Chapter Text
He was just returning from his lunch break when the sight of a certain someone stopped him in his tracks.
It wasn’t that the view was anything significant, no, in fact, it was just the same as every other time. The same mess of black curls, sometimes shaggier than usual, the same piercing emerald eyes, always brimming with laughter. The lean man was a walking spotlight, always radiating with energy that sucked you in. Wherever he seemed to be, people gravitated to him and, naturally, Neville was dotty about him.
Granted, from an outside perspective this one-sided staring contest seemed creepy but that was hardly the case. Neville was simply admiring the man’s athletic build. Respectfully, of course. The way his muscles bunched up under his sleeves that were already rolled up halfway despite the weather. The look of determination on his face as he struggled to carry a precarious stack of boxes. The way his tongue pokes out a bit when he’s so deeply concentrated…
God, it was turning his brain to mush. He couldn’t get himself to move despite how much he wanted to. He could be the one to hold the door open, or better yet offer to carry some boxes but he didn’t. He just stared, and with each passing moment, the gap between them was widening.
It was pathetic, surely. Any words he could possibly think up died at the edge of his tongue anyhow. He wasn’t sure how much time has passed considering every second spent in this man’s presence was like an eternity to him. Oh, how he’d regret that thought once he was back in his right mind.
“Harry!”
Then another man entered the picture. They brushed past him quickly, with a slight nudge to the shoulder, and had unknowingly taken Neville’s mental plan of action from him by holding open the door to Inklings. He cleared his throat and straightened himself out as he remembered where he was.
Neville gave a last glance to the pair laughing in front of the neighboring store as he reopened his own. It was then he realized the man that came from behind him was Dean, his assistant manager. He flushed from the tips of his ears down past his throat. He cursed himself mentally for the moment of jealousy that coursed through him. Dean was friends with both of them and currently in a relationship. It was further proof that he was in too deep.
He turned himself away and focused on unlocking the door to his plant nursery — Augusta’s Plants Emporium — once he noticed Dean turning in his direction. Neville tried to hide his grimace of self-pity as he fumbled with the keys and almost dropped his coffee before finally forcing the damned door open. The familiar sound of the greeting bell soothed his nerves enough and allowed him to release the breaths stuck in his throat.
“Wotcher, Nev!”
Dean’s attention was now fully turned on him, meaning he had to turn his attention back. It’d be rude otherwise, right? So that’s what Neville did, certainly not trying to use this moment as an excuse for his gaze to drift back to the aforementioned crush and his gorgeous arms.
Dean half jogged the few steps over to the flower shop and smiled cheerfully. “Sorry, I took a long smoke break. Are those our sandwiches?” He gestured down to the brown bag in Neville’s hands along with his coffee causing the introverted man to just nod. He passed the bag along and let Dean through the door first, not before he sent a wave and playful wink in Harry’s direction.
Harry just snorted in response from his own doorway and flashed back two fingers, almost dropping his boxes. Harry scrambled to right them, causing his glasses to slip down his nose. Even that seemed charming.
Neville took the chance to look at the rugged bloke one last time because he’s only human after all .
This time, his gaze was matched. It unsettled him yet every nerve in his body was unwilling to let him look away. So there he stood for a moment then two, too long. A pathetic depiction of his earlier activities. He simply hoped his facial expression wasn’t as besotted as his heart felt.
Later Neville would convince himself that he was hallucinating or just running a high fever, still, there Harry was, not only maintaining eye contact but actually smiling at him. A soft, kind of nervous, smile. And it set him ablaze.
Neville’s heart did traitorous things as he absent-mindedly smiled back.
Of course, as with all good things in Neville’s life, the moment was short-lived when a gruff voice called Harry back into the parlour and Dean called him into the shop. His body stiffened as he wrenched himself away and walked quickly inside, closing the door behind him, and pushing every image of the dark-skinned man his brain could muster, to the back of his mind with force.
