Work Text:
...
You're like a garden to me. And I can't help but love every part of you. When I walk beside you, I feel the radiance of life warm my soul. Your hair flows like a motherly spring. Your eyes are softer than a budding flower, and your eyelashes more charming than the grass at dawn.
Your hands, warm and pink like roses. Tough like the bark of a young tree. We fit like symmetry when you come to hold me with them.
I wish, in another life, we could have been two plants together. Growing in seclusion, we'd tangle ourselves into one another. When we lie, I imagine us like that. But, I could never tell you. You're not a garden.
You don't even keep houseplants on the windowsill.
And if I didn't have my heart, you'd just be my bandmate. Our guitarist- No, the guitarist. But I can't live without it. Now, you're more vital than the blood that runs through me. Without you, my heart would grow pale, and stop beating.
...
There's a notebook kept more guarded than any precious gem or treasure. Secrets that can't be spoken with just someone's mouth. Words so deeply entangled with someone's emotions, it'd be like stripping the writer bare to read through it.
Neil slid something palm-shaped into his pillowcase. The ruffle of sheets and pages was silenced by stillness. He's been lazy again.
It's not your fault. Someone else has been on your mind, isn't that the case?
Throughout his life, it's always been hard to lie to himself. But trying to cover the afterthoughts of his writing sessions with imagery of gardens only made him come back to the same thoughts again. No amount of overgrowth can stop the sun from shining through.
While sitting down for morning coffee, the idea of soft white lilies made his chest hurt.
Then, while showering, the images of wispy, flowing willow leaves made him sigh.
Buttoning up his shirt, the ripples of wind in his curtains put the scene of a creek in his mind. Bedded with rivergrass and black, delicate fishes... Something so familiar, something he didn't want to trace.
It's too late to blame his imagination for clinging onto his dreams when the clock hits noon.
Thankfully, London's foliage is very forgiving. Even with the edges of spring turning over, the landscape is barren. There's no room for subtle hints and pictures here. Greying trees and rotted grass... That wasn't like the garden in his head at all.
There was no work to be done today. Recording was paused. No inspiration is drawn from a city grey with winter, fighting to transition to spring.
Even so, stepping out of the house, Neil already knew where he would be walking. It was engraved in his mind and muscles. Walking there backward wouldn't even have been a challenge. Walking there with eyes closed would've been too easy. Even though Richard had just moved, he was already familiar now.
There are multiple sides to having a good memory. Directionally, it's nothing but benefits. But when paintings of his garden started flowing through his mind again, though his surroundings were dead, he sighed and wished to focus on something else.
At this point, he, the garden, is almost invasive. Neil rarely saw a problem with it. Until he's almost run over, picturing a dreamy image of flowing hair, eyes half shut imagining the flowery scent his garden carries. Harshly, there was an attempt to pin his focus down to his physical movements, and keep his mind present. Centered.
Just as he had gotten the hang of patterned walking and counting his steps, without realizing it, he had walked past his destination. It made his heart stop a bit, not from fear or realization he had 'messed up,' but nervousness to knock on the door. It was a cheap, young kind of nervousness.
He hadn't even put in the effort to phone by before heading out. The chances of someone answering him...
Distracted by his own flusteredness, he didn't notice a face peeking through the fanlight of the door. Just the eyes, and messy hair... Neil blinked and shuffled a bit, imagining Richard raised on his toes, straining to look out the window for him.
Though he hated the cold of winter, now he was thankful, being able to excuse his red face from frostnip and chills. "I thought there weren't any recordings today." He spoke through a barely cracked wicket door. "Ow, it's cold!"
Neil tried peeking through the small space he was provided, but wasn't tall enough to see fully in through such a small gap. "Well," His mouth was dry. "Well, you're right, there isn't. But, it really isn't that cold, and I was bored, y'know..." He was lying. Frigid hands were stuffed in his pockets. Dry skin was already forming. An uncomfortable, scratchy feeling started settling in his throat as well.
Waiting for Richard's response, he started shaming himself for not just taking his car. But even last time, the heat wouldn't start up anyway...
"Really," Neil's jaw muscles were tense as he tried to not stammer or clap his teeth in the cold. "It's not that bad, Richard."
"But I've barely woken up."
"Have you checked the time?"
Richard opened the wicket door a bit more and strained to look out of it. Neil couldn't notice how messy his hair was from the window, and how matte and tired his eyes were. "I was reading last night."
