Archive of Our Own

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises, 
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

It was too hot and too sunny outside the first day that Sal passed Johnson’s Floral Emporium. He didn’t know that’s what it was. The building had been empty and for sale as of yesterday morning. It had been broken, sad, abandoned. Ignored. But now, there was a giant neon sign above it, and bright new windows with gold writing. He didn’t like that one bit. He also didn’t like the new owners. He didn’t need to know many details, for in the two seconds he glimpsed the owner he knew he found a new place to hate. All he saw was a kind older woman in a bright yellow poncho painting a small storefront bright, blazing pink, and he knew it was over.

Sal cringed at the sight. He hated pink.

His own store was on the same strip, a few doors down, so there was no getting out of walking past. He felt it in his gut that this woman, this hippie with sunflowers in her hair and too many rings on both hands, would stop him to chat. It was his worst nightmare. The only thing he hated more than the color pink want talking to strangers.

He was right, of course. The second he got a little to close, all hell broke loose.

“Oh, you beautiful boy!” The woman caught his eye through their reflections on the shop windows. “Your hair!” She turned around, spraying pink paint onto the pavement. “You simply are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all month! You’re a right fairy.”

Sal self-consciously grabbed one of his pigtails. “Uh, thanks. I guess.”

“And your face is simply intriguing. Here!” She seemed to produce a large lily out of nowhere. “This is for you! We’re happy to be sharing this town with you.”

It was a pale white color, simple enough that Sal didn’t feel too gross taking it. “Thanks. It’s...nice.” He looked down at it and noticed that the woman wasn’t wearing any shoes. Disgusting. How was she not getting blistered on the burning pavement?

“You’re young, right?” She asked, getting a bit too close for his liking.

Sal nodded.

“I think my son is about your age. We’re new here, you see, and I think you all would along great! Would you want to meet him?” She clasped her hands together and sprayed paint onto her clothes, not that she seemed to notice. “Gosh, he would love you!”

“I’m going to work.” He said dryly.

“Well, if you walk this way to work every day then you’ll see him eventually.” She waved him off with her hand, making all her bangles jingle. “I’ll see you tomorrow, darling. Or this afternoon. I’ll still be here.” She brandished her paint brush like a weapon, slapping paint onto the bricks of her new store. “Everything around here looks so dull. I hope people can see our little store and get inspired to do more with theirs!”

Sal didn’t know how to respond. “So it’s all going to be pink?” He asked awkwardly.

She nodded. “Pink with that perfect little blue and white trim. My son picked out the colors!”

“I don’t think me and your son will get along then.” Sal said. He started to keep walking. “Thanks for the flower.”

“Look at yourself!” The woman pointed at him, smiling like the sun. “You all will get along great! Have fun at work, honey!”

Sal arrived at his own shop, a tattoo parlor, a few minutes later, and immediately shoved the lily in a trashcan by the door.

“What the hell was that for?” A girl with short brown hair called from behind the main counter. She had her watercolor paints spread out across the entire surface, staining the tips of her fingers as she worked away at a large piece of thick paper next to the computer. “Dig it out, bring it here. You might hate them but you know I love them. Give. Now.”

Sal let out a grown and stuck his hand into the trash. “There’s a new fucking flower shop up the road, Ash. There’s plenty where this came from.”

“I know! Lisa gave me a flower, too!” Ash held up a little yellow carnation proudly. “I’m painting it now.”

“Lisa? That’s her name? Well, tell your new friend Lisa to buy some shoes and grow up. No adult should be-“

“So happy?” Ash smirked.

“So childish.” Sal walked over and slammed the bent and broken lily on the counter. “What time is my first?”

“In an hour.” Ash tapped the space bar of the computer and the monitor sprung to life. “It’s a thigh piece. Can I watch?”

“Of course. You know you don’t have to ask.” Sal walked around the counter to go to the backroom, with it’s stockroom and couch and mini-fridge. He plopped his backpack on the ground and flopped his body onto the couch. For some godforsaken reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about that ugly Pepto-Bismol themed building that was being put together right now. And that weird sunflower woman. And her even weirder mystery son.

He decided in that very moment that he would start coming to work extra early just to avoid that entire situation. The less he saw of that entire family and entire store, the better. That was just a disaster waiting to happen.

Ash leaned into the doorless backroom, pointing at Sal with her pencil. “By the way, Lisa has a son.”

“Not happening. I don’t want anyone from some shoeless hippie family coming anywhere near me.” Sal put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

“With that attitude, you’re never going to find anyone!”

“That reminds me. How’s Maple?” Sal asked, still staring at the decaying white plaster above him.

“She’s wonderful, and she’s my girlfriend because I’m a good person that accepts flowers and doesn’t judge people before meeting them.” Ash stuck out his tongue at him. “Grow up, dude.”

