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Dear eyes of ruby
Dear soft strands of cocoa
Who rivaled the beauty of the stars
Stuck in those wretched bars
Who smelled of bitter liquor
Greeting whichever tipper
He who whisked away all those precious memories
Now merely yesterdays.
"These flowers match you."
A broken whisper, lost in the wind. Caelus stood in front of the cold stone slab, the stone that now beared his deceased lover's name. It felt cruel, really. Mocking, even.
"I think you'd like them."
...They match your eyes.
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It was a pleasant wednesday, he recalls. Gallagher stood behind the wooden counter as he usually would, brewing all kinds of drinks from cocktails to coffee, as per the customer's request. One could just barely notice a soft smile on his face, as he thought about his grey-haired lover. The hound was awaiting his usual visit, as promised by the other earlier. Just recently they became an item, and many soft moments and stolen kisses have been shared. They didn't announce it to anyone, but they weren't being particularly discreet either, instead letting others make whatever assumptions they desire.
ding!
The bell above the front door rang, and instantly Gallagher noticed the Trailblazer as he walked in. His entire face practically lit up, which was an amusing sight.
"Gallagher! I missed youuuu!"
"That much? It's only been a few hours, Caelus."
It wasn't often that he was addressed by his actual name, but Gallagher of course had the privilege to do so... and it certainly did something to Caelus' heart.
"So?"
He leans against the counter, towards his beloved bartender.
"Ah, you youngins... no patience whatsoever."
The response was said in an endeared tone, one he had the tendency to use when talking to or about Caelus. To say he was hopelessly smitten was an understatement- although he didn't necessarily want to admit it.
"Uh-huh. Okay, old man.. anyway, I think you owe me some kisses right about now."
Not a care in the world, truly. The bar wasn't empty, it never really was... at this point the regulars became (reluctantly) used to their interactions. Despite that, there were always a few stares and hushed conversations around the two. Did that matter in Caelus' eyes? No. Only Gallagher mattered. He was equally as whipped for the other, clearly.
"Alright, I'll be with you in a few minutes...I'm still working, you little rascal."
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... It's not fair.
"Caelus..."
March placed a hand on his shoulder, attempting to give a small amount of comfort to the grieving man.
"...do you need more time?"
...
"Yeah... please."
She sighs, not out of annoyance or relief, but out of pity. Pity for the friend before her who looked so unbearably miserable in her eyes.
"Alright... I'll... um... I'll be waiting for you back at the express."
She left quietly, and Caelus mentally noted to thank her later... she's been far too kind to him.
He delicately places the bouquet of flowers down on the lifeless ground, it provides some semblance of colour to the otherwise morbid area, at the very least.
He stands there, for who knows how long, before a painful realisation hits him. Gallagher... the man he loves- or loved, rather...
"... He's never coming back."
And it hurts.