Labyrinth, Jareth/Toby quiet seduction 1/2
It started with a single white rosebud appearing on his window frame.
Toby stared at the flower, feeling some of the crushing loneliness lift a bit, and a small smile curled his lips for the first time in weeks. It felt strange to smile again, after his parents had disowned him for being gay, and then his boyfriend of three years stating that Toby had been a great casual fuck but he needed to get back to his fiancee. Walking over to the window, he picked up the flower and brought it to his nose, inhaling the soft, sweet fragrance. The scent strangely soothed the ache in his soul, and he rummaged around his small apartment for something to put the rose in. He came up with an old vase he had made in one of his art classes when he had a chance to attend college. It was a strange swirl of green and blue with small silver bubbles suspended in it. He placed it near the window where he could see it best.
Over the next couple of weeks, more rosebuds appeared on his windowsill in a variety of colors but each was comforting and was added to the vase. He was delighted when the older roses didn’t show any sign of wilting even if they didn’t open farther. After a truly horrible day when nothing seemed to go right, a small note was left with a pale pink rosebud, and Toby’s cheeks turned the same color as the rose as he read the simple declaration that his secret admirer would want nothing better than to hold him until the horrible days faded from memory.
He was being courted.
A second inspection of the note revealed a masculine slant to the writing along with the faintest scent of peaches. That night, he dreamed of his admirer, a faceless man who touched him as if he were the most precious person in his life.
Over the next several weeks, there were notes on his windowsill, written on heavy paper in that same masculine hand, instead of flowers. Those went into a box with a lock on it while he wore the key around his neck. A pointless gesture when he was the only one living in the apartment, but it was what one did with letters from one’s lover. Even if they weren’t lovers yet. Toby knew it was just a matter of time because with each rose, with each letter, he was slowly falling in love with his admirer.
Then one day, the letter changed.
I will see you tonight when the moon rises.
That sent off a whirlwind of activity when Toby read it. He cleaned his already clean apartment before jumping into the shower and thoroughly scrubbing the days sweat and dust off. Then he rushed to his closet only to stop and stare at the choices there with a growing sense of horror.
He didn’t know what to wear.
Despite the letters, he didn’t know what his admirer liked. If he wore the leather pants and the tight t-shirt, he’d be giving his admirer the wrong impression if he showed up in khaki and a polo. He whimpered and cursed the fact that he didn’t know anything about his admirer to prepare for this meeting.
Wait, I do know something about him, he realized, thinking back on the letters. Each one was written in a slanted hand on unlined, old fashioned paper, and the roses had started with white, the color of friendship and innocence, before slowly darkening to a dark red color symbolizing love. Both were old fashioned, almost Victorian, and romantic because they took time to plan and execute. Nodding decisively, he reached for the poet’s shirt and the black pants. Victorian romance he could do.