Petals Made of Ink #WattPride 2018

Petals Made of Ink -David

All David could think about was that man.

That man that everyone said was wrong to love. The tattooist that smoked outside in the alley way, that everyone said was dangerous. The beautiful man that had petals of monochrome running up and down his lean arms, the black lines contrasting with his pale skin, pulling David in. Closer.

Closer.

Yet.

So far away from his fingertips.

The older man clutched the bouquet of red roses, breaths unsteady as he ran a shaky hand through his blonde hair. Those eyes. Green, dark like.

The Florist watched as the rain poured down, the rain only succeeding in making him more stressed. Pitter, patter, drop, plop. It suddenly seemed cold.

He pressed his fingers against the glass of the window, lips parted as he watched, for any sign. Any glimmer of hope that would give him the courage. Though, courage could not be given. Only he, David, could give it. Make it for himself. Like the bouquet of flowers he had painstakingly moved into position.

For him.

He was called Marcelle.

David breathed out shakily, Marcelle Labrosse. The one he loved, yet the one he was told was not the one he was destined to be with. Not because he was dangerous. Not that he smoked. Was a dropout or had no qualifications. It wasn't that he had no family or that he didn't give a shit about anything. No, it was none of those.

There was only one problem.

The problem everyone had with he, David, loving Marcelle.

He was a guy.

Male. Masculine. Same sex. Not female.

------

"Dad?" Nine year old David asked.

His father grunted in reply, taking a puff from his pipe.

"Can two guys be parents?"

His father choked, spitting out his pipe and closing his newspaper. "Now where'd you get that idea?" The boy fiddled with his thumbs. Mumbling under his breath.

"SPEAK UP!"

"I-I- a boy at my school said-said that it wasn't good, and that god punishes those who do.. that stuff.." His father eyed him, placing his pipe back between his lips. "I don't believe in that god or idea. But what I do know."

His father leaned forward.

"Is that two men cannot be parents. Nothing like a mothers touch."

David frowned, chewing his lip. "But a girl at my school has two dads! And-and she's really nice!"

His father frowned. "Then don't be talking to her then. She's probably wrong in the head"

"She's the best at maths in the whole school-"

"And I bet that's all she's good for!"

"But why dad? Why can't-"

"Because." His father said simply.

"That's the way the world works."

-----

David checked his watch, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he let out a breath. The shop was dark. The only light, coming from a street lamp, lighting the dim room with an orange glow.

Cars passed as the rain grew heavier, the clouds blackening once more, like those dark eyes that glanced at him as he stared in through the window. Watching the pale man in awe.

David remembered the first time they had met. He let out a breathy laugh, filling the shop with a soft echoe. They had crashed into each other. Plant pots flying, ink splattering the ground. The two had stared at each other for a long time. Such a long time, until he asked.

"Who are you?"

Nothing. A wink, a pause and a tap on the nose.

And he vanished.

David could never tell if it was real or not.

If it as just an ethereal vision, or if he had been truly blessed.

Marcelle, he found out, was real. And as beautiful and as amazing as nothing he had ever seen before. His eyes, a dark green, long dark lashes that framed them. Pale face, body, arms lined with twisting black tattoos. Raven black hair, streaks of purple running through. Piercings, nose, lip, ears. Silver hanging from his wrists.

But was he meant to love him?

A guy.

Was there something wrong with him?

Why, why couldn't he just grow up, get married to a faceless woman with lots of faceless children. Meet people's expectations. Stay safe. Avoid attention. The bad kind at least.

Oh, words could not describe how nervous he was.

David could feel the tears pricking his eyes, choking his throat, making his stomach clench. Maybe Marcelle was straight?

That line of thinking got him going, the words, those thoughts, pouring into his head. He was so scared. Frightened. Men. Not women. Men. He liked men. David felt his knees weaken as he cast his eyes over the dimly lit empty cobblestoned street.

Here he was, at 34 years old, scared senseless over a crush,

But what a crush.

David, blinked the tears out of his blue eyes, straightening his jacket for what seemed like the millionth time, and walked out. Took the first step. Shoes hitting the wet ground. He stood in the rain, taking in another breath. A couple walked by, laughing under their umbrellas, linked arms. David steeled himself. And crossed the road.

Second step.

Across from him, stood a flaking red painted tattoo shop. The pink door closed. David gulped, running a hand over his messy blonde hair and holding the roses behind him. He raised his hand.

And knocked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times

Third step.

David closed his eyes and prayed, he could feel the anxiety creeping up on him, the disappointment. He had to be in, he just had to be.

He opens his eyes, watching the door fearfully. Maybe he could just go-

"Are those for me?"

David froze, his heart stopping in his chest. And there he was. Dressed in only a shirt and underwear. "I-yes, I thought-maybe you'd.. maybe you'd.. like.. them?" David was breathing rapidly, running a hand over his hair time and time again. "I-mean, you don't have to take them- I just-"

David yelped as the shorter man, grabbed his pink tie.

"Just kiss me gorgeous."

And as the couple kissed, the first rays of sunshine peeked through the clouds, brightening the sky, for a better tomorrow.