Crysanthemum
Title: Crysanthemum
Author: trylohbyte
Pairing: Jon/Brendon
Rating: G
Summary: Crysanthemum: (n.) excitement, truth, sharing, secret admirer.
Disclaimer: Not true, at all. But how adorable would that be?
A/N: Took me no more than an hour. It was an hour to midnight and I was bored. Completely unrealistic. If it was shorter, I'd call it a drabble.
When Brendon first moved into his new house in Chicago, everyone seemed to know who he was. Apparently he was the most well-known botanist in the Midwest. His neighbors - who he has learned are William, Greta, and Patrick - brought him various potted plants to welcome him into the city and into their neighborhood. He spent the rest of that first day admiring the fine blooms.
***
He’s been finding flowers on his front step since he moved into his new house. He doesn’t know how they get there, but it’s a different one every day. The only day he doesn’t find one is Sunday. There’s never a Petunia or a Bluebell on his doormat when he steps out for a breath of fresh air. He’s come to miss the little surprises on Sundays.
He keeps all of them. He makes small bouquets out of them with wrapping ribbon and sometimes he throws some glitter on because they just don’t sparkle enough. There’s at least six vases of them around his house already. He really hopes he’ll be able to fill more.
***
The first one is a bright pink Myrtle. Or rather a cluster of them, scattered in front of his door. He picks them up and gathers them into a neat bunch, ties them off with white ribbon, and places them in a small, clear vase.
Being a botanist, he’s pretty familiar on the meaning of certain flowers. Myrtles, he knows, mean Home. He laughs. What a coincidence is that? Whoever’s leaving the flowers - if it’s a person at all - seems to know him pretty well, too.
***
His second day, and he finds a single Peony tied to the outside door handle. He neatly adds it to the vase with the Myrtles, trying to recall what Peonies represented.
It comes to him, finally, when he’s preparing dinner for himself. They mean bashfulness, shyness. He thinks it odd - such a bright, bold flower meaning something to opposite of itself. He looks at the flower long and hard, trying to place why someone would call it a shy flower.
It outstood the Myrtles alone.
***
A Lotus blossom is pinned by one of his windshield wipers when he walks out to his car the next day. He doesn’t have time to bring it inside, or else he’ll be late for his new job. So he brings it into the car with him and stores it in his office - his own office! - on his desk. It brightens up the bland, white room immediately.
When he has free time, he googles the meaning of the flower. Just as the results come up, his boss walks in.
“Mr. Urie!” he exclaims rather loudly. “May I say it’s just an honor to have you working here? I’m your boss, but you can call me Pete.”
“Pete,” Brendon agrees. “In that case, you can call me Brendon. Mr. Urie is a little to formal for my tastes.”
“Brendon it is,” Pete confirms. “Are you enjoying your office? I had it cleaned up for you.”
“It’s very nice, thank-”
“Where did that awesome flower come from?” Pete interjects, shouting again.
“Oh. I found it on my windshield this morning.” Brendon shrugs.
“Oh,” Pete smirks. “Maybe someone left it there for you?”
“Ha, I doubt it,” Brendon laughs. “I only know four people in this town, including you.”
“You never know who’s watching you from afar.” Pete winks and waves as he leaves the office. Brendon thinks of how grateful he is that he has a nice boss.
He returns his gaze to the computer screen, focusing back on the matter at hand. He brings up the Wikipedia page for the flower where it explains that it represents mystery. Brendon’s eyebrows come together, scrunching up the skin on his forehead, and he mumbles, “Yeah, I guess you never know.”
***
He finds the chamomile and the four leaf clover in his mailbox on Saturday. The four leaf clover, obviously, means good luck. The Chamomile means patience, and Brendon suddenly feels like someone’s waiting on him. Like he’s stalling something.
He shakes his head and brings the plants inside, putting the clover in a safe place and putting the Chamomile in a nice, blue vase. That’s when Brendon decides to strike back. Whoever’s doing this is starting to bug him and flatter him at the same time.
So he goes out and buys a Venus Looking Glass and a Thistle, and when he gets home, he puts them in his mailbox and flips the flag up.
***
Sunday, and Brendon checks the mailbox. He finds the same two flowers he bought yesterday, looking a little wilted and saddened. For whatever reason, no one decided to drop off a flower today. He’s a little upset at first - like someone’s suddenly given up on him.
But on Monday, he wakes up early and meets the mailman. His name is Jon Walker, and he looks extremely good in his shorts.
“Morning!” Brendon greets cheerfully. “Lovely day to be receiving mail, isn’t it?”
