TW: Gardening AU, First Meetings, Awkward Crush, Fluff, Falling In Love, Flowers

(It's tagged as Explicit so I'm not sure)

Chapter One: I Like Your Anthurium

Well, this is it, He thought as he pulled up in the street and parked his car.

The house had its paint peeling from the lower siding, the wall actually starting to grey when it reached the pavement. The porch at least seemed okay, and the steps leading up to it from the road were in tact.

But what was noticeable from the outside had nothing to do with the inside.

Ross had known little about his grandmother aside from her love of plants. It was something she'd wished to influence upon him. Understandably, it hadn't caught on. He never went to her house, only to family gatherings and the like where she'd talk for hours. Looking back on it all he couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

He sighed and turned off the ignition.

Inside was a lot more... daunting, to say the least. Tall rooms, some filled with belongings, and others with little, padded the house out to the size it was. He'd read in the description. It had an attic and a basement; both converted into usable rooms that just lay empty. Most rooms still had things like tables and chairs. But nonetheless, Ross couldn't put a finger on how old the mattress in the master bedroom was. The old fashioned couches didn't look too promising either, full of dust and excess bits of dirt, and smelling of age.

It was sad, depressive, even. His grandparents dead, and him being so out of pocket he'd had to take the house given rather than selling it. He had enough money to live there, but hardly enough to rent his own place.

The kitchen was the only room not stuck in a long bygone era. Everything looked clean and crisp, aside from a bowl of... 'Fruit' on the counter. And the Venus flytrap on the windowsill at least looked healthy.

He made a note to throw the bowl away first once he'd gotten bags from the supermarket.

He unlocked the back door.

The garden was at least a little less depressive. Empty flower beds lined the two picket fences leading to a large, beech hedge at the end. A neat, green grass lawn worthy of a bowling green was the main prize of the lawn. Many small potted cacti lived under the eave of the roof, in the sun, but not the rain. It was impressive how large it was, 30 meters long. Yet, it was only around 10 meters wide.

He breathed in the humid July air, smelling the sweetness of some floral scent. He'd be making the most of the summer. At least he'd be able to get most of the cleaning done before the majority of the rain started--

"Oh, hey!"

Ross jumped back, and snapped his head towards-- oh.

A man, around the same age, was grinning like a shark and leaning over the fence to Ross' left. He had a burgundy polo shirt and a large whickered sun hat on his head, presumably to protect him from the harsh afternoon sun.

The man, he noted, was very, very attractive.

"'Ello, mate," Ross said, smiling at the stranger.

Well, now he's my neighbor.

Then he began to notice the mess of potted flowers all over the man's garden. And based off of the watering can in hand, it was safe to say the rain hadn't fallen for at least a week.

"How's it going? I'm Smith, Alex Smith," he smiled, and Ross finally managed to register how... charming Smith was. Not just a pretty face.

"Oh, uh, it's going alright, thanks. And, uh." he moved off of the back steps to go shake Smith's hand, taking note how the work hardened hands fitted together quite well.

"I'm Ross."

Smith grinned again, and while he moved to water his pots again, his attention was still on Ross.

"You just moving in or are you another one of those lawyers?" He pondered, feeling around the dirt under a fuchsia.

"Yeah, I'm moving in," he responded.

It was amazing how full Smith's garden was. Pots upon pots of plants covered the paving slabs, majority of them some kind of flower. A few annuals were closer to the fence, purple and yellow petunias being the most popular. Sweet peas were closer to the front of the mound. Towards the hedge on the other side of Smith's garden were sunflowers, all around the same height as him.

Smith's house was swamped in wisteria, all a light violet. It made Ross's nice grass and window boxes seem shameful.

They lapsed into a short silence.

Ross gestured towards the other garden, the one to his right, and asked, "Do you know who lives there?"

And Smith perked up immediately, letting the mad grin return to his face as he put down his can.

"Chris Trott. He's my mate. Has some weird obsession with fruit and vegetables, though, always grows too much and then gives them to me. I'm not complaining, because, you know, free fruit."

And then, with a filthy grin and gritted teeth, he added, "he's a bit slimy, always worming into my work. Once gave me a packet of seeds saying they were some kind of exotic Asian flower. Of course I grew 'um and guess what? The fucker gave me carrot seeds!"

Ross laughed, but Smith keeps going, "I ended giving them back to him, all six two liter trays of them. Because I'm not a fan of them. But it turns out he only sent them over to my place because of carrot fly. They usually go over to his veg patch and eat them all through. Because he tricked me into growing them, the flies all starved! So I suppose he had reason for me to grow them after all."

Ross shook his head and chuckled.

This was nice. Nice house, even if it was filled with old shit. Nice people, too, even if he's only met one person in this new neighborhood.

Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he'd once thought.

--

Ross moved about his new living room, fluttering the duster over the surfaces to get the worst of the dust off and (hopefully) out the open windows. He whacked some of the old Christmas cards off of the mantle piece and into the dustbin, not bothering to pause and read them.

The house was feeling more like home now. The broken and stained furniture was thrown out now, leaving space for Ross' own, more personal belongings. He kept some of the old pictures on the walls though; the picture of his Nan tending to the old beech hedge was one of his personal favorites.

"So what do you do for a living? If you don't mind me asking, that is," Smith asked, shaking the doormat out the open patio doors to rid it of dust.

Ross swiped at the cobwebs in the lamps, knocking the old dust and grime off of them as he did.

