After three weeks of anxiety and worry, order was restored to Clive's life. Once more, he found himself back on Jill's doorstep once a week. Every Monday afternoon, after he had finished work for the day, he'd linger at the shop for just a little longer and purchase a small bouquet of snow daisies. Cid teased him relentlessly about his new paramour, and the snow daisies weren't exactly cheap even with his employee discount, but it was worth it to see the smile on Jill's face when he arrived on her doorstep, flowers in hand, and get to talk with her for a few minutes. It was the highlight of his week.
Despite his initial reservations, they were more or less able to slip back into their usual routine. He had worried that after a separation of almost a month, they would lose much of the familiarity and comfort that they had cultivated. Instead, it only seemed to grow stronger with each visit as Jill asked him about his life, his work, his hopes and dreams and shared her own.
And during every visit, she would ask about her "secret admirer" too, prodding him for details or to reveal his identity. Clive always deflected. On rare occasions, she would manage to coax a new detail from him on accident, and Clive would always bite his tongue and regret it despite the look of delight on her face at each new piece of information that he revealed. She could never know the truth. He could never tell her what he had done, that the person who was delivering her flowers and the person who ordered the flowers to be delivered were one and the same. He had already betrayed her trust by bringing her those flowers the first time, though she didn't know it - and if he had it his way, she would never find out.
So he contented himself with what they had. He had her friendship, her kindness. He had a source of connection that he hadn't had in years - perhaps ever . That he was lucky enough to see her every week was already more than he deserved. It was enough - more than enough, even. To ask for more, to desire it when he was already so fortunate, would be selfish. Besides, to say he was unhappy would be a blatant lie. He loved to spend time with Jill, and once again, he found himself looking forward to the end of his Monday shift, so he could deliver her a handful of snow daisies and bask in her presence.
The year was nearing a close on one such Monday afternoon many weeks later, and the weather had taken a turn from dreary and gray but mild to frigid and icy. Snow was starting to fall in fat clumps on his drive to Jill's apartment building, and the flakes caught in his lashes when he stepped out of the car. He blinked to dislodge them and hunched his shoulders against the chill as he gathered up his weekly delivery of snow daisies. He jogged to the overhang of her building and brushed the accumulated frost from the shoulders of his coat, glancing out at the parking lot. It was late in the year, so night fell quickly. The swiftly darkening sky, combined with the snow coming down harder in flurries, meant he could barely see his car from where he stood. He'd have to be careful on his drive back home.
Though the lobby was only slightly warmer than the outside air, the hallway to Jill's apartment was thankfully well-heated, and he sighed in relief as the chill started to leave his bones and the warmth seeped back into his skin. By the time he was tapping on her door, Clive was no longer shivering, though there was still a healthy flush to his cheeks which he would certainly just blame on the cold if he was asked.
He jumped when the front door tore open to reveal a wild-eyed Jill. "Clive!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
He looked at her with bewilderment. "It's Monday," he said lamely. Did she not want him to be here? He clenched the snow daisies just a little tighter in his hand, suddenly worried that he had disturbed her. He would have thought that she would have come to expect him by now after showing up at her doorway every Monday for weeks on end, but maybe he shouldn't have presumed. "I have a delivery for you."
"Yes, yes, from my secret admirer," Jill waved him away, but despite the dismissiveness of the motion, her eyes were wide and concerned. "Did he really have to send you out in a whiteout blizzard? It's dangerous to drive in these conditions."
"It wasn't so bad on my way over here," he told her. She had mentioned before that bad weather made her nervous, and she worried about her friends driving during storms. He could imagine that the poor visibility of a snowstorm would make her even more anxious.
"But then you have to drive back ," she said. "Will you stay for a while? At least until the worst of the storm has passed? I know you're working, but surely your boss will understand if you give him a call."
Technically, Clive had been off the clock for a while - he had finished his last delivery before he had picked up Jill's bouquet for the day, but he couldn't tell her that. "You're my last stop for the day," he replied. "I don't have anywhere else I need to be after this - if you want me to stick around for a while, that is." And oh, how he did . Once more, he was touched that she was worried about his safety, but he was even more flattered that she was inviting him in for more than casual conversation. She wanted him to stay with her, at least until the storm passed. It could be hours . Surely she knew that as well as he did, and yet she had still invited him into her home to spend time with her.
"Of course I want you to stick around. I'm always happy when you're here, especially when you stay and talk with me for longer," Jill sighed, the relief evident in her voice. Her words brought a flush to his cheeks. "Come in, please? You can take your coat and shoes off, if you'd like."
"I will," Clive said, and Jill stepped back from the front door to usher him inside.
The first thing Clive noticed as soon as he stepped through the front door was the view out the sliding glass door to Jill's balcony. Her apartment was housed about halfway up the high-rise apartment building, and from here the snow looked like it was falling thick and heavy. Especially with the swiftly falling darkness and the wind whipping the snow past the window, it looked like whiteout conditions, far worse than the storm it actually was on the ground. He couldn't blame Jill for worrying about her friends driving through this.
The second thing he noticed was that there were about a dozen people crammed into Jill's apartment, and every single one of them had turned to stare at him. Clive froze with his jacket halfway off his shoulders, a deer in the headlights, as their eyes fixed upon him.
"I was having a small Starlight Celebration party earlier in the day," Jill said apologetically, and took his jacket by the back of the collar to help him out of it. It was only the feeling of her gently tugging on the fabric that got him to move again, albeit mechanically, hyper-aware of all of the other people in the room.
