DISCLAIMER: QAF and its characters are the sole property of Cowlip Productions and Showtime. No copyright infringement is intended.

The first one showed up on - appropriately enough - the first day of spring. And it actually felt like spring that day; warm, sunny, with the promise of hope in the air, unlike how typical spring days in New York City were likely to be, ones that frequently mocked the season it was supposed to represent. This one, however, lived up to its name, and provided the inhabitants of the Big Apple with a glorious day to be outside.

And outside they were around Central Park; either riding bicycles, jogging along the roadway, hitching a ride on one of the carriages, or sitting on one of the park benches interspersed throughout the park. The trees were still barren of leaves, making it hard to imagine the shady plaza that the park would eventually become within a month or so, but just being outside under the sunshine was enough to lift everyone's spirits.

This is where Justin often came to contemplate his life. His decisions, his art, his future. Among the acres and acres of the park's boundary, he could always find a spot of solitude where he could perch, either on a bench or - when it became warmer - on the grass, sitting Indian style as he sketched from one of his books or just watched the activity around him for inspiration. He sometimes chose to observe people; other times, he preferred to hang out in a secluded area near one of the trails that wound around the outskirts of the lake, sitting quietly as turtles ventured out onto the rocks and reveled in the sun beating down upon them, finding the contrast of light and dark among the sun's rays and shadows fascinating.

So it was today that he once more had walked from the Metropolitan Museum of Art - where he was employed part time in the gift shop as a sales consultant - several blocks to the park, finding one of his favorite benches unoccupied as he sat there, his mind awhirl with all sorts of emotions. And one man in particular.

He sighed. It had been about a year since he had left Pittsburgh and the man who was constantly in his heart. He smiled wistfully. Brian had been right in a way; time really hadn't mattered as far as changing the way he felt about him. He loved him just as much - if not more - than he ever had before. And they DID see each other on occasion, at least as their schedules permitted. But with Brian committed to seeing his son more in Toronto, and Justin's art taking flight at last to where he was now showing a few pieces in a small, independent art gallery in SoHo, it made it difficult for them to uphold their promise to see each other on a frequent basis. And whenever they finally did see each other, and then had to say goodbye after spending the weekend together - whether here or in Pittsburgh - it always made his heart heavy, just knowing how terribly he would miss him until they could be together again.

He HAD found all kinds of inspiration for his work in New York City in the past several months; after all, with a city as diverse and alive as this one, how could one not? But his works had slowly turned more somber recently; more dramatic, more wrenching. They had always evoked emotion in the observer, but now instead of feeling brightness and light in them, instead they sensed darkness and somberness. They still sold well; but now it was a different sort of art patron who purchased them.

"God, Brian, I miss you so much," Justin whispered mournfully as he stared ahead at nothing in particular, the sun contradicting his melancholy mood. Nibbling on his thumbnail between his lips, he finally picked up his sketchbook from its place on the bench beside him, along with his graphite pencil, before rising to his feet, deciding it was time to catch the nearby subway and head down to SoHo to the gallery which held a cramped studio space in the back for his use. It was smaller than he would have liked, but it had good light, and the owner was kind enough to let him use it for free, so he really couldn't complain.

Twenty minutes later, he walked through the entrance of the studio, noticing the owner - Sylvia Swanson - standing behind her combination counter/office space located in the far corner. Sylvia was very much a 'hands-on' person, needing to stay out in the main exhibition area where she could quickly answer any inquiries should a patron express an interest in any of the works on display. Not only did it make business sense, but it also gave her a keen insight into what sort of works most appealed to her clientele. She smiled as she heard the door open, and observed one of her popular young artists walking in.

"I was hoping you would show up soon," she told him.

Justin grinned as he approached. "Why? Hungry, and thought I might bring you dinner?"

She smiled. "Well, that's always a bonus - and it never hurts to suck up to the boss."

Justin laughed, bringing his left hand out from behind his back to reveal a plain, paper bag. "You are so predictable, Sylvia." Walking up to her, he handed her the corn beef on rye sandwich.

