GRAYSON IS LOST IN THE cacophony of the typical 'Central Hospital' noise; discordant voices, wild trolleys, unnerving footsteps, baby wails etc. Let's not forget the bothering cleavage of the attendant on the other side of the counter.
"Sir!"
Grayson shakes the holy-water-worthy thoughts of the plethora of things he can do with her watermelons. Grayson doesn't know why he's doing this but his emotions hasn't been stable these days. He's like an incubus who lives off sex. He needs a good fuck to relieve his sanity. "Yeah, what?"
"You were asking for Dr. George?" Her pasty Asian face is round, surprisingly adorned with doe eyes - Grayson thinks all Asian's eyes are like needles - and is getting irritable by the minute.
"Oh yeah, when is the psycho going to be available?" By pyscho, Grayson means psychologist. And by psychologist, Grayson means Dr. George, his mom's personal therapist who is partially sponsored by Grayson. Alice may have sneaked in some of his dad's money for this but Grayson won't go an inch near his bloody blood money.
"Thursday -"
"Fuck! I knew I should've called him sooner." He was too busy deliberately misplacing biology projects just to spend time with a certain ginger. The certain ginger whose cologne is currently teasing Grayson's nostrils. He eyes the man beside him, he uses the same cologne as Alejandro?
"Hello."
"Hi. Uhm, sorry have we met before?" The tall guy who looks in his early twenties or possibly post-highschool stares him down. His thick, cupreous eyebrows furrows at Grayson like trying to pick a lock to a memory vault.
"You probably don't remember me but I'm Alejandro's friend -" Grayson coughs, "- classmate, Grayson."
The man's left eyebrow rises sharply. Grayson can only wonder how people do that. He thought it exists only in movies.
"We met the other day. I came over to your place for a school project." Grayson throws his hands around in nervous gestures. Because he is nervous. The man's aura is just too condescending. From his Derek Hale physique to his elegant brassy hair. Even his clothes and accessories scream money. His deep-set russet irises and well-aligned jawline aren't helping either. Surprisingly his voice is ironical to his appearance. It is soft, inviting and so light.
Definitely not like Alejandro's which is full of haughtiness and spite.
His mouth forms an O shape of realization before his bold eyeballs eye Grayson up and down.
"Oh, you're that blondie he was fucking in his room!"
Oh my gosh, he's so freaking loud! Grayson shifts uncomfortably on the spot like his boxers is itching nuts.
"I guess we've not been properly introduced. I'm Ambrose Bale."
Grayson blank stare can never be more embarrassing. He gazes at Ambrose's outstretched arm for a while in confusion before a bulb goes off in his head. Grayson mentally facepalms and shakes the other guy's firm hand.
"Grayson Jackson."
Ambrose has a rather amusing look on his face before shaking it off. "So, what brings you here to the hospital?"
Grayson has joined him on the long, metal bench now. They are watching nurses, doctors, patients, other people talking, walking and running helter-skelter while wheelchairs, stretchers, and other hospital equipments contribute their own share to the conundrum. It's always as if there's no minute that goes by that someone won't be on the verge of dying.
Grayson glares at the blinding amount of whites engulfing him. From the white walls, floors and lighting to the white outfits of the health officials. The typical cool temperature of the hospital just got colder due to winter creeping in and the air conditioners are just making matters worse. The sick drug smell is the most of his inconvenience.
"My mom is having some issues, so yeah." From the tone in his voice, Ambrose realizes Grayson doesn't want talk about it and Grayson is grateful for that. He isn't going to tell a total stranger that his mom is undergoing therapy which is somehow supposed to eradicate her chronic alcoholism and emotional dilapidation. "What about you?"
Ambrose cups his face in hands before releasing a deep sigh. "My girlfriend is terribly sick."
"Oh. Sorry about that."
"And I also came to get Alejandro's regular insulin dose. You know about it, right?"
Grayson blinks twice, flustered. "Know what?"
Ambrose's eyes widen like frisbees. "Never mind, never mind. Just - just forget it. Gosh, I'm such a loudmouth!" He mumbles as his hands run over his flawless hair. It just makes it sexier, made him look sexier.
Geez, am I crushing on my crush's older brother?
Or maybe it is because he looks like the perfect older, (daddy) version of him...
But why does Alejandro need insulin? Is this related to the fainting the other day? Grayson decides to forget it. He doesn't want Alejandro suddenly appearing from the air and bang his palms on whatever like the other day. Shit's scary.
