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°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
After the fifth circuit of the greenhouse, Edwin starts to feel a bit ridiculous.
He has a plan. Or, he has fragments of a plan.
More accurately still, he had fragments of a plan until he saw Charles in the window. And, alright, is it really a plan if it could be summarised to just Stop being a coward? But Charles is in the window with a customer and he can’t very well just walk in there and interrupt them, can he? It would be more polite to wait his turn. Charles will finish up with his customer, and Edwin will walk in à la mode like he’d just stumbled upon the place, and Charles will turn to him with that wonderful smile and—
Edwin completes a sixth circuit and feels very ridiculous.
More ridiculous than planning to ask out someone who might not even be interested in him, if Edwin truly has been reading all the signals wrong (the jury is still out), is the amount of money he’s spent on plants over the last month. It’s his mother’s birthday one day and then a housewarming present for Niko the next. Or, it’s Edwin’s echo-hydras are looking a bit ordinary and would Charles have anything to perk them up? Niko absolutely loves monsteras! Charles, would you happen to have some that come in various shades of blue and pink?
(He does. Edwin bought three).
The excuses are starting to run dry, and Charles is quite possibly beginning to suspect. If he does suspect and decides to confront Edwin about it, he will possibly have to move. Somewhere far. Maybe even – and does he ever shudder at the thought – go back home to the Summer Courts. Edwin could even swindle his way into the Winter Courts with Niko vouching for him. Edwin has always been told he would fit better at Winter, anyway, given his icy personality – the people Edwin grew up with at Summer sure know how to make a man feel welcome in his own home.
A little voice in the back of his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Niko, whispers to him that he is getting lost in hypotheticals again.
Edwin swears under his breath and crunches the snow beneath his boot as he paces the cobble stoned path.
“Just go inside,” he mutters to himself. “You have an order to collect, after all.”
A crate full of willow husks (smaller than palm-sized glowing moss balls enchanted with will-o’-wisp magic) that Edwin plans to release into the wild (his back garden) and watch them float around in the air for a few hours. His plans for tomorrow night could be just that, depending on how well these next thirty minutes go, of course.
There are also the mini-monsteras (Edwin was so taken with Niko’s he put in an order for a couple in periwinkle and turquoise) and the silver bells, and the blooming dandelions, and—
The list goes on.
Edwin may have over-compensated a bit.
A cold gust of wind rustles snow from the tree above, and Edwin almost slips on a clump of ice partway through his seventh about-face. “This is ridiculous. You are being highly ridiculous, Edwin, why can you not just—?”
Something knocks hard into Edwin’s shoulder. He manages to catch himself on the rickety wooden fence before he can land arse-first in the snow, and an older woman (green hair, purple underskin blush – forest spirit) is holding the door of the greenhouse in an iron grip and staring at Edwin like she is trying to decode some sort of hieroglyph.
“My word!” she gasps. “Child, are you quite alright?”
Well, there are a number of ways Edwin could answer that question, isn’t there?
For starters, Edwin is a Seelie and always feels out-of-sorts in the cold on genetic principles, and he is over a hundred years old, thank you very much. Charles would probably chuckle at the “child” remark, the same as he would share Edwin’s sentiments about the cold being a nature spirit himself, one that revels in the warmth and liveliness of the summer and springtime.
Charles, who has caught wind of the commotion outside, is now watching Edwin through the window. Smiling big when they catch each other’s eye, Charles waves enthusiastically at Edwin, and Edwin feels his entire face alight with shame.
Edwin straightens and adjusts his scarf. “My apologies,” he says to the forest spirit, nodding to her and her venus-hydrangea for good measure. “Happy Solstice.”
“Happy Solstice to you, too,” the forest spirit parrots. She carries on past Edwin, muttering something about watching out for the ice. Her venus plant takes a snap at Edwin on its journey past as well, but Edwin notices none of this as Charles has appeared between the glass doors of the greenhouse, backlit by string lights and willow husks, framed in crawling ivy. Edwin takes a moment to regain a regular pattern of breathing.