Dean gave him a knowing look when Neville walked past but he pretended not to notice. He couldn’t be bothered, he was busy doing mental gymnastics trying to assemble himself, reminding himself how to be a person again.
Right foot, left foot, breathe
>>_<<
He threw himself onto his office chair, happy to be off his feet, and took a long swig from the glass of scotch he brandished for himself. Nothing better to mark the end of another day. A rather painfully slow day.
The only customers they seemed to get around this time of year were “bah-humbug” old people and couples who didn’t actually know anything about plants. Oh, the number of times he’s had to explain that certain plants were harder to obtain in different weather or that flowers in a bouquet have meanings… He’s questioned his career path quite a bit these days.
He put the glass down and swiveled himself into the proper position to look through his paperwork. To his right, a thin decadent frame with his grandmother’s photo stood strong. It was a silver frame with gold detailing of vines, like he knew she would love.
In the photo, she was wearing a summer dress that flowed around her, and her eyes sparkled with life. She had one hand on her sun hat so it wouldn’t blow away and another on a little boy’s shoulders. At first glance, people wouldn’t know who it was. The image seemed to perfectly captivate the happiness and warmth, and it seemed more like a stock photo that would come with a frame like this. But with a trained eye, there was no denying Frank’s smile. His mouth wide, front tooth missing, clothes perfectly manicured. Neville let his thumb caress the corner of the photo.
Neville knew he mainly took after his mother in terms of looks and inherited almost nothing, aside from his height, from his father. It always seemed to make Augusta more apprehensive towards him, even before they passed. Still, he loved his grandmother dearly and did what he could to make her proud. Now he was running her business, successfully he should add, for the past 5 years.
He tore his attention away from the melancholic memories and refocused on the business front. He organized his stacks based on dates and pricing for his clients, then alphabetically and by delivery date for his vendors. It may seem a bit meticulous but it helped move things along. Everything has its place , his grandmother would say.
He manages to sign a few signatures and catalogue a few new orders before a knock comes on the door. Despite his immense concentration, he still managed to not be surprised. ‘Constant Vigilance’, his employees call it, his ‘sixth sense’. He’s always been good at recognizing footsteps and being wary of his surroundings, a product of growing up with his gran, he assumes.
There’s the sound of a throat clearing and Neville takes that as a sign that the person wants his full attention. He carefully lays his papers down and looks up and sees Dean leaning against the doorway looking casual and missing his burgundy work apron. Confused, Neville checks his wristwatch and notices it's somehow half past four. There must’ve been a funny look on his face that caused Dean to snort the way he did, Neville decided not to comment.
“I just came up to remind you , we close early today. Knowing you, you would’ve stayed up here all night and not granted yourself a chance for festivities. Which,” Dean makes a gesture to the piles of parchment. “Seems to be the case here. Millie clocked out already and I made Terry leave after lunch since it was a slow day, not that he argued, of course.”
The assistant manager paced over and plopped himself haphazardly across the leather chair meant for clientele. Neville just sighed and raised his hands in defeat, once Dean got like this, it was hard to talk him out of his ideas. He leaned back in his own chair with an amused smile, “And what festivities, pray tell, am I missing out on Thomas?” He used the other man’s last name in jest which, in turn, made the said man sit up and present himself in a jokingly proper way.
“Well, Mister Longbottom, at the beginning of this month, you agreed to let me and Seamus plan a New Year’s party for everyone and that’s exactly what we did.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes that made Neville want to squirm.
Oh no, he thought with a grimace, what has he done?
“And what exactly did I agree to?” The smile that flashed back to him was one that did nothing to quell his nerves.
“I’m glad you asked. Drum roll please,” The ebony lad began to thrum his fingers against his boss's desk in a mock rhythm before abruptly stopping. “We’re throwing a tattoo party!” Hands waved in his face with excitement even when the emotion was obviously not being reciprocated.