"Yeah, and then she trapped us all here," a man sitting at the dining room table complained. "She said we couldn't leave until the storm passed. Looks like you've been roped into this, too. Sorry, friend."
"Pardon me for worrying about your safety," Jill shot back with a roll of her eyes.
A woman sitting on an armchair in the living room shrugged. "She just wants to make sure we all get home in one piece," she responded, "and she's right - it's not safe to drive in these conditions. Besides, there are worse places to be trapped. We're surrounded by good company, there's food and alcohol aplenty, and we have party games to entertain us in the meantime."
"Here, here," Jill agreed with her. "Stop complaining or I'll stop feeding you." She turned to Clive and set a hand on his shoulder. "Looks like there's room on the couch. Do you want to take a seat over there? I'll go get you something warm to drink - you look like you're freezing."
The shiver and flush to his cheeks wasn't just from the cold, but from anxiety as well. Clive already struggled speaking one on one with people. He couldn't remember the last time he had been invited to a party of any sort - probably when he had still been a child living with his mother, dragged along to her own social events. They had been unpleasant to say the least. He remembered the clothes being itchy, and the feeling of being trapped as the adults loomed over him. Even worse was his mom dragging him aside periodically to hiss vitriol at him about how he wasn't being social enough, criticizing him for not greeting the important people flitting around the room, scolding him for making her look bad. All he could do was stammer out an apology, but despite her best efforts he struggled to come up with anything to say, anything at all, to the strangers that basked in his mother's presence.
He didn't think he had been to a party since. There had been the occasional year-end parties held at the few jobs he had managed to last more than a few months at, but he had always declined, assuming he was invited at all. Cid had been debating holding one, but had said that they'd have to delay it until after the new year. With the holidays right around the corner, the whole shop was overwhelmed with orders, and everyone was exhausted by the end of the day, including Clive himself. Better to delay it by a few weeks and hold it when everyone was feeling refreshed. Clive hadn't decided if he would go yet. On one hand, he knew everyone at Cid's Flowers rather well at this point, and was as comfortable with them as Clive ever got with anyone. On the other hand, Clive wasn't exactly a social butterfly - even if he was on good terms with everyone who would be there, he didn't want to bring down the mood.
Being thrown into a party unexpectedly was overwhelming to say the least. He knew that, as far as parties went, this was a relatively small one, but the ten or so people scattered about sitting on every free surface were all strangers, and Clive did poorly speaking with strangers when he didn't have a script prepared. What did one even say at a party? What should he do?
Clive robotically made his way over to the free space on the couch that Jill had pointed out. Calling it an "open spot" was generous - there was a tiny sliver of space between the arm of the couch and the woman sitting in the center. Thankfully, she was kind enough to scoot to the side, sidling up to the person on the opposite end of the couch to make room for him with a simple, "Sorry, here you go." He sat down in the space she had made for him, but he was tense, his shoulders stiff as he worried about what to do, about the crowd of people surrounding him. He leaned against the arm of the couch to make more space for the person next to him despite the fact that it put him closer to the woman in the armchair next to it and did his best to act natural.
"Damn, you're big ," the woman on the couch next to him said, and Clive shrunk in on himself when he realized she was speaking to him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, ducking his head.
"No, no, I meant it as a compliment," she said, flashing him a smile. "I'm impressed. How much do you lift?"
Clive didn't know what to say to that. "What?" was all he could say dumbly.
"Wait, don't tell me," she said with a mischievous grin. "I bet I can guess." Suddenly, her hands shot out and wrapped around his arm. Clive jumped at the sudden touch. She smoothed her fingers over his bicep, tickled them over his chest. Clive froze at the unexpected contact. "Three hundred? Two fifty?" she purred. Clive froze, warring with the instinct to push her away. He didn't want to accidentally hurt her, and shoving one of Jill's friends off of the couch would not be a great impression to make, but her touch made him anxious and distressed. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't simply tell her that she was making him uncomfortable.
"Stop that, Asta, you're making him uncomfortable," Jill said, a pair of steaming mugs in her hands and an annoyed look on her face.
"Oh," Asta said, and immediately withdrew. "Sorry," she said, directing it to both Jill and himself. "I was just curious, and I couldn't resist."
"I bet you couldn't," Jill muttered, before saying more loudly, "Scoot over, you're in my seat."
Asta obediently moved further away from Clive and closer to the man on the opposite side of her. Jill squeezed in between the two of them, and Clive's breath caught in his throat. There had been barely enough room on the couch when he had first sat down, but now they were positively packed in. Jill's leg was pressed up against his from thigh to knee, her shoulder knocking against his own.
She turned and handed him one of the mugs and crossed her legs one over the other, giving him just slightly more room. "Sorry about her," she said to him, turning to look at him in the small amount of space that they had. Like this, he was very aware of how close he was to her, and it made him simultaneously want to shrink away from her and lean into it. "She means well, she's just a little...over-eager around new people, I suppose," she continued on. "Are you all right?"
Clive nodded and took a sip from his drink. It was warm on his tongue and heated his frozen fingers as he cradled it between his hands. It was creamy and tasted of cinnamon and nutmeg. Eggnog, he realized, though a dry version, he suspected, considering there was no burn as it coursed down his throat. "I'm fine," he finally managed to croak. "I'm just...not great in large groups," he admitted, glancing away from her. He knew it wasn't a great trait to have. He wished more than ever that he knew how to be charismatic and sociable, so he could charm her friends and sweep her off of her feet.
