to you, in full bloom {jonathan}

It was raining the night Hayden returned to London. Not unusual by any means. London was known to be overcast and dreary on her better days. But the storm was unexpected after the balmy, Mediterranean weather Greece offered in the late summer and early autumn. Hayden hissed and wrapped his arms around himself as the rain enveloped him all at once, completely caught on his unawares. Immediately, his chocolate tresses clung to his forehead and neck, a reminder that it had been some time since he'd gone to the barber.

Still, the weather couldn't dampen his mood, not when he was finally back. He stared up at the four-floor walk-up tucked in a little corner of Bloomsbury, just above a Muggle bookstore. Vines had climbed up the sides, winding around the old, cream-colored building like a warm embrace. It was all too easy to let the memories of when he'd first struck out on his own after Hogwarts flood in. It seemed so long ago when he was young and eighteen and not just the eight years that had actually passed. Back when he was a boy with a pageboy hat, a box full of medical books, and dreams. A lot of things happened to that boy, horrific and depressing events that still darkened his nightmares, but somehow his will had remained intact. And, miraculously, so had his flat building.

Two owls, one with an impressive wing span, the other trailing after her with wings fluttering as fast as a hummingbird's heartbeat, circled above him before finding their target. Their instincts guided them to perch on an old fire escape, one that had been reinforced far too many times to count and, as such, leaned slightly to the right. Marie, the larger, hooted down at her caretaker as if berating him for being in the rain for too long. Or maybe she was annoyed herself at being in the rain and wished for shelter.

"All right." He acquiesced by waved a hand at her and began his ascent into the building, eagerness in his every step. The beige, narrow hallways were slightly cracked more than before and the scent of rain followed him in. He turned to the staircase and shuffled up the four flights with sharp turns, each turn punctuated by a high-pitched squeak of his sneakers against the linoleum.

Before he knew it, he was in front of #412. He smoothed his fingers over the numbers, the old brass grainy under his touch. After a moment, he maneuvered his single bag off of his shoulder and reached inside, drawing his wand and a key. The former was to dispelled the protective charms he'd warded his home with. The latter was more of a nod to his Muggle heritage, completely unnecessary but it still made him feel safe and secure.

Smiling softly to himself, he walked inside. I'm home.

But he wasn't alone.

The lights were on in his tiny apartment. But even without them, Hayden knew he's be able to find this person in the dark. He was all too familiar a person in all too familiar a place. He swallowed and, unbeknown to him, dropped his bag on the floor with a solid thwack.

"Jonathan?!"


(( @Jonathan Emerson ))

The patter of raindrops fell lightly on the windows, which in Jonathan's days off meant a clarion call to snuggle up on the sofa, book and tea on hand. But the soothing call to laze about the day was ignored. Jonathan was on a particular mission today, and he felt pressured to ensure that mission's success. With the school year already in full swing, his friends and family were quite busy, so this mission was a solo one. All the better, he thought, as this task needed his own personal touch. Having someone else would mar things, like a great-tasting dish with a disappointing aftertaste.

The fridge and pantry had not seen much use of late, and a good part of the early morning was spent scouring them by hand. A spell could have done the effect with far greater efficiency, but this mission demanded things be done without wand or charm. The magic would come later, but only if things went just right. And so with gloves, steel wool, and Muggle-made cleaners, Jonathan had set to work. Many other things needed his attention, and after the fridge and pantry, he went about the rest of the kitchen, until porcelain gleamed and the grout smiled brightly without a speck of grime. Then came the dusting, the mopping, the resetting of upholstery, the replacement of a bookshelf that seemed to have gone past its own shelf-life, the re-stocking of essentials and a few extra goodies, because what was a home without quirky, personal additions?

Jonathan was in and out of the flat all day, and it wasn't even his, technically! Perhaps it could be, he mused. No, the place belonged to another, someone very important, hence the need for the mission to go exactly as planned. The thought sent shivers and warmth all over his body, and he went about his errands with greater vigour. By the afternoon, the rain had progressed to a full storm, and the dark clouds also darkened Jonathan's earlier aspirations. There were spells to shift the weather, and he knew of them. Granted they were forbidden by the Ministry, and despite all reforms to Azkaban, Jonathan would rather avoid a prison term. Plus, no magic today, he reminded himself. The magic had to come later.

