Sweet Clematis

by R. Cooper

  Flor pulled back to study his face and seemed to see that. “This is going to be fine. It was okay with Lis, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Clematis answered, because it had been. He still wasn’t sure what had happened. Lis and Flor had stared each other down over the counter at Sugarbuns, then Flor had handed her a bouquet of irises and told her he would like to keep Clematis. Please.

  It hadn’t technically been asking, but maybe the flowers in the bouquet had done that for him.

  Anyway, as all three of them had known, Flor was already keeping Clematis. Clematis met Flor at the campus whenever he was there, and at night, Flor was at his apartment more often than not. The only real problem with that, at the moment, was Flor complaining about the lack of light and how it wasn’t good for plants. He had ideas about a campaign to get Mrs. Galarza to have another window put in—once he figured out how to make her like him.

  She did like him. Clematis had eventually figured that out. She just hadn’t liked the idea that Flor had broken Clematis’s heart. Flor was going to be so hurt once he knew that. Anyway, she kept hinting that she had all this yard space that wasn’t being used.

  “And the group?” Flor prodded him gently, bringing Clematis back to the moment. “It was fine hanging out with them again, wasn’t it? And it went all right when you introduced me to Walter and Hyacinth.” Clematis briefly recalled Flor and Hyacinth in the same room, talking animatedly about revolutions. He nervously licked his lips. Flor must have thought he was asking for a kiss, and darted back to give him one, along with a sunny smile. “It was all fine. This will be fine too.”

  “It’s your parents,” Clematis protested quietly, but Flor was already out of the car. He closed the passenger door and then opened the back to get out his bags. The car was David’s. They’d dropped him off for a long weekend visiting his family, and he’d agreed to let them take his car over here, as long they returned it in the morning so he could escape if he had to. Flor said, after twelve hours at home David would probably walk over here anyway just to get away.

  Flor’s parents were kind to David, loved David. Clematis kept telling himself that in the hope that it would make him believe they might do the same for him the way Flor insisted they would. But Clematis was now thinking of all the ways in which he was not like David. He didn’t have a respectable job. He wasn’t in school anymore—although his coworker Kate took classes at the community college and had ideas about Clematis getting his general requirements out of the way there. She’d mentioned teacher certifications too with a glance at him.

  Clematis. As a teacher. The idea was as unbelievable as Flor fluttering awake and smiling sleepily at Clematis before closing his eyes and snuggling closer, and yet that happened now. That was real. This could be real someday too. Clematis couldn’t breathe at the thought.

  He hadn’t said anything about it to Flor yet. Flor would love it, instantly and immediately. But the whole thing seemed too far-fetched. Clematis’s wings had fluttered at even the idea, and he couldn’t imagine any human letting him teach their children.

  He slowly got out of the car, shoving the keys in the front pocket of his giant, dark gray, hooded sweatshirt. The sweatshirt was troll-sized—a gift from Mishi—and he had to roll the sleeves up and they still fell over his hands. His wings fit beneath it and only poked out at the very top. According to Flor, he looked like a big lump in it, so undistinguished and boring at first glance that no one would take a second one. Clematis loved it. The inside was very soft as well. Flor kissed him extra every time he wore it out in public.

  Flor, of course, was dressed for the fall weather in skinny jeans and sparkly hi-tops, with fairy-knit fingerless gloves and a scarf, and a faded long-sleeved henley. He pulled their bags out and hefted them over one shoulder as though they weighed a lot when they were mostly full of toiletries and Flor’s shirts.

  Clematis shouldn’t have worn his comfort sweatshirt. Although he had no idea what he would have worn otherwise. Flor’s parents were not going to be impressed at the sight of him. He tugged at the fanny pack concealed beneath his sweatshirt and regretted everything.

  “I can’t wait to show you off!” Flor announced, closing the car door and bouncing a little.

  “Flor,” Clematis warned him and stuffed his shaking hands into the big pocket. “Flor, I’m nervous.”

  Flor turned to him with wide, fond eyes. Clematis went shaky. According to Tarō, in the words of younger humans, that meant he was so weak for those eyes. Clematis just thought he was weak for Flor.