"Sorry to throw you into this," she murmured, and when he looked back at her, she was wearing an apologetic smile. "I don't know what I'd do with myself if something happened to you while you were making a delivery to me, so thank you for humoring me. I know it's a little awkward to be thrown into a party of people you barely know."
The situation was hardly awkward - it was him that was the problem, he was sure of it. "It's fine," he mumbled. "I appreciate your concern."
"Still, I feel bad," she told him. "Don't worry - I'll stick with you and help you out. I will admit that it will be nice to be able to chat with you for a little longer this time around. Is that...something you want?"
All of her friends were packed into one room with her, and she wanted to talk to him . Clive was beyond flattered, and more than a little confused. He was pretty sure that she enjoyed his company, he just couldn't fathom why .
Still, he wasn't about to look a gift chocobo in the mouth. "I'd love that," he whispered, and she beamed at him.
"Good," she replied with a nod. "I'm glad."
"As charming as this all is," the woman in the armchair interrupted them, and Clive jumped, suddenly realizing that he had been leaning in, laser-focused on Jill. He startled back, blushing, and focused his eyes on his mug, folding his hands over it and resting the base against the knee. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend, Jill?" she asked.
"Of course," Jill said diplomatically. "Tarja, this is my friend, Clive. He works at a local florist's shop delivering flowers. He was actually dropping off a delivery for me, so I invited him in for a while until the storm passes so he wouldn't freeze to death outside or crash in the snow."
"Ah," Tarja hummed, a wicked gleam lighting up in her eyes. "The secret admirer ."
He supposed it wasn't surprising that Jill had told her friends that she had been receiving gifts from a secret admirer, it wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence. The thought that she had been delighted enough by his gifts to tell her friends about it made his heart flutter and his cheeks warm. Still, he couldn't let her friend live under the misconception that he was the secret admirer. He didn't want them to think worse of her for associating herself with him. "Sorry, no," Clive said, fiddling with the rim of his cup. "I just deliver flowers from him."
"Mm-hm," was Tarja's only response. "My mistake." She wasn't looking at him, but instead just past him at Jill with raised eyebrows. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jill move, but when he turned to look at her, she was looking directly at Tarja, her elbow on her knee and mouth covered with her fist, her expression carefully blank. He glanced back and forth from one to the other, but was unable to discern what had just transpired between them.
Jill quickly changed the subject, and his chance to figure out what had just occurred disappeared. "Clive, this is Tarja," she continued the introductions as if there hadn't been a sudden interruption. "Tarja is my boss. She, ah, took over as the head of our company several weeks ago. She actually has reason to thank you."
"I do?" Tarja said, her brows pulling together in confusion.
"Yes," Jill replied. "Clive made some wonderful recommendations for flowers for me recently - ones that you may be familiar with."
Tarja's expression softened. "Oh," she realized. "You were the one delivering flowers for the office and for my father."
The pieces fell into place suddenly. Tarja was now the owner of the company where Jill worked - the same company she had been getting flowers for when the founder was ill and dying. Jill had mentioned that he had a daughter who had taken on much of his day to day duties, and would officially take over the company in full now that he had passed. It must have been Tarja she had been referring to all this time.
Clive's eyes darted to Tarja, but then back to his mug before he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, that was me. Jill told me what happened. I'm sorry for your loss." It seemed such a trite and cliché statement, but Clive didn't know what else to say to offer her comfort. He was only able to fall back on the same niceties said in every movie he had ever watched.
There was a flash of pain in her eyes before they softened. "Thank you," Tarja said. "The past several months haven't been easy, but we're getting through it. I will say, though, that receiving the flowers was wonderful. We got so many visits and phone calls from friends at the office sharing what that week's bouquets made them think of, and we were always excited to see the next week's delivery. With those flowers, even if no one was with him, he never truly felt alone, even up until the end." Tarja swallowed thickly and looked away.
His heart went out to her. He remembered how difficult it was to lose his own father as a teenager, the pain he had grappled with as he tried to come to terms with the unexpected loss. Tarja was older than he was when he had lost Elwin, and she had plenty of warning about his passing, but it didn't make the loss any less real or any less painful.
Still, he didn't know what to say to help to ease that pain. "I'm sorry," he said again, fumbling for words. "It's hard to lose a parent, but I'm glad the flowers helped."
"They did," Tarja said, and there was a small smile that spread across her face, though the sadness was still in her eyes. "They were wonderful. I would have liked to receive more, but we got so many flowers after he passed, we were overwhelmed. We needed to think about sorting out his possessions and organizing the memorial, we didn't have time to find places for all the flowers we received. I had to tell people to stop sending them and just donate to their favorite charity in his name. I did feel a little bad afterwards - I had heard Jill had formed a friendship with someone at the florist's, but I couldn't stand to have any more flowers brought to me. It certainly is fortuitous that she gained a secret admirer with a love for flowers not long after that."
"Yeah," Clive echoed, trying to keep his tone neutral so that he wouldn't accidentally let anything slip. "Fortuitous."
"Very much so," Jill chimed in, but she was quick to change the subject. "Why don't we play a party game if you're all stuck here with me for a while? I've got a trivia game I can cast on the television and we compete with our phones."
"Sounds fun," Tarja said.
"I'm down!" Asta chimed in from Jill's opposite side.
"Let's do it," the man at the dining room table said.