“And to be delivering it,” Jon replies, smiling brightly. “Heading off to work today, Mr. Urie?”
“Brendon. And I’m actually off today,” Brendon says. “How does everyone here know me?”
“I don’t know, but we do.” Jon shrugs. “Maybe it’s because of that one book you wrote on botany. It was a best-seller, you know?”
“Maybe here it was,” Brendon sighs. “Not many people are interested in botany in Vegas.”
“So you moved here?”
“Precisely.”
Jon opens the mailbox and pulls out the flowers, arching one eyebrow. “Flattery and retaliation?” he asks.
“Yeah. You know flowers?”
“Love them.” He bends down and picks a Betony from the ground. “Surprise.”
“What’s so surprising about flowers in a mailbox, huh?”
“Nothing.” Jon smirks and climbs back into his mail truck. “Have a good day, Brendon.”
“You, too.”
***
A Sainfoin is on top of Brendon mailbox Tuesday afternoon. He sees it when he returns from work. He’d gone in early to help Pete with some long overdue paperwork, and in return, got to take an early leave. The little pink bundle looks to be weighted down with a small rock.
A Sainfoin, Brendon learned in college, means ‘you confuse me.’ He tries to think of anything confusing he’s done in recent days, but can’t seem to do it. He’s a pretty straight-forward guy - he tells it like it is. And explains when people can’t seem to understand.
But now, all the sudden, he’s confusing.
No, what’s confusing is the fact that there’s a flower on his front steps or in his mailbox or on top of it almost every morning. And he never catches the rascal placing them there.
So he goes out and buys a Furze from the supermarket and places it under the rock.
Anger.
***
Pete calls Brendon at 7 AM, making him an effective alarm clock, and says that he doesn’t feel well. Brendon sleepily thanks him for waking him up but asks why this news is relevant.
“It feels unfair, making people show up to work when I’m not there,” Pete replies. “So you’re free to do whatever today.”
Brendon thanks him and rolls over to sleep for another five hours.
When he wakes up, just a bit past noon, there’s a purple Hyacinth in place of the Furze.
‘I’m sorry.”
Brendon smiles and takes the flower, gives it it’s own special vase - a crystal one. This one goes on his bedside table so he can admire it each night before bed.
In response to the message, he picks a white Tulip and a deep pink Rose from his yard and leaves them in the mailbox for his flower friend to find.
***
A Gardenia. He finds a Gardenia the next day. He places it in the vase with the Hyacinth, now more curious than ever as to who’s leaving him the pretty blooms.
‘I love you in secret.’
Stupid Gardenias.
He leaves a Nightshade in the mailbox this time. He demands truth.
***
After work, Brendon checks his mail and finds a full on bouquet in the box. He pulls out the bundle of flowers and observes each and every one carefully.
There’s a variegated Tulip right next to a yellow one. ‘Beautiful eyes. There’s sunshine in your smile.’ There’s also a Snowdrop, ‘hope’. A thornless Rose, ‘love at first site’. A Primrose, ‘I can’t live without you’. A Jonquil, ‘love me’. And in the center rests a white Violet, ‘let’s take a chance’, with a note attached.
The note lists and address in the neighborhood - on the street - a date, and a time. Today’s date. The note tells Brendon to show up there at eight PM with an open mind.
Eight is in exactly two hours.
Brendon doesn’t know why he rushes to get ready. Or why he’s making himself up so much. He skips glasses and goes for contacts, wears his nicest pair of jeans and a button-down. For good measure, he throws on a fashionable vest. He spends the next hour on his hair and at 7:50, he steps out of the house.
He doesn’t bother taking his car. Judging by the house number, the event is only a couple houses down from his own. But before he starts walking, he picks Wistaria from a tree and a Wallflower from the ground.
The house Brendon finds himself at is loud - music, people, social event things. He knocks on the door and Patrick opens up with a smile.
“Brendon!” he says. “I’m glad you could make it. I knew you were coming, I just don’t know who invited you.”
“Yeah, neither do I,” Brendon mumbles.
Patrick looks at him skeptically and almost calls Brendon crazy, but instead laughs. “There’s drinks and food inside. Come on in.”
Patrick moves aside and Brendon brushes past him into the house. It’s a very warm atmosphere - a neutrally brown living room, looking fairly large for the outward appearance of the house. There’s a lot of flowers around, but Brendon guesses that, judging by what they mean, Patrick didn’t pick them for that purpose.
On of them, an orange Lily, means ‘hatred’. A yellow Hyacinth resting on a speaker means ‘jealousy’.
