---Gerard---

Sometimes I feel like certain moments will never end. They can get to be so slow and long and awkward and it makes me want to crawl away and forget about it.

This is one of these encounters.

Patrick wipes his tears as we continue down the gray sidewalk, trying to leave the conversation behind with each footstep. One foot in front of the other right beside me. The calm is actually somewhat comforting on this painful walk. One foot in front of the other. We're walking in sync and I can't help but wonder what is happening. Who is hurting Patrick? Do they really hurt him? What did they do? Make him do things he doesn't want to do? Threaten him? ... Abuse him...?

I don't want to think of the last one but as it sails through my mind I realize it's a possibility. A big possibility. He doesn't like talking about his family. He always gets nervous when he's almost home. Everything points to physical abuse. The flinching, the wincing, the fear. I'm scared that I'm going to somehow break the trust he already has with me and ruin everything. Why did I have to get so mad at Mikey? What's wrong with me? He probably hates me now, I shouldn't have said all those horrible things. I...

I can't think about that now. I have to talk to Dad soon and tell Patrick what really happened four years ago. I've trusted him so far, and he trusts me so... I need to. It's the right thing to do...

I stop in front of the flower shop. The faded oak wood sign at the front, hanging from two rusty chains. The sign reading, Thurman Floral Arrangements and Décor in soft, neat letters. Beside the sign are five different flowers in planters at the front of the shop, blocked off by the fence leading straight to the door of the small building.

The concrete turns to gravel as Patrick and I stroll to the door, the crunch of the sharp stones under foot is the only sound we can hear in the evening air. As I look back, I notice the sun is casting long shadows and bright light across the front of the building, golden rays lighting our way. Finally, I pull open the door, letting Patrick in first and following soon after.

It's a cozy shop, small but cozy. There's a fireplace in one wall with a brick chimney leading up and out of sight and bringing the smoke into the cloudy sky. The fire is warm, supporting the whole shop with its golden heat and the sound of crackling wood behind black metal bars.

There's a small, tan sofa by the fireplace and a smooth counter but otherwise the shop is almost completely empty, making the room look spacier than it really is. The walls are made of red brick and decorated with family photos of people holding bouquets. Some look extremely old and some look somewhat newer but I can tell they're all fairly aged. The oldest picture isn't even colored, it's black and white.

In it, a girl is holding a bouquet of lavender and bellflower, behind her are two women who I recognize as Uma and Miss Jackson (Nobody knew Miss Jackson's real name, it was lost, but people just call her Miss Jackson because it's an extremely generic last name). Both look to be in their thirties with light brown hair and expressionless faces, their hands interlocked. The girl in the front looks to be about eight or so, still a child and barely young enough to run the flower shop on her own but I know that ten years from then, she'd have everything down. Beside her is another girl who looks to be the same age but isn't holding a bouquet, I already know that they're sisters and they'd be the next ones to run the business. All four of them are wearing fancy, light colored dresses with ugly floral designs, which I guess was fashionable back then. Their hair is neat and prim with not a single stray in sight. The dark locks are straightened in such a way that the bottoms curl in at the end.

The next picture is in sepia, the eight-year olds from the last picture are now in their thirties and they're the ones holding hands while their children are in front of them. They look almost exactly the same but this time, the girl on the right has black hair instead of brown and their dresses look slightly better than the last picture.

There are several of these pictures lined up across the room showing how each generation has passed with the most recent behind the front counter. It shows three girls instead of two, this time, the first picture to do that.

The girl on the left has brown hair with blond highlights and is wearing a completely white dress made of a fabric I can't identify. Her eyes are a vibrant blue eyes, like the color of the morning sky and a beautiful smile plays across her face. I know her. That's Sarah. Beside Sarah is another girl. She has much different hair and it's easy to tell just how much genetics change through the generations. Her hair is long and dark like a chestnut and it decorated with lots of natural, small waves coursing through the locks. Her eyes are a dark, dark shade of brown, almost completely opposite of her white dress. In this picture, she's the one with the bouquet. The same lavender and bellflower filling the plastic as in every other photograph in the room. I know that girl, too. That's Elisa. Finally, on the end is a girl with near pale skin, pristine and light. She has completely black hair with light hazel eyes and an enthusiastic smile tracing her red lips. She's wearing a white dress, too. Just like Sarah and Elisa but I can tell she really didn't want to. She's not that type of girl.

