It dawned on Jean one day, while they were laying in their meadow, fingers laced and skin sun-warmed, that no one ever bothered them in the meadow.
"Marco?" He called softly, earning a quiet noise from the other boy to show he was listening. "Why are we the only ones that ever come out here?" He wondered. Marco rolled over, letting go of Jean's hand so that he could prop himself up on his side. But his other hand was quick to cover Jean's, squeezing softly.
"This is my space." He replied easily, as if Jean should understand. But he didn't. Marco smiled. "We all have somewhere that we love to be, and we sort of claim it as our own, in a way." He elaborated.
"Oh… Sort of like a bedroom?" Jean offered. Marco's eyes lit up, and he nodded.
"Exactly! There are so many of us that none of us have our own rooms." He explained. Jean's own eyes only got wider.
"R-Really?" He prompted, and Marco nodded again, thumb tracing gentle circles over the back of Jean's hand.
"I share my room with two of my brothers." He admitted. Jean gaped. "It's really not that bad. But the lack of privacy does start to get to us sometimes. So we all have a place that we go to when we want to be alone. This is mine." He continued. Jean looked around, wondering exactly how much of the meadow was 'Marco's'.
"That's not to say that no one is allowed out here, they just know that if I'm out here, I don't want to be bothered." He added.
"Oh." Was all Jean could think to reply. It amazed him how well the Bodts functioned as a family. Even though there were so many of them, they somehow managed to get by, and to be generally cheerful. He'd met a few of Marco's siblings in the time that they'd been spending together. And with the exception of shy little Nardo, they'd been mostly friendly and outgoing people.
If he had so many siblings, he'd probably hate them all. He'd probably yell at them all the time. Especially if he had to share his room. He couldn't even imagine not having a place to isolate himself when he needed to.
But the Bodts, despite their numbers and their tight quarters, appeared to get along well. They all knew their responsibilities and took care of them without complaint. And they worked well around each other. Even if they were working in a small space at the same time, they could somehow maneuver around each other wordlessly. Jean had already been impressed by it a few times.
Regardless, he was glad that they all knew not to snoop around when he and Marco spent time among all the grass and flowers. He was comforted all over again by their little slice of privacy, glad they had a place to be together without having to worry about what people saw or what they'd say.
He was even more thankful for it when Marco tactfully scooted closer, hand leaving Jean's only to place itself on his waist instead. Jean's breath hitched.
Marco was so close now. He could smell him. Cinnamon and dirt and sweat and flowers. He smelled like life. Jean wondered what his own scent was like. No expensive cologne could make him smell half as good as Marco did.
He knew he should have been afraid. And maybe, in a couple hours when he was on his way home, maybe the panic would set in. Maybe he'd realize what a sinner he was, how damned he was. But in that moment, he couldn't stop himself from burying his nose in the collar of Marco's shirt. He couldn't stop himself from lifting one of his arms and draping it over Marco's waist in turn.
The last time he'd felt so pleasantly content to be in someone's arms had been when he was very little. Small enough that his father didn't whip him for cuddling with his mother. It had been so many years since he'd felt a true embrace. He'd get a hug from his mother on occasion, when they thought they could get away with it, and a stiff half-hug from visiting relatives that he didn't really know.
But Marco was warm. Jean could tell that Marco meant so many things with just the small gesture. It wasn't stiff, it wasn't unbearable. It was just comfortable, easy, and warm. The good kind of warm, not the stifling, mid-july, heaven-take-me-now sort of warm. No. Jean wished he didn't have to go home that night. Even the evening chill would be nothing as long as he was cradled close to Marco, so close he could hear his heart beating in his chest.
So comfortable was he, surrounded and enveloped in everything that Marco was, that he'd dozed off at some point, only waking when he felt something insistently poking at his nose. He tried to ignore it, but eventually the sensation elicited a sneeze, and his eyes blinked open wearily afterwards, shooting a narrow-eyed glare in Marco's direction.
The other boy gave him a stunning grin, tactfully placing a flower against his cheek. Jean blinked, shaking his head till it fell off. Then he sat up, realizing too late that Marco had nearly covered him in different flowers, and they all fell into his lap as he righted himself.
"Is this what you did while I was asleep?" Jean wondered, voice a bit gravelly from his nap. Marco giggled, nodding.
"You looked really nice." He offered, picking a few petals out of Jean's sandy colored hair. Jean scoffed, laying back down, ignoring the minute weight of all the plants in his lap.
