My Most Cherished Flower

At First Sight

It starts with a glance.

A glance that stops a man's heart, locking his legs in place. He's out of the way, praise the Olde One, but no one has paid much attention to the eldest Emeritus brother since he stepped down years ago.

Oh, that face. Radiant and youthful, with a smile that could cause Lucifer Himself to shudder with awe. He cannot see much of them, with their clergy garb still rather humble, but those eyes . Deep, rich, and almost evil with how they pull him in. Primo swallows hard, hand at his chest, and searches for the exit.

He is far too old for falling in love, he tells himself. Too old, too far from this deity's worth. Relief fills him when he finally spots the side door, but to his slight dismay, he's stopped by a ghoul, who has a very excited air about his expressionless face.

"May I help you, child?" He asks, head tilted to the side. It's been a while since a ghoul approached him directly, and this one seems rather chipper. Strange, all things considered. Had bambino fallen off the stage again? He always loves hearing about that.

"My Lord, I have wonderful news. Your shipment of Turkish Velvet roses came in. Still lively, still fresh, and ready for the greenhouse. Imperator is having them moved now."

"Ah!" His hands clasp together. " Grazi, little one. And the sun is at the perfect angle for a day of pruning. Make sure to tell my brothers were I'll be, should they ... be curious, I suppose." The ghoul chuckles, tail flicking behind him.

"I shall, Papa the First." They bow to each other, and the ghoul skitters off, going only Satan knows where. He stopped trying to understand how this strange breed of demon works ages ago. Primo teases a glance back at the beautiful stranger, but they have left his line of sight. All for the better , he tells himself. I am not ... worthy of such beauty.

"Just stick with your roses, Primo..." He whispers, and slowly makes his way to his chambers. Can't be rooting around in soil and fertilizer in his papal robes. Disrespectful and hard to clean.

#

If he didn't think himself unattractive before, he definitely feels it now. Calloused, scarred hands covered in fresh cuts and dirt; worn shirt damp from a day's worth of watering, and his brow drenched from having to move his roses into the ground without aid -- not that he's truly complaining about that. He prefers that no one bothers his flowers. They are his escape, his little clergy.

There is a snap from behind him, and with speed even he doesn't know he has, the eldest Emeritus is on his feet, facing the intruder.

Oh gods ... it's them .

"I'm so sorry, Papa," they bow their head, soft skin gleaming in the fragmented sunlight. "I didn't mean to intrude, I just ..." the Sibling removes their head covering, fingers raking their hair back, away from those witch's eyes.

"Don't be nervous, dear one." Primo says, approaching them with a smile. "I don't bite. What can I do for you?" They look up at him like he is the most beautiful person in the world, and that makes his heart beat right in his ears.

"...I overheard you and the ghoul ... they are black roses, yes? Turkish black roses? I've always wanted to see them." They bounce on their heels nervously, arms clasping behind their back. They are so precious. Primo melts.

"Indeed. Here, I just got them settled. Come, come." He motions for them to approach, kneeling at the side of the bush. A hand encircles the largest bloom, showing the awestruck sibling of sin every soft detail of the petals.

"Oh, Papa ... they are gorgeous." Their fingers brush against his while they caress the flower, and he gasps. And they gasp. They face one another, both sets of cheeks tinged with pink. The Sibling bites their lip, those haunting eyes of theirs in stark contrast with their innocent smile and rosy cheeks.

"Do forgive me, cara mia , but I don't believe I know your name..." Primo reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind their ear. "M-might I have the honor of knowing it?"

They introduce themself, stumbling over their own name like it is foreign to them. And then, with their face still as pink as the blooms that surround them, they bow their head.

He says their name, and it is sweet on his tongue, "you may call me Primo."