Chapter Text
Night Shift Turno di notte
Maelis' POV
Maelis heard the bell before she noticed the new customer. It was almost 5pm, and she has not been deep in her shift yet, which is why she still has energy left. Besides, working on something she loves doing never makes her feel tired even when she’s constantly moving. The street outside is alive. Cars are moving slowly like snails. Some kids from the kindergarten next building are already holding an adult's hand, blabbering and ready to go home. The sun is slowly going down — taking a rest from shining all day.
The cafe is going slow at this time. Most customers either go home or do anything else that doesn’t let them stay in a quiet cafe. Too tired from battling and surviving the day. She is sure some will still come as soon as the clock hits 6:30, the usual time for students in the nearby school finished.
She turned around and greeted the new face. “Hi! Welcome to the Flowerpot Cafe. What can I help you today?”
Maelis squints a little, feeling a bit of recognition towards the girl in front of her. She has seen her before... she thinks. The person in front of her smiles. She was holding a bag almost bigger than her. It looks quite heavy for a small girl like her. Her clothes are the typical ones you’ll see. A baby tee and a skirt that looks like Frankenstein's personal brand. The fabrics are different from each patch. Maelis can see some red stains on it. She assumes it's a paint stain as she can see other colors on the skirt too. It’s such a complicated skirt to really observe it.
“What flowers are there?” The girl in front of her said. She looks like an art student. Probably wondering in the streets for a new inspiration.
“Are there any special events?” Maelis said. Her voice is deep but soft to the ears. “We have tons of options here. Choose your bloom.” She motioned the flowers prettily sitting on the side. The smell of it fills the whole cafe. The shades of pastel colors are spread all around the cafe.
Matilda’s eyes sweep on them. She knows nothing about flowers. Hell, she hasn’t seen one since she was four. “I’ll just take the pretties you think is, flower.” Flower. The nickname slips naturally. Matilda thinks Maelis radiates and looks like a flower. She looks like she is the queen of flowers.
“What I think is?” Maelis’ head tilts a bit. She looks younger than she is. “Hmm. No events?”
Matilda’s lips moved a bit. “Well, is there a ‘We are watching you and you should feel something’ flower arrangement here?”
Maelis almost choked. What a strange way to describe an event. But hey, Maelis heard a lot of unexpected things since started working here. “Uh. Sorry. I think we run out of that.”
“Sad. I’m hoping to give it to someone who are going to watch something tonight.”
“Oh!” This seems like it uplifts Maelis’ mood. “A date?” Maelis shook her head. She might have gotten the wrong person. She definitely hasn’t seen this girl in her life.
“Fuck no.” The girl in front of her laugh. “It’s for my boss. She’s watching something interesting tonight. Wanna wish her a good luck.”
Maelis nodded as if she understood. She doesn’t and does. “I would recommend a Cornflower. It means hope in hardship. I find it interesting. I think it’s the only flower that is currently available that fits the purpose of the flower you are giving,” Her finger taps the counter. “A silent wish of the accomplishment on whatever they are going to do.”
The person in front of her smirked as if she knew something Maelis didn’t. Maelis stared at that smirk a second too long. Something tells her it’s a smirk she’ll remember for a long time. “She’ll definitely like that.”
“Okay. That will be 21,06 euros,” Maelis moved the same move she has memorized already. Her hand moves to punching the price of the flower, opens the cash register, then closes it, and pulls out a piece of paper to write the order. Her hand moved smoothly as she wrote the order.
One Cornflower flower arrangement, a gift for someone. Hope in Hardship.
She put the pen down and smiled at the girl. "Anything else?”
“Yeah. Can I have a matcha latte large too, please.” The person in front of her swipes her card.
“What name should I write?”
“Just Matilda. Thank you.” Matilda. The name reminded Maelis of the movie Mattila. Not only that the girl looks a bit close to the actress that played the role but also, she resembles the energy of it. A bit mischievous, playful, smart and funny. At least on Maelis’ mind she is.
Maelis nodded her head. “Alright. I’ll make it quickly. Do you need anything else?” Maelis’ hand was already reaching for the things she needed.
“No, thank you.” The girl, Matilda, pointed at the farthest table in the cafe. Just beside the dreamy little flower corner with soft pastel blooms spilling across the ground. A giant teddy bear hangs playfully over an arched silly formed mirror, while warm cream walls and a vintage black lamp make the space feel cozy and nostalgic. Lavender hydrangeas, yellow daisies, and delicate purple flowers create a peaceful cottage-like atmosphere — sweet, gentle, and romantic. This is not the only colorful side of the cafe. However, it was one of the highlight people like to take photos with. “No need to rush, flower. I’ll just wait there.”
Maelis saw her look up at the corner of the street that is in front of the cafe. It was dark alley that never bothered Maelis, so she shrugged and began making Matilda’s order.
