14 + Garcy?
Prompt: the power goes out in our apartment building, but i’m not prepared for this, and you come to check on me
It’s been awhile since I did any fluffy g-rated garcy au, so let’s slowly get back into the swing of things. Thanks for the req, friend; I hope you like it.
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He knows the sound of her.
Flynn prefers to read on his apartment balcony in the golden autumn evenings, even as the summer flickers and dies. He has sweaters enough to bear the brisk, and although he’s lived through enough to have earned peace, the muted thunder of the city suits his vigilance better than the tomb-like silence of the apartment itself.
When he first heard her, at the dawn of summer, Flynn had resolved himself to finally surrendering to dark memories, because that song had died in Lorena’s lungs. But this voice had only grown, flowing down from above, and as the long sunset evenings stretched on, he grew to appreciate its brassy, raw and melody. Lorena’s voice, different, had been made for hymns.
He hears her angry, too. There are one-sided arguments just out of his hearing–over the phone, maybe, or with herself. She’s loud, and indignant, and occasionally resigned, and on those days Flynn wonders who could have argued her down.
She gardens. He’s embarked on a survey of Russian literature by the time the autumnal westerlies start blowing flower petals into his face. Flynn looks up one cool night, and with the grace of a trained soldier, catches a rose petal out of the air. They had been velvet once, and are now turning to dust.
The days drag on, and the city quiets, as the parties die with the summer and the snowbirds depart. The occasional dying leaf flutters down from above, but Flynn no longer hears his upstairs neighbor puttering around on her balcony. Her footsteps have always been light, so there’s no way to know if she’s still present. He tries not to think of her too often.
The woman had moved in at the beginning of summer, and as her plants wither, he wonders if she will go out with them.
