Sunflowers In December
Chapter One
Paris, December 1st
Loving things is strange. Loving people is even stranger. It requires a lot of sacrifice to be able to love; you have to learn how to surrender a part of yourself to someone else, how to let them see the you that really exists beneath everything you try to show the world.
Though great poems and novels make it seem as though it’s the easiest thing in the world — it’s not. Words can make it seem beautiful, and oh god — it is, really, at the heart of it. But it’s also a process. It’s like digging deep and rearranging your bones to fit a new version of yourself. Healing is never a convenient, or well-timed thing; it is just a thing that happens, and sometimes it happens in the presence of love.
Love cannot erase your past, your trauma or your insecurity, but it can feel like bathing in the warm sun, your tense muscles finally relaxing, your body slowly letting out the breaths it’s been holding for years.
Regulas Black is in love. He has been for quite some time now, and every time he thinks about James his heart seems to swell up and dance around his chest. It’s almost embarrassing how much he’s in love, but right now he’s buying flowers for his boyfriend at a Parisian street market and he couldn’t be happier. He’s found his person. Despite everything he’s been through, he’s found his person. What a magical feeling that is — to love somebody and know they love you too. It is, perhaps, the closest thing this world possesses to real magic. And it is a feeling he never wants to let fade.
It’s the first week of December, and the flower selection is still fantastic. That’s one of the strange little things he loves about Paris — it always feels like a sort of spring, even in the dark, crisp mornings of late winter. He has never been a big fan of winter. It’s always been Autumn for Regulas; the season of death, rebirth and surrender, slowly changing storm-ridden skies and strange feelings of nostalgia. Perhaps it’s something about the sudden change from the slow drag of too-hot summers that makes Autumn feel so unique; the first signs of leaves changing from emerald to gold. The sun faded, yet, the warmth of big knitted jumpers and warm cups of tea making him feel warmer in another, more comforting way than the blaze of summer. He also met James in Autumn, so it will always be autumn for him. But winter in Paris is nothing to be disputed. Especially this winter. He plans to make this a very special winter indeed.
He picks out a bunch of yellow sunflowers and accompanies them with some lovely white baby's breath and green leafy vines. Together it forms a rather grand bouquet — a little excessive for an ordinary Sunday — but when it comes to James, he thinks it's very much worth it. Where else in the world, could you find sunflowers in December? It is a small miracle.
He pays the flower vendor and runs over to a little café to grab an espresso. He has one more very important stop to make on the way home and needs all the energy he can get to make sure it goes perfectly to plan. His phone starts to buzz in his bag.
James: When will you be back? Bed is lonely without you :-(
Regulas: I’ll be back in an hour.
James: Pls hurry
James: Pls also bring coffee. I’ll make breakfast if you bring coffee.
Regulas: I’ll be back in an hour with coffee.
James: Thank you, love.
He goes back to the café and grabs James a maple vanilla latte, and himself a second espresso. James has a real sweet tooth in winter and has recently fallen in love with a very specific maple vanilla latte from that very specific cafe. Instead of going somewhere closer to home for a sub-par maple vanilla latte, he resolves to juggle his flowers and carry this one home for James; only the best for his James. Now with his hands filled with flowers and coffee, his body fully caffeinated, and his mind electrified with nerves, he hurries to his next destination.
The jeweller is tucked away on a little cobbled street not too far from their apartment. They specialise in bespoke wedding and engagement bands, made to order to a very specific set of design requests. If Regulas is anything, it’s specific. After months of secret appointments with designers and ring makers, it has finally come to this — the last appointment. He will inspect the ring, and, if no adjustments are needed, take it home and use it to propose to James.
He takes a deep breath before walking through the stained-glass doors of the little shop. The inside is all dark wood, from the panels that line the wall, to the large jeweller's desk at the back of the first room. The lighting is dim, and the air is stuffy in the way that most old Paris establishments are stuffy — comforting and warm, the smell of old books and metal lingering in the air.
“Bonjour Monsieur,” a small voice croaks out from behind the main desk.
“Bonne journée,” Regulas replies, politely. He is rarely ever as nervous as he is right now, and he takes every precaution to hide his shaking hands in his pockets and mask the shudder in his voice by saying as little as possible. This has to be perfect. He has it all planned, and he hates when things don’t go to plan.
“Mr Black!” The Jeweller exclaims as Regulas walks into the light. “You must excuse me! My eyesight is not what it used to be.”
The Jeweller, Monsieur Bonneville, is aware that Regulas speaks French fluently. But, like most modern French people, he loves to practice his English with Regulas. His accent is terrible, and as a result, the conversations they’ve had over the last few months have been stunted because of this. However, the man has a true talent for artistic creation and with a pen in his hand and a blank parchment beneath it, he can say more with his sketches than a thousand words could ever translate.
“Are you ready to see the ring?” He asks, and a gleam of excitement can be seen growing in his misted blue eyes, masked only by his gold-rimmed spectacles.
