Scrungo note flirting

On Monday, the note in Lucas' lunchbag says, /Don't pick the lettuce off/.

Lucas tries not to smile too big in front of his coworkers in the lunch room, and eats the cheese and mustard sandwich his dumb boyfriend made for him, leafy greens at all.

But not the crusts.


--


On Tuesday, Magnus comes home to wildflowers on the breakfast bar. They're arranged inside a long-empty tequila bottle, stems straining for the water beneath the bottleneck. There's a post-it note sitting in front of the makeshift vase, and when Magnus drops his bags and picks it up, he can't keep a deep pink from blossoming on his cheeks.

/Found these in the Highchurch's garden today./

A few abandoned scribbles he's unable to parse, and then:

/Reminded me of you. I'll bring dinner home. X/


--


Wednesday brings rain. Lucas hates rain.

Their friends joke about it, how Magnus is a giant puppy of a man and Lucas is a solitary feline, but the stereotype rings true with regards to appreciation of the wet.

A note crinkles under his foot when Lucas slides it into his ugg boot. He picks it up with his toes, and then with his fingers, still warm from sleep.

/Gone for a jog in the sun shower :) I left the umbrella by your laptop bag, don't forget to take it to work!

(B/c you're a big baby)

(I <3 u)/

The rain is far more than a sun shower, in Lucas' opinion. But it feels warmer, now.


--


Thursdays mean few customers, but a whole lot of work to do so that people can pick up their orders  before the weekend. Magnus doesn't mind it; he likes people, but he likes /working/ more, getting his hands on a wooden frame and turning it into something beautiful. Something /for/ someone.

He's overdue to start cutting for a new client's rococo inspired vanity, but the details make his head spin, so unlike his usual carving style. For what feels like the millionth time, Magnus opens the book he's borrowed from the library about the architecture of the era… and a piece of paper flutters from the indexed page, small and crisply folded.

/Kick this furniture's wooden ass. It's got nothing on you. xxx/

Alone in the workshop, Magnus lets himself beam, and tacks the note to his cork board of references.


--


Fridays go quickly, but never quick enough.

Lucas has never been one for "casual" in the laboratory, unless casual could be defined as "blatantly disrespectful of OH&S procedures", so he doesn't involve himself with the office's dressed-down Fridays. However, he'll /sure/ participate in the weekly tradition of leaving an hour early, right on the dot of 4pm.

There's no occasion, no reason to rush home, short of the fact that Magnus shuts shop early on Fridays too, and that means a giddy, delightfully wasted extra hour he can spend with his boyfriend, eating takeaway with their hands in front of shitty slasher movies.

It only becomes apparent during the credits of /Undead!/ that Magnus has other plans for their night.

"Been meaning to give you this." He says, voice tense from what Lucas presumes is a newly kindled fear of acidic aliens, as he hands over a folded paper note.

Lucas wipes chicken-greasy fingers on his jeans and takes it, almost dropping it at the unexpected weight of it. Before he can ask, he finds his answer; a ring, plain silver with an inlaid obsidian band.

A man barely breathing beside him on their lumpy shared couch.

And a note posed with a question in shaky, silent handwriting.

Lucas doesn't give his answer nearly as quietly.