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You’d been generously invited to your partner’s place for a little hangout date. As your partner was Cagney Carnation, however, you weren’t at any old house. You’d received the privilege of being able to enter and spend time in it without being shouted at or chased out (a rarity for the flower). One would think it would come automatically with the designation of “partner”, but Cagney was, if anything, cautious. Then again, if your house was unwalled and seemed part of a public area (complete with randos walking in by accident), you’d be selective about who you let in too.
Regardless, you’d jumped at the chance, and you were there the day after the offer had been extended. Dressed in your favourites (casual, of course) to ensure you were presentable, you waved hello to Cagney as you approached. He visibly relaxed as you did so, and you resisted the urge to sigh. Stress was going to kill the poor guy, one way or another. You knew where he was coming from, for most issues, but it always seemed like he had more on his plate than you. As for why that was, well, you hadn’t been able to piece that together just yet. You would though, one day. Hopefully, one day very soon.
“Good afternoon, Cags! I’m here, just as promised.”
A tiny smile crept onto your partner’s face as you made your way up the dirt path that allowed you space to walk without crushing any of his flowers. Once you reached the clearing at the top of one of the rolling hills, Cagney dusted off his hands and wrapped you in a hug. You reciprocated, your hands finding solace along his cool, smooth stem.
“Thank you.” The comment was whispered into your ear right before Cagney pulled away and straightened up.
“Aww, what for?”
He looked a little sheepish, glancing out at the ocean before his eyes wandered back down to yours. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Preposterous! I love you. I’ve told you before. It looks like I’m going to need to again.”
Cagney rolled his eyes again, but he was still smiling. You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t annoyed. Sometimes, your beloved just acted like this. His reasons were always funny to you. The security issues, as if he wasn’t twenty feet tall and couldn’t intimidate whoever he wanted. The anxiety around getting too attached to you, as if you’d find it weird and push him away. The guilt about “being a dick” to you before he knew you. It was your turn to roll your eyes whenever he brought things like those up. You’d gotten over the latter, the former was inconceivable, and it was all a little ridiculous. Instead of running the risk of making his situation worse, though, you’d always snuggle as close as he’d let you and wrap yourself around his stem instead. The eye rolls never made a difference.
You turned your attention to the nearest section of his field. The ground looked damper, and there were tiny water droplets on the leaves of the flowers. Beside the tree in the clearing, you spotted a large watering can, and smirked to yourself.
“Ooh, what’cha got going on here? You murmured, crouching to get a better look at the recently-attended-to plants.
Finally, you saw a little life return to your partner’s eyes.
“Just some new arrivals. Don’t need them dryin’ up on me so early.”
You stood up, trotted back over to Cagney, and leaned your head on his stem. His hand wrapped around you, squeezing just a little.
“Makes sense! Soo, when’d you bring them here?”
Cagney bent his stem to mimic sitting, and you did the same, plopping yourself down onto the ground. It wasn’t muddy where you were, and you could worry about dusting yourself off later. You took the opportunity that came with your proximity, and leaned into Cagney again. His arm returned to your side, squeezing you in close while you avoided any thorns.
“Just yesterday, actually. Found ‘em in the forest, all shrivelled up. If ya look at that dahlia there, it’s got a chunk missin’ from one of its leaves. I reckon somethin’ tried to eat it, but didn’t like the taste much.” Cagney chuckled, looking down at you. “I hear they’re fine for ya to eat, but not for dogs.”
“Oh, really? Hm. Interesting. Aren’t dahlias native to more mountainous places?”
“Well, yeah, as long as they’re warm year-round. That’s why I was surprised to find ‘em. They shouldn’t have been there.”
You tilted your head, taking a quick scan of the rest of his field before looking back at him. “Do you think someone put them there?”
“Ugh, probably. They looked like they’d been planted. No fuckin’ wonder they were dyin’. I swear, if ya can’t take care of something, don’t get it in the first place. Just makes life harder for everyone else.”
You hadn’t thought that someone would abandon plants just like that. You’d heard of rather cruel or rather desperate people doing so to their pets if they were unable to take care of them, but dahlias? You shook your head to yourself. Perhaps you just weren’t in the right sphere to encounter these problems on the regular. Either way, it was sad. It wasn’t like plants were inanimate objects, and especially not the flowers that lived in Inkwell.
“Well, it was good of you to take them in. I don’t know how, um, dried out they were when you found them, but they look pretty good right now.”
Cagney shrugged. “I guess. I gotta see if they’re good with the soil pH though.”
You blinked away your momentary confusion. Maybe your partner had been a chemist in a past life. Maybe he’d done his research, or heard talk about it. Maybe it was one of those things he could just sense about the soil (which he had a tendency to do, hence why he’d chosen the specific clearing he inhabited in the first place). Maybe it was a secret fourth thing you’d never find out about. At the end of the day, did it really matter, so long as everything was running smoothly?
“Right. Do you usually do anything else for your transplants?”
