Oliver hated the cold. He hated the way everything looked dead and frozen, he hated the nagging heat from fireplaces giving him the worst of headaches, and he hated the layers over layers he had to put on whenever he stepped outside. He didn't have to worry about any of that in the comfort his room, but now he was outside—and he was freezing. 

Another invitation, another celebration he was forced to attent. It wasn't anything peculiar, and he hadn't minded it the first time he had heard about it, but now that he was wandering around the gardens of today's host, he started to question his motives. 

With plants withered down and weed unplucked, the bleak soil reeked of death, and in all this eerie chaos, there was someone whose heart would be breaking at this sight. Someone he just couldn't seem to find. That was, until he had almost walked off the property down towards a weak reflection in the far back. A small conservatory flashed into his sight. This was his last chance.

His legs carried him faster than he could think and once he fought his way through the bumby and slippery pits of mud and rocks, he reached the entrance, noticing a familiar red ribbon with a tiny bell around the steel handle. Finally.

"How come that wherever we are, I always find you in a garden? It's getting difficult to tell whether you don't like people or just really like flowers," Oliver yelled across the inside as soon as he lifted open the heavy door. Len's head popped up from behind the succulents. His eyes searched the door and then stopped at Oliver, with a wide grin crawling up his face.

"I'll keep you guessing."

His arms flung around and he freed his legs from his nest of linen as Oliver shut the door behind himself. He reached for the spade next to his feet and forced the wooden handle between the door handle. Len crept up behind him and tackled him in a tight hug. Oliver wiggled under the weight.

"What? You don't like it? It's warm."

"It's humid," Oliver whined and picked up the loose hair strands all over Len's face. They were soft and so thin that Oliver always feared he'd break them with how poorly Len treated them. He flung two strands between his fingers and brushed them behind his ear but they freed themselves soon after. He frowned. What a useless ponytail.

"You'll get sweaty and then go outside, catch a cold and die a gruesome death."

With those words, Oliver grabbed the hair tie before it landed on Len's shoulders and rolled it on his wrist with a grin. He waited for a shower of complaints but Len's arms merely flung to his sides and he shrugged.

"Yes, Mother," Len scoffed and walked back to his hideout as Oliver took off his coat and threw it on his friend's head. Oliver followed him into the nest, not so careful to not step on the cloths. Most of them were dirtied with mud and soil, but Len dropped down next to the stains nonetheless. Oliver was about to point out the green smudges right under his white pant leg but knew that his friend didn't really mind anyway. A hand pulled him down by the wrist before Oliver could think it through once again.

He looked around and frowned at the view of steel legs carrying the trays and tables of greenery. The tiled floor was cold and wet, with brownish strings of water running down across the joints into the tiny drain nearby, and the air didn't feel any different, but somehow in all this dirt and mess, Len radiated with excitement. His attention was back on a small ceramic pot he aggressively rubbed the stains out of. The plant shook and spun under the pressure, and yet this scene looked so oddly charming. Probably Len's charm.

They didn't say anything for a while. They often didn't. Most of their meetings were quiet, their minds occupied and their hands occasionally reaching for one another. This was so very different from home.

"How's it in there so far?"

Oliver startled at Len's sharp voice. His eyes were yet fixated on the small pot and Oliver couldn't help but stare. How would Len react if he were to put his head on his thigh? The way Len held the pot up so high almost looked like an invitation but he hesitated. 

"Stuffed. My parents are busy." 

Oliver was still staring. Then Len looked up and laughed until Oliver looked away.

"So are mine. Otherwise I probably wouldn't be here." He put the pot back on the tray above his head and pushed on one of the legs but it wouldn't budge. "My aunt swore on her grave that she's going to lock me up if she finds me like this one more time."

"Playing a risky game, aren't we?"

"You know I like risks," Len pressed out as he leaned forward to struggle his way back on his knees, unstucking his legs from the layers of linen, and then leaning forward until he managed to stem his hands on Oliver's knees. "That's why I'm with you."

Oliver's eyes darted back and he scanned Len's smile. He read none of the typical mischief and mockery out of it. The result made him blush and he hated that it was far too late to turn his head away. The mental image of a flustered Len made him feel better, but as soon as this dream turned into reality his body shook up only more. He leaned forward but Len leaned back with a grin.

"Follow me," he said and took Oliver's hands to pull them both back on their feet. 

Oliver didn't even ask any questions as they squished through trays and pots to the very back of the conservatory until they stood in front of a wall of pruning euphorbias and burdocks. Len let go of Oliver's hand and stepped forward. His head tilted from side to side and his hands searched around the leaves until he stopped and threw his torso forward. 

