Work Text:
The little chime above the metal door rings out its welcome as the two men walk through the door, one headstrong, shoulders squared and eyes forward, radiating sickening confidence and ego, while the other is hunched, thin and quiet, full of doubts, insecurities, fear .
"Don't touch anything." The older man spits out as he walks towards the counter, towards where another voice had called out from another room, "One second!"
Flash doesn’t look at his father, just nods once and continues to start at his feet, shoulders slouched, face empty of any emotion. He does glance up, though, taking a brief look of the flower shop they had found themselves in.
It was small and squared shaped, could only fit around 5 or so customers in it, but it was also surprisingly welcoming. There were two shelves near the end of the room, opposite to the counter, that held most of the flowers, but aside from that, flowers seemed to grow out of every crack in the foundations. There were flowers on tables, flowers hanging from the ceiling, there were even flowers that seemed to be floating midair, somehow, all bright colors, some long and some short, some luscious and new, some starting to wither, some stalks vibrant green and others a dusty darker brownish green. There were everywhere , scattered all around the place, seemingly no rhyme or rhythm to it, just plants and tags wherever they could fit. It's chaotic, mismatched, imperfect . Free.
And Flash loves it. Loves the sweet smell burning his nostrils, loves the disorder, the imperfection, longs for it.
But he can’t say that. Can’t say anything. Can't do anything. So, he glances back down at his feet, and instead of exploring like he yearns to, he trudges over to stand beside his father, dragging his feet the entire way.
His father is already talking to the other person behind the counter, so Flash starts to tune in, not looking at the work as he listens. "-and you know how women get, right?"
"Oh yes," The other person's voice is deeper, but smooth, rich, and he lets out a laugh, but it sounds fake, almost bitter to Flash, his eyes shooting up his surprise. He takes in the worker's appearance quickly, brown hair, wearing a green apron, before he quickly looks over to his father with wide eyes and tense body posture, ready for him to snap. But his father looks oblivious to the plasticity of the laugh, just continuing the grin at the man as he continues to speak, "Of course. So, you want an apology bouquet?"
Flash feels a vile laugh bubbling up his throat, but he swallows it down quickly, dropping his gaze once more. He wonders what his father is apologizing for this time. Getting drunk? Yelling? Throwing things? Hitting ?
"Yes please," His father responds, taking his wallet out of his back pocket, and slapping a few hundred dollar bills on the counter. "The most expensive one you can make."
"Yes sir," The other person sounds surprised, still put together, professional, as he puts the money into the register and goes to start the bouquet.
As smart as he is, Flash doesn't really connect the dots that making a bouquet means getting the flowers , until another pair of feet stops right in front of his own, and the soothing voice of the worker returns with a quick "excuse me".
His head jerks upwards, and as soon as their eyes connect, it feels like his head stops, his breath getting caught in his throat. Sharp, piercing crystal blue eyes stare back at him, swirling with focus, but also friendliness, kindness, and a hint of… sympathy? He has pointed features, sharp brows and a pointed jaw, youthful, a light smile on his face pushing up his rounder cheeks, his dusty brown hair pushed to the side. His beige uniform has one button undone, showing off some of his chest, his pronounced collarbones and lithe shoulders, the bright green apron snitched at his waist and showing how thin, but firm, muscular, his body really is.
Flash realizes his staring, and swallows, moving out of the way rapidly with a small apology, flinching as he feels a heated glare on his back, knowing his father noticed his pause, noticed his staring .
The other man, who Flash now notices looks almost his own age, young and spry, gives Flash another unknown look, his light smile tilting into a slight frown, before he starts back on his mission of grabbing the flowers needed.
Flash releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, only to tense up again when his father places a hand on his lower back. A signal, a warning. Strike one. Although it's more like the millionth strike at this point, Flash can never do anything right for his father. For anything or anyone, honestly. '" you worthless leech of a son!"'
Before his thoughts can spiral any further, the worker returns behind the counter, holding a big bouquet, full of pink, red and purple flowers, with lots of leaves and stems tucked in there too. It was huge, beautiful, and looked expensive, exactly what his father was looking for. The worker gives it to the man with a tight smile, his eyes alight with an amusement that Flash doesn't understand. "Here ya go, sir." And then he turns to Flash, and his smile goes lax, becomes more real, eyes softening as he pulls another, much smaller but still beautiful bouquet from behind his back, and hands it out to him. "And one for you, too."
