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It’s gloomy and rainy when Ghost leaves the apartment. Weather reflecting how his mind rumbles for an upcoming storm. It was this feeling – crawling – not like ants but electricity, under his skin, making him feel sick in more ways than physical. Making him want to tear his skin out leaving it to soak outside with the rain, while his flesh dry’s out under the sheets. It’s a gruesome sight… hard to manage.
So the first thing he did in the morning was get up and get ready. Even before the sun had time to shine. Or the soft breathes surrounding him, stilled and stirred – he showered in freezing water, hoping it would mix with the zapping under his skin and fry his remaining neurons. He left the house under the disguise that he would be out running errands – trying not to feel like he’s slowly decomposing mentally. And he stayed outside most of the day, walking around the rain, uncovered way into the afternoon, walking aimlessly.
Until he passed through a flower shop.
Blue, so bright that even under the meaner shine of sun peeking through the rain, they were distracting. Unreal.
Morning dew and rain water created a kaleidoscope of colors on the small petals – morphing the yellow at the center into complicated shapes. The illusion of them appearing bigger in their small size. Fewer in their big numbers. They’re…mesmerizing – bewitching – Making his hands move out of their own volition until he reaches out and touches the delicate edges of a petal. Disturbing the water there and destroying the spell momentarily. Showing their true soft nature under his rough, weathered palms.
He’s getting pettelded with rain, stuck swiping his hands through the watered plants. And through muddied thoughts he feels a small pull on his scared lips, gentle – soft.
Behind the darkness of his eyes, as he blinks, crystal blue eyes stare back at him.
"Those sure are a beauty." Ghost startles, hand coming to his thigh where he knows a knife rests. Turning slowly. Ready to take it out as he’s pulled completely from his head by the sudden booming voice.
He makes himself stand at his full height, glaring.
The lady gives him a smile.
"Would ye like to take some," she gestures to the flowers, completely unbothered by the mental daggers poking her head menacingly. He huffs.
Old, small women and their infuriating lack of apprehension for his size.
He can just hear the squad making fun of him.
Completely uncaring to his silence she gestures to the flowers. Prompting him to look at them once more and consider her question.
He misses the sun, is the first thought that comes to his mind.
A person would think that seeing it everyday would ease the act of missing it.
Ghost contemplates them, biting the inside of his cheek in thought, happy as always that the mask covers most of his face.
The image of the sun radiating through a big bright smile. Reflecting on the water of crystal blue eyes. Soft pink blush covering tan cheeks up to the tip of ears. Mixing every color beautifully. Traveling.
"Yes.” his voice rumbles out of him, lost in thought. “Thank you."
The lady gives him one big happy nod before she's getting back inside, Ghost following behind her slowly. He keeps the small shopping bag balanced on his left arm as he enters the small cramped shop, getting visually assaulted by a few more dozens of different flowers.
His eyes travel around, cautious to not step around too much in fear his shoulders knock something down – his teeth work his lips raw, fidgeting as a small frown settles back on his eyebrows.
"Ye have any preference on what I put with the bouquet, love?" The lady asks. Deft hands working at arranging the flowers on the counter. Cutting stems and plucking old leaves.
It’s completely out of Ghost’s line of work, out of his expertise. He doesn’t work with small delicate things, hands too rough, too heavy to arrange something like that. Much less about color. Eyes trained for shapes and sizes, not color necessarily. Not like Johnny can.
Simon looks thoughtfully at the brightness of the blue.
"White?" He says in a questioning tone. Uncertain in the firmness of his words. “Big ones…” He’s going by what he knows, sizes and shapes. The bright blue flowers are small but large in amount. Perhaps, bigger lighter flowers will make it all come together…
That’s his logic his brain comes up with, at least.
The lady gives him a hearty, joyous, laugh – amused by Ghost’s fumbling. And Simon feels himself fighting down the blush that he can feel rising on his cheek, hoping that it isn't noticeable.
Old women… truly, terrifying.
"It sure would!" She looks down at the flowers for a second, nodding "I think I might have the perfect ones, too."
Spinning around, she goes further inside the shop. Leaving the counter to enter a smaller door to the side. He hears her rummaging through and curiosity takes the best of him as he leans to the side a little to see her picking up something from a shelf that's three times her size with the help of a small stool.
Quite the hilarious sight.
It reminds him of a similar sight they get at home usually. Brown curls jumping to reach the highest shelf – glaring at any stray comment.
Maybe he should buy him a little stool, too. See how long it takes before Johnny is getting it launched at his head after one too many comments.
