Red Wine (ScotFra)

Blue Things

A L L I S T O R

I guess you could say this all started when my brother brought home a tall blonde stranger from that new school. It was some high-class place for "gifted" students. Artie is a wiz on paper, sure, but put him anywhere else and he's an idiot. I even had to tell him that he was in love- the dumbass couldn't see that himself; But that's a story for another time.
The real beginning, where our story really starts, is a little before then. I'm guessing Ill have to start this from the very beginning, and that is the day that I was walking through an open air market in this town we just moved to, buying groceries for mum.

There were people walking around quietly, friendly chatter among the crowd, people bargaining with vendors. I saw a woman getting into a heated argument over the price of oranges.
The basket I carried was full of the things mother needed for dinner, and I pulled out the list to double check and see if I had gotten everything. Mum's curly handwriting on a folded pice of paper served as my guide and I read down the list, checking off everything. The last thing on it, I hadn't seen yet.

•Big bundle of Peonies, make sure they smell nice

I rolled my eyes.
Of course they're gonna smell nice, they're flowers.
I'm pretty sure peonies are flowers.
Right?
I stuffed the list back into my pocket and eyed the market, looking around for anyone who was selling flowers. I squinted in the harsh sunlight, running a hand through my air. Finally through the mass of people I spotted a place with the plants. Wandering over to it, narrowly avoiding people, I watched my feet carefully so I wouldn't step on anyone. Just as I was about to reach the place, a boy about my age was walking the opposite way I was. There was a moment when our eyes connected, and his, a deep, deep blue looked into mine. We both kept walking but I turned my head. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. His hair was a brilliant blonde pulled into a low ponytail and looked so soft and I was overcome with the urge to touch it. Maybe even pull it (pull it nicely in the heat of love, I mean, not just pulling someone's hair for no good reason). He wore a v-necked shirt with a scarf, but I didn't notice much else about him. It was eyes that made me keep looking. They were so blue.
The whole encounter lasted maybe three seconds, yet it left me shook.
What the hell was that?
When we finally turned back around, I realized I was at the booth that was selling flowers. Shaking my head, trying to forget the weird feeling within my chest, I looked at the vast array of flowers.
There were bright colors and strong scents from the whole table and they made my nose itch. Flowers didn't impress me much, but they were pretty I guess. I looked up to the vendor.
"Which of these are peonies?" I asked.
The guy shrugged. "I'm just watching this place for an hour while my buddy's at lunch, sorry. But we're giving all these away. Free Flower Day. It's a promotion for his business or something,"
Great. "Okay uh... Thanks?" I said, looking around for what I thought were peonies.
My eyes stopped on some pretty blue flowers that were shaped a bit like bells.
These look nice.
"Peonies are here," A voice beside me spoke out of thin air, and then a hand picked up a bundle of flowers and held them out to me.
"Oh thanks," I said, taking them.
"Your welcome," A heavy French accent accompanied his voice.
I looked up at him finally, and my mind stopped working. I just stared at him, finally able to drink in his features. He was good looking.
Very good looking. Sexy, but in a beautiful way.
Jesus, he is hot.
Full homo.
Then my eyes met his, and my heart stopped for a moment.
It's that guy from a minute ago. Why is he here?
"Thanks," I said.
I said thanks already why am I saying it again what the fuck? Why can't I speak to this guy? Ugh.
I groaned internally as he let out a little laugh and smiled at me. "Your welcome again,"
I swallowed hard and then the vendor waved to the guy as he took my flowers from me and wrapped them up.
"Hey, Francis. You're looking great,"
The guy, Francis, I guessed his name was, chuckled again. "I always am," he said, making the other guy laugh. "But you look lovely as well, thank you," I took my flowers, thanked the vendor guy, and turned to leave, anxious about whoever Francis was and the achey feeling that filled my chest whenever he spoke.
I got about three feet before I heard him call out to me.
"I know I don't know you, but I have a feeling we will meet again, mon ami!"
If you weren't so hot that'd be kind of creepy.

My head spun. That was the strangest feeling that I'd ever felt. I decided quickly that I didn't like it. At all. He made me stutter my words and look like a idiot, and I didn't like that feeling. Nor did I like the light swirling of my stomach and chest, or the twisting and turning with butterflies at the sight of his eyes.
What was all that "We'll meet again" bullshit? He sounded like one of those stupid romance movies on the tv that nobody but divorced middle aged mothers watch when they're kids aren't home.
Little did I know, he was right. We would meet again.