“Yes,” Regulas replies, tentatively following him to the table at the back of the shop. He watches the little old man as he pulls out a green velvet cloth and spreads it carefully over the wooden tabletop.
“Please, Monsi—Mr Black, take a seat.” He gestures to Regulas’s usual chair. After so many meetings, they seem to have settled into a routine.
Monsieur Bonneville takes his seat opposite Regulas and pulls a small black box with a gold clasp from the drawer beneath the table. He places it in front of Regulas and switches on the inspection light. “Would you like to do the honours?” He asks, eyeing the box.
This is it, Regulas thinks. This is the ring. The ring that will change everything forever. The anxiety he’d felt earlier only intensified as he looked at the box. This ring has to be perfect, because it's James’s ring, and if it’s not perfect — well, at this moment he felt as though the entire universe might implode. Get yourself together, he tells himself, this isn’t you.This is silly.
He picks up the box and gently slides the clasp to open it. The inside is green velvet like the one on the table, but in the centre of the box, like a tiny sun shining against the grass, is a gleaming gold band.
He was wrong to be worried, it’s perfect. Of course, it is. While most engagement rings are silver with one large diamond in the middle, Regulas has designed one that was way more ‘James’. It is a gold band, with little sunshine’s intricately carved into it. The rare amber diamonds he’d sourced were embedded within these carvings, and within the inner ring of the band, he’d had their initials carved. It had, admittedly, cost an absolute fortune and taken over a year to make. But he knew he had to get it right; it was a true labour of his love. Only the best for his James.
“It’s perfect.” He says, unable to hold back his smile. “I’m ready to take it home.”
“I do believe it is some of our finest work yet.” Bonneville beams at the little ring, shining brightly under the inspection light. “Do you know when you plan to propose?”
This is a little more conversation with a stranger than Regulas is usually confident with, however, he supposes Bonneville isn’t quite a stranger anymore. Not after almost a year of meetings. Sharing his plans is the least he can do for an old man who forged gold into sunshine for him.
“Yes,” Regulas replies. After months of deliberation and a thousand possible ideas, he’s decided to do it right here in Paris, in their flat. It would mean more in their little apartment than it would at any great wonder of the world — it’s the place that they’d built together, filled with things that they’d bought for each other and memories of starting their life together. It was the location of the first time he’d looked over at James, sitting across from each other, drinking their morning coffee and thought I’m going to marry you.
He would send James away on an errand — ask him to go and pick up a special wine he’d ordered for dinner, and he’d fill the flat with flowers and candles. By the time James got back, he’d be on one knee, ready to ask the big question. Ready to start their lives forever. “I’m going to do it at home, in our apartment.”
Bonneville smiles at this answer, as though he knows it’s the perfect one. “Very nice,” He says, “much better than all this…how do you English say it… ah — faff!”
Regulas stifles a laugh as the jeweller takes the ring over to the till and wraps it gently in tissue paper. He refuses a bag, instead opting to keep the ring close to him in his coat pocket.
“Now all that is left is the payment.” Bonneville smiles gently, although there’s a bit of sadness growing behind his glasses. Regulas wonders if perhaps he’ll miss the ring that he’s laboured over for so many months. Until the money is exchanged it belongs to him just as much as it does Regulas, just as much as it will James. The transaction is Bonneville’s final farewell to his art and final farewell to Regulas.
“You must come back to me and tell me how the proposal goes.” He says, looking down at the till as he rings up the final numbers, “I would like to know if my magic ring works.”
“Of course,” Regulas replies. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Excellent! Then we will meet again.” Bonneville beams outwardly this time. It occurs to Regulas for the first time that perhaps the old man might miss him too. “Now,” he points to the final number on the screen, “will that be cash or card?”.
The number on the screen is, quite frankly, extortionate by anyone else’s standards. For once Regulas feels very fortunate to have inherited the family business. It’s defiantly not the work he would have chosen for himself, but, at this moment, he is lucky to be able to swipe his card and not think twice about it.
He picks up his bundle of flowers and coffee, bids Bonneville a fond farewell, and begins the journey home.
It’s very hard not to spend the whole walk grinning madly, but he knows he has to get himself under control before he sees James — he can’t give anything away — not before it’s actually time to propose. He’s going to be my husband, is all he could think as he makes his way down the old streets, a slight dusting of frost cracking beneath his boots.
James picks up the phone to call Remus. He was beginning the process of whipping up breakfast; poached eggs, toast, hash browns and baked beans — a proper English breakfast in the beautiful city of Paris with his beautiful boyfriend. He’s very happy. He's also running out of time — time always seems to escape him here.
Living in Paris for the past two years has been a bit of a dream for James, and it’s felt hazy and soft in the way that that space between dreaming and reality too. In London he was always thinking, always moving, always going fast. Here, he feels like he can breathe a bit deeper. After 26 years of life, he’s learning how to take a moment for himself.