Someone’s hand comes down heavily on Brendon’s shoulder, and he jumps, spinning around.
“Woah, relax,” Jon laughs. “It’s only me.”
“Oh,” Brendon sighs. “And here I thought you were a criminal come to steal me away.”
“That was Plan B.”
“Plan A?”
“You look like you were looking for someone,” Jon says. “Are you?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
“Maybe they’re in the backyard. Have you checked there yet?” Jon suggests.
“I didn’t think anyone would be out there.”
“Come on.” Jon grabs Brendon’s hand, causing the skin to tingle warmly, and pulls him through the back door.
As it turns out, nobody is out there. Just a couple white partly lights in bushes and a small bird bath. Not to mention the variety of flowers. Patrick has quite the garden.
“Yeah, definitely not out here,” Brendon breathes, the cold air hitting him. “Probably because it’s so damn cold.”
Jon seems to be unaffected by the temperature. He ambles about the yard, looking at all the plants and buds. He picks one flower, a small purple one. A Viscaria.
“It’s not that cold,” he says. Then he holds the flower out to Brendon, prompting him to take it. “‘Will you dance with me?’”
Brendon takes the flower, holds it gently in his hand. Almost as if on cue, a slow, easy song starts playing from within the house.
“Well?” Jon presses. “Are you going to stand there and stare at the pretty flower all night or are you going to dance with me?”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Brendon asks finally.
Jon smiles. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Flowers in the mailbox, but none on Sundays.” Brendon laughs and pulls the two flowers he’d picked earlier from his inner coat pocket.
The Wistaria and the Wallflower. ‘I cling to you’ and ‘faithfulness’. He hands them to Jon, forces them into his hand, and grins.
In retaliation, Jon pulls out a spring of Mistletoe from his back pocket. ‘Kiss me’.
And Brendon does. He takes two steps closer and stands on his toes to match Jon’s height and he kisses him soft on the lips. Jon wraps his arms around Bredon’s waist and slips the Mistletoe into his back pocket.
Brendon drops back down onto his feet and smiles again, quietly lacing his fingers with Jon’s. Jon, who seems to be made of flower tonight, reaches into his own pocket and reveals a red Rose and another Myrtle.
‘Love’ and ‘home’.
Brendon would have to agree. He feels more at home than ever.
Author: trylohbyte
Pairing: Jon/Brendon
Rating: G
Summary: Crysanthemum: (n.) excitement, truth, sharing, secret admirer.
Disclaimer: Not true, at all. But how adorable would that be?
A/N: Took me no more than an hour. It was an hour to midnight and I was bored. Completely unrealistic. If it was shorter, I'd call it a drabble.
When Brendon first moved into his new house in Chicago, everyone seemed to know who he was. Apparently he was the most well-known botanist in the Midwest. His neighbors - who he has learned are William, Greta, and Patrick - brought him various potted plants to welcome him into the city and into their neighborhood. He spent the rest of that first day admiring the fine blooms.
***
He’s been finding flowers on his front step since he moved into his new house. He doesn’t know how they get there, but it’s a different one every day. The only day he doesn’t find one is Sunday. There’s never a Petunia or a Bluebell on his doormat when he steps out for a breath of fresh air. He’s come to miss the little surprises on Sundays.
He keeps all of them. He makes small bouquets out of them with wrapping ribbon and sometimes he throws some glitter on because they just don’t sparkle enough. There’s at least six vases of them around his house already. He really hopes he’ll be able to fill more.
***
The first one is a bright pink Myrtle. Or rather a cluster of them, scattered in front of his door. He picks them up and gathers them into a neat bunch, ties them off with white ribbon, and places them in a small, clear vase.
Being a botanist, he’s pretty familiar on the meaning of certain flowers. Myrtles, he knows, mean Home. He laughs. What a coincidence is that? Whoever’s leaving the flowers - if it’s a person at all - seems to know him pretty well, too.
***
His second day, and he finds a single Peony tied to the outside door handle. He neatly adds it to the vase with the Myrtles, trying to recall what Peonies represented.
It comes to him, finally, when he’s preparing dinner for himself. They mean bashfulness, shyness. He thinks it odd - such a bright, bold flower meaning something to opposite of itself. He looks at the flower long and hard, trying to place why someone would call it a shy flower.
It outstood the Myrtles alone.
***
A Lotus blossom is pinned by one of his windshield wipers when he walks out to his car the next day. He doesn’t have time to bring it inside, or else he’ll be late for his new job. So he brings it into the car with him and stores it in his office - his own office! - on his desk. It brightens up the bland, white room immediately.