"So is he seeing anyone presently?" Grayson has no freaking idea how the words happened. He slaps his palm over his mouth. They just did.
Ambrose's eyebrows fly up at the sudden question. Gosh, I needed to learn how to do that. Then he lets out a low chuckle that makes Grayson blush till he is the same color with Barbie's underwear. Right now, he just feels like gutting his heart out. "No, he is not seeing anyone right now as far as I know."
Grayson mentally sighs in relief. Well of course he knew Alejandro is single but he just wants to make sure the ginger is vacant. One of the things he despises the most is competition.
"You know he talks about you right? Like a lot."
Grayson snaps his head towards the ginger and a grin breaks out of his face without permission. His belly simultaneously flutters with billions of butterflies. Ambrose's amused smirk only grows.
"Really?" Grayson sounds eager and thirsty from the his tone. He hopes Ambrose doesn't pick the hint.
"Nope."
"Oh."
"Ambrose?"
Grayson looks back to see who interrupted Ambrose's laughing session. A pretty brunette with mocha skin, leaner than a wishbone stands idly in the middle of the hallway. She is holding probably a bag of medicine as she stares with hollow eyes. It takes Grayson little time to realize she is Ambrose's terribly sick girlfriend.
Ambrose stands up abruptly and walks towards her to help with the bag. "Nice meeting you again, Grayson." He waves at Grayson and the latter waves back before the couple exit the building.
It is like some cheesy romcom to Grayson watching their backs retreat especially when the girl suddenly bursts into tears. Ambrose wraps his arms around the girl and kisses her forehead. Grayson knows better than to poke his nose into their business. He knows pretty much how it feels if anyone would dare to meddle into his family matters so he takes it as his cue to leave.
Plopping into the driver seat of his rickety jeep, he opens his phone; no texts, no missed calls, no notifications. Today really is a boring day. At least, he doesn't have to wheelbarrow his mom - that would be ridiculous - into the trunk till they get to the hospital or, sometimes the therapist's house. He's fantasizing about how he'll cuddle Mr. Nickleberry and can't wait to get to his bed.
Grayson can't think of anything distracting his mission, definitely not a flower shop. His tires halt before the small building with 'CLOVER' ingrained on its head in obsidian San Serif fonts. Grayson may just be noticing the building. It seems new, and smells of new paint but when he takes his first step in, the refreshing scent of flowers takes over.
Grayson observes his surroundings. It's squeaky clean and one would've wondered how somewhere with so much flowers doesn't have a single petal or soil speck on the shining tiled floors.
But Grayson definitely expected the owner or a worker to be this gorgeous. She has the whole stature of a Victorian secret model; long and slim like a quill pen and her skin is pale as milk. Her enthralling green irises that are a little shade lighter than the apron she's wearing. Her lips are plump as a cupcake, but her chest is flatter than a pancake.
"How can I help you?" Her voice is sweet like a chocolate chip cookie. Grayson realizes he has been staring hard and shamelessly. Sascha's - the tag on her shirt says - affable countenance doesn't even flinch. How, sweet.
"Hoi, Miss. I would -"
"You can order from the counter." Her voice laterally inverts to something else, someone else's. Did Grayson do anything wrong?
He walks slowly to the counter with his hands shoved his pocket while still settling his gaze on the woman.
"What can we get you? Do you want a tarnation -" the brunet coughs, "a red carnation for your mom's birthday or chrysanthemums for your dad's funeral or lillies for your ex's wedding or hyacinths to say sorry to the young man you just mistook for a woman or a -"
"Okay okay I get it, wait what?"
He rolls his eyes and drums his fingers on the cash register. "So what can I get you?"
Sascha couldn't be male. Grayson shivers at the sight of the man/woman on the bed with him, him thinking she's a man and suddenly a dick pops out.
Suddenly, Grayson notices how sexy the dude in front of him - Montgomery is on his tag - is. All his pent-up libido decides to explode like an agitated soda can as Grayson imagines his lips on Montgomery's cherry ones, his tongue on the other guy's axe jaw, his teeth on the nape of his neck that reminds him of a pizza edge, his mouth around his bulging Adam's apple.
Grayson definitely neither imagined Montgomery scribbling his number on his palm nor riding him in his own room later that night, but it comes to pass.
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If you guys know CLOVER written by the amazing Vapid_Ink you would've noticed the reference.