Chapter Text
The quaint little flower shop on the corner of two mostly deserted streets is Jehan's favorite place. It sees more days without customers than with them, and quite frequently, Jehan is the only visitor they have. He can spend hours just walking around the flowers in the light of the big open windows. A ray of sunshine himself, he never leaves the place empty handed. His apartment is filled with flowers, and more often than not, so is his hair.
There is a small table (that may or may not have been placed there just for Jehan) in the corner where the light shines in and makes little patterns out of the dust particles in the sun. It is here that Jehan sits with a notebook just writing – mostly poetry, but he'll scribble anything that's in his mind onto the paper.
The owner of the shop is a man with eyes that smile and a smile that has seen many years. At the beginning, he rarely speaks to Jehan, but there is always a bright yellow sunflower on the table for him when he comes in. On the days when he does speak to him, their conversations are short but meaningful.
On one particularly quiet day, the man offers Jehan a job. He doesn't need the help; an old man can surely handle the few times a month that the bell above the thick wooden door jingles and he has to make his way down the stairs from his apartment above the shop to help a customer. But the fact of the matter is this: he is old.
His tired hands aren't going to be cutting many more stems or tying many more ribbons. He's considered selling the place, but he wants it to belong to someone who cares about it and can run it the way he intended. He has no family to speak of and no close friends, which leaves his most loyal customer. Of course, to Jehan, it is just a cashier position. Nothing is said of the sad truth.
He becomes very good at his job, already being an expert with flowers, and moves his poetry writing behind the counter instead of at his small table. He and the old man become close companions. There are no mentions from Jehan of his past or any sort of life outside of the flower shop, and although the man is curious as to why sometimes his friend's eyes look so sad, he isn't nosy. As long as Jehan does what is asked of him, the old man will pay him well. In truth, Jehan is probably paid more than what someone doing his job should earn. He brings this up one night, but the topic is dismissed by the old man without a second thought.
The two spend their days tending to the flowers, Jehan reciting poetry from memory and sipping a cup of tea. He comes to know the old man as his flower, or “mon fleur” as he often says in French. Jehan likes speaking in French; he says it sounds prettier. The old man calls Jehan his sunshine. On his last night, he has a feeling and places one last bright sunflower on the table. When the flower wilts, the sun refuses to shine for a week.
Jehan takes good care of the little flower shop. It's tough at first, coming into work every day and unlocking the door with the old fashioned brass key that now belongs to him. He can't bear to remedy the peeling paint outside, but he buys gallons of lavender paint for the interior. He scrubs the dust from every corner and polishes the vases and trinkets on the shelves that no one ever picks up. Mostly just changes that the man had been too fragile to make in his old age.
When he feels ready, Jehan deals with the apartment. He's never been upstairs before, but he is surprised to find how empty it is. He had envisioned going through boxes and bags of his friend's things, deciding what to keep and what to discard. Instead there is only a bed, a small table and chair, a rather worn looking recliner, and a dresser. In the way of belongings, the man had very little. There are a few framed family pictures from years ago which Jehan gathers up and puts into a box. They are joined by a few books and the man's hat. He saves them, as well as all of the man's gardening tools.
The apartment is in decent shape, and after some more cleaning and repairs, Jehan decides to rent it out. He'd live there himself if he hadn't recently signed a six month agreement on his own apartment two months ago. He also needs the money, but he doesn't let himself think about that too much.
It's a warm April day when Jehan hears the bell above the door and then the footsteps entering the shop. This is a rather rare occurrence in and of itself, and he isn't prepared for the warm smile he receives from the boy who stands in his doorway. He asks if the boy needs any help, and the boy shakes his head before coming over to stand by Jehan.
When the boy asks what he's doing, he finds himself blushing a little as he reveals that he's telling poems to the flowers. He rushes to explain that talking to plants is healthy; it creates vibrations in the air that help them grow. The boy smiles without judgment and extends his hand. His name is Courfeyrac. He keeps Jehan's hand as he begins to recite a poem of his own – Frost's Nothing Gold Can Stay.
Jehan shyly reminds him that plants die in that poem and suggests he pick a different one. Courfeyrac laughs and says it's the only one that he has memorized, but proceeds to make one up on the spot. He rhymes Jehan with blonde, and it's actually kind of a terrible poem but it makes Jehan laugh and if nothing else it benefits the plants.
