Gavin arrives early, which Temp no doubt expects. Gavin is always early. He's well-dressed, having bought a new suit for the occasion, and when Temp steps too close (not that Gavin minds) he'll no doubt smell his boyfriend's favourite and needlessly expensive cologne. His hair is soft, fluffy like when it's freshly washed.

Gavin is excited, because this was a date. He'll never get over dates.

He's a little nervous, which is normal.

Temp seems very nervous, which is not. He's hiding something. It's as obvious as if he'd shouted it.

Gavin's a jealous partner but also a relatively trusting one; his brows arch, unimpressed by the poor attempt at a cover-up, but he smirks in lieu of scowling and returns the nervous smile with a languid one.

"Caught you off guard, have I? What are you hiding?"

His voice is low, throaty, the tone he takes when he's playfully threatening.

Tempest Quinn

Temp is also fresh, clean, smells nice, and he hopes that Cillian Quinn appreciates that.

Sadly, he is also very stressed over the ongoing situation in his house, so Temp is not able to fully appreciate Gavin in the way he deserves. Doesn't stop him from giving a quick once over and clicking his tongue in appreciation.

"I have never been off guard in my life and I have no idea what you're talking about." Said a little too quick and defensive, almost playfully so, but he pouts and crosses his arms. Temp is an absolutely shitty liar. If no other moment before this well known fact could prove it, this would.

He clears his throat, motions around them.

"Just thought it would be, uh... nice to enjoy some time out here."

In the empty apartment hallway.

A loud thump sounds from inside and confusion flashes over Temp's face at the house before he shakes it off and gives his most obvious smile.

Gavin does, in fact, appreciate all of the effort Temp puts into his presentation. He loves him equally when he's sweaty and disheveled but it's sweet to see him all gussied up on Gavin's behalf.

"Uh huh. The ambience out here is stunning."

It's interrupted by a thump from inside.

If Gavin's arched brows could lift higher, they would.

"Just how many illicit lovers are you hiding in there?"

He places the palm of his free hand against the door not to open it, but to superficially trap his boyfriend against it. A wrapped bottle of what's most likely wine, given Gavin's track record, is tucked under his arm so that he might slide a blade into his hand.

He traces its tip along Temp's jaw, tilting his head.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

Saccharine, accompanied by a devious smirk.

There's genuine curiousity in the back of his mind as to what Temp is hiding from him, but it's shelved in favour of fun.

Tempest Quinn

Temp is sweating. One from having to face facts and actually step inside his house. The other in the form of that knife, which his eyes trace the curve of like a moth drawn to flame. He loved it when Cillian Quinn was rough with him.

He opened his mouth to reply but only a croak came out, followed by a loud crash from inside his house.

"My cheesecake!" Grabbing the door handle, Temp almost fell backwards inside as he rushed inside his house. Sadly, the knife teasing would have to wait until after the confection was safe.

The door left open, Gavin would find a few things.

One, Temp at war with a Smeargle who very much wanted the fruit covered cheesecake sitting on the counter. It looked like a chair had been knocked over in Captain's attempt to get on the counter.

Two, was the house was filled with eleven, massive, matching bouquets. Mostly whites, blues, and a few greens, with a few yellows to accent with sunflowers. They were all the size of Temp's torso, at least, and sitting on pretty much every surface that Temp had been able to cram them onto. It was standing room only thanks to the flowers.

If Gavin inspected them, he would find all of the cards attached said the same thing: "To Cillie, my sweet buttercup. I love you."

The moment is lost in spectacular fashion when a crash from within Temp's apartment sends him rushing inside. Gavin follows more slowly; it had been rather evident that his partner had been trying to keep him outside, but he couldn't resist the pull of curiousity.

He notices the flowers, first, because it's hard not to miss the explosion of colour and the sweet scent of the arrangements.

He doesn't inspect the cards, at first, too preoccupied by the struggle between Temp and Captain. Gavin's soft laughter might alert Temp to his boyfriend's breach of the apartment, though Gavin's not exactly trying to be subtle as he steps forward to pick up Captain so that Temp can rescue his fruity concoction.

Even if the chaos settles, a pink flush to Gavin's cheeks remains. This was... a lot. More than he's used to, but not in a bad way.

"Are you trying to start a business?"

He gestures vaguely to the flowers sitting on every available surface, offering a cheeky smile.

Tempest Quinn

When Cillian Quinn picks up Captain, Temp sticks his tongue out at his pokemon before he places the cheesecake back down on the table. Captain crosses his arms and pouts in Gavin's arms. Temp is quick to call him back into the pokeball he'd freed himself from in the name of cheesecake destruction.

Temp had forgotten, for a moment, about his desperation to keep Gavin from seeing the inside of his place. Pink flushes his cheeks, too, more from embarrassment. But it's a mild kind, one he can handle, especially cause the flush on Gavin's face is such a nice thing to see. Maybe this was worth it.

"I wanted to order one and ordered eleven by accident." Circling from around the counter, Temp tries to loosely wrap an arm around his boyfriend's waist.

"Do you like them?" Soft, hopeful, a little shy.

Temp's arm curls around his waist, and Gavin tilts his head to look at his partner with a fond smile. He shakes his head with exasperation, amused and no less fond. Eleven? How had he even managed?

He doesn't ask. Instead, he finally spots one of the cards sticking out from among bright petals.

Buttercup. His stomach flutters with nerves. His cheeks are hot, and he has the sudden urge to bury his face against Temp's chest so that his partner won't see him blushing like a lovesick teenager.

But he doesn't. He looks at Temp, his smile wavering with emotion.

"I love them, idiot." He pulls his partner toward him by looping an arm about his neck, kissing him gentler than usual. "I love you."