Clive ended up spending several hours at Jill's apartment. The one trivia game became two, and then five, and then ten, and then they swapped to a comedic fill-in-the-blank game. Clive was rather pleased when one of his answers won a round of voting, and the crowd cheered and guffawed when his name popped up on the screen with his winning answer; everyone was surprised that someone as quiet as him came up with such a dirty answer. Jill nudged his shoulder and grinned at him when she realized he had won, and he couldn't help but smile back.
After that, they broke for snacks, and Jill left his side to dig out platters of finger food from the refrigerator and distribute them. She made another round of the room asking if anyone wanted a drink, and ice water, eggnog, and mugs of tea went out. Clive was even graced with a refill, though this time of hot cocoa rather than eggnog. It was rich and steaming, complete with a sprinkle of cinnamon added in for extra flavor.
Jill was, in every way, a perfect hostess in that moment, flitting from person to person, checking in with their needs and comfort and providing food and drink and directions to the restroom when needed. He was impressed by her sociability, her ability to read the room and anticipate her guests' needs, picking up on ones that Clive wouldn't have even considered. Best of all, once she had finished her rounds, she returned to Clive's side and sat with him again, smiling gently at him as she asked how he was feeling, if he was comfortable, if he was doing all right.
To his great surprise, he was. He had been overwhelmed by all the people when he had first walked into her apartment and more than a little nervous about the idea of attending a party, but he actually found himself relaxing as the affair went on. Jill's friends were charming and amicable, and didn't fault him if he was quiet. It was easiest when he got caught in a conversation with at least two other people. The others would carry on, and Clive would listen in and wouldn't feel forced to chime in to fill an awkward silence since they were already chatting with each other. Every once in a while, if he really felt strongly about a topic, he'd say something, and they'd quiet down to hear him and then answer his question or respond with warmth and without judgment. He even managed to befriend one of the others at the event, a blond man named Rodrigue. Somehow, the topic of pets came up, which led to the two of them hovering over their phones so Clive could show him pictures of Torgal and Rodrigue would show him pictures of his three cats in return.
Best of all, Jill was with him every step of the way. She stayed by his side, introducing him to people and continuing conversations when he found himself at a loss for words. Oftentimes, when the others turned to talk to someone else, Jill would touch his arm and draw him back in to her to ask about his work or his childhood or his interests. It was just like their usual weekly conversations, just much longer, since neither he or she had anywhere else to rush off to.
Despite all that, Clive found himself wearying as the night wore on. Getting to spend time with Jill was euphoric, but his social battery was beginning to run empty after several hours of hanging around strangers. After some time, he noticed that the sky outside of her window had cleared. There was snow heaped upon her railings and the balcony, and the sky was still a dreary gray covering the blackness of the night, but he could now see the buildings across the way, as well as the parking lot below, though it was covered in a thin layer of mist.
He gently reached out to touch Jill's wrist to get her attention away from the conversation she was listening to on her opposite side. "I think I should get going," he murmured to her.
"Already?" she whispered back. "I'd love to have you here for a bit longer."
Her words were tempting and warmed him from within, but as much as he enjoyed spending time with her and as much as he liked her friends, the crowd was starting to wear him thin. "I have to be up early tomorrow morning," he said regretfully, "And I still need to drive home."
"I understand," she replied, but still sounded disappointed. "Maybe I'll plan something on a weekend next time so you can stay later - if you'd like that."
She wanted him to come to another party of hers, even after he had struggled to be sociable throughout this whole event. She and her friends had been very kind to him even as he had inelegantly stumbled his way through making conversation. Despite his awkwardness, she still wanted him to come back and meet up with her and her friends again. Did that mean that she considered him a friend, too?
He decided against chasing that train of thought too far. He didn't want to presume that they were closer than they actually were. Still, her words gave him the tiniest flicker of hope that, over time, they could grow incrementally closer - that one day, she might come to value him as much as he admired her.
"That would be nice," he whispered in response, and she smiled at his words.
"I'll make sure to save an invite for you," she said, and stood from her seat. "I'll grab your coat if you want to put your shoes on," she told him before heading off into the other room.
"Heading out so soon?" Tarja asked as Clive stood from his seat, stretching his legs after so long sitting in one position. He flexed his shoulders, feeling something in his neck pop and some of the stiffness release.
"I am," he told her. "I have to be up early. The flower shop is busy this time of year."
"Pity," she replied. "I should probably leave soon, too - same for the rest of this lot. I better see most of them in the office tomorrow morning, this isn't an excuse to skip work."
Clive only hummed in agreement. "It was nice to meet you, Tarja," he said by way of goodbye as he stepped out from behind the coffee table and made his way out of the living room.
"Likewise," Tarja responded. "See you next time. I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon enough."
Clive certainly hoped so. He didn't know how often Jill held engagements like this, but he hoped he would be allowed at the next one.
Jill met him at the front door with his coat. He made to take it from her, but instead, she held it open by the edges. Obediently, he turned his back to her and slid his arms through the sleeves, and she pulled it over his shoulders. Jill smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle on the back of it, and he savored the feeling of her hand running over his shoulder, a rare bit of contact between them that he delighted in.
"I suppose I'll see you next time," she said as she opened the front door for him. "Next Monday?"
"I hope so. It would depend on what your admirer decides." He knew that the admirer certainly would be ordering more flowers for her at the beginning of next week - but revealing that to her would be akin to revealing his identity, which he wasn't ready to do yet.
