Flowers

         “I hate you!” he yells, storming out the front door and into the snow. “Just leave me alone, I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”





         It’s three days later when a bunch of flowers arrive, a bouquet of the reddest of red roses, and a small cream card.



         

‘Please, come back to me,

         I miss you.’

         Albus barely glances at the handwriting, obviously Scorpius’s, before he throws the card and flowers in the bin, his unwanted dinner following shortly.



         On the fifth day a dozen of the reddest roses, another cream card, and a box of chocolates are on his doorstep when he wakes up.

         ‘Please, come back to me,

         I miss you,

         The bed is so cold without you.

         -Scorpius.’

         Albus doesn’t even bother opening the chocolates, though he knows they are his favourite. He looks away in disgust and throws them in the bin, crushing the roses just like Scorpius crushed his heart the night Albus left.



         The seventh day brings more of those lovely red roses, chocolates, a pair of concert tickets, and another card.



         

‘Please, come back to me,

         I miss you,

         The bed is so cold without you,

         I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to us, to you.

         -Scorpius’

         Albus notices the tickets are for his favourite band, but that’s only after he’s thrown them in the bin and poured his now cold tea over them. It’s not like he was going to use the tickets, anyway.



         The ninth day is just a card. The paper feels heavy and expensive, the sort of paper Scorpius used to write his love letters on.



         

‘Please, come back to me,

         I miss you,

         The bed is so cold without you,

         I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to us, to you.

         I can’t live without you.

         I love you.

         -Yours till the end, Scorpius.’

         Albus rolls his eyes as he reads it. How sappy can Scorpius get? He throws the card on the bench and forgets about it.



         It’s the fourteenth day, and this is the fifth day without a card. Albus flips through the paper, stopping, as habit dictates, on the obituaries page. An article catches his eye.

         ‘Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, died yesterday aged 27.

         His case is being treated as a suspected suicide.

         The funeral will be held this Sunday at St. Johns Church at midday.

         He is survived by his long term partner, Albus Potter.’

         Albus throws the paper in the bin then staggers to his liqueur cabinet.

         “Partner, hah,” he says in between gulps. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not like this.”

         He doesn’t notice the tears until the bottle has run dry. He ignores them until another bottle is empty. “Gods, not like this.”



         It’s the seventeenth day, the day, and Albus is sitting in a pub.

         He’s doing a pretty good job convincing himself that he’s not really looking out the window every few seconds, too.

         The funeral is tiny, just a handful of people in the snow. They didn’t know him as well as Albus did. No one could have.

         He raises his glass in salute, and then knocks the drink back. It’s almost twelve thirty, almost time to head back and start on the proper drinking.



There’s another card, that heavy paper again. It’s sitting on his doormat looking innocent. It could never be innocent.



         

‘I’ve left instructions for this to be delivered after my funeral.

         I wanted you to know, it’s okay.

         I just couldn’t be with anyone but you,

         Call me crazy.

         I’ll always love you, always have, always will,

         We just weren’t meant to be.

         I understand.

         -Scorpius.’

By the end of the card Albus is on the floor, tear stains on the card, understanding on his face.



It’s the twenty-fourth day when Albus manages to get to the graveyard. He isn’t particularly busy, he’s just can’t make himself go to the grave. He’s gotten to the gate before, he just can’t walk in, until now.

He sits at the headstone, letting his fingers card through the recently upturned dirt. Without thinking he starts talking, to the dirt, the air, himself, or Scorpius he has no clue, but the words don’t stop.

         “I loved you, even with all of that, I loved you. I was going to take you back. I was. Honestly. I was just upset. God.” Albus stops and takes in a shuddering breath. “Why did you do that? Why couldn’t you have waited a bit longer for me to come around? I just can’t live without you either. Life’s so empty without you. Before, with those cards, you were still there, still forcing your way into my life. It’s been three weeks, but the apartment still smells like you. Your stuff is still all over my apartment; I haven’t cleaned it up since we were last there together in there, months ago. I’m just so very, very sorry. I’d do anything just to have you, hold you, a bit longer.”

         The sobs wrack Albus’s body, making talking impossible for what felt like hours. After a while they die down enough to continue..

         “I just thought I’d say, I forgive you. For everything, anything. I love you, and I forgive you. I hope you forgive me for everything, too.”

         He leans over and places a bouquet of the reddest of red roses and a cream card on the grave and with a final glance walks away.

         As he walks through the gates a breeze picks up, warm and dry, wiping the tears from Albus’s face. It rustles the leaves and flips the card open softly.

‘I wanted you to know, I forgive you,

I can’t be with anyone else either,

Call me insane.

I’ll always love you,

And I know we were destined for each other.

I’ll see you soon.

-Albus.’