Tender, Sweet Growing Pains

The wind chimes were propelled into song as the flap of the tent was flung open.

"We're closed," Vilo drawled without bothering to look up from his latest copy of Pennywither's Fashion for Fabulous Folks.

The elf knew that he was slacking off, but he believed that spring days like these were something to be treasured. Gentle wind flowed through the back of the tent, playfully tickling Vilo's senses with the beautiful scent of magnolias; it reminded him of home. There was also a goblet of peach wine on his left and a platter of strawberries on his right.

All of his favorite creature comforts were right at his fingertips. So, why not enjoy this perfect day? It wasn't like closing down the shop for a few hours was going to hurt anything; it was a decision Vilo would soon regret.

"Whaddaya MEAN 'we're closed'!? It's barely noon!"

The man's jaw dropped as that familiar, thundering voice. He twisted around just in time for a pot to fly at his head. Vilo ducked the projectile with a nimbleness befitting a dancer.

"Ha! You missed-!"

Pride goeth before the fall, his father always said. And, apparently, so did a cast iron skillet. The cookware clocked the elvish prince right in the face. The metal rung out like a gong as it knocked him clear off his seat.

"AUGH! My face!" Vilo cried out as he rolled around on the floor, hands pressed to his now bruised visage, "My beautiful face!"

"To Hell with your beautiful face!" Mira stormed forward, the goods on her back clunking with every step, "You deserve to take ALL of these to your prissy, little mug for being so damn lazy! Now, help me get these packs off, Vilo! Hurry up! This stuff weighs a ton!"

The man pushed himself up on his elbows just long enough to give her the evil eye, before rising to his feet. He was a big believer in choosing his battles wisely. Especially when the she-elf still had an assortment of crockery peeking out her bag. Only a fool dared to argue with a fully armed marksman.

"Anything for you, sister dear," he breathed with a roll of lavender eyes.

Vilo started on the tangle of straps at her legs, while Mira tackled the ones crisscrossing her chest. Every one that popped open brought a flood of sweet relief as blood started making the rounds in parts of her body that had long since gone numb. At last, her burdens hit the floor with an Earthshaking clatter. The she-elf sank down into the chair she had unceremoniously knocked her brother from with a long moan of bliss.

"Finally!"

"You bought too much again."

"What? Why do you say that?!"

Vilo sank into the nearest chair with a devious smirk, before reaching out to poke one of the many, angry, red welts on her skin. Mira yelped at the electroshock of pain, before smacking her brother's hand away.

"Pay back for the pan," he snickered as his sister huffed in annoyance, "But, I stood by what I said. You were way too overloaded this time. Are you sure that you're still an elf and haven't been magically transformed into a pack rat?"

"Oh, shut up! These were killer deals!" she exclaimed before crossing her arms stubbornly, "And I regret nothing."

"Uh huh. Yeah. You DO know how sore you're going to be, right?"

"Eh, nothing a nice, hot bath can't fix. And maybe some wine. Oh! I really should visit Simon soon! It's been forever since I've seen him and we're way past due for our usual drink date."

At that statement, Vilo noticeably froze, before shaking his head with enough bemusement to fill a room. Mira stared at him for a few moments, as he fought to hide his smile.

"You might have to take a rain check on that. A few rain checks, in fact."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm just saying that I don't think he has time for you, right now. Especially with the company he's been, uh, keeping."

Honeyed eyes narrowed at Vilo, as he reached over to casually pluck up the wine goblet that the flying projectiles had miraculously missed. A blissful sigh followed a long, deep drink, before lavender eyes popped open to smile at her; he KNEW something. Something about her best friend and she was going to get it out of him come Hell or high water!

Not that brother dearest would need much prodding. Vilo's calling in life, after all, was to dish on all the details; he was, unrepentantly, the town gossip. Still, there was a ritual to these things. A certain decorum to uphold. So, Mira leaned forward, as if she was a detective who had come to the doorstep of the best informant in Lenore, who was sure to blow the case of Simon Hart wide open.

