I tracked Paul over the rim of my coffee cup as he paced around the dressing room. He hadn't put his boots on yet, so his footsteps were a lot softer than Peter's, who had once again just clunked out of the room in search of Lydia. Almost as if he knew I was judging the sound of his footsteps, he stood up on his toes, walking even softer. His cherry red lips were mouthing words silently, no doubt running through his stage banter. I could only assume this was his usual pre-show routine, and tonight I was finally able to witness the show.
After a pause, I drained my coffee, rising to my feet and walking over, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder. He drew to a halt, dropping from the balls of his feet, falling back down to being two inches shorter than I was. There was a pause before I gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, forcing a thin smile.
"You alright?" I asked.
"Mhm. Just...pre-show jitters," he said with a pale smile.
"You got any plans tomorrow? We've got a few days between Oakland and Greensboro, not all of them are travel days."
"Yeah," he said, taking a half-step back so my hand slipped from his shoulder. "Morcom Rose Garden."
"Looking for more tattoo inspiration?" I teased, lightly tapping the tattoo on his arm, feeling the warmth and smoothness of his skin, the tautness of his muscle. He was tense, just like always. No matter the occasion, no matter the situation, it was a guarantee that Paul would be stressed.
A wan smile twitched his lips. "Ah, no. I'm just going to stick with the one tattoo. I don't know, I just think it would be a nice way to clear my head."
"Yeah, you've been stressed lately," I said, and he winced.
"Well, you're not wrong," he muttered, face falling slightly.
He wasn't as on edge as he had been last month, when Ace had told me to talk to him, but he had definitely still been out of things. The rigid routine I had used to track his movements so easily had fallen apart, and he spent less time with the band outside of shows than he ever had before. Or at the very least, he spent less time with me. I suppose I didn't know what he did with Ace and Peter.
"Hey, just about a month left, then we'll be back," I said, heart fluttering as I thought of finally seeing Bea again. It had been only a month and a half of the two and a half months we'd be apart, and it had been torture. But it was finally almost over.
"It'll be nice," he said absentmindedly, starting to stare off into space, and I cleared my throat, unsure why I was all of a sudden feeling so awkward.
"Do you...do you mind if I come with you?" I asked.
"Of course not," he said. "It's a public park, you're more than welcome to."
Always the same. He always gave me a yes, but he never really seemed to say that he wanted me there. Not that he didn't want me there, just more that he was hesitant to outright say he did.
"Perfect. What time are you planning on leaving?" I asked, and he shrugged, walking to the mirror and starting to fluff up his hair, grabbing some lipstick and touching up his makeup next.
"I'm not sure. I'll just stop by your room and grab you if that works?" he asked, glancing at me over his shoulder, eyes dark and questioning.
"Mhm," I said. "Good luck tonight, you'll do amazing. You always do."
He gave me a small smile, turning back to his reflection. "Same to you."
It was still merely warm by the time Paul and I found ourselves walking through the Morcom Rose Garden, the sun not quite high enough to make it unbearably hot. The smell was intoxicating, almost dizzyingly sweet, with hundreds if not thousands of roses competing with each other, filling the air with their sweet perfume.
Flowers sprawled across the landscape, eight acres of roses, all their petals glowing in the midmorning sun. It was beautiful, and I longed to be walking through the garden with my arm around Bea's waist, telling her that not a single flower in the garden was more beautiful than she was. But she was across the country from me, and for all I knew she wasn't waiting for me anymore. I couldn't blame her if that was the case. I had practically spit in her face by sleeping with someone the first night we were apart.
I reluctantly pulled my thoughts away from Beatrice, snapping back to the present to realize that Paul had started to amble away from me. Brushing past some of the rosebushes, I moved a little faster, falling into step beside him. We didn't say anything for a moment, just walked, before he drew to a halt in front of a trellis.
"The Bleu Magenta rose is my favorite one," Paul said, reaching up and gently touching the soft petals, a velvety deep mauve. "I just really like the color."
In a way, the flower suited him perfectly. It was a vined plant rather than just a rose bush, climbing high up the lattice it was growing near, distancing itself from the other plants that surrounded it, keeping people further away with the thorns each stem was covered in. But it was beautiful too, and smelled delicious, and would be more than appreciated by anyone who saw it if they were only able to get close enough. A rose, but not a typical one.
"It looks nice," I said, tilting my head back to trace the winding vines with my eyes. "Different than the roses I know about."
"Because it's not red?" he teased, and I shrugged.
"I mean that is what I think of when I think of roses," I admitted. "Although I know white roses are a thing. Red roses are the romantic ones though, so those are the only ones I need to know about."
He tossed his head back with a laugh, curls cascading down his back. "You liar, you're not a romantic, you're just a sex addict."
"Well I could be a romantic if I wanted to be," I said sulkily. "I try to be romantic with Beatrice."
His eyebrows shot up as soon as the words were out of my mouth and I realized my mistake. "Really? What happened to you just having a score to settle?" he asked, trying to pry, but I felt my cheeks burning, for once being the one to shut down and shut him out.
"Sometimes that's what it takes to wind up in bed with a woman," I said mildly, turning to admire some roses, hands clasped behind my back and hoping I was coming across as nonchalant.
"Oh. I see," he said after a pause, and we didn't say much else for the rest of our time in the gardens.
