Chapter 140: Who Let Me Be Romantic?
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Funny how things change when you start liking someone.
Suddenly, everything feels like it revolves around them.
The sky? A constant reminder. Songs that used to blend into the background suddenly hit differently. And even plain flowers turned into an emotional minefield.
I was in the middle of restocking a display at the flower shop, my body on autopilot during the last hour of my shift, when a fresh shipment arrived from the back.
"Careful with those!" Bree called from the register, not even looking up. "They’re expensive."
"I know, I know." I lifted a box onto the counter and peeled back the lid.
"...Whoa."
Inside were the most stunning blue flowers I’d ever seen. Their soft, layered petals were a deep sapphire that faded into lighter blues at the edges, almost like a work of art. Under the shop lights, they caught the light and seemed to shimmer.
Blue.
The exact shade of Damien’s eyes.
"..."
I just stared for a moment.
Then I slowly rubbed my hand down my face. "Oh, come on."
"What’s up?" Bree asked, still not looking.
"Nothing."
Absolutely nothing. Just the universe deciding it was a good day to humiliate me.
A rush of heat flushed my cheeks as I stood there, fingers hovering over the stems, imagining how they’d look in a simple vase back in our dorm.
I picked one up anyway because I can’t help myself with these things. The petals felt impossibly soft, and my mind, which had been waiting for a cue — instantly conjured images of Damien.
Then I remembered his expression over breakfast, or how he laughed heartily at something I said, head tipped back, completely at ease. And that moment when he kept me from getting up too early on a weekend, eyes closed, as if nothing could disturb his peace.
I put the flower back down, like it was a hot coal.
"Nope."
Not happening. I had a shift to finish, responsibilities to handle, and way too little emotional space to be getting caught up in feelings about some blue petals.
Five minutes later, I found myself at the register.
"...How much for a bouquet of these?"
Bree looked up from her arrangement of lilies and smiled widely, like she’d been waiting for me to say that. "Oh?"
"I just—" I scratched the back of my neck. "I wanted them."
"Mhm."
"Don’t make that face."
"I’m not making a face."
"You’re totally making a face."
She laughed, a knowing laugh, familiar with people standing where I was now. "I didn’t realize you were seeing someone new."
"I’m not."
"No?"
"No."
"So these flowers are for yourself?"
I glanced at the bouquet.
"..."
"..."
"...Maybe."
Her eyebrow shot up.
"Oliver."
"They’re for someone," I confessed, sounding like someone who lost an argument with themselves. "It’s not...I mean — uh, we’re not officially—" I paused. "It’s complicated."
I chuckled softly at the assumption, a mix of amusement and embarrassment bubbling up, my ears burning. We weren’t official yet, not in any way I could easily explain to someone outside our little world and admitting the truth felt way too vulnerable for a casual chat at work.
"Those are beautiful, Oliver. Your girlfriend is going to be one lucky girl getting flowers like that. She must be something special for you to be thinking of her during your shift." She propped her chin on her hand, clearly enjoying this. "Tell me about her."
Her...
I smiled, bold if her to assume it was a girl.
I hadn’t corrected anyone about the pronoun situation, mostly because explaining "actually it’s for the guy I’ve been kissing but it’s all undefined and I got him flowers because his eyes match and I’m losing it" sounded like the start of a therapy session.
"Pretty." I said it more like a question, which didn’t help my case, it was the first time that came to mind.
Bree squinted, like she could see through my deflection. "Interesting save."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Mhm."
I replied lightly, trying to keep it casual as I adjusted the wrapping around the stems one last time. "But yeah, they’re for someone pretty special. Let’s just say these blue ones reminded me of them in a way I couldn’t ignore."
She wrapped the stems in brown paper with ease, tied them with a navy ribbon that matched the flowers almost perfectly, and handed the bouquet over with a warm smile.
"Aww, whether you’re dating or not," she said, "flowers given because someone genuinely crossed your mind are always special. More than the expensive ones people buy just because they have to."
I looked at the bouquet in my hands.
"We’re not official," I mumbled mostly to the flowers.
"Yet?"
"...Maybe."
She laughed softly. "Oh, sweetheart."
By the time my shift wrapped up, I’d spent nearly twenty minutes debating whether bringing the flowers home was a shitty idea or just a bit questionable.
Guys didn’t usually do this, did they? Were there rules? No one handed me an instruction manual. Just three months ago, I thought I was the straightest dude on the he fucking planet, and my biggest dilemma was whether to buy the cheap shampoo or the slightly less cheap one.
Now, I was standing outside Preston Hall with a bouquet because some guy had the prettiest blue eyes and I was clearly losing my fucking mind.
"This is stupid," I muttered to the entrance.
I took a step inside.
Then another.
"What if he thinks it’s cheesy?"
Step.
"What if he hates flowers? Not everyone likes flowers. Some think they’re excessive and smell weird."
Step.
"What if he thinks I’m weird for even—"
The apartment door swung open just before my brain could finish that thought.
After all, he was a guy...confident, composed, and part of a world where gestures like this might not mean the same thing. And me?
"There you are."
Damien looked up from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, an apron hanging around his waist like he had no second thoughts about it. "You took longer than—"
He stopped.
His eyes landed on the bouquet.
Then slowly traveled to my face.
"...Sunshine?"
In that moment, I realized I had completely forgotten how to speak. I just stood in the doorway, bouquet in hand, heart racing with a mix of affection and shyness.
Yes, I admit I was shy. Sue me...
"I—" Great start. "I, uh..."
Even better. My palms felt sweaty, which was so unfair given how calm I had been on the walk over.
"I saw these," I managed to say, gesturing awkwardly at the flowers. "And... they reminded me of you." I pointed the words more at the bouquet than at him, which felt a bit cowardly but easier.
"So." I shoved the bouquet toward him like I was yanking off a Band-Aid. "Here."
And then: "There."
Then silence, The words had tumbled out in a rush, my face heating up as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.
Deep down, I was a mess of embarrassment and hope, sweat prickling at the back of my neck, praying he wouldn’t think it was all ridiculous. I had even rehearsed a few relaxed lines on the way home, but they evaporated the second I saw him.
The silence stretched on, feeling like an eternity.
Oh fuck he hated them, he definitely hated them. He was searching for a polite way to tell me this was the weirdest thing anyone had done around him.
"But I mean," I babbled, my mouth taking over, "it’s totally okay if flowers aren’t your thing. You’re a guy, I’m also a guy, there’s no...uh, rulebook here. If this is weird, I can just take them back. I work there, they’ll probably let me return them, or I could keep them—"
Damien’s reaction was something I hadn’t expected. His eyes softened, widening even more as a genuine blush crept across his cheeks...a rare crack in his usual cool demeanor that made my breath catch.
It was the first time I had ever seen him flustered in a way that mirrored my own feelings, making him look even more endearing