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Seeing Pendour had helped, somehow. Syrus couldn’t place his finger on it as he paced the length of his home; and the letter Nikki had given him ended up in a fresh envelope, with a handmade wax seal. He thought Nikki might have liked it, the hue of link, the vibrancy of a butterfly mark. That the inside was spritzed in mild rose-oil musk. Syrus decided something as large and serious as he felt this item was deserved his time; his effort, his utmost care in the matter of handling and delivery.

He wasn’t about to let Nikki down. Not a second time. He’d never let Matt down again, not if he could help it.

Thinking of them all — the people he’d known — met — would be meeting if Nikki had her way? It bolstered him out of the hasty rage and flame-warped plotting path he’d started on three weeks ago. Cooled his temper and given space to his sadness. Made him see pinks instead of reds and courage instead of vengeance. Syrus was ever so hopeful, and he felt like he had to be, didn’t he?

Especially for this—-

The plunge he took, held breath exhaled and frown yanked up into a smile and if he couldn’t keep the sadness from his eyes who cared? Let Matt see the cracks in his mask. Syrus opened the door to the floral shop that’s been open little more than an hour or two — exhaled shakily — took that plunge inside.

His legs wanted to give out — his stomach churn up — but he kept moving into the gorgeous, cozy, earthen space. A snake in his lover— ex-lovers — garden. A thorny, unwanted weed, and yet? Hope kept him anchored there, hope — and a mission from Nikki.

“Mr. Gowan!” high, light, waivering. In his left hand he held the precious envelope emblazoned with Nikki’s symbol. With his right, he waved in greeting. And if the hand which held the letter trembled with his efforts to keep from curling it into a fist, the resisted urge to feel nails biting skin until his heart just — <******** — *stopped* — with all the aching going on.

Well— ******** — he hoped nobody noticed. Not the flowers, not the man he turned eyes reflecting mixed sadness too. If his face betrayed one emotion, then his voice did another, and Syrus hoped Matt wouldn’t call him on it. Desperately so!He hoped the man would leave untouched his false cheer and half-hearted smile.

'If I can just get through this first—-If he lets me get through this——' Syrus, quietly promising himself he could fall apart again after the job was done. Maybe even as soon as the letter was handed over? He could breathe again then — could fall at Matt’s feet and weep, or—-

“Of course I’m back? I’m sure I said I’d be— though maybe that sentiment ended up in the hands of whoever sends the pictures and texts out?” hope licked the edges of his words, fell into a shrug, a valley of nonchalance. There was a tightness around Syrus’s eyes, a redness, shadows that spoke of little sleep and a poor attempt at applying creams to hide it. Tightness that spoke of determination — as his voice dipped out of the valley of strangers exchanging pleasantries and became chipped with seriousness.

“Regardless— I’m nothing if not a man of my word.” He meant it, every word. Stared into Matt like he wanted to write those words into the other man’s skin.like he longed to strip him down and do it right there with the edge of a perfectly cut rose— “And that last arrangement was so heartbreakingly stunning! I just had to come back and commission another.”

To beg Matt do it to him instead, the man who was an artist? A calligrapher? Who had steady hands and vicious skills. Who was beautiful, even with the mask of employee firmly in place—-

So beautiful….

It was Matt.

It was Matt all along, the whole time, and to think he could’ve been texting him!! Syrus didn’t know what possessed him, what look settled on his face. What crushed bit of hope bloomed there. Because if he’d known ******** would’ve what, exactly? Texted more back? Told Matt how he really felt? Shown him — shown him the way he cried over those flowers and how his heart bled for the beauty in them. For all of Matthew’s unrealized potential! The way Syrus only wanted to strip him of it now — to take it all away — or not — what if he didn’t have to?! What if they could make their original plan work in reverse and love each other from the other side and ——-

“I don’t think it’s quite an apology this time.” Syrus swallowed tightly, cleared his throat the tiniest bit and tried to — to fix his face into something that showed less.

T r i e d —

“Though, you’re right to have me pegged as someone who tends to need to do a lot of apologizing. I never thought it was in my nature to offend other people so much.” He hummed, brushed the malaise off, tried again while pushing a few loose, blond strands back behind his ear.

“It’s always the littlest things that do the most harm…..and always to the people closest to us….” Wishing only that it were like that. That it was simple. That he hadn’t hurt the very person he felt closest too. “But no— this time?” shaking his head, he finally did find another tremulous smile.