"Talk."

___________________________

Skilled fingers fed a red thread through the eye of a needle. The fiber managed to wiggle free as the owner of them involuntarily shivered.

"My ears are practically burning," Simon muttered with suspicion as he directed his gaze out the window, "Could someone possibly be talking about me?"

The streets outside were lively. A glut of carts lumbered back and forth with towering heaps of merchandise and decorations for the upcoming Festival of Light. People, too, flooded Bellany Avenue, both laborers and idle pedestrians, going about their day.

It wasn't the first time Simon had observed them. The people were completely unaware of his presence, as they went about their lives; something he had always found comfort in. But, for some reason, that feeling of familiarity had begun to leave a sour taste in his mouth. The tailor shook his head with a sigh, nearly turning his attention back to his work, when something of interest caught his eye.

Just beyond the sheet of glass, a young man stood in the street, searching for something. He turned his head this way and that, frantically; almost as if he was worried that he would never find it. Suddenly, another man appeared. He strode toward the first with singular purpose. The two souls froze on opposite sides of the street when their eyes finally locked.

Slowly the fabric fell from Simon's grip. The tailor rose and unconsciously made his way over to the window, as the strangers took slow, careful steps toward one another. The last leg of their journey was taken at a run, as the couple came together, kissing passionately, like they would never get another chance.

A hand slowly lifted to press against the translucent wall between him and the world, as soft, green eyes watched the pair of them embrace. Memories flooded his mind in that moment; memories of that night. How those strong arms held him close. So close that they could feel each other's heart beat. And did Alabaster sneak a kiss to his hair? If he had, Simon didn't call him on it. Nor did he want to. He only wished to cling to the remembrance of it for all time-

No! Simon grit his teeth as he tried to reason with himself. This wasn't him at all! When he considered his own reflection, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger! Where had the quiet, focused man who always did his best to stay professional, no matter his circumstance, gone?! Where was his poise?! Where was his power of logic and reasoning?!

Slowly, he leaned forward, until his forehead pressed despondently against the glass. Simon Hart had always been a realist. He believed that there was no point lying to himself. Not when pulling the wool over his eyes with pretty lies never made a situation any easier.

Because of that, he was able to admit all kinds of painful things at night as he lay alone in the dark. How helpless he felt. How alone. How small. Simon shut his eyes to block out the sight of the happy couple with a labored sigh. Why couldn't he accept that he didn't feel that way, anymore? Why was it so hard to admit that his life had changed?

'Maybe because it's more than that. Maybe because it's not JUST my life that's changed.'

His other hand crept up to grip the fabric over his chest, as a bittersweet smile stole his lips.

'Maybe I've had a change of heart.'

He huffed out a soft coo of amusement, as tears bubbled up in his eyes. His shirt was clenched all the tighter, as the organ beneath it ached most sweetly. Simon believed for the longest time that he was in possession of a literal broken heart. One that couldn't love anymore than a spool of thread could. A useless, empty, shriveled up thing.

But, it was as if the gods, themselves, had taken pity on him and breathed new life into it. Simon could now feel it resting heavily in his chest. It was so full that he thought it might burst! But, he welcomed this new pain and prayed it would never leave him. Just like he prayed secretly that a certain SOMEONE never would.

The bell above his door gave a cheerful jingle as someone came into the shop. Simon's eyes widened, as he stood up straight and began fussing with his appearance. He mentally berated himself for losing focus. What would his patrons think, if they caught him in such a vulnerable state?! How could he-

"It's just me, my dear tailor."

Green eyes widened, as Simon turned to see Alabaster Stone. The vampire was standing there with something very peculiar in hand; a bundle of beautiful flowers tied off with a silk ribbon. The fragrant bouquet was slowly lowered into the tailor's arms.

"These are for you."

Simon looked down at the flowers, confusion appearing clearly on his face.

"Forgive me for asking so bluntly, but what the devil are these for?"