I smile to myself wondering how the hell they even managed to get her to wear it. I'm guessing it must have taken a while of persuasion to get her to do it. Anyways, that's Lindsey. She's cool and obviously much different from her sisters. I like her.

Behind the three sisters, are two women just like in the other pictures, both women are in their thirties and it's easy to see whose children go to which women. The woman on the right easily matches Lindsey's appearance. Pale skin, dark brown eyes, black hair. I think her name is Helena... or was... She died a few years back of age. I was invited to the funeral but I never went because I had to take care of Mama...

I feel guilty for not going but I guess it's over now. Lindsey is doing alright without her mother, I know she went through a period of grief but she's recovered and she's accepted it. I have yet to do so... Meanwhile, Elisa and Sarah's mother, Bonnie, has been doing alright. I know she's going to pass soon, though. That's what I've heard, at least, which isn't too surprising. I know that women from the Thurman family pass fairly quickly... Usually about their fifties or sixties. It's been at least twenty years since that picture was taken, making Bonnie fifty-two this year while Helena would be fifty-five.

I look away from the pictures hanging around the tiny shop to look to the empty counter. There's a bell for me to ring to summon one of the three sisters. I realize I'll have to do it eventually. I don't want to. I don't want to talk to anyone but Patrick right now but I know I have to if I want to respect Dad.

So, I walk forward, Patrick close behind. He's looking across the decorations on the brick walls, his eyes taking in each image on the wall and each detail of the shop. Judging it. But you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

My fingers press down on the cold, silver bell, making the contraption emit a high-pitched tone. It echoes through the empty room and into the back where Lindsey, Elisa, and Sarah are probably working. There's silence for a moment, and then I hear a sharp, "Is that Gerard?" and my cheeks light up.

Much to my surprise, all three show up at the front counter instead of just one and I can't help but blush even more. It's been half a year since I last saw them and they haven't changed much. Sarah still has her long, brown hair reaching her chest and a black hat atop her head. She smiles slightly but it's empty because she knows why I'm here. All three of them do. Elisa's smile fades slightly when she walks to the counter, obviously with a twinge of sympathy while Lindsey still smiles.

"Gerard! Long time no see," Sarah says in the happiest voice she can muster. She knows why she hasn't seen me in such a long time. There's no use in pointing it out.

"Yeah, nice to see you again." I say with an empty laugh.

"You too," Elisa says somewhat quietly. There's a short silence that gets too awkward, too fast. It needs to be stopped.

"You two can go ahead," Lindsey says to Elisa and Sarah, reading my mind. They give a slight nod at different times before going into the back, probably out to the greenhouse. Once the door shuts, Lindsey turns to me, a grim look on her face, "You doing alright?"

I shrug slightly, "This is four years now, not any better than it usually is..."

"Same here," she sighs. She knows my pain. I know she was feeling especially sad when Helena died but she doesn't usually talk about it anymore. It's just a sensitive topic to her, "So, who are you?"

After a moment of confusion, I realize she's referencing the blond next to me and out of the corner of my eye, he tenses up. I only take his hand in mine. He flinches at first but quickly takes in the warmth gratefully, "I'm Patrick, Patrick Stumph..."

Lindsey holds out her hand across the counter which Patrick takes, leaving my own hand cold and empty, "Lindsey Thurman. Are you two dating?"

A wildfire spreads across my face almost instantly as soon as those four words left her mouth, turning my cheeks a bright red and making my voice exceptionally hard to find. I wish. I really wish. Do we really look that close? Yeah... um... "N-No, we're just friends."