He asks if he needs any flowers today, and Courfeyrac tells him that he actually came in because he saw the sign about an apartment in the window. Jehan smiles and leads him up the steps to show him. Courfeyrac looks more at Jehan than at the apartment, but Jehan pretends not to notice, hesitantly standing by the door and leaving the other man to explore. When Courfeyrac returns to him, it is with a nod. They get the paperwork taken care of right away, and it's decided that Courfeyrac will move in tomorrow.
That night Jehan dreams of chestnut curls and wakes before the sun to spill the words in his head onto a blank page. Today when he turns the key, anticipation replaces the usual hint of sadness. He's tried to ignore the spark of excitement he feels when he thinks about seeing Courfeyrac again, but he gave in after the third poem he wrote this morning.
He passes the time making bouquets. The strategy of picking flowers that go well together and arranging them distracts him and keeps his mind from wandering. He ties ribbons around vases and stems, and one goes in his hair for good measure. It's past noon when Courfeyrac comes wandering in, smiling wider than he had been yesterday if that was even possible.
Jehan helps him move all of his things upstairs, some of which prove to be a challenge as Jehan is a little person and Courfeyrac has heavy furniture, but they make it through alright. Jehan brings a daffodil up to him and explains that it stands for new beginnings. Courfeyrac smiles and without hesitation wraps him into a warm hug to thank him.
The two fall into a quick friendship. Courfeyrac almost never spends time in the apartment when Jehan is downstairs. Jehan jokes that he's paying rent for nothing. Courfeyrac counters that he'll spend his money how he likes, and if he wants to hang out and watch his friend tend to the flowers, then that is what he will do. He mostly watches as stems get cut and ribbons get tied, occasionally entertaining with an off-key song, but more often begging Jehan to recite poetry. He always asks to hear something that he wrote himself, but will settle for anything just to hear his voice.
One day Jehan wakes to the sound of pouring rain. He sighs and straps on his helmet for a long bike-ride to work. When he arrives, he starts a fire in the old fire place and sits at his old table to write, not expecting any customers. Courfeyrac comes down quietly so as not to disturb his friend, and after inspecting the flowers, he gathers a handful of pretty blue short-stemmed ones that are mostly just used for decoration. He pulls a chair up behind Jehan and works his fingers through his soaking wet hair, smoothing out the tangles before setting it into a French braid and weaving the flowers in as he goes along.
He secures it with one of the ribbons – a yellow one because Jehan has never worried about matching – and Jehan turns to face him with what look like tears in his eyes and a soft smile. It might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him, but he doesn't say that. He will write about it later. Instead, he walks over and picks up a yellow rose to tuck behind Courfeyrac's ear. In explanation he says simply: friendship.
Courfeyrac brings down a blanket and lets Jehan borrow some of his clothes so his own can dry. The sweater is a bit big for Jehan, who makes a show of flapping the too-long sleeves around like a bird and smiling. It makes Courfeyrac laugh, and he bends down to pick up a flower that had fallen out of Jehan's braid and replaces it for him before grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. They sit comfortably together like that for the rest of the day, talking softly and watching the rain, and when it's closing time, Courfeyrac offers to take Jehan home, so he doesn't get soaked again.
After that day, the two of them become inseparable. They told each other a lot to begin with, but there are no secrets between them now. When Jehan has to run to the store to pick up supplies for the shop, Courfeyrac tags along. When Courfeyrac makes lunch, he always makes extra to take down to Jehan, and when he makes dinner, he always sets an extra place at his table. Jehan thought he spent most of his time at the shop before Courfeyrac moved in, but now he's hardly ever home. Courfeyrac turns the joke about paying for nothing back on him. Jehan justifies his payments by saying that he needs to sleep somewhere and is then offered a permanent spot on his friend's couch.
Occasionally he takes Courfeyrac up on that offer, on nights when he stays too late talking or when it's raining too hard to bike home. One of these nights, Courfeyrac looks at his friend sleeping on the small couch and decides that it's no place for a good night's sleep. Jehan is small, but the couch is smaller, and Courfeyrac's bed has more than enough room for the two of him. He wraps his arms around the other man and lifts him carefully so as not to wake him. Jehan doesn't stir as he is moved, doesn't wake as he is tucked under the covers, and sleeps through the small kiss pressed to his forehead.