Alabaster blinked in surprise, before his expression softened, tenderly.

"They're because I wanted to give you a gift that was just as beautiful as you are."

A flower was plucked from the offering and carefully tucked into the human's hat band. It looked right at home among the ornate pins. From there, the vampire's hand slowly trailed down to linger in the human's soft, brown hair. A flush found its way to Simon's cheeks; that lovely, cherry hue that Alabaster loved so much.

If he had been his old self in that moment, Mr. Hart would have thrown the biggest tantrum Lenore had ever seen. The tailor would have shouted and touted how he was the perfect gentleman, above this sort of harassment. The man would have defended his image and pride at all costs. But, he wasn't his old self anymore, was he? Something the tailor could freely admit, as transparent as glass about life's harsh truths.

And another dose of honesty? Simon Hart had taken his destiny into his own hands long ago. He and he alone had created this life with all of its rules and routines, just like he had created The Ode to Maria. And if he had created it, it stood to reason that he could change it; all it would take was just a little bit courage.

Slowly, the man reached up with a trembling hand. Alabaster waited for him, gently holding his gaze. The climb slowed, before stalling; the human couldn't help hesitating when he was halfway up.

Yes, he could change everything. But, no one ever said that it would be easy. He had been stuck in his own, little world for such a long time. What waited beyond it frightened him. Because this could all go wrong at the drop of a hat! Alabaster would surely grow bored of him! He would-!

'You stop that right this instant, Simon Hart!' he berated himself with steely eyes, 'You are a great many things, but a coward isn't one of them! You've always been a man who goes after what he wants!'

His full heart ached even more fiercely, as the nobleman's smile softened just for him. It was as if Alabaster knew that the other man needed his encouragement. The mortal swallowed hard. It was time. Time to take a chance. Time to find the fire within him.

Simon shut his eyes as he took in a deep breath, opening them only when he was certain that he was ready. His eyes burned with determination as he made his most sincere confession ever.

'...I want him.'

One hand finally landed on the other. The tailor's breath caught in his throat. He did it. He had crossed that bridge and the world was still standing. Against all odds, he had slain his inner demons.

That alone should have been enough of a shock to last the rest of the day. But, it seemed that life had more up its sleeve than just a few hard truths to swallow; it also had surprises. Simon's mouth dropped in disbelief at seeing Alabaster release a breath he had been holding all of that time. The message written in the vampire's body language was crystal clear. He was afraid, too.

It was something that he had never considered before, not even for a moment. The other man was so dashing and strong and always seemed to his affairs in order! And yet, the relief in his eyes told quite a different story. One that caused resolve to swell up in the tailor's heart.

He steadied his quivering hand, before using it to drag the noble's down to rest on his flushed cheek. Alabaster stared in wide eyed shock as a calloused thumb gently caressed his skin, reversing their roles from that night not so long ago. Simon's boldness was rewarded; because he finally wasn't the only one flushing for once.

'Such a lovely shade of pink. Like a primrose,' he thought with a rare smile resting on his lips.

And to think that he never would have gotten a chance to see it, if he hadn't taken a leap of faith; if he hadn't changed. And it wasn't a tragedy that had left its indelible mark on his soul this time. He had changed not because of he had to, but because he wanted to; it was a liberating feeling.

And the pain in his chest? Simon decided to call it his 'growing pains'. Because his heart would need far more room to comfortably accommodate the man standing in front of him. It would be worth the ache to know that he wasn't cursed to be forever broken. His heart had finally begun the healing process and it was all thanks to Alabaster Stone.

Speaking of gratitude, the mortal lifted the other man's hand from his cheek without breaking eye contact. The vampire opened his mouth to protest, sad to be rid of their contact, only for an airy sound to escape his parted lips. Simon had pressed a kiss to the top of Alabaster's hand with an amused smirk tugging at the corner's of his lips.

"Thank you."

"For the flowers?" the vampire uttered softly in askance.

"No. For everything."