This year's Valentine's Day story - or one of them, anyways. I'm posting this a little early cause I finished earlier than I expected but, hey, this means I can move onto the next one.

There are now two versions of this - the second 'chapter' only has the middle bit which is different but if you want the better version, you can read that instead of this first one if you'd like.

At 10am on Valentine's Day, Arthur stood at his front door, blinking at the bouquet before him. It contained red roses, pink orchids, Gardenia and what appeared to be some sort of fern for the sake of greenery. He had certainly not ordered any flowers and, considering he worked from home and didn't get out much, there was no-one he had met recently who could possibly want to send him flowers. Nevertheless, there they were, Arthur and deliveryman, staring at each other.

"Are you sure these are for me?" Arthur asked him, frowning now.

"It says here 140 Kings Street," the man replied, holding up his clipboard.

"I really don't think it's supposed to be coming to me," protested Arthur, shrugging helplessly.

"Look, mate," the man sighed. "I've got a ton of other flowers to be delivering today and I don't have time to take these back to the shop or nothing. Can't ya just take 'em and accept the universe wanted ya to feel loved t'day?"

Arthur thought it over as quickly as possible and sighed. "All right, fine. I'll take them. But, if you could, I'd like the number of the shop so I can call and tell them their mistake."

The deliveryman snorted in apparent amusement as he handed over the bouquet. "Rather you than me. Doubt you'll get through right now, anyways. It's a busy day for us. If you'll just sign here..."

Once Arthur had signed and the man had left him with a piece of the form, number for the shop scrawled across it in messy handwriting, he closed the door and made his way to the kitchen. He filled the sink, set the flowers in it and went looking for his favourite vase. It was an elegant white ceramic, fashioned to look as though it spiralled upwards, pointing one's attention to the flowers held there. Working methodically, he filled up the vase to the correct level and sprinkled in some of the food for the flowers. He only used some of it and closed the packet by taping it firmly shut. Then, carefully, almost reverently, he placed the flowers in without removing the packaging, hoping he could get the flowers back to the shop and onto the correct person as soon as possible.

That was easier said than done: for the next hour, he tried to get through to the shop. No-one answered and he eventually gave up, deciding it might yield results if he called back later. In defeat, he picked up the vase and placed it on his coffee table which was at just the right angle to catch the afternoon sun. As he stood back, he noticed the envelope taped to the packaging. Cursing the deliveryman for not telling him about it, he carefully removed it and, just as carefully, opened it to read the card, hoping he could derive who these flowers were meant to be for.

Love you dearly and always will.

Your one true love

No such luck, apparently. So, defeated, he put the card back in the envelope and set it aside. Hopefully, whoever had sent these would be able to get them to whoever they were intended for.

He glanced at his watch. It was high time he went back to his work.

For the second time that day, there was an unexpected knock at the door. Well, Arthur thought the word 'knock' was a bit lacking, seeing as the mystery person was pounding on the poor wood. By that point, it was the late afternoon and it reminded Arthur that, perhaps now, he could call the shop and have this mess with the flowers sorted.

The banging started up again and Arthur scowled. "I'm coming!" he yelled, letting his anger seep into his voice. He wrenched open the door, fully intending to berate the person for their poor treatment of his property. However, all thoughts of telling them off evaporated when he spotted who was on his doorstep.

Standing there, looking rather pained, was a handsome young man. His blond hair was all over the place, though some strands stayed smoothed back. Behind his spectacles, his blue eyes were wide: he seemed panicked though Arthur couldn't think why. He was wearing a nice black jacket, white shirt and navy tie combo but the part of the shirt visible was clearly drenched in sweat. More sweat trickled down the side of his face and throat.

Not having any idea who the man was, Arthur stared back. However, the man seemed rather impatient and quickly blurted out, "You have my flowers!"

It took a moment for Arthur's brain to register what had just been said. "I'm sorry?"

"My flowers! They were sent here by mistake! I need them – right now!"

Rather overwhelmed by the man's enthusiasm, Arthur stepped back a little. "How do you know whether any flowers were sent here?" he demanded.

"The shop I bought them from showed me the address – it's supposed to say Kings Road not Kings Street," the man explained, seemingly calming himself. "It should say 'Love you dearly and always will'."

