Chapter Text
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Four days passed, but there was no sign of any beautiful punk loitering around the store.
Not that Nate had really expected to see him again, not long enough to strike up a conversation at least, but still, he’d hoped that the man would hold true to his promise to keep him updated…
The tap on his shoulder was gentle – barely there at all – but it made his skin crawl with the ghost sensations and lingering sticky feeling that he knew was mostly just all in his mind. He still managed to force a habitual smile onto his face by the time he’d turned around though, even if he had to harshly brush his shoulder clean of the feeling.
Mr Wammy’s moustache flared up slightly as he smiled, he couldn’t help but notice.
“You seem distracted,” he said, going back to preparing purple roses for a wedding bouquet, but keeping his head turned just enough that he could give Nate a searching look out of the corner of his eye, “is something the matter?”
“I’m fine.” He quickly busied himself with selecting complementary presentation papers and ribbons, anything to get his boss to stop looking at him.
“You know, talking can be a great help when it comes to problem-solving.”
Nate had to resist the urge to say something bitter and unprofessional; he didn’t need to get fired today and the elderly man was trying to be understanding, even if his advice really wasn’t practical for him. Socialising was a pain when it was just generic small-talk, or banter with a close friend, trying to explain to a not-particularly-close colleague that he was just disappointed because a cute guy wasn’t interested in seeing the weird, boring florist – who’d spent ninety percent of their first and only interaction staring and gaping – ever again.
He didn’t reply to his boss, just handed over some pearlescent white paper, with a thick, golden ribbon to match it.
The staring eventually subsided, Wammy instead putting all his focus into the gathering, twisting and taping of flowers and greenery, while Nate fooled himself that his preoccupied glances were just checking for potential customers and not green-fingered punks.
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“Thank you, please come again!” Mihael’s voice almost sounded convincing, it was only Nate’s familiarity with him that kept him from believing it. “…God what an idiot, who thinks pairing a navy suit with a black shirt is a good idea? I hope his date dumps her drink on him.”
He had to laugh, if only out of bemusement at how his friend managed to not get himself punched on a daily basis. “Is the navy-on-black thing better or worse than mismatched blacks?”
“Better, obviously, anyone who wears mismatched blacks deserves to be shot, it’s the most unforgivable crime against fashion.”
“Do you actually have a list somewhere about this?”
“Yes. You’re lucky, oversized sweaters are only fifty-eighth, so we’re allowed to be friends, but I can’t be seen with you in public,” he said it with such a straight face, that Nate had to believe he was being serious – it would certainly explain why several of his invitations to hang out had been declined… “Relax, I’m kidding. But seriously, if we’re ever out and one of my other friends sees us, then I don’t know who you are.”
He frowned, glancing down at his current outfit. “What’s wrong with sweaters?”
“If I explain it to you, will you stop wearing them?” When he shook his head, Mihael scoffed. “Then I’m not gonna waste my time; you’re a lost cause, I’ve accepted that.”
Maybe he should be offended by that, but he knew that his friend wasn’t trying to be genuinely mean, besides, being fashionable was the furthest thing from his mind when he got clothes, comfort and practicality topped everything else.
Returning to his task of picking out any wilting blooms from the buckets decorating the shop-floor, he wondered what Matt might think of his preferred clothing. Clearly the man would never reach Mihael’s definition of good taste – distressed jeans were dull and stripes were tacky, according to him – but he clearly had a ‘look’ he was going for, something punk-rock and perhaps even a little dangerous, what with the brightly dyed hair and spiked accessories he’d seen him wearing.
Next to him, Nate must look even more dorky than he already did, what with his sweaters and loose dress-shirts and sensible trousers. It was even worse when he was at home, where it was his soft, well-worn pyjamas and socks, almost exclusively, perhaps a woolly jumper in winter, if it was particularly hot, he might be forced to shed his beloved pj-shirts for a tank top.
The bell above the door tinkled its little turn, he didn’t bother to turn around; when they were both in, Mihael was the one who got to speak to customers – for better or ill.
But the drawn-out sigh and muttered curse quickly drew his attention back away from his task. “Hey Nate,” the blond muttered, glaring at the door even as he whispered to his co-worker, “your boyfriend’s back again.”
“Wha-”
“Hey!” The exuberant call was very familiar, and struck him with joy and terror in equal measure. “I dunno if you remember me, I was the guy with the sick sunflower, you gave me some advice?”
