Lan Zhan pauses as he comes to his apartment block, looking at the patch of blue gentian flowers someone had planted in the patch of soil around the base of the tree.

The little elm tree was still throwing out roots, tied to a stick and hoping to grow big and strong. In this urban concrete jungle, this was the only splash of colour, and the deep blue of these very personal blooms gave him hope that this wasn't a bad step. That coming here to New York wasn't the biggest mistake he had made in his life.

His first finger edges past the stiff white collar around his neck, loosening it as much as is possible without ripping his tie off.

Coming to New York was his brother's idea, a way for Lan Zhan to make his mark in the business world. But coming here, to this bricks-and-mortar artificial world was slowly sucking the life out of him, and Lan Zhan was in a quiet despair.

The gritty dirty streets did nothing to alleviate his stress, a culmination from the tension of the day spent in his tiny office, with deadlines that seemed never ending, and a list of tasks that needed to be completed yesterday. Traffic, with the bustling yellow taxis and their shouting drivers, the constant horns going off, impromptu and sudden sirens blaring to life and giving the nearest pedestrian a coronary.

Vendors screaming at the top of their lungs to sell their products, the strange smoke rising up through vents in the ground, and the general feeling that nobody had any time to spare.

Every single person was rushing through the streets going somewhere, or coming back from somewhere and this constant exchange of frenzied energy was fraying his nerves.

There were only three things that gave him a small amount of relief, and unfortunately, all of them took precious minutes away from him.

Two streets over was the flower market.

A haven of colour and scent, Lan Zhan had found his mother's beloved gentians flourishing in pots that he had enthusiastically taken home to look after, but he had forgotten to water them and found them dead just a week later.

The sight was too depressing for him to attempt keeping them again.

Now when things got too tough, and he felt the walls of his apartment closing in on him, Lan Zhan would seek solace in that street, walking among the many flowering beauties as they blossomed, lighting up this corner of his world.

Sweet jasmine, fragrant lilies, cascading vine flowers, pansies in exploding bunches of vivid purple, scarlet and orange, red roses to capture hearts in passionate love stories, and amazing white lotus flowers.

Beautiful orange trees, lemon trees and pineapple plants decorating the concrete slabs lessened the weight on his shoulders and gave him back some of his humanity.

There were other flowers too, monstrous blooms in pinks and yellows with spiky petals that looked as if they could turn around and eat him, instead.

And seven blocks over, there was a park.

Tall sycamore trees rose high up sandwiched by elms and chestnut-bearing oaks brought the park alive, with a water fountain in the centre of the place, and sometimes Lan Zhan would find himself sitting on a park bench with his eyes closed.

Just the sound of the sparrows and starlings scavenging off the leftovers dropped by the visitors to the park eased his mind, allowing broken pieces of tranquillity enter his heart.

There are more colourful flowers planted along the street, Lan Zhan notices now, as his steps hasten towards his building.

Someone had taken the trouble to plant these, Lan Zhan thinks, because they certainly weren't there in the morning when he left for work. He takes a moment to appreciate them, appreciate the sacrifice of time and trouble that someone undertook in giving this gift to all who pass by, lighting up their faces with rare smiles that otherwise would have remained absent.

Pink tulips nod their heads at him, as if agreeing with his observations, and a little further away, yellow buttercups flutter in the slight warm breeze.

He recognises a neighbour walking down the steps of his place, and tries not to cringe when they stop to make conversation.

"I saw you admiring these pretty little things," she says in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Mn." Lan Zhan struggles to remain polite.

To catch him at the end of a work day probably wasn't the best idea.

"A guy in our block plants them," she adds, with a wink.

"Mn." Lan Zhan eases his way past her, but either his attempt to end civility has gone over her head, or she's a determined gossip.

"He doesn't get much time, though. And it's not as if this is the only street he does. Pays for them out of his own pocket, too."

Definitely the latter, then. Voracious Gossip.

"I think he lives up there, too."

That's the last thing Lan Zhan hears as he moves quickly away from her insipid voice.

*************

Lan Zhan can't sleep.

