flowerboy-bertie-blog

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

--- epiphany, a lifetime too late

The window creaked, lowly. The curtains blew. The bed was made, the room was barren, cleaned. On a spot beside the door, there was a scribble in blue, a drawing from long ago. Beside the bed, bits of the old wallpaper were torn, as though by small fingers, and glued back. He’d stopped noticing these things long ago, but just this moment he can scarcely not.

He was ready. Everything he owned was packed. His own flat was waiting for him across the city, his own job as well.

But something felt missing. Something felt off. There was something he needed to do before leaving, but he couldn’t remember. He’d not realized he’d developed an attachment for this place until now.

‘When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.’ Bertram hefted his two bags over his shoulder, and left the room he grew up in.

There was the sound of rustling papers. Mrs. Aubrey, as he tended to refer to her in his mind, was here. She was in her office room, writing, maybe, signing papers, maybe, reading books, making arrangements on the phone. He stood before the closed door and thought of all the reasons he should not open it. She was very frustrated when bothered, while working. She yelled a lot when she was frustrated. He chewed on a mint. He opened the door.

She was writing. She was on her desk. It was messy. She wasn’t looking up. He stood, shifted his weight from foot to foot, adjusted the strap of the bag on his shoulder, coughed into his hand.

She looked up. Her eyes, blue as his own, took in the bags and the clothes and the look on his face. “Oh..” She muttered, “That was today?”

A smile pulled at his lips. “Yeah, it is.” He shrugged. “The big day.” He ran his hand through his messy hair. There was dirt on the tips of it.  "Where is…?“

“Oh, he– he left early. For work.” She stood, walked around the desk and crossed the room. She stood in front of him for a moment. He tilted his head. This was strange. Mrs. Aubery didn’t stutter.

“Did– did you get everything?”

He smiled again. “Everything.” He said. “Even Panda’s old cork-bottle necklace.”

She smiled vaguely. That was also strange. “That’s nice… Your clothes, did you pack your pajamas as well? And warm socks? Do you know how to cook?” She paused. She patted down his large sweater. This was becoming too alien. Mrs. Aubery never asked him so many questions at once. “Your clothes are so– they’re covered in dirt, have you been playing in a field? You really think it’s alright to go out like–”

Bertram took a step back. He chuckled, nervously. “I– yes, I really think so! I mean. It’s fine, I packed – I packed everything.” Except maybe the socks. Bertram didn’t like socks very much, they were uncomfortable to wear.

She was acting strangely. Could she maybe be sick? It was unlucky for her, then. He thought of something nice to say before leaving. His eyes lit up, his smile bright. “Thank you for having me,“ he said. “I had a good time here.”

She stopped. She stopped talking, blinking, breathing. There was silence, and then she cried. The tears streamed down, and down, and she sobbed. It was an ugly sound, quiet at first, and then louder, as she fought the tears down. He took a step back, and then another. His eyes darted around the room. He didn’t know what to do. What was happening? He’d never seen her cry before. He hesitated, reached his hand out, then back. What do you do when the person whose house you lived in your whole life is crying so openly?

She sat down on the floor. He crouched before her. His hand hovered above her quivering shoulders, uncertain. She was saying something. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so–”

He stood back up, quickly. He didn’t know what to do. Mrs. Aubery was a strong foreboding figure. She was focused, stern, respected. What was she apologizing for? What did she do? What did he say?

He shook his head. He hefted his bags over his shoulder again, and left the apartment, quickly. He did not look back.

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

talents include looking 12 and saying thank you to the bus driver

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

“You love your plant, don’t you?”

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

You still live in pieces and that is okay there are days when you do not have to live you just have to simply breathe and survive

J.DG (via iamjomaried)

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

casey:

“ – like actual babies?” casey started, raising one of his eyebrows, before narrowing his eyes. “why are you smelling the breath of babies? do you have a collection of babies?”

he chuckled easily. "not actual babies, i don't collect them!" he said. "they smell really bad and they cry a lot." he added, as that was all that stopped him from keeping a collection of infants in his apartment. "i meant the flowers."