Before Flash can reach out to take it, his father steps in front of him, holding his hands out diplomatically. "Oh no, we only need one-"
The worker just plants on a big, friendly smile, looking back to Flash, staring straight into his soul as he reassures, "It’s on the house." And holds out the bouquet again.
Flash glances at his father, who purses his lips and looks disgruntled, but nods once and waves in a 'get on with it' way that makes Flash surge forward and grab the gorgeous orange, pink and white flowers, pressing them tightly to his quickly warming chest with a small smile and a quiet "Thank you".
He sees the worker light up at his reaction, and feels another spark of warmth in his chest before it’s immediately squashed by his father putting a hand on his shoulder and forcefully pushing him towards the door, towards the limo they came in, towards his inevitable doom.
"Have a nice day!" The worker calls out after them as they leave, and Flash wants to yell it back, wants to duck under his father's arm, get to know the worker better, wants to stay , but, as if his father could read his mind, the hand tightens, grabbing onto the fabric of his shirt as he basically throws Flash into the limo, getting in elegantly after. Flash stares at the light coming from outside, his saving grace, before their butler slams the door shut, and his fate is sealed.
Flash braces, clutching onto the bouquet tightly, and sure enough, as soon as the long car starts to move, his father starts yelling. Yelling and screaming, about how he shouldn’t have bothered the nice worker, of how he shouldn’t have gotten in the way, of how useless he was, worthless, how he couldn't even do one thing right.
He tries to ignore it all, even as tears blur his eyes and cascade down his cheeks. He tries to ignore it, ignore his father, his dad’s harsh, unforgiving words, instead trying to focus on the bouquet in his hands. He stares at the pink flowers, noticing their big petals that fade of color near the tips, before looking to the orange one, noticing how the petal grows from yellow to orange, and then the white, dainty ones, looking so small and fragile, yet strong, elegant, beautiful. And, as he's noting all of these differences, he sees something yellow, and pauses. He squints and tilts his head, noticing that, dug in deep beneath the leaves and greenery, near the middle of the bouquet, sits a small yellow note. A note that only the worker could have left.
His fingers itch to take it out, to pick it up and read it, find out what the worker wanted to say, but a hand smacking him in the back of the head, hard , and the ringing in his ears reminds him that he has to wait, has to wait until he gets home, away from his father, away from his mother, away from everyone.
And that's what he does. He zones out as his father calls him a waste of space, of air and breath, watches carefully as his father storms out of the vehicle when it comes to a stop, waits moments to make sure he's really gone before booking it out and to his room, passing the multitude of servants and workers they have before closing his door softly, gently, knowing better than to slam it now. He can't ruin this chance.
He gently pries the flowers apart, making sure not to bend and break any of the petals or stems, to grab at the small piece of paper, pulling it up and out of the bouquet. The note is folding in half, so he opens it slowly with one hand, the other still clutching the bouquet to his chest, and reads the small, neat handwriting on the page.
'Alstroemeria (orange)- you'll get through this
Oleander (pink)- caution, beware
Narcissus (white)- stay as sweet as you are
I know abuse when I see it. Be safe, okay? If you need someone to talk to, or just need a friend, I'm here.'
And then there’s a number scribbled underneath. A phone number. The phone number of the worker.
Flash's heart is hammering in his chest, and he doesn't know if it's because somebody knows, ' oh god, somebody knows ', or if it's because he just got somebody's number for the first time in his life. Somebody cute , too. This is his chance, his chance to make a friend, to meet someone new, to make a good first impression for once, to get out . He reaches for his phone in his pocket, takes it out, opens it up, goes to create a contact-
No, no, he can’t go through with this! He freezes, holding the phone open in his hand, the new contact staring back at him mockingly. He can’t text this man, this stranger about his problems, even if it seems like he understands. He can’t ask this boy, who seems almost his age, to deal with his issues, to save him like he wants. He can’t do that to him.