And so as before, he ignored the patter on the windows, harsher now, but still outside. Nature may not have cooperated with him today, but this flat did. It seemed to guide him, willing his steps to restore its space to something warm and comforting. Large jars of candles were set about and lit, their burning wax emitting scents of autumn leaves and sweet apples. In the kitchen, other scents began to waft and fill the air: fresh tomatoes peeled, diced, and pureed. Onions, garlic, and green peppers were chopped and added to a pot of ground beef and minced Italian sausage, set to a low flame to simmer. Sprinklings of oregano, basil, crushed pepper were added, along with a pouring of Cabernet. Jonathan prepped and cleaned as he went. He had been to enough dinner parties to watch his friends cook, and couldn't fathom how they could just leave pans and utensils piling on their counters and sinks. Jonathan's approach kept him busy, but he moved with ease, muscles recalling every number of steps it took to pace across each room, deftly avoiding all the jutting sides and corners that poked him over the years.

As the meat sauce cooked slowly, Jonathan set about making the pasta by hand, sprinkling flour over the countertop and setting the dough he'd prepped before. Kneading, stretching, cutting, Jonathan poured his swelling feelings into the dough. Good food required far more than fresh ingredients. The best meals were sprinkled with love, mirth, contentment, at times tinted and spiced with sorrow and yearning. With the main dish mostly set, he moved to the pudding: treacle tart with clotted cream, and blancmange.

And so the hours bled away as Jonathan was lost in his labours. Nightfall came without him noticing. He was in the middle of setting the table with a freshly laundered runner when he thought he heard the faint creak of an opening door. This flat was but one space in floors of separate rentals, so he ignored it and went about his business. Silverware was set, fresh water and voles placed by a nearby owl perch (but not so near as to ruin one's appetite), and he was just in the midst of testing his slow cooked spaghetti when he heard a solid thump on the floor, and a voice call his name.

Jonathan bolted upright. It had been years since he heard that voice, and to hear it speak his name! His arms and legs felt weak all of a sudden, his plate suddenly feeling heavy as lead. Jonathan nearly panicked, his mission seemingly falling apart at the very last minute. He pivoted, face to face with his mission's grand objective: Hayden's welcome home. And in the instant he set his gaze to the other man's cerulean eyes, all his worries vanished.

He had been running lines in his head for days, thinking of the perfect thing to say. But all his planning proved useless as he couldn't think of a single proper thing to say! It was all as well, as Jonathan still had a short string of spaghetti dangling from his lips, surprised by Hayden's appearance during his sampling of the dinner he'd planned. Mouth still frozen dumbly, his arms took over their long-awaited greeting, lifting the plate of spaghetti toward the rain-drenched man to say what Jonathan could not at that moment.

Welcome home...

It was in that moment Hayden learned that, despite everything he had witnessed and experienced in his life, there was nothing more arresting than the sight of Jonathan Emerson standing in his make-shift dining room. It was a sight he'd seen countless times before, but this time had stopped him in his tracks. Hayden's eyes roamed over the features of the man he knew so well, his fingertips could trace the lines of him by memory, looking for faults that weren't there, cracks in reality to prove that Jonathan was not standing there. And he found none.

Jonathan. His mind echoed the word he’d spoken not a second prior. He had told Jonathan that’d he be coming home today. He had also told his sister Rosalie, his bosses at St. Mungo’s, and the Ministry themselves to re-register him as a working adult in London. Letters had been sent to his landlady, to friends across the country, and to potential former patients who were in need of his service. But he had expected to come home to his flat mostly unused and filled with a film of dust. He hadn't known that Jonathan would be here in his home, waiting for him to step through the door.

His eyes widened slightly at the thought. He was waiting for me...?