“You’re clowning right?” Neville’s deadpanned face was not enough to deter his mate’s mood. “There’s no way I’m letting that happen. You and Seamus are just going to get pissed and make ridiculous choices and poor Millie just started working here. She’s gonna wanna quit when she sees what loons you two are!” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Did you even figure out a place to have this party? It’ll be a miracle to get something for that last notice.”
>>_<<
His house. That’s where it was decided. He really should’ve seen it coming, all that ‘sixth sense’ nonsense. Still, have to give credit where it’s due, Dean and Seamus managed to plan everything out really well.
In a matter of a few hours, Neville’s apartment was fully decked out with party snacks, spirit, and New Year’s decorations — which he was vehemently pestered for not already having by Seamus. It was swanky in a way he wasn’t used to. He rarely invited people over, let alone threw parties here, so there was never much reason to decorate or spruce up his furniture.
Neville lived in a rather fancy 3-bedroom duplex in Bristol. Not that he ever used them all, only the one he slept in. He inherited it all from his gran, of course, including other properties that he’s long since sold aside from a cottage up north. The duplex includes a massive backyard and 3 bathrooms, along with a massive kitchen/living space. All state-of-the-art appliances, etcetera, etcetera.
Neville internally rolled his eyes at himself. He barely liked being here, all the big empty spaces made everything feel so cold and lifeless. It never really felt like a home to him. Though he did have the money to fill those spaces, he was never one for knick-knacks or pointless artwork. It was too posh in a way he could never be but knew his ancestors might have enjoyed.
Regardless, with all the guests flowing in, Neville reckoned the boys did well this time around. He saw plenty of familiar faces, his coworkers, obviously, some friends he and ‘Deamus’ went to school with — as they’ve agreed to be called as a collective — and some other shop owners from around the neighbourhood. All in all, the blond was actually starting to think he might enjoy himself much to his own dismay.
The idea of getting a tattoo was still in question, he didn’t want to immediately turn the idea down but he hadn’t planned to get anything for a while. He’s gotten tattoos before, against Augusta’s wishes. His most recent one was in remembrance of her. A bit ironic since she hated ink but she wasn’t around to reprimand him for it, was she?
His first-ever tattoo was a smooth-sided toad placed on his front left shoulder, just under his clavicle. It was supposed to be in memory of a pet toad he had in his younger years named Trevor, it was, at one point in his life, his only friend. His second tattoo was of a honeybee on his right forearm after he graduated from university with honours. His third, and final, tattoo was his grandmother’s memorial tattoo, which had her name splayed across a bouquet of flowers. White cosmos paired with blue sage and — Augusta’s favourites — hyacinths. He placed it on his inner left arm.
Just thinking about it made him itch as if it was still healing. It was all he could think about on some days, on others, he couldn’t bear to look.
He took some breaths and decided to mingle. It would be a while before the guys from Inkling showed up and it wouldn’t do well to be nervous when they arrived. Seamus had told him how he managed to talk to Gawain and Kingsley, the co-owners of Inkling, to do ‘the honours’, so to speak, for the night. Neville was pleased to hear it as they had done every tattoo he has, it seemed only fitting they do his next one.
Growing up in the flower shop and working in it since his teen years, allowed him to have a good personal relationship with both men. He just hoped they didn’t bring along a certain alpha. Oh, how he’d make a fool out of himself if they did.
“Neville! Don’t you look refreshed today?”
He could spot that airy voice anywhere. He turned with a wide grin to greet his college friend, Luna. They shared a quick hug before another, semi-familiar, girl showed up at Luna’s side.
“Must’ve been the scotch I had earlier. Uh, Ginny, right?” He awkwardly stuck out his hand to the red-haired woman who reciprocated the action with a nod. “Sorry, I’m not that great with faces.” He uses his opposite hand to rub the back of his neck. The ginger doesn’t seem to be in any bad mood but she definitely gives off an intimidating aura, even being half his size.
