. : bliss valley : . [18+]

. : four : .

f o u r

Bas idled outside the address on the card, feeling more than a little stupid.

What had he been expecting? A regal mansion? An ornate skyscraper decorated with glass and marble bricks?

On that tiny plot of land, cornered between an auto repair store and a nondescript office, sat an innocent flower shop in the downtown commercial district.

Kids played in the park next door, and young couples threw pennies in the cobbled fountain, making wishes on love and other fairy-tales.

Sebastian almost said fuck it and whipped out of the parking lot, but the thought of Sylvester tormenting him until the end of his days was enough to make him park and get out.

He put extra effort into himself today. A nice, inviting spritz of cologne his mother got him for his birthday, a modest pair of loafers, a crisp button down that said look at my muscles all you want but don't objectify me, babe.

"This is the farthest I've driven just to get laid," Bas grumbled, crossing the street. He'd scheduled this day perfectly, taking time off from the parlor midday so he could catch his mysterious new prospect before she left.

The door jingled as it opened, and his nose was assaulted with fresh florals and the lingering scent of wilt common in grocery stores and the homes of elderly women.

Behind the counter an Indian man was wrestling with an unwieldy bouquet of thorny red roses, cursing in a language Bas associated with those insane Bollywood musicals Walter and Sylvester loved to watch.

(The man behind the counter was actually Lebanese, but Sebastian had the unfortunate tendency to categorize other brown people as either Black, dark Spanish, Native, Indian, or Arab. For him there was no inbetween.)

He's a pretty good looking dude...

Maybe he's my next girl's main piece...

...Kinda old though.

Bas waved the errant thought away and approached the counter with a cautious smile, wondering if he had the right place.

"Hey, sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for, uh...."

The young man suddenly realized his prospect never revealed her name. At a loss, Bas quickly whipped out the business card and showed it to the older man. He spoke slowly, just in case the florist was fresh off the boat.

"Someone gave me this a few days ago, and I was wondering if she happened to drop by here. She's about average height. Bit darker than me. Scowls a lot... You get what I'm saying?"

The mustachioed man, with a armful of dripping roses, blinked at Bas several times before rolling his eyes.

"Rosaline! One of yours is up front!" He called to the door behind him in perfect English.

One of yours...?

The handsome florist gathered up his project in a huff and brushed through the side exit without another word, leaving Bas alone in the customer gallery.

The other man hobbled on every right step, and only then did Bas realize he was missing his leg from the knee down. The entire bone had been replaced with a titanium rod and ended safely in a fashionable Adidas tennis shoe.

What the hell happened to him?

...He's still kinda hot.

"It's not what you're thinking." A cool voice said.