"Ah," said Arthur, relieved that he wouldn't have to go out of his way to get the flowers to the right person. "Let me just get them. I've been keeping them in water and in the sunlight. I'm afraid I thought it was best to use some of the food but I taped the sachet shut for you to use later."

"Uh, right," said the man, shifting his weight as he glanced over his shoulder.

Thinking he felt uncomfortable being left on the doorstep, Arthur gestured for him to follow him. "Come in. You don't need to stand at the door. Would you like something to drink?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Arthur led him to his living room. Gently, he lifted the flowers from the vase and held them above it, letting the excess water drip into the vase rather than on his rug. "It's a fine bouquet you've chosen, Mister...?"

"Oh! I'm Alfred F. Jones."

"Arthur Kirkland. Pleased to meet you." Arthur gave Alfred a small smile as he handed the bouquet over. "Did you know the meanings of the flowers when you picked them?"

"Huh?" Alfred asked, obviously distracted by his relief at finally having the flowers in his hands. "Uh, no. They all have meanings? I just picked 'em 'cause they looked pretty. And 'cause the woman said they suited the red roses. I know what they mean."

"Well, you're in luck, Mister Jones," Arthur told him. "There's a lot of love in this bouquet."

"Really?" Alfred tilted his head as he stared at the flowers. When he looked up, he fixed Arthur with a rather intense look. "What do they mean, then?"

"Oh, I don't think you want me to tell you what's what..."

"C'mon, man, teach me the ways of the flowers!" Alfred did an absurd, grand flourish towards Arthur and the author had to cover his mouth to stifle his chuckles.

"Very well. Red roses are, as you know, a symbol of love. If you'd picked other colours, they would have meant something else, though."

"Like what?"

"Well, yellow means friendship – so it's probably not the best colour to pick on Valentine's Day."

Alfred's expression suddenly fell and he looked downright miserable. "No..."

Quickly, Arthur sought to cheer him up, unsure why he seemed downhearted by the information. "Oh, but, I'm sure your girlfriend will love this bouquet! You see, the pink orchids mean pure affection whilst the orchid themselves actually mean love and beauty. And, of course, beautiful lady. The white flowers are Gardenia which mean 'you're lovely' or secret love – though, I suspect it's not too secret...?"

His spiel had actually put a smile on the man's face and he nodded. "Yeah. Julie knows about it." His smile fell again. "But she was really pissed when I turned up today without a present. I told her I'd sent her flowers but she was really mad when I called the shop and they said they didn't have them. She threw me out of her house – which is totally unfair 'cause I booked a table at her favourite sushi restaurant!"

"You have them now," Arthur assured him. "So, if you hurry, you'll be having dinner with her soon. Kings Road is only a few streets away."

"Yeah!" Alfred exclaimed, grinning. "Thanks, man! And thanks for, y'know, keeping them alive and all."

"Not a problem," Arthur told him as he held open the front door for him once again. He gave him a smile, larger than the last one. "I'm sure your girlfriend will be happy to see you again. By the way..." he added, just as Alfred began to turn away. Alfred stopped and looked at him, blinking. "I looked up the type of fern in the bouquet, too," he told him, nodding at the flowers. "It's called fern maidenhair and means 'secret bond of love'."

"Wow, really? Even the grass means love?"

"It appears so. You can appreciate my shock at getting them!" Arthur chuckled.

"What? What d'ya mean?" asked Alfred, frowning. "Why would you be shocked? I mean, you're a really nice guy – there should be someone giving you love."

Blushing, Arthur shook his head. "You're ridiculous – and wasting time. You'd best hurry."

"Ah! Right!" Alfred cried and hurried off with a cheery wave over his shoulder.

"Who is it this time?" Arthur grumbled as he made his way through his house for the third time that day. Unlike the deliveryman who had knocked twice and Alfred who had almost took the door of its hinges, whoever had knocked at the door had only done so with two sharp raps and stopped. He hoped it wasn't someone from the shop coming to pick up the flowers as he had no receipt to prove he had given them to Alfred.

The house had been quiet for hours and it was now dark. Rain had been falling for a while now, battering against the windows. Arthur had welcomed the sound, pleased to hear such a familiar noise. When he reached the door, he found himself hoping that whoever was on the other side had managed to keep dry.