"I work with other people's computers. Fixing them and the like," he said, and brushed his finger on the top of the radiator in disgust. "What about you? You gotta have a really good job to afford a house like that."

Smith wiped the window with a rag, knocking the bits off absent mindedly as he talked. "The house isn't mine, it's my dad's. He works internationally, though, so he lets me keep the house for the 51 weeks a year he's not here."

He kept going, unaware of Ross watching him as he moved, "He was making noise about letting me keep the house full time, though, seeing as he doesn't really live in it, and spends most of his years in L.A. If he does I'm gonna have to start looking for a bigger job, seeing as I only work in a garden center to cover bills and food."

Ross hummed. There wasn't really much else to do in here, with most of the little bits gone. It actually looked pretty good. Thank god Nan wasn't a fan of floral wallpaper and carpets, he thought when he looked at the nicely polished hardwood and clean white walls, otherwise it'd look well dingy in here.

Alex brushed his hands together in a job well done, and looked at Ross as he examined the room. Even though it was the middle of the summer, Ross still wore a long sleeved jacket and black jeans to match. It all contrasted nicely to his odd socks, one blue and the other brownish. It was painfully adorable.

"I think we're done in here, mate." Smith muttered, making Ross snap back to reality.

Chapter Two: Heather Weather

"Nah mate, the taller plants should go at the back of the bed."

"But I like these!"

"Persicaria orientalis grow really tall, like, easily 3 or 4 feet."

"Well, can we at least put the heather by the hedge?"

Smith hummed in an 'I don't want to do this' sort of way, and then with a slight look towards Ross' face, he sighed and muttered an 'I guess' under his breath. The actual puppy noise Ross made was worth the soon to be cluttered mess of plants in the garden though.

Jesus, Smith thought, I'm going soft for a man who wires computers for a living.

"Okay, well, we can put these yellow ones wherever you like," Ross said, already moving the other plants towards the back of the bed.

"They can go behind of these," he said, gesturing towards the marigolds, "the Chrysanthemum are pretty tall too, and marigolds look like a smaller version of them, so."

Smith moved a large potted clump of lavender towards the right side of the garden and propped it up against the fence along with some more hardy plants. He shoveled some of the dirt out the way, picking at the old and moldy bulbs that were still in the soil.

A door opened, making Ross jump. The man, he assumed Chris Trott, walked out onto the little patio behind his house dressed in an orange t-shirt. He held a sack, tied with twine, and an empty basket. He seemed like the kind of guy to walk in a bar empty handed, then leave five minutes later with two drinks and a girl off his arm.

And god, does he have nice arms.

"Hey, Trott!" Smith beamed, leaning up onto the fence from where he was on his knees.

Chris stopped and smiled at Smith, and then at Ross. He put his things on the patio before walking over to the fence to lean on it. Ross moved away from the marigolds to shake hands with Trott. "Smith, mate. Who's this? You tryin' to soak up the limelight again?"

"No, no. This is Ross."

"Hi-ya, mate."

Trott smiled sweetly. "You just moved in?"

Ross scratched the back of his neck, looking at the house with a soft smile. "Yeah. Inherited it mortgage free a few days ago."

Then Trott seemed to notice the various potted flowers and plants that hadn't yet gone into the soil. He pulled a face and gestured towards them, looking at Smith, "Mate, more flowers, really? Your garden's chaotic enough, the last thing we need is more of them."

But Smith only huffed back, crossing his arms over his chest as he did. Ross could tell by the raised eyebrow he wasn't the least bit impressed with Trott's criticisms. "It's better than filling his garden with stuff that doesn't flower and is just an ugly green plant for over half the year."

Despite Trott's protests, Ross had to agree some of the plants, namely the large bay bush and the rosemary plant didn't look too... great. He knew they were useful, as were most of the plants in the garden.

Speaking of which, Ross could still see why a garden like Trott's was both more and less appealing. On one hand, it looked dead through most of winter. On the other hand, in autumn and summer, it flourished. As it were, in late summer, all the plants were a luscious green, but the cherries on the tree did looked ripe and sweet, and the bushes lining both sides of the garden were laden with blueberries. The square patch of grass by Trott's house looked a little dry but healthy, and the two greenhouses right at the back of the garden shone in the morning sun.

"What do you think, Ross?"

He hadn't been listening.

"Yeah," he said.

"Mate!" Smith yelled as Trott cheered, "You don't really want your garden filled with a bunch of Vegetables, that's gonna be rubbish in these beds!"

Wait.

"Wait, no! Not filled with it. Maybe a fruit bush or two. Like, I dunno. Raspberries," he stuttered, "I could have a couple or so raspberry bushes or whatever.

Smith made an over exaggerated sigh of relief, clutching at his own chest. He matched Trott's grin, forcing Ross to take a steadying breath.

It's almost like they're flirting with me.

No, no they're not.

Chapter Three: Can't Take It Anemone

"You like Ross too, don't you?" Trott asked, flicking through the pile of CDs.

It was one of the not-so-rare rainy days. The two sat outside the McDonalds, listening to the gentle pitter-patter of the rain on the roof of Smith's car. Their laps were filled with old wrappers from the food.

Smith let out a heavy exhales around his sprite. He pulled off and while he wiped his mouth he asked, "Is it really that obvious? I thought I was being subtle."

He took another bite out of his burger.

"Yeah, I guess. He's just, you know."

