. You quirk an eyebrow at him as you devise an even compromise. “Only if you recite Blake for me.”
Now it is Vergil’s turn to quirk an eyebrow. He taps his index finger on his head in thought, making a few strands of his white hair shift slightly out of its perfectly slicked back style before forming back into place. Does the power of Sparda include exceptional hair care? you mentally quip to yourself as you await with bated breath, hoping he will indulge you with his soothing voice. His finger stops tapping and his eyelids droop ever so slightly as his lips part and he graces your ears with that rather nasal but sensuous timbre.
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.
Vergil flashes you a smug grin as he finishes his reciting of Blake, clearly enjoying the affect it had on you. If he gets his hands on scarlet lilies that’s probably what he’ll give me next…because that’s what my face probably looks like right now! You sigh exasperatedly as you cover your face with the clever words of Dickinson. “Well...now I really feel like I can’t do this poem justice!” you whine, playfully bemoaning your awful luck that the power of Sparda must also include the ability to reduce you to a blushing babbling mess.
You hear his cocky laugh burst through the air. “You should have read while you had the chance.”
Your shoulders slump as you try to pull yourself together for the task at hand. You remove the book from your face and turn to the page with the poem. When you turn your head to make sure you have his attention you notice that he is pensively studying you. “Flower for your thoughts?” you softly ask, bringing him out of whatever ruminations plaguing his mind.
“I wanted to hear you read, and yet I recited a poem at your behest for the privilege…why?” he abruptly asks, his eyes regarding you inquisitively.
You feel your eyebrows burrow in confusion. “Quid pro quo…not everyone is going to listen to your demands unless you do something for them in turn.” Your eyes dart down to the delicate heartsease next to your cup. “And it’s been awhile since I heard you recite poetry.” You blink and meet his intense gaze once more. “Not since that day in the rain.”
Vergil’s eyes drift away as he seems to be lost in thought. They brush over the pressed flower he left for you and the corner of his mouth lifts into a small grin. Then he shifts his gaze back to meet yours as those alluring lips bless you with the presence of his sublime smile. You feel your brain check out as you savor this moment, knowing that if you had the talent for art you could paint this man from memory alone…considering how often he haunts your thoughts as well.
The warm moment passes when Vergil taps his finger on his head again as he quirks an expectant eyebrow at you. “I’m waiting.”
You sigh, resigning yourself to this fate you have brought upon yourself by enacting quid pro quo. Bringing the book back up you toss a loose strand of hair out of your vision as you softly clear your throat, preparing your voice for a reading that you know is going to pale in comparison to his spine chilling voice. You breathe in and hope for the best.
The Daisy follows soft the Sun
And when his golden walk is done
Sits shyly at his feet
He—waking—finds the flower there
Wherefore—Marauder—art thou here?
Because, Sir, love is sweet!We are the Flower—Thou the Sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline
We nearer steal to Thee!
Enamored of the parting West
The peace—the flight—the Amethyst
Night's possibility!
You do not even try to hold back your smile as you read, letting the imagery of the shy and hopeful daisy pull you in as the words spill from your lips. When you finish your head turns over to Vergil to see how badly you butchered this poor poem.
Instead, he is wearing an expression you have only seen twice: once after you made a complete fool of yourself in front of him in this very corner and the other in your garden after he revealed his demon heritage. Your heart aches when you think about that memory, getting the feeling that living a life caught in between two vastly different worlds has taken on toil on his soul. It explains why he seems so different, why he is so defensive about his personal life…but you know how it feels to not belong and you are glad he told you. Because at that moment you do not see something to be afraid of. Staring upon his face now, so openly expressing awe and admiration, you cannot help but wonder if this feeling in your chest is what Cupid felt when he first saw the aching beauty of Psyche before he shot himself with his own arrow.
After a few moments of awkward silence and a bit of fidgeting he compliments your reading and settles back into his chair, burying his face in his book which is his way of signaling you that he needs a break from conversation. You graciously oblige, needing a break yourself from all the tension currently wafting between the two of you. Both of you read together, enjoying the familiar companionable silence as the outside world fades away. At some point you finish your tea and stand up to get another cup, asking Vergil if needs a fresh cup as well. He nods without looking away from his book and you grin as you walk up to the counter, order two more cups of tea, and bring them back to the secluded corner. Just as your sitting back down Vergil speaks while still engrossed in his book.
“That day in the rain…you said you would point out some recommendations of your own.”
“Oh yeah!” you exclaim, bouncing in your chair in energetically. “I did, didn’t I? Well…what are you in the mood for? Tragedy, comedy, philosophy…poetry?”
