April 3rd, 1:41pm

February and March rolled by in a blur. Antwan was still delivering flowers. Bored receptionists were still picking them up. But now he counted the passage of time by how many flowers he delivered to Sunny. His weeks felt more colorful that way.

Sunny started wearing shoes when he came to get his flowers. He would step out of his house and they’d lean against the wall for a while, talking about the most random things. Antwan never told Sunny, but he started rearranging his delivery schedule to make this fit. To make sure there was enough time. 

Enough time for him to hear what project Sunny was struggling with at work. Enough time for Antwan to add something to the affirmations that came with the bouquet. 

Most days, what Antwan added was cheesier than the initial words:

You are beautiful. You are incredible. You are loved and a really good listener

You are beautiful. You are incredible. You are loved. You also look really good in turtlenecks.

You are beautiful. You are incredible. You are loved by me.

The last one just stayed as a ‘mental draft.’ Antwan had wanted to do it more times than he could count. But he never managed to actually write it down. It had taken a couple weeks to get over the awkwardness of Antwan’s initial flirty compliments. Antwan didn’t say vaguely sexual things anymore and Sunny was less shocked in his presence. But the word love could be misunderstood. Best to avoid it all together. 

The flowers this week were Angelicas (representing inspiration) and Sunny thumbed the flat bundles unconsciously. He seemed pensive, thick brows furrowed with determined concentration. 

A few weeks ago, Antwan mentioned that he wore contacts, so Sunny begged him to bring his glasses. When he wore them on his next visit, Sunny couldn’t stop staring. So Antwan kept wearing them.

With his glasses, Antwan could see the shifts in the other man’s expressions better than ever. And since Sunny was thinking so hard, there was plenty to see. Silence stretched on between them but Antwan was content to watch the expressive man beside him. That’s why Antwan almost jumped when Sunny’s bright eyes caught his.

“So, you spend all this time delivering other people’s flowers,” Sunny started, gesturing to those in his hands. “But have you ever bought any yourself?”

“I’ve never thought of buying myself flowers before I met you.”

Sunny laughed. It was a hearty sound, almost as melodic as his voice when he spoke in Hindi.

“No, I mean if you bought it for your . . . special person.”

Sunny’s absent tinkering with the flowers stopped and he looked Antwan head on. 

His small question didn’t seem so small anymore. What did Sunny hope he would say? Antwan had been single for too long. But right now, his lack of experience felt detrimental. Maybe if he dated more, he would know why Sunny seemed so expectant.

“No,” he whispered, his smile growing tight. “There’s no one.”

“Oh.”

Maybe Antwan being single was shocking. Because when he told him, Sunny's hands went limp and the Angelica bouquet fell through his fingers. Antwan crouched down to grab it but Sunny was on the ground with him, trying to do the same. The black man reached out to grab them but his hand froze midair. 

Sunny’s face was so close. Antwan had always loved his eyes. Dark and round and alive with emotion. But this close he could see the orange and green hiding inside the irises. He could track their movement going from Antwan’s left eye to his right, down to his lips. Without thinking, Antwan glanced down at Sunny’s mouth in return. It was slightly chapped and parted, small exhales escaping and warming the skin on Antwan’s cheeks.

A flash of movement caught Antwan’s attention. His glasses had slipped down his nose bridge, balanced precariously on his cheeks. Sunny reached for them. Antwan flinched. 

He knew that Sunny was just trying to fix his glasses. But Antwan was too aware. Everything Sunny did burned into his mind. Every smile warmed his soul. Every shared look kept him up at night. So, no, Sunny couldn’t touch him. Because if he did, Antwan might do something crazy. Crazier than writing the word ‘love’ on some flowers.

With his touch rejected, Sunny slowly retracted his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” Sunny whispered. 

That’s when Antwan saw it. The shame. 

Sunny shot up. 

With flowers in hand, he reached for his door. By the time Antwan got up, Sunny was standing inside his home again, gripping the doorway tightly.

The brown man’s smile had disappeared. For weeks, he’d given Antwan nothing but smiles, a true testament to his nickname. But that smile was gone. All of the sun beaming down that Wednesday afternoon was futile against the chill that came over Antwan’s body. The only sun he needed wasn’t shining anymore.

“Thanks for bringing these flowers, Antwan,” Sunny clutched the bouquet to his chest, the plastic crinkling from the pressure. “But I don’t think I’ll be ordering any more.”

Antwan watched helplessly when Sunny slammed the door in his face.