He cut of a train of thought that he knew would lead him down a darker path. There were just some things he didn't need to grapple with just yet. Instead, he asked the obvious question. "What are you doing here?" His voice was suddenly hoarse. After two years of missed opportunities and dreams lived overseas, Jonathan had found himself here. His brows furrowed deeply, his head tilting just so. "You didn't hav-"

And then he noticed the outlier in the room: the noodle dangling from Jonathan's mouth.

Hayden would never be able to describe the choked noise he made, lost somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. Immediately, he turned his head and closed his eyes. But the shake of his shoulders and chest as he turned his head away was proof enough of the former. No doubt about it, this was his Jonathan, without question. Not even Hayden could conjure a memory so purely and clearly him.

He counted his breaths before he turned back to the other man in the room. “Jonathan.” He said aloud again, this time no louder than a whisper. His brow relaxed, his frown dissipating and the tenderest of smiles spreading across his lips.  Unwavering warmth suddenly that radiated throughout his entire apartment. It filled up every nook and cranny and corner inside the small flat. When he inhaled, it felt as though he had breathed some of that warmth too. It spread through his entire frame, from fingertips to toes and he shivered despite himself.

Suddenly his wet and soggy clothes didn’t matter much anymore.

He took one step forward, and then another. The apartment had been freshly cleaned and here he was, dragging his feet and leaving puddles in his wake. For once, he couldn't bring himself to care. As he got closer, the herbs and spices of the food became clearer. The oregano and crushed peppers mingling together made his mouth water and stomach grumble. It had been hours since he'd last eaten. Again, he didn't seem to care about that too.

He got close, closer than he would have to just about anyone else, and looked up at him. "You made pasta." He mumbled more to himself than to Jonathan. His eyes flickered from the plate to the noodle still dangling at Jonathan's mouth. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But Jonathan had made it all too easy and he was feeling all too weak.

Carefully, almost shyly, he looped the strand of pasta around his finger and popped the end into his mouth. There, now they could both look stupid. Together.

Jonathan’s field of vision appeared to narrow, his periphery blurring and fading to darkness. In this vignette, his attention was directed front and centre. All he could focus on was the rain-soaked marvel of a man that moved ever closer to where he stood. Even from a distance, one that shortened with each step that Hayden took, Jonathan found himself locked and lost in the other man's presence, watching the catchlight shimmer across those cerulean eyes, catching the way Hayden's hair shifted from his gait, tracing those strong, defined jaws that framed soft, inviting lips. Hayden was moving poetry, every line of his a transcendent beauty.

And then he heard his name once more, wishing the walls could echo them back and let it linger in the air just a tiny bit longer. He closed his eyes, as if giving up his sight for a moment could help him regain that sweet sound. He could not, but he wasn't disappointed. There were plenty of chances, he thought—hoped, really—to hear it again. He opened his eyes, then stiffened at Hayden's presence, so close now from just a moment before.

Jonathan had imagined this moment over the years, and all the possible ways it could have gone. None of them prepared him to see Hayden actually here, right by him. He was at a greater loss when Hayden spoke again. Er? What pasta? Jonathan's brows betrayed him for a moment, flashing his confusion. But they arched upward in surprise as he followed Hayden's hand, which rose and reached toward him. Then it twirled, wrapping the other end of a spaghetti noodle...and then...and...then...

Jon’s eyes widened as everything clicked. His neurons were firing now, racing to deliver the necessary message: this was it! Go! Go! Go! Just like that fateful day they met in St Mungo's lift all those years ago, Jonathan was emboldened to act, afraid any delay would have him lose his chance yet again, perhaps forever.

So before anything else could distract him, Jonathan leaned forward, one arm sliding to wrap Hayden’s waist, gently pressing him closer, his other arm deftly holding their dinner safely out of the way. Hayden’s wet clothes were starting to soak into his own shirt fabric, but Jonathan didn’t care. He was much more concerned about removing the last obstacle to this kiss he’d waiting for since...since...well, since the day he decided Hayden was the only one he ever wanted to kiss.