No one's ever gotten him flowers before. It makes him feel strange, warm and giddy and loved.

Tempest Quinn

A soft kiss is pressed to Cillian Quinn's cheek. Proximity makes it an impossible urge to fight.

"I love you, too, Buttercup." His own cheeks flame up more. The smile that breaks his face makes him embarrassed. Temp feels like a dog that's been praised by it's owner, except in a romantic way and not a weird way. All he wants is to grab Gavin and dip him while giving him a big kiss.

Making his lover happy was all he lived for.

"I made your favorite."

Gavin ducks his head with the gentle kiss to his cheek. They'd be warm beneath the brush of his lover's lips, still flushed pink.

"Buttercup," he repeats. "You sap."

Quietly, he decides he doesn't mind.

There are buttercups in the bouquet, little pops of yellow around the sides to compliment the beaming sunflower centerpieces. He's always liked sunflowers, but how had Temp figured that out? A lucky guess? Intuition? The painting in his study of a whole field of them beneath the setting sun? It could have been as simple as something to fill wall space, but...

He'd been too distracted by the cheesecake debacle and the subsequent giddiness of realization, but now he identifies a familiar scent behind the perfume of floral scents and Temp's cologne.

"Stew?"

Gavin had made it for them, once, telling Temp off-hand that it was a childhood favourite. Even though he'd hated his mother, he'd never hated her cooking — no, that had been one of Sienna's talents. His favourite the thick, Galarian stew made with beer broth and Wooloo mutton, easy enough to make but far harder to master. Even Gavin can't make it as good as his mum, but that's because she'd never taught him. He'd had to puzzle it out himself with the aid of cookbooks and online recipes and so he doesn't expect this to be perfect but the thought that Temp had listened and remembered and put in the effort is so damned sweet that Gavin throws his arms around his lover's neck and kisses him in wordless thanks.

Tempest Quinn

Cillian Quinn kisses him and Temp feels that same thrill. Since Gavin is being so willing, he can't resist wrapping his arms around Gavin, too. And picking him for a quick twirl before sitting his feet back on the ground where he found him. Lips locked the whole time.

Temp is sheepish when he nods, slowly pulling away but not before dropping another kiss on his lover's nose.

"I hope it tastes alright." In secret, he'd been practicing this recipe for at least two weeks. His neighbors as well as any other Galarians he happened to know had been tortured with the leftovers. His poor dad would be eating the stuff for the next week, too.

But he steps over and takes the pot off the stove where it had been resting, still bubbly and warm as he sets it on the counter. It was hard to find some of the ingredients in Hoenn, they didn't have the same growing cycle as Galar after all, but he had made it as authentic as possible. Circhester and Circhester crops and Circhester specialties would now permanently live in his search history.

A startled burst of laughter is released against Temp's lips as he picks Gavin up and spins him. It makes his stomach flutter and his head rush, and when Temp sets him back down Gavin has to cling tighter for balance.

"You might've warned me!"

But there's a delight in his breathless tone that suggests it's better he didn't.

He ducks his head when Temp kisses his nose, leans forward to return the favour and then flicks his lover gently as he retracts his hold.

"It smells amazing."

Like — not home, but of warmth and comfort, the likes of which his mother's food had provided even if the woman had been an absolute harpy from the seventh hell. It brings to mind snuggling up beneath the covers with a book on a cold day, stomach full and mind at ease. Would that such memories were the only ones he had of his childhood.

It doesn't matter how it tastes; it's the thought that recreates that feeling, safe and warm. Yet when Gavin lifts the lid from the pot and swipes a spoon to taste, his expression turns from curious to pleasantly surprised.

"Arceus, you're a natural." He laughs, amazed, and takes another test of the broth. "How did you learn how to make it this good? Haven't got my mum tied up in the closet, have you?"

He laughs, light and airy.

Tempest Quinn

The praise needles his chest like all praise does; Temp is quick to want to deny it, push the praise off, uncomfortable. Only the hours of watching videos and doing his best to match techniques used makes him accept it. Even if he wasn't good at compliments he still was willing to take them when he felt like he earned them. (Was just a shame he so rarely felt that.)

"Don't want to keep a ghoul in here." It feels odd to insult someone's mother but he knows how Cillian Quinn feels about her, his family in general.

"I just... got really lucky, I guess!" He clapped his hands together before pulling out a few sides. All stuff that recipe sites and videos has promised would pair well; he'd also practiced but not with such feverish intent. The nice cutlery and dishes were brought out, which Temp placed between them.

One of the bouquets was devouring the small table, but Temp had lit them a few candles and even found a nice wine to pair, which was chilling in a little bucket of ice. A real nice meal.

"I love you, Cillie." Earnest and sweet. Temp stepped closer to try and steal another peck from Gavin's lips before going back to serving food.

Gavin reaches out with his free hand to brush his fingers along the back of Temp's knuckles, then twines their hands for a brief squeeze before he lets go. Silent understanding; he's seen the way his lover squirms under praise, as if he'd rather it slide right off his skin. But he'll never cease to drown him in honeyed words, so long as they're the truth.

One day, he vows, you'll see what I do.

A sharp laugh cuts through the ferocity of his thoughts.

"She'd curse you enough," he agrees. His mother was a proper Galarian lady, nobility born and raised, but that didn't stop her from turning into a right harpy when she was in a foul mood. Which was often.

"Really lucky. It's perfect." His stomach growls, mouth watering. He'd been nervous enough about their date that he'd forgotten to eat and that fact creeps up on him, now, overwhelming. But he doesn't steal any more spoonfuls from the pot, instead choosing to patiently wait for Temp to serve up the meal. "Love you, too," he mumbles against his lover's lips. "My summer storm."

He brushes their noses together, then steps back to give him space.

Tempest Quinn