"Adorable?"

"Yeah. And he looks good. He's pretty interesting too. The other day he went on and on about how he loved dogs, and how he has his own place he can get dogs. And it's just," he sighed, leaning back into the driving seat. He was quiet for a short while, the only noise being the pattering on the roof. Thunder rippled through, a far away sound in comparison to Trott's and his own breathing. "I think he'd be good for us, you know. He fits in. The last time someone fitted in this well was, like, three years ago? Even then they didn't like me."

Trott put away the CD case in the glove box. He looked at Alex, understanding his lack of enthusiasm.

"Ross is a totally different person, though. He's not just going to run away with some hot Brazilian dude because he was sick of me standing up for you. Ross might do something else, but I think it's a risk I'm willing to take. The worst that can happen is that we'd get into an argument and he'll leave. Even then I don't think that'd happen."

"You're very confident about all this Trott," Smith smirked.

"I haven't been this sure in a long, long time, Smith."

He leaned over and put his head on Smith's shoulder, breathing in the smell of his own jumper.

Rain continued to fall.

Smith leaned back in his chair, pulling a CD off of the dashboard. He put it into the stereo, breathing a sigh as low music filled the silence.

"My roses are doing nicely," Smith said, leaning his head onto Trott's. He waited for Trott's hum before continuing; "I think I'll get an awful lot this year. The buggers are starting to take over my back hedge."

Trott put his hand over the top of Smith's, playing with the skin on his knuckles. He closed his eyes.

"Roses are nice, though. We both like 'um."

He smiled, and kissed Trott's hairline. He mumbled, "I know, but sometimes you can have too much of a good thing, you know?"

Trott stole a glance at Smith, looking into his eyes for a brief moment before looking back into the dreary parking lot. He huffed, making Smith look at him.

"I don't think it'll be a thing that we can have too much of, mate."

Another pause.
"You'll be gentle with him, right Smith?"

Smith giggled and nudged at Trott's head on his shoulder.

"Anything for you, you beautiful bastard."

Chapter Four: Ch-ch-ch- cherry bomb

Right. This was fine.

Watching TV on a Sunday night at Trott's house, feet tucked under them because it was hailing and their feet were cold and they were scared of things coming out from under the couch and nibbling on their toes like hamsters. Not to mention the bravest of their trio, Trott, wasn't in. He hadn't been eaten by mutant hamsters, but had needed to visit his sister overnight. And something about the hail and the wind meant that Smith and Ross had to house sit and make sure the cherry tree didn't topple and that none of the greenhouses got smashed.

Looking back on it now, it was a really, really bad idea to watch horror movies in the dark on Ross' laptop when it was hailing and the power had cut out leaving them in total darkness and silence.

But the streetlights were somehow working, casting long and spindly shadows in through the undrawn curtains and across the smooth, hardwood floors. This didn't help the situation, and Smith was plastered to Ross' side like an oversized band-aid.

"For fucks sake, Smith. There's nothing there."

"You say that, and yet you heard it too."

"It was a car, smith. You heard the tires squeal, too."

"But they weren't tires! How can you prove it was?"

"How can you prove it wasn't?"

Ross huffed and pulled the blanket back over himself. To be fair it was pretty spooky in the room, and the weird things Trott had for some unknown reason looked horror movie worthy in the dark.

And thinking about what Smith was seeing made Ross shiver too, but he blamed it on the cold so that at least one of them could be the mature one in this situation.

There was no one in the house but them. They were the only ones in the house. There were no monsters, or ghouls, or ghosts, or vampires or-

Up the stairs, up the stairs, get up the fucking stairs---

"Fuck!" Smith shouted as they burst through the door to the converted loft. Ross slammed the door and scrambled for the light switch, but no dice. The light didn't work, and there weren't any street lamps on the same side as the skylight. Smith Felt for the wall and toughed Ross' arm, and Ross grabbed at Smith's hand. Smith hugged Ross close to him, standing in the pitch-black room of the loft.

Smith sniffed and Ross began to reach behind himself for what looked like a table when he came in. A pair of old glasses, a cup, a tube of... something, and – Ah! A candle!

"You wouldn't happen to know where any matches are, would you?" Ross asked muffled against Smith's shirt.

Smith mumbled something, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, a lighter was palmed into Ross' open hand.

The candle was lit, and Smith reluctantly to let go of Ross. He put his lighter back in his pocket and waited for Ross to do something. But Ross just sat on the bed, and Smith was left standing in silence in front of him.

A beat.

Ross fell backwards onto the bed and sighed. What was there to do now? Daydream? Wait in Trott's room until sunrise, or until the power picked up again? There were too many questions for such a little time. He knew there was nothing downstairs aside from his laptop and it's charger, but that didn't stop the fact that it was creepy in there, or that there weren't any lights. The only light in this room was the candle, and Smith playing on his phone as they both lay on the bed like dead leaves.

"Is that candle scented?" Smith asked, sniffing the air.

Indeed, the candle was scented, and a smell of vanilla essence hung in the room in invisible tendrils. But Trott's room still smelt of the lemon floor polish and (for some reason, don't ask him why) fresh paint. It was clean, and the only thing that made the room less bedroom like was the clean white loveseat on the far wall facing the bed. It was straight out of an IKEA ad, but way better quality. Why would Trott need furniture this nice? How the hell could he afford it? There were about fifteen rooms in Ross' place, was Trott's the same, and if so, were they full of the same type of furniture?

