AN: Hello, lovelies! Sorry I disappeared there for a while. I needed a bit of a break :)

BUT I am posting these four chapters and I deleted the last two of where Aurora asked Harry for one more day. I didn't care for it and it was quite dumb honestly. So pretend like that never happened and we're picking up from the breakup.

These four chapters aren't very long, but I hope you all enjoy them! Didn't want to give you too much to read <3

I love you so so so so so so so much. Like wow it's a lot <3

~Alex

~~~~~

Flower.

The word once being something that held little significance to me, only associating it with beautiful colors and anniversaries. Special occasions or something to paint. A rose on my arm a secret reminder of my talent.

And there are hundreds and thousands of flowers.

Hydrangeas. Peonies. Roses. Daisies. Dahlias. Tulips. Daffodils. Buttercups. Sunflowers. Pansies. Chrysanthemums. Carnations. Camellias.

The list could go on for days and days, and even then, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to list them all.

And each flower holds a different meaning. Some may be the same, but they each hold a deeper meaning than just a pretty color and sweet aroma. They can symbolize love, adoration, purity, beauty, passion, and so many other things.

My favorite flowers are peonies. They're my favorite because they look like roses, but they aren't. They're unique in their own way. Even though I don't know what they mean, I like how they resemble a rose, yet their beauty outshines that of a rose. Their petals are packed together and they look like feathers on a bird... maybe a flamingo. I'm not sure how or when they became my favorite out of all the flowers in the world, but they did. I became obsessed with drawing them until I could draw them from memory. 

I'm no expert in flowers. I probably couldn't even tell you how to properly take care of a simple houseplant. Granted, my mother did teach me about flowers when I was younger and I'd even help her plant them in her garden.

But over the years, those names and meanings slipped my mind as I focused on other things. I focused on different paintbrushes, and different hues of pink and yellow and blue. How to find that exact shade of orange that matches the sunset, adding a little bit more white or pink to the mixture. Mulling over how to capture the emotion in someone's eyes, or how to draw the flawless beauty of someone's hands and fingertips.

My mind was filled to the brim with models whose beauty could snatch the air right out of your lungs. Blank canvases slowly turning into masterpieces that I put my entire heart into, only for them to be displayed and sold to someone who will hang them on their wall to collect dust as they look at it briefly every time they pass it in the hallway. Skin stained different hues of red and orange, marking my skin for weeks on end until the colors eventually faded and were replaced with fresh paint from a new project that involved different shades of blue and purple.

I didn't care about the meaning of the flowers I'd use in my paintings. Not caring about what the color of petals I'd place against the flawless skin of a French woman lying naked in my studio meant. I didn't care enough to stop and look at a beautiful garden of roses sitting along the sidewalk. I didn't care what the arrangement of daisies and roses meant when I'd buy them for Maria.

Flowers didn't hold any significance to me. I simply saw them as what they were. Something to paint or something to give as a gift. They didn't mean anything to me.

And then everything changed.

~

Flowers suddenly held a meaning. They didn't symbolize petals or anniversaries or gifts... they symbolized anything and everything.

Flower.

The love of my life.

The word now being something that means the entire fucking world to me. Knowing that when I say it, I'm addressing the woman who has taken over my entire mind, body, and soul.

A beautiful creature who holds the name of Aurora Renée Honeycutt. Someone who holds no flaws. A woman who can bring me to my knees by simply breathing. Her hands not knowing the power they hold by simply grazing my skin or touching my cheek. The flawless emerald green of her irises igniting under the rays of the sun and becoming a pool of mystery and beauty. The warmth of her skin that resembles silk wrapping my body in a safe cocoon.

And while some people may simply see her hair as brown... I see it as a deep auburn that comes alive into a fiery flame underneath the golden rays of the sun. While some people may see her smile... I see the flash of happiness that glazes over her eyes and the way her cheeks flush a soft pink, the simple gesture taking my breath away and causing my heart to come to a complete stop inside my chest. While some people may see her as just another woman... I see her as so much more.