“I need something that symbolizes friendship, eternity, love in all its forms? Hope might be a better description?” His eyes cleared a bit, the peel of sun coming out as he forced his thoughts to shift gears, as he fixed on a point beyond both of them.

“Hope and Love.” a firm nod, this time. “And I’ve always associated love with pink—but outside of Valentine’s Day? I can’t imagine what it’d look like. A bunch of roses aren’t specific enough. They just won’t do for this.” Syrus pressed, let his mouth run on as he offered up the task he knew only Matt could master. Laid a trap of his feelings for the other man to fall into. In this they could share — in this only — and Syrus would take hold of every scrap. Would throw out compliments he knew Matt would never hear otherwise!

“So— with that in mind? I look to you again for this. You’re maybe the only person I can count on — Ah — the only florist who could bring a person to tears with their arrangement.”

“You really are so….” Syrus tried not to shiver, to let that word leave his mouth breathless and shuddery, he could clear his throat and swallow his voice but he couldn’t wipe the wonder from his eyes without starting something up all anew and completely unsuited for a public place.

The crimes he would’ve committed for the chance to reach out and take Matt away! He had the power now, they had the time now, he could forgo all this bullshit and just take what he wanted and keep the man that held his heart in a vice grip without even trying! Never in his life had he heard flowers described as beautifully as this. Like sonnets, like feelings, like sentience set into living color and sweet smells.

He wished he’d seen it sooner, that he hadn’t let it all go to waste. All those gold flashes in the pan and only now did he miss what he’d thrown into the mud, like a coward, like a man who’d hedged too many bets for too long and if he’d known paying the price would feel like this?

If only, if only—

“Hah–it shouldn’t surprise me, should it? To learn that a florist is as adept in their craft as you’ve proven to be – that a writer can – and I don’t mean to assume that you wrote the letter yourself?” he shrugged, a hand coming up to nervously rub at one shoulder as he wavered another second on holding the letter out, on handing it over.

He was hoping–

No, he knew. Unmistakeable, beautiful as a flowing spring. It had to have been Matt’s handwriting—

“But I do like the consistency of dealing with a single individual throughout, from purchase, to creation. It ensures a kind of – proper care and handling? The people I give these kinds of bouquets to require exactly that level of professionalism .... perfectionism at its core.…” There was more he wanted to say, more than what fell out his mouth and aching throat. He wanted to apologize, with every fiber of his being. To do it properly this time! To just—

“Something I’ve come to appreciate from you and you alone….” And he couldn’t, couldn’t risk baiting the man again, couldn’t play his full hand, couldn’t abuse Matt’s love! Not ever again. Not now. Not until he was sure the man his heart melted for had the whole picture, clear and true. It took a whole nother breath to steady himself before he finally did hand the letter over, a solemn look in his eyes.

“I’ve only the one more request then? You won’t need to write the script yourself this time. If you could simply attach this to the delivery…..an-and please address it once more to Mr. Matthew Gowan.” He almost lost it there, tripped at the finish line, he wasn’t sure how he managed to give the letter up without bolting from the store in a fit of weeping that’d scare even the damned. He thought that maybe if he didn’t meet Matt’s eyes – if he didn’t blink – if he could just – if he could throw money at the counter and make a hasty retreat?! Did he ask how much? Did he just lay down a card and tell Matt to take his money if he would take nothing else!?

“I–really should keep a list of your prices at this point…if I’m going to keep returning. T-to make it easier on you, naturally.”

“Because the Daughter of the Moon isn’t who I’m missing most right now…” and he was thinking of her, always, was thinking of her as he made the stamp and sealed the letter so neatly away in blooming rose oils and butterfly motifs inlaid amongst the brief typed over bit of white parchment. He wouldn’t ever not be thinking of her, he feared, hoped, was glad for!

But at this moment?

With Matt close enough to breathe the words into his ear, close enough to throw himself at, to hear the way Syrus gasped in a hushed inhale while the man he loved most in the world for some insane reason leant so – so – sooo close!!

Matt was the one he was missing most right now. To say anything else would’ve been a lie, to deny the way his heart sped up behind his chest, the way he wanted everything to be better even if just by the smallest degree. To return to the norm – or some approximation? Maybe the rings had been to quick, maybe the dating, maybe –

There were a million what ifs, howevers, maybeys….