While Ross was caught in the spiral of questions, Smith shuffled a little closer.

"What you thinking about?"

Ross pulled his head up from where it was on the bed and looked at Smith, half asleep. "What?"

"I said, what are you thinking about?"

Ross breathed a sigh and leaned back down beside Smith, and Smith struggled not to cheer at the little victories he'd just earned. "Why the fuck does Trott keep a candle in his bedroom?"

And Smith laughed the kind of laugh that makes you question why you ever hate the Mondays or the rainy days or the days where your Internet cuts out. The belly-shaking laughs were the whole bed moves and anyone in the same room is bound to laugh too. And Ross did laugh the same kind of laugh that made him question what was wrong on all the other days if Monday was bad just because it was Monday.

They didn't know why they were laughing, but Ross was glad for the people next-door's sake that the room connected to his house as apposed to theirs. If it weren't then they'd be awake and laughing too, and then it would be awkward and strange and not nearly as nice and sweet and heavy as it were now. It wouldn't have been comfortable or friendly and perhaps a little too close for them to call it friendship but honestly in the current state of mind he held he couldn't bring himself to care.

Was this love? Maybe. Love wasn't a fluttery feeling of nervousness but a sure hand on his cheek telling him he was beautiful when he laughed. Love was someone saying that they wish they could lie in bed with you and not think about the world outside forever. Love was the thickness of a piece of cake and the thinness of an eyelash on your cheek. Love wasn't beautiful, but was a personalized object that meant something to two people.

"I don't know," Smith sobbed, "Why the fuck does Trott keep a candle- No! Not even that! - A scented candle in his room?"

"Of all things!" Ross shouted between giggles, "Why the fuck does he need a scented candle?"

And Smith was too close to call it Friendship, both in his heart and in this bed. Life didn't just throw you into a story line because it felt like it. And he wasn't one to believe in fate but fuck, did it feel like it. It felt beautiful, not at all like falling but like finding a quiet place in a crowd that kept moving. It felt like belonging to the right family after so long with the wrong ones.

But then Ross got up in a moment of realization, and Smith grappled onto his arm like a parasite to the bark of a tree. But Smith let go and Ross went to the skylight to look at the rain. And Smith leant up on the bed behind Ross.

And Ross felt fine.

Chapter Five: Beet Red

And, oh god, Alex was looking at him.

He wore the kind of smile like an attractive older woman at the bar, with low eyes and a smirk to put porn stars to shame. It was dripping with more experience, and a promise of teaching. It made Ross shiver, but when he backed up into a wall, arms going behind him to buffer the fall, he couldn't say he minded it.

Alex sauntered closer, maintaining his half lidded eye contact that made Ross shrink.

They were chest to chest, and with Alex leaning closer, Ross let his eyes fall shut. However, he didn't expect the lips touching his cheek, trailing and dragging down to his neck, to be nuzzled next to his ear.

"You want this?" Alex whispered, and, fuck, if that didn't sound hungry.

Ross gasped when Alex bit his earlobe, releasing his death grip on the wall to pull at Alex's back, attempting to strangle a hefty moan. A lick to his neck made him jolt, bucking up into Alex's stomach, and he moaned as Alex's hand moved to grip his hip.

But then Alex stopped and pulled back. Ross peeled his eyes open to see Smith... standing there, still close but not moving. Ross blinked back to reality.

"Yes. God, yes."

The speed that Ross' head hit the wall was shocking. Alex crowded his space, leaving him breathless, reeling and begging for more. A hand snuck up under his shirt, palming his ribs and quivering belly. Alex's thigh fell between Ross' legs to push upwards in a grinding motion.

Biting his lip, he gasped at the sensation. The beautiful burn of Smith's beard on his neck mixed in with the friction on his dick was all too much. He was all but pinned to the wall, his hands fisted in Smith's hair.

"Fuck, Ross. It's been too long," Alex rasped, He sucked in a breath and continued, "I wanted to hold you on the first day we met. I wanted to tease you. Make you beg. The whole nine yards."

"Alex!" Ross cried out, bucking up to get more contact on his hard, aching cock. He burned, his face, his chest, all red. He ground down on Smith's leg, feeling the denim on denim of their jeans get in the way, and whimpering when Alex moved his leg up in reply.

Smith pulled back to kiss Ross, almost bruising the other man in the process.

Ross grew himself grow closer, his abdomen growing hot as he bucked desperately for hot friction. His thighs burned from holding himself up on the wall. He panted, short, heavy breaths filling the room. He sucked in air, and shakily exhaled into the crook of Smith's neck, leaving moisture behind. And then, he was gone, gasping Smith's name like a prayer.

He blinked back to reality. Smith's leg wasn't between his thighs anymore but was still against him, one hand in his hair, the other holding his hip to stop him slipping down the wall. They both breathed.

Smith nuzzled his head in Ross' shoulder, like a cat looking for belly rubs.

"Go to bed with me?" he asked, stroking Ross' hipbone in time with the now quiet beat of the music.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, one that might as well been the size of a golf ball. But with a shaky exhale he chuckled.

"This is- I mean, well- yeah. Yes, I'd, you know. I'd love to. Have sex. With you."

Chapter Six: Dogwood?

A door slammed, and two bodies and a duvet fell to the floor upstairs

"Guys?" Trott called up the stairs, taking his coat and scarf off.

"Don't come up here!" yelled Smith, and a thump rung through the house followed by a snicker.