“Okay. I’ll be back in a few!”
Maelis moves like she is made for this kind of environment. She probably does. A stream of water can be heard as she fills the bucket with lukewarm water. Her touch is light as she picks up the stems of flowers, slowly removing them as if she’s apologizing for removing something that is part of the flower. I’m sorry, I promise it’ll make you bloom longer. Maelis apologized.
Her body moves like the wind. Flowy and free. The skirt she has on waves around her shin. Going into the motion of her movement. Her fingers touched the petals delicately. Her eyes searched for the balance selection of flowers in front of her to give the bouquet structure and story.
She took it to the counter when she was finished. She moved to make the latte Matilda ordered. All is done in a flash. Maelis softly went to the girl. She was on her phone, so Maelis placed it slowly. Not wanting to shock the girl. “Here you go. Enjoy!”
She was already walking away when she turned around. “Do you want a cookie with you matcha? It’s on the house.” Maelis let out a smile. It took Matilda back. It was genuine. She had seen every sort of smile, and this one is something heaven sent. She stared at Maelis. “Oh, no need to answer. I’ll just bring you one.” The capo is fucked — that’s for sure.
Alessia’s POV
It was already past 8 when Alessia finished her duties for the day. Her head rested on the back of the seat of her bulletproof car. The driver is quietly navigating the way.
The city outside the tinted windows moved in smears of amber and white — streetlights, storefronts, the blur of ordinary people living ordinary lives. She watches none of it. Her hands rest open in her lap, still. The knuckles are split on the right. She hasn't looked at them.
Earlier, a man had begged. They always beg. She finds it neither satisfying nor disturbing anymore. She finds it nothing. That is the part no one tells you about — not the violence, but the quiet afterward. The way her pulse doesn't even climb. The way she can already be somewhere else in her mind before it's over.
She’s exhausted. Bone-deep and wordless. Not the kind of sleep fixes.
Her eyes flew to the bouquet of flowers lying in the other seat of the car. Matilda left it there for her to see. Some sort of souvenir.
Pink and purple and blues — the same shades from the skies on sunsets. She stares at them longer than she means to. They look out of place against the dark leather interior. They look out of place against her life. Soft things always look wrong in her world. She's learned to take that as a warning. But this scares her because she doesn’t feel that it’s wrong.
Alessia took out her phone from her trousers. She called Matilda to ask what happened today.
“Hey, capo.” Matilda’s excited voice filled the car. She’s on the speaker. A shrill scream of someone far followed by a slash of a knife is heard in the background. She’s probably in the dungeon.
The sound doesn't register on Alessia's face. Neither does anything else.
Alessia didn’t answer, her head still resting on the back of the seat, eyes closed. Her coat is drenched with blood so she removed it. It sits folded on the floor by her feet. Dark fabric. It doesn't show the stain but she knows it's there. She always knows.
She hums, letting Matilda know that she’s listening.
“You better toughen it out.” The soldier started talking. Her voice deeper on the call. That is probably why she always leaves random call threats on her assignments. “Flower is nothing I expect her to be.”
Alessia’s forehead knot when she heard Matilda call Maelis ‘flower’. The reaction comes before she can stop it. Small — barely a shift — but it's there. She doesn't examine why. What the fuck?
Matilda was quiet for a long time. If not for the screams of agony in the background, Alessia will think she got disconnected.
The silence between them has its own texture. Matilda is many things, but she is not a woman who chooses her words carelessly. Alessia has known her long enough to understand that the pause means something landed on her too. Something she's still sorting.
“Spring. That’s what I’ll describe her.”
Spring.
The word settles into the car like something physical. Alessia doesn't open her eyes. Doesn't move. But somewhere in the cavity of her chest, stays there, uninvited.
She had thought the same thing. Standing in that café, surrounded by the smell of chamomile and the quiet, surrounded by flowers that seemed to lean toward Maelis like they already knew her. Spring. She had thought about it and filed it away and told herself it was nothing.
Matilda thought it too.
That is the part that unsettles her.
Alessia didn’t say anything as she ended the call. She doesn’t need to say anything else after that. Her silence is enough. Matilda knows that and even herself knows that.
The bouquet in the opposite seat catches the passing light outside. Purple. Pink. Blue. She doesn't know what kind of flowers they are. All she knows is that they're flowers.
She thinks about a girl who moves like sunlight. A girl who asked her if she wanted some tea as if she was not in danger.
Dangerous, she tells herself again. It sounds less convincing if she thinks about it again.
She commanded her driver to change their route.
He doesn't ask where. He never asks. He simply adjusts — a quiet turn at the next intersection, a small rerouting of the night.
Alessia closes her eyes again. The flowers stay where they are.