I see her as the sun that kisses my skin on a warm summer day, shining high in the sky and lingering there all day until the moon tells her it's time to sleep.

I see her as the moon that shines through my window when I can't seem to fall asleep, staring down at me and silently telling me that the darkness is only temporary and that there's still a light to lead me through the dark.

I see her as the Earth, level beneath my feet and keeping me grounded, providing me with everything I need and more.

I see her as the tide caused by the moon-- pushing and pulling, soft and harsh, wild and reckless, yet calming and free.

I see her as the air I breathe, keeping me alive and filling my lungs, planting flowers there and watching them bloom every time I breathe in and breathe out.

I see her as the stars, shining and twinkling with life, collecting wishes and doing everything she can to make them come true.

I see her as my universe, filled with so many mysteries and beautiful galaxies, completely endless with some things still undiscovered.

It's easy to say that Aurora Honeycutt is my everything. Her name warms my entire soul like warm honey, falling from my lips like a beautiful melody. It's easy for me to admit I need her. It's easy for me to say that I love her. It's easy to see her smile. It's easy to watch her laugh-- even better if you're the one who caused her to do such a happy thing. It's easy to hear the words 'I love you' fall from her lips and settle themselves so deep inside of your bones it becomes your new drug.

It's not easy to see her cry. To be standing there watching as her eyes well up with tears and trickle slowly down her cheeks, wanting nothing more than to wipe them away and tell her you're there for her. It's not easy to cause her pain. Knowing I've done that more than once leads my mind down a dark and dangerous path that only her touch can steer me away from. It's not easy to sleep without her by my side. The sheets are too cold and my arms are too empty, needing to feel her hair tickling my nose and soft sighs falling onto my skin, marking it like a tattoo that inflicts no pain.

And it's not easy to leave her. 

Because that pain-- that pain makes you want to rip your hair out and scream until you've lost your voice. It fills you with an emptiness so deep and so dark, you're not sure if you're even breathing anymore. Your heart gets ripped from out of your chest as you watch it shatter into a million pieces, helpless to do anything because your mind is too far gone to even fucking care. You're too far gone to even fucking care.

"Capolavoro."

To hear her speak such a simple word mends any broken thoughts in my mind and moves mountains. Because for her to call me a masterpiece-- for her to even think I'm a masterpiece--lets me know she loves me. She loves all of me. She loves my bad traits and my hideous flaws.

She thinks I'm beautiful. I'd never felt beautiful until I heard her speak those words to me. I'd never been called beautiful until I met her. Sure, I'd been called handsome, but that was nothing compared to being called beautiful. Hearing her speak those words and looking at me as if I'm the most beautiful thing she's ever seen made me fall in love with her even more than I thought possible.

But nothing in the world can compare to the beauty of Aurora. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

~

She says hydrangeas are her favorite. I'll always remember that. The blue ones. She always said it's because they look like tiny butterflies. Like in the movies where the main character will touch a tree and millions of butterflies will fill the air and fly away into the sunset. 

She hates sunflowers. She claims it's because they're overrated and too many people claim they're the best out of all of the flowers. But she'll never admit it. She'll never come straight out and tell you she hates sunflowers. Because she loves all of the flowers... supposedly. 

She's oblivious to her own beauty. She sees it in everyone except herself. She sees it in everything except herself. I'm not sure if I ever made an impact, if I made her see her beauty, but I hope someone else can tell her how beautiful she is. I don't think I told her enough.

She likes to slow dance. She likes the way she can rest her head on my chest and listen to my heartbeat, claiming she feels safe in my arms and the way I hum along to the song. 

She likes to hear me talk. She would beg me to tell her all about my day so she could lay her head on my chest and trace the tattoos on my arms. 

She likes to read. There's a bookshelf filled with books inside her apartment, sticky notes sticking out of all of them from all of her notes and random thoughts. I always liked looking at it, loving the fact that she finds beauty in books, and feeling like I'm looking inside of her brain while catching glimpses of the words written on the pieces of paper.

