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Jensen would have loved this.
Misha reflected wistfully on the thought as he wandered, entranced, through the nondescript alleyway in downtown L.A..
He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and paused, turning his face skyward, his gaze rapt as he beheld the simple beauty of a blizzard of rose petals floating down upon him as if by magic from the heavens above.
He knew they hadn’t, of course – he was one of said ‘magicians’ after all – but his own part in the display took absolutely nothing away from his thorough enjoyment of it. His ability to utterly immerse himself in the loveliness of the moment unmarred, if not enhanced by the knowledge that he was part of the collective instrumental in creating this. That he’d helped bring a glimpse of sorely needed wonder to his little corner of the world.
He tilted his head back, face heavenward, losing himself completely in silent whimsy.
His enchantment with the sight was so absolute it rendered him atypically still, so enthralled that to the casual observer it could easily have been mistaken for prayer. The bouquet of the flowers engulfed him, delicate and unassuming, yet no less powerful for its subtlety. It was peaceful. Serene.
He reached out, letting the flurry of silk drift over his hand, then, snagging one of the delicate wisps, crumpled it slowly between his fingers, the action a stark reminder of the ephemeral nature of the project.
It wasn’t meant to last, but to provide a brief portal into another reality. A primitive yet poignant reminder that life is sacred, and that there is beauty to be found everywhere, even among the sometimes harsh banality of existence, if one only cared to look - as fleeting as it was transcendent.
The genius of it (if he may say so himself) was in its simplicity, a humble yet powerful reminder to stop. Slow down. Breathe. Revel in the simple things. They are often the things that bring us the most profound joy, the things that anchor our feet to the ground, allowing our heads to reach freely for the clouds.
Smearing the scented oil over his fingertips, he brought them to his nose and inhaled. The fragrance would linger on his fingers for a while, unmitigated proof that no matter how brief the existence, the very fact of existing produces an echo; an ever-widening ripple felt by those it touched, and extending far beyond physical containment to linger in living memory, long after the corporeal form disappears forever.
As he stood there lost in his own world, the subtle, musky aroma sparked an (admittedly not wholly unexpected) pang in his chest. The silken flesh achingly reminiscent of the blush that frequently stained his friend’s cheeks, the colour spreading independently of his will to dust his chest, neck and shoulders with a lovely rosiness whilst in the throes of passion.
It was akin to an aphrodisiac to Misha, and he suddenly missed Jensen desperately. Wishing with everything he had that he was there alongside the rest of his loved ones so that they could experience this together as a family, not via the cold, impersonality of a video call.
He wanted to touch him. See first-hand the look in his eyes as he soaked up the beauty around him. Pick the petals from his hair where they fell. Inhale the scent on his skin and kiss him breathless as flowers rained down around them.
Closing his eyes, he allowed the sharp pang of need briefly overwhelm him - he was never one to flee from emotion, and this was no exception. The pain would not be present if there were no love, he reasoned, and he loved Jensen. Wanting him here to share in this was only natural.
The moment passed, and he sighed and opened his eyes.
The petal clutched in his hand had given him an idea, and he rubbed it between his fingers thoughtfully. Casting a critical eye at the mess of flowers around him, he searched for the essential core element to his fledgling plan.
He took his time, trusting that what he needed would come to him through chance, not design.
It was not long until he was rewarded.
There, lying on top of a mound of white was one perfect, unblemished, dusky-pink rose petal.
Kneeling carefully beside it, he scooped it up gingerly and cradled it in a handful of white petals so it didn’t bruise or discolour from the oils on his skin.
It was exactly what he needed.
Grinning, he pulled out his phone and opened the google app as he headed off to find something to store it in.
He couldn’t wait to see Jensen’s face.