Trott toed off his shoes and tip toed up the first few steps. He listened to the shuffling that was coming from one of the upper floors.

"Smith? What's going on up there?"

"I said, don't come up here!" He yelled again, and something got knocked over.

If Smith were to think about it later, he'd realize that it would be best to remain silent if he were to ever get caught in a situation similar to this again, but this wasn't later, and he hadn't thought about it at all. So it was relatively understandable for Trott to drop his bag and his coat and to pelt his way up the stairs like he was escaping the monsters in the basement.

But when he reached the door to his room, the one with the innocent brass handle and nice hawthorn wood, he stopped and slowly cracked it open like a briefcase that might contain a bomb.

"Smith?"

"Uh."

"It's not what it looks like, mate."

"You two are naked," Trott said.

Technically he was wrong. Ross had just put his jeans on, and Smith wore a shirt and a pair of boxers. However, it was obvious that they were naked at one point in the last two minutes or so that had passed. Trott knew this, and debated his two options: scream at them, or join in. He wanted to choose the latter, but he resisted. Instead he chose the unmentioned option three, to close the door, wait, go back downstairs and into the kitchen for tea.

Three minutes and four flights of stairs later, and Trott held three cups of tea outside his bedroom and kicked it lightly to stimulate a kind of knocking noise. Unsurprisingly, the door opened without so much as a creak, and he toddled in. He handed them each a mug, but didn't look any less shaken about what he saw.

Smith sat on the loveseat, Ross stood by the skylight, and Trott stood in front of the door like a guard dog. There was an obvious unspoken rule: no one would enter or exit the room until this was sorted, and until Trott was happy with the solution. No arguments, no buts.

Smith took a gamble.

"I'm telling you mate, it's not something bad that happened-"

"You two fucked in my bed."

Smith cringed in embarrassment, and if Ross' face got any redder he'd probably pass out. Trott looked like as pale as a ghost witch was not a good look on him, but at least the tea in his hands was bringing a little bit of colour to his features, even if it was still nothing in the big picture.

"Well, I wouldn't say your bed, but-"

"You two fucked on my floor?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Oh, god." He almost wailed, putting his tea on the table and putting his head in his hands.

"But that's easy to clean!" Ross interrupted, desperately trying to stop Trott from feeling so down about it.

"You were sleeping naked in my bed though! And there's a stain on the loveseat! What the fuck, you guys?"

There was a brief silence, with Trott refusing to sit down anywhere in the room, and Smith picking at the stain, and Ross just leaning awkwardly againct the wall.

Then Trott looked up from his hands, but didn't take them away from his face, and sighed out, "The sheets can be washed."

Ross smiled, "yeah! And the couch."

"Or they can be burned."

His face fell, "yeah, that works too," he said, chest fallen.

"And the floor can be washed," he finished, and leaned against the wall by the door.

"Mate," Smith said, grinning, "That's the first place we banged."

The speed that Trott leapt off that wall could've broken the sound barrier.

Chapter Seven: Viscera?

It was a breath of fresh air, being out of the house. No more dust in his lungs, and temporarily, no carpet under his feet. Better to be out and about anyway, away from the drone of the fan in the corner, and no longer being swallowed by boxes and packing peanuts, and no stress regarding the, urm, rather nice neighbors he had.

Well, stress was the wrong word. If anything it was to do with him seeing things that weren't there.

He wasn't in love.

Nope.

And hey! Tea! Tea was good. Tea was always good, made even better with how Smith and Trott, both opposite him, had joined him.

It wasn't like they'd barged in and told him he'd been inside for six days. And his cacti were over watered. And that he stank because he hadn't showered in god knows how long.

No. Nothing like that ever happened.

Just a neighborly thing to do, go out for tea, have a cake, then fuck off home again.

Casually.

Smith was looking at the rain wistfully, blinking slowly with his head against the window and hot coffee brewing in front of him. Trott leaned against him, chatting sleepily back to Ross, both of whom stuck to tea.

Ross refused to adress the previous situation. Trott hadn't tried to pry the tiles yet, but Smith had been pulling all the stocks to make the situations more... Unique.

(And by unique Ross means awkward. But who's counting?)

An elderly, porky waitress came over.

"You boys alright?" She chirped, flicking through the pad she had in her hand.

Trott leaned up and smiled at her, "We're doing just fine."

She asked them if they wanted cake, to which Trott said yes, and left them.

"I think Smith's fallen asleep there mate," Ross said, pointing with his pinkie at the ginger man. He was slumped over, mouth slightly agape and drooling. He continued, breathing over his cup with a smile, "You're gonna want to be careful, he might drool on you next."

Trott laughed. Then, with a quick as spreading duckweed, he was under the table and onto the same side as Ross.

It suddenly became apparent how close together they were, and due to Ross being closer to the window, it wasn't as if he could really... move. They were practically thigh-to-thigh, if not closer, but Trott didn't move.

But oddly enough it wasn't awkward. If anything it was more pleasant. There was no heavy breathing, or panic. It was comfortable. Like it was meant to be.

But saying that is cliché. Hell, even thinking that things were meant to be is silly. He was silly for even thinking it. Things are only meant to be when those things are bad. There is no love at first sight. Life doesn't just throw you into a story line because it feels like it; it throws you into the deep end. There is a beginning middle and end, but there is no set path. Kinda like the butterfly effect.

He was being silly.