When Jehan wakes, it's to light streaming in through the window and into his face, making his hair shine on his pillow. Which is odd because Jehan's bed isn't near a window. His eyebrows knit together in confusion as he takes in his surroundings and the arm across his middle before he realizes where he is and whom the arm belongs to. This probably should surprise him or make him question the nature of their relationship, but it doesn't. Instead, Jehan closes his eyes again and snuggles back into Courfeyrac with a contented smile to fall back asleep.
When he wakes again, it's due to a sudden absence of warmth from his back. He opens his eyes to a very worried looking Courfeyrac pacing the length of the room. He apologizes for something, Jehan isn't sure what, but he just holds out his arms and smiles, signaling for him to come back to bed. It's a Sunday. and he doesn't have to open the shop, so they can afford to spend the day being lazy.
Hours later, after Courfeyrac has swept the hair out of Jehan's eyes at least three times, after Jehan has written a small poem in ballpoint pen on Courfeyrac's arm, after Courfeyrac has pinned Jehan down playfully and tickled him until he squealed, Jehan sits up suddenly and promises to be right back. Courfeyrac stares after him, and true to his word, he comes bounding back up the stairs in no time at all and practically skips back over to him, something behind his back. He reveals a red carnation, holds it out to show Courfeyrac before placing it in a vase at his bedside.
When asked what this one means, Jehan turns almost as red as the flower but doesn't break eye contact as he whispers the word admiration. Courfeyrac sits up on his knees on the bed and reaches out to take hold of Jehan's face, pulling him closer. He pauses for a moment to read the expression on his friend's face. His eyes are wide with what is probably shock but there is no hesitation there. Slowly, almost painfully so, he guides him closer and closer still until their faces are just inches apart and then finally leans in to close what's left of the space between them.
Jehan responds by reaching up and twisting his fingers in Courfeyrac's curls, anchoring himself to his best friend. Too soon they break apart, but Courfeyrac thinks that he would be just fine if the smile on Jehan's face now was the only thing he saw for the rest of his life. He grabs the collar of Jehan's shirt and tugs him gently back onto the bed where they share another kiss that lasts much longer than the first.
After that day, the two of them are all about subtle, warm glances and stolen kisses and catching the other off guard with hugs. Courfeyrac sits on the table with his hand resting on top of Jehan's free one while he writes poem after poem about everything from waking up to Courfeyrac to falling asleep with him.
When Courfeyrac does wake him up, it's usually with little kisses peppered along his face, neck, and collarbone, sometimes accompanied by whispered good mornings and swirled patterns traced with his finger along Jehan's forearm. When Jehan is the first to wake, he hugs Courfeyrac closer and watches him sleep, hundreds of poetic words swimming in his head, but none he could do justice by writing down. He watches the sunlight pour over the curls he so loves to touch and the way his eyelashes cast shadows across his cheekbones. He watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and slight smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth when he's having a good dream.
At night when the two fall into bed, they immediately reach for each other, fitting themselves together like they seem to have been born to be. Jehan is the perfect size to nestle his head into the space between Courfeyrac's head and shoulder, and Courfeyrac loves to bury his face in the long hair and play with the strands as they tell each other whispered stories which fade to small words and declarations of affection murmured in the dark as sleep washes over them and they instinctively hold each other closer before drifting off.
Courfeyrac learns to care for the flowers and make arrangements and then insists that Jehan take some time off every now and then to just relax. Even on those days, Jehan still sits at the table in the corner and writes, not wanting to be away from the flower shop and the boy – his boy – who lives above it.
On particularly nice days, they hang a 'gone to lunch' sign on the door and pack themselves a picnic to eat in the meadow nearby. Courfeyrac spends all morning making sandwiches on these days, and occasionally he even bakes cookies. Cookie days are Jehan's favorite days, but he has long since decided that any day spent with Courfeyrac is his favorite day. As they sit on the grass, Jehan braids a daisy chain and places it around Courfeyrac's head like a crown. Courfeyrac takes his hand and twines their fingers together effortlessly, something they have plenty of practice doing, and Jehan tells him he looks like a flower prince. Courfeyrac counters with “what's a prince without his lover?” before picking a daisy of his own to tuck behind Jehan's ear. Jehan thinks it's one of the most poetic things he's ever said and turns it into a sonnet later.
