In the Language of the Flowers

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✾ Magenta Zinnia ✾

I didn't really sleep all that well that first night. I was either too hot or too cold or too cramped, which was strange since this was my own bed and nothing had changed since Beau had arrived. At least, that's what I kept telling myself. 

Maybe that was a lie. There was this warm...thing in my chest. I wasn't sure what it was, but it was foreign. Maybe it was something like hope? I grimaced. Embarrassing. 

It was four in the morning, and I was staring at the ceiling fan above my bed, watching one of the blades spin around and around. Essentially, I was slipping into insanity. 

I had basically welcomed a complete stranger into my apartment and then told him that he should stay. Because why not?

But it wasn't like there was anything else I could have done in my situation. I think the very moment I saw him up on that roof I was doomed. He was coming home with me the second I laid eyes on him. I was just lucky that he was desperate.

I sighed and stared at my hand, remembering the feeling of my fingers in his hair.

He was perfect. His skin, the vulnerable look in his eyes, his vibrant curls...and something about the way he held himself like he was tiptoeing through life so as not to disturb the rest of the world. It made my heart ache for him a bit. Life had to have thrown more than his fair share at him for him to be so scared of it.

The best word I could find to describe him? Delicate.

I felt like if I touched him, he'd shatter. Then I'd be sitting there in the darkness, painting random people who just wanted to hook up with me. It was meaningless art. It had always been meaningless with them.

I knew I could make something that was important, that meant more. But I could only do it with Beau. That realization was terrifying. Maybe it was unfair for me to drop that responsibility on him, but I could make sure he didn't really know how sharp my pain was.

Yet he preoccupied my thoughts. I tried to tear my mind away from him, but I couldn't. I hadn't said anything to him, but I was curious. What secrets did he keep? Would I discover them one day? God, I wanted to. I wanted to know everything about him. I felt strangely guilty for it.

"Shit," I said, finally giving up. I sat up and buried my fingers in my hair, staring at the wall in front of me. The painting I'd done of Aurora was staring at me from the easel I'd left it on, her captivating eyes still lusting after me. Something about it felt wrong. All of the paintings around me felt dirty.

I stood and went across the room to drape an old, paint-splattered sheet over it as I had for the others, hiding those eyes away. I tried to massage away the knot that had formed in my neck, but it stayed with me. So I clenched my jaw and lazily walked over to the sliding glass door that led to my minuscule balcony.

It was still dark outside. When I stepped out, a cool gust of wind stirred my hair and my clothes. I closed my eyes and let it steal my warmth for a moment. Sometimes it was suffocating to be always surrounded by warm...by people. It felt like a burden.

I groaned and rested my arms on the cool railing. The city lights glimmered like moonlight on a shifting lake, lights riotous yet somehow still peaceful. I could hear the sounds of the city below me. People shouted and laughed. Cars honked. I let it distract me a bit from my life, and my mind cleared.

"You're not thinking about it, too...are you?"

My head snapped up. In an instant, his voice brought all my thoughts thundering back, internal conflict louder than the city below even though he'd barely spoken. Leaning against the rail on the other balcony--the one right next to mine that jutted off of his room--was Beau. He stood there looking rigid and nervous. 

His hair still looked beautiful at night. For a moment, I let the silence between us linger. I watched his hair stir in the wind, a few curls hiding his doe eyes from me for a breath. It made me want to go over there and tuck them away, to touch him again.

I clenched my hand into a fist. I had to control myself. This wasn't like usual. Beau was different. I had to be, too, if such a thing was possible. "Hey, Copper," I finally said. "And no. I'm quite attached to my life, despite everything."

"You just seem...I don't know. Worried. Or maybe sad," he said, looking away and staring down at the city lights. There wasn't much of a view, but the single street you could see from my apartment usually provided adequate people watching.

"Maybe both," I replied, then lowered my voice to a whisper so it would be lost on the breeze. "Maybe."

He was quiet for another long moment, but Beau finally spoke again. "Thank you."

I raised an eyebrow and looked at him, but when I saw the look on his face, the weightless response I'd prepared vanished. I fumbled for a new one. "I...think I should be saying that."

"Well...what you're doing for me is a bit more significant. All I'm doing is sitting so that you can paint me. Doesn't take much," Beau said, turning away.

"Hey," I said. He looked back at me. "It's much more than that to me. You should know that. And it's not like emptying out an unused room is a big deal, either."

Beau shrugged awkwardly, which made me smile a little. He never seemed to know what he was doing and he definitely didn't know his own charm. "So," I started again, "what's your plan?"

"My plan?" he asked, confused.

I nodded, tilting my head forward. "Your plan. You sort of need one. What do you want to do next?"

He blinked and stared at me as if I'd just set down a calculus problem in front of him. "I don't know," he said.

I smiled. "I think you probably do. At least an inkling."

He slowly shook his head. "I suddenly have a future."

"You do. But you always did," I replied. He didn't say anything. I sighed. "You have to decide what you want to do next. Keep your eyes on the horizon, and you don't look back."

I could tell what I'd said had struck a chord. "It's not that easy."

I shook my head. "Of course not." I walked over to the railing closest to his balcony so that there were only a few feet between us. I leaned over the railing and looked him in the eye. "It's life. It's not made to be a joyride," I said, "but if you spend your time living in the past, you can't look forward at all. And we have to look forward, even if we can't see a destination."

Beau nodded and sighed. He leaned on his railing and hid his face in his hands. "When I was up there, for a second, there wasn't a future any longer. The world and I were just empty."

There was that ache again. What had this kid been through? "I know that feeling," I admitted.

He looked up at me and I saw tears clinging to his pale lashes. His eyebrows drew together. "But then you were there. Everything changed so quickly. What..." He swallowed hard. "What am I supposed to do?"

I clenched my jaw and sighed. "I don't think you're human if you haven't asked that question sometime in your life." I watched him for a moment and finally shook my head. "But for now, I recommend you get some sleep. We can talk in the morning."

He pressed his palms to his eyes and nodded. "Yeah. Ok."

"I'll see you in the morning, Copper," I said as he turned. "Sleep as well as you can."