‘Ginny’, as was confirmed by her nod, snorted at his awkwardness. “Yeah, can’t blame you, it’s been a while. I just got back from a game in Wales, actually.” She slid an arm around Luna’s waist and gave her a soppy look. “Kept me away from this one too long, so I agreed to come. That, and I think I’d look sick with a lion tattoo on my leg.” She laughed at her own joke and Neville could instantly see what Luna saw in her. When she laughs, the intensity in her face disappears and she looks younger, brighter.
“Oh, yeah! You’re on the Holyhead Harpies rugby team, aren’t you? Luna tells me every time your team wins.” Neville's smile widens as Luna gives a look of pride between the two before speaking up.
“With her bright hair, it’s like she blazes a path when she runs across the field. It’s inspiring, really.” She speaks out matter-of-factly. Ginny’s ears turn a decent shade of pink, not that Luna notices as she continues. “I’m partial to a moon tattoo, perhaps the different phases side-by-side. Or a constellation of sorts, moon is my name so it makes the most sense however, my mother really loved space, you see, so stars would work just as well. Are you going to get one?”
Ah, yes. The wonder that is Luna’s speech patterns. She makes everything sound like a riddle and it has a way of making others feel idiotic for not understanding. He’s had years to get used to it and make a translator of sorts in his mind. His smile turns sheepish as he thinks over his choices but is saved from responding when Ginny perks up as if she’s remembered something.
“Right! You guys hired Inklings for the party, didn’t you? Harry told me he just finished his apprenticeship there. You two still talk, don’t you?”
“Go away, Harry. You can’t just show up whenever you want, this isn’t fair. God, I can’t deal with this right now. Please, please, go away.”
“Look, Nev, I know you’re still mad at me and you have every right to be. You don’t have to open the door but please… just hear me out, okay? I heard about your grandma, it’s sh*t, what you’re dealing with, I’ve been there. You um… I just– f*ck. I miss you Neville and I’m sorry I was sh*t before but I’m here. I promised I’d always be here so I am. You’re not alone, okay? Don’t forget that. Please...”
Neville hesitates for a moment but once he opens his mouth to respond, he’s interrupted once again by a very enigmatic-looking Terry Boot. The brunet was holding solo cups and forced one into his hands. “No empty hands! Courtesy of Seamus, of course.” He winks at the three of them before sauntering off, most likely to harass other guests with drinks. Neville sighs begrudgingly.
Terry used to be more on the reserved side and took a lot of interest in learning all there was about plants and basic horticulture. No surprise, the Deamus pair quickly squeezed that out of him after only a year of working there. Not that Neville was against the jokester, he felt the old Terry took life a bit too seriously, but one mischievous couple was more than enough to handle.
He shook his head at the interaction, laughing it off before apologizing to the two in front of him. He clears his throat and attempts to respond to the previously asked question as neutrally as possible. “Yeah, yeah, we talk sometimes,” he cringes at his own awkwardness. “Saw him just this morning lugging around boxes for Kingsley.” His throat felt dry despite the drink in his hand. He’s not sure how much he should say or if there is anything to say exactly.
No, actually, they don’t talk any more, haven’t for a long time and it weighed heavily on him to know it was his own stubborn fault.
“Oh.” Ginny gave him an interested look as if it was new information to her, and he really hoped it wasn’t. “I figured otherwise. I’ve gotten used to Harry nattering on about you whenever he got the chance but,” She takes an almost theatric pause to sip her drink and waves a dismissal hand before continuing. “I guess whatever was going on is resolved, then?” She then looks up and gives him a direct stare that he feels penetrates his soul.
He feels his tongue loll about in his mouth trying to form the right words but he’s not sure they exist. It’d be easier to beg the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
The saving grace came when his doorbell rang. People around him cheered while Neville felt his stomach flop. This was going to be a very long night.
>>_<<
“Oi, Longbottom!” Came a gruff voice from his far left.
