Sunbeams

18 // Dahlia flower

Orphic
(adj.) mysterious and entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding

Eighteen
♡︎♡︎♡︎
Arabella

"Your brothers are cool. I like them."

"They're annoying." Comes Flints reply. He's lying on his bed, one hand tucked under his head, the other softly laid across his stomach as he watches me walk around his room.

His rooms rather plain. No character to it. Gray walls, gray bed sheets. Wood wardrobe, wood bedside table, wood Chester drawers at the bottom of his bed. A small tv resting on the top. And that's it.

No posters. No little nicknacks. No books, apart from his school ones dumped into a corner of the room. No nothing. Just furniture.

It doesn't seem very lived in.

Spinning around, done with looking around his room I take a seat on the bed, fall onto my back so my head is by his legs, my legs by his head.

His hands start drawing lines on my calf. I prop onto my elbows to look at him. Grinning when I find him already looking at me.

Flint rolls his eyes, turns his head away from me, pokes his tongue into his cheek. Sitting up fully I move until I'm sitting by his chest, my legs crossed under me.

"Will you tell me about your tattoos?" I ask him. Lightly tracing my finger over the ink on his chest.

Flint doesn't reply, swallows harshly, so I whisper a small, "Please?"

He nods his head, tilting it to watch as I trace over the constellation pattern on his right shoulder. "That's uh..." he clears his throat. "That was the star pattern the day Sterling was born."

Nodding I move my finger along his collarbone, tracing the small ship that rests on the left side. "And this one?"

He swallows again, Adam's apple bobbing, tilts his head to face the ceiling, eyes closed. "That's to remember the day my dad took me fishing."

Smiling slightly, I skim my fingers over his abs. Stopping on the lower left side of his torso, I trace the snake that follows his v-line. Fingers dusting the waist band of his black joggers. "What about this one?"

Flint lets out a low groan as I trace and retrace the snake. Parts his lips but no sound comes out. He squeezes his eyes shut, looks a little like he's in pain.

"Flint? You okay?" I make a move to remove my hand.

Flints hand indulges mine, holding my palm flat against his lower torso. "I uh...yeah...I...fuck-" he blows out a breath. Opens his eyes, tilts his head down to look at the tattoo. "I uhh...I got that because it looked cool."

Nodding my head again, Flint lets my hand go, allowing me to trace his next tattoo. It's a bouquet of flowers, I'm not sure of the name, placed on his side, where his rib cage is. "What's this one?"

Flint tenses, narrows his eyes at me, clenches his jaw. "It's a dahlia flower." He breaths out. "I got it for my mum. Her name was Dahlia."

Was.

Staring down at the flowers, I trace the lines of them. Ask even though I know I shouldn't. "What happened to her?"

I don't expect an answer, I'm a little surprised when I receive one. "She died giving birth to Sterling."

Staring at the flower I try to think of an appropriate response. He doesn't give me the time, changing the subject. "You wanna watch a film?"

I nod my head with a small smile. Remove my hands from his skin. Flint frowns. "Can I choose?"

"No."

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"This is a stupid film."

I ignore Flint, passing him the bowl of popcorn he got to keep him occupied.

He ended up relenting and letting me choose the film. Obviously I choice princess and the frog. It's like the best film ever made how was I not supposed to choose it?

Flint doesn't agree, he's been groaning and moaning since I put it on 10 minutes ago.

We're lying in his bed. Flint on the outside, me tucked into the inside, covers pulled up to my chin. Flint has his back against the head board, bowl of popcorn on his lap, his laptop resting in between us.

Half way into the film I realise Flints being too quiet. I tilt my head to find him already staring down at me.

He's got a soft look on his face. Curls resting on his forehead. But most importantly he's got a small smile playing on his lips.

Wide eyed I find myself completely mesmerised. He looks so pretty when he smiles. Prettier than he normally is. Which should be impossible but it isn't. He should smile more often. If I had a smile like that I'd never stop smiling.

I don't point it out. Not wanting it to disappear. Instead I shift a little closer to the boy laying next to me. Slowly, agonisingly slow, his hand reaches out and grasps mine under the covers.

Fingers intertwined. Tongue tied. Souls tangled. We finishes the film in relative silence. My eyes drifting shut before the credits begin to play.

Short short chapter