Sweet Clematis

by R. Cooper

  Clematis inhaled sharply at the sight of him, but then his gaze went back to the strange fairy finally dragging himself from David’s arms. “The bookstore was boring,” the fairy complained. “Too many students wondering why I was there. Anyway, I like the grass better. How was your class?”

  “Here, Flor, don’t lose this.” David bent down to offer Flor his bubble gun, although Flor left it carelessly by his soda on the bench. “My class was fine.”

  “Fine means you were bored. Fine means you would have done better,” Flor declared confidently.

  David smiled to reveal a dimple and ducked his head, adorably shy for someone who had done something to make this fairy so proud of him. He looked up, mouth open to say something, only to notice Clematis. “Who is this?” He glanced down Clematis’s body before ducking his head again. He cleared his throat and said, in the tone of someone trying to sound teasing, “Flor, did you make a friend? Oh wait….” David paused to study Clematis again. “I’ve seen you around. You’re the fairy who takes classes here, aren’t you?” He smiled, and there was nothing malicious in it.

  Flor turned toward him, then toward Clematis with interest.

  Clematis stammered, “I just audit. I don’t really take any classes.” He jerked a hand over himself in a clumsy motion, trying to say he was a fairy and obviously couldn’t take classes.

  Flor tightened his mouth, then glanced away dismissively. He started to flick through his phone again.

  “What classes?” David asked. “Science? The humanities?”

  “Humans name everything after themselves,” Flor remarked, which made Clematis look anxiously to David, but David only laughed.

  “It’s true. Except for fairy tales, I suppose.” David focused on Clematis again. “Any English or classics classes? I would really be interested in a fairy perspective on the readings.”

  He had a fairy next to him. Clematis looked from David to Flor in confusion. “Nobody wants a fairy’s perspective,” he said quietly.

  “I do.” David was earnest and already brighter. “Don’t I, Flor?”

  Flor lifted his gaze from his phone to stare at him. “Of course you do.” Together, they were impossibly bright. David shimmered again.

  Yearning, that was what the shimmer meant. Love, or something like that.

  Flor put a hand on his arm and smiled up at him with a pride so clear Clematis felt his eyes sting.

  “Then… then doesn’t he already have your perspective?” Clematis asked Flor’s shoulder, the sun in his hair, anywhere but his face.

  Flor snorted inelegantly. “One fairy can’t speak for all fairies.”

  “Oh. Right.” Clematis shut his mouth before anything else stupid could come out.

  “Flor,” David cut in gently. Flor wrinkled his nose but then sighed. David looked at Clematis again, his eyes wide with interest. But his smile was pleasant and polite. “If you’re on campus a lot, I’ll probably run into you again. I really think it would liven up a lot of these classes for the professor to have the subject of one of their lectures actually in the class with them, challenging their viewpoints. They should welcome it. But most won’t.” For the briefest moment, he frowned and was as intimidating as a were. Then the jut of his chin made him look determined, not angry. “But the students should still hear it.”

  “I—” Clematis’s lips were dry. “I don’t speak up in class.”

  “We can’t all be Flor.” David shot Flor a happy look, sending a flutter through Flor’s wings.

  “Flor,” Clematis repeated, the name itself light and warm. Flor looked at him again. Clematis tried to put his shoulders back, then to lean forward with interest. “Do you go here too?”

  Flor blinked several times, surprised by something, but then shook his head. “Academia isn’t really my style. But I like knowledge. And David loves it, so….” He left that unfinished as if to say whatever David loved, he obviously also loved. Clematis felt himself nodding, although the frantic beating of his heart stopped as suddenly as it had started. His blood was heavy in his legs. His wings stilled.

  “David must be very smart.” Clematis stared up at the sky, seeing only Flor’s hand on David’s sleeve. “I mostly hang around. I like to learn, but I’m just a fairy.”

  “Just a fairy?” Flor echoed, practically spitting fire.

  Clematis met his eye and had to clench his hands at his sides.