She loves me. Which is something I'll never understand. I didn't deserve her love... and I probably never will. No one does. She loves you so fiercely it takes your breath away and makes you feel like you're on top of the world. Then you sit back and wonder how you could ever make her feel the same, and you realize you can't. You can't because her love for you goes beyond materialistic things and words. And even though your love for her goes beyond those things too, it's still not enough to compare to the way she loves you.

~

Paris in the rain doesn't feel the same anymore.

The atmosphere isn't as magical and the people on the street don't dance with their loved ones without umbrellas. It's like the entire world is hurting now that Aurora isn't by my side. It seems to rain almost every day, the Earth crying with me as I lie in bed at night while wishing she was in my arms. 

My inspiration has completely vanished, the dozens of empty canvases taunting me as they stare at me, waiting for a paintbrush to touch the white material. I can't even bring myself to hold a paintbrush in my hand. Not if Aurora isn't still in my life to motivate me to do something. I don't want to create something beautiful if what I find beautiful isn't in my life anymore.

Sometimes it feels like I can't breathe. It feels like I'm suffocating on my own sadness, unable to get up from my bed and take those few steps that lead outside. My bed is always eerily cold, the sheets unwelcoming and leading to restless nights and heartwrenching nightmares. Even my body stays cold without the warmth of her hand to fill me up with warm honey any time she touches me. Everything is cold and bland. Not even the sunlight helps me see the colors surrounding me.

I stay up most nights and sit out in the rain, practically begging each person that walks by to drop their umbrella and tilt their head back to the sky. But they never do. Their feet rush to carry them to the nearest building, muttering hateful words about the weather under their breath as they walk along the street. My heart drops and more tears form in my eyes as I watch the world fall apart right in front of my eyes.

Some nights I imagine that she's still here, lying beside me. I'll close my eyes and imagine the way my fingers would always glide so easily through her hair and travel down her shoulders and back, a small smile twinging my lips as I remember how she'd always shiver slightly and snuggle even closer to my side. I'll imagine her soft breath falling on my skin as the addictive scent of flowers and honey fill the air, intoxicating my mind and lingering in every nook and cranny of my apartment. Sometimes I think I hear her laughter from the street, rushing out onto the balcony and desperately searching the sidewalks for a flash of auburn hair and twinkling eyes.

And then some nights I'll sit back and realize I'm lonely. I'm alone because of my stupid mistakes. The only solace I have is the occasional calls from Louis and my neighbor who brings me leftovers when he's made too much to eat for him and his fiance. I'll always thank him with a fake smile, then immediately close the door and break down in tears, wallowing in my own self-pity and missing her more than ever.

Most nights I can't remember her smile before it dimmed. I can't remember her laugh before it lost its happiness. I can't remember her eyes before they lost their spark. I can't remember anything about her from when she was genuinely happy with me. All I can remember is her forced smiles and the strained sound of her laughter. It tears me down knowing I can't remember her happiness, because I know I only got to see that side of her for a brief amount of time. Before I took all of that away from her and stomped on it with the heel of my foot, completely reckless and careless. 

But somehow, I manage to walk down the street every Friday and buy a bouquet of flowers, always making sure they're yellow. The girl behind the counter always tries to flirt with me, even being bold enough to give me her number one time, but I always politely decline and make a beeline straight for my apartment, throwing out the old flowers and replacing them with the new ones. Their sweet aroma will fill the apartment, and for a brief time, it feels like she's graced the rooms with her presence, lingering in each of them long enough to leave her warm smell before moving on to the next, and then completely disappearing altogether.

And so my days become repetitive. Saving my tears for Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Saving my brief smiles for Tuesday. Saving my complete breakdowns for Thursday.

~

How rare do you think living in the same lifetime as your soulmate is? Let alone getting to meet them?