“Why are you standing all the way out here?” Charles asks. His voice is an almost perfect imitation of that feeling in the centre of your chest when a warm summer breeze jostles wooden wind chimes. “Come inside, mate! It’s right freezing.”
Edwin flushes and climbs the stairs as quickly as he can manage.
Charles keeps the door held open for Edwin. Squeezing through the narrow doorway means there is a brief moment where Edwin’s elbow brushes the small intimate space between Charles’ stomach and ribs. He smells of pine needles and something sweet like tangerine and cinnamon spice.
Charles lets the door swing shut, jostling the bells above, which have been enchanted to sing 12 days of Christmas for the season. The last time Edwin was here, they jingled to the tune of Carol of the Bells, and before that Baby, It’s Cold Outside when Edwin had walked in a couple of weeks before, with frost on the tip of his nose. The tune is different every time, as Charles told Edwin he has to switch it up, or he’ll get bored of the same tune and slowly go mad. Once, memorably, the bells sang Smells Like Teen Spirit.
“I was just thinking about you,” Charles announces like it’s nothing, a casual flippant timbre, and Edwin tugs a little too sharply at his scarf.
The temperature inside the greenhouse is always vastly different to the outside world, but today, it is almost as if it felt the need to overcompensate, what with the beginnings of a small blizzard outside the doors. Edwin himself had taken extra care to rug up with a thicker coat and woollen scarf (the coat fits nicely at his waist and accentuates his shoulders, and the scarf brings out his eyes. All this is according to Niko. Edwin may or may not have consulted her before coming) but Edwin is a summer creature at the end of the day. The heat of the greenhouse has become a comfort to him during these colder months since learning of its existence.
And the exitance of its keeper.
Charles’ long white sleeves are pushed up at his elbows, revealing thin forearms covered in coils of vine-like skin markings that are customary of nature spirits like Charles. The greenhouse’s “uniform”, green-washed denim overalls, hang loose around his hips.
Edwin tugs his scarf the rest of the way off and stuffs it in the pocket of his coat. “You were?”
“Well, ‘course.” Charles looks around as he speaks. The temperate air of the greenhouse dampens his curls and flushes his cheeks. “Had that big order to get ready for you, didn’t I? Now, where did I …”
“Oh.” Edwin’s cheeks flush with shame. Ridiculous. “I’m sorry, Charles, I know this period is busy for you, I didn’t mean to add unnecessarily to your workload.”
Charles blinks at him, eyebrows creased in confusion. A beat later, a delighted laugh. “What? No, mate! You’re my best customer, aren’t you? But um …” Hands clapping Edwin’s shoulders, lingering, squeezing lightly. “It’s not quite ready yet. That lady before you burst right in here while I was in the middle of getting your order together and asked a million questions about everything. Pulled me away from it all. You don’t mind waiting, do you?”
Charles’ hopeful expression and toothy grin wipe all responses from Edwin’s brain and supply him with far too many that absolutely cannot escape past the barrier of his teeth.
Instead, Edwin feigns looking put-upon and replies, “I would have stopped for coffee if I’d known that.”
Charles sees right through him, and Edwin’s shoulders get another squeeze.
“I owe you one, then,” Charles says. His usual gold star dangle earring has been swapped out for a prancing reindeer for the season. It’s so unbelievably cute Edwin doesn’t know what to do with himself. “I’m keeping you from your big important detective gig, aren’t I?”
Edwin groans aloud and earns himself a soft titter of laughter from Charles. “Keep me all you like, please. The longer, the better. Toss in a couple extra plants if you would be so kind. Whatever will take the most time to sort out.”
This is usually how it goes when Edwin visits; Edwin will plodder on about work, and Charles will encourage him by asking copious questions about Edwin’s detective career. The most recent client, a dyed-in-the-wool Seelie from the Spring Courts who is as exasperating as he is pompous and keeps leaving traces of pollen on Edwin’s floor, gets a mention or two.
Edwin is always careful not to reveal too much – client-detective confidentiality and all – and while Edwin’s client’s identities always remain anonymous, the ways in which they irritate Edwin are hung out to dry. Charles always seems genuinely interested in his work and shares his sentiments regarding annoying clients, so Edwin doesn’t feel too bad about venting his frustrations to him.