“Maybe—maybe someday? Maybe on the day I finally learn your pricing by heart. After I’ve come back to ask you again, and again, and finally–– When I finally decide I’m ready to give her one of your bouquets, instead of giving them to you, giving you something the only way I know how?!” He was ranting, rambling, he bit his lip and shook his head and the cracked note in Matt’s laugh hurt like a burn. The wild edged bitterness that he didn’t want his love to feel. That he would’ve taken – frozen over – ******** healed if Matt would only let him!! It was hard to find steadiness in his tone, to not waiver on the cliff of tearfulness. “Then–in words either of us need her to hear, the kind that can only be expressed in flowers….”

“Maybe then we can give one to her together.” He couldn’t keep Matt’s gaze, tossed melting blues over the man's shoulder and bit into his own frown, keeping his words soft and muttered. “It could be different next time, Matt.” He knew what was in Nikki’s note, knew it was different already, but not in a bad way, not in a way that was a closed door on futures and change!!

“It could be different now.”

The charade he’d tried so hard to keep up, to hold onto, tooth and nail, unfeeling, unkind. Oh, but he had never been so good an actor around Matt. Not once in the short time of knowing him, had always felt the pull of honesty since he’d let the other Senshi in through his roof, felt that kinship that burned brightly even at a distance.

He couldn’t—-

“Please? Please—I’m so…” he was sorry, and he’d tried not to drag Matt into this! But he was sorry! Had been then, was still now, it hadn’t faded with weeks under the covers, or with Pendour telling him to focus on himself and find his own reasons. The homework pathway that’d set him on the idea and lit the initial fire that’d driven him to come *back* to deliver Nikki’s note instead of avoiding that most important of tasks.

“I should leave. I think. I should…” hoarse whisper of uncertainty, and his feet might as well have been nailed to the floor for all that he wasn’t moving an inch. For all that he could only seem to wrap his arms around himself and cast his eyes on everything below Matt’s collar bones. It would’ve been unbearable to look – to see – gods, whatever was on Matt's face? Whatever was in his gaze?! And Syrus recognized he was still a coward in some ways. Even now. Especially now, watching all his carefully laid plans fall apart and come to nothing like the way he’d told himself they’d be.

It was like the universe had imploded, there was no distant, slow sucking black hole. Just a super nova, world ending, life shattering, faster than light.

His mind raced with it—- through consequences — through actions — through options left open to him? He even entertained the idea that Matt couldn’t possibly be saying these things to him, the implications of them, that there was no way for it to be real. But those were his loves lips speaking them, his loves body, his —

It was all Matt, wholly himself. Not a zombie, not a man possessed, not a body snatched by some ancient evil of an other.

No. It was Matthew. Clear as day and crystal blue waters it was indeed Matt stil standing before him no matter how many times he blinked!!!

Syrus wanted to scream —- ‘She’s your partner too! She cares about you, too! We love you both! Endlessly, in spite of it all, you b*****d! I love you regardless!! How dare you!’

Lacked the will, the air, the strength to make a scene or to make himself out to be even more the fool in this scenario. He wondered what Matt would’ve done if he had? Called the police? Called his father? Did Syrus want that—-

Gods — for a sheer, split and violent fraction of a moment? He did. He wanted the flower shop to burn, and Matt’s legacy to burn. For all of it to burn the same way his soul did in the face of what felt like adamant rejection.

He stood there far longer than he’d wanted to, with everything a static haze in his vision even though Matt’s words were perfectly clear in his ears. The level of disorienting it all was. To hear what he wanted least to hear — to feel numb and shaken for it. He couldn’t bring himself to give the man an answer, simply slid his card onto the countertop next to the register.

He waited, listening for the beeps – as the seconds dragged on like an eternity – slow moving, suffocating things. He didn’t wait for a receipt this time, or to exchange more niceties, smiles, and politeness. No, the second he felt that cold, thin piece of plastic back in his hands he turned and fled at a walking pace.

The delicate echoing chime heralding his exit from the shoppe with a name whose significance he still didn’t know.

He wasn’t welcome to it—

He wasn’t wanted here.

If Matthew thought he wasn’t coming back?!

He texted the shop number from not even a block away. Some cold, hard, empty bit of text devoid of discernible feeling.

No — not that — there was a feeling within it. Syrus simply couldn’t discern it, not while wiping his eyes between jamming out letters, swiping scalding tears off smudged, protective glass.

The feelings were everything — they were nothing — he hit — ‘SEND’

He went home……he had to get in touch with Nikki soon.