by Kallysten
The face lying just inches from his was still familiar in the light of day, but without deep green eyes lighting it, it felt different, too. Mike raised his hand, reaching for a cheek darkened by the shadow of stubble, but changed his mind before he made contact. He had asked for a night, and Green Eyes had given Mike that. It would be better if he left without a fuss. And without waking Green Eyes.
Quietly, slowly, Mike slipped out of the bed and picked up his clothes. He carried them out of the bedroom and dressed in the living room. His gaze kept returning to the open bedroom door. If he just—
Shaking his head, he finished dressing. It was better this way.
He hesitated again just before slipping out of the apartment. There was a stack of mail on the low table by the door. He could just take a peek at the address and at least put a name to those beautiful eyes and that amazing night.
His hand clenched. He stepped out without looking any closer at the envelopes. This was the right thing to do.
As soon as he stepped into the street, he groaned. The hearts and pink decorations had started appearing more than three weeks earlier, but they seemed to have multiplied overnight, and it was now impossible to ignore that it was Valentine’s Day.
Mike shoved his hands in his jacket pockets to hold it closed without zipping it up and walked back in the direction of the club, trying his best not to look at the storefronts that lined the streets. He was going home, he told himself firmly, and he wouldn’t come out again until it wasn’t Valentine’s Day anymore. He was fairly certain many single people would be as depressed today as he already felt. Few of them, however, had the misfortune of not only being single on what was supposed to be a romantic holiday, but also of being alone to celebrate their birthday.
He retrieved his car from where he had parked, two streets behind the club, and drove home. The first order of business was a shower, and he took full advantage of the pressure jets installed in three sides of his shower stall; they had been one of the main reasons why he had picked this apartment almost three years earlier. The water massaged the tension right out of his body, but he couldn’t help think of Green Eyes’ hands, and how good they had felt on him. Before he knew it, his own hand had somehow found its way to his cock. He closed his eyes and rested his free hand against the cold tiles for support. Images of the night flashed through his mind as he brought himself to a quick orgasm. As he stood under the spray of hot water, head bowed and breathing hard, he almost wished he hadn’t left so quickly.
He had never done this before—picked up a guy for a one-night stand, or allowed himself to be picked up. Sex for the sake for sex had never been his thing. And yet, in this one instance, even if he knew it had been the alcohol pushing him along with the prospect of another birthday spent on his own, he couldn’t manage to regret his decision.
A damp towel still around his waist, he crawled into bed. With any luck, he’d sleep his Saturday away and not have to deal with Valentine’s Day or his birthday.
His stomach, sadly enough, had other ideas, and woke him at midday with growls of protest. He got dressed, warmed leftovers in the microwave, and ate while listening to his voicemail.
He had twelve missed messages and a handful of texts, most from friends, one from his mother, another one from his father and stepmom, and a voicemail and text message from his sister Caroline. Most of them asked what his plans were for the day and offered dinner and company. Brett, who had set him up with the blind date the previous night, offered birthday greetings and an apology; clearly, he had already heard back from Timmy. His message was the only one Mike answered right away, the words typed in on the small keyboard with a vengeful finger.
If you ever try to set me up with someone again I swear I will tell all our friends you’re gay and too closeted to admit it until they all try to throw guys at you.
After pressing ‘Send,’ Mike moved on to the last text message, which was from Daisy. He read it three times, his frown deepening each time.
Happy Bday! I remembered my promise, you should get them soon. Good luck!
What promise, he wondered as he stared at the message. What was it he was going to get? And good luck with what?
The more he thought about the cryptic message, the more he had a feeling that he ought to know the answers to these questions. Somehow, Daisy’s ‘good luck’ echoed in his head as though a man had said the words instead, not that long ago. If he thought about it hard enough, he might just remember who and when. Or he could simply text her back and ask what she had meant.
He was still trying to figure it out by himself when a light buzzing sound drew him to the intercom. He pressed the button, fully expecting to hear one of his friends’ voices when he asked, “Who is it?”
Instead, a man’s voice replied over the crackling of the static, “Delivery for Michael Dutton.”
“Second floor.”
He buzzed the man in. Moments later, he opened the door and could only stare at the pair of deep green eyes that stared right back at him.
“How did you get my address?” he asked, the words stumbling past his lips before he even knew it. He blinked, then frowned. “Are you stalking me?”
Green Eyes let out a startled laugh. “Stalking you? Jeez, get over yourself already. You were great, but you think I’d deliver flowers to the thousand guys called Michael in town just on the off-chance it was your real name?”
“Flowers?” Mike repeated, confused, and wanted to slap himself over the head when he noticed the vase Green Eyes held in front of him, a bouquet of red tulips carefully arranged inside it. There was also the fact that he was wearing a jacket embroidered with the name “Pam’s Flowers” and a logo over his heart. “Oh. Yeah. Flowers.”
Feeling awkward and a little bit on the slow side, he took the vase Green Eyes was handing him, and turned around to find a place for it.
“I need a signature,” Green Eyes said behind him. “Can I—”
“Come in, yeah.” The mental slapping continued. Mike felt almost as tipsy as he had been the previous night. “Just let me put these down.”