(One time, Charles had joked about how he could be Edwin’s civilian consultant, and Edwin hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.)
“You want any seasonal plants?” Charles asks. Edwin watches him flit from bench to bench. He is always awed by the way in which Charles moves around the greenhouse like he is a part of it. The living, breathing, beating heart of the place. Crawling vines lining the glass walls and ceiling eb and flow in his direction whenever he walks near and follow him when he walks away.
Now, Charles carries a pot of curling ores that Edwin is promised, when planted, will cover his backyard with an explosion of orange and white flowers. Above Charles’ head, a cluster of small white mistletoe blooms when he walks directly under it. Yellow ember-like spores trickle down like snow. Edwin is so distracted by it he doesn’t realise Charles is waiting for an answer.
He has stopped by the bench where Edwin lingers, hip cocked, expression amused. Edwin clears his throat, face burning.
“Pardon?”
“D’you want anything like that?” Charles points to the mistletoe behind and to their left. The one that, like everything else in here, is trying its best to exist in Charles’ orbit. Edwin might be able to relate a little too well. “There’s holly, too,” Charles continues. “Classic, yeah? It’ll look aces with the poinsettia.”
“Charles Rowland,” Edwin begins, tone light and teasing. “Are you trying to make me blow a hole in my wallet?”
This earns him a proper laugh, deep-bellied and warm. It sounds like the leaves of a tree rustling in the summer breeze. “Oi! Like you don’t already. Said you were my favourite customer, yeah?”
Edwin’s stomach flips. “You said I was your best customer.”
“Well, you’re also my favourite.” Charles’ eyes flicker with mirth. Edwin’s insides swirl with something hot. “Some holly, then?”
“Yes, alright,” Edwin says. “You’ve gone and twisted my arm.”
Charles lights up. Beside them, a long trail of purple jasmine flowers bloom. Charles’ tongue darts out briefly to wet his lips, and it takes everything in Edwin not to follow it with his eyes. “I’ve got a heap of ‘em upstairs. You okay to wait here?”
“With bated breath.”
“Brills.” Charles half-gallops towards the spiral stairs leading to the upper levels of the greenhouse, calling over his shoulder as he goes, “Won’t be a tick!”
Once Charles has disappeared from view, the cotton fuzz that filled Edwin’s brain, the usual kind that manifests whenever he is in Charles’ presence, leaves and Edwin remembers the real reason why he is here today. The previous panic that took a backseat comes back in full force.
Edwin shrugs off his coat, feeling suddenly far too warm. He begins to pace, muttering to himself under his breath. The noises of Charles shuffling around upstairs, footsteps overhead as he searches for the holly, spur him on.
He says to himself, “I thought we could – No no. Might you consider – No. Might you consider? Terrible.” Edwin groans, grinding his knuckles together. “Come on, Edwin. Just say it. Charles, would you like to—?”
“Would I like to what?”
Startled half out of his skin, Edwin spins sharply to find Charles standing a few feet away. In his arms is the box full of Edwin’s many, many plants, which he lets down gently on the bench. His expression is open and curious.
Edwin’s tongue feels like lead. Heart beating in his throat, there is obviously nothing to do but point stupidly at an unassuming planter at his elbow and say, “Would you like to … tell me about these ones?”
Charles’ gaze shifts to the flowers and then back to Edwin, eyes dragging. “Those?”
“Those.”
Charles looks amused. Edwin would appreciate the ground opening up and swallowing him whole, please and thank you.
“They’re just begonias, mate,” he says. “Did you want some?”
“No no! I was simply curious. Begonias,” Edwin repeats, bristling. “They’re quite beautiful.”
“Yeah, you are,” Charles murmurs absently. A beat later, his words catch up to him – in perfect tandem with Edwin’s mouth falling open – eyes widening dramatically. “I mean, they are!”