Neville knew who it was before he turned, as usual. No one else called him by his last name aside from Theo. He had his hand out ready for Gawain and one of his elaborate handshakes. Gawain saw the motion and laughed heartily as he clasped the blond's hand and proceeded to try a series of high-fives and fist bumps that Neville did not understand. By the end, Neville was laughing too.
Gawain Robards was a textbook alpha being 6’4 and heavily built. He was once a member of the British Army — straight out of school, he always said — along with Kingsley until it became too much for the duo. He tried to become an officer over in London then a bouncer at a few bars until he wound up co-owning Inklings with Kingsley.
Kingsley was always more guarded in telling his half of the story so all Neville knows is that the army changed him and he decided he didn’t want to be on the fighting side anymore. He and Gawain have owned Inklings for years, ever since Neville moved in with his gran at least. You’d have to look hard to see it but they make a great couple. Rare amongst alpha-on-alpha pairings.
“So, big man, a tattoo party, huh? Augusta must be turning in her grave.” He jested, prodding the younger man with his elbow. Neville snorted, it was true after all. “You gonna let one of my lads line you up today?”
“Not my idea. In a moment of weakness, I allowed Dean and Seamus to plan the party and this is what they’ve done.” He waves a hand to show off what they’ve done to his house and also points out the many inebriated guests. His eyes stilled at the sight of Harry laughing just a few feet away with Su and Ginny. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away hurriedly. “As for ink, I’m still undecided. I think I might go for that piece we talked about a few months back.”
Gawain seemed to nod, considering his words. “Alright, another bouquet. Man of simple tastes, eh? I do have a bit of a favour to ask though.” He gave an innocent smile but his eyes looked apprehensive like he wasn’t even sure about his own idea. “I know things between you two have been rocky at best,” He gestures to the man with his head. “But Harry just finished his apprenticeship with us; we wanted to give him a final test and have him work with an unfamiliar canvas and all…”
Neville tensed, sensing what was coming next. The taller man put a hand on his own neck much like the nervous gesture Neville had used earlier that evening. “You think you’d be up for it? A bouquet doesn’t have too much detail and you prefer colour so it’d be a good middle ground for him.”
Neville took a big gulp but didn’t immediately refuse. He was able to discern the merits, it was his own cowardice that was holding him back. Normally, getting a tattoo wasn’t all that monumental or intimate, however, getting tattooed by someone who makes you break out into goosebumps whenever near was a different thing entirely, he was sure.
“I was just trying to help you out.”
“You think you’re helping? What makes you so different from him when neither of you seems to respect my boundaries? I told you last time to stay out of my business, Harry, and you said you would. You promised!”
“Okay, look, we’re both a bit pissed so let’s just get you home and we can talk about this tomorrow.”
“No. You can’t just force yourself into my life — my problems — and decide how to handle it for me! I’ll take myself home and ‘we’ can go back to being strangers, deal?”
“If that’s what you want… I’ll stay out of your way then.”
He wasn’t sure what really did him in, the empty cup in his hand that he’s held onto for some benign reason, the continuous sound of Harry’s laughter looping in his head, the amped-up music making his blood rush with adrenaline, or maybe a disastrous mix of all three.
His mind all but made a run for it. No one else could see it, surely, just how much this decision would change things. For better or worse, he didn’t know but he couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling of want — Dear God, did he want — to be in his vicinity, to be touched by him even if it was menial. He was sure this longing was a fraction of what Omega’s usually feel nut it was killing him regardless. The rollercoaster of emotions made him nauseous and he wanted off.
He reels himself back in, he doesn’t know what any of it means or what impact it might have but he needed to make a damned decision before Gawain decided he was incompetent. His grip on the cup tightened and it made a noise between a creak and a pop.
They say if you’re not sure who you are, you should jump in the deep end and see who you turn out to be. Do you sink or swim? So, here’s to breaking the surface pressure, he mentally toasted.
And he agreed.