"Mm-hm," Jill hummed neutrally. "I'll see you next Monday, then?"
He cracked a wry smile at her. "Your guess is as good as mine. I'll see you later?"
"See you later. Drive safe."
But as Clive was stepping out of the door, a voice called out from the living room. "Clive, you can't leave yet!" It was Asta, the young woman from before.
Clive's brow furrowed, and he turned back to Jill's guests. "He can't?" Jill asked for him.
"She's right," Tarja agreed. "It's tradition ."
Clive glanced over at Jill, wondering if there was some bit of party etiquette that he wasn't privy to, but Jill looked just as confused as he did. "Tradition?" she questioned, bewildered.
Suddenly, Tarja was grinning. "You haven't noticed yet, have you?"
"Noticed what?"
"Take a look." Tarja nodded towards the doorway. Clive glanced around them, but didn't see anything that would cause her to cry out to stop. He looked back at Jill, but her eyes were fixed somewhere above his head, transfixed with a serious expression. Befuddled by the strange look upon her face, Clive glanced up.
Hanging above Jill's front door was a small plant, the stems facing up towards the ceiling. The oval-shaped leaves were dangling down over the entrance, complete with small, white berries scattered between them.
Mistletoe.
Clive turned crimson. Had that been there when he had walked in? He wasn't sure - he didn't remember seeing it, but he also hadn't been looking up when he first walked through the door since Jill had practically dragged him inside. If it had been, no one had put up much of a fuss about it the first time he passed under it.
Jill had turned her back to the mistletoe, her eyes going icy as she glared back at her friends. "All right, who snuck that up there?" she demanded.
"It's not really a Starlight Celebration without mistletoe," Asta trilled, a delighted smile on her face.
"Yes, it's not really a party until we're forcing people to kiss each other," Jill snapped back.
Her tone hurt. Even though he knew her frustration was directed at her friend, it still pained him to know that the thought of kissing him disgusted her, that she would only do so under duress and pressure from her friends, and even then it would be reluctantly.
"It's fine," Clive said, and did his best not to let how badly her words had bruised his ego show. Even though it hurt to hear her say it, even if she never wanted to kiss him, he was still happy to be in her company. He didn't want her to force herself just because her friends were looking for a show. "We don't have to kiss. Don't feel like you're obligated to just because there's mistletoe in the doorway."
Before he could turn to leave, Jill's hand shot out and wrapped around his elbow, preventing him from walking away. "Don't interpret my words for me," she warned sharply, and Clive tensed a bit. Then, her tone gentled, and when he glanced back, her eyes had softened. "I just meant that I don't want you to feel pressured if you don't want to. I want you to be comfortable with it, and I certainly don't want you to feel like you're forced to put on a show just because of some silly tradition."
Clive relaxed as she spoke. So it didn't have anything to do with not wanting to kiss him, but instead about being worried about his comfort - just as he had been for her own. Truthfully, Clive had imagined their first kiss over and over again. He had imagined himself as someone confident and daring, that one day he'd get up the courage to tell her how he felt and draw her into him, or their passions would overcome them and they'd meet in the middle like some sort of dramatic romance movie. Kissing her due to the encouragement of others watching had yet to show up in his fantasies, but he had a feeling that the romance of kissing her under the mistletoe during the holidays would soon feature in many of his dreams. Even if it was a bit selfish, shouldn't he take the opportunity to make that vision a reality when the opportunity was right in front of him?
Still, he didn't want her to feel like she had to if she really didn't want to, and wanted to give her an easy out to escape the situation. "Are you traditional?" he blurted out.
A look of consternation crossed over Jill's face. "Excuse me?"
"I just meant..." he paused awkwardly, trying to figure out what exactly he had meant and how to best phrase it. "It's nice to practice some traditions. I think they can be pleasant to participate in. But you don't need to partake in every tradition if you don't like them." If you don't like me , he added silently, and promised to himself that he wouldn't be hurt if she said no after that.
Jill's eyes were wide as she looked up at him, and she turned away from the group now watching them with baited breath to fully face him. "I...can be traditional. In the right moment. For the right person. Would you...like to partake in a holiday tradition? With me?"
Clive's mouth went dry, and he swallowed thickly to try to moisten his throat enough to respond to her. "Yeah," he said hoarsely.
Slowly, Jill drew closer. Clive was very aware of the dozen or so eyes on them, leaning forward in their seats and deathly silent as she approached him. She set one hand on his elbow, and the other rested on his chest, sliding slowly up towards his shoulder. Gooseflesh prickled beneath his clothing anywhere that she touched, and he leaned down just slightly to get closer to her.
When her head was very close to his, Jill's head tilted slightly as she took him in. "Is there somewhere it'd be okay to kiss you?" she murmured, her eyes scanning over his face for any trace of discomfort or hesitation.
She wouldn't have found any. Clive was nervous, but he had never wanted anything so much in his life . He could think of a million places he wanted to feel her lips, some appropriate for present company, some definitely not. There were so many options that he found himself paralyzed by the decision. "Anywhere," he breathed on a shaky exhale.
"Your lips?" she asked, her eyes hooded.
Clive's heart leaped into his throat. "Uh-huh," he said intelligently, and closed his eyes just in time for her to stand on her toes to close the last few inches between them.