Trying to clear his suddenly-dry throat as quietly as possible, Nate nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
“Well I just wanted to let you know that things seem to be doing ok, I supported Lucas with some wire and a strong stick, he’s still got that stem cank thing you were talking about, but he looks healthy other than that, so I’m feeling positive!”
“That’s good to hear…” Was there something he was supposed to be saying? Probably, but hell if he knew what it was.
The man didn’t seem deterred though. “Yeah! You seriously know your stuff, I mean you only had to look at the picture for a few seconds and you already knew what was wrong.”
He could already feel the burning of a blush on his cheeks and cursed his pale skin for its inability to disguise it. “It’s nothing really,” he said, turning back to the flowers solely for the excuse to hide his red face, “I’m sure you would’ve come across it quite easily if you’d searched online.”
God, that laugh made his heart flutter way too hard. “Ah, well actually I get kinda… freaked out whenever I try searching symptoms online, y’know? Mostly with human diseases and stuff, but knowing me I’d get it into my head that the absolute worst thing is definitely what’s happened and have a huge panic and end up doing the complete wrong thing.” A subtle glance showed Matt nervously pushing up his glasses, almost hiding behind his hand.
“Oh,” it was difficult to reconcile the image of the man in his head – that of a confident, brash hooligan, who didn’t even seem to notice the grazed skin on his cheek, or that his hair was matted with dirt on one side – with the reality before him.
Though it was entirely possible that he could be both a rough and ready thug and an anxious plant-lover, the two weren’t necessarily mutually exclusive after all.
“Well, I’m glad things seem to be working out,” he eventually said, when he realised that Matt was waiting for more, “though I’m surprised they’ve bloomed this late in the season, when did you plant them?”
“Uh, sometime in August, I guess? I’d only just moved to a place with an actual garden and I was kinda… really excited to grow sunflowers… Yeah, ok, that’s kinda dorky.”
He was definitely still blushing, but so was Matt, so he at least felt a little less embarrassed about it. “No, you’re not, it’s-” he paused, trying to think of a way of saying ‘cute’ without coming off as too forward “-quite endearing actually.” Well. Utterly failed there then. Did Mihael really find his floundering so hilarious, that he couldn’t keep his snickers to himself?
They were nothing like Matt’s soft chuckle, which effortlessly wiped away his frown; when he stopped glaring at Mihael to look up at him, the tall man was smiling back, still half-covering his face with a fidgeting hand.
In a voice that was half laugh and half sigh, he said, “Ah, that’s sweet of you, but you can just say I’m a total nerd if you want, I’m not gonna deny it.”
“Then we’re all in agreement,” Mihael said before Nate could even figure out how to respond, “you’re both total plant nerds.”
“Dude, you work in a florists.”
The blond scoffed. “And? That doesn’t mean I’m obsessed with grass, it’s just a job.”
Matt turned back to him, one eyebrow raised. “Is he always like that?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards his co-worker.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Damn, sounds like you’ve got it pretty rough-” the sudden blaring metal song – vaguely familiar, was it from an anime or something? – emanating from his pocket cut him off, as he instead started fumbling for his phone, throwing a nervous grin in Nate’s direction as he answered. “Hey dude… Yeah, yeah I know that but… Alright, I got it, you don’t need to get all pissy, I’m coming already!”
He didn’t bother saying goodbye, just pulled the phone from his ear and clicked a button, ending the call; Nate couldn’t help but notice that the phone was ancient, an old Nokia brick, where the hell did you even buy those anymore?
“Hey, sorry, guess I’ve gotta go and do… a thing now, but it was great seeing you again, I’ll be back with another update sometime soon, see ya ‘round Nate!” And with that, the man practically ran out the door, waving as he passed the shop’s window, before disappearing down the street, leaving the two florists staring after him.
Mihael was the one to break the baffled silence. “Well that was suspicious, wanna take bets on what kind of crime he’s off to commit?”
His middle finger made his response quite clear, but Nate couldn’t help thinking that his friend might have a point.
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The next time he saw Matt, was completely unexpected – for both of them apparently, if the way the man’s tired blue eyes widened and his steps faltered for a moment were anything to go by.
“Hey,” he called out, jogging slightly to meet Nate at the entrance to Wammy’s Garden, “what’re you doing here so early? Figured the shop wouldn’t open ‘til eight-ish at the earliest.” As he was talking, his hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie and he bounced slightly in place, as though fighting off the cold air.