There was a loud screech and Oliver jumped back until he found Len holding open a door with teasing laughter. He grumbled and walked up, flicked Len's forehead and then marched over the stones and pebbles marking the way. The door fell shut behind him and Len hurried back to his side.

This part of the garden looked so different. There was no sight of succulents and thistles and anything else perennial, but the beds were filled with flowers until they dared to tilt over the margins. Colors over colors painted the bleak landscape peaking from behind the stained window walls.

Oliver took a few more steps into the garden and shuddered. With the surprise fading, the sudden coldness shook him up once more. His coat was still in the other room.

Len swung an arm around Oliver's waist and pulled him to the right. His hip squished flower heads and loose leaves and Oliver almost protested where this recklessness suddenly came from, but then he was left alone between trays as Len jumped forward, his eyes up the ceiling. A butterfly flew past him and only now Oliver noticed how many of them were there, despite the coldness.

"See? Now I get it why this part of the garden was locked," Len breathed out with a soft smile and Oliver flinched.

"It was locked?!"

One butterfly landed on Len's shoulder and stayed there until he carried it to Oliver's hands. Its wings barely moved. Oliver felt bad. He hadn't seen such a beautiful garden ever since autumn struck but even this oasis was suffering from the cold he hated so much.

Shoes brushed on the rocky ground until the sound picked up and fell sharp. Oliver's head perked up where the sudden noise came from and there he saw Len trot back to the tiled main intersection, throwing his arms in the air.

"This is so much better. Who needs an entire ballroom when you can dance in here."

Len opened his arms and swung to the side, one step forward, turned around and swung to the other side. He started laughing and Oliver could barely join. As much as he loved to see Len enjoy himself, he knew that this situation was anything but idle.

With his thoughts and heartbeat racing, Oliver barely noticed the few more twirls swung around him until Len stopped right in front of him, their faces a mere few inches apart. His grin had widened as he reached his hand out. Oliver shook his head, his uneasy smile unfazed.

"Don't be like that," Len whined and shook his head in a fit of defiance. His locks swung around his face and Oliver had to hold back to not brush them behind his ears once more. He shrugged his shoulders instead.

"I can't. I don't know how."

"You don't know how to dance? Are you joking?"

Lonely laughter filled the room as Len preyed around his friend, observing him as if the talent must be hidden somewhere and then returned back to face him. He reached for one of Oliver's hands and dropped it again. Over and over, until Oliver pulled back with a grunt and Len was satisfied.

"No wonder your parents can't get you to wed already." Still no comment. Len sighed and grabbed Oliver's hand more forcefully this time. "Here, let me show you."

Oliver frowned and tried to draw his hand back. Len chuckled. "Don't be like that. It's easy."

Albeit reluctantly, the two walked up to the main aisle as Len turned around and pulled him closer. His other hand rested down on his shoulder, Oliver's position followed quickly. At least he knew where to start.

The only thing he couldn't settle on were his eyes. He loved to gaze into Len's eyes, scan his face for his distinctive features and tiny gestures but this was different. Len looked at him so expectantly, and he couldn't deliver anything. This was exactly why he didn't dance. And yet, Len managed once again to push his will through. Oliver grew annoyed and his friend noticed why. He smiled.

"It's just a few steps. Right foot forward, drag the left along and to the side. Left one back. Right foot back and to the right. That's all." Oliver's frown didn't fade yet. "You'll see once you try. Just try somehow if you can't keep up."

Len's tongue clicked and the dance begun before Oliver could blink twice. The rhythm wasn't fast—Oliver knew that—but he could still barely keep up. Wasn't he supposed to lead? Where was Len going, pulling him from side to side? With his feet and mind barely communicating, one step fell shorter than the other and then there was Len who flew and swept his feet past his with ease. How did he not trip when he had to tug Oliver with him with every step?

There was a harsh pull forward and Oliver crashed against Len, who clicked his tongue louder.

"What a pain you are. Relax. Stay close and just enjoy it."

Oliver grumbled. How easy it was of him to say that. Follow the rhythm—with no music? With Len not waiting for him, even silently mocking him with every further step they took? He always did that.

Right foot forward, left one to the side. Left one back, right to the side. One more time. And one more. Over and over.

Oliver still didn't like this but at least he was on the way to be able to follow Len. His focus didn't fade as Len directed his attention on him and silently laughed at the serious face his friend was making. However, that serious face soon turned into a bitter frown Len didn't know how to interpret. He stopped clicking his tongue and their bodies fell into an uncoordinated swaying.

"What's wrong?" Len startled at his own brittle voice, but Oliver didn't look up. He opened his mouth and hissed in a blow of air.

"You brought up the wedding thing again. We promised not to."

"So what? We can't avoid it. It's going to happen either way."

Oliver shook his head. "I don't want to though. Not to someone I barely know!"