The chance to be let in. There was less focus on getting close to Richard now, and now more on escaping from the winter air... "What were you reading, that was so attention-grabbing?" Neil inched towards the wicket door. "Could I see? Maybe I'd like to read it too."
"Are you sure you're not just cold?"
Drat!
"...I'm sure..."
Richard turned knobs and clicked some mechanical bits before letting Neil in. It was well-locked. Did he live alone? It was Neil's first time going inside.
"Well, it's upstairs."
Neil's flat didn't have an upstairs, downstairs, or any stairs even leading up to it. Richard had three floors, all to himself. A skinny house, but still. Tall as a giant, and surely not fit for just him.
"Do you live alone?" Neil slid off one of his jackets. "Sorry if that was rude."
From behind him, Richard took and folded Neil's jacket, a bit wet from snow residue. "Don't be sorry. I do."
The entire place seemed to have been set up by his parents. They must have helped him move in. It didn't seem to be the work of a teenage boy. A decent velvet armchair... Authentic maple furniture... A good collection of literature, presumably to keep him occupied... Almost like parts of his old home had been recycled into his new terraced house.
It felt like a real home.
Nothing like Neil's crummy flat. He almost felt bad.
"You have a really nice place." Neil slid off a secondary, thinner fleece jacket. Again, Richard hung it up for him. "Now, where's that book?"
"I'm almost done with it. Go upstairs, it's on my bed."
"How close are you to being finished?"
"A few pages, really..."
Neil walked over to where Richard was muttering sleepily from, working on hanging Neil's jackets on some door-side hooks. Once they were facing each other, Neil began to pat through Richard's messy long hair, trying to give it some order. "Why don't you finish it and I'll make you breakfast." He trailed his fingers through the sides. "I'll come up in a bit." Neil leaned down to give Richard a kiss on his forehead while rubbing his cheek with a thumb.
That seemed to wake him up. It woke both of them up more.
"Okay... I'll see you, Neil."
Though he didn't kiss back, perhaps too tired too, or forgetful, it flew over Neil's head, too focused on the morning moodiness in Richard's eyes clearing and being replaced with warmth. Relaxed, Richard went back upstairs while Neil headed to the kitchen.
As expected, in such a thin house, it was rather small. A packed oven with the burners much too close. A skinny, old-fashioned metallic fridge. Just two pots were in view. Looking around more, he only found five plates, two bowls, three mugs, and two drinking glasses. Four forks, one knife, and two spoons. Everything was mismatched. Clean, but mismatched.
On the stove, a single frying pan, barely used, sat on a back-row burner. A clean, tiny kettle sat front and center. The handle was worn from usage. Richard must've liked tea. Or maybe, coffee.
Either way, Neil brewed himself a quick, honey-filled cup of tea to soothe his throat, attacked by the cold. There was only one kind of tea. Traditional black English tea. It must've been a favourite...
In the fridge, the situation was almost worse.
Half a pack of bacon... An almost gone carton of eggs. Milk bought in glasses, like it was the 60's. A couple of multi-coloured peppers, not used, probably bought so he felt healthier. Were those moldy strawberries?
An onion... A pack of juice, which he couldn't recognize. Loaves of bread, kept strangely on the bottom shelf. Maybe they were stale and he was stalling on throwing them away. Neil wasn't sure if Richard knew how to shop properly.
Now, he wasn't a chef, but he at least wanted to frame himself as being decent at cooking for Richard.
Upstairs, on his bed, unkept and nearly torn through, Richard had fallen asleep just reading the last two pages of his book. The curtains were drawn. A blisteringly white sky only drew in headaches. In a dark room, under a warm light, his attempt to finish his book was lost the second he got comfortable in the mess of his sheets again. Not even the smell of cooking woke him up.
There wasn't even a tray Neil could find to carry what he had made upstairs. Focusing intently, he wobbled up the stairs, both hands full, unsure of where to go. With such a thin house, there weren't many places he could get lost, but he was still nervous. Door cracked, Richard's bedroom emitted a small warm light, barely leaking onto the first step of the staircase he made it up on.
Neil tiptoed in, not knowing Richard was fully asleep. He set his food on the nightstand. There was one on either side of the bed.