An hilarious sight indeed.
The stool sparks a thought in his mind – surprisingly, much clearer than before – he shifts on the ball of his feet, takes a moment to look over all the flowers.
It's overwhelming to say the least, the smells of dirt and pollen, the immensity of colors, the different sizes and shapes, the tightness of the place – Usually things that would send him further down the deep hole that is his brain. Maybe it’s the mask covering most of the smells inside the shop. Perhaps it’s the coziness of it, the reprise from the rain and the warmth that radiates from within the building. It’s peculiar.
It makes a deep exhale leave him in a weary manner, eyebrows frowning again as he doesn't see anything that catches his eyes the same way the blue flowers had.
"Do you–" He turns distracted, startling again as he sees the lady already watching him. She nods for him to continue. "Do you have, huh.... green?"
Eloquent as ever Simon Riley great job, truly the most competent Lieutenant, fucks sake – if he could he would be face palming. He breathes through it keeping his embarrassment all internal so maybe he can save what lasts of his dignity.
"Ay, love." She teases, gaze filled with mirth. “Most flowers are green.”
It reminds him too much of Soap's teasing little smile to make him mad; Similar to the one he shoots Simon when the man fumbles partially badly.
Familiar, however, it doesn't stop him from clearing his throat and shifting his mask to get rid of the embarrassment that licks up his neck stubbornly. Fucking hell.
The woman watches him with a smile, clearly happy with herself for making a man of his stature shuffle and squirm on his feet. Her expression turns contemplating to the far side of the room.
"I don't think I have any pretty green flowers, 'm afraid..."
She looks back at him. "Are they to add to this bouquet?"
He shakes his head.
"Alright what's...." She trails off slightly.
Ghost looks at her as she seems to look for a specific word. He picks up on what she's asking, nevertheless and hesitates a little before speaking.
"Partner."
The smile on her face blooms bigger, if that's even possible, filled with a…type of joy Simon can’t really pinpoint. "What's yer partner's favorite color, love?"
That makes Ghost pause, drumming his fingers on the bag resting on his hip. Scrubbing his brain for that information – It's not that he doesn't know the question. He does, has it written in a list on the little notebook he keeps hidden in his desk drawer. It's more about which color is at the top of the list.
"Yellow."
"Yellow." She repeats, clapping her hands before moving closer to the window, dodging the massive vases filled around the room with expertise. Her hands filter through a couple of bouquets who're being showered by the sun.
Sun? Slowly – dumbly – he realizes the clouds had parted, finally letting the rays go from peeking to full flourishing. Piercing the windows showing the small particles of dust floating around. And he realizes that, perhaps the room isn’t this packed for no reason, as all the colors seem to both bloom in full force but also harmonize with each other – creating coziness in the golden hour.
A memory blinks though his mind and he’s reminded of a conversation he had a long time ago – under heavy duvets and soft whispers echoing in an empty apartment, mattress shifting on bare floor. It was a day similar to the one he’s having right now.
So the words leave him before he can really think about it.
"Sunflowers."
There’s a pause where Ghost stays rooted in place as the lady rummages through the flower. She doesn't look back at him, but he knows he’s been heard when she comes back with a good amount of the yellow flowers in her arms.
"Sunflowers," she drawls the word at the end. "Yer partner has great taste."
He hums, heart warming at having one of his boys getting complimented. "They both do."
What he said only hits him when the lady gives him a soft, genuine smile. It’s the only thing that makes him contain the urge to curse and bite his tongue.
All the pollen is making him stupid, surely.
Silence falls between them as she works on arranging the bouquet, humming and putting all the flowers Ghost chose with other small accessories – pearls, small and big and soft tissue paper around them to tie it all together. Simon keeps his silence, mesmerized by the way her hands work dutifully yet gently around the plants. Not so differently from how he cleans and organizes his own weapons.
She presents both bouquet's to Simon when they’re finished – holding each one up delicately for him to see and appreciate. There’s pride in her face, especially at Ghost’s long pause. Eyes wide, looking at both arrangements with breath held still in his lungs.
They're beautiful.
He rubs his chest as a tightness he can't explain as he looks at them settles in – makes his throat feel tight and his stomach light. A roller coaster of emotions hitting him like a bullet to the chest plate. It’s confusing… but nice.
Fucking pollen.
Both bouquets get paid for, and put carefully inside the grocery bag for protection – Simon’s brain is still pretty much stuck in awe at the beauty of the arrangements through the whole process but he still makes sure the lady accepts the extra tip he gives her. Ignoring the protests that fall out of her, completely. It's the least he can do, he says. She ends up accepting it with a shake of her head and smile covered sigh.