Besides, his father’s words ringing through his head again, nobody is supposed to know. Nobody can know. If this gets out, the family reputation could be ruined, and they'll be poor, starving, on the streets, and it'll be all his fault . He can't do that. He can't.
He grits his teeth, swallows his bittersweet hope and with a shaking hand, shoves the note underneath his pillow instead of throwing it in the trash like he should, and places the bouquet on his bed, getting up to find a vase.
There's no harm in keeping it just in case, right? It's not like he's actually gonna call it or anything.
--
The phone rings in his ear as he bites his lip until it bleeds, flinching as another loud yell and a bang sounds from outside his door.
He doesn't know why he's doing this, he should've just stayed quiet, hid under his pillow and blanket like he usually does, should've just waited it out like he always does, but-
"Hello?" The same deeper, soothing voice answers, sounding kind of breathless, like he was busy.
Hot shame floods over Flash, of course he was busy, he shouldn't have called, this was so stupid, so so stupid- "Uhm, hi."
The man sounds confused as he asks, "Hello? Do I know you?"
Another bang, and a shatter sounds from behind him, and he gasps involuntarily, curling up more underneath his sheets. Finally, his brain starts to move properly, actually spitting out what he wants to say. "Oh, uh, I-I'm the kid from the- the other day? My dad- uh- he came in for a-an apology bouquet? I'm sorry, this is so stupid-"
"No, no!" The man sounds surprised, but not upset, not angry, so Flash takes that as a win. There's some shuffling in the background, before his voice cuts back in again. "It's okay! I remember you now, are- are you alright?"
He hears his mother screech something, and blinks away tears, biting at his lips again. "Uh, I-" Another crash, and a whimper escapes his lips. "I really need a distraction." He whispers quietly, ashamed, tears starting to fall as the sounds get louder, as the fighting gets worse.
"Okay, okay." The man soothes instantly, as if he can tell Flash is distraught. He probably can, from the sniffles and whimpers he's making now. "Uhh. Here, let me talk about my favorite subject, me."
Flash snorts abruptly, before catching himself with wide eyes, shocked by the sudden amusement. He hasn't- He can't remember the last time he laughed. That's-
Huh.
"So," The man cuts off his quickly spiraling thoughts, starting on his distraction. "I'm Harry," 'Harry' , Flash thinks, trying to retain that to memory. You should always remember a man's name, his father had said. It's respectful, a courtesy, a compliment. "I'm 18," So they were the same age. "And, I work at Maggie's full time. At least for the moment, until school starts back up." Flash nods, even if the man, even if Harry can't see it, sniffling and wiping his nose and eyes. It was summer, it made sense. "What about you?"
Flash stiffens. "H-huh?"
"What about you, mysterious voice over the phone?" Harry's voice is full of mirth, of teasing. "Tell me something about you."
"Oh, uhm, okay." Flash paused, shifting on his bed until he's in a more comfortable position, his body starting to relax subconsciously. "I'm- I'm Flash."
"Flash?" The boy interrupts, but he doesnt sound mocking, doesn't sound teasing anymore, just... curious. "That's different."
"Well," Flash chuckles breathily. "My name's actually Eugene, but..." He shrugs, even if the other boy can't see it, a light smile starting to tilt his lips. "Flash is cooler."
Harry barks out a sudden laugh, and Flash can't help chuckling along, the joyous feeling contagious even through the phone. "Yeah, you're right," Harry coincides, still laughing slightly. "Flash is cooler."
Flash grins, his cheeks brightening as he feels his chest fill with warmth for the first time in a while.
They keep talking, Harry telling him about how he’s going to college soon, going into a chemistry major, with maybe some biochem on the side, and Flash telling him about going for a business major, even though he isn't sure if that's what he wants to do. Tells him that they're the same age and that he's an only child (so is Harry). Tells him that he doesn't really want to take on the company once he's done school, but knowing that he has to, and Harry tells him he relates, but doesn't elaborate on why.
When Flash checks the time again, he realizes it's been an hour and a half and, as he listens closely outside his door, that the fighting has stopped. "Oh shit."