Lying on his side away from Neil and the door, Richard shifted but still didn't stir until Neil rubbed his hand on his back, catlike. It went up to his shoulder next, rubbing around in circles. "Richie," Neil whispered, his body aching to lie down as well. "Wake up."
Richard groaned and rubbed his eyes. His book fell out of his hand and he started to turn towards Neil. Lying on his back, he looked up, entranced at the shadows drawn on Neil's face from his lamp.
"Your hair is messy again."
Richard shut his eyes and tilted his head to the side as Neil began to run his fingers through his hair again, now with more precision. Sitting by his side, half on top of him and half relaxed by his side, Neil had a full view of Richard's freshly awake face and hair. It was the most beautiful thing in the world to him. He as well was entranced with how the lamp complimented and drew shadows on Richard's face.
He couldn't help himself. It was a brutal temptation. Leaning close, Neil began kissing on the side of Richard's face, holding the other side with his hand. So warm... Soft against his lips, and sweet tasting. Reminiscent of his flowery shampoo, which the rest of his pillows and sheets smelled like too. He kissed and pampered Richard's sweet face until the younger man was fully awake and laughing beneath him.
Richard smiled with his teeth and Neil pulled away, smiling back.
"I've made you something."
"Thank you," he was blushing now.
They swapped positions on the bed. Richard sat on the edge and ate while Neil read the back of his book.
"You're a good cook," Richard said between bites.
"And you have good taste in books. Where did you find this? I've never seen it, but the description is very alluring..."
"A flea market. A week ago... You can borrow it."
"Did you finish?" Neil set the book down and lay on his side, propped up with a shoulder and palm.
Thinking back, Richard began to shake his head. After washing down his meal with his tea, he started: "I actually fell asleep again. I'm really tired still... I'll be back." Richard left for the washroom, his walk crooked from being just awake.
Sighing, now feeling it as well, Neil kicked his shoes off on the edge of the bed and cozied under a messy duvet. Under this oasis, he felt immersed in the garden again, now thinking more literally, tricked by the scent of Richard's shampoo. He almost fell asleep himself, but the lamp kept him awake. It shone behind him and lit up the room extremely well, for being so small.
Extraordinary...
Looking fresher, Richard came back in and fully shut the door. His face shone a bit from being washed and his hair was brushed. "So, you're sure nothing's come up today? Did you get a ring from Brett?"
"I'm sure," Neil muttered with his eyes closed, buried in one of Richard's pillows. Even ready for sleep, he noticed the light being shut off behind him.
"Then, I want to sleep the day away... I can finish my book later."
The room wasn't dark. Curtains were drawn, but they were a bit thin and still allowed some light in. But it was sheltered enough to be dark for sleep and lit to see around without complete confusion.
Coming round the bed again, Richard quickly snuck under the same sheet Neil had settled in, and lay face to face with him.
Neil had a sneaky look.
Richard had a pleased and tired one.
As soon as his head hit the comfort of his pillow, Richard felt his entire body relax and melt into the bed, warmth pooling where his body met the mattress.
"What are we doing?" Neil whispered. Richard blinked awake, confused. "Come here."
No words had to be said. Obeying, Richard moved from his pillow to Neil's and hugged him to sleep. It was the perfect temperature, the meeting points of their bodies. Chest on chest, Richard's face buried in the sweet curve of Neil's neck, arms wrapped and crossed on each other's backs, and even legs intertwined... Threading his fingers through Richard's hair, Neil busied himself, desperate to keep himself awake after Richard fell asleep.
Hearing his breathing change under Neil's delicate touch and embrace, he took the opportunity to plant kisses on Richard's scalp. Moving around, he breathed in his fresh scent as well. But he was mistaken to think Richard had fallen asleep.
Under him, Richard stirred and leaned in closer to Neil's body. "I love you." Neil could feel his breath against his neck when he spoke, cooler and minty from brushing.
Pleasant shivers ran down Neil's neck and spine. "I love you too," he said it a bit too loud. Much too excited.
Humming, Richard stirred once more and hugged on tighter before falling asleep. Neil continued to stroke down his hair, almost obsessed with it. The girly texture, how long and how it flowed, and most of all his shampoo. Cute...
Picturing not just his garden before falling asleep, Neil started to have clearer visions of who would accompany him within it...
Dreaming now, still idly playing with the tips of Richard's hair, Neil decided his notebook would need some updating, sometime soon.
...
I'll do it tomorrow.