Nate covered his mouth with an icy-cold hand, hating that his body chose this exact moment to yawn, but managed to force a brief smile up at him once control of his facial muscles was returned to him. “Waiting on a delivery.”
“Damn, how long does that usually take?”
He shrugged, glancing up and down the empty road. “They’ll get here before seven,” he said, before glancing at Matt out of the corner of his eye, “what about you?”
“Oh, I’m just… walking,” the punk sounded a little nervous about that, or maybe it was embarrassment, or maybe Nate was just reading too much into something that wasn’t there, wouldn’t be the first time, but he was still smiling, even if his shoulders were trembling with the cold.
Just as he was about to ask if he wanted to stand inside for a while – not that the shop was that much warmer – the rumbling of a van turning the corner drew his attention.
The driver grunted a greeting as she climbed out, already circling around to open the back.
Sighing at yet another missed opportunity to spend a little time getting to know the mysterious, beautiful, possible-gang-member, he followed after her, carefully checking the crates full of potted flowers for damage as she passed them over.
Suddenly, Matt was at his side once more, nudging Nate’s shoulder lightly with his own. “Do you want a hand with that? I can carry it in, you hold the door.”
He faltered a moment, stammering as he tried to push him back. “R-really, that’s not necessary-”
Matt waved him off, already plating a hand on each side of one of the huge boxes. “Don’t be silly, I don’t mind helping ou- hhnnngnggg!” The grin disappeared the second he tried lifting it, replaced instead with a frown as he let go and tried another angle. “Damn, this is way heavier than I thought… ok, let’s try this again, hhhnNNG!”
The box made a thud as it dropped onto the floor of the van once more, flowers shuddering with the force of it, Matt glared down at them, shaking out his arms, but already preparing for another try.
As entertaining as it was to watch the man barely managing to hold the crate a few inches in the air – an expression of horrified realisation dawning across his face – he should probably step in before someone got hurt. Or the delivery lady literally threw him aside and just did the job herself.
Gently pushing him away before he could try again, Nate couldn’t hold back the chuckle as he said, “I was going to warn you…”
Planting his feet and securely grasping the crate, he lifted the thing with only a slight grunt, before heading back to the shop, arms quickly starting to ache, but not enough to weaken his grip.
Matt followed him, wordlessly holding open the door, only once the box of monkshood was dropped onto the counter, did he seem to find words again. “Dude! How in the hell can you lift this shit? No offense but I thought you were a complete twig when I first saw you, what’re you hiding under those sweaters you always wear?”
“I… don’t know? I’m still skinny just… a little toned too I guess, there’s lots of heavy lifting in this job,” he was panting slightly, but couldn’t deny the little rush he felt at impressing the taller man.
The doorbell clanged as it was kicked open by the delivery driver, easily holding two boxes in her arms. At her raised eyebrow Nate cleared a space on the counter for her to place them, thanking her as he quickly flicked through the receipt and wordlessly signed the sheet offered to him. She wished the pair a nice day and walked back out, the noise of her van starting made him want to slam his hands over his ears, but he restricted himself to just humming over the noise, already going through the pots and pulling a few out.
He’d almost forgotten that Matt was still there, until he picked one of the little plastic tubs up and studied the young monkshood sprouts closely. “How come they’re so tiny? You don’t use these for fancy, expensive bouquets or anything, right?”
“No,” he said, carefully repacking the flowers once he was satisfied of their quality, holding out his hand for the one still in Matt’s grasp, “these are to go in the greenhouse out back, we grow most of our own flowers here.”
“Huh, no shit…” With almost exaggerated care, he handed the last pot back to Nate, his fingers lingering just a little too long against his, before retreating back into his pockets.
They were both quiet for a long moment, not-quite looking at each other, but neither making any move to end the conversation, or leave either. This might be your only chance to ever really spend some time with him, Nate’s brain helpfully kept repeating over and over and over again, pointing out that Mihael was off today, that his boss wouldn’t be in for another hour at least, no one would know, until he was so frustrated with it that he didn’t even think before saying, “Would you like to help me plant them? I-if you’ve got the time, that is…”
Matt’s grin should probably be declared as an affront to the Gods for its impossible beauty – as offensive to them as Arachne’s boasts that her skills surpassed even Athena’s – but there was no crash of thunder, no terrible smiting, just a soft chuckle.
“I’d like that,” he said, wide grin showing off his dimples.
“Great-” Nate made sure the flowers were secure, nodding to the door behind the counter “-I’ll lift and you hold the door?”
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