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

mallory:

“Is that a personal observation, or did you read it on a Buzzfeed article?” Mallory couldn’t help but question the guy further about their statement to no one.

"oh, they don't write about that in articles, no one'd want to be a florist if they did." he shook his head, his lips quirked slightly. "i work at the floristry down the street. we had a big shipment come in today. it was gross."

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

jesse:

“Yeah, most of the time.” Jesse begins, watching Bertram take a hesitant hit from the lit joint. It was a bit obvious that he’d never done pretty much anything rebellious before, which Jesse almost admired. He takes the joint back from him after he exhales smoke and takes his own couple drags off of it. “I’m double Bio major with insomnia, I kind of never sleep.” He ends that last sentence with a half-hearted laugh before taking one last hit and handing the joint back over. “What about you? What’s your excuse for the lack of sleep?”

"double bio." he mutters, absent-minded. "sounds tough. you go to college then?" he asks, curious, and perhaps there's a trace of longing in his tone, but he isn't awake enough to press it down. his mouth quirks upwards at the younger man's laugh. there's a relaxing quality to this neighbor's presence, he finds, and the tension between his shoulders eases, just a bit. 

he takes the joint back absently, a contemplative look upon his face, though he doesn't hesitate long to bring it to his lips this time. a bunch of kids wanted to have fun, years ago, and now i can't sleep, he wants to say. armed with the cruelty and casual disregard only children are capable of, the wild abandon of youth, and now i can't sleep. i think i'm hollow, he wants to say. i think i do well during the day, but i can't control my dreams, at night. i think i'd rather stay awake. "i dunno." he shrugs instead, taking another drag off the joint, exhaling slowly and watching the cloud of smoke puffing out. he hands it back to the younger man. "never really had an excuse. does there need to be?"

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

buzz:

“don’t know,” buzz shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “this is the first time i’ve come to this place for a show so it could be.” he pulled himself onto a nearby barstool and started to take notes on his phone.

"people keep coming though." he mutters, squinting at the notably large crowd. "maybe it's a one time thing?" he perked up as the stranger took a seat, and hesitated for a moment before pulling himself up on the stool beside him. "um." he squinted. "are you... live tweeting it? or..?"

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

francis:

“you can be anything you want,” she smiled. “at least that’s what my dad says.” francis nodded a bit. “nice to meet you. i’m francis rhineheart.. i work at a couple of places but mainly my family’s funeral home, hence the embalming fluid smell.”

his eyebrows lifted slightly. “that’s very optimistic.” he said. he shifted in his seat. “oh, a funeral home!” his eyes lit up with undue excitement. “they make the most beautiful requests for funerals, i love working on them.”

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

buzz:

buzz pulled a face, his brows knitting together as he looked younger male. “is that proven scientific fact or are you just pulling that out of your arse?” he nodded. “i don’t care what ken tucker has to say about it, i’m interested in forming my own opinions when it coming to literature. even if it’s bad, i’d like to find those things out for myself. i can give you my opinion when i’m finished with though if you’d like.”

“not my arse.” he grinned, taking a seat across the other man, as though invited. “my boss, he’s more -- err -- in touch with his spiritual side, i guess. or so he says.” he shrugged. “he smells like weed on sundays though so i can’t really trust him.”

he leaned forwards in interest, his eyes lighting up as they always did on the topic of books. “a full on review.” he said, rather cheekily. “essay length, with a thesis and everything. you do those things a lot right? for that magazine?”

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

francis:

she examines the flowers closer, taking a deep whiff of them before scrunching her nose up. “it looks a lot nicer than it smells. so based on everything that i know about you given the last two minutes i’m going to assume that you’re a florist. you’re either a florist or a total weirdo.”

he chuckles at the face she pulls, stuffing the flowers back in his pocket. “i can be both.” he grinned. he paused. “can’t i be both?” he shook his head. “i’m Bert.” he said, a smile tugging at his lips, “i work at the floristry down the street.” 