  “You shouldn’t let people deter you from learning if you really want to,” David told him, sweet as only the shiny ones could be.

  Clematis looked away from Flor. “You could teach me,” he offered, smiling so hotly even humans like David forgot their words.

  Flor, his mind said. Flor.

  He had Flor’s attention now, sharp and furious. He smiled wider. “I’m Clematis.”

  “David.” It was David who answered, stuttering. “David MacKenzie. And this is Flor de Maga. Flor, to most people.”

  “Flor,” Clematis said again, without a tremor this time. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Sure,” Flor replied shortly before stepping between him and David. “David, did you eat yet? You didn’t, did you? Is there a snack in your bag?”

  “I thought I’d get some chips at the bookstore, but someone wasn’t there,” David snapped back, but with the same smile at his lips. “But we can go somewhere else. I have a few free hours. Uh, Clematis? Did you want to come along? I was serious about the fairy perspective, especially from someone who has taken some of the same classes.”

  Clematis raised his head in surprise.

  Flor sighed impatiently.

  Flor, Clematis’s thoughts repeated, over and over. Flor. And then, Flor does not want me.

  Clematis imagined himself breathing to make himself breathe. Flor didn’t want him. He stared at all the places David’s and Flor’s bodies touched and forced himself to be still. He kept his hands tight, though he was already shaking with tension.

  “No.” He declined the invitation that had only been done out of politeness and did his best to smile at someone who won the attention of someone like Flor. “No, thank you. I was on my way home.”

  David accepted it with a gracious nod and then a hopeful slant to his smile. “We’ll see you around, then?” he asked, only to be tugged away by Flor without getting an answer.

  “Did you even eat breakfast?” Flor demanded, not seeming to notice how David paused to pick up his soda and his bubble gun for him. “How can you be so smart but so silly?” he teased, butting against David’s side but then staying there, welcomed by one of David’s arms around him.

  Clematis turned to watch them until they were spots of light in the distance. Then he fell, knees and palms in the grass. He dug his fingers into the dirt and shut his eyes until the sparkles were completely gone.

  His throat ached, rasping before he went silent. His lips were parched and cracked.

  Tulip stopped petting his hair. He dragged in a breath and then brushed his fingers across Clematis’s cheeks. “You watched him walk away?” he asked, disbelieving. “You let him go?”

  “So did you.” Clematis hadn’t been there when Tulip had met David, but he had seen them shimmer for each other for years. Tulip had let him go too.

  “They were in my building,” Tulip defended himself haltingly. “I was scared, but I met David with Flor, who lives in my building. I knew where he would be. I let him go, but I knew I would see him again. I had to see him again, but I couldn’t—”

  “You were scared of humans.” Clematis knew the stories about Tulip. He had never judged him for walking away, even though David had always wanted him in return. Clematis opened his eyes and pulled away from Tulip’s shoulder, uncertain when he’d allowed himself to rest there. “You were scared and let him go, and I hurt him, so you cursed me.”

  “It wasn’t a curse!” Tulip sat up and wiped his eyes. “Not purely a curse,” he added, softening as he reached out. “Clematis, you don’t understand.”

  “I d
on’t need to.” Clematis looked blankly around at the children’s books and the pastel walls. “Not even the shiniest of humans is ever going to look at me with anything other than desire. Not even that now.” He looked down to his shaking hands and his pale glitter. “I’ll get as old as Hyacinth except I won’t have a Walter. There won’t be anyone. My parents didn’t want me. My happiness doesn’t want me either.”

  A bolt of ice went down his spine. “My happiness,” he said again, because he had never said it before today. “Flor is my happiness, but I was fine with—I was—”

  Tulip hardened his voice. “I’m going to talk to Flor.”

  “Why?” Clematis gazed at him in confusion. “Tulip, you are not the one to comfort Flor right now. And anyway, Flor doesn’t want to hurt me. But I can’t make him want me as much as I want him.” Clematis was as heavy as he had been that day, as tired and weak and hopeless. He dropped his head. “Why did you do this to me? I was fine until you did this to me.”

