Leave a “Quiet Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.
The crinkle of the iridescent cellophane in Thomas's hand made an exponentially less offensive a sound than he believed it had, but not by much. Most unfortunately, his nervousness had incited a terrible bout of clamminess in his hands, that forced him to adjust his grip in a prolonged series of intermittent yet irritatingly cacophonic cellophane disturbances which seemed to draw the attention and ire of everyone in the subway car. He'd hoped the furtive glances of the pair of old women with their grocery baskets in the seat were not so displeased as he feared. Except they were.
An uncomfortable twenty minutes later and he was out of the Metro, carrying the sad bouquet of day-old roses and dried lavender wrapped in ridiculous cellophane and a chintzy little ribbon. The roses were a lovely lilac purple, only the curling tips of the petals had gone just a little brown, to Thomas's dismay. Which was the only reason he could afford flowers on his student budget. Hopefully, the thoughtfulness of his less-than-ideal present would count for a little more than the intended delight of its faded beauty.
Thomas had practically ran to the Palais Garnier, slipping deftly through the backdoor and past the throng of bodies crowding the announcement board just outside the Foyer de la Danse. Casting for the newest production had just been posted, but Thomas had ignored it, certain that he had demonstrated a mediocre enough ability to earn him a tentative spot in the chorus again. But Christine was nowhere to be found. And so he had to find her.
She wasn't in her favorite practice room, so there could be only one other place. Thomas rushed to the stairwell just beyond the boucliers, where the occlusion of the narrow, brutalist space made for some of the most beautiful and assertive acoustics in the building. So assertive that even the small sniffle could not escape the dissemination that betrayed her location.
"Christine?" he called softly. Thomas carefully climbed the steps, half a warning that he was approaching, to give her any needed time to compose herself. It was also half apprehension on his part. The sad little bouquet in his hand had been meant as a congratulatory gesture, not a consolation. Which made them only a little uglier, in that sense. A little more lacking.
But there she was, sat on the stairs with her eyes rimmed red, tears welling unwillingly as she attempted a brave face. He offered the bouquet up, hand now clammier than usual, and sweating even more now that he realized she'd take the flowers and notice. But he only kneeled down on the stair, looking up at her with the brilliant adoration for her that had culminated over so many years of watching her bloom into the quiet splendor that she was.
Her rubicund lips were pursed in an attempt not to let them twist into a frown, which resulted only in a spectacular pout that Thomas could not help but smile after. It was enough to make him forget the expectation he'd put on himself and draw near enough to brush the tears from her cheek. Her skin was as soft as rose petals, and it wasn't the first time Thomas wondered what his lips would feel like against it.
Thomas gathered her in the fold of his arms, holding her to his chest that beat in syncopation with her own, and wondered if they'd ever find an accord. Already, she'd won his heart, becoming the bower in the storm for him: they'd been two strangers in a strange land, two foreigners speaking to each other in stiff tongues yet unaccustomed to the fluidity of the French language, laughing at their linguisitc blunders over a cheap cup of watered down café allongé they'd share walking home from classes.
So he'd be her safety and her surety now, in the only way he knew how. He wasn't a man who knew how to say the right words. He just knew how to be there. And so he held her, stroking her curling hair as his cheek pressed to hers, hoping it would be enough. He knew he'd never be the person she deserved. But he hoped as a friend, he'd at least be enough.