Vergil’s lips twitch in amusement as his eyes continue to read. “I am familiar with some of the more prolific epic poems of the ancient era, but I am curious about what you would suggest for me otherwise.” You ponder for a moment, trying to figure what he might find interesting when it hits you.
“Catullus.”
His eyes shoot up in astonishment as his eyes finally tear themselves away from his book to look at you. “Aha!” You giggle as you point a finger at him. “It seems I can still surprise you!” Your hand wipes the invisible sweat off your brow. “Whew…and here I thought I could never get one over the Son of Sparda ever again.” His jaw clenches in that signature scowl you have come to adore as his eyes narrow in annoyance. You show mercy and stop your teasing as you smirk with sincerity shining in your eyes. “But seriously…I would suggest reading his poems. They’re very uh…eclectic.”
“In what way are they unique from the others of that time?” Vergil inquires, his scowl lessening as his eyes regard you with genuine curiosity.
“Well, on one hand he wrote affectionate love poems for his mistress…but on the other hand he wrote really angry and very vulgar poems about people who pissed him off.”
A low rumbling hum vibrates through the air as Vergil contemplates your words, a wave of heat rushing through body at the mere sound of it. “Sounds intriguing. I honestly anticipated a more well known poet of that time.”
“Oh? Like Horace? Or Ovid? Or…Virgil?” You list playfully, wriggling an eyebrow as you mention the last one with a cheeky grin. He rolls his eyes as he lets out an irksome scoff, but the soft twitching of his lips lets you know that he is trying not to smile. This makes you laugh as you continue speaking. “Don’t get me wrong…their poems are good too.” You take a calming breath as your laughter dies down. “But I like Catullus because he’s just so honest and some of his poems just drip with raw emotion. You really feel his adoration for his lover and his wrath at the friends that betrayed him. And it is his poems that later influence Ovid and Virgil.”
“Will you do me the honor…of reciting his poetry…for me?” he hesitantly requests as his eyes soften, actually asking you to do something for the first time instead of demanding it. You feel your eyes widen in surprise, but your overwhelming joy of having him show an interest in one of your favorite poets overrides it quickly. You give him your warmest smile as you close your eyes and recite a short one that will hopefully pique his interest more.
I hate and love. If you were to ask how
I got this way, I’d have no answer;
but since I can recall, I have suffered
–I have felt this torment.
You open your eyes and see that Vergil has his eyes closed during your recitation as well. Your heart melts at the sight of his calm face, meditating on the words of the poem as he considers your recommendation. His eyes suddenly snap open after a few moments. “Very well,” he states confidently as he pins you with his intense stare. “I shall see what complexity this Catullus has to offer.”
A victorious grin spreads across your cheeks and it must be contagious because Vergil gives that rare smirk you strive to pull out him every second you are near him. You both spend more time in that cozy corner finishing up your books until you have to depart. Before leaving you set a time and date to meet in the café again, already looking forward to another quiet reading session with your prickly poet. You almost tell him he could always call you if he ever wants to have a rendezvous somewhere else…like a local bistro or even your garden since you do have a nice outdoor seating, but you did not want to push your luck. And it seems he is new to the usage of cell phones, so you did not want to bring it up just in case it makes him crabby. Plus, he might bring up the forget-me-nots you somehow craftily tied around his fancy sword and you have already filled your quota of blushes for today.
Both of you say your farewells and you leave the café feeling like a sunflower basking in the rays of beautiful sunshine. As you pass the café window you spot a tall figure standing up in the secluded corner, selecting the book you put your flower in earlier. Your feet stumble as you stop in your tracks and scramble to take out your phone, furiously pretending to be checking your notifications and texting some nonexistent recipient. Surreptitiously, you watch as Vergil opens the book and he must have went straight for Catullus since his hand picks up the clove gillyflower you left for him. Your heart skips a beat when you see his face light up with genuine tenderness. You decide to end your act before he notices you, swiftly walking away as you put your phone back into your purse.
You do no know what it is about Vergil that draws you to him. It could be his fierce presence that you find oddly soothing, his cool and collected exterior that hides a passionate love for literature, or that little crinkle between his brow that deepens when he is aggravated. Whatever it may be you are glad he let you step through his briars, allowing you to gently pry his thorns apart as you find fertile ground to plant the seeds of trust. And you will tend to them as the seeds sprout and grow...entwining their gentle blossoms carefully among the briars in tenderness.
And you, like the shy and hopeful daisy, follow soft the Son of Sparda.