He tosses and turns, the pillow too lumpy, the mattress too soft and he feels the sticky grime from the pollution outside cling persistently on his skin, oily and gummy on his body that had already showered once.

The fan above him isn't helping, throwing hot air back in his face, and this is the fifth time Lan Zhan has gotten up to wet his arms and legs.

It is way too hot to sleep.

He can hear the distant sirens fading away into a night that is far from silent.

And then, he hears the sound of a lone violin.

The melody hits him dead centre in his chest, even as he rises to go to his balcony, throwing open the doors.

That's much better.

Cool relief of the gentle breeze wafts over him, and so do the notes that flirt with him, teasing him awake with every verse.

The unimportant night sounds fade away to the superiority of the song being played now, echoing in the air as if travelling straight to the confines of his heart. It is all Lan Zhan can hear, and he feels a blissful quality drowning in that particular sea of sound.

Each note is clear, ringing true like a siren's song.

Lan Zhan is entranced in the beauty that this miracle is. He hadn't heard this song in such a long time, he had forgotten its existence.

As the last note bids him a fond farewell, Lan Zhan’s eyes snap open with determination. He must find this person.

It is imperative that he finds whoever played so beautifully for him, and thank them sincerely. It is a debt that must be paid.

His sharp eyes catch a lone figure dressed in black pants and a black hoodie, putting away their instrument into a violin case.

He doesn't think; Lan Zhan grabs his keys and races out of his home, into the elevator and hopes that the person who was playing, will stand still for a second. Perhaps the Universe will favour him just this once and delay that person, just for a few minutes, long enough for Lan Zhan to come outside.

He bursts out of the apartment building onto the street, and looks around frantically.

But his heart cracks when he realises that he's too late.

The street is empty, and there is no one around.

************

Lan Zhan hung around for a while, enjoying the coolness of the temperature outside though his heart had sunk with heavy disappointment at not being able to find the person.

He closes his eyes, leaning against the fence that protected the tiny precious gentian flowers, reaching into his memory for a clue, a hint of who it could be.

This late into the night, in the city that never sleeps, it would be an impossible task to search for whoever it was.

His mind throws image after image at him, and then Lan Zhan spots it. Caught in the head beams of a passing car, he thinks he can see the flowing ends of a red ribbon escaping out from the black hood of his mystery player.

It is almost five when Lan Zhan trudges back in, disappointed that he could not find the person to thank them.

He has to get up anyway at five, so this is no chore but for the fact that he hasn't had much rest that night.

The day passes in a strange fugue state of fiction blending with fact as his mind replays the song with the haunting melody, one that has pierced the boundaries of his heart and he thinks about who the mysterious violin player could be.

Three corporate meetings and piles of signed agreements later, he is back on the street that he lives in, and he sees a man fiddling with his gentian flowers.

For a moment, Lan Zhan is upset because it looks like he's digging them up, and he rushes over in a burst of hidden energy, too worried to stop and think.

This man is wearing ripped black denim shorts that reach his knees, and a red and black t-shirt with a tattered hem. His wispy hair has escaped whatever attempt there was to tie it up into a messy bun atop his head, and he's startled when Lan Zhan grabs his wrist.

"What are you doing?" He growls, feeling viciously protective of these flowers.

And then his thoughts fly away like the little birds he loves, because this man is gorgeous.

His silver eyes shine with surprise and fear, for just a second before he smiles, and Lan Zhan feels something hurt in his chest, as if everything has changed by this one small act.

He is mesmerised by this beauty, whose smile has lit up his entire world like a rocket, sparks flying everywhere and singeing away everything except them. From this closeness, Lan Zhan can count every lash that curls so lovely, framing those almond shaped eyes. And what wonders are hidden there inside?

Stormy like a tempestuous sea, raging silver sparks of light reflecting a myriad of colour, and then as he blinks slowly up at him, he then stares at their hands.

Lan Zhan is flushed with embarrassment now.

His gaze drifts past this connection to the trowel in his hand, and then further away on the ground, there lies an open bag of fertiliser and then there is the slow dawning of understanding.

This is the mystery planter of all these flowers.

He lets go of this stranger, and recognising that he has touched without asking, he bows in apology.