And he was getting off topic.

And Trott was looking at him.

The waitress came and went, brushing off the 'thank you's as easily as snow. Trott picked up one of the three small silver forks and spoke between slivers, "You know Ross, I've been thinking."

"Dangerous hobby."

"Shush. I've been thinking about a whole lot of things. Smith and I have been talking too."

Ross swallowed, and another sliver of cake disappeared between his lips.

"What's up, Trott? Something wrong?"

Trott watched Ross out of the corner of his eye and waited for him to finish drinking his tea before continuing.

"We've been talking a whole lot about you, Ross."

He choked on his tea.

"You shouldn't talk about people behind their back, Trott."

"And we think that you're pretty great."

What a time to be glad there wasn't any tea in his mouth. If there was it would be all over the table, and he would've woken up Smith, neither of which he felt like dealing with when clearly a fucking bombshell had just been dropped on the table. He felt his face go red, and his breathing shallow like a tide.

But it wasn't like that. Never like that, at least if he could help it, it wasn't.

"You? Me? Smith-"

"Me and Smith. We. We think you're great sunshine. Like, really, really great."

And Trott was getting flustered now too. And there was chocolate on the corner of his mouth, and his hair was smooth, and his face was beet red.

"And I think we're in love with you, Ross," he finished, looking down at his hands in his lap.

Ross sat in shock, but if he had a tail it would be knocking over the table behind him because it was swinging too fast. But Trott was still waiting and looking lonely, and looking like he was going to bolt at any second. Like, right now.

"Trott."

"Look. I get it, and we don't want to pressure you into anything, and we respect your choices-"

"Trott."

He went quiet and wouldn't look up from his hands that were tying themselves in knots in his lap.

"I love you both too."

What a time to be glad there wasn't any tea in Trott's mouth. If there was it would be all over the table, and he would've woken up Smith, neither of witch Ross felt like dealing with when clearly a fucking bombshell had just been dropped on the table. He watched Trott's face go lax, and his breathing pick up again like the tide.

And there was still chocolate in the corner of Trott's mouth and although it kind of mattered it didn't really. And although Trott was looking at him smiling he was still scared of what was to come, and he felt like he wanted to throw up but oh well.

"You've got chocolate on your mouth, Trott."

"Why don't you go ahead and lick if off for me then, sunshine?"

And he was blissfully unaware of the pair of smiling eyes watching them from across the table.

Chapter Eight: Calla Lily

Sunday. Sunday the19th September. The autumn time was upon the northern hemisphere, and pumpkins were beginning to turn orange in the bottom of Trott's garden. The street outside his house was still just as empty as when he first arrived, aside from a few choice cars that appeared and disappeared at will.

It was like the Twilight zone, no one but them in the whole street, hell, maybe even the whole town. Apart from it wasn't like that. Ross had been talking to the postman just that morning, and the Co-op down the high street always had a queue, and the chip shop was usually packed on the weekend. Not to mention how Smith introduced him to almost everyone he knew when he first met him. Chris (or Sips, as he liked to be called) who owned the green grocers, the butchers, Sam and Benji, the woman who ran the post office, Hannah, and tons more. The list went on and on.

There was also the angry dude in purple that lived on the corner and hated his two neighbors that made a lot of noise, but Ross tried to avoid him.

But today he was going not to the green grocers or the butchers or the post office, he was going to the plant nursery down Tendon Road. The one owned by the lesbian couple, and ran by some kid in a headband who looked like he sold marijuana on the side. They were an odd bunch, but Ross felt comfortable there, and the garden center that Smith worked part time at was just next-door, so there was that too.

It just so happened that it wasn't the kid in the headband working behind the counter, but a stoned kid in a grey looking jacket and blue jeans, the one friendly with the kid in the headband. The headband kid must've been working elsewhere, as it was usually the hoodie kid who stocked the shelves.

They said good morning to one another, and Ross disappeared behind the shelves stacked with lily of the valley.

"He's an odd one," Toby whispered to his friend under the desk.

"Dude's been in here almost everyday. I think he's looking for a gift," Martyn stage whispered, making Toby giggle and give him a kick. Martyn batted away Toby's foot with a giggle, "No really! What other option is there?"

Toby hummed and pulled himself off of the stool, and pulled Martyn out from under the desk with a giggle.

"Hannah said Smith was buying seeds again. This time though he disappeared before she found out what was in them. But lat week he got Calla Lilies. What do those ones mean?"

"I don't know, ask Zoey, She's the one with the plant details. Fiona is the one who moves stuff, not the other way around."

For the first time since meeting (or seeing, they hadn't talked yet) Ross actually went to the counter to buy something. Toby scampered off, mumbling something about birdseed.

"Say, I've been seeing you in here quite a bit recently," Martyn started, putting the seed packets through the scanner. He continued, "Did you just come in here to scope the place out?"

Ross seemed to blush slightly, but Martyn was wise enough to ignore it in favour of waiting for an answer. "I've been looking at what'll fit into the spare pots I have. Didn't want to rush and buy something too big or too insignificant, would we?"

Martyn squinted at one of the packs, "Sunflowers? Don't they do better in straight soil rather than pots?"

"Oh those! Those aren't for me; I'm getting them for-" He seemed to stop himself, "Well, for my garden but not the pots. For the back bed, it, ah, gets a lot of sun."

Martyn hummed and put the rest of the seeds into a paper bag. Ross paid and left.