Today, however, he has a very important call to make and if he’s estimated it right he has about ten minutes before Regulas gets back, and Regulas is never not on time — he hates when things don’t go to plan — so he always sticks exactly to his word. If he says ‘I’ll be back in an hour’, James knows he will. It's an admirable quality, really, but at this particular time, James could do with him being a few minuets late.
The ringing finally stops.
“Remus!” James exclaims.
“James!” Remus matches his tone. James had gotten so used to French accents over the past two years that it’s always comforting to hear Remus’s kind half-welsh, half-British voice down the phone, a sweet reminder of home.
“Now. I don’t have long.” James says, “But I have something very important to discuss.”
“Are you okay?” Remus’ voice is tinged with concern, immediately worried. In his experience, James is rarely ever serious.
“Remus, my darling, I am more than okay. In fact, I’ve never been better. I’m in Paris, I’m making breakfast and I am deeply, deeply in love.”
“Okay… so what is this ‘something important’ about? And why are you in a rush?”
“Okay,” James takes a deep breath “okay, I’m just going to say it, okay.”
“Stop saying okay and say the thing!”
“I’m going to ask Regulas to marry me.”
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah.”
“OH MY GOD!”
“Yes. And I want to do it soon — before Christmas.”
“OH MY GOD!” Remus shouts down the line.
“I have to talk quickly because he’ll be home soon. But I was thinking it could be nice if we’re all together, you know — you and Sirius and Regulas and me. I found a little cottage in the countryside not too far from London, and I thought, if you guys were up for it, it could be a sweet way to propose. I was thinking of inviting my parents for dinner too. But, you’re our family, and I’d love it if you could be there.”
“Oh my god, James. I’m going to cry. This is all just so incredibly sweet. Stop saying things or you’ll make me cry, okay?”
“I mean every word.”
“Of course you do. And yes. I’d love to come. It might take some more convincing to get Sirius on board with ‘family bonding’ but I’m sure when I tell him—”
“You can’t tell Sirius. Not yet…it’s not that I don’t trust him, I mean, you know I love him just as much as I love you, it’s just the way he and Regulas are… well, I can’t risk them getting in an argument and him accidentally saying something. Plus, I think I’d like to talk to him about it first. As Reg’s brother, I kind of feel I should ask him for permission or something. Is that archaic? I mean, I’m going to do it whether he likes it or not, but I respect him enough to ask.”
“Hmm…” Remus replies, taking a moment to think. James takes the moment to pull his toast, which is now nothing more than charred remains, from the toaster and into the bin. “Yeah. Okay, I can’t say I disagree." Remus continues, "And for what it’s worth I think Sirius will appreciate you asking him, or, well, telling him your intentions. Brotherly love runs deeper than we know.”
“Okay. Great.” James breathes a small sigh of relief, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Now the big issue.”
“Oh here we go.”
“How on Earth, do we convince our respective lovers to come and spend a family Christmas in a cosy cottage with us?” It’s the biggest kink in James’s plan. How to actually get everybody in the same place at the same time. “I mean, Sirius and Regulas can’t know the actual reason we have to be there, so we need a cover that convinces them to come.”
“Maybe…” Remus says, “we tell them it’s my idea. We tell them both that I want to have a ‘good old family Christmas’. Make it seem like this whole cottage thing is my idea of a bonding trip. Sirius won’t say no to me, and Regulas won’t say no to you if you say you miss me. And how could you not miss me? I’m adorable.”
“You could do that? And I do miss you, by the way. Always.”
“Anything for you James, I’m your best friend.”
“On that note—”
“Oh my god, are you going to ask me to be your best ma—”
“Hmmm…” James teases, holding his thought, “you know, on second thought, I think I’ll save all the proposing for the cottage. Bye Remus.”
“Jame—”
James hangs up just in the knick of time. He hears Regulas’s keys jingling in the hallway as he slides his phone back into his pocket. He has to fight every natural instinct he has to keep grinning and suppress it into a normal, light smile. A ‘casual Sunday morning’ smile. A 'hello I am happy to see you the perfect amount’ smile. A ‘nothing is going on here' smile.
“James?” Regulas calls from the living room.
“I’m in the kitchen, love” James calls back, desperately trying not to sound too chipper.
Regulas walks in moments later with his arms filled with wild sunflowers, the most ridiculous, extravagant bunch James has ever seen. He looks at him with amazement.
“I know.” Regulas frowns, but James knows he wants to smile. He’s oddly stubborn that way — only allowing himself the briefest moments of light. “I know I went a little overboard. But they were so perfect. And it’s December, who gets sunflowers in December? It felt kind of like a Christmas miracle, so I bought you them all.”
He shuffles closer to James, holding out a big red cardboard cup with little white snowflakes on it, “I also got you a vanilla maple latte. It’s probably a little cold now but—”
“I love you,” James interrupts.
And all he could think about was the fact that this boy in front of him, this perfect, beautiful boy who bought him all the sunflowers in Paris is going to be his husband. He can’t imagine anything better. “I love you so bloody much.”