"I am sorry, I thought you were hurting them," he says stiffly.

The stranger lets out a peal of melodious laughter.

"I didn't think anyone would mind, if I planted more. I don't think anyone cares." He becomes sombre.

His voice reminds Lan Zhan of the music he heard last night. It is a deep voice but pleasant and tonal, the cadence friendly and happy. It suits him well.

Lan Zhan would like to hear more of it.

"I care," he says softly, now.

The man laughs in delight, and his beautiful pink lips stay in a wide smile that makes crinkles appear at the corners of his crescent eyes.

"Then, would you like to help me?"

Lan Zhan is nodding even before he knows what he's doing.

"Great, then if you have the time, we can start now." He's so enthusiastic, it spreads to Lan Zhan, making him smile, too.

But there is one obstacle: Lan Zhan has never planted anything in his life.

"I do not know what to do," he admits, his ears feeling hot even in this late afternoon sunshine.

"Oh, no worries! I'll teach you!" He says brightly, nudging Lan Zhan playfully. "As long as  you don't mind getting your hands dirty, you're gonna do great! And I'll let you in on a secret," he leans in to whisper conspiratorially, "I didn't know what I was doing when I first started either, but I taught myself with a little help from the nice lady two streets down. She runs a flower shop."

Lan Zhan is captivated by him.

He's alive in a way that brings hope to him, liquid sunshine that has poured into Lan Zhan’s soul like a golden core, energising him and renewing his faith in the world.

Lan Zhan puts down his briefcase and tosses his jacket on top. Then, he meticulously rolls up each sleeve with precision and focus, until his entire forearms are exposed.

When he looks up, the stranger is staring at them, a dark look in his eyes.

"What are we going to do?" Lan Zhan asks him, and the man blinks as if he's just come out of a trance.

Whatever he was thinking vanishes, and he's back to his lively self.

"Well, I figured that these flowers are probably going to fade away soon, so I wanted to plant these," he thrusts a packet of seeds under Lan Zhan’s nose, "and they'll grow in the meantime. Probably a month later, we can see the results."

Lan Zhan thinks about these flowers dying and then he remembers the ones that he had taken home.

It's sad thinking about them dying.

"They do not last long." He doesn't mean to sound so devastated about it.

They're just flowers, and they're following their natural cycle.

From bud to blooming glory, and then as they dry and wilt, no longer beautiful but decaying and hanging onto the last vestiges of life with a keen desperation.

But it is a sad thought, nonetheless. He wonders if the beautiful man is going to laugh at him for being so sentimental, and Lan Zhan wants to know, however painful it may be, so he bravely lifts his eyes to silver ones, watching him back carefully.

"Yes, they do not last long enough," the stranger says gently, putting a warm hand on his shoulder, "and that is why we must appreciate them even more, while they are thriving. We can plant new flowers and rejoice in the change, to know that these hands made someone smile today. That is the priceless part. Plus, a little colour never hurt anyone," he encourages.

Lan Zhan can't speak past the lump in his throat that has suddenly appeared.

This stranger's enthusiasm, his appreciation of the smallest things in his life, reminds Lan Zhan of his mother.

He remembers a long time ago, of sunlit afternoons, wearing matching floppy hats and sitting in the grass outside, of tending to plants and flowers, weeding out the bad ones, and his mother keeping a single dandelion because Lan Zhan liked it.

Her garden was bursting with life, be it the rhododendron bushes, the blossoming pear tree or her prized roses. But her favourite flowers would always be gentians.

Lan Zhan liked to observe the ladybirds spreading their wings as they jumped from leaf to flower, the ants that liked to crawl along the brick divider between their lawn and the bed of flowers, the bees that buzzed their delight as new flowers opened, offering  new delicacies for their palette. Butterflies drifting between lilies and stocks, their rolling tongues feasting on fresh nectar.

He was a quiet child, soaking up that precious experience like a thirsty sponge, and reliving it on dreary days, reminiscent of better times.

"Come on, we have a few hours of daylight yet," the stranger says brightly, smiling that breath-stealing smile once again.

Lan Zhan searches his eyes and finds nothing but compassion.

