A Bouquet From A Man Who Never Loved Me

Eight

Art credit to @cebbeg on tumblr!

      Waiting for luggage was a bore, not just for him, but all of the boys. As the conveyer creaked and groaned under the weight of turning countless suitcases and bags, Fitz stood with a hand under his chin, his sleep logged mind replaying the incident that had happened only an hour before as they had landed.

      He glanced up at Swagger, who had his arms propped over the extended handle of his suitcase, chin resting in his forearms. Fitz took note of how absolutely exhausted Swagger looked, and swallowed the guilt he was feeling thickly. His mind like a VHS player, rewinding the memory and pressing play again.

— — —

      After a moment of sitting and trying to recollect himself, shoving the fear in his heart down to the furthest depths of his body that he could, his trembling hands reached for Swagger's glass again—along with his own—forcing himself to refuse looking at the newly added contents, he wriggled out of the little chair and stumbled the two steps it took to get to the miniature bar. His face was hot, and the pure fear in his chest was becoming unbearable as he set the two whisky glasses down in front of him on the countertop. The blue haired flight attendant turned to assist him, but paused.

      "Sir," she inquired, "are you okay? You aren't looking very well."

      Fitz said nothing, but raised his large hand in a gesture to say that he was okay. The lady nodded and reached for the glasses. When she pulled them back in towards herself, she halted, staring down at the glass.

      "Sir," she spoke again, but her tone changing to a soft whisper, causing him to actually meet her gaze. "Are these yours?" She tilted the glass towards him, displaying the flowers as clear as day. Another wave of panic surged through him and his leg crumpled underneath him. His chin hit the counter's edge and he tasted blood from his now cut lip on his tongue. The flight attendant set the glass cup down with urgency and leaned over the bar counter, peering down at him with worry.

      "Are you alright, sir?" She asked, a bit more alert. "How much have you had to drink?" Fitz groaned and pulled himself upright and back to the countertop. "I'm fine, thank you," he said, bracing his upper body on his arms. "Just had a good scare is all,"

      The woman smiled, but it wasn't a genuine one. "Alright," she said, pick the glasses back up. She didn't repeat her question a second time as she went to the small trash bin behind her, dumping the colorful flowers inside the plastic bag. Fitz's chest squeezed tightly, as he watched the fresh petals fall helplessly away.

      Shaking his head, the tall man refocused himself on finding his luggage. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to get his luggage and go home. He was chanting the little mantra of thoughts in his head as his phone vibrated in his back pocket. Lifting up the hem of his hoodie, he plucked the phone from his pocket and tapped the screen...

      Swagger looked to the taller man, after his long hard struggle of trying to tune out Jay's incessant talk about some kind of Fortnite lore that he absolutely adored. When he saw Fitz smiling dumbly at his phone, not even paying attention for his bag, something deep in him stung. His shoulders slumped in a form of defeat as he studied Fitz's face carefully.

      His lungs were budding with each breath he took

      The look of pure adoration in the taller's blue eyes, that dumb, lovable smile cast for someone else on the the other side of his phone screen. He wished he could have that. He just wanted that for himself. He wanted Fitz to look at him like that, with almost pure adoration and love. Was it so hard to ask? Because if not Fitz, who?

      Another flower, another stem,

      It wasn't that no one in the world would, he had a fan base and a lot of people would probably kill for an opportunity like this. But his heart didn't yearn for anyone else like it did for the taller man.

      Vines and stems intertwining themselves around his heart and up his throat. Small thorns pricking gently at tender flesh.

      He bent over his suitcase, coughing harshly into his hoodie sleeve. Toby, who had been beside him, entertained by Ryan and Matt's interjection with Jay's gushing, turned to Swagger, placing a gentle hand in his back. Pulling his mouth back from the crook of his elbow, small flowers covered in phlegm. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and swiped them to the floor, before wiping his mouth with the corner of his sleeve.

      Fitz had looked up from his phone at just the moment Swagger had pushed the flowers from his sleeve, and another surge of anxiety crashed through him. He contemplated crossing the few feet between them but Toby had given him a look, almost as if she knew something he didn't. A dangerously concerned look that made him stop.

      His mind began to reel again, as he held his phone tightly in his grip, knuckles and fingers aching in protest.

      "Oy, Fitz!" Mason called behind him, making him twirl around, "your bag," he pointed to the black and red suitcase puttering along the conveyer belt. He glanced at Toby one more time, before he hefted his bag from the moving line, and setting it on the ground by its wheels.

      Apparently he had been the one they were waiting for, as the rest of the group began to wander towards the garage where the few cars they had all packed themselves into at the beginning of the trip had been parked for over a week.

      Three flights of stairs in a glass box, carrying a clunky suitcase, and unwillingly having to breathe in the smell of humidity and car exhaust, Fitz threw his bag and practically himself into Ryan's car. He hadn't been lucky enough to score a front seat, thanks to Sam, so he was crammed in the back with negative leg room and smashed against the door. Matt had climbed into the other side, grumbling about the same problem and being the last to make it into a car Because he had to "arrange the shit in the back because no one else would.", this left. The shortest in the middle, and unfortunately for Fitz, the shortest pick had been Swagger. The five-foot-eight man, was trying adamantly to give Matt space to wrap the seat belt and fasten it, but a tight hand misplaced on Fitz's leg made them both stop.

      "Oh, sorry man," Swagger said, retracting his hand with a short and somewhat high pitched laugh, that to anyone would've sounded playful. But deep down his anxiety was eating him alive. He had fucking done that, he couldn't believe it. What the fuck is your deal Matthews?!

      Swagger twisted his body straight forward as soon as he heard the click of Matt's seatbelt, cradling his hand in his lap. He took a small glance at Fitz, who had returned to his phone, and let out a heavy exhale.

      What was he going to do now that his days were officially numbered? Own it like a man? Confess? Die?

      Whatever it was, he had better decide fast, because the smile Fitz gave the message thread on his phone wasn't going to end anytime soon.