"You ARE clairvoyant, and a doll!" she replied. "How much?"

Justin snickered. "Isn't that line getting old by now?" She always said that. "Take it out of my studio rent."

"But you don't PAY any studio rent."

"Exactly. Consider it my way of saying thank you, then."

She nodded affectionately at him. Not only was Justin extremely talented as an artist, but he was a genuinely nice, caring man; a young man she had quickly grown very fond of. "You spoil me. But I love it."

"I appreciate everything you do for me," he told her sincerely. His eyes settled on a large bouquet of flowers then, sitting in a crystal vase at the left end of the counter, thinking how vibrant and alive they looked, especially after the snowy and dreary winter they had just experienced. "Those are pretty," he commented with a smile. "What are they?"

"Forget-me-nots," she told him. "And I'm glad you like them. Because they belong to you."

He frowned. "Huh?"

She nodded. "Read the envelope."

Justin reached for the small, white envelope attached to the plastic stick nestled among the blooms and turned it over, noticing his name written there. "I guess they are," he replied in surprise. Curious, he pulled the flap open and slid the card out, noticing the name of Bergen's Florist imprinted on it. In small, neat letters were the words, Hope you haven't forgotten me. I certainly haven't forgotten YOU. There was no signature attached to it. "There's no name here," he informed Sylvia.

She smiled. "Hmm...secret admirer, Mr. Taylor? Or someone new beau I don't know about?"

Justin shrugged. "I have no idea who it's from." He eyed her wryly. "And you know better than that," he chided her. "They certainly can't be from Brian; he hates anything even remotely romantic." Although, he had to admit buying a whole house and subsequently making love to him in front of a fireplace after he had accepted his marriage proposal came pretty fucking close.

She nodded. "I remember you telling me that once. Well, it must be one of the patrons, then. I know a lot of them that seem to want to get 'up close and personal' with one artist in particular."

Justin shuddered slightly. Yes, some of the men who visited the gallery since he had begun displaying his works here seemed a lot more interested in HIM than his paintings. They seemed to find no problem with pawing him, or standing in his personal space and breathing down on his neck as they wrapped their arms around him from behind. He normally was polite with them, but on occasion he had had to resort to more direct responses, such as physically pushing them away or even giving them a good shove. Fortunately, Sylvia had a security man who worked for her when she had shows, and with Mario's burly physique and strength, no admirer and/or multi-armed octopus had been a match for him when it came to giving them a heave ho out the door as a last resort. "I guess you're right," he decided, pondering what to do with the flowers. They were pretty. And it wasn't THEIR fault that the sender might be one of those leeches. And they did seem to brighten up the place, and reminded him of the promise of spring. He could use a pick-me-up right about now, too.

"Well, I guess I could take them to my studio," he finally decided as he reached for the heavy, crystal vase.

Sylvia grinned at him. "Why not? I wouldn't let them go to waste."

Justin nodded. "Let me know if you need me for anything. I'm going to do some painting for a while." He practically lived at the studio instead of his tiny apartment, which he shared with three other roommates; so much so that oftentimes he stayed overnight on an inflatable mattress set up in a corner of the room. Sylvia didn't mind, and Justin actually preferred the quiet over the sometimes raucous nature of the apartment.

Giving Sylvia a smile as she began to munch on her sandwich, he carried the flowers over to the rear door, giving them a brief smell of appreciation before he opened the door and walked inside; placing the vase down on the Formica counter next to the small, stainless steel sink, he soon began resuming his work and quickly forgot about his unexpected gift.

The next day, though, it happened again. This time it was a tall, porcelain vase with an artistic, impressionistic image on it filled with Bachelor's Buttons, along with another unsigned card. This time the card said, You don't want to be a bachelor all your life, do you?

He furrowed his brow, trying desperately to figure out who his benefactor was. But despite the several men who had indicated an interest in him since his move here, he couldn't for the life of him think of who it could be. "I don't know whether to be flattered or concerned," he told Sylvia as she studied him.