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

jesse:

“Close. Jesse.” He flashes a soft smile. He can tell this other boy’s even more of a worrier than he is, and that’s saying something. “No worries, I don’t blame you. Not the most memorable.” As he takes the joint, Jesse notices the hint of a smile pulling at the other’s lips. He feels impressed with himself, as Bertram doesn’t seem the type to open up easily. Usually he’s on the other side of this conversation, and he’s proud of himself for coming this far. He’s getting side tracked. “’Fraid so.” He chuckles. “Y’know, most people smoke that instead of just holding it.” He tries to make this statement as obvious as possible that he’s joking. He knows what it’s like to not be able to tell when people like him or not.

He flushes a deep red, runs a hand through his hair once, twice, three times. it’s gotten rather messy. he flattens it down again. “right.” he says, a sheepish little chuckle. “jesse.” he makes a note not to forget his name.

Normally, Bertram stayed away from drugs of all kinds — more for the fact that he’d never really come across them before than for any form of self-restrain, but the addiction-related horror stories certainly never helped. He brought the joint to his lips and took a slow drag anyway. He’d always felt a bit more reckless after a sleepless night. "do you always stay up this late?"

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

francis:

francis wriggled her nose. “isn’t it strange— cat pee smells a bit like gasoline. if that smell isn’t really cat pee do you mind me asking what it is? we both smell very flammable.”

“it does?” he frowns. he sniffs. he wrinkles his nose. “it totally does.” he shakes his head.”oh, yeah --- um --” he pulls a cluster of flowers from his pocket and holds it out for her to see. “Baby Breath.” he says with a grin. “smells nice if you have a couple around. not when you have 70kg in the freezer though.”

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

buzz:

Buzz caught a glimpse of the boy shielding his ears and let out a loud howl, his laughter almost as loud as the music on the clubs p.a. system. “It’s over you can uncover your ears now.”

“oh my god.” he said, looking rather harried. “that was -- that was really bad.” he shook his head, as though to clear it. “i don’t -- come here often. is it always like this?”

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

buzz:

“i don’t spend too much time around flowers… it is a flower isn’t it?” he quirked a brow at the other male. “oh this—” he turned the book over so he could see the cover. “prozac nation by elizabeth wurtzel.. it’s quite interesting.”

“you don’t look like you do.” he said, with a bit of a squint. “you should, though, it’s good for the soul.”

he leans back. “oh, i heard about it.” he says. “didn’t read it though. Ken Tucker had a few nasty things to say about it.” he tilted his head. “let me know what you think when you’re done?”

[flowerboy-bertie-blog]

jesse:

Jesse looks up at the masculine sitting, uncomfortably on the ledge above him. He takes the lid off the Altoids container and sticks a joint in between his parted lips. Once the lid is replaced and the tin box placed on his windowsill, Jesse digs around in his pocket until he comes up with his Zippo. He lights the object sticking out of his teeth until it’s burning before exhaling smoke and craning his neck to look up at sleepy looking boy above. “You’re Bertram, right?” He begins, clearly. Suddenly, he realizes how intrusive that might sound and quickly follows it with, “I’ve heard you talk with people in the halls a couple of times.” to explain why he knows the other’s name. Feeling satisfied with how he saved that situation, he takes another drag off the joint before offering it to the man. “You look like you could use it.” is followed quickly with “No offense.” To ensure the boy that he meant no harm though his comment. He was experienced in the department of insomnia, himself. There’s no judgement in his tone.

His skin prickles. he doesn’t look away from the other man, can’t seem to. he ducks his head, though, when the other looks up at him.

nervously, he wraps his arms around the metal bars of the ladder, forehead pressed against it. “i -- yeah, i am.” he says. “john, right?” but even as he says it, he knows it’s not right. “i’m bad with names.” he’s quick to add.

he eyes the joint oddly for a moment, hesitates -- he never smoked a joint before. he reaches forward anyway. “thanks.” he says, not taking a drag just yet. he sighs, though there is a tired smile tugging at his lips. “that obvious?”