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Thomas's POV

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February 14, 1861

Today is the day. Today is the day that I convince John to stay. I had no idea how I was to do it before, but then a brilliant plan revealed itself. If this plan had a face, it would look like Washington and Lincoln’s child. That’s how great it is. Fool-proof, I tell you. Fool-proof.

I walk briskly through the streets looking for a florist. Goddamn it, where is a fucking florist when you need one? I feel like I see flower shops everywhere (especially around this time, this being Valentine’s Day), but now that I actually need one, they disappear! The world works against me.

I slowed down to a stop. There's the florist I know on Park Street, but am I that desperate as to step foot within a mile of the place? After what I did to him? Am I that desperate to buy flowers from him and rub it in his face? The answer is yes. I would do anything for John. Oh, John, what I do for you; I sacrifice my dignity for you.

I turn around and start towards Park Street. When I get to the lowly flower shop, I hesitantly open the door. It jingles loudly as it swings open despite my efforts to seem small, and I suddenly realize how much I hate bells.

The sight of the shop catches me off-guard though. There are baskets and baskets full of colorful flowers and plants, and the pleasing aroma of the small shop is warming and soothing. It’s quite humid here as well, but I don’t mind all too much.

I notice a small cashier's counter in the left-hand corner of the place and a door behind the counter leading into what I suppose to be the backroom. Then he walks through the door and positions himself behind the counter, but he doesn’t look up yet, and I thank the Lord for that. I know he’s going to be mad, so I hang my head and hope he doesn’t recognize me.

"Hello, what can I do for you tod—” he cuts himself off when he finally looks up.

I still don’t lift my head.

“Tom?" he asks with heartache in his voice.

I bring my eyes up slowly and meet Andrew Harris’s dispirited gaze. "Hey, Andy."

Andy comes around the side of the counter, and it makes me notice how much taller he’s gotten. Not to mention, his effeminate frame has been replaced by a more masculine one composed of some muscle. His chestnut hair is a bit shorter now too, and it sits in loose curls atop his head. His honey voice has gotten deeper as well.

"What are you doing here?” he hisses.

"I came to buy flowers. This is a florist's, yeah?"

"Yes, of course, but uh... it's just that we... you..." Andy awkwardly trails off.

"I need flowers, and you sell flowers, Andy,” I change the subject.

He makes eye contact then immediately drops it. He's nervous or maybe uncertain, but honestly, I am too.

"What're you looking for?" he asks with his best social voice, but he’s too enthusiastic.

He's obviously trying to get along, but he’s too awkward about what happened to actually talk to me. Or maybe I'm talking about myself. Am I the one making this awkward? By acting like nothing happened between us, am I the one making this awkward?

"I need a bouquet that says ‘I love you and want to be with you forever’," I request.

He falters in his service act, seeming a bit rejected as he shifts his weight away from me, but he gathers himself again quickly. I guess that means he never really got over me, huh?

"Ah yes, and considering the way you are, you need gardenias, roses, tulips, and some white carnations,” he thinks out loud.

I nod in agreement even though I have no idea what he just said or what any of it meant.

Andy pushes past me and walks fast around the room, collecting various types of flowers and plucking them delicately from large bouquets and barrels. I assume they’re the ones he mentioned, but I’ve never taken it upon myself to learn the names of flowers, so I don’t really know.

Once he finishes, he walks behind the counter and pulls out a tie from underneath the tabletop. He strings it around the stems of the colorful plants with gracious ease and thrusts them out to me.

"How much?" I ask, taking them from him.

He shakes his head. "No, this one is on me. You obviously care for this person a lot more than you did for me. I’m just... I'm glad you’re happy, so this is my congratulations gift."

I look down with guilt. I did sort of neglect and mistreat him. I mean, he was just another one of my lovers, and I thought he knew that. I told him going into it that we weren't serious, but he got attached anyway.

“Thank you, Andy,” I murmur. Then, placing my hand down on the table, I add, “Look, Andy, I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault, and I hope you know that. You’re a good guy; you’re smart and nice and very handsome, but I just—”

“Thomas, I understand,” he smiles, reaching out to lay his hand on top of mine.

I look down at it, and he immediately retracts it.

“Andy,” I start, but he interrupts me.

“Please just call me Andrew now.”

I nod and mutter a thanks before leaving the shop.

As I walk, a soft rain starts. The cold light drops brush my face like cotton on the fingers of a thread spinning woman. It surrounds me in its cold grasp, just barely letting me stay warm. I soon realize that I have stopped, just looking up at the gray sky. I glance back down at the flowers in my hand and smile contently.

I love John. He's my warmth in this cold weather, the only thing keeping me from ending it all.

My John.

John.

Joh-n.