Written by: loveinslowmotion on archive of our own

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"If you were a flower, you'd be a damn-delion."

"A dandelion is a weed, Harry."

With the early afternoon sun shining down on them, Harry squinted this through the bright light, making his dimpled grin look even sweeter than usual. "There's no pleasing some people, is there?"

Taylor laughed, stretching her legs out on the checked blanket underneath them. With September upon them, the weather was, albeit slowly this year, beginning to cool into the perfect fall temperatures. Leaves were turning orange and there was cinnamon in the air (though that could've just been all the cookies Taylor had been baking, not to mention the pumpkin spice lattes she had started buying from Starbucks again), and Taylor was reminded why autumn, along with spring, was one of the best times of year.

"I appreciate the pun, but out of the thousands of types of plants out there, why do I have to be a weed?"

"Because it was the only pun I could think of, alright?" Harry reached over to pick another daisy out the ground, stabbing his thumbnail into the end of the last stem he'd collected and threading the new flower through. "And excuse me, how many times have you called me daisy? Are these not weeds also, Miss Walking Floral Encyclopedia?"

"Daisy sounds a lot better than dandelion, though, don't you think?" Taylor pointed out, picking another strawberry out of the container between them. They'd decided to go out for a picnic at a nearby park since it was a nice day, bringing a collection of nibbles along for the ride.

"Oh, I see how it is. You can pick and choose as you like, but I can't."

"If you're going to be like that, I'll go and find that dog that was chasing you again."

Ripping up a handful of grass, Harry threw it in her direction, green strands fluttering around in a cloud around her. On their way, a rather intimidating dog hadn't been too fond of Harry passing by, and all were glad that the owner had kept it on a leash (even if that leash did extend rather far). The last thing Harry needed was a dog bite to his healing leg.

"You, my angel, are a cruel mistress," he dubbed, and Taylor playfully stuck her tongue out at him.

"Whatever, my daisy." She had him rolling his eyes, and she grinned back in satisfaction. "You love it, pansy."

"Pansy?" Harry whined. "God no, not pansy. D'you you even know what that means?"

"Lavender."

"No."

"Thistle."

"How is thistle a compliment? They're all prickly. Am I prickly?"

"You're so soft, my sunflower."

"Ahh, see, sunflower's much nicer."

"Geranium."

"Now you're just naming plants for the fun of it."

"Bluebell. Wisteria. Daffodil. Nasturtium."

"Are they the ones they use the petals as decoration on food?"

She nodded. "You can eat them, yeah. They're nicer to look at, though."

"I wonder what daises taste like," Harry mused, looking over the chain he was working on in contemplation. Before she had the chance to stop him, he plucked a petal off one of them and popped it in his mouth, chewing the small piece slowly, a studious frown on his face. "Doesn't taste like much, really."

"Oh my god." Taylor shook her head, grinning. He could be a bit odd, yes, but she loved him. She loved him with all her heart, a feeling that wasn't dissipating anytime soon.

"I don't think we'll be adding daisies to our dishes," he decided, picking another from the grass. They weren't looking their best in the changing season, but he was making do regardless. "I was thinking, this weekend, if you wanted to, we could check out this gallery in Westchester? I saw an ad for the exhibition, doesn't look too bad."

"Sure," she easily agreed. "Did you still want to pick up some new canvases?"

"Yeah. I've got an idea for another big one," Harry beamed at her, and she almost didn't want to ask.

When they had transported his things into her apartment, Harry brought the unfinished pink-washed canvas along with him, though he had abandoned his original purpose for it. Instead, he had reimagined one of his more recent works: the cherry blossoms he had painted on her and photographed (which turned out amazing, mind you). This time, he had painted her bare from memory, twisting branches of cherry blossoms around her and thoughtfully covering her breasts. As much as she'd said she wasn't interested in being painted on something that big, it was a beautiful surprise. She didn't even mind that he planned on making the theme part of a series, nor that he had shown it to a few people. It was modest, he was talented, and he received nothing but good feedback. Taylor was really proud of him (even if he had painted it without any clothes on, because apparently he hadn't been joking about that).

"I can picture it now: a gallery full of these pink pictures of you."

"I'm pretty sure you're the only one who would really appreciate that," Taylor countered, but Harry shook his head.

"Nah, love. It'd be a huge hit – if I do say so myself." Grinning, he reached for her thigh, running his hand over it fondly. "And I'd be the lucky one that gets to call you mine."

"You would," she smiled back, leaning over to kiss him. It lasted a little longer than their usual PDA, but no one was watching, anyway. "What are you gonna call it?"

Harry sat back, quirking his lips to the side in thought. "How does 'Blossomed' sound?"

"Considering your subject, kind of like I'm a teenager who just developed a woman's body."

"I think I've blossomed," he said, disregarding her point. "I feel like I came here as, like, a sprout, and thanks to you watering me I'm now a flourishing flower."

Taylor raised her brow at him. "Watering?"

"Does that sound dirty?" He ran his hand through his hair, chuckling a little. "Though I have to say, I certainly feel like I've flourished when I'm covered in your come."

