diesfirst:
hyacinth is a scent he knows. he remembers how its lingering sweetness clung to their skin after he and achilles had walked, the sloping grounds toward the sea, dewy buds pressing against their bare feet. it’s a small memory, but solid and warm as sun - baked earth, and the cup’s steam is rich with it. he breathes in, almost greedily, and lets it cool a few moments before he sips, mindful of scalding his tongue. ‘ you grow everything yourself ? the hyacinths — ? ’
the chamomile is a gentle complement, equally as familiar if not quite so meaningful. he sips again, more slowly this time, and his gaze lifts to the boy from beneath a thick sweep of dark lashes. ‘ i’d like to see them. where they grow. would you show me ? ’
hadley picked the hyacinths for his mother. they are the proudest of flowers, a tower of petals that stands tall among the rest of the garden and elicit feelings of reassurance. they’re good for balance. for stormy minds. he watches the other with a soft smile tugging at the corners of lips hidden behind the rim of a tea mug. “ i do, “ he starts. “ i grow everything out in my greenhouse, and then i sundry the plants i need to make tea. “ fondness loads words he picks as carefully as he does his flowers. “ sometimes i use them fresh, it really depends on the matter. - you want to see them? sure, i’m sure they’ll love the visit. “
the hyacinths bow their heads and stretch their leaves to greet them as they step inside the greenhouse. “ they know you’re here for them, “ he says in a reserved way, nudging patroclus slightly. “ they’ll get happy if you say hello. “