"What?" Harry sounds alert all of the sudden, on edge, and Flash shakes his head, laughing freely now, his chest loose, his shoulders relaxed.
"They stopped fighting." He murmurs. "My parents, that's- that's why I called in the first place. They stopped, and I didn't even notice."
"Guess I'm just too amazing of a distraction, eh?" Flash can hear Harry's cheeky grin, and can't stop the giggles that escape him. The boy's voice softens, goes quiet and serious as he continues, "Nah, but really, I'm glad they stopped."
"Yeah, me too." There's an awkward pause, the first one between them since they've started talking, and Flash feels a pang in his chest, almost feeling similar to loss, knowing that they should probably stop talking soon. Knowing that Harry is probably busy, and he was probably just bothering him anyways. "I'm- I'm sorry for all of this-"
"No, no! Don't apologize, this was fun!" Harry reassures quickly. "You can always call me for things like this, okay? If you just need a distraction, or someone to talk to, or-" he pauses for a second, his voice going softer again, almost timid. "Or, if you just want to. You seem like a pretty cool dude, Flash."
Flash snorts, even as his heart starts to race and his cheeks flush, even as his chest fills with a warmth, and flutters with butterflies, and-
Oh no.
"You're the worst." Flash chokes out, his mind swimming with his realization, because he couldn't actually feel this way, they've only talked for an hour, he couldn't actually- "But- you seem like a- a cool dude, too."
Oh no.
Harry just snickers at him, "Awh, so sweet." He teases, before sobering up again. "So, talk to you later?" He sounds hopeful, which doesn’t help calm Flash's heart down any. In fact, it just makes everything worse, just makes Flash hopeful too. But that's besides the point.
"Yeah, yeah, of course."
"Okay, cool!" The other boy sounds overly happy at that, which makes Flash melt. Fuck. "Cya!"
"Bye." He murmurs, before the call ends, and Flash faceplants into his pillow, groaning.
He's already falling for this boy he's only seen once, and falling hard.
God, this isn't gonna be good.
--
It isn't. Well, kind of.
They keep talking. Keep calling, starting once a week, then once every few days, and now, once a day. They text each other every chance they get, learning more and more about each other.
Flash learns that Harry relates to him more than he originally thought. That Harry used to have a father just like his, who yelled and screamed and smacked. Who held way too high of expectations, and made him feel the worst of the worst. He learns that Harry left, ran away from it all, and now lives on his own, staying in a one bedroom apartment, works for his own money (which is why he works at Maggie's, the flower shop) and is so, so much happier than he ever was under his father’s control.
He also learns the smaller things though. He learns that Harry's breath always catches before he bursts out laughing. He learns that he puts the milk in before the cereal, like a heathen. He learns that he takes thirty minute showers for literally no reason, and that he loves to just go for walks, to clear his head or just for the hell of it. He learns that Harry actually does love flowers, and knows most to all of the names and meanings to the ones in the shop. He learns that the boy is soft, kind, and overly caring, even if he puts on a snarky front.
And the more he learns, the more and more he falls.
And Harry… Harry learns just how bad the fighting truly gets.
They're on the phone again, Flash laughing brightly at something dumb that Harry said, as he usually does, when it happens.
A muffled scream, and a loud crash echoes throughout the house, causing Flash to flinch and his laughter to stop abruptly, looking back over his shoulder at the closed door. He hears Harry calling to him, sounding worried, but he ignores it for the moment, listening closely, hearing his father cursing and swearing up a storm, before footsteps, footsteps coming towards his door.
'Shit shit shitshitshit-' "I-I gotta go-" Flash goes to hang up, knowing how bad this is about to get, knowing he doesn't want Harry, his crush, his only friend to hear, but before he can press the big red button, Harry calls out a "Wait!", and Flash… well, he hesitates. He waits, just as Harry asked, but he shouldn't have, shouldn't have stopped, should've stopped the call, should've hung up, because the next thing he knows, the door is ripped open, and slammed against the wall.
Flash flinches again, harsh, and looks up to his father leering menacingly, body tilted and eyes glassy, beer bottle in hand. He drops the phone out of his hand, faintly hearing Harry call out to him again, before his father barks out, loud, thunderous, "Eugene! What have I told you about the garbage?"
