Inked Petals

Chapter 2 : Something To Think About

He collapsed onto the couch, utterly exhausted. Tattooing people was a draining activity, having to focus all day on a drawing that you couldn’t mess up. Normally, he would be looking forward to another day at the studio, but after the train ride, it only seemed to be an annoyance, stopping him from having a relatively normal social life.

Blankly staring at the ceiling, he lost himself in his thoughts, the idea of cutting down his workload played over and over in his head. It was tempting to do so, but he was uncertain of the consequences. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he hated the feeling. Sighing, he buried his face in a cushion. He was probably just tired. Yeah, that must be it.

Slowly getting up, he grabbed a fresh change of clothes along with a towel from his bedroom, and headed over to the bathroom. A hot shower would help him clear his mind, and relax. He stripped down, taking a moment to run his fingers along the scars on his chest, then stepped into the shower, the hot water running down his pale, toned figure, tracing the inked patterns of curling stems and dainty petals on his arms, that served as the only barrier between his line of sight and the scars left from those shackles, the ones that bound him in an endless darkness for centuries.

He blinked, frowning as memories came flooding back. He didn’t want to remember how those years of isolation had broken him, how he had constantly dreamt of the worst nightmares one could ever have, how they made his mind crumble torturously slow, all alone.

Before he realised, tears started to flow down his cheeks, mixing with the hot water. Stifling a sob as best as he could, he turned his attention to cleaning himself instead. At least, he tried to. He hadn’t been aware of his hands that were violently trembling in fear, losing all strength that they had left. He couldn’t help but let it all out, sobs wracking his body as he sat down and curled up into a fetal position, unable to do anything else but to relive those memories.

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The next morning, Geno halfheartedly dragged himself to work, failing to catch sight of the pair of lavender eyes peeking out between the arrays of flowers. He was too disgruntled to even bother to look, having barely gotten a wink of sleep the night before. He got himself ready for the first customer as usual, but tripped and stumbled over something sitting in front of the door.

He looked down, and saw a bouquet of colourful flowers. It consisted of lavender roses, lillies, red carnations, and gardenias. Huh, that’s a weird combination. He bent down to pick it up, and found a small card, nestled between the petals that read ‘To Geno, from S. Presson’

Presson? Wasn’t that Razein’s last name? Huh, that’s odd. He picked it up and carried it inside anyway, deciding to think about it later.

——

That night, he stared at the card, the flowers put in a vase on the table. He wondered who the mystery flower sender was, surprised that someone would actually give him flowers. The handwriting on the card was unfamiliar, and was definitely not Razein’s, Deon’s, nor Callie’s. How strange.

He lay down on the bed, and continued to ponder about the sender until sleep overcame him.

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Over the course of a few weeks, more and more flowers appeared in front of his studio, accompanied by the same card, occasionally there was a cheesy poem on it too. The flowers, he discovered, all represented love. That was odd. He didn’t really think he would be worth the time and money to be sent so many flowers, which only puzzled him as much as the sender’s identity. He couldn’t stop thinking about them. What did they look like? He spend his time on the train daydreaming, imagining the person’s face, how they smiled, how they laughed…

He felt rather ashamed, to admit it. He was becoming a little obsessed with this mystery person he had never seen or heard of, he was acting like a lovesick fool. Of course, his change of behaviour didn’t go unnoticed by his relatives, and was often teased about it. He merely shrugged and went back to daydreaming. The only time he wasn’t thinking about them was when he was working, which he found relief in.

——-

The flowers continued to be sent to his front door for several months, which Geno had ended up filling his flat with. They were placed everywhere, making the place seem more like a garden than someone’s living space. He didn’t mind, though. It made the place seem more cheerful and lively.

It was a Saturday, meaning he could finally take a short break. He lazily rolled over in bed and scrolled through his messages. Looks like the family would be having dinner at dad’s place, which obviously meant that Razein would be cooking. Everyone enjoyed his cooking, he was proficient in almost every kind of dish. Geno yawned and got out of bed, heading over to the bathroom to wash his face. He then proceeded to cook some oatmeal, one of the only foods he could eat without awkwardly tilting his head to chew. He missed tasting food, to tell the truth. But there was nothing he could do about it.