The moment her mouth touched his own, Clive froze. He had kissed and been kissed once or twice before, but they had been short and sweet (and oftentimes followed not long afterwards by a polite declination of interest). He had a general idea of what to do, motivated more by instinct than practice, but Clive had never before wanted to kiss someone as much as he wanted to kiss Jill. Now that the moment was here, he found himself paralyzed, terrified that he might do it wrong and drive her away, nervous by the group of people he knew were watching them even with his eyes closed. He had dreamed of this for so long, but now that the dream was coming true, he was petrified. Clive cursed his fear. He wanted her to enjoy herself. He wasn't so bold as to hope that he might get the chance to do this again with her, but he at least wanted her to be able to look back on this moment with satisfaction and enjoyment.
Clive's mouth trembled just slightly, which she no doubt felt, with it being pressed so intimately against her own. The hand on his shoulder slid up to cup his cheek, and she moved to kiss his upper lip softly, the caress warm and inviting. That tiny motion spurred him into action. The crowd melted away in the background, forgotten, and Clive finally moved. One of his hands settled in the center of her back, the other reached around to cradle the nape of her neck, drawing her a little closer to him. Jill gave a pleased hum deep in her throat, a quiet enough sound that he knew it was just meant for him, and he felt her mouth turn up against his in a smile.
He had to resist the urge to smile back against her. He was busy trying to kiss her. He tilted his head a little further to move his lips against hers just a bit more firmly, his nose just brushing up against her cheek. Her hand on his arm moved up to his chest, fisting in the material of his jacket, and she sighed contentedly against him, her body melting into his.
Somewhere to his right, someone wolf-whistled, and Clive startled, accidentally breaking their point of connection. Jill's eyes drifted open, her pupils large and the focus hazy, her cheeks flushed as she leaned against him. Clive felt a rare swell of pride surge within him. He had done that. He had gotten her to make that expression.
He wanted to make her do it again.
But before he could get the chance to even consider leaning in once more, Jill's eyes cleared, and she turned to glare at the room, though to his satisfaction, she didn't pull away from him just yet.
"Damn," Tarja said. "Now that's a tradition . Where can I get one of those?"
Jill huffed. With his arm still wrapped around her, he could feel the expanse and contract of her ribs with the annoyed sound. "Nowhere," she said crossly. "Traditions are done for the night. The rest of you can find someone else to be traditional with."
Finally, Jill extricated herself from his embrace. He released her reluctantly, disappointed. The places where she had been pressed up against him went cold without her presence. Jill reached up to snatch the mistletoe from above the threshold, gently peeling the tape from the drywall, even as a chorus of "awww"s and "spoilsport" and one "I want to kiss the hot mailman" echoed from the living room. Clive flushed at their jeering.
Jill folded the tape over the stems of the mistletoe. Unexpectedly, she took his hand in hers and placed the mistletoe in his palm. "Will you take this with you?" she asked him.
Finally, Clive found his voice. "I can," he murmured, the tone a little ragged. He cleared his throat as he closed his hand around the plant, making sure not to crush the leaves. "Probably best not to leave it with them. Don't want them to get up to any more mischief," he said gruffly.
"Yes," Jill agreed, but her expression was pensive. "We don't want them to get themselves into any more trouble. But...take it with you. As a memento." Her eyes were shining brightly as she looked up at him, and Clive's heart fluttered.
"A memento," he said. "I like that."
"I do, too," she smiled. Suddenly, she drew close to him again, and Clive's eyes widened as she braced her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She rose on her toes to peck him on the cheek.
When she drew back, Clive grinned foolishly down at her, and her eyes crinkled as she smiled back at him. "I'll see you soon?" she asked.
His hand fumbled at the doorknob as he reached out for it. "Yeah," he agreed, finally finding the door to pull it open. He was reluctant to leave, the warmth of Jill's apartment a stark contrast to the chill of the hallway. He was already looking forward to their next visit. "See you next Monday."
The next time Clive saw Jill was shortly after the new year began. He had spent the holiday in his apartment, Torgal on the couch with him and half-laying across his legs, though he wasn't complaining despite his dog's weight. He had counted down to the new year with the broadcaster on the television, though there had been no champagne and cheering as the clock struck midnight.
Clive did, however, allow himself to imagine a kiss to ring in the new year - the same one he had shared with Jill just a few nights before. He closed his eyes and recalled the feeling of her mouth, warm and smiling as it moved against his own, of her soft and supple in his arms and pressing herself closer against him, almost like she couldn't get enough of him. Though he couldn't have the real thing, at least he could hold the memory in his mind as the crowd on the TV shouted down the last few seconds to midnight and broke into a clamor as the bell finally tolled.
At the commotion on the screen, Torgal wriggled on top of him and licked his face. Clive laughed and pushed his dog down even as he tried to slobber all over him, wrestling with him playfully for just a moment. Even if he didn't have Jill here to usher in the new year with, this was almost as good - knowing that she had kissed him of her own free will and that he had the company of his best friend no matter what was wonderful.
Perhaps more wonderful than he deserved. He went quiet as Torgal finally settled down. Though she had been willing, he was very aware of the fact that she had only kissed him because of tradition - not under duress, but still only out of obligation. He was glad she had done it, but he still wished for more, though he knew he shouldn't. He wanted her to kiss him because she wanted to, not because she had to.
At that moment, Clive made himself a resolution for the new year - at some point during the year, he would tell her how he felt. He would muster up his courage and tell her how much he had enjoyed her kiss, how he wanted the opportunity to do it again. He wanted to see her again, more than once a week and not under the guise of an illusory "secret admirer". He wanted to take her to dinner, go see a movie with her, take walks together. He wanted to be with her - but barring that, he wanted to be her friend. Anything to be in her presence more often.