Toby snuck back over and lent against the counter, grinning. "You didn't ask."

"Ask what?"

"Why he's been looking at the roses like black rot does."

"Toby! You can't just ask like that! It takes time! You warm up the milk before you feed the cat, haven't you learned that?"

"Fuck."

"Yeah. Fuck waiting, I know. But there's nothing we can do right now."

"Alright, Alex. This is the third time this week that you've been in here. What's the deal?" Hannah leaned over the side of the desk, getting into her interrogation mind set, "It's too heavy for a pack of seeds. I needed Simon to lift it, and he said it was too heavy for pots too. What gives?"

Smith heaved the package into his arms, but put it back onto the counter almost immediately. He wheezed. "I didn't realize it would be this heavy, sorry about that, Hannah."

"You don't have to apologize for that, Alex. You've just got to tell me what's in the package this time and it'll all be even, you know?" she said, and then leant off of the counter to shuffle about with the letters and envelopes behind the counter. "You've been getting a lot of stuff, and hey, I'm a curious person. This town is pretty small, Smith. News comes and goes like the wind, but you're a hot topic when people see you with bloody great packages every weekend."

Smith watched her work, and batted away a bluebottle from his face when it got too close.

"People talk about me?"

"It is a small town, Smiffy. Is it to do with this new neighbor I've heard so much about?"

A pause.

She grinned. Bingo.

"It's something for him, isn't it? I thought it was for Trott originally, but hey, there's always a surprise around here."

"It is for Trott."

Then Hannah looked up at Smith. Poor guy was redder than a rose, and his hair was everywhere, fluffier than cotton that was ripe to be picked.

"Bollocks."

"It's true!"

"Then what's in it?"

"Seeds!"

Another pause. This time it was longer.

He picked up the package again.

"It's too heavy for seeds, Smith."

"I know."

And he was out the door.

Breathe in.

Breath out.

He's got this.

And out the back door he went, down the steps and across the lawn to the garden gate by the beech hedge. The lavender was flourishing, and the sunflowers in Smith's garden peaked above everything in all three gardens. They'd grown even taller now, and saw the sun throughout the day, casting shadows on everything below.

And his cacti had died. But that was okay; he'd just given them to Trott for the compost heap he used to feed his plants. They weren't the best anyway, just the supermarket brand ones that are in pots much too small for how deep their roots grew, and much too light to not be blown away by the breeze.

It was cruel to keep something like that in a pot where it's doomed to be cramped or to drown.

Speaking of, Smith was replanting one of his pampas grasses so that it didn't die over winter. And Ross couldn't help but watch as in the midday sun Smith glistened with sweat.

"How's it going, mate?" Smith asked, grinning like a dog.

Ross put down his paper bag from the plant nursery, smiling back as the grass flittered in the sun like glass.

"Not bad, mate. Not too bad. Just got back from Zoey's place."

"The place next to where I work?"

"Yeah, and has the stoned looking kids working there."

Smith chuckled, and put down the pot on the other side of the garden, by one of the sunflowers. He wandered over, and leaned on the fence like he was born there. To be fair, he probably grew up in the neighborhood, at least.

"Hey, Toby and Martyn are nice guys."

"They still look stoned."

"I didn't say you were wrong."

They laughed, and Smith rested his head on one of his hands; It smushed his face up slightly, making his eyes crinkle more than usual. It was almost painful to watch, but painful in a good way.

God, he was in deep.

" I got those Sunflower seeds you asked for, the ones in the purple pack?"

"Oh, sweet! I've been meaning to go, but you know how it is. You get off work an you don't feel like going shopping immediately after, do you?"

They chatted for a while, soaking in the rest of the autumn sun. Apparently it was going to be cold that year, bitterly. But at this time of year it was warm in the sunlight and chilly in the shade.

"I've heard you and Trott have had a bit of a chat, hey?" Smith wondered, putting the seeds in his pocket.

Ross turned to face him fully, "Yeah, a bit of a chat. Well more than a bit, but you know."

"How'd it go?"

How in the hell was he supposed to reply to that? With a 'yeah, we started making out, almost abandoned the table to go fuck but didn't because you were asleep'? No. What was correct the correct answer? No one knew, and Ross wasn't about to take a gamble.

"Uh. Good?"

His face dropped slightly.

Oh god. He'd messed up. He'd really, really messed up.

But, oh. The smirk was back.

"Good? You two were making out on the booth in front of me. I'd call that more than 'good' if I'm totally honest, mate."

Ross blushed like a cherry, and Smith chuckled as he leaned further over the gate, more into Ross' space. Smith breathed in and murmured, "you know what the common name to that plant is?" he asked, pointing with a limp hand at the flourishing Persicaria orientalis by the fence.

Ross shook his head, no.

"Mate!" Smith yelled in disbelief, "You've had it in your garden for, like, a month now, and you haven't even looked up its common name?"

Ross began to splutter, "What? You couldn't expect me to, I mean-"

Smith shook his head, "Mate, always look up the proper name of things. Do you want to know its common name so we can talk about it and not sound like complete and utter twats?"

Ross leaned on the gate, putting his hands either side of Smith, and sighed. "Go ahead. Lay it on me."

And then Smith stood up so that he was leaning on the gate at around the same height as Ross. He was very close. Too close for friends, that's for bloody sure.

"Persicaria orientalis is the Latin name for 'Kiss me over the garden gate'."