  “No.” Tulip was very sure, but of course, Clematis had just told him his every thought all those years ago. Tulip was fierce and certain. “No, you weren’t. Did you really… do you really allow humans to treat you so badly?”

  “Didn’t you?” Clematis demanded dully, because they were aware Tulip had once handed his heart to an undeserving man. But Tulip was good, so he sighed. “I’m sorry. You were right to curse me.”

  “I meant for you to finally understand love.” Tulip approached him again, scooting closer. This time Clematis didn’t bother to move away. Tulip gently laid his hand on top of his. “Tell me about Flor, if you want. I’ll listen. He wants to try? That means something. Lots of people find their happiness slowly, without magic.”

  “Humans.” Clematis was not human, and neither was Flor. “You tried, and it didn’t work for you either.”

  “I thought he was happiness because I hadn’t experienced it yet.” Tulip was quiet. “That doesn’t make what I felt for him any less real. If Flor believes he can try to love you in that same way, he will.”

  Tulip had just heard Clematis’s memories. He should know better.

  “If Flor knows me, he will never love me.” Clematis swallowed. “There is not much to me that isn’t selfish or scared. There isn’t much to me at all.” He stared at his glitter.

  “That isn’t true,” Tulip protested. “You aren’t as shallow as you pretend to be. You just hide too much. You even hide from yourself. I think… I think you have your reasons for that. But I also don’t think it’s healthy—please don’t let humans treat you that way anymore.” Clematis wondered what had crept into his voice when he’d recounted the moment to Tulip. Tulip sighed heavily and rested his head against the shelves behind them. “Do you think it’s interesting that Flor was colder to you than he was to me? Because I do.”

  Clematis shrugged. He didn’t see how that mattered one way or the other. Flor had looked at him and not only not seen anything worth keeping, he hadn’t seen anything he liked.

  He wiped his dry cheeks and dragged his hands through his hair. If they were trembling, Tulip had already seen worse. “You won’t tell anyone?”

  “No,” Tulip answered seriously instead of getting offended to be asked again. He stayed on the floor while Clematis got to his feet. Then he cleared his throat. “As for payment,” he began, not as delicate as some liked to imagine he was. Clematis went cold. Tulip carried on. “I didn’t ask, but you offered.”

  Fairies expected people to keep their word. That was the trickiest part of their dealings. The part humans always thought was cruel and capricious.

  Clematis turned around.

  Tulip studied him from his toes to the tips of his ears. His eyes were filled with pretty, unshed tears, but he was calm now. He took his time rising to his feet.

  “You offered without specifying how I was to help you.” Tulip did not use the power he’d used to make the curse. Not a page in a single book stirred. His glitter was unchanged. “I demand two things from you. First, when the time comes, and it no longer feels like a curse, you call it what it really is.” Tulip paused.

  Clematis waited, then lifted his chin the way Flor might have, although he was still shaking. “And?”

  Tulip caught his gaze and held it. “And secondly, that you come by here once a month.” He smiled, just for a moment, knowing and gentle with the knowledge. “We always need volunteers to read to the children.”

  Clematis felt himself flush hotly and turned before Tulip could see his face go red. He didn’t know what it meant that Tulip would want him here, but he nodded stiffly and then hurried from the room.

  Breathing hadn’t done him much good. His thoughts were a rush. His stomach churned enough acid for him to taste it.

  He went around the two children and the two adult women still talking and glanced over his shoulder to see if Tulip had followed. He looked back in time to see the flash of olive green before he bumped into a person.

  The person, worried, said, “Clematis?” and caught him by his elbows before Clematis fell on his ass.

  “What are you wearing?” David asked with concern in his voice. Because David grew up around fairies and would know something was wrong with a fairy in a buttoned-up collar. “Are you all right?”

  David released him to push up his glasses and straighten the bag at his shoulder. He must have come from the university, because he was in a buttoned shirt with olive-green suspenders. But he’d rolled up his sleeves and a jacket was slung over the top of his bag.