You could've been born in a completely different era, being sixty while they're just turning twenty. You could've been born on opposite sides of the world, your paths never even having the chance to cross, let alone be on the same continent at the same time. Or you could have been born in the same town, and yet never even cast an eye towards each other when you walk past the other in the grocery store because you've already lived your life and met the person who you think is the one.

I find myself quite lucky to have been able to cross paths with my soulmate. Even if it was only for a brief time and I don't get to spend forever with her, I can die peacefully knowing I met my soulmate and was able to tell her I love her.

I can spend the rest of my life telling everyone Aurora Renée Honeycutt is my soulmate and I was able to love her.

"Fleur?"

My head snaps towards the man holding a yellow dahlia towards me with a smile.

I softly shake my head and decline his offer, brushing past the people on the crowded streets in a desperate attempt to make it safely home with my new bouquet of yellow roses. The plastic of the wrapped flowers digs into my chest and I clutch them tightly against me, glancing up at the sky and wincing once the first raindrop lands on my forehead.

Everyone immediately whips out their umbrellas, the rain picking up and soaking me straight to the core. I hide the bouquet underneath my jacket and keep my head down as I walk, shivering and feeling my teeth chatter from the freezing raindrops pelting against my skin. People push by me, rushing to get home or to a dry place so they can wait it out. I refuse to look up and see if anyone is dancing in the street, having lost hope by now and accepting the fact that Paris in the rain will never be the same again.

But then I hear the soft harmony of laughter.

At first, I think it's a figment of my imagination and quickly brush it off with a shake of my head.

And then I hear it again.

I look up and completely stop in the middle of the sidewalk once my eyes land on a couple slow dancing in the middle of the road... not an umbrella in sight.

The rain soaks through their clothes and wets their feet, but neither of them mind as the man twirls the woman through a rain puddle, her hair flying around her and causing tiny raindrops to flick from the ends. She collides back into his chest and tilts her head back with laughter, his own mingling with hers as he stares at her with nothing but pure adoration and love in his eyes. Their fingers intertwine together perfectly... like two puzzle pieces coming together to make a glorious and beautiful masterpiece.

I stand there and watch them in complete awe for the longest time, making sure my brain isn't tricking me into coming up with imaginary scenes in my mind. But they're there. And they're real.

"Fleur?"

The same man holds out the same flower to me, its yellow petals now dotted with raindrops that glisten underneath the soft glow of the streetlight.

"Merci," I smile at him and take the dahlia from his hand.

I bring the flower to my nose and inhale its sweet aroma, not being able to stop the smile that forms on my lips and the laughter that bubbles out of my chest. My teeth stop chattering and I feel a certain type of warmth spread from my hand to my entire body, the faint smell of flowers and honey tainting the air and surrounding me in a bubble of warmth. The sound of my laughter mingles with the laughter of the couple dancing in the street, sparking that long-lost spark of what Paris in the rain once felt like when love wasn't something that caused me pain and despair. 

A flash of auburn hair and emerald eyes appear behind my closed eyelids, the urge to pick up a paintbrush tingling in my fingertips for the first time in months. My mind floods with happy memories of Aurora and me, happiness igniting a spark in my chest for what seems like the first time in a long, long time.

And even though my heart still longs for her, I feel something inside of me change, shifting the wires and causing me to see color again. A world of rainbows fills my vision as the smile on my face resembles the sun, no longer feeling the freezing raindrops hit my skin as I walk past the couple still laughing and dancing in the rain. Paris in the rain is back, and I feel the electric feeling of what our love consisted of before it all went down the drain. 

I remember her smile before it dimmed. I remember her laugh before it lacked happiness. I remember her eyes before they lost that spark. I remember when she was genuinely happy with me, and it helps me see the light at the end of the road. That small golden light that leads me down the road and helps me become a better person for her. Because I know I have to see her again, and when I do, I have to be better. Not just for her, but for myself. I have to see my Flower again.

So I pick up my paintbrush and make the first stroke of yellow across the white canvas.