"Mn." He feels safe here. As if he can trust this person.

"My name is Wei Ying," the stranger holds his hand out, eyes crinkling once again.

"Lan Zhan."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying repeats, almost breathlessly and Lan Zhan wants to hear him say it again.

It feels as if by telling him his birth name, Lan Zhan has given him something precious of himself, and earned the right to use his name in return.

They work together, side by side.

The trowel makes a shallow hole, seeds are put inside, compost spread, and finally, a little water to help it grow.

And repeat.

Wei Ying chatters throughout, his anecdotes about life in New York City uplifting and various, from the time he forgot his wallet at a restaurant and the PoPo who ran it, making him clean dishes afterwards as payment, to going all the way up to the eighty-sixth floor of the Empire State Building with a bunch of fake giant peonies and sunflowers, and fastening them to one side, just for bants.

He would have been arrested for it but the other visitors cheered him on, and protested when security came to take him away. He says it's still up there, and Lan Zhan wonders if they can go together someday, just to have a look.

Wei Ying is full of curious vitality, his speech just as animated as himself, with expressive hands and faces to match.

Lan Zhan begins to thaw inside, letting go of the walls he built to protect his softest centre.

It's safe here, with Wei Ying.

His tanned hands are golden and definitely dirty, and he doesn't seem to mind at all, whereas Lan Zhan wipes his paler hands after each planting, and this makes Wei Ying laugh each time.

But the most important thing Lan Zhan senses is kindness.

It is visible in the obvious care with which he performs each action. It's there with his secret glances at Lan Zhan, making sure he's okay, as they continue to work. And with every prayer he offers up to the Universe to look after each seedling as it grows, full of love.

Lan Zhan feels full of …. Something.

Wei Ying grabs two bottles of ice cold water from a nearby stall and offers one to Lan Zhan, beaming at him as he lifts the cold bottle to his neck, droplets running down that beautiful skin, and Lan Zhan has the unexpected and inexplicable urge to follow each one down with his tongue.

The thought makes him hotter than ever and he chugs the water down too fast, choking on some that goes the wrong way.

Wei Ying thumps on his back with a knowing look.

He uncaps his own bottle and throws back his head, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow, neck beaded with sweat.

Lan Zhan cannot look away.

Gripped by the wild, fantastic notion that he wants to push Wei Ying down against the nearest available flat surface, a need that grows and grows, because NOT kissing him now was akin to the greatest crime.

And yet, he has self-control.

Sometimes a blessing, and other times, a hindrance.

A low whine escapes from his lips, and Wei Ying stops drinking to glance over at him.

Lan Zhan is mortified, hoping that nothing is visible on his face.

He smirks.

As if he is fully aware of how he looks right now.

"After this, would you like to go out for dinner?" Wei Ying asks him, suddenly.

"Yes. I would like that." Lan Zhan replies, surprising himself.

He had not realised that once they finished planting these seedlings, their time would be over.

He might never get to see Wei Ying ever again.

The thought is jarring.

He definitely wants to continue this…whatever this is.

*****************

Wei Ying makes him wash his hands with the leftover liquid in their water bottles over the flowers they've just planted.

"Don't wanna waste a drop," he says, smiling with charm as he watches Lan Zhan rubbing his hands together while Wei Ying pours. Then they swap over and Wei Ying washes his hands.

Wei Ying takes him to an Italian place, a small dim restaurant with excellent food, he praises, and at this point, Lan Zhan couldn't care less. He doesn't mind what they do as long as they are together.

Wei Ying must be a frequent patron, because they know him by name, and within seconds of him sitting down, chilli sauce and chilli oil appears next to him. He picks out the wine, a merlot that fragrances the air between them with fruitiness. He raises a brow at Lan Zhan’s declining to drink, but doesn't tease him for it, which is nice.

Lan Zhan chooses a vegetarian friendly lasagne and Wei Ying digs into a meatball spaghetti that looks frighteningly scarlet, dousing it with even more spice.

They end up talking about everything and nothing, favourite books they've read, music they like, pastimes they've enjoyed.

"I don't have much time to do as I wish, these days," Wei Ying says, offhandedly. He's wistful, as if he wishes it wasn't so.