"I'm sure it's harmless," she reassured him. "And besides, you know that Marco will kick the guy's ass if he shows up here and does anything improper."

Justin laughed. "Yeah, you have a point there." Gazing at the blue flowers, he finally did the same with them as he had with the Forget Me Nots, grasping the vase at the bottom and carrying it back to his studio to join the other one.

The next day, Justin groaned as he walked into the gallery and peered over at Slyvia behind the counter. "Not again," he murmured. This time, it was a dozen Irises, blue and yellow again in color like the first two bouquets had been, but these were in a tall, slender vase with a colorful, geometric pattern. Justin had to admit he did find the container's design very attractive from an artistic point of view. But he didn't need any more flowers - or cards - from whomever the sender was. "I don't believe this. This is getting ridiculous now."

"Well, he's certainly faithful," Sylvia declared. "Right on schedule. So the guy must know something about your work habits."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better; that he's a stalker with a regular schedule?"

"How do you know it's a guy, by the way?" Sylvia responded with a wink. "I've noticed the ladies find you quite attractive, too."

Justin pondered that for a moment as he studied the latest bouquet. "Maybe," he conceded at last. "But I don't get that vibe from this. Besides, I've made no secret that I'm gay. I haven't gone around announcing it, either, but I don't think this is from a woman."

Sylvia shrugged. "Maybe not. But I'm dying to know what this card says. Open it," she urged him.

Justin sighed as he reached for the familiar, white envelope and handed it to her. "Go right ahead, then. The thrill is long gone." In fact, he never had been thrilled. Curious, yes; even a little freaked out, especially after Day 3. But NEVER thrilled.

Sylvia grinned as she slid the card out from the envelope and scanned the message before laughing. "Well, whoever he is, he'd better not give up his day job. He's certainly no poet." She read the words out loud. "Iris I was with you right now."

"Cute," Justin muttered; not sure whether to be amused or not. He shook his head in frustration. "I'm quickly running out of room for this fucking florist shop. Why don't YOU keep this one? Or better yet, just take them home with you tonight."

"Well, I always loved Irises. Are you sure?"

"God, yes. Please take them with you."

She nodded then as Justin sighed in relief. "Well, at the very least keep the card for sentimental purposes. You can put it in your scrapbook, along with the others," she teased him.

Justin snorted. "Very funny. More like the scrap HEAP." Nevertheless, he took the proffered card from her and slipped it into his jacket pocket, deciding that maybe it might be a good idea to keep it. Who knows? He thought. He might need it for evidence. Evidence of what, he wasn't sure. He couldn't accuse someone of being a stalker if he didn't know who it was, and the florist shop had been tight lipped about it, explaining that they kept their customers' names strictly confidential when requested. And, of course, this sender had made it quite clear he didn't want his identity revealed. Maybe he might wind up being overcome by flower pollen, though; it would serve the person right. Fortunately, flower pollen wasn't one of his various allergies, though. But after all this, he could definitely see him developing one.

"I'll be in the back if you need me," he told Sylvia before, with one last look at the "Flower of the Day," he turned and headed back to his studio. He was already feeling extremely glum, since he had not spoken with Brian in a couple of days. According to Cynthia, he was out of town and deeply involved with a new marketing campaign, so much so that he and his promotion team were working upwards of 20 hours a day, leaving precious little time for telephone conversations. Apart from occasional texts from Brian to reassure him that he was still alive and breathing - along with a few, cryptic texts - he had not heard his voice recently, and he missed that terribly. Hearing his lover's voice was a mixture of both joy and anguish; joy over hearing him speak - which was the sweetest sound in the world to him - and anguish over not being able to touch him, to hold him, to wake up with him and go to sleep with him, cradled in his strong, protective arms. His eyes glistening with unshed tears as he thought about all their moments together - and his body physically aching for his lover's embrace - he forced himself to focus instead on the task at hand, a partially finished work commissioned by a client, hoping it would at least temporarily distract him from his heartache.

