originally this was just a one shot thing that i wrote in an hour when i was spamming my friend's blog but uh apparently people liked it so i put it up here for easy access?

idk hope you like it /o\

The Professor drifted out of the door, mumbling to himself about what tea he should make for the day, leaving Descole alone in his office. It was one of the few days that they could meet, with no disturbances from either of Layton's apprentices.

At first, the two only met to talk about important matters; how Layton was able to solve Ambrosia's secret, what Descole hoped to gain in all his tedious efforts, and the meetings were rather brief with long pauses in between. But over time, they grew longer and more frequent as the two found they had more to talk about with each other than expected. Layton inquired more about the workings of Descole's giant machinery, as Descole became genuinely interested in the accomplishments of the archaeology professor.

Once they found their interests, it wasn't long until Descole found he was looking forward to his meetings with Layton, although today was a different matter. Today, Descole sat drumming his fingers on the arm of the leather chair, glancing at the door, and then the ground, and then the door again. His cape was folded neatly on the couch, something he normally does when at home, but he was far from relaxed. He felt he had something very important to talk with Layton about, but he was unsure if he should.

Lately, he found himself looking forward to their meetings more and more. Whenever he was at home, he wondered what else he could discuss with the Professor. When he found something he thought was significant, he would remember to talk it over with Layton. Sometimes he wouldn't be able to work because he would be thinking too much on what HE would think of the matter. Descole noticed this obsession and wondered why the man bothered him so much.

He'd often rationalize: 'He is a brilliant man who has bested me, of course I would have him on my mind.' 'I'm just wondering what HE would do, just to assure my plans are absolutely foolproof next time.' However, a small part of him in the back of his mind had a feeling of what was REALLY going on, and today's meeting confirmed it.

The beginning of the meeting went on as usual; greetings, a handshake, how are yous. However, Descole would find himself staring for so long at the Professor, admiring his smile, the way his eyes lit up whenever he recalled a puzzle. And when Layton left to bring the two tea and snacks, he found it very hard not to stare at him as he left.

He knew exactly what was happening. At first he thought he should just lock his feelings up in the back of his mind, never to be brought up again. But...one thing stopped him. The tiniest, faintest hope that maybe... just... just maybe, he might also-

A loud ringing pierced his thoughts, and his eyes flew to the phone sitting on Layton's desk. He thought of allowing it to ring and letting them call back later, when Layton was free, but he decided to answer it and deliver the message himself as not to trouble the caller later on.

'How...gentlemanly. He really is getting to me." His gloved fingers wrapped around the phone.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Mr. Layton?" A young woman.

"He is currently occupied."

"Oh...well, can you tell him his order's ready?"

Descole blinked. "Order...?"

"Oh, see, Mr. Layton ordered some roses, and we're just calling to tell him they're ready."

He blinked again. Why would he need roses...?

"I'll be sure to tell him."

"Thank you so much! Good bye!"

He hung up the phone, alone with his thoughts once more. Descole's mind brought up several reasons as to why Layton would need roses, but he knew not to jump to conclusions, no matter how much he would like one of his ideas to be true.

As his eyes trailed off the phone and he began to wander back to the couch, something caught his attention. The tiniest slip of some sort of paper sticking out of a closed drawer. He smirked to himself, knowing that when Layton's apprentice was gone too long, his office would gradually become messier, as he relied on the boy to clean, a fact that, though he would never admit it, Descole found almost...cute.

His curiosity got the best of him, and he opened the drawer. Sitting in the drawer with the tiniest bend in one of its corners was a photo of a decidedly younger Layton and a young woman, both smiling. He wondered who she was, and judging by the picture, they seemed quite close. Suddenly, Descole remembered a conversation he held with the Professor, and his heart sank.

'It's her. That Claire woman he's mentioned.' he thought, putting the picture back neatly and slowly closing the drawer. 'The one he loved.'

It all made sense. The roses were for her, and he assumed the anniversary of her death was drawing near. He recalled all the times he's seen Layton's eyes linger out the window for too long, or he would sigh wistfully and claim it was just him working too hard, though Descole knew better.

'He still loves her.'

Descole almost jumped as Layton pressed the door open with his back, holding a tray carrying a full pot of tea and two cups, along with a small sugar container. He turned to look at him.

"Now, the only tea I was able to find was Earl Grey, I hope that's alright." Layton smiled at him, and it was almost painful.

"Descole?"

Descole walked quickly to the couch and gathered up his cape. "I've just remembered I have some very important work to be done, and I'm on the verge of a very important breakthrough."

"...Oh." The Professor placed the tray on the table. "I was hoping we could talk..."

Descole looked at him and the picture of him and Claire flashed in his mind. He was glad he was wearing a mask, otherwise he was sure the Professor would have caught the hurt in his eyes.

"Not today. I'll be taking my leave now." He began to head towards the door, then halted.

"By the way, you received a call earlier. Your order of flowers is ready."

The Professor blinked. "Oh, well, thank you" But he was out the door before he could finish. Descole wrapped the cape around him and decided to get home as quickly as possible, with no contact with anyone else. He was right the first time, he should have just locked away these feelings to begin with.

Layton picked up his cup of tea and made to drink it, only to sigh and place it on the table. He had hoped for some company, with Claire's anniversary coming up so soon. He had wanted to talk about possibly...moving on. He looked at the door, and then at the unused cup sitting on the table across from his.

Once more, he drank his tea alone.