Chapter Nine: Nine Roses, Twelve Roses, Twenty-four Roses

"I think it's sweet," Trott said, grinning as Ross looked exasperatedly at the massive bundles of bright red roses on the step to his back door. All three of the bundles were wrapped in tight coils of dogwood bark, acting as a type of weird binder.

"I know it's sweet! It's just. Why so many?" he trailed off.

"You..." Trott started, but began to shake his head. Ross looked at him, a confused hurt on his face. Trott, still chuckling slightly, muttered, "Wait here," and disappeared into his kitchen. A few moments later, he emerged with a green, hardback book around the size of a pocket guide. He lent over the fence to hand it to Ross, who took it with care.

Pages, yellow with age, were falling out slightly, and the text was in neat black ink. It was littered with pencil marks.

"Turn to the pages on roses, around 170, I think."

Ross did as told, and began to read aloud.

"Most roses, of any variety, symbolise love. Common varieties of rose include, but are not limited to: garden rose, tea rose, rose of Sharon, the wild rose, Christmas rose, leaf rose, and dog rose."

"Skip to the rose of Sharon, that's the one Smith gave you."

"Uhh... The Rose Of Sharon, if in bloom, means... consumed by love? Okay, what?" "Keep going!"

"This rose, especially when red in colour, means the highest kind of love? When the giver cannot stop thinking about the receiver."

Ross went quiet, and Trott took the book back.

"Oh."

Trott grinned over the fence at him, and went back to work on his blackberries, leaving Ross to breathe in the smell of the roses and whatever else was in his garden. Really he should know, but at the current point of time it was almost impossible to think about anything other than the beautiful person grubbing about in the dirt beside him and the other brilliant human being in the house beside him, panicking.

He sat down on the back step and looked at his shoes for a moment. Trott continued to tend to his plants, but kept his eyes and heart open for a reply, be it a good or bad one.

"You love me." He whispered. Trott didn't feel it was right for him to reply, and so he stayed silent.

"You," He whispered, pointing at Trott, then turned and looked into Smith's mess of pots and pointed at them too, "Love," then he pointed at himself, "Me?"

Trott nodded silently, and smiled when Ross grinned sheepishly.

"You both really, really love me? Like, relationship worthy, kind of love me?"

Trott nodded, and he knelt more to Ross' height. "Yeah," he whispered, like he could scare Ross' emotions away with a single breath, "We love you, Sunshine."

A cough, and Smith was in his garden, waiting for something but Ross couldn't figure out what until Trott pulled himself over the fence into Ross' garden. He moved to Smith and kissed him gently, and then pulled Ross off of the step and over to them.

"You, uh," started Smith, but Ross nodded, and Smith grinned.

He had tears in his eyes but they refused to spill, and Ross kissed them away too. This was no time for tears. This was a time for tea and fruit and love.

"Took you both long enough, I was waiting for you to get your act together since summer."

"Shut up Trott."

Chapter Ten: Hydrangea, Bougainvillea, Cymbidium

The garden was beautiful. Flowerbeds bursting with flowers lined the two picket fences leading to a large, beech hedge at the end. A neat, green grass lawn worthy of a bowling green was the main prize of the lawn. Many potted Fuchsias lived under the eave of the roof, in the sun, but not the rain. It was impressive how large the garden was, 30 meters long. Yet it was only around 10 meters wide.

At the very end of the garden was a large gate on either side of the lawn, a cobblestone path connecting the two gardens beside this one together.

Pots upon pots of plants covered the paving slabs in the right garden, majority of them some kind of flower. A few annuals were closer to the fence, purple and yellow petunias being the most popular. Sweet peas were closer to the front of the mound. Towards the hedge on the other side of the garden were sunflowers, all around the same height as a lamppost.

The left garden, as it were in late autumn, all the plants were a luscious green, but the cherry tree was empty, and the bushes lining both sides of the garden were too. The square patch of grass by the house looked a little dry but healthy, and the two greenhouses right at the back of the garden shone in the morning sun, waiting for the frost covering them to melt in the subtle heat.

At the very end of all three gardens were roses clambering through the beech hedge.

A complete and utter silence filled the area, and the morning traffic outside had not yet begun. The houses that stands tall and proud before the garden are a little old, but still regal in the light. But they lay empty, the gardens too. The entire street was quiet. The center house, the same house that to belong to someone that was never home, was homely, with the curtains open to allow sunlight into the dusty old rooms. The last person to have lived there was dead and buried, but the current occupant was out.

Roses were in almost every room, and should one care to count them, they'd find forty-five.

Forty-five roses? That's too many! It doesn't make sense!

But love doesn't make sense, and the trio that lived and loved these houses didn't either. The only thing that did make sense to them was the outcome, and no one dared question them.

For you see, there's a saying in storytelling, and that is to bring conflict and resolution to a story, or to start as you mean to go on, or to have a clear beginning, middle and end. But we only have so much time until the end. We only have 112 words left. They're flying past as we speak.

But what isn't flying past is time, and things do need time to grow. Fruit need time to mature, flowers need time to bloom and leaves need time to unfurl. There is no sense in prying the blossom open, but there is sense in waiting. There is no sense is thinking that the end is the end. There is always something after the end, even if it is the beginning. So the next time you may think about pulling the leaves open, remember.

Think about the beauty it holds at the end.

Don't pull the blossom apart and then think:

Well, this is it.

~

Credit to ToodleOfDeeth on Ao3