Silas unlocked the door to his shared apartment and stepped inside, only to be greeted by chaos.
A shattered plate lay on the kitchen floor, surrounded by crumbs and streaks of dried sauce. Dirty laundry was scattered through the hallway like casualties from some pointless domestic battle. An empty pizza box sat proudly on the couch, as if it owned the place.
And in the middle of it all was Lily.
She was sprawled over a pile of clothes as if it were a perfectly normal place to sit, one arm hanging off the side and the other wrapped around a pillow she had likely stolen from Silas's bed. The television cast a soft blue glow over her face as she stared at the screen with sleepy focus, completely unbothered by the disaster around her.
A cartoon sponge was cheerfully flipping burgers.
Silas stood in the doorway for a moment and let out a long, tired sigh.
His black hair, tied back in a loose ponytail, still carried a trace of evening rain. His white shirt was slightly wrinkled, and his green apron clung stubbornly to him from gardening club. Dirt smudged the sleeves, and faint scars rested around his wrists beneath the fabric, half-hidden and easy to miss unless someone knew where to look.
Lily glanced over at him lazily.
"Hi, roomie," she said, sounding like she had just woken up from a nap she had no intention of apologizing for. "You got back late."
Silas slowly shut the door behind him. "Why is the apartment trashed?"
"You got back late," she repeated, as if that explained everything.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lily."
She stretched like a cat, her pink rabbit slippers nudging a pair of jeans farther across the floor. "I tried doing laundry since you always complain about it."
"And then I got tired halfway through," she continued. "So I took a break."
Silas looked around the room. "This looks less like a break and more like a natural disaster."
"I was going to clean the kitchen too," she said, ignoring him. "But then I got hungry while looking for a snack, and I dropped a plate."
His eyes shifted to the shards on the floor.
"And then," Lily added with a small shrug, "all the other dishes were dirty, so I ordered pizza."
Silas stared at her in silence.
Lily smiled faintly. "I feel like you're judging me."
"I am judging you."
He stepped over a shirt, set his bag down by the door, and reached for the broom resting beside the fridge. He was already cleaning before he fully realized he had started.
Lily rolled onto her side and watched him with half-lidded amusement. "You know, technically, you were only hired to help manage my condition. Not to be my personal maid."
Silas swept up broken pieces of ceramic with practiced patience. "I'm glad you remember that, because you certainly don't act like it."
"Yeah, but you're good at both."
He shot her a flat look.
She raised the pillow like a shield. "Hey, I said it as a compliment."
Silas crouched to brush crumbs out from under the couch. "You always make the biggest messes on Fridays."
"That's because you always come back late on Fridays," Lily muttered.
"I go to gardening club."
"I know."
"You've known for months."
"I still don't like it."
Silas stood and dumped the broken plate into the trash. "I'm entitled to one evening to myself, once a week. It's in the contract."
Lily sat up a little, though she still looked more sleepy than serious. "And I think your contract should be renegotiated."
He crossed his arms. "By who?"
"Me."
"You're the reason the contract exists."
She pointed at herself. "Exactly. Important client privileges."
Silas almost rolled his eyes, but he stopped himself. Lily was annoying in a way that rarely felt mean. More often, it felt deliberate. Like she enjoyed poking at him just to make him react.
Unfortunately, it usually worked.
She hugged the pillow tighter and looked away from the television, her gaze drifting toward him.
"You're supposed to walk me home," she said quietly. "I don't like walking alone."
Silas paused.
The complaint sounded childish at first, but there was something underneath it. Something softer.
He resumed sweeping. "You made it home fine."
"Still."
The room fell quiet for a moment except for the television in the background.
Silas knew Lily hated being alone. She hid it behind jokes, laziness, and dramatic little complaints, but he had known her long enough to notice the pattern. She always talked more when evenings got dark. She always found excuses to stay near him when the apartment felt too quiet.
He just didn't say anything about it.
Instead, he tied off the trash bag and moved toward the counter.
"You can survive for one evening without me hovering over you."
Lily pouted. "That's a cruel thing to say to someone as delicate as me."
Silas gave her a bland look. "You are not delicate."
"I am," she said with absolute confidence. "I'm a fragile flower."
"You're lazy."
"Fragile."
"Dramatic."
"Beautiful and delicate."
He opened the window slightly to let out the smell of cold pizza and dust. "You're impossible."
Lily lifted her chin. "That too."
A small smile threatened to form on Silas's face, but he pushed it down before she could see it.
Then Lily added, "You could garden here, you know. I'm basically a houseplant already. You don't need your stupid gardening club."
Silas turned toward her. "You are not a plant."
"I literally grow flowers."
"That does not make you a plant."
"It makes me special."
"It makes you a medical liability."
Lily gasped, offended. "Silas Moon, how dare you."
She sat up straighter, glaring at him with sleepy blue eyes.
Then a single red petal drifted down from her head and landed on the carpet.
Silas froze.
Lily blinked.
"Oh," she said.
A second later, a red poppy bloomed from her hair.
It unfurled slowly and beautifully, bright against the golden strands, like it had always belonged there. Then another followed, and Lily's expression immediately softened with exhaustion.
Silas moved before she could fully slump sideways.
He caught her shoulders and eased her against him as her body went limp.
"Lily."
"I'm fine," she mumbled weakly.
"You're not fine."
Her condition was always like this. Strong emotions triggered flowers to bloom from her body, and every bloom drained her strength. The prettier the flower, the worse the crash afterward.
Silas brushed her bangs aside carefully and examined the poppies.
"Red poppies," he murmured. "Anger."
Lily's eyes were already slipping closed. "Maybe a little jealousy."
Silas looked at her.
But she had already fallen half-asleep, as if she hadn't said anything strange at all.
He sighed through his nose.
With careful fingers, he plucked the flowers free one by one, making sure not to hurt her. He carried them to the kitchen and placed them in a small glass vase filled with water. The red petals spread softly across the surface, vivid and haunting in the dim apartment light.
For a moment, he stood there and looked at them.
Lily always bloomed beautiful things.
Even when she was being a disaster.
He returned to the couch and found her barely conscious, curled into the blanket of clothes she had made for herself. Without a word, he pulled a proper blanket from the chair, wrapped it around her shoulders, and lifted her into his arms.
She was light.
Too light, sometimes.
Lily stirred faintly against his chest as he carried her down the hall. "Did you save the flowers?"
"Yes."
"Good."
He pushed open her bedroom door with his foot and laid her gently on the bed. Her room, unlike the rest of the apartment, was strangely neat. The desk was organized. The books were stacked. The curtains were drawn just right.
Silas tucked the blanket around her and brushed a few loose strands of hair from her face.
In sleep, Lily looked younger. Quieter. Less like the chaos she carried around during the day.
"You're going to be the death of me," he whispered.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile, though he wasn't sure if she had heard him.
Silas stood there for another second before turning off the light and stepping out into the hallway.
Back in the kitchen, the vase of red poppies rested on the counter.