Flash's eyes widen. Oh no, that's what he did, he was supposed to take the trash out, but- but he just- "Im-Im supposed to take it outside, but I- I just forgot-"
His meek, timid, shaking voice is cut off by his father's booming, sneering one. "Oh, you just forgot , huh? Just forgot like the thousands of other times? You want your mother to do all the work around here, huh?!?"
"No!" Flash defends quickly, trembling. "No, o-of course not, I-"
"But you are!" The older man screams, and Flash flinches hard, stifling a sob that threatens to escape. "You're making your poor mother do all of the work, while you sit in your room and do nothing , you worthless piece of shit!" The beer bottle is suddenly thrown at him, and Flash ducks, the glass shattering against the wall a few inches away from his head, and the boy is truly sobbing now, loud, echoing noises that he can't stop as salty tears pool down his face.
"God, you're pathetic!" His father growls, now pacing his room as his son shivers and curls up on his bed, shuddering. "I expected you to be better, to be so much more than this. You're worthless ." The man pauses, suddenly, unexpectedly, and Flash automatically flinches and braces, waiting for the strike that never comes. Instead, his father glares it, and utters words that send chills down Flash's spine and into his soul, causing irreversible frostbite around his heart. "Get out."
No. No, that- that can't be what he just heard, he must be hearing wrong, he must be- "Wh- What?" He breathes, his body frozen, staring at his older man, who looks just like him, a replica almost, with wide teary eyes, mouth dropped.
"You heard me!" There's no friendliness, no compassion, no love left to be seen anywhere in his father's eyes, only hatred and disgust. "Pack your shit and get out ! Now!!"
He bangs on the wall, and Flash jumps into action, scrambling around to find a bag, to grab his essentials, his clothes, his money, his toiletries, and throwing them haphazardly into the bag. As he does this, his father walks back to the door, and calls out behind him, "I'm gonna go get another drink. By the time I'm back, you better be gone." And then he's gone, the door slamming shut behind him.
As soon as his father is out of sight, Flash crumbles, collapsing back into his bed and curling into a ball, sobbing harshly, loudly, basically wailing, the heartwrenching noises echoing off of the walls. Where will he go? What will he do? He has nowhere to go, this is the only family he has that lives anywhere nearby, and he may have some money, but nowhere near enough to buy an apartment, or a home. Is he going to be on the streets? Is he homeless now?
A faint static sound breaks through his thoughts, his head jerking up towards where the sound came from… his phone. His phone, that is still open, still on a call, still on Harry's contact. He reaches across his bed and picks up the device, holding up to his ear with a shaky hand, stuttering through a quiet, breathy "h-hello?"
"Flash." Harry breathes, sounding so, so relieved, and it breaks Flash's heart even more, knowing he wont be able to afford a phone, knowing they won't be able to stay in contact anymore, knowing they won't be friends anymore. Knowing he won't ever get to tell the other boy how he truly feels.
He cant help the sob that escapes, and he mumbles out a faint, "H-Harry, I- I gotta-"
"I know," The other boy cuts him off, "I heard everything." Flash's stomach drops. He heard everything? The yelling, the bottle, the 'get out!', he heard everything ? "Meet me at Maggie's, okay?"
Flash blinks, causing a few more tears to run down his face and pool at the bottom of his chin. "H-huh?"
Harry chuckles slightly, before sobering up again, as if he remembers how serious the situation is. "Meet me at Maggie's, you remember where it is, right?"
"Yeah, y-yeah, I do, but-"
"Okay, well, pack up as much as you can, and meet me there, okay?"
It doesn't seem like he'll take no for an answer, and Flash has no other plan, no other option (as if he'd ever go against Harry anyway), so he agrees, and they say quick goodbyes before hanging up. Flash sniffles, running a hand under his nose before standing back up and getting back to work, grabbing as much as he can and dumping it into the duffle bag, a new plan, a new determination in his heart. He only stops when he hears stumbling footsteps down the hall, opening the window and jumping out onto the ground before his father notices him still there, his bag, now heavy, full of goods, slung over his shoulder.