The first time they met, properly met, was two or so years after Augusta’s illness took a turn. This day was especially hard for her, hard for them both. Motor functions were beginning to get worse for her and she was becoming confused more often. His heart still ached thinking of how she called him Frank that morning until he turned around and saw how her face fell.
His grip on the trash bags tightened. He dragged both bags as close as he could to the dumpsters out back. It was a shared alley that wasn’t open to the public, just the shop vendors and the tattoo parlour next door that his grandmother always despised.
He opened one of the dumpsters and heaved a bag over his shoulders when the sound of a door opening surprised him. He jumped and swirled around, stumbling over the second bag but not falling. His face flushed an unnatural shade as he made eye contact with the newcomer.
“Sorry, wasn’t meant to scare you, just also throwing out trash.” A striking pair of green eyes met his. The coil-y-haired lad gave him a nervous smile while helplessly showing off the trash bag in his hand.
Neville quickly knocked himself out of it. “Yeah, sorry, go for it.” He sidestepped to give the bloke space who simply nodded in response. He tossed the bag in the opening and dusted off his hands.
There was a beat. Then two. Dear God, was it awkward…
“I’m Harry, by the way.” said the darker-skinned man, the wind breezing through his curls. Neville was overwhelmed by the urge to pick at one of the curls and watch it bounce back. “I see you in the mornings sometimes, caring for the flowers outside.”
Neville took a minute to take in Harry’s height and figure before sticking his hand out in greeting. “I’m Neville, it’s my gran’s shop so I do a lot of the menial tasks around here.” After his hand was clasped he grabbed himself at the nape, suddenly feeling exposed with the January air nipping at him. “I’m guessing you’re the new apprentice at Inklings, then? Gawain always gets a kick out of having errand boys.”
Then, by some unasked-for grace of God, Harry laughed. It wasn’t anything big or boisterous, no throwing his head back or holding his stomach but instead, there were happy crinkles around his eyes and an unapologetic grin. Neville felt his mouth dry at the sight.
“You might be right. I don’t mind, though. I’m excited to learn what I can from them and become an artist myself.” The words rolled off his tongue so smoothly that there was no space to argue or question him. Something Neville was never that good at, speaking without gaps.
Neville felt the smile on his lips becoming more sure. His next words getting disrupted by the sound of the door swinging open once again. Both men spun in its direction to be met with Gawain Robards himself. He leaned against the doorway with arms folded in front of him and one foot holding the door open.
“Trying to steal more of my employees, Longbottom?” His tone was firm but his lips gave him away as they quirked up with mirth. “I can’t have you corrupting this one too.”
Harry snorted and turned his face away as Neville became flustered and pink-faced. “Gawain! You can’t just say things like that!” The supposed ‘adult’ of the bunch gave a hearty laugh that sounded right out of a superhero movie. Neville crossed his arms grumpily, he was sure he looked ridiculous doing so, his gran would surely have a few words about it, but it didn’t stop him. “Besides, you can’t call it corruption if Dean chose to work for us instead.”
The more childish side of him wanted to stick out his tongue for good measure, though he knew it wouldn’t have the intended effect. He was also keenly aware of Harry’s presence and would rather not give him a juvenile impression. After a few more jokes between the three, they started to head back to their respective shops. As Harry went to slip back into the parlour, Neville couldn’t hold his tongue any more.
“I’ll see you around, yeah?”
It was a stupid attempt, really. He could’ve cringed at how pathetic he sounded. He just wanted to stay in this moment a little longer, hold on to this feeling longer.
Whatever ‘this’ was.
Despite Seamus and now Dean’s companionship, Neville was still fairly inexperienced in how one builds and holds onto friendships. His grandmother always made it seem like friends were a stupid thing to want, sentimental and weak. Every relationship was more like a business deal, an even exchange of wants, in her world.
Harry looked back at him with big eyes, his smile turning quickly into a grin as he nodded.
“Yeah.”