“Fertilizer, shade, extra attention if they need it…Not everything in here’s sentient, but they seem to respond better if ya give ‘em a little extra love.”
You nodded sagely. You’d heard tales of people talking to their plants, or playing music for them, to encourage healthy growth. It was something you had been meaning to try. Perhaps you’d finally get around to it, now that the idea had floated back to the front of your mind. Why not, right? The only potential detriment was your plants turning out to be sentient and making fun of you for it (as Cagney’s daisies had done for something similar).
“Well, if we’re talking about extra love, maybe I could help you.”
“Huh? I mean, it’d be appreciated, but ya don’t have to—”
“Oh, calm down. I’m more than happy to. What can I get started with?”
“I…” Cagney’s eyes drifted towards the half-hidden, abandoned watering can before snapping back to you. “Only if you’re sure. Putting ya to work on what’s supposed to be somethin’ like a date feels draconian.”
You rolled your eyes as you got up and strode towards the watering can. “I wouldn’t worry about it. You’d help me with housework if you got the chance. Plus, gardening doesn’t always have to make for a bad date. Where can I start?”
Cagney straightened up, sighing quietly. “If you insist, the daffodils.”
“You got it!”
Your partner himself attended to another nearby section of the garden while you got to work watering the daffodils. The watering can was heavy, but its weight didn’t crush you. With some difficulty, you completed the task, humming as you did so.
“They smell lovely. This whole place does.”
Cagney snorted. “I’d sure hope so. Not any carrion flowers around these parts.”
“...Carrion flowers…?”
Your partner continued to remove some stray weeds a few feet to your left. “Yeah. Ones that smell like corpses; dead things.”
“Oh!”
“Don’t worry, they’ve got nothing to do with ‘em other than the smell. And no, it’s not ‘cause they go around collecting rotting flesh.”
While it was a bizarre topic of focus, it did have its intrigue.
“I see. What kind of carrion flowers are there?”
“Ah. Well, there’s bulbophyllum, smilax, or, uh, nemexia, whichever ya prefer, stapelia, rafflesia, and amorphophallus. Those are separate genera. Stuff gets specific the further down ya get.”
“I see! How interesting,” you mused, briefly setting down the (somewhat lighter) watering can. “Where else do you want me to…?”
“That’s good for now. Thanks, sunshine.”
You smiled, giving Cagney’s stem a little squeeze. “How’s the weeding going?”
“Eh, irritating as usual. The damn things can’t seem to take no for an answer.”
You empathized with that. In your experience, weeds were always more persistent than they needed to be. It seemed almost unheard of for the literal sentient plant (who should ideally have more authority over fellow plants, all things considered) to have a similar problem, but you supposed weeds were really just little opportunistic anarchists. All the power to them, in that regard. That didn’t make them any less annoying to deal with, though, especially not if they started choking out the plants you actually wanted to grow. The ones in Cagney’s garden were small at the moment, indicating he’d done this same thing not too long ago, but that didn’t make them a non-issue.
But you were getting too deep into the weeds, so much so that you missed out on the flowers. Returning your attention to the only flora that really mattered, you smiled, flushing slightly as he pulled the last spiteful weed from the dirt. Once it had been…taken care of…Cagney turned back to you with a bashful little grin on his face. You cackled, nearly tackling him as you rushed over to give him a hug. Many things in life were unexpected for Cagney, your sudden presence being one of them. The both of you toppled to the ground, your arms around each other. No dirt made any difference to you.
Cagney joined you in your laughing fit, squeezing you tight. His stem’s state was adjusted to ensure there would be no accidental impalements. Once satisfied, you snuggled closer, moving one hand to play with the pointed end of his nearest petal. The way your partner went slightly pink was enough to encourage you to continue. (not like you needed the extra motivation).
“You’re just adorable,” you murmured into Cagney’s stem, feeling for his hand and taking it in yours once you found it.
The receiver of your affectionate words turned away with a scoff. His lack of words told you enough about what he was thinking.
I ain’t cute, or Haven’t ya looked in a mirror?
Cagney’s classic responses for that sort of thing. Silly on the outside, but terribly self-depreciating once you looked deeper. No matter. You’d break down those habits one day at a time, maybe not until he was no longer grumpy, but at the very least, until he was convinced he did actually look good. Judging by the way Cagney stopped outright fighting you, though, you might be winning. That was going to do excellent, totally normal things to your ego. Which you would certainly not be bragging about later.
“Nothing to say for yourself this time…?”
“...”
You released the end of the petal you’d been toying with, giving Cagney’s stem a little kiss before turning over onto your side. You admired the bit of gardening you’d shared (it wasn’t much, but it was honest work) before looking out on the sea. It sparkled in the afternoon sun, not quite reflecting in such a way that would blind you. It was perfect. The more you could see, the better. Especially if it meant looking back over at your partner, who was bright red, his smile cutting through his flustered expression.
Yeah, he was dead wrong about not being cute.