"Mn?"

So far, Wei Ying hasn't said what his occupation is, neatly sidestepping Lan Zhan’s questions pertaining to his income.

Lan Zhan isn't sure why he's not disclosing what he does for a living, but judging from his torn clothes and ratty t-shirt, he can't be making much, and maybe he's embarrassed about it?

Lan Zhan immediately feels bad for asking, and admonishes himself for making Wei Ying obviously uncomfortable about something he doesn't wish to talk about.

It matters not to Lan Zhan, who has a trust fund to fall back on, should anything not work out, one that he thankfully hasn't had to use yet.

But he can understand Wei Ying’s reluctance and decides not to pursue it.

They order dessert.

Wei Ying has spicy chocolate éclairs doused in chocolate sauce, and Lan Zhan opts for a simple vanilla gelato.

He doesn't usually order anything too sweet, but he doesn't want this night to end, either.

He can feel Wei Ying staring at him, and it awakens something in the pit of his stomach. It's a dizzying feeling, to know that he is just as interesting to Wei Ying as Wei Ying is to Lan Zhan.

To know that maybe, this crazy attraction isn't all one-sided…

Lan Zhan finishes his dessert and leans back in his chair, to find Wei Ying licking the last bits of chocolate sauce off his wet spoon.

The action is hot, to see that pink tongue swirl around the metal of the spoon, and feel a bolt of desire strike his spine, making his stomach do flip flops like a champion. To watch as he expertly licks it clean, moaning with satisfaction while Lan Zhan squirms in his seat, holding himself back.

"Um, I hate to eat and run, but I have to go!" Wei Ying suddenly stands up, checking his phone. "Rehearsals," he says, throwing Lan Zhan an apologetic grin, and tossing a bunch of notes on the table. "Dinner's on me, after all, I invited you," and then he's gone.

Before Lan Zhan can protest, or tell him to wait, tell him he wanted to pay for their dinner instead.

And ask for his number.

****************

Lan Zhan stirs awake, slowly as if something is pulling him out of slumber. As his consciousness comes back in gentle increments, he jolts up in bed, recognising what has brought him to this state of alertness.

The music.

He strides to the balcony and throws open the doors, leaning out to see if he can tell where the musician is playing, because the melody sounds louder.

It is the same song, only this time, the haunting melody seems even more powerful, poignant and deep, resonating with the parts of Lan Zhan that he kept hidden from the world.

Like a hand reaching into his heart, stroking it with tender touches, awakening his dormant desires.

To be able to live freely, somewhere with vast open skies, cool breezes to temper his wild emotions, to be himself.

Not someone's brother, mentor, nephew, corporate prodigy.

Just Lan Zhan, pure and simple.

His face feels wet, and Lan Zhan is shocked to realise he's crying.

The music stops and Lan Zhan knows he's too late once again, to find the mysterious player.

By the time he would get outside, the person would have time to leave, like yesterday night, and there's no point chasing after him.

But tomorrow night?

Tomorrow night could be a different story…

*************

Lan Zhan races home after another day in the office.

He doesn't want to dwell on the challenges he had to face today, no, his mind is excited to come home, because maybe today he will meet Wei Ying again. His long strides are powerful, taking him to the corner of his street, but then he pauses.

There's no silver-eyed beauty waiting for him.

Disappointment steals his joy, as reality comes crashing down on him.

Realistically, he only knows Wei Ying’s name.

He doesn't have a phone number, he doesn't know where Wei Ying lives, and nothing much else that would help in finding him.

In a city this big, it is worse than a needle in a haystack. More like a needle in ten haystacks.

Lan Zhan feels tired all of a sudden. He trudges up the flight of stairs that lead to his apartment building, all motivation gone.

He only has the hope that tomorrow maybe, the Universe will align and he will be able to meet Wei Ying once more.

**************

That night, the violin player didn't come back, either.

Lan Zhan stayed up especially for it, hoping that once he heard the music, he would make a note of the street where the music was coming from, and race outside in time. He was sitting up in bed, jerking awake every time he fell asleep by accident, and then straining his ears imagining music that simply wasn't there.