Grinning now, he nibbled away at the spaghetti noodle until it was a morsel of a bridge between their lips. He paused for the briefest instant, a quick check that this was all real, and went in. He kissed Hayden softly at first, then with increasing intensity as all his checked passions freed themselves of any inhibition.

In the delicate touch of tongues and lips, Jonathan’s nerves made him tremble with sensations he could never have imagined feeling until now. Wistful imaginings of what a romance should be, or fleeting fancies of an abstracted lover failed to prepare him for the gravity of a love made manifest.

Jonathan scrunched his eyes tighter, but he couldn’t stop the wells of tears from falling down his cheeks, pooling where their faces touched, mixing with the drips of storm drops from Hayden’s soaked locks.

He had to laugh then, finally breaking away from their kiss, sniffling and chuckling. He loosened his arm from Hayden, to give him enough movement to wipe his nose on his shoulder, then slid them right back, almost afraid Hayden would turn right back out the door without him unless he held on.

‘I’m a mess,’ Jonathan admitted. ‘And without any manners, apparently! I should take your things and help you settle in.’ He shifted his other arm that held the pasta bowl, adjusting his balance of its weight.

‘Since you’ve already had a taste of supper,’ Jon mused, winking playfully as he spoke, ‘I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of it.’ Jonathan winked again, but softened his voice to a heartfelt whisper:

‘Welcome home…’

If he had to admit, despite being the epitome of a hardworking Hufflepuff and a brilliant Ravenclaw, neither he nor Jonathan were very quick studies. There were five years worth of happiness and heartbreaks without the titles of what they could have been between them. So when Jonathan’s arm found his waist, he felt a giddiness inside of him that couldn’t be tamed. Because, for the first time in five years, Hayden dared to hope for something he’d never thought he could have.

Eyes alight, he watched as Jonathan closed the distance, measured in the amount of pasta left. He allowed his lips to curl upward slightly at the ends, encouraging him to continue. That’s it, Jonathan. He silently cheered, his bones trembling with the promise of something more than wha the two of them had been before. So when their eyes met, Hayden inhaled deep, taking in the last moment. And then, he gave him the barest of nods. Go on.

Even still, the first brush of their lips meeting was like swiping his hand over static electricity. Or taking the last step with full confidence only to drop. Or, better yet, it was  like kissing Jonathan Emerson.

It wouldn’t be the first time Jonathan kissed him. There was their first meeting in the elevator when Jonathan had hoped to shock him (and succeeded). And then, just a few short months later, Hayden had returned the favor when Jonathan had stubbornly refused to take his medicine. But this was the first one that was done just to be what it was - a kiss for affection. A kiss to say hello. A kiss to say I want you here right now.

Forever a chronicler, Hayden found himself noticing things he never had the chance to do. He noted that Jonathan’s lips were soft and he tasted like pasta on top of a flavor all unto himself. As they kissed, he also felt the hint of stubble against his jawline. All of these things Hayden checked off to remember when this kiss eventually ended.

He exhaled against his mouth as they broke apart. “Jonathan.” He was saying his name a lot, he knew. But it had been years since he had seen the man to call him by name and he was going to indulge. However, the sight of Jonathan crying pricked his heart like a loom needle. He reached up and cupped Jonathan’s cheek, thumbing away the remainder of his tears. He did rightfully roll his eyes at Jonathan’s joke, though. “Are you supposed to be my supper or the pasta, Jonathan?” And, in true Hayden fashion, he shook his head and tried not to regret everything. “Don’t you dare answer that.”

“Anyway, it’s good to be home.” Home. The word echoed in his head, rattled around his brain, and seeped into his very marrow as if he’d drank a goblet of butterbeer too fast, leaving him heady and warm. Quickly he swallowed down his own unshed tears, though the brimmed against his eyelashes, threatening to fall. He chanced a smile in the hopes that they would stay put, even if it made his vision swim a little.

“And you’re not the mess, I am.” He looked down at his wet clothes and shook his head. There was a small puddle around his feet that caused his shoes to squeak when he stepped back. “Let me just get changed?” As if sensing Jonathan’s reluctance to let him go, he tilted Jonathan’s chin down between his thumb and forefinger and offered him another quick and far more chaste kiss. Why? Because you can, his mind reminded him pleasantly.