So he resolved to tell her how he felt - though perhaps not the truth about who the flowers were coming from. That would mean admitting that he had used his work as an excuse to see her, that he had lied and used the opportunity to sneak into her apartment and spend time with her. Though it had given him the chance to spend more time with her and get to know her, he regretted it deeply now. He had tainted the beginning of their friendship with a lie, and though their camaraderie was genuine, it was built upon a falsehood. Take that away, and their whole relationship would come tumbling down.
No, better to leave that part a secret - one he hoped to leave behind forgotten in its entirety eventually. He wanted to spend time with her outside of his "work" delivering flowers to her. That much, at least, he could admit to.
Just...maybe not quite yet. One day, he would lay his heart at her feet and tell her how he felt, but for now, both the possibility that she might take it in her hands and cradle it close to her breast and the possibility that she might crush it beneath her heel seemed overwhelming. For the time being, he'd continue to hide behind his ruse, at least until he got up the courage to ask for more than they had.
The second day of the new year was freezing cold but clear, the sky a brilliant blue to contrast with the chill of the day and the snow still heaped in piles next to the sidewalks. Clive found himself tucking his jacket just a little tighter around him and pulling the collar up to protect against the frost. It was a Monday, and as per usual, Clive found himself knocking on Jill's front door with a bouquet of snow daisies in his hands after he had finished with his other deliveries for the day.
Jill greeted him with a smile when she pulled the front door open. "Clive Rosfield," she breathed. "Right on time, as per usual. I've been expecting you. Won't you come in? I have a vase for the flowers on the dining room table."
"I will," he agreed, stepping into her home and letting the door fall closed behind him. Her apartment was much quieter than it had been last week, and there was no sign of the party that had taken place just a few short days ago. The room was warm and was a welcome respite to the frigid air outside. It felt ever warmer when he recalled how, not long ago, he had stood in that doorway and kissed her. He surreptitiously peeked up at the doorway and was mildly disappointed not to see another sprig of mistletoe hanging at the threshold. Of course there wasn't. He had taken hers home at her behest last week. It was still sitting on his countertop, steadily drying out, and whenever he looked at it Clive flushed crimson and couldn't help but break into a smile.
The thought of it now, of her leaning up to press her lips to his, had him blushing once again, and he made his way over to the dining room table so his back was to her. One day, he'd tell her how much he had enjoyed their kiss, but today was not that day, and he wasn't ready to answer her question about why his face was turning red from just walking into her apartment.
Instead, he threaded the stems of the snow daisies through the vase just to give his hands something to do, making sure that the flowers were submerged in the water. "It's good to see you again," he said, hoping to redirect his thoughts into more appropriate territory. "Your secret admirer is punctual, as usual."
"Mm. That he is," Jill hummed in response. Suddenly, she was right next to him. Instead of facing the table, she turned her back to it and sat against the edge, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest. He glanced over at her, but quickly glanced away, flushing once again. With her sitting as she was, they were very close, her right shoulder right next to his own.
Jill leaned just slightly to her right, tilting her head to catch his eye again as she smiled at him. Their arms brushed up against each other when she moved. "You know, Clive," she said, an amused lilt to her voice, "We can stop playing this game whenever you'd like. I'm happy to keep going for as long as you want, but just say the word when you're ready to stop and we can."
Clive turned his head to look at her fully, too confused to be embarrassed. "What game?"
"Come on. You know what I'm talking about."
Clive pushed back from the table and stood up straight, both so that he could look directly at her and so that he could put some distance between them. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he had a feeling it was going to spell trouble for him. "I really don't," he said with the utmost seriousness. "Whatever you're referring to, whatever you believe, I can promise you that I have never played games in your presence."
"Really?" Jill asked, in a tone that said that she didn't believe him for a minute.
"Yes," he said, deliberate and genuine. "Nothing about any of this has ever been a game to me. Not when it comes to you." He nearly swallowed his tongue over the last phrase, suddenly worried he had shown too much of his hand too quickly.
Jill was silent for a moment, but her eyes never left his, one eyebrow raised just slightly. Then, she adjusted her arms slightly over her chest. "Fine," she huffed. "No games, then. Why don't you tell me about my secret admirer?"
Clive went still. He still wasn't sure how games and her "secret admirer" were related, but he understood that he needed to tread carefully here. "You know I can't tell you that," he told her.
"Why not?" she demanded. "I don't see any reason why you can't tell me who he is."
"I already told you," he said emphatically. "It's florist-client privilege. I can't tell you anything unless he decides to reveal himself."
"Bullshit."
Clive's eyebrows drew together at her harsh language. In the time he had known her, Jill had always been deliberate with her words. He wasn't offended by cursing, hearing it frequently at the shop and using it plenty himself, but he had never known her to be the type to swear. To hear the rough words fall from her mouth was shocking - and told him that he was in more trouble than he knew. "I beg your pardon?" he said, trying to stall as he tried to put the puzzle of their conversation together.
"You and I both know there's no such thing as florist-client privilege. You made that up," she accused.
"I did not," he said indignantly. "It's very real."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"And would I not be protected under those same rules?" she demanded.
"Of course."
"And you've never gone against them when it comes to me? Never told anyone else about what we speak about when we're alone?"