Alessia decided to visit Maelis at her work. Tucked between quiet streets, the café waits patiently under soft sunlight. Purple blossoms frame the entrance while warm wood and gentle greenery invite people to slow down for a while. The outside of the cafe is pleasantly organized. The café entrance with textured cream walls, rustic wooden stools, and clusters of flowers lined outside. Green vines and natural light add a calm, refreshing mood, making it feel like a peaceful hideaway in the city.
She didn't expect it to feel like this — like stumbling into something that wasn't meant for her.
There is a small path to the front door. The chalkboard is on the side with a hand-written menu list — it was surrounded by flowers. Various of them, pink, purple and blues shades. Alessia has no idea what kind of flowers they are. All she knows is that it’s a flower.
She stopped for a second. Just one. Her fingers nearly grazed the petal of the nearest bloom before she pulled her hand back. She doesn't touch soft things.
She went inside it without hesitation.
“Hi! Welcome to the Flowerpot Cafe.” It was Maelis’ smile that greeted her the moment she entered the cafe. Flower. The night felt softer than usual.
The air inside smelled like something warm — chamomile, maybe, or something with lavender threaded through it. Soft music moved underneath the quiet hum of the café. It should have made Alessia feel at ease. Instead, it made her more alert. Places like this were dangerous in a different way. They made people forget themselves.
“What can I help you with?”
Fuck. Matilda is right. She needs to toughen it out. Alessia is dangerous — she knows she is. But the girl in front of her is equally the same.
She had seen weapons designed to look harmless before. She knew exactly what they were. This, she tells herself, is the same thing.
“Maelis Cosette Augustine.” She says Maelis' full name for the first time — not Topolina. Maelis looks away because something about it sounds too much like possession. Her eyes find Alessia’s again soon after.
Alessia watches the way she collects herself. The steadiness of it. Most people flinch when their full name comes out of a stranger's mouth like that — like a blade being unsheathed. Maelis only looked away. Briefly. Then, back.
“Are you going to kill me?” Maelis tucked some of her hair behind her ears. Alessia, concentrate. Fuck. She looks so pretty surrounded by flowers. Spring. She is spring.
The question hangs there, light as pollen in afternoon air. Not trembling. Not frantic. She asks it the way someone might ask if it's going to rain.
“I’m not sure yet.” Alessia thought it’ll scare the girl. But instead, what she received is something else.
Maelis smiled at her. Maelis is smiling at her. At her. Her eyes are disappearing when she smiles and it feels like the world is a better place just because of that smile. “Do you want a tea, then?”
Something moves behind Alessia's ribs. Something she doesn't have a name for and refuses to look at directly. She files it away. Later. Never.
Alessia almost show emotions. She did not, however, allow her body to show anything.
A beat passed. Long enough that a lesser person would have shifted their weight, glanced away, filled the silence with something nervous. Alessia is not a lesser person. She is very, very still. Still the way a held breath is still.
“A coffee.” Her voice is hoarse. The sound of it would make you feel like you are in danger. Everyone crave danger until they experience what really comes with it. “One coffee. Black. Make it strong.”
“I recommend you getting tea.” Maelis whispered.
She didn't look up when she said it. Just continued moving behind the counter, unhurried, like the suggestion cost her nothing. Like the woman standing on the other side of the counter wasn't the kind of woman people crossed the street to avoid.
It reached Alessia’s ears, but she didn’t say anything. She almost smirked. The little mouse is not weak.
She takes a seat at the nearest stool — the one closest to the door, her back angled slightly so she can see both the entrance and the counter. Habit. Her coat sat unfolded in her arms.
“What name should I write?” Maelis looks like she’s in her element. Moving around the flowers like they are attracted to her. They must have been. Maelis radiates like she’s the sunlight. Her voice is like a honey dip.
Alessia watches her the way she watches everything — cataloguing, calculating. But there is something that slips through the assessment. Something that isn't strategy. The way Maelis moves is unhurried and entirely her own. No performance in it. No awareness of being watched. Or maybe she is aware, and simply unbothered. That, Alessia thinks, is either foolishness or a quiet kind of courage.
“Ale.”
She doesn’t know why she told her to use that name. She hates it. She doesn’t let anyone use it unless it’s someone close to her. Enough to promise them that she’ll avenge them if there is something to happen. Maelis is new. She doesn’t know anything about her except the files she has on her.
Not too long after, Alessia received a cup of her black coffee. It was set down gently in front of her. No fanfare. No lingering. She slowly turned it. There is a nice handwritten Ally on it.
Not Ale. Ally.
Alessia's eyes flickered to Maelis, who is now busy cleaning her workstation.
She didn't look up. Gave no indication that she had done anything deliberate at all. But the letters were rounded and careful — written like a small, private decision. Alessia looks back down at the cup. Something aches, faintly, in a place she has long since convinced herself is scar tissue.
She takes a sip of the coffee. It is strong. It is good. She does not say so.