He makes his way to the flower shop, his nose still running, and his vision still blurry, his chest still tight and his head still spinning, but with his head held high, focused and determined on completing this one goal, on doing this one thing, on continuing to put one foot in front of the other, until he stops, staring up at the neon red and orange sign spelling out 'Maggie's'. He swallows, and pushes the door open, the chime ringing out the same way it did a few weeks ago, when he came here with his father, but now he walks in empty, hollow, alone .
The shop is dark, the lights off in all of the rooms except the main one, as if it isn't supposed to be open right now, but before Flash can worry too much about that, he hears his name. "Flash!"
He turns and his breath catches, his heart hammering for a completely different reason. Sure, Flash had seen Harry a few weeks ago, but now, with a name and a personality to the face, in this new light, everything is different. His bright blue eyes pop out in the darkness, his hair curls slightly at the ends, his clothing is wrinkled and askew, but his features are defined, his sharp jawline and cheekbones enhanced by the shadows, his muscles and his lean body showing through his coat, his skinny jeans highlighting his long legs. He looks frazzled, but also like a supermodel, and Flash would normally blue screen in the presence of someone so attractive, would stutter and sputter and go red in the face, but now…
Now, his mind is racing, racing, racing with all of these confusion thoughts, his chest tight and his stomach churning, mixing butterflies with acid, the heat of attraction with ice cold rejection, and his vision blurs, his eyes burning with tears, and he wants to do so many things, wants to hug him and kiss him, but also stay as far away from him as possible, because nobody deserves this, nobody deserves to have to deal with him-
But it doesn't matter, because the next thing he knows, Harry is pulling him into a big hug, all long limbs and tightness and warmth, and Flash breaks down, sobbing, basically screeching into Harry's shoulder as the boy runs a heavy hand up and down his back, soothing him as best he can.
Because, he can't remember the last time he was hugged. The last time he was held, the last time he felt affection, care, love .
"I don't- I don't know what to do-" Flash chokes out all nastily, all coughs and whimpers and whines, but Harry doesn't seem to mind, just shushes him again and holds him closer.
"I know, I know. We'll figure it out."
"I have no- nowhere to go-"
"We'll figure that out too, okay? You could-" He pauses for a moment, his hand stopping for a second before continuing its soothing movements. "You could stay with me?" Flash freezes, and Harry starts rambling, clearly nervous, trying to get his point across. "I mean, if you want to, of course. I have a big enough apartment, and it gets kind of lonely sometimes, so I wouldn't mind the company, and it could only be until you get back on your feet, or- or you could stay for longer, that's up to you-"
"Really?" He cuts him off, leaning back out of their embrace to look him in the eye, to know that he means this, that he isn't just offering this out of pity.
But, when their eyes reconnect, Harry's soften, swirling with compassion as he murmurs, "Yeah, of course. If you want to."
He shouldn't, Flash knows, he shouldn't accept, shouldn't be a burden on Harry like he was on his father, on his family, but, staring into the boys hopeful eyes, looking at the small, warm, friendly smile on his face, he can't help but nod, and say "Y-yeah, okay."
"Okay?" Harry seems surprised, like he didn't expect Flash to actually agree, but happy, so so so happy, his face brightening and his eyes shining like a warm sunny day, and Flash can't help but to chuckle, the warmth contagious, and nod again.
"Yeah. Okay."
"Okay!" Harry pulls out of the hug completely, clapping his hands together in his apparent excitement. "Well, grab your bag and we'll head down." Flash goes to grab his duffle bag off of the floor when Harry stands ramrod straight, and exclaims a quick "Oh!" Before rushing off behind the counter again, and out of sight.
Flash blinks at the now empty space in front of him, before glancing over to where Harry went, just as the boy returns, looking flustered, sheepish, another bouquet in hand. "I almost forgot, here." He holds the flowers out to Flash, who feels himself melt as he takes them with a small smile and a murmured thank you. "I- uh-" He runs the back of his neck, his cheeks rosy. "Do- do you like it?"
