Flowering

Henry Haluki sighed as he sat on the lawn, looking out and over the ocean. In his hands he gripped a flower. He ran his fingers over the silky petals slowly, finding comfort in the soft feeling. His heart pounded.

He had a lot on his mind. Bright orange eyes. A carefree laugh. Tall, tightly coiled hair. Deep, smooth skin. Toned arms and gentle hands.

Yeah. A lot.

Henry glanced down at the daisy in his hand. He bit his lip softly. He plucked a petal. "He loves me," he whispered.

He plucked another. "He loves me not." He cringed at the words.

"He loves m-"

"Hey Henry! What are you doing out here?"

Henry froze at the voice, crumpling the daisy in his hands. It was Thatcher.

He turned to face the older boy. "Hey!" He said quickly, trying to push away his nerves. "I'm just watching the ocean. It's relaxing."

Thatcher sat down next to Henry, looking out towards the ocean. "Yeah. Yeah it is." He grinned. "I never took you for a fan of watching scenery. You're always working."

Henry laughed lightly. "I had to get a break from it. It got stuffy, surprisingly."

Thatcher nodded. "That's understandable." He reached his hand to his left, between him and Henry, lightly touching the daisy that had magically grown after Henry had picked his. Henry watched Thatcher pick the little white flower and look at it closely.

"You like plants, right?" He said, not looking at Henry.

Henry felt the heat rising to his cheeks. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised, mostly all he ever did outside the mansion was work in his garden, but he couldn't help but feel as though Thatcher had noticed him in particular. "Yeah."

Henry braced himself for any herb related question Thatcher might ask, but instead the older boy just said "Cool," with a grin on his face.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Henry felt the ocean breeze blow through his hair. He was content, sitting there with Thatcher. The two had become very close after the battle for Artimé, and Henry felt extremely happy every moment they spent together.

But today, now, Henry felt nervous. He'd begun to realize something new. He had feelings for Thatcher. His nerves came from the fear that Thatcher may not feel the same way. Henry wished he could say something about it, but he was afraid. He didn't want to ruin his friendship with Thatcher.

After more a few more moments of quiet, Thatcher spoke up. "What flower do you think I should get someone I love?"

Henry felt his throat clench. He hesitated. "What kind of love?"

"Like, kissy, mushy love."

Kissy, mushy love.

"Well," Henry said after a long pause. "Roses are always nice. Or you could get them their favorite flower, that's a nice gesture."

Thatcher smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense! It shows you've been listening to them and that you care, right?"

Henry smiled and felt the blush rise to his cheeks again. "Exactly."

Thatcher kept his eyes on the daisy in his hand. The two were quiet again. Henry felt a twinge of jealousy in his heart. Thatcher was clearly out of his reach. He wanted to sigh in defeat. No. He wanted to scream. He wanted to pull his hair out. He wanted Thatcher to love him. "Or you could get them their favorite flower." He thought to himself. Nice going, Henry.

And then Thatcher broke the silence. "Hey Henry?"

Henry mustered a smile. "Mhm?"

"What's your favorite flower?"