With that, he grabbed his bag and made his way to his bedroom. After a few minutes of trading wet clothes for drier ones, he shuffled out in an old t-shirt and loose grey sweats that were slightly too long and covered all but his toes. He ruffled his still damp hair that refused to dry or style into anything other than a wet mess. "Sorry I couldn't dress for dinner." Magical or not unpacking was always a mess and his good clothes were buried under two years of notes. Hopefully Jonathan wouldn't mind.

(( @Jonathan Emerson))

Ahh. What was in a name? Roses by any other may smell just as sweet, but at this moment, Jonathan wouldn’t trade his name for the world. After all, it was his name that rolled off Hayden’s lips. There was magic in that calling. Jonathan knew enough of arcana to recognise the power of names and speaking them into existence.

It felt as if Hayden had cast a spell in calling his name. Was it a charm to summon? To bind? To claim?

Whatever effects they yielded was beyond his own understanding, but a part of him felt it, deep in the core of his magic. Indeed, for the briefest instant, he thought he felt his wand hum in resonance, vibrating so faintly in his back pocket that he’d have missed it on any other occasion. But this moment, Jonathan was all too aware. Being around Hayden heightened his senses, as if his body feared it would miss something crucial unless it was on full alert. And Jonathan knew he had missed plenty before: missed chances, missed time, missed him.

After parting from their kiss, in his tearful gaze, Jonathan felt Hayden’s hand, and the warmth it sent across his cheek. Another magic of a sort. A Healer’s touch. He missed this too, reminding him of the few tender moments they shared across the years.

Oh, if he could stretch these precious seconds into a lifetime!

But time rolled on, and Jonathan was now keenly aware of just how little of it had passed. Hayden had shaken his head, and shook him back into the normal span and pace of the present. He had a ready answer to Hayden’s question about supper, but let it be, grinning instead as he let Hayden take in the fact that he was finally back home.

He felt Hayden shift, and instinctively held him a bit more firmly, a subconscious fear of having to let go. But he relaxed when he realised it, and let go after Hayden’s quick kiss turn his arm into putty. Thank Merlin he had enough wits about him to keep his other arm from dropping their meal.

He made a motion to get Hayden’s things for him, but the Healer was a step ahead of him, as always. It was probably for the best, as Jonathan would have definitely dropped everything in messy heap, trunks and pasta and all. So as Hayden went to change, Jon placed the bowl on the table, and quickly checked to ensure Marie and Claude had enough water after their journey home, before setting his attention back to Hayden.

Meals were prepped and the table was set and Hayden was...oh, my!

It had been quite a long time since Jonathan was treated to such a sight. He may have just welcomed Hayden home, but the man had changed to dress as if he’d been living here all this time. It was an image of comfort that Jonathan hoped to see more of, a portent of peaceful domesticity that Jon had longed for after all these weary, troublesome years. But Jonathan twitched slightly at the sight of Hayden in a tee and sweats. Even if they were slightly over-large and draped along his frame, the sweats hugged Hayden’s waist quite well, and in the subtle contours Jonathan was sure he could juuuuust make out—

‘Nope!’ Jonathan hastily replied, both for Hayden and his own wandering mind. ‘You’re perfectly dressed for the occasion. In fact, it’s quite poor form for me to be so overdressed!’

In a swift, fluid motion, Jonathan had removed his shirt over his body like some jumper, ignoring the buttons, and hastily tossing it across the flat. Belt and trousers were quickly gone and tossed as well, until Jon was left in a tee and boxers. There! Now both of them were dressed as homebodies, having a simple, home-cooked meal.

Jon plopped down on a seat at the table, and reached to pat the other nearest him, motioning for Hayden to sit. There were so many things Jonathan wanted to ask and tell, but he reminded himself they had all night, and the morrow too. And the next day even. After all, Hayden was here, and here to stay.

‘Well, come on. Best to have a bite before it all gets cold!’