When he has free time, he googles the meaning of the flower. Just as the results come up, his boss walks in.
“Mr. Urie!” he exclaims rather loudly. “May I say it’s just an honor to have you working here? I’m your boss, but you can call me Pete.”
“Pete,” Brendon agrees. “In that case, you can call me Brendon. Mr. Urie is a little to formal for my tastes.”
“Brendon it is,” Pete confirms. “Are you enjoying your office? I had it cleaned up for you.”
“It’s very nice, thank-”
“Where did that awesome flower come from?” Pete interjects, shouting again.
“Oh. I found it on my windshield this morning.” Brendon shrugs.
“Oh,” Pete smirks. “Maybe someone left it there for you?”
“Ha, I doubt it,” Brendon laughs. “I only know four people in this town, including you.”
“You never know who’s watching you from afar.” Pete winks and waves as he leaves the office. Brendon thinks of how grateful he is that he has a nice boss.
He returns his gaze to the computer screen, focusing back on the matter at hand. He brings up the Wikipedia page for the flower where it explains that it represents mystery. Brendon’s eyebrows come together, scrunching up the skin on his forehead, and he mumbles, “Yeah, I guess you never know.”
***
He finds the chamomile and the four leaf clover in his mailbox on Saturday. The four leaf clover, obviously, means good luck. The Chamomile means patience, and Brendon suddenly feels like someone’s waiting on him. Like he’s stalling something.
He shakes his head and brings the plants inside, putting the clover in a safe place and putting the Chamomile in a nice, blue vase. That’s when Brendon decides to strike back. Whoever’s doing this is starting to bug him and flatter him at the same time.
So he goes out and buys a Venus Looking Glass and a Thistle, and when he gets home, he puts them in his mailbox and flips the flag up.
***
Sunday, and Brendon checks the mailbox. He finds the same two flowers he bought yesterday, looking a little wilted and saddened. For whatever reason, no one decided to drop off a flower today. He’s a little upset at first - like someone’s suddenly given up on him.
But on Monday, he wakes up early and meets the mailman. His name is Jon Walker, and he looks extremely good in his shorts.
“Morning!” Brendon greets cheerfully. “Lovely day to be receiving mail, isn’t it?”
“And to be delivering it,” Jon replies, smiling brightly. “Heading off to work today, Mr. Urie?”
“Brendon. And I’m actually off today,” Brendon says. “How does everyone here know me?”
“I don’t know, but we do.” Jon shrugs. “Maybe it’s because of that one book you wrote on botany. It was a best-seller, you know?”
“Maybe here it was,” Brendon sighs. “Not many people are interested in botany in Vegas.”
“So you moved here?”
“Precisely.”
Jon opens the mailbox and pulls out the flowers, arching one eyebrow. “Flattery and retaliation?” he asks.
“Yeah. You know flowers?”
“Love them.” He bends down and picks a Betony from the ground. “Surprise.”
“What’s so surprising about flowers in a mailbox, huh?”
“Nothing.” Jon smirks and climbs back into his mail truck. “Have a good day, Brendon.”
“You, too.”
***
A Sainfoin is on top of Brendon mailbox Tuesday afternoon. He sees it when he returns from work. He’d gone in early to help Pete with some long overdue paperwork, and in return, got to take an early leave. The little pink bundle looks to be weighted down with a small rock.
A Sainfoin, Brendon learned in college, means ‘you confuse me.’ He tries to think of anything confusing he’s done in recent days, but can’t seem to do it. He’s a pretty straight-forward guy - he tells it like it is. And explains when people can’t seem to understand.
But now, all the sudden, he’s confusing.
No, what’s confusing is the fact that there’s a flower on his front steps or in his mailbox or on top of it almost every morning. And he never catches the rascal placing them there.
So he goes out and buys a Furze from the supermarket and places it under the rock.
Anger.
***
Pete calls Brendon at 7 AM, making him an effective alarm clock, and says that he doesn’t feel well. Brendon sleepily thanks him for waking him up but asks why this news is relevant.
“It feels unfair, making people show up to work when I’m not there,” Pete replies. “So you’re free to do whatever today.”
Brendon thanks him and rolls over to sleep for another five hours.
When he wakes up, just a bit past noon, there’s a purple Hyacinth in place of the Furze.
‘I’m sorry.”
Brendon smiles and takes the flower, gives it it’s own special vase - a crystal one. This one goes on his bedside table so he can admire it each night before bed.