The summer months are hot, and the windows of the little flower shop are always open enough to let a warm breeze blow through. Jehan picks up the ability to sense when it will rain just from the smell of the air around them, though Courfeyrac is skeptical and thinks he just watches the forecast. One night when he senses it, he grabs Courfeyrac's arm and pulls him away from his work. He drags him right out the front door and onto the dusty cobblestone street, and they wait for the rain that hasn't been predicted. When the first few drops fall, Jehan seeks validation and praise for his talents, and Courfeyrac admits that his skepticism was misplaced. Beaming with pride, Jehan holds out a hand and lets the drops fall onto his skin.
When the drops come quicker, Jehan begins to spin and leap about in a kind of ecstatic rain dance. Courfeyrac watches this for a while with a smile before deciding that he's going to get wet either way and joins in, wrapping his arms around Jehan's waist. He lifts him and twirls him round and round, and the rain is coming even harder now. When he sets him down again, they're both grinning and laughing, and Jehan can't resist raising up on his toes and pressing a kiss to Courfeyrac's nose. This favor is returned in the form of another kiss, this time a proper one. Jehan flings his arms around his lover and holds tight, and he thinks that this moment rivals any he's ever read about in poems.
At the first sign of thunder, the two retreat back inside to the apartment and get cozy and dry underneath blankets. When the power goes out, Jehan finds a few candlesticks, lights them, and places them on the table. He thinks the way that Courfeyrac looks in the candle light – the flame dancing its way across his skin and casting shadows that illuminate his features beautifully – could be the subject of a whole volume of poetry and commits himself to writing it.
He finds a pen on the table, but it's too dark to find any paper now. He settles for Courfeyrac's arm, and once he fills the space there, he delicately removes Courfeyrac's shirt and marks the newly revealed skin with his words as well. When he finishes, Courfeyrac wants to know what it says, and Jehan reads it aloud to him, turning his arm this way and that to read the words, getting distracted every now and then by the overwhelming urge to kiss the soft skin at his wrist, his collar, his stomach. He thinks that poems should be written about these things too, but he has no space left, so instead he settles for kissing every inch of Courfeyrac he can find.
That night when they make love, it's gentle and touching, and while Jehan has only ever read about such things, Courfeyrac assures him that he does just fine – wonderful, even. It's not perfect, but if it was, it wouldn't be Jehan. Afterwords, they settle into their comfortable routine of holding each other, and Courfeyrac absentmindedly swirls one end of the ribbon that had been tied in Jehan's hair over his delicate skin in a sort of rhythmic pattern that contents the both of them, and they fall asleep sated.
It is Courfeyrac who wakes first the next morning, but instead of immediately waking the man sleeping beside him, he quietly pads downstairs. He returns with a bouquet of roses that he had put together himself, red this time. He doesn't know as much about flowers as Jehan, and he probably never will, but he knows enough to say what he needs to say. He takes one of the blooms in his hand and then snuggles back against Jehan's side. He begins to trace patterns along Jehan's chest with the rose much like he had done last night with the ribbon until Jehan opens his eyes with a whispered good morning and a smile. Courfeyrac takes his face in his hands and kisses him passionately before pulling away and handing him the rose.
Of course Jehan knows what red roses stand for, but he's not one to jump to conclusions, especially with Courfeyrac. When he looks up at him, it's with a question in his eyes. Courfeyrac nods, handing him the rest of the bouquet before whispering the words the flowers stand for into Jehan's neck. The flowers are set aside as Jehan sits up, pulls Courfeyrac into the biggest hug he possibly can, and then plants kisses all over his face before returning the words: I love you, too. It feels strange on his tongue, but he thinks that it's probably because it's been living in his head for so long. He says it again and again, and so does Courfeyrac, and now that they've said it once, they aren't sure that they can stop saying it.
Deep down, Jehan doesn't think ever they will.