He heard the front door close behind him. He finally put the vase down on the coffee table and pulled up the card; all it said was, “Happy Birthday from Daisy.” So that was what she had meant. His throat felt very dry, suddenly, though he couldn’t have said why.
He turned back to find Green Eyes in the middle of the entryway. A clipboard in hand, he was trying—and failing—to appear as though he wasn’t checking out Mike’s apartment, and Mike was suddenly hyperaware of the mess, his jacket still on the floor where he had dropped it that morning, his shoes lying haphazardly just beyond it.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said, feeling heat creep up his face as he returned to the entryway and took the clipboard and pen. “And about the accusations. I’m a bit hungover still, I think.”
He looked up at Green Eyes’ face as he handed back the signed receipt, and was offered a wry smile.
“No problem. I guess we were overdue for the awkward morning after.”
Mike winced. “Yeah. Sorry about that, too. I figured it’d be easier if I just…” He shrugged, unsure how to finish.
“I see,” Green Eyes said as he pocketed the pen, and his smile seemed forced now. “Regrets came after you did, huh?”
“What?” Mike frowned in surprise. “No, I don’t regret…” He felt his blushing worsen when Green Eyes arched an eyebrow at him. “I mean, I don’t usually do that, that’s all.”
“Do what? Pick up guys for one night?” At Mike’s pained nod, Green Eyes gave him a sharp look. “And you think I do?”
“Well, you did take me home,” Mike pointed out.
“Yeah. And then you woke up and ran away. And then I woke up and felt like shit.”
The stab of guilt was unexpected, as was the realization that Green Eyes might have wanted Mike to be there when he woke up—and Mike had blown his chance by leaving without a word.
“Sorry?” he said
again, and he was now starting to feel sorry for himself.
“You really weren’t kidding about the moping, huh?” Green Eyes shook his head. “And it’s not like it’s just your fault. I didn’t tell you I cook a pretty mean breakfast. Or asked for your last name or phone number.”
Mike blinked, at a loss for words.
“But now I do know your name,” Green Eyes continued, a small, strangely hopeful grin lighting up his face. “And I know where you live. I even know when your birthday is. Happy birthday, by the way.”
“How did you…” Mike half turned to the vase, answering his own question. “The card.”
“Yeah.” Green Eyes seemed a bit sheepish now, and he looked at Mike from beneath lowered ashes as he said, “I assume Daisy isn’t your girlfriend?”
Mike shook his head, smiling. “No, just a friend. A really good friend.” And then, because he was afraid silence would be interpreted as a sign it was time to leave, he asked, “You made the bouquet?”
Green Eyes laughed, and it was the same laugh from the previous night, warm and thick. Threads of warmth shot up Mike’s spine.
“I’m not that gay. It’s my mother’s shop. I just do deliveries after school and on weekends.”
Mike nodded absently, looking at the name of the shop again. He’d seen it before, three or four streets over, he thought, but he had never bought flowers there. He had a feeling he’d go there soon, if only to send Daisy a thank-you bouquet. “You’re in college?” he asked.
Again, a short laugh echoed through the apartment. “I’m not that young, either. Teacher. Social studies.”
All Mike could think of saying was, “Cool.” He tried to think of something else to say, something more clever, something that would make Green Eyes laugh again, but he was coming up empty.
“How about you?” Green Eyes asked instead. “What do you do?”
Mike almost breathed a sigh of relief. Just a little longer… “I’m in advertising,” he said. “It’s a small agency downtown, but we’ve got a few pretty big clients.”
Too late, he realized that he sounded as though he were bragging, which was not what he had meant to do. With an inward grimace, he waited for Green Eyes to call him on it. Instead, he just said, punctuating the words with a sincere smile, “That explains the pretty cool apartment.”
Mike ran an embarrassed hand through his hair. “Thanks,” he said, grinning. “The best part is the shower. The jets are to die for.”
Green Eyes’ smile deepened, turning almost lascivious. “Wish I could see that,” he said, and Mike realized, again too late, that his words, this time, had all but sounded like an invitation. This was why he didn’t go out and try to date, he thought, mortified. He just sucked at making small talk.
“Listen, I’ve got a truck full of roses to deliver. I really should go.”
Mike bit back a disappointed sigh. “Yeah. Valentine’s Day. I bet you’ve got a lot of business today.”
Involuntary boasting, accidental innuendo, and now pathetic triteness. Mike felt like hiding under the sheets and not coming out again until he had learned the art of conversation.
He accompanied Green Eyes to the door, and they exchanged simple goodbyes. When the door had closed on him, Mike pressed his forehead to the wood and banged against it lightly. He was an idiot, a complete and utter idiot. Why couldn’t he have said something witty, or funny, something that would have let Green Eyes know he was beginning to like him, and wouldn’t mind going out with him again? If nothing else, he could have given him his phone number; Green Eyes had all but asked for it, after all. Or he could have gone for even more basic than that and asked for his name.
He was still calling himself every insulting epithet he knew when two sharp knocks on the door startled him. He pulled away and tugged the door open, blinking in confusion when he saw Green Eyes standing on the threshold.
