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Thomas always reminded him of sunflowers. It was an odd comparison, John thought, as sunflowers spent their time facing the warmth and light of the sun, while Thomas’s face was always staring down into a book or at his shoes or at some unimaginable image in his mind that only he could understand. John could never quite put his finger on what aspect of Thomas made him think of sunflowers. It wasn’t the mottled emerald of his eyes or the pale freckles strewn across his nose. It wasn’t the ginger locks tied loosely at the base of his neck that always shone like warm candlelight, the waviness of his hair visible when it reflected the afternoon sun. His quandary always frustrated him, as many things did, and John was often left tapping his fingers against his chin as he scowled off into the distance, continually trying to piece together the parallel between the lanky, quiet Virginian, who would so often stumble over his words and drift off into deep and impenetrable silence, and the hardy, pale yellow petals of a sunflower. The more he pondered the issue, the more confused he felt until he would inevitably throw his hands up into the air with a resigned groan. His fellow delegates grew to expect this from him more and more as time went on, and thus became less and less startled by his outbursts, considering them to be a reliable occurrence. Then John would flush red, never growing any less embarrassed by his uncontrollable sighs, and he would shift slightly in his seat, determined to think of something else. But his mind would always wander back to Thomas Jefferson, and to sunflowers. It was a particularly warm August day when John finally had a revelation. It was shaping up to be a normal Sunday, a day he’d usually be inclined to sleep in until the sun in his eyes and the noise from the city waking up outside became unbearable, but then at around ten o’clock he heard the firm rapping of knuckles on the door to his room. The knocks were slow and rhythmic and in his hardly woken state, John was momentarily convinced he’d dreamt them. A moment of hazy silence passed until the knocking continued, no more urgently than before, and John pushed himself up from his bed, brushing away a stray lock of hair that had been pressed into his cheek. In just a white shirt, still vaguely tucked into his breeches, John surmised that he looked decent enough for company and slowly crossed the room to the door, still blinking the sun out of his eyes. He’d had enough sense, he realized, to untie his hair before going to bed last night and it fell loosely across his shoulders and back, looking lighter than it normally did in the morning sun. He opened the door and all at once his chest flooded with warmth and his head filled with sunflowers. “Mr. Jefferson,” John announced, the surprise making his voice a bit higher. Thomas didn’t seem to notice, and his eyes rested lazily at something behind John, over his head. It took a while for Thomas’s eyes to slowly drift down to where John stood, and their eyes didn’t seem to ever make contact. Instead, Thomas’s soft, green eyes, an odd mixture of brown and green that almost resembled moss, lingered on the exposed skin on John’s chest, revealed by the sloppily undone buttons of his shirt. John took a half step back, biting the inside of his cheek. “Mr. Jefferson..?” He repeated. Thomas’s eyes flicked up in momentary surprise to meet John’s, then dropped down towards his shoes just as quickly. “Mr. Adams.” It was an odd reply, stiff and stilted, and while John was expecting something further he didn’t get it. His name, spoken in that soft voice that most frustratingly gave John the sensation of butterflies in his stomach, lingered in the air between the two of them, along with a vague sense of awkward tension. John stared at the ginger locks in front of him. It was all he could see, as Thomas’s head was bent sharply downward due to his intense fascination with his shoes. John suddenly remembered his own lack of shoes, which only accentuated his disheveled appearance, and nervously scratched at his jaw as he prompted Thomas further. “What can I do for you, Mr. Jefferson?” Thomas looked back up at him again, his head moving slowly in sheepish embarrassment. Still, he remained quiet for quite a bit longer. John’s curiosity strengthened his patience. “Mr. Adams…” Thomas continued, though now appearing as if he actually had more to say. He looked nervously off to the side, like an inexperienced actor trying very hard to remember the lines he’d been reciting to himself for hours prior. “I was hoping you might wish to- wish that we might- that we could possibly spend some time together today.” John tried very hard to stifle the fluttering in his chest. “I- of course, Mr. Jefferson. That would be… pleasant.” He inwardly cringed at his stilted speech. He was beginning to sound like Thomas. Thomas blinked. “Okay. Please get dressed.” It sounded more like an order than a request, but Thomas’s voice didn’t seem to portray any intense emotion either way. John gave an awkward