"What are all of these?" He inquired, picking one of the blooms up and twisting the stem between his fingers. Marco got settled next to him, grabbing one of the flowers for himself, prodding gently at its petals.
"That one is gardenia." He replied, nodding to the one in Jean's hand, smiling. "These are lobelia."
Jean nodded, looking at the pretty purple flowers. Where had Marco found all of these? He'd never seen them before.
Marco's face sobered as he picked up the last kind, looking it over, his lips pulling into just the smallest of frowns.
"And this… This is hemlock." He said.
Jean looked at it, wondering why it'd garnered that reaction from Marco. If he didn't like the flower, then why on earth had he picked it? The name sounded sort of familiar though.
"Just… Don't take this home. Or eat it." Marco warned. "It's poisonous." He added.
Jean yelped, stumbling to his feet and hastily brushing all of the flowers off, hemlock, lobelia, gardenia and all. Marco watched him, not commenting. That would explain why he'd heard the name before.
"Why on earth would you cover me in poisonous flowers?" Jean demanded, suddenly feeling very awake and very concerned. Had Marco lost his mind? Marco only smiled softly.
"Only the hemlock is poisonous, and it won't hurt you, as long as you don't eat it." He promised, tucking it behind his ear as if to prove a point. Jean blinked, looking down at the boy incredulously for a moment, then he settled back down with a sigh.
"Honestly," he breathed, picking a few of the flowers up, feeling bad for knocking them all to the ground. "You couldn't pick normal flowers?" He asked, knowing that it would go unanswered. And, he realized, the answer was obvious.
Marco couldn't pick normal flowers, because flowers spoke to Marco. It was like a language that Jean didn't know, but spoke volumes to Marco. He'd bet that Marco could have a whole conversation spoken only with blooms. In fact, he was pretty sure that was exactly what was happening now. But he didn't speak in the same tongue, so he couldn't decipher what the boy was telling him, and wouldn't know unless he found a translator.
He made sure to commit the names to memory, just in case he ever did find anyone who knew. Gardenia, lobelia, hemlock. He could only hope he'd remember that.
Marco had picked poison flowers because they meant something important enough to him to accept that risk. That only had Jean burning with even more curiosity, and he decided he'd make a point of asking people around town.
In the meantime, though, he needed to get home. Marco walked him to the fence, fingers brushing for only a moment in what they both secretly wished could have been a prolonged gesture. Before Jean could go, Marco grabbed his waistcoat, carefully sliding a stem into one of the buttonholes. This one was white, resembling a rose, so… Gardenia. Jean was proud to have remembered. And glad it wasn't poisonous.
He offered the other boy a smile, then a short wave, and was on his way home. The feeling of Marco's heavy arms still lingered on his ribs, as if his body itself was recalling it, but it wasn't a bad feeling. And the panic he thought he'd feel hadn't reared its head yet, thankfully. It probably would when he saw Joan, but that hopefully wasn't for another hour or two. Maybe he could remain this content until then.
He was happy to find his father nowhere within sight upon getting home. But his mother cut into his glee, requesting that he make a trip to the market to get some groceries she needed. He grumbled, but did as he was told, turning around mere seconds after coming through the door and heading for the main street.
His home wasn't far away, so he was in the market soon enough, looking down at the short list his mother had written for him. He started with the vegetables, then went for the meat. He was talking with the girl behind the counter, having explained what he needed to her father. He'd talked to her a few times, when she wasn't busy eating. Her name was Sasha, if he remembered correctly. They were an odd family, but excellent hunters and butchers, so no one bothered them too much.
In the middle of something she was saying, she stopped, eyes dropping to Jean's chest. Finding it strange and a mite unsettling, Jean followed her gaze, realizing he'd never taken the flower out of his buttonhole. Before he had a chance to scramble to do so, Sasha gave him a coy smile.
"Looks like someone's got himself an admirer." She laughed. He flushed, biting his lip, seeing no real point in taking the flower out now. "That's what gardenia means, anyway." She added.
Jean froze, looking at her in wonder.
"Wait, you know what flowers mean?" He questioned, and though obviously taken aback by his sudden interest, she nodded.
"We used to live out in the woods, so I had to learn about plants anyway. Mama taught me what they meant." She explained. Now Jean was excited.
"Do you know them all?" He demanded.
The poor girl was obviously bewildered, and probably worried about Jean's mental state, but she didn't say anything on that matter.