The next day, where he normally felt happiness - or at least peace - when he arrived at the gallery, today he only felt trepidation as he swung the door open and immediately looked over at the counter. His eyes widened in pleased satisfaction: at last, no flowers. "Thank God!" he exclaimed with a smile. "He's finally given up."

"I'm actually kind of disappointed," Sylvia admitted; watering can in hand, she was tending to one of the large floor plants over by the window. "I was beginning to look forward to what sort of creativity he would come up with next."

Justin eyed her with disbelief. "Sylvia! The man was a stalker! At the very least, some sort of flower freak, anyway."

She peered over at him with a grin. "Well, yeah, I guess. But I think it's kind of sweet; unrequited love and all. I mean, we already know that no one else could take a certain man's place, right?"

Justin's face blushed; he had told her about Brian on more than one occasion, enough for her to be able to tell how deeply he loved him, so he didn't have to say anything. And whenever Brian would visit her gallery, she always told him how obvious it was by the look on Brian's face that the feeling was mutual.

"Sweet?" He rolled his eyes. "That's not what I would call it. I'm just glad he's finally given up." He looked up at the sound of the front door opening then, however, and his face fell. "Oh, no." Apparently the florist had been running late today, because here was their delivery guy, this time carrying a squat, black opalescent vase containing another type of blue flower with yellow centers, just like all the others had been.

The man in blue pants and a white shirt with the florist's logo on it grinned as he walked over to them; he was beginning to think this might turn out to be a year-long event. "Sorry, we had a lot of deliveries today for some reason," he explained as if they had asked him where he had been. He peered over thoughtfully at Justin. "I take it you're the lucky recipient?" he asked with a smirk. "You've certainly caught someone's eye."

"Not intentionally," Justin muttered. "You can burn them for all I care."

The man's brows rose in surprise; apparently this guy wasn't exactly happy to be the recipient of so much attention. "Sorry; I could get in trouble if I don't deliver them as ordered," he told him as he placed the fringed flowers down on the counter. He looked curiously over at Justin, who shook his head.

"Don't expect me to tip you for bringing those," Justin warned him. "I didn't ask for them, and I don't want them."

The man grinned. "Don't need one. The sender's already included it."

Justin was almost afraid to ask, but he couldn't help it. "For how long?"

The delivery man shrugged. "I don't know. As long as I keep getting tipped by the store, though, and get instructions to bring them here, I'll keep delivering them. But at the rate this is going, I can probably afford a nice steak dinner by the end of the week."

"Good for you," Justin told him with irritation; the man seemed way too chipper to him. "Well, you've done your duty, Dudley DoRight, so you can just go now."

The man had the gall to chuckle as he gave Justin a tip of his invisible cap before turning and heading toward the entrance. "Enjoy! And see you tomorrow!" he called out as Justin seriously considered throwing the vase of flowers at him, but he had already escaped out the door.

Justin exhaled a deep breath to try and take some of the tension away. "This can't go on," he complained. "The next time that fucking delivery man comes in, throw the damn things in the garbage! And don't even open the envelope. I'm done." Before Sylvia could even respond, he turned and headed purposefully toward the rear door to his studio.

"But the card! Don't you want to read it?"

Justin turned around to snort. "Why would I? Do what you want with it."

Sylvia sighed as Justin disappeared. Her romantic side warred with her young friend's uneasiness over who this sender might be, but at last her curiosity won out as she gazed at the flowers. She wasn't sure which type they were this time, but they were lovely. Finally, she slipped open the envelope and slid the card out to read it: I feel extreme passion for you. A few moments on the internet, and her guess was confirmed - they were passion flowers. "Well, he's definitely creative," she murmured, before laying the card down on the counter. Giving the dozen flowers a brief smell and intrigued by their delicate scent, she placed the vase down on the floor, out of sight, deciding to take those home as well. No sense in throwing them out.