nod and shut the door gently, before giving a relieved sigh and letting an unprompted smile grace his face. John barely noticed the short passage of time until he was standing outside, fully clothed, and at Thomas’s side. John felt slightly embarrassed at keeping the tall Virginian waiting, but Thomas seemed quite lost in thought, as was often customary for the man. He jumped slightly when John tapped at his shoulder. After a moment he blinked and looked down at John. “Are you ready, Mr. Adams?” “Yes. Though I haven’t the faintest idea as to where you’re taking me.” He said pointedly as they walked together, John needing to keep an odd pace to match Thomas’s strides. “And call me John,” he added as an afterthought. “You don’t need to know,” Thomas replied, not turning to face him, “I doubt you’ll be unpleasantly surprised. John.” While his statement was certainly ominous for the most part, John couldn’t help but smile. “Oh? Do you take many people to wherever it is you’re taking me?” He asked almost teasingly. “No.” Thomas’s answer was quite curt and didn’t leave much room for banter, so John followed him in silence. He winced as he had trouble keeping up with Thomas’s long strides, his chest rising and falling as he followed Thomas towards the edge of the city. Surprisingly, Thomas noticed John’s exertion and slowed his pace accordingly, placing a hand on John’s back. “It’s not much farther,” he said in what could possibly be a reassuring tone. “Though you’re in terrible shape, Mr. Adams. John.” “You know, you’re much better company when you’re not talking.” It could possibly have been a trick of the light, John reasoned with himself, but he could have sworn he noticed Thomas’s lips twitch ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth curling upwards into a smile. It could have been a trick of the light, though the butterflies in John’s stomach returned and he looked down at the street as he walked, no longer struggling to keep up. Apparently, measurements of distance differed between Virginians and Massachusetts men, as what Thomas continually described as “Not much farther,” was beginning to wear on John’s nerves. John barely noticed that they’d left the city, the cobblestoned streets of Philadelphia giving way to the lush, green grass of late August, dotted with small blue and purple flowers John couldn’t recall the names of. Leaves and flowers twitched gently in the cool breeze, a sign that summer was quickly coming to an end. They’d stumbled halfway up a hill before Thomas paused, his eyes fixated on the sky, which John noticed was a startlingly pristine blue and nearly cloudless. “We’re here,” Thomas said without any notion of ceremony in his voice, then immediately crumpled to the ground. John’s was stunned for a moment, his mind racing, wondering what had just happened. Then he noticed Thomas’s peaceful expression as he laid on his side in the grass, his arms tucked into his chest and his eyes closed. John was fixated on the way Thomas’s ginger eyelashes flickered softly with each breath he took in until Thomas’s eyes opened again wearily. “Why are you standing over me? Lie down, John.” His eyes closed again, and John nodded numbly before sitting down next to him. John stared out upon his surroundings, and as the sun sat high overhead it made the grass and leaves around him seem to glow, a cacophony of colors, in strict comparison with the near silence that encompassed the hilltop. Only the sound of wind pushing through tree leaves, causing leaves and petals to fall down around him at a leisurely pace, could be heard. Still, all the shades of green, purple and blue were quite a lot to take in, so he turned his gaze towards Thomas. The green grass was in a beautiful and striking contrast with Thomas’s hair, John thought as he slowly moved to lie down comfortably next to him. The warm sunlight only accentuated the freckles that dotted his face like stars and John smiled when he noticed that Thomas had already fallen asleep, blades of grass fluttering gently under his breath. The various shades of blues, purples, greens, and reds all seemed a bit overwhelming, but when John finally closed his eyes all he saw was yellow. It was a warm color, a happy color. A color he could stare at for hours on end without ever growing tired of it. Lamplight, sunflowers, the warm, pale glow that encompassed the entire world on these quiet afternoons. All varying shades of yellow that always filled John’s head when he thought of Thomas. The warm, comforting happiness that Thomas always gave him when he was near, the buzzing, yellow feeling that filled his chest whenever he heard his name on Thomas’s lips. The sun-like warmth that he always felt whenever Thomas’s skin brushed his. Perhaps it wasn’t just sunflowers, but a whole segment of a rainbow that Thomas carried with him. John allowed himself to smile for just a moment, though quickly came to realize that once he started, he simply couldn’t stop. He continued smiling as he gently covered Thomas’s hand in his own and he fell asleep there in the grass, dreaming of sunflowers.