  “Sweetheart, I am so proud of you for articulating your feelings.” Flor came around to him, pausing only to shoot a glare at the car and the driver that honked at him for being in the street. “Come here,” he said when he was about halfway around the car.

  Clematis fluttered over as best he could with his wings buried in soft cotton.

  Flor took his hands when he reached him, then gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. Beneath Flor’s fingers, currently hidden by the baggy sweatshirt, was a leather cuff embroidered with ivy, buckled to keep it tight and comforting. “They’re going to love you,” Flor said with certainty. “You ready?”

  Flor was so good to him.

  Clematis inhaled and tried to straighten his shoulders. “No,” he replied honestly. “But I want to be.”

  Flor cracked a grin. “There’s my honey-bunny buttercup,” he declared, then paused. “We are that couple, aren’t we?”

  There was too much light and warmth inside Clematis for him not to turn his cheek and lift his eyebrows and silently imply that he could suffer another kiss.

  Flor, of course, gave him one with an excited shiver through his wings. Then he firmed his grip, and smiled, and led Clematis out of the street and toward the house.

  The front door opened before they were halfway up the driveway, and two smaller fairies swooped toward Flor like hummingbirds toward nectar. Clematis had a moment of alarm that immediately embarrassed him, because of course the man currently wrapped around Flor was Flor’s father, a fairy with orange-and-white wings. And the woman pulling up tufts of Flor’s wavy hair in between pressing fond kisses all over his face was his mother, tiny and honey-skinned, her wings a deep, deep green like the base of a bird of paradise.

  They were both in sweaters made from fine fairy knitting, with sleeves a little too long, and they were both wearing fuzzy slippers. Only one of them wore pants.

  “My baby.” Flor’s mother gave Flor one final smacking kiss on his cheek before pulling away. “I missed you. Visit more. If it wasn’t for the internet, I would have forgotten what you look like.”

  “Ignore her. The house is filled with pictures,” Flor’s father responded and pressed a kiss to Flor’s forehead that made Flor briefly close his eyes.

  His parents loved him a lot. Clematis started to smile but then stiffened when they both turned to him at the same time. Flor had his mother’s dark eyes. Despite being more or less the same age as Lis, she had no silver in her hair and only faint smile lines at the corners of her mouth. Flor’s father, on the other hand, had a streak of white through his black-and-green hair.

  They sparkled. They sparkled so much. They stood close to each other with hands glancing over each other’s arms or resting on a shoulder. They wore rings, like humans did, although theirs were not made of gold. Clematis had never seen fairies in wedding rings.

  All he’d managed was candied violets. What if that wasn’t enough? Flor had made it seem so easy, marching with determination up to the counter in Sugarbuns with pretty irises in his hands. But Flor had met Lis before and knew she liked him and knew she wanted Clematis to be kept and kept well, by someone who loved him. Flor’s parents were staring at Clematis as though Flor had said a lot of things about him over the years and none of them had been good.

  “So,” Flor’s father said, before Clematis could wonder what to do. He was handsome. Clematis liked his white streak and kind of hoped Flor’s hair would do the same someday. But
he didn’t look Clematis over, and he didn’t smile, and Clematis was too frozen to try to make himself look attractive or harmless or available or soft, or any of the things he might once have done. “You’re Clematis.” Flor’s father glanced at Flor, his eyebrows up.

  “He’s different now,” Flor insisted. “Or the same, I guess. But he’s not hiding anymore.” Flor reached out to make sure he had Clematis’s hand in his again.

  “I don’t know what I was expecting.” Flor’s mother tipped her head to the side. “Not a fashionista or someone in a suit. That has never been my son’s taste, but taller and pretty and quiet is not a surprise.” She clucked her tongue. “You are drowning in that sweatshirt.”

  “Sometimes he doesn’t like to be stared at,” Flor butted in defensively before Clematis could speak. “And he was cold!”

  “It is cold out,” Flor’s father agreed, while his mother nodded. They were still staring at him.

  “I like to let the sleeves fall over my hands,” Clematis said stupidly, instead of giving them his name properly and telling them how he loved Flor and had loved him for years and would love him forever. Or how Flor was part of the reason he even knew it was love. He stared in dismay at the end of the sleeve that had fallen past his fingertips. “It’s troll-sized. My friend Mishi gave it to me.”

