Chapter Text
Compared to the lives he had heard about in his afterlife, he had a pretty good life.
Good parents, good school life, decent friends. Japan was a pretty decent place to live in. Nothing of note really.
Until there was a penpal project in his school.
It wasn’t supposed to be big for him, just another grade. Write to someone who goes to a school in America, and see who would write back. It was different and experimental and very quickly discontinued by the school, so he honestly didn’t expect any letters back.
But he did get a letter back.
One with unfamiliar handwriting, an American address, and a name he had never seen before.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he opened it.
The first letter was awkward. Painfully awkward. Neither of them knew what to say, so they asked basic questions. What was school like? What food did you eat? What was your town like? What did you do for fun? It was the kind of conversation between strangers that should have died after a few exchanges.
But the person writing back was interesting. Kind. Funny in a way that didn't translate perfectly, but genuinely curious. They talked about everything. Books, movies, food, their families, their dreams, their fears, and all the little things that nobody else thought to ask about.
His name was Asgore. An American boy from a small town in Massachusetts called Hometown. A place that sounded almost fictional. A place with one of those names that seemed too simple to be real.
A place he imagined as a tiny little town with nothing but farms, forests, and people who knew everyone's business, and he wasn't entirely wrong.
The letters became the best part of his week.
At first, they were just penpals. Two people separated by an ocean who happened to enjoy talking. Then they became friends. Then best friends. Then something else.
Neither of them really knew when it happened. There wasn't a dramatic moment. No sudden realization. No grand confession. Just a gradual understanding that this person had become important. That when something funny happened, he wanted to tell Asgore. When something upset him, he wanted to tell Asgore. When he had a good day, Asgore was the first person he wanted to share it with.
Eventually, letters became phone calls.
Phone calls became video calls.
And eventually, a friendship became something else.
Neither of them really knew when it happened.
There was no dramatic confession. No perfect moment. Just one day where he realized he was smiling at his screen like an idiot. And another day where Asgore admitted he felt the same.
But either way, the decision to move to Hometown was terrifying. Everyone told him it was a big choice, and they were right.
Leaving Japan, most importantly leaving his family.
Moving somewhere he'd only ever seen through pictures.
It was insane. Completely and utterly insane. He knew that, and he did it anyway. Because sometimes a person comes into your life and makes a place you've never been feel like home.
Hometown was exactly what he expected and somehow completely different. It was small. Everyone knew everyone. Everyone had opinions about everyone.
People waved, people talked, and were nosy. Extremely nosy. But it was warm. It felt alive. And most importantly, Asgore was there.
They didn't have some perfect romance. He would be the first person to admit that. They annoyed each other. They argued.
He’d stolen food off Asgore's plate. Asgore pretended to be offended. Flowery absolutely did not apologize. They were both stubborn. They were both idiots sometimes. But they loved each other. And that mattered more.
The flower shop happened almost by accident. Asgore had always loved plant, and he liked flowers. Really liked flowers. It started as helping out. Then it became regular.
Then one day someone walked into the shop and asked: “Are you the flower guy?”
He looked around. “…Who?”
The customer pointed at him. “You.”
He looked confused. “I have a name.”
The customer smiled. “Sure. Flower guy.”
The nickname stuck. He hated it. Then he secretly liked it. Eventually, even Asgore started calling him that, and he couldn’t help but love it.
°❀.ೃ࿔*
He was a good florist. Not because he was the most knowledgeable. Not because he was the most organized. He was absolutely not organized. But because he cared. He remembered people's favorite flowers. He helped people pick arrangements for important moments.
Birthdays.
Weddings.
Apologies.
Goodbyes.
He liked knowing that something he created could be part of someone's happiest memories. Liked knowing he could fix things.
And then came the one thing he couldn't fix. His best friend, the person who had been there before Hometown, before the shop, before everything–
Found someone else.
At first, it wasn't a big deal. People changed. People grew. People made new friends. That was normal.
Except eventually, the talks became a little shorter. The conversations became less frequent. The jokes became inside jokes he wasn't part of anymore. And then there was a girlfriend. Someone else who became the person they told everything to. Someone else who was there first. Someone else who mattered more.
He had told himself he wasn't hurt. He wasn't jealous. He wasn't upset. That was stupid. People were allowed to have other friends. People were allowed to fall in love. He was happy for them. He really was. Sometimes he just missed being someone's first choice.
Asgore noticed.
Of course he did.
“You know you’re still important to me.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I know.”
His friend's gaze softened a little. "But?"
Another shrug. “…It just sucks.”
That was the thing about him. He was good at making other people smile. He was good at making jokes. He was good at making everyone else feel better. But he was never good at admitting when he was hurting.
Still, he was happy.
That was the truth. He had a home. He had people who loved him. He had a job he enjoyed. He had someone who chose him every day. A lot of people never got that. He did, and he knew it.
°❀.ೃ࿔*
It happened too quickly. That's what bothered him most. There wasn't some dramatic final moments, no chance to fight back. Just confusion, fear. And then nothing.
Death was strange. Flowery had always imagined it would be terrifying. Instead, it was quiet.
He woke up in his estate, the shitty house he bought for a fraction of what other places were offering. His body was still the same. The injuries remained. The evidence of what happened remained. But the pain was gone. That was the first thing he noticed; the silence.
Then the teen girl that was staring at him. A little girl was hiding behind her leg.
The redheaded teen pointed a finger and glared. “Whats your name?” She demanded.
He thought for a second, worry creasing his brow as he tried to think of what his name was before he eventually blurted out–
“Jarona.”
The two blinked at him. He blinked back. Then the little girl whispered very loudly to the older girl, “What color is that, Orange?”
“ ‘S not a color at all, Aqua,” Orange rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Can’t you pick something else? It’s stupid…”
He gave a smile, despite the situation he found himself in. “I quite like Jarona, thank you very much,” he smirked, but thought for a second anyway. “Flowery?”
Aqua had seemed to like that enough, and no one else had any complaints about the name. However they had all decided, as a unit, that no one else was allowed to die in the Flower Estate.
Flowery wasn’t the book's smart ghost. That was Seth.
Or the most responsible. That was Blue.
Or the eldest. That was Green.
But he became something important. He became the person who reminded everyone they were still alive in some way. The one who made jokes when things got too heavy. The one who dragged everyone into conversations. The one who refused to let the house become a tomb.
And that alone was more than enough.