Flash looks at the bouquet of flowers, at the smaller yellow ones with red nubs in the middle, at the white rose looking ones and at the bunches of tiny purple ones, their petals clustered together, and feels his heart swell, feels his smile grow wider and wider, feels his body beginning to thaw from the winter his father had left. "I love it, Harry. Thank you." He glances up to see the boy grinning from ear to ear, seeming very pleased, before he looks back down. "What do they mean?"
"Hm?"
"The flowers." Flash grins, gently caressing one of the petals of the white flower. "You know the meanings to most of the flowers in the shop, right? So, what do these mean?"
"Oh," Harry coughs, seeming shy? Embarrassed? His face burning brighter, darkening drastically at the question. "It's- it's nothing important-"
"I don't mind," Flash interrupts, smiling gently, hopefully reassuringly. "I wanna know."
Harry doesn't move, doesn't do anything for a few moments, and Flashs smile drops. He goes to reassure that it's okay, he doesn't have to if he doesn't want to, but then the other boy steps forward and raises a gentle hand, touching one of the purple flowers near the end of the bouquet. "This is a Stock flower," he murmurs, and then swallows, seeming nervous all of a sudden. "It represents affection, and is given as a way of-" He pauses, before forcing himself to continue, his cheek and the tips of his ears ablaze. "Of saying 'you'll always be beautiful to me.'" Flash's eyes widen, and heat rises to his cheeks, but before he can say anything about what that means, Harry's hand moves to the yellow flower. "This one is an Evening Primrose, and it's given as a way of saying 'I can't live without you'." Flash tries to reconnect their eyes, but Harry avoids his gaze like the plague, staring anywhere and everywhere but him. He can't- this can't be real, can it? He can't be- Harry can't feel the same way he does… can he? "And this one," His voice is tight as he grabs at the big white flower in the middle, his breathing as shaky as his hands are. "This one is a Gardenia. A way of saying 'you're lovely' and…" he squeezes his eyes shut, and before Flash can ask if he's okay, he blurts out, "and of professing a secret love."
…wait. What?
Did- did Flash hear that right? Harry… likes him? Likes likes him? Like, likes him the way Flash likes him, likes him? Wha? Huh? How? Why?
While Flash is blue screening, and trying to come back online, Harry pushes himself away, body tense, eyes still squeezed shut, shoulders hunched and fists clenched, looking so sad and afraid , something Flash never ever wants him to look like ever again. "I'm sorry, I-I know this is terrible timing, I shouldn't have picked those flowers, I'm sorry-"
Flash takes a step forward, towards the cowering boy, and uses his free hand to caress Harry's cheek, first with the back of his fingers, and then with his thumb, the gentle gesture making Harry flinch before his eyes open in shock, teary and panicked. Flash gives him a small, careful smile, and leans in, asking faintly, "I'm not reading the signs wrong, am I?"
Harry's pupils dilate, the blue of his iris swirling with multiple unknown emotions, but they all look good, hopeful, happy, before he murmurs "Not at all." and their lips connect. And god, it is better than anything Flash could've imagined, better than anything he allowed himself to imagine, Harry's hands falling to his hips and pulling him closer while Flash's free hand slides into Harry's hair, running through the strands and tugging on his curls as their mouths move once, twice, three times against each other, the bouquet squished between them. It lasts a few long, blissful moments, before they pull away, leaning their foreheads against each other and breathing in each other's air, their noses rubbing and eyes still closed, smiles wide on both of their faces.
In a few moments, they'll open their eyes, and stare at each other in wonder, telling each other how they feel. In a half an hour, they'll walk back to Harry's apartment, which will eventually become their apartment, their home . In the next few days, Flash will learn how to live without his parents, and their money. He will learn to get a job, to work for hours upon hours on end, and learn how to balance it with school. He will learn how to pay taxes and bill, how to be an adult even at the age of 17. But, as the days, months and years go by, he will also learn to laugh again, to smile freely, to feel comfort and warmth, to forget his father's abuse and neglect, and to love truly and fully, all with Harry by his side, going through life step by step, side by side, together.
But that's in a few moments, in a few hours, a few days, months, years. Not now. No, for now, he will breath in Harry's air, and smile wide, his chest full of excitement, joy, fear and hope, longing and love, the sweet smell of flowers filling his lungs.