  “It was after the day on the campus. The one that was on the news,” Flor cut in again, startling Clematis into looking up. Flor and the others had mentioned the video Annabeth had taken, but Clematis hadn’t watched TV to see it. “That was when she went from friends with him to friends for life. It’s adorable.”

  “Video?” Clematis jumped and then stared at him. “How much does it show?”

  Flor’s father put a hand on his arm as if to keep him on the ground. “All our friends kept sending it to us! We are so proud of you!” His eyes lit up. “It was very brave what you did for her. I wouldn’t have expected it, with how Flor first talked about you, but Flor is often wrong.”

  “About people, at least,” Flor’s mother agreed. “But he’s usually quick to learn.”

  Flor turned to his mother. “Mamá!”

  Clematis looked between Flor’s parents. “Flor’s right about this. Why I’m wearing it.”

  “What a person wears is not my business.” Flor’s mother shook her head. “Unless they don’t like it. Do you wear that to work? What do you do now? Flor mentioned you were fired from your previous job for prejudicial anti-fairy nonsense reasons, but he failed to mention your new job. I hope you found something.”

  Lis hadn’t done anything like this to Flor. Clematis swallowed dryly.

  “Jazmín, leave the boy alone. He already looks terrified.” Flor’s father patted Clematis’s arm before letting him go. He probably meant it to be reassuring.

  “Of me?” Flor’s mother protested. “What have I done?”

  “You raised Flor,” Clematis answered helplessly. “And there is no one else like him. Which is good, I think. He is almost too much for me as it is. I don’t think I would know what to do with two of him.”

  “Hey.” Flor frowned and pouted a little.

  Clematis turned toward him, face hot and eyes perilously close to stinging. “I mean, that I am his happiness seems unfair, even if he gets mad when I say that.” He wiped his cheeks quickly with one floppy sleeve. “I always thought Flor’s happiness was someone pure and whole and good.” Taller and quiet, Flor’s mom had said. Like David. Clematis looked at her. “And I’m not those things.”

  Flor made a small, crushed sound. “Oh, sweetheart.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Clematis continued softly, looking at Flor again. “But it wasn’t true.” He basked in Flor’s slow, radiant smile before sending a glance to Flor’s parents. “But Flor is all those things, and he wants me to be happy. So I don’t think I’m there yet, not entirely, but I’m working on it. I am… I am working on my shine.”

  Flor was like a sparkler. A furiously loving and supportive sparkler. “I think you’re fine as you are!”

  “Yes, well,” Clematis told him gently, “you are often wrong about people, Flor.”

  Flor narrowed his eyes and leaned closer, on his toes, to get in Clematis’s face. “I knew everything I needed to know about you in the front room of Zucchero, and I have yet to be disappointed.” He placed a kiss on the tip of Clematis’s nose and then slipped back down to his normal height.

  Clematis’s eyes prickled with tears again. Possibly amazed ones, if those existed. His cheeks stung. “That was only, like, two weeks ago,” he explained to Flor’s parents over Flor’s gasp of mild outrage.

  Then he went still, because Flor’s parents were staring at him and Flor with the same calmly marveling look in their eyes that Lis had when she’d first seen Clematis and Flor together. He wondered distantly what he and Flor looked like in this moment, holding hands and teasing each other, and how many others would have seen it, whatever it was, if Clematis had known how to be around Flor. If he had trusted Flor, even if he’d had no reason to at first.

  He bent his head and brushed his nose over Flor’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  He hadn’t realized Flor had been quietly arguing with him, or angrily listing his good qualities, until Flor went silent. Then Flor tipped his head up. His eyes were wide. His grin was dazed and goofy. “Oh, sweetheart.”

  “My, my.” Flor’s father spoke gently. “The video didn’t really do it justice. You could barely hear anything.”

  “It’s true,” Flor’s mother agreed. “Terrible sound quality on some of those phone videos.”

  Flor jerked his head to the side to peer at his mother. “Did you guys watch the whole clip? I thought Annabeth only released the part with the security guards to the public.”