He felt abandoned.

All alone in this city full of unfamiliar faces where output meant more than input, where his contributions to society meant more than his increasing desire not to get out of bed in the mornings.

Though that balance was changing.

He must have fallen asleep after all, because when he woke up, he had a crick in his neck to prove it.

Welcome to another day…

*************

Six days passed and Lan Zhan neither saw his violin player nor saw Wei Ying, planting his flowers.

But Wei Ying couldn't have disappeared just like that? Right?

He must be somewhere, and Lan Zhan was going to do something about it.

He detested social media and everything it represented, but maybe it would be the one thing to help him out.

He was all prepared, he joined Twitter, made a Facebook account, posted pictures on Instagram and tried to Be Real, though he was sceptical about that one. And then he posted his message.

WEI YING: WHERE ARE YOU? PLEASE DM ME, I'M YOUR FELLOW PLANTER.

As messages go, it wasn't that great or dynamic, or special, but it was simple and direct, and Lan Zhan could only hope.

He was cleaning up after his solo dinner of steamed vegetables and white rice, when he heard the music playing.

Only this time, it wasn't coming from outside… at least, not outside, outside.

It appeared to be coming from outside his door.

And what was weirder was that it was louder.

Lan Zhan grabbed his keys and left his home, following the music.

His floor was the eighth one, because their Uncle had said it was for good luck, and Lan Zhan didn't have a preference so he went along with it. The music seemed to be flowing in the stairwell, so Lan Zhan followed the sound, his eager steps hitting the concrete like it meant nothing.

Four flights of steps without breaking a sweat, and he bursts through the fire escape door…only to walk into another world.

Tall orange trees laden with fruit surrounded him, and someone had constructed a scaffolding to help the vine plants progress, with hanging baskets of potted flowers that scented the night air. It was an explosion of colour, green and verdant, rich with mouthwatering perfumes that took him to another dimension. Splashes of purples, pinks and reds were all around him, and the music was only getting louder, reaching its crescendo.

Lan Zhan followed the path with flying feet, hastening his arrival and he turned the corner, into an open space, there he saw his violin player, standing straight and tall.

Wearing black denim shorts and a red hoodie, his ponytail blowing in the strong night breeze, and his beautiful scarlet ribbon framing his face.

It was Wei Ying.

Now that Lan Zhan has finally found him, he is never going to let him go again.

He waits until the last note plays, and then he's there, when Wei Ying opens his eyes.

All the stars in the galaxy could not compare to the raw beauty Lan Zhan can see here, shining out of his lovely eyes.

"Lan Zhan…"

"Wei Ying…" Lan Zhan tips his face up, weak with relief. "May I kiss you?"

Wei Ying nods, slowly, not even blinking. He's holding his breath.

This moment is going to be branded in Lan Zhan’s mind, something to keep forever.

His lips land on the soft skin of Wei Ying's forehead, as he brings his violin player into the circle of his arms.

They both sigh as Wei Ying hugs him back.

"I looked for you, you know," Wei Ying says wetly.

"Mn. I looked for you as well." Lan Zhan can feel his ears getting hotter, because he's done more than just look.

He's devoted all of his social media to finding this beautiful man.

"I'm sorry for running off that day…there's so much I have to tell you." Wei Ying draws back to look into his eyes. "Contractual thing, but now I'm free. I can… we can be together…if you want to be?" He sounds hesitant.

"Yes. Anything. Everything." Lan Zhan is so happy right now, he can only see Wei Ying. "Let's be together."

He nods his head, and on tippy toes, Wei Ying reaches up to press his sweet, sweet lips to Lan Zhan’s mouth.

It is everything they could ever wish for.

It is a miracle that they have found each other here, and like this. A melody that entwined their hearts together and will forever bind them.

THE END

A/N

Dear Beautiful Readers,

This is a gift for five special ladies and our time together. Even if we can't be together in the truest sense of the word, face to face as we would wish to be, it doesn't matter. We are together how it matters the most and we should be happy and content with that.

Thank you so much.

Thank you for singing me a song, and making sure I will never forget that evening.

Charlie.