In response to the message, he picks a white Tulip and a deep pink Rose from his yard and leaves them in the mailbox for his flower friend to find.
***
A Gardenia. He finds a Gardenia the next day. He places it in the vase with the Hyacinth, now more curious than ever as to who’s leaving him the pretty blooms.
‘I love you in secret.’
Stupid Gardenias.
He leaves a Nightshade in the mailbox this time. He demands truth.
***
After work, Brendon checks his mail and finds a full on bouquet in the box. He pulls out the bundle of flowers and observes each and every one carefully.
There’s a variegated Tulip right next to a yellow one. ‘Beautiful eyes. There’s sunshine in your smile.’ There’s also a Snowdrop, ‘hope’. A thornless Rose, ‘love at first site’. A Primrose, ‘I can’t live without you’. A Jonquil, ‘love me’. And in the center rests a white Violet, ‘let’s take a chance’, with a note attached.
The note lists and address in the neighborhood - on the street - a date, and a time. Today’s date. The note tells Brendon to show up there at eight PM with an open mind.
Eight is in exactly two hours.
Brendon doesn’t know why he rushes to get ready. Or why he’s making himself up so much. He skips glasses and goes for contacts, wears his nicest pair of jeans and a button-down. For good measure, he throws on a fashionable vest. He spends the next hour on his hair and at 7:50, he steps out of the house.
He doesn’t bother taking his car. Judging by the house number, the event is only a couple houses down from his own. But before he starts walking, he picks Wistaria from a tree and a Wallflower from the ground.
The house Brendon finds himself at is loud - music, people, social event things. He knocks on the door and Patrick opens up with a smile.
“Brendon!” he says. “I’m glad you could make it. I knew you were coming, I just don’t know who invited you.”
“Yeah, neither do I,” Brendon mumbles.
Patrick looks at him skeptically and almost calls Brendon crazy, but instead laughs. “There’s drinks and food inside. Come on in.”
Patrick moves aside and Brendon brushes past him into the house. It’s a very warm atmosphere - a neutrally brown living room, looking fairly large for the outward appearance of the house. There’s a lot of flowers around, but Brendon guesses that, judging by what they mean, Patrick didn’t pick them for that purpose.
On of them, an orange Lily, means ‘hatred’. A yellow Hyacinth resting on a speaker means ‘jealousy’.
Someone’s hand comes down heavily on Brendon’s shoulder, and he jumps, spinning around.
“Woah, relax,” Jon laughs. “It’s only me.”
“Oh,” Brendon sighs. “And here I thought you were a criminal come to steal me away.”
“That was Plan B.”
“Plan A?”
“You look like you were looking for someone,” Jon says. “Are you?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
“Maybe they’re in the backyard. Have you checked there yet?” Jon suggests.
“I didn’t think anyone would be out there.”
“Come on.” Jon grabs Brendon’s hand, causing the skin to tingle warmly, and pulls him through the back door.
As it turns out, nobody is out there. Just a couple white partly lights in bushes and a small bird bath. Not to mention the variety of flowers. Patrick has quite the garden.
“Yeah, definitely not out here,” Brendon breathes, the cold air hitting him. “Probably because it’s so damn cold.”
Jon seems to be unaffected by the temperature. He ambles about the yard, looking at all the plants and buds. He picks one flower, a small purple one. A Viscaria.
“It’s not that cold,” he says. Then he holds the flower out to Brendon, prompting him to take it. “‘Will you dance with me?’”
Brendon takes the flower, holds it gently in his hand. Almost as if on cue, a slow, easy song starts playing from within the house.
“Well?” Jon presses. “Are you going to stand there and stare at the pretty flower all night or are you going to dance with me?”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Brendon asks finally.
Jon smiles. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Flowers in the mailbox, but none on Sundays.” Brendon laughs and pulls the two flowers he’d picked earlier from his inner coat pocket.
The Wistaria and the Wallflower. ‘I cling to you’ and ‘faithfulness’. He hands them to Jon, forces them into his hand, and grins.
In retaliation, Jon pulls out a spring of Mistletoe from his back pocket. ‘Kiss me’.
And Brendon does. He takes two steps closer and stands on his toes to match Jon’s height and he kisses him soft on the lips. Jon wraps his arms around Bredon’s waist and slips the Mistletoe into his back pocket.
Brendon drops back down onto his feet and smiles again, quietly lacing his fingers with Jon’s. Jon, who seems to be made of flower tonight, reaches into his own pocket and reveals a red Rose and another Myrtle.
‘Love’ and ‘home’.
Brendon would have to agree. He feels more at home than ever.