The loud protests silenced the two as they continued to sway from one foot to the other. Len watched his counterpart for a while. His hand travelled up to Oliver's hair and he tugged on the short strands falling into his face. He didn't like it short like this because he knew Oliver didn't as well. He had had beautiful curls when they had been longer. When they had first met.

'Someone he barely knew'

Why did he suddenly feel nostalgic?

"Someone you barely know?" Len's soft frown turned into a forced smile. "Sounds like you already have someone else in mind."

Oliver's mouth opened in protest, but then his throat blocked his way. He couldn't just say it out loud. Len waited and his gaze deepened until his smile weakened.

"You're going to grow fond of them eventually."

Oliver laughed. A short and bitter laugh. "You're awfully positive about it. Don't you care at all?"

"About what?"

"We can't meet like this anymore once we're getting married."

"Says who?" Len's smirk returned and he picked up the dance with a sharp turn. Oliver's weight shifted to the other side as his feet barely knew where to go. "This has always been a secret, and it might as well carry on."

Silence. Words and phrases and protests formed and collapsed, relinked and vanished over and over. Oliver wondered whether Len ever struggled for words like he did. His witty tongue must have been something given by birth, and Oliver was just so envious of it. Instead of spilling his all, he could do nothing else but lower his head.

"That doesn't...feel right."

Len's eyes searched for any clues in the white canvas in front of him. Empty, once again. He wondered if Oliver did it on purpose or whether he just was like that. A small sigh escaped his lips.

"You're never going to be mine entirely, and I'm never going to be yours. This was just never meant to be."

"How can you be so romantic and pragmatic both at the same time?" Oliver looked up, drawn between joking and crying, as he now directed Len back to left-sided turns. This was easier than expected. "I just want it to be us, far away from bloodline and honor and traditions to carry on. We just do as we please and move on from that day by day. A bit like Faust."

"Like Faust!" Len scoffed and laughed. "Did you even read the play?"

Oliver threw his chin up, barely concealing his playful outrage, and pulled Len closer. 

"Absolutely! Sealed a pact with the Devil to pursue his thirst for all knowledge and pleasures of the world. Doesn't that sound like me?"

Oliver's smile reeked with the sort of confidence Len could barely suppress laughing at. He shook his head. 

"And who am I in this play? Gretchen?" His words cut off as Oliver tripped over his feet. Their legs staggered on the slippery patch until they reached the other side of the floor section but Len didn't lose track of his complaint. "You'll leave me rotting in my own madness once you've had your way with me?"

"You wish you were that innocent. You're no other than Mephistopheles," Oliver's words drowned in the growing grin on his face. Before he could get his point across, Len already casted a frown that made him spat out a short laugh. "After all, you were the one to drag me into this to begin with. And perhaps you're too much of a mutt to not be the Devil."

The joke went straight over their heads but that was exactly what made them burst out in laughter. And then it was their accidental head bump. And then them laughing about things this mundane when it had just been so serious. They were laughing and laughing until they could feel the tension in the air and their minds wash away like the water on the floor.

Oliver dwelled in the silence for a while as they scanned each other's faces. A small smile grew.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Can I kiss you back?" Len asked in a squeaky tone and stuck out his tongue. "Don't ask."

He tried to pull Oliver closer by his shoulders but the latter leaned back with a short laugh.

"Oh? So I can just go and kiss you like this?" He grabbed the back of Len's head as he licked his lips and lunged forward, but Len was faster than him. He duck down with a scream and crashed right against Oliver's chest before freeing himself from the grip and running from another attack with echoing laughter.

Len ran past the maze of flower pots and trays and picked up the speed once he found Oliver following close by—until he missed the right turn and slipped on the drain. His hip crashed against the edge of the tray and he could barely pick himself up before Oliver caught up to him and swept him across the floor. Their laughter only picked up despite them preparing their doom by scrambling on the dirty floor—soon to be to return to the ballroom.

Their laughter abated with their energy and they slowly picked themselves up from the floor. Their gowns were ruined but it mattered less than they expected—especially for Oliver. Len wiped off a speck of soil from the blonde hair in front of him and chuckled.

"This sucks. I was supposed to be annoyed in the ballroom, not here."

"Sorry not sorry," Oliver pressed out between his grin, "You'll get even more annoyed once you have your aunt ground you for life."

Len leaned forward and pecked Oliver's lips. "Then we better prepare for a longer goodbye this time."

The original plan was to work on a LDR Christmas special (which will be postponed) but for now I wanted to write about pretty boys dancing in a flower garden. This version of Oliver and Len is just so much fun to work with!

(Btw, for anyone who didn't read Faust, the devil approached Faust in form of a poodle. So much for how bad my jokes can get, hehe)