"You cannot say that in public!" she gaped, kicking him in the shin. Honestly, she should've known by now that he was always going to come out with these kinds of brazen things when she wasn't expecting it.

In spite of his protest, Taylor kicked him again, playfully swinging both of her bare feet at him. "Don't crush my daisies!" he cried as she went to push him over, climbing over on top of him carefully. They wrestled around a bit until she got a grip on his wrists and could pin them down either side of him.

"Minx," Harry panted up at her, smirking. "You're going to make me come in the middle of the park."

"Will you shut up?" Taylor laughed, glancing around to make sure there was no one within earshot. There was a woman walking a fluffy little dog on a footpath a good few metres away, but she didn't think he'd been loud enough for her to hear, thank god.

"What's the matter, Tay? I thought you liked it loud," he teased, then, unashamedly, gave a rather accurate impression of one of her girly moans. She might've been impressed if it weren't for how purposefully vocal he'd been.

Doing the first thing she thought of, Taylor leaned down and kissed him hard to quieten him. While it got him to stop talking, he still moaned underneath her, though it was one of his own, lower and softer than his imitation. Harry relaxed, giving into her like he did every single time.

"Is this what I get for falling for a younger man?" she murmured jokingly, and he smiled against her lips.

"I thought you liked all the sex."

"I do. What I don't like is the entire population of New York knowing what we do."

"Then you might want to get off me, you hypocrite."

Harry was giggling as she released his hands and she shifted back off him, playfully tapping her ass as she moved back to her spot. Taylor swivelled her head around with the intention of flashing him a warning look, but instead she was grinning stupidly. Yes, they were silly, they were teasing, and he could be rather unpredictable in what thoughts he spoke aloud, but neither would change a thing. What they had was, actually, just the kind of bond they wanted and had been surprised to find when they least expected it.

"I love you," Harry smiled at her truthfully, picking up his daisy chain when he sat up. He pushed his thumbnail through the last stem and joined both ends, beckoning her to come closer. Carefully folding it over itself to form two overlapping circles instead of one big one, he placed it delicately on top of her head. "There. Now my angel's finally got a crown."

"Angels have halos," Taylor pointed out, and he flicked her knee.

"My angel has a flower crown," he emphasised with a grin, giving her an adoring kiss. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," Taylor beamed brightly, kissing him again. "I love you."

"You look so beautiful," Harry admired as he trailed his fingers down her jaw. "Can I take a picture?"

With her permission, Harry snapped a photo on his phone of her posing sweetly with her cute crown. He sent her a copy upon her request, which she posted to Instagram ('@hsart's not so bad at the flower thing ;)'). Proudly, he was the first one to like it.

He wasn't going to give her a run for her money on the floral front, though. Harry happily championed her, all the arrangements she brought home and the pictures she had on the store's Instagram page. Her artistry intrigued him, and he used it to help guide his own work. It was fascinating, the way they inspired each other in their different creative paths.

Harry was helping her develop her drawing skills, actually. They worked together on more watercolours, which Taylor was pretty proud of. She got her own journal to stick her pictures in, as well as some flower pressings she did from the bouquets she brought home. It was kind of therapeutic, actually, spending a couple hours losing herself in her imagination. No wonder Harry had managed his tribulation so well.

When they decided to get back on the move again, they slipped their shoes back on and packed up their things, folding the picnic blanket and putting their containers back into Taylor's bag. They set them in the front basket of her cruiser – she'd finally let him start using his bike again, and their picnic had been part celebration of his further freedom.

"You good?" Harry checked as he picked his bike up off where it lay on the grass and swung his leg over the side. Taylor settled in the saddle of hers and nodded, carefully sliding her daisy chain around her neck so it wouldn't fly off once they started riding.

"I'm good."

"Why couldn't the flower ride his bike?" he unexpectedly asked, and she gave him an odd look.

"Why?"

"Because his petals fell off," Harry grinned ridiculously, putting his feet to his pedals and pushing his way across the grass, leaving her to smile and roll her eyes at his joke behind him. He headed for the footpath and Taylor soon followed after him, struggling a little to get started on the soft surface.

They went along at a leisurely pace at first, finding a comfortable rhythm side by side. Harry pushed further ahead of her whenever there was someone walking in the opposite direction to them, courteously giving them room to get past. After the second time, he didn't slow down again, instead calling back out to her, his voice carrying behind him.

"Wanna race?"

"You're already ahead of me."

"Guess you'll just have to try harder, then!"

He began pedalling faster, extending the distance between them, and Taylor laughed as she watched his dark curls blow wildly in the wind. Harry looked over his shoulder at her with an exuberant grin, deep dimples and crinkled eyes. He looked young and playful and so gorgeous, but most importantly, he looked happy. Truly, completely, full of carefree joy.

"C'mon, angel! Loser buys ice cream!"

Gripping her handlebars tighter, Taylor hurried to catch up to him, a grin on her own face. She knew she wasn't going to beat him – even though he was out of practice, he ordinarily made more use of his bike than she did. She didn't care, anyway.

For the young man ahead of her – the one with paint-stained fingers and adoring eyes, who wrote her love notes and made her morning coffee, who had been through an unfair accident and found strength and inspiration in the woman he called angel – was finally free.