“I want to sleep with you,” he said before Mike could ask if he had forgotten something. His eyes were sparkling when he added, “Again.”
Mike laughed weakly, recognizing the worst pick up line he had ever come up with—although it had worked, so maybe it wasn’t that bad.
“But maybe we could…” Green Eyes shrugged. “I don’t know, have dinner first? Go to a movie or something? I’m sure you’ve got plans for your birthday but maybe—”
“No,” Mike cut in quickly. “I mean, I don’t have plans. And yes, I’d like that. Dinner, movie, something.” He stopped himself before he could add, “Anything,” but judging by Green Eyes’ smile, he had heard it quite well.
“I’ll pick you up at eight, then, and we’ll figure it out?”
Mike struggled for a few seconds not to beam at him—then gave up, and just smiled for all he was worth. “That’d be great. Eight. I’ll be ready.”
“Cool.”
Another round of goodbyes, warmer this time, and Green Eyes was about to walk away again. Mike reached out and touched his shoulder.
“Hey, wait. I don’t even know your name.”
Green Eyes turned back to him, and offered him his hand to shake. “I’m Peter.”
* * * *
“So how long does it take anyway?” Cathleen asked, drawing everyone’s attention. Her fingers were tapping a fast beat on her knee, and she seemed to become more anxious as time passed. “It took less time for Joan than it did for Lydia, didn't it?”
Her eyes turned to Joan as she said so, but when Joan failed to reply, Daisy simply said, “I’m not sure. It seems to vary.”
Cathleen didn’t seem satisfied by that answer, and she craned her neck to look toward the balcony—not that she would be able to see anything from where she sat. It seemed that her nerves were starting to get the best of her. “How long can it take to make a decision, really?” She turned back to the group and wet her lips from her glass of juice. “That’s what he said it was, right? The decision that will change our lives?”
Daisy nodded, but even as she did, her eyes flitted toward Joan. She was the only one present who had experienced the vision already. Joan’s eyes widened, and she raised her hands defensively in front of her. “Hey, don’t look at me like that! I’m not telling you what I saw.”
“How about… did you see anything more than the decision?” Cathleen leaned forward toward her. “I mean, I’m not asking what you saw, just… was it more than the actual decision?”
Seconds passed in perfect silence as they all waited for Joan’s reply. In the end, she let out a quiet little sigh and said, “A bit more, yes. And that’s all I’m saying.” She was blushing lightly as she finished, and when she looked up at Brad, a wide grin split her face. They shared another kiss.
Both amused and glad for them, Daisy glanced once more toward the living room, and the balcony beyond it. Was Mike done yet? She stood up to place her empty glass on the table. Since she was up, she decided, she might as well go check on Mike and Woods.
Just as she reached the window, she could see Woods leaning back in his chair, while across from him Mike’s eyes were fluttering open. She pulled the window open, just in time to hear Mike whisper, “Peter.”
Daisy froze, unsure whether Mike’s request for privacy still stood.
“What if I forget?” Mike leaned forward and clutched Woods’ arm almost feverishly. “What if I forget his name?”
Woods patted his hand gently. “Speaking from experience, you probably will.”
Mike’s expression turned frantic, and he started to protest, but Woods talked over him, almost soothingly.
“You will,” he said again. “The more you think about it, the more you’ll forget, and you won’t be able to stop yourself from thinking about it. But that’s all right. When you see him, you’ll know.”
Mike just stared at him for a while before nodding and finally letting go of his arm. He began to sit back in the chair but turned his head toward the window and noticed Daisy standing there. As soon as he saw her, he jumped to his feet and rushed to her. He grabbed her
shoulders with both hands, and even through the material of her shawl she could tell that his hands were shaking.
“Daisy! Listen carefully,” he said very fast. “This is really important.”
“What is it?” she started. “Are you—”
But before she could finish, he said, still talking as though he was running out of time, “On my next birthday I need you to send me flowers.”
She let out a startled bark of laughter. “What?”
“Flowers,” he repeated. “Tulips. Red. Have them delivered to my apartment. Can you do that for me?”
His tone and eyes were practically begging her now, and her amusement faded at how important this seemed to be.
“I… Of course. Sure, I’ll send you flowers. But why—”
His grip tightened a little more, and the anxious glint in his eyes only accentuated. “Promise me you won’t forget. Please, promise.”
She tapped his hand gingerly and tried to give him a comforting smile. “I won’t forget, I promise. I’ll send you tulips on your birthday.” And because the tension was too high, she added, now playful, “If you’d said to send you roses I might have started wondering if you really are gay.”
Mike laughed. “I am, believe me.” He laughed again, and this time his face flushed all the way down his neck and he pulled at his tie, loosening it a little. “I think I need a drink.”
Turning to Woods, he held out his hand for him to shake; it was still trembling a little. “Thanks,” he said very seriously.
Woods nodded as he shook his hand. “No problem.” A small smile touched his lips. “And good luck.”
A matching smile bloomed on Mike’s lips as he walked away. Daisy watched him head back inside, yet again wondering what the vision had been like. When she looked back at Woods, he was leaning against the railing once more. He must really have liked the view.