"I know quite a few." She offered with a shrug.
"Alright, then what does lobelia mean?" He asked, visualizing the purple flowers. She snickered, covering her mouth with her hand. Jean quirked a brow. "What?"
"Ah, sorry. Someone really gave you lobelia?" She wondered. He huffed, nodding. She only snorted once more. "Well… Whoever they are, they were calling you arrogant." She giggled.
Jean frowned, brows knitting. Arrogant? Marco was calling him arrogant? Well, alright, maybe that was fair. And, knowing Marco, he didn't actually see it as a bad quality. The boy was too sweet to see anything as a bad quality.
Well, that was two out of three. Now for the poisonous one.
"Fine. What about… He… Headlock?" He tried. The girl before him was clearly confused, and he racked his mind again, hoping to recall the proper word.
"Um… He… Heylock… Hew… Henlock?" He tried. Still, her face remained uncertain. Then it seemed to dawn on her, and her eyebrows shot up towards her hairline.
"Hemlock?" She guessed. Jean nodded quickly, glad she'd known what he meant. But then he became concerned, for her face fell to one of worry. She bit her lip for a long while, looking about.
"They… Gave you hemlock?" She inquired. Again, he nodded.
"Yes. I know it's poisonous, but only if you eat it. I just want to know what it means." He said, hoping to quell any fears she might have had. But her face only fell further.
"I…" She stopped, worrying her lip again.
Now Jean was getting worried. He wished she'd just spit it out already, but she began fidgeting instead of answering.
"I… I really don't think… If she really gave you Hemlock…" She trailed, finally looking back up at him. "Are all of these really from the same person?" She asked.
"Yes. Daffodils, day lilies, and a carnation too." He added.
"Well…" She began, expression unchanged. "It seems that she likes you quite a bit." She said, voice careful. "But… She's also scared of… Um…"
As if the answer to her prayers, her father returned with what Jean had asked for. Since he didn't want to be on the butcher's bad side, he decided he'd leave it at that. He still shot the girl a confused look, but she had clearly resolved not to say anything else on the matter.
Jean finished his shopping, the girl's sudden discomfort and avoidance of the topic settling discomfort deep in his stomach, the pleasant butterflies he normally had after leaving Marco being overtaken by truly concerned ones. Why had she reacted like that? Did hemlock mean something bad? And if it did, why would Marco have given it to him?
When he got home, he sat the groceries on the table, going up to his room to replace the wilted Carnation on his headboard with the Gardenia, then he laid out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling above. If only answers to his questions were written there.
He didn't come out of his room until he was called for dinner, and he tried to get through it as quickly as he could, making the excuse that he wasn't feeling very well to make sure he wouldn't have to sit in the parlor and listen to his father. It wasn't a lie, really. He wasn't feeling well. It was just stretching the truth.
When he got into bed after washing off and putting on a shirt, the flower fell from his headboard, hitting him in the face. He sighed, picking it up and holding it at length, simply staring at the white petals for several minutes.
What an odd mix of flowers he'd received this time. An admirer was a good thing. Being called arrogant wasn't exactly an insult to him, not anymore. He'd been raised to be that way, and he knew it to be true, so it didn't sting. It was just an observation. And then… Hemlock. He didn't know what it was, but it was bad. Why? What was Marco telling him?
Maybe he'd never know. Marco wasn't going to tell him, and clearly Sasha wasn't either. He was too scared to ask his mother, so he was stuck in this frustrating state of not knowing. It was something he'd just have to get used to. That, or he'd have to start taking lessons.
He'd settle for not knowing. Perhaps it was for the best.
A/N: Man, this one was tough, mostly just because I'm so sleepy. Spanish class has me pretty haggard. But here's the next chapter, my lovely readers. I'm glad to hear that you're all so enraptured. That truly means so much to me. I can't even describe to you. I'm still super excited about this story, which is surprising, because I usually lose interest after a certain point. But this one keeps me coming back.
To be honest, I usually blabber at you guys a lot more, but I think I need to get to sleep. I'm surprisingly tired. Just a reminder; You can tag anything related to this story with fic wwfg, and I will see it. There's already a fanart in there, thanks to the lovely flamerebel! And Illien-Chan over on Devi is working on one too! I'm soooo excited! Thanks much to those guys, seriously.
I'll do links next time, promise. But for now, I must find my bed. Till next time~!
KuroRiya
九六りや