Pulling open the door, he said, "Sorry to keep- Alfred?"

For the man was standing on his doorstep, utterly soaked and looking despondent. Instead of explaining why he was there, Alfred held out the bouquet, which was now squashed and drooping. "You should get these in some water."

"Ah, er..." Arthur stared for a moment, confused. Then he jerked into action, gently taking the flowers from Alfred. "Right. Just... Come in but stay in the hall for now." Darting away, he placed the flowers in the sink and ran water into it before hurrying upstairs for a towel, a pair of comfy jogging bottoms, the largest t-shirt he owned and a warm jumper. Then he returned to Alfred; he had stepped inside and closed the door but otherwise continued to stare at the floor. "Here. Dry yourself off while I deal with the flowers."

Once he had gotten them into a vase again with more of the food, he came out of the kitchen and glanced at Alfred. He was slowly drying his skin, having removed everything bar his boxers. Arthur tried not to stare at his muscles and wondered briefly what he did for a living. After watching him slowly brush the towel against him, Arthur sighed and took the flowers back to their place on the table. Then he went back to Alfred and, taking the towel from him, placed it on Alfred's head and began to rub at his hair.

"What on Earth happened?" Arthur asked. Alfred didn't answer so Arthur said nothing more. He simply dried the poor bloke off and then helped him into his clothes since he seemed rather lethargic and out of it. In fact, he seemed to be a different person altogether from the one Arthur had seen earlier. Gathering up the soaking garments, Arthur led Alfred to his living room once again. "Would you like a hot drink? Tea? I think I have some instant coffee but, other than that, the only other option would be the hot chocolate and I-"

"That'll do," Alfred replied, his voice rough.

"Right..." said Arthur, a little alarmed at the fact that that was all Alfred had said. "I won't be long and then you can..." He trailed off and shrugged helplessly, making his way to the kitchen.

As he worked, he puzzled on what could possibly have brought Alfred back to his house with the flowers. Had something happened to his girlfriend? Did he return to her house to find her taken ill? Was she still angry with him and for a reason he hadn't understood the first time? Had there been an accident? If that was the case, Arthur wasn't sure he would know how to help him.

He returned to the living room with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Setting his own on the table, he sat on the couch next to Alfred and handed over the second. Alfred took it, hunching up on himself more. Arthur could see the dampness under his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked, gently.

Alfred took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. Then he took a fortifying sip of the hot chocolate before he spoke. "She was with another guy. When I got there. With the flowers."

"Jesus," Arthur murmured, watching the poor man taking another cautious sip of his beverage. "She worked fast..."

Swallowing, Alfred shook his head. "It's been going on for a while. I-I don't think she intended to go out to dinner with me at all..."

At a loss, Arthur laid a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "You poor thing..."

"How did I miss it?" Alfred said, lip trembling. His hands were shaking and Arthur could see the tears running down his cheeks again. "I'm so stupid! Right? I should've seen-!" In a fit of rage, directed at himself, Alfred ripped the glasses from his face before freezing, obviously lost and unsure what to with himself.

Carefully, Arthur took the glasses and placed them on the coffee table. Then he took the mug and set it aside. "Have you got someone I could call to pick you-?"

Shaking his head, Alfred finally looked at him and Arthur could clearly see his pain. His heart clenched with an answering grief, hurting for Alfred just as much as he obviously was himself. "No," Alfred breathed. "Please don't. I don't want them to... That's why I came here."

"Ah. Well, then..." Hesitantly, Arthur patted Alfred's arm.

"Can I-?" Alfred began. He shifted a little, turning his body towards Arthur. His arms twitched as if he was about to raise them and Arthur took pity on him. Not waiting for him to back down or struggle to ask, Arthur leaned forwards and pulled Alfred into an awkward hug. Patting him on the back, Arthur tried to touch him as little as possible, his aversion to unnecessary touching coming through at the worst possible moment.

Then Alfred sobbed in his ear and, without warning, Arthur was pulled into a tighter embrace. He tensed for a moment before relaxing and holding Alfred just as tight. They sat for a while, Alfred crying into Arthur's shoulder and soaking through his shirt and Arthur rubbing soothing circles on his back. Eventually, Alfred pulled back and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.