  He had very nice forearms. Nowhere near as pretty as his eyes, or the increasingly lovely shine around him. But still very nice. Tulip was lucky, even by a fairy’s standards.

  Clematis briefly met David’s eye, then dropped his gaze to his collar, where there would usually be a bow tie. He used to wear plain ones. But now he wore them in colors and patterns, like his suspenders. Tulip’s doing, most likely.

  “Hello, David,” Clematis greeted him quietly. One of David’s shoes was untied. It was no wonder Flor worried so much about him.

  “Hello, Clem?” David replied, as a question. He looked around, but then shook his head. “Ah, sorry. Thank you for the birthday gift. It’s on my office desk.”

  “It’s nothing.” Clematis rolled a shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

  “No, you put some thought into it. Thank you.” David insisted on being one of the shiniest humans in the world. He did not want to be talking to Clematis, yet here he was. “Are you here to see Flor? I’m supposed to meet him. He said he needed to talk to me and made it sound important. But you two are friends now at last, or so he tells me, so….” David fell silent. Clematis risked a glance up and regretted it when the full force of David’s kindness hit him. “Did someone upset you?”

  Clematis touched his face, but his cheeks, his eyelashes, were dry. “How can you tell?” he asked, but it came out as a croak. He hadn’t realized his voice had gotten so rough, too distracted by Tulip to notice how hoarse he was. “I should look untouched.”

  “Well, you don’t.” David narrowed his light brown eyes as he studied him. “Is something wrong? Is this what Flor wants to talk to me about? Do you need help?”

  “You’d help me?” Clematis put his head back, then nodded slowly, because of course. This was David, who had earned all that shine, and who had always, always tried to be his friend, even when Clematis didn’t deserve it.

  Clematis reached out to rest his hand over David’s heart.

  “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like this,” Clematis told him, barely able to stand the shock that made David widen his eyes. He stared at his hand instead. “You shine so much it’s easy to forget why you shine. You are kind and thoughtful, and you need so much it takes two fairies to help you. It was beautiful to have you and to pretend for a while that you wanted me. Thank you for giving me that, even though I didn’t treat you how you wanted.” He took his hand away and stood there, his chest heaving.

  “What’s going on?”
David looked around again, behind him, to where Tulip was probably watching. “Clematis?” He cupped Clematis’s cheek, then seemed to remember himself and snatched his hand away.

  “I’m sorry,” Clematis said again, then recalled the rest of David’s words. He raised his head to look for the exit. “I should go before Flor gets here.”

  “Flor?” David echoed. “But you’re friends now. Oh, I see,” he added, almost in the same breath. “I see,” he repeated himself slowly. “Flor.”

  Movement by the circulation desk caught Clematis’s attention, and it was easier to look at than David. Someone very large had stopped by the desk to stare at them, as if Clematis had made a scene or raised his voice. Perhaps he had.

  He focused on the brown-and-green shadowed skin of the troll and then his cute handmade cardigan and the giant stack of books held in the crook of one long arm. He looked up past the muscles to the sharp jawline and thick, faintly arched brows. The eyes beneath them were dark and aimed right at Clematis. For a moment, they stared at each other, and then Virgil put down his stack of books and left the circulation desk, heading in an unknown direction.

  He had a dark pink shine, closer to camellias than pale spring roses. Flor had always liked pink.

  “What happened with Flor?” David asked gently, tricking Clematis into looking at him. David lowered his voice. “Flor can be… intensely devoted. I don’t think he’s ever realized how it feels to be on the other side of that. But he means it, when he does it. Maybe… maybe that’s the danger. He’s sort of been waiting to prove himself to someone, and he doesn’t know the effect he has on people.” David sighed. “On hearts. He cares a lot for everyone and it’s easy to think… to hope—” Whatever he saw on Clematis’s face made him stop.

  That was what the curse had done. David could read him now, and soon Flor would be able to as well.