"Never," he swore. He hadn't even discussed their conversations with Cid. The florist knew that they occurred, that he hung around Jill's apartment a little more than was usual for a client's delivery, but he knew nothing about the specifics of their relationship. He hadn't even told him about their kiss from last week.
Suddenly, Jill broke out into a smile, one that made her look like the coeurl that had caught the canary. "Interesting," she murmured. Her eyes flicked down his form and then back to his face. Suddenly, Clive was very nervous. Jill was a clever woman - and somehow, in just a few statements, she had caught him in something. He wasn't sure what or how, but she had figured something out just in their short exchange. He eyed her warily.
Jill pushed off from where she was sitting against the dining room table and unfolded her arms as she approached him. Clive backed up slightly as she walked closer, but froze mid-step. Fleeing now would only make him appear more guilty. "Interesting? How?" he asked, trying to sound innocent.
She held her hand out, palm facing him, as if trying to calm a startled animal. "Easy, Clive," she murmured, but the look in her eyes, like she knew something he didn't and found it hugely amusing, only made him want to flee more. "Don't you think it's an interesting set of facts? That you can't reveal any details about my secret admirer to me? That you can't tell anyone else about me if it's related to your work, and you say you haven't? And perhaps, most damning of all," she continued on, stepping into his personal space, "that somehow, my secret admirer has brought me snow daisies every Monday for weeks, almost as if he knows my preferences?"
Clive froze, because suddenly, he understood exactly where this line of questioning was going. Jill took advantage of his stillness and took the final step into his personal bubble. Her hands came up to smooth over his chest and up to his shoulders, fiddling with the collar of his jacket. "After all," she breathed, "There's only one man who knows how much I love snow daisies, because I remember telling him the first time we met."
She knew . She had put everything together and finally found out that there was no "secret admirer" - only Clive, so desperate for affection and acknowledgement that he was willing to lie and basically sneak into her house to get close to her. The worst part was that there was no discernable mistake he had made in hiding his identity. It wasn't due to some detail he had accidentally revealed, no grave misstep where he had let something slip that he hadn't intended to. Instead, his methodology had been flawed from the very beginning. He had wanted to bring her snow daisies, her favorite flowers, without even considering that doing so would plant the seeds of his deceit in her mind. The pieces had been there from the start, all she had to do was put them together - and she finally had.
Clive's face crumpled. His shoulders sagged forward as he gave in, knowing that it was no use keeping the ruse up anymore. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this," he whispered.
Jill gave a hum of acknowledgement. Her hands stroked over his shoulders soothingly. "Sorry to ruin your fun," she murmured back kindly. She had far more compassion than he deserved.
He shook his head and stepped back and away from her gentle touch. As much as he craved it, he wasn't entitled to her comfort. "No," he said. " I'm the one who's sorry."
Finally, he managed to raise his head to look up at her. Jill's hands were hovering in the air where he had just been standing. She startled when she saw the tears in his eyes. "Clive?"
But now that he had started speaking, the words came tumbling out. "I am so, so sorry," he whispered raggedly. "Whatever else you may believe, please know that - and that I never wanted to hurt you. All I wanted was the chance to get to know you and to spend time with you, even though I know that asking for that is already too much. And then when I didn't hear from you for so long - I was worried. I just wanted to see you one more time, and I told myself that it would be the last time, that I'd leave you alone after that and stop bothering you. But then it happened again, and again , and each time I said it would be the last, and each time I was foolish and selfish and weak . And you...you've been so kind to humor me for so long, even though I don't deserve it. I could never deserve it, but I let myself believe that I could be worthy of your attention, even though I know I'm not."
Jill's eyes had gone wide, and her hands came up to cover her mouth. "Clive, what are you...?"
The look of absolute shock on her face, nearing fear, cemented his decision. Despite the tears in his eyes, he gave her a wry smile, hoping it would give her some comfort. "But I know," he whispered, nodding his head and looking away from her. "I know how I've ruined things by trying to know you this way. Maybe if I'd done things differently..." he shook his head. Better not to speculate on what might have been. He had already wrecked the chance of them having any sort of relationship. "...but I didn't. And it's too late now. But at least I can make it up to you now. So I'm sorry if I've hurt you, and I'm sorry if I've frightened you. Even if I didn't intend to, that doesn't make what I did right."
The last part was the hardest of all to say. "Don't worry," he choked out. "I promise, I won't trouble you further. I won't darken your doorway any longer."
Jill's expression darkened and turned thunderous. Her shock had worn off and had turned into anger, as he expected it would. "Clive Rosfield, don't you dare - "
"Goodbye, Jill," he said, offering her one more small, sad smile before opening the front door and fleeing down the hallway. He heard her hollering his name down the hall after him, but he didn't have it in him to turn back and listen to her yell at him for what he had done, even if he knew she deserved her chance to say her peace, to be angry at him. Still, he didn't think he could stand to hear her shout at him right now - his heart was too broken to handle it.
Clive didn't bother waiting for the elevator, instead taking the emergency stairs, going down them two at a time. When he hit the ground floor, he didn't slow down, jogging through the lobby even when the doorman shouted for him to stop. He didn't pause until he was safely in his car, peeling out of the parking lot quicker than he should have. The car behind him laid on its horn as he cut them off, and he didn't even bother waving an apology.
He kept going until he got to the parking lot of his apartment, pulling into his spot and putting his car in park. Only then did Clive finally allow himself to take a deep breath, rest his head on the steering wheel, and bawl.