"Sorry. This is- You don't... Maybe I should go..."

"Nonsense," said Arthur, snorting. He picked up his mug of hot chocolate and was pleased to find it still warm. "It's still bucketing down out there and you're in no fit state to go home on your own. You can stay here till your clothes are dried – I put them in the tumble dryer."

A wobbly smile returned to Alfred's face, though Arthur knew he was a long way from being truly happy. "Thank you," Alfred said, taking a deep breath.

"Would you like to watch something?" Arthur asked, putting down his mug and grabbing the TV remote. He handed it to Alfred and moved the vase onto the floor so they could both see the TV – and so Alfred wouldn't have to spot it and feel down once again.

"If that's okay with you..." Alfred agreed.

Arthur grinned. "Of course. Pick anything you want."

They had watched a variety of films and TV shows whilst eating the few snacks and biscuits Arthur had hidden away for a rainy day. Seeing as it was raining – in both senses – they had munched their way through it while Arthur constantly made his way to and from the kitchen to make more hot chocolate. As he started getting tired, he insisted on only making tea so he could bring out his teapot and tea cosy.

As it was, he ended up lying on the couch, his head on Alfred's lap (on Alfred's insistence) and a hand stroking his hair. It ended up being the best sleep he had had in quite some time but, when he awoke, he was rather confounded to find himself on the sofa with no Alfred in sight. Quite how he had slept through Alfred moving was beyond Arthur but he lethargically pushed himself into a sitting position. Before Alfred found him a mess, Arthur tugged his clothes into better positions and brushed a hand through his hair to try to tame it a little before he found his brush.

Just as he was about to see if his new acquaintance was in the kitchen, he realised the vase of flowers had been put back on the table, its packaging fully removed. In front of it was a single Gardenia atop a small, square piece of paper. Picking them both up, Arthur dropped the Gardenia in its place. Then he turned his attention to the note.

Thanks for last night.

I took my clothes and left yours in the washing machine.

Maybe I'll see you around, sometime?

Below that was a number and his name with a little smiley face. Arthur smiled at it before noticing the postscript.

P.S. You can keep the flowers. I reckon you'd be better at taking care of them than me.

Besides, you deserve them.

Shaking his head, Arthur chuckled. The man was incredibly selfless and he hoped he would still be interested in being friends by the time Arthur gathered the courage to call him.

One year later, almost exactly to the hour, Arthur answered his door to the exact same bouquet of flowers. For a moment, he blinked in surprise. Then the answer hit him and he smiled, exasperated. The deliveryman asked him to sign for it and he did so without complaint. He took the flowers to the kitchen, removed the card attached to the packaging, pulled out the vase, unwrapped the cellophane and arranged the flowers in the tall, crystal one he had had to buy in the last year. Grabbing the card, he took the flowers and placed them amongst the other bouquets already on the coffee table. Then he let himself read the card.

Love you dearly and always will.

Your one true love

Rolling his eyes, Arthur chuckled as he searched for his phone. Once he had found it, he called his boyfriend who he knew would pick up even if he was supposed to be working. "Flowers? Really?" he said when he answered.

"Yeah, babe," Alfred replied, the grin clear in his voice.

"Well, thank you. Did you really need to get me the same as last year?"

"I thought it was symbolic or whatever," Alfred explained. "Besides, it conveys the message well enough, right?"

Arthur laughed. "Yes, I suppose it does. Well, when you get home, I'll make sure to convey my message, too."

"You're not cooking dinner, are you?" asked Alfred, sounding worried.

"No," sighed Arthur, rolling his eyes again. "You'll find out when you get home. By the way, this card has the same message as last year so clearly that's a lie. Maybe I should cook..."

"Artie!" Alfred whined; Arthur could see the pout in his mind's eye. "It's not a lie. That's why you're the only one that got to see 'em."

A blush quickly spread across his cheeks and Arthur had to cover his mouth to muffle his gasp. He was glad Alfred couldn't see him; no doubt he would tease Arthur if he knew. "Oh. Well." He paused, not sure what to say now, his mind trapped in a happy haze.

"Crap. There's the boss. Gotta go, babe. Love ya!"

"I love you, too," Arthur replied with a smile. "And happy Valentine's Day."