The bell rings as he's opening the door to leave when she gives him one last goodbye. Expression soft but radiant on her round weathered face – she winks.
"I hope ye and yer partners have a lovely day."
Simon stares.
"You too."
It's stupid, it's silly, but a lightness follows him as he leaves the flower shop. As he finally makes his way home. As he climbs up the stairs. All the way to their apartment door. He stands by it for a couple of seconds, nervousness fluttering around his stomach – electric buzz that once fired his nerves replaced by gentle static, tingling in his fingertips all the way down to his heart as he wraps his hand around the handle and keys and twists.
And only then does it burst – lightness spilling into uncontained love as he opens the door with one hand and is greeted by two sets of eyes. Ocean blues and yellow speckled emerald greens wide at his presence by the door.
Present still hidden behind his back as Johnny flings himself from the kitchen to wrap his arms around him.
It’s still…bizarre to him. They way they doot him in affection. Always being quick in missing him – as if he’s not destined to come back to their feet no matter what.
Bloodied or bruised. Decomposed or dismembered. It doesn’t matter.
He makes sure he hugs them both tightly against his chest. Burying his nose between their necks and inhaling deeply the warmth that settles there to the point he almost forgets his own name. Body finally easing the shiver and chill that had settled throughout the entirety of the day in a way that the sun was never able to.
It’s Roach’s inquisitive noise at the sight of something behind Simon that brings him back to reality.
And for once it’s worth it.
He pours his whole existence on that entryway of that small apartment as he handles both men their gifts.
Their reactions make his throat close up slightly. Not in fear or apprehension, no. But in a too complicated of an emotion for him to explain.
Johnny cradles his flowers in his arms the same way you would a small babe, hand holding the ends and bringing them closer to his face – stroking with gentle fingers the petals, as if they were the most precious thing he has ever laid his eyes upon. An intense expression settles on his brows and the silence following it only intensifies it.
But when he looks back at Simon.
Oh when he looks back at him.
Simon counts back all the people he has killed for this man and decides it’s still not enough. Not until the grief hidden behind it leaves completely and only lets the true passion that rests there settle in. The love, the adoration.
Misty blues, creased with wrinkles so prominent and a smile just as intense and gorgeous as the day he’s first seen them.
He tries to find reprieve from it all by looking at Gary, expecting the usual controlled emotions that always rest there.
And he doesn’t believe in god. Never did. But by god would the blood of the people that made his two halves have such reactions to such small action drip through his fingers until he could paint their graves the most beautiful scarlet.
Fat, uncontrolled droplets fall down, feeding the plants the richest of liquids. Gary tries to hide them behind a shaky hand and wheezing soft laughs, burying his face on the yellow of the plant. But the tremble of his bottom lip gives him away quickly. It’s a heartbreaking sight. It leaves Simon questionably furious but also mellows wherever it surfaces and shimmers on the surface. Hand reaching out and swiping under his eyes.
Leaning down so he can will the tears away with a kiss. And then another and another and another – until he’s squishing him against his side, hands holding both sides of a face covered in burns, making sure the icyness of them lets the adoration bleed out into his skin.
Kissing the grief out and away – hoping Ghost absorbs it himself so none of his loves suffer ever again.
A strong warm presence settles on his side. Simon lets him hide there as he makes sure the only sounds coming out of Gary are nothing but small giggles. When that’s taken care of he makes sure to shower Johnny in the same treatment.
Let’s the man clean his eyes with the ball of his hands, before he’s getting attacked with Simon’s lips – kissing him deeply. Tenderness bleeding, spreading just like the freckles that cover the bridge of his nose, down his neck, to the meat of his shoulders. He nips at his collar until laughter bubbles out. Explodes in the prettiest symphony. Turning back to Simon and invoking revenge.
Peppering Simon’s face over and over with small, wet pecks until the man is squirming at the attention. Laughter rumbling out of his cold chest like blood bubbling out of a punctured lung.
It bleeds and it bleeds.
And it keeps bleeding, filling the inside of colorful chipped vases that get placed by the window side by side – coloring the water, and the fingertips that touched them. It stains their faces as he kisses and splays his hands on them. Possessed by the rain to keep contact always, afraid that their warmth leaves the same way the sun does. It stays on their clothes, their favorite objects, their plates, their seats.
On their bodies.
It bleeds everywhere, wound open and gaping, the whole inside his chest so wide no stitch or staple could close it. Not until he has a say.
Simon Riley has never been happier to bleed for someone.