I see Patrick's tensed up, too, his hand has left mine in disgust maybe? Or he's just embarrassed. I know he's gay or questioning at least, so I wouldn't think he'd be disgusted by it. He just... isn't into me like that. I don't think at least. Lindsey laughs slightly, taking me by surprise and I actually start to laugh myself, "Sorry, I just thought..." She trails off.

"It's okay." I reply with a smile that reaches my eyes, "No, nothing like that has happened for a few years... Not with me at least."

Patrick's head is down and he's blushing madly but there's still a hint of a grin on his face. Lindsey leans over the wood counter, looking across the walls. She shuts her eyes, a content, warm smile on her red lips, "It's been three years but I still miss her..."

I feel his hand squeeze mine painfully tight, making me wince but I try not to let it show. Why? What's that about?

"Yeah..." I reply. I feel slightly uncomfortable and there's a growing tension in the room but I don't dare let it get too bad, "How's Bonnie?"

Lindsey looks slightly surprised that I ask. I try not to question it as she replies with a little bit of hope in her tone, "The doctors say she has a few more years. She'll probably pass at the same age as Helena did."

I nod softly, looking down at my feet. That's good news. Last time they said she'd pass within a year, so she's made improvement. Patrick's feet are right beside mine, his shoes are worn and I can tell he needs new shoes soon but I don't want to ask him about it. I don't want to make him uncomfortable. I want to wait until later for that...

I hear the back door shut and my eyes dart back up to see Elisa with a bouquet of black and red flowers. There are dark tulips and lilies and four roses placed among the bouquet. One for each year. Each pedal pristine and neat. They're untouched by human hands and they're beautiful. Just like Patrick...

I've found that that's the only word I can use to describe him... Just beautiful. Sexy is a no go. I mean, I'm sure he could be sexy if he wanted but I really shouldn't be thinking like that at the moment. Cute could describe him but he's too... Damaged to be cute. Cute would go with innocent and innocent would mean he doesn't have much experience with life. He's had too much experience with life. Much more than me at least, and that's without mentioning the possible abuse. Gorgeous just doesn't sound right. Hot... that would go with sexy... Too intimate but beautiful is... Beautiful can describe him. He's beautifully damaged. And I accept that. The way his blond hair sways in the wind. The way his fedora tips slightly, crooked on his head. The way he pulls his hand inside the sleeves of his hoodie. The way he smiles. The way he hides it because he doesn't want anyone to see. I want him to understand that he's beautiful. I want him to understand how much he means to me. I want him to realize that he shouldn't hide his smile. He shouldn't pull his hands inside of his hoodie. I will make him feel beautiful. One day I'll make him understand and maybe we'll be together...

That'll never happen, though. What would make him trust me out of anyone he's ever known? If we ever did begin to date, it would have to be in a few years. Once he's stable again. Once he's doing okay again. Once I know what he's going through. I want to make him feel beautiful. Even if it takes more than persistence.

I realize that I've gotten sidetracked in thought from the bouquet in front of me so I take it from Elisa and I'm about to pull out some money from my pocket, "Don't honey," My eyes dart up to see Elisa's sympathetic smile, "Just take it, alright?"

I smile, gratefully, "Really?"

"Of course. Go ahead and tell your Dad I said hi." Elisa replies with a warm expression. I hug her over the counter, the bouquet at her back, "Thank you so much."

I pull away and take Patrick's hand with my empty one, "I'll see you in March,"

"Bye, sweetie. Come back anytime you want if you need someone to talk to." Sarah smiles. I nod with giant grin as I turn the knob on the door. Patrick and I walk outside, still hand in hand. We're embraced by the cold air, my breath visible in the dark. The sun is just over the horizon, now, fading slowly out of sight but I can barely see it with the pink and red clouds in the way. The door shuts behind me with a click, the new barrier between the Thurman family and I is somewhat comforting because now it's just Patrick and I. And all that matters to me is that we're alone together. I need to talk to him and I need to know his secrets.