We Need to Talk

Chapter 1

Mr. Plant's eyes slowly unfocused and moved slightly downwards as he unconsciously turned his attention away from the television and towards his hands, which were folded in his lap, constantly massaging themselves in a fit of fidgets. His mind was filled with static—a feeling he was used to—but something was different this time. It felt as if the static was overtaking his entire body, purging it of all sensation. Normally, this would have been freeing to him. Euphoric, even.

But today, he wasn't alone.

Argos inched closer to Mr. Plant, shifting his gaze back and forth between him and the television. He hadn't noticed his boyfriend's change in mood—mainly because he always had that unnerving smile plastered on his face. Argos considered that smile mildly comforting, unlike others.

What he did notice, however, was Mr. Plant's sudden lack of interest in the television screen. Strange, he thought, his several eyes narrowing. He usually looks more at that screen than he looks at me. It doesn't seem like he's looking at anything now.

"Mr. Plant?" Argos started sheepishly, his eyes locking onto Mr. Plant's jittery hands. "Are you alright?"

All Mr. Plant could hear was a loud, gray hum of noise drowning out everything. The scope of his vision narrowed, a dark shadow closing in on all that he could see. The vague shape of a hand came into his view.

It was Argos's hand, waving slowly back and forth in front of Mr. Plant's face.

"Mr. Plant?" Argos said again, a little louder this time.

Trying to force himself back into reality, Mr. Plant took hold of Argos's hand. Maybe touching something would make him feel again.

"Oh, uh," Argos stammered, not knowing what to say. His eyes widened anxiously. "You're... you're hurting my hand..."

As the darkness lining his vision disappeared, Mr. Plant realized he could feel, see, hear, think again. He loosened his grip on Argos's hand and quickly stared downwards—purposefully this time. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Argos by accident, but at the same time, he didn't want his boyfriend to see the guilt in his eyes.

Argos massaged his hand with a rhythm similar to Mr. Plant's anxious stims. Mistaking Mr. Plant's guiltily tilted head for one of exhaustion, Argos got up and turned off the television—keeping his eyes locked onto Mr. Plant, so as not to miss another sudden mood change. As he hesitantly pushed the power button, Argos felt a tinge of relief to see that Mr. Plant wasn't mad at him for turning the television off. He just continued staring down at the floor, his hands no longer fidgeting.

"Is everything okay, Mr. Plant?" Argos murmured. After a few seconds, Mr. Plant's head jerked upwards in what looked like surprise, and the tear streaks on his face appeared... shinier than usual.

Argos made his way to where Mr. Plant sat, and carefully wiped the fresh tears away. When he noticed Mr. Plant's fists clenching, he backed off.

"I was only trying to help." Argos raised his hands up in a gesture that meant, I'm sorry. I get it now. You need space.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked in a worried tone.

To this, Mr. Plant responded with a common gesture for him. A shrug of the shoulders, accompanied by a slight sideways tilt of the head.

"... okay. I'm going to go back to my void now. If you need anything, give me a—"

Argos was cut off as Mr. Plant grabbed his hand once again. He had a vulnerable light in his eyes—one that Argos had never seen reach the surface before—and it frightened him. This was a flower who would kill for him—who would kill him if provoked—and for the first time since Argos had known him, it seemed that Mr. Plant was... scared.

Mr. Plant shook his head slowly and gravely as if to say, don't leave me alone. I can't trust myself tonight.

"O-okay," Argos stuttered, plastering a soft smile on his face to hopefully hide the shock. "Do you want me to sleep in here on the couch or—?"

Cutting Argos off again, Mr. Plant got up from the couch and started towards his bedroom—without letting go of Argos's hand.

"Oh, alright," Argos laughed as he was dragged along. "You've never shown me your room before. Kind of strange to think about, huh?" This elicited no response from Mr. Plant. They both knew that even though Mr. Plant had never taken Argos to his bedroom, Argos had been there before. Neither of them could forget the countless nights that Mr. Plant had awoken from nightmares to find Argos hiding in the shadows, occasionally given away by the sound of a camera shutter. Argos had been meaning to tell Mr. Plant that he had disposed of those pictures as soon as the two of them became an item.

Instead of voicing either of their thoughts aloud, Argos simply smiled an awkward smile as a small, shaky giggle escaped his lips.

Mr. Plant's room wasn't much. A bed, a photo of Mr. Flower, and a calendar. The left wall showcased a plethora of tally marks counting the days Mr. Plant had spent in his void. Argos had a tally wall of his own, so this wasn't new to him. There was, however, a new photo on the far wall. One of Mr. Plant and Argos, sitting side by side behind a row of Argos's favorite plants.

"You kept it," Argos spoke in a breathy half-whisper, the first genuine smile of the night breaking out across his face. The smile quickly disappeared as Argos gasped, his free hand shooting up to cover his mouth. The words had come out before he could stop them. He couldn't let Mr. Plant know how desperate he was to know his feelings were reciprocated, how happy it made him when Mr. Plant actually showed he cared.

Mr. Plant—who still held onto Argos's hand semi-tightly—nodded in response, his eyes locking onto the photograph.

After a silent moment, Mr. Plant led Argos to his bed. He let go of his hand and held his arm out as if to say, you first.

Argos hoped it was dark enough in the room that Mr. Plant couldn't see him blushing.

Argos hurriedly got under the covers, folding the blanket back next to him and making sure there was plenty of space for Mr. Plant. This was his bed, after all.

Taking his time, Mr. Plant settled himself under the blanket and made sure the pillows were set up correctly—he liked to sleep sitting a little more upright, with the pillows perched vertically to support his head.

Once a few seconds of still silence had passed, Argos turned to Mr. Plant, who was looming dangerously over him.

"Goodnight, Mr. Plant," Argos croaked, his voice barely audible.

Mr. Plant's head rotated to face Argos, his eyes shimmering in the darkness. Argos felt himself shrink under the covers, regretting saying anything at all.

Ominously, Mr. Plant reached out towards Argos's face, his hand moving ever-so-slowly. Argos squeezed his many eyes shut in anxious anticipation. To his surprise, all he felt was a gentle pat on his fluffy black curls.

"Oh," Argos squeaked, opening his eyes. "Th-thank you."

Mr. Plant went back to staring at the opposite wall—presumably waiting to fall asleep.

Argos stared at the ceiling, where Mr. Plant had glued a set of stars—his favorite thing. As Argos drifted off to the sound of Mr. Plant's slightly unsteady breathing, he wondered if it was too early in their relationship to say "I love you."

Mr. Plant's mind, on the other hand, was occupied with one question: why don't I want Argos to leave?