  “Well….” Flor’s mother cleared her throat. “Perhaps David, the good boy that he is, sent me the rest of it when I asked about this.” She fixed her dark, intense eyes on Clematis. “You made my son very happy in those few moments.”

  Clematis raised his head. “You don’t mind?”

  “Such shine on him and he’s worried about getting more?” Flor’s mother flicked a look to Flor.

  Flor made a complicated face—angry, then adoring. “He had a lot of years of being alone. He’s very soft, Mamá.”

  “And now he has love.” Flor’s father sighed. “That’s very nice. Very nice indeed. Soon no more tears, I hope.”

  “Not with our son the freedom fighter to defend him.” Flor’s mother crossed her arms. “And half the internet in love with them.” She didn’t seem to notice Clematis’s start, since her focus was now on Flor. “David tells me in an email that people want to interview you?”

  Flor shrugged dismissively. “Like, a student paper. And a blog or something? I don’t know. Tarō does all that blogging stuff.”

  “It’s cold out.” Flor’s father turned to Clematis when Flor’s mother started to talk about social media as it was used for protest. “We should go in.” He spoke quietly, but the others must have heard him. He looped an arm around Clematis’s and trailed after his wife when she and Flor headed toward the door. Flor had to let go of Clematis to pick up the bags he’d dropped, but then ducked back to grab his wrist again.

  “Tarō said something about ‘star quality,’” Flor explained to his mother in a bewildered tone but tossed a reassuring smile over his shoulder for Clematis. “He says we have followers now. Clematis will know what that means, probably.”

  Clematis did know, and so did Flor, although he seemed to have forgotten giving Tarō permission to put pictures of him and his clothes and the MCC up on some social media site. Clematis would have to remember to remind him later.

  “So,” Flor’s father began as they stepped onto the porch and Flor finally released Clematis’s hand to get through the door. “This place that fired you… do you know what you are going to do yet?”

  Clematis tore his gaze away from the woven welcome mat and the mezuzah on the doorjamb. Flor, w
ho still vibrated with rage at the mention of the institute, was a few steps ahead of them now and probably couldn’t hear.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. Flor’s father’s eyes were swirling pools of understanding green. “I don’t like attention. And right now, I’m—” He gestured to his face and the tears that still appeared unexpectedly. “It was nice to… not scare them, but to know it was wrong.” Clematis exhaled shakily. “To know others saw it was wrong, even humans. My boss, the others there, also know it was wrong, and they should admit it. The school will only suffer under their guidance, and I did once love it there. But… I’m not brave in the way Flor is. I’m not angry. I’m sad. So I don’t know.”

  He got a pat on his arm as he was led through the door into the warmth of the house. “We can talk about it over some pumpkin scones.” Flor’s father spoke mildly but his wings fluttered with fury. Despite his soothing manners, Clematis was beginning to wonder which parent Flor most took after.

  Flor groaned as he came back to pull Clematis into his arms and shut the door behind him. “Pumpkin scones,” he complained, with his face to Clematis’s sweatshirt. “And I forgot my candy, didn’t I?”

  His hair smelled of coconut, and behind him, his parents were watching them with identical fond, content expressions on their faces. They didn’t mind. Clematis hadn’t even had to ask.

  “I packed some for you,” he assured Flor faintly, to more of Flor’s delight and appreciative snuggling. Clematis’s eyelashes sparkled with tears, but he smiled for the arms around him, and the warmth of the room, and the gentle fall of his glitter as it mingled with Flor’s golden shine.

  More from R. Cooper

  A Being(s) in Love Story

  Being a police detective is hard. Add the complication of being a werewolf subject to human prejudice, and you might say Ray Branigan has his work cut out for him. He’s hot on the trail of a killer when he realizes he needs help.

  Enter Cal Parker, the beautiful half-fairy Ray’s secretly been in love with for years—secretly, because while werewolves mate for life, fairies… don’t. Ray needs Cal’s expertise, but it isn’t easy to concentrate with his mate walking around half-naked trying to publicly seduce him. By the time Ray identifies the killer—and sorts out a few prejudices of his own—it may be too late for Cal.