Charles’ cheeks turn a fetching shade of pink, as do the tips of his pointed ears. It’s quite a good look on him, truth be told. Edwin watches Charles fiddle with the straps of his overalls and bite at the corner of his lip, avoiding Edwin’s eye. The jasmine flowers shrinking back in a shy, self-conscious manner is, strangely, what finally gives Edwin the courage to just bloody say it.
“Charles.”
Charles rubs at the back of his neck. “Uh, hey, Edwin. So—”
“Charles,” Edwin starts again, moving a couple of steps closer. Charles’ freezes, watching him. “There is an orchestra performing carols in Hyde Park tomorrow night, and I was wondering if – or, more so, hoping – you would like to go?”
Charles blinks. The question appears to have surprised him.
“If I’d … like to go?”
“With me,” Edwin says, “to clarify. We can go together if you catch my meaning.” Charles’ mouth gapes, and damn it damn it damn it. He starts to backtrack; “If you like. I just thought, with your affinity for carols, it might be something you would be interested in. If you don’t want to, then—”
“You mean this orchestra?”
Then Charles reaches into his back pocket, pulls out two small slips of paper, and shows them to Edwin. It takes Edwin a moment to understand they are tickets, and then another moment to see they are tickets for the exact same orchestra he is tripping over his words in trying to convince Charles to come along to.
Charles says, “I got these tickets because I was going to ask you if you wanted to go with me.”
“You bought tickets?” In hindsight, that is probably an important and very forgotten step in Edwin’s dreadful plan, in ensuring he and Charles actually can go to this thing. Honestly.
Charles shrugs. “I did. I remember you mentioning how much you love watching live orchestras because you’re right fancy like that, so. Wishful thinking.” A grin. Gorgeous, deep brown eyes meet Edwin’s and make him feel lightheaded. “Maybe not so wishful, innit?”
Edwin can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes, nor the giggle that follows when Charles’ infectious laugh takes hold of him. For a minute, it is just the two of them and their laughter filling the glass walls of the greenhouse. The surrounding plants rustle, spurred on by Charles’ delight, and sway in closer to him. Edwin also finds himself doing the same.
“You remembered me saying I enjoy the orchestra?” he asks.
“I do listen when you talk, Edwin,” Charles jests. “You’re very easy to listen to.” His eyes flicker downward, almost too quick to catch if Edwin wasn’t looking. “You’ve got a real nice voice.”
Oh.
“How’d you know about my thing with carols?”
“Charles.” Edwin deadpans, unable to keep the fondness away. “The bells at the door.”
Charles ducks his head. “Ah yeah. Forgot about those, didn’t I?”
“You also hum to yourself as you work.” And since they’re clearly sharing, “It’s awfully charming.”
They are standing very close. Close enough that Edwin sees the shift in Charles’ expression in real-time – lips that look far too soft parting, pupils dilating as his gaze once again flickers down to Edwin’s mouth. A shuffling noise from above and a flash of white in his peripheral alert Edwin just as Charles steps even closer. A breath and they will be touching chest to chest.
Charles’ fingers reach across the narrow distance and brush the back of Edwin’s hand like a question.
“Hey, Edwin – and feel free to knock me one if this is way out of line – but could I—?”
Edwin says, “That’s interesting,” as above, the mistletoe flowers further, coiling in the air until it hangs directly above their heads. Charles follows Edwin’s gaze and blanches. The yellow embers float down to them.
“Now that’s wishful thinking,” Charles murmurs.
“The answer is yes, Charles,” Edwin says, warmth stirring in his belly.
Charles’ attention rips from the growing mistletoe to Edwin at break-neck speed, a hopeful look in his eyes. He reaches forward and threads his fingers through Edwin’s, just their fingertips, and whispers, voice deep, “Can I kiss you?”
Edwin’s eyelids flutter shut. “Please.”
He hears Charles chuckle, deep and lovely, and feels it against his lips a moment later. Charles is as warm as Edwin imagined he would be, if not warmer, and Edwin kisses him back fervently. Charles hums happily, tilting his head for a better angle, his hands moving to grip firmly at Edwin’s waist.
In his kiss, Edwin tastes cinnamon, spice, and tangerine.
°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･