“I’m your boss and I will fire you.” No he wouldn’t. “Consider your apprenticeship on the line.” It wasn’t.

“Whatever you say.” She rolled her eyes and went back to the counter to continue her work.

and they open —
pools of lace, 
white and pink —
and all day the black ants climb over them,

A few days later, Sal had almost forgotten about how dumb the flower shop was and how dumb the owner was. He barely noticed the person hutched over, sitting on a stool, painting on the street outside of the gaudy rose-colored building. His main mission was to walk past and pretend like he couldn’t hear the 80s pop music playing inside it. He was going to pretend that this pimple of the ass of God wasn’t right in his line of vision.

“Hey! Nice mask!” A joyful voice called out and pulled him from his bitter thoughts.

Sal rolled his eye and turned, ready to respond with a biting comment, but he was shocked to silence when he saw who spoke to him.

It was a boy, around his age, with hair longer than Sal had ever seen on a person. It was dark, flowing, highlighted by the sun and adorned with a pink flower crown. He was in overalls and a sweat, tainted and smeared with paints. It matched the streaks of purple and blue on his cheek, which only drew attention to an adorable little mole under his eye. He was looking up from his painting, a big goofy grin on his face that showed off a perfect little tooth-gap.

Sal couldn’t respond. His brain at shut down. It stopped. Everything ceased.

He was disgusting, covered in all those bright colors. He was hard to look at, with all the flowers and fluff. He was horrible. And soft. And beautiful. His smile was pure starlight. It was bullshit.

“Hey, uh, are you okay? Sorry, that was rude. Do you not speak English? Me gusta tu cara.” The boy effortlessly slipped into Spanish. He waited, grinning, for Sal’s response. “Not Spanish? I can speak like two words of Mandarín, would that help? I can ask for the toilet in ASL, maybe I should have tried that before Spanish-“

He finally found his tongue. “It’s a prosthetic. Not a mask.”

“Oh. Well, I still like it!” He pointed at him with his paintbrush. “It’s pretty.” The boy put down his brush and leaned back on his stool.

“It’s not pretty.” Sal said bitterly.

The boy recoiled a bit, but his smile didn’t falter. “It’s pretty to me. I love your hair. And your tattoos! Did they hurt?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m sure they didn’t for you. You’re covered!” The boy cried out happily. He giggling. “It’s like you do it for a living or something.”

“I do.”

“Do you work at the tattoo shop up the street?” The boy gasped. He was getting more hyper and excited. “I love walking past it! It’s so vintage! I had an idea, about if you put some carnations outside of it-“

“We aren’t looking for decorating advice from a Disney princess.” Sal deadpanned.

Larry just laughed back. “Listen, I’m trying to help. This whole block could use a lot more color!”

“Okay. Cool. Have fun making color, then.” Sal started to walk away awkwardly. But didn’t get far before there was a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey!”

Sal turned around, frowning. There was the boy, again, but he was holding out a pale pink peony right in Sal’s face. “This is for you!” He cried. He was a lot taller than Sal had expected, and he almost had to look straight up to make eye contact with him. It made him blush.

“I don’t need that.” Sal said.

“Everyone needs flowers!”

Sal reluctantly took it out of the guy’s hand. “Thanks. Or whatever.” He noticed that this guy wasn’t wearing shoes either. This whole family was a mess.

“I’m Larry, by the way. I’ll be here, like, every day. If you want to come by again.” Larry blinked slowly, looking just like an excited puppy.

Sal just nodded back. “Cool. See you never, Larry.” He rolled his eye and turned away.

“See you soon!” He called out, waving at Sal as he walked off.

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls, 
craving the sweet sap, 
taking it away

“Sal! I need a huge favor!” Ash called from the other room.

Sal was cleaning up after his last client of the day. He tossed his gloves in the trash before walking into the piercing room. “What?”

“I have a few piercings this afternoon so I can’t leave the store at all, so I was wondering if you could take this and go get me some flowers. Like, one of everything.” She slapped a twenty dollar bill onto Sal’s chest. “I need it for my flash sheets. I need reference images.”

“That’s why google exists, Ashley.” Sal frowned. “I don’t want to go shopping in My Little Pony land. I’ve avoided going inside up until this point and I would like it to remain that way.”

“Well, it’s too late. Because I ordered us pizza for dinner. And I won’t share it unless you get me flowers.”

“…fuck you, Ash.”

The walk to the store felt like a walk to the electric chair. It was already bad enough passing in the morning, having to acknowledge Larry every single morning while he was out painting, sweeping, cleaning the windows, all those wonderful things. And Sal had to awkwardly wave back, and accept a free flower, and try not to think about how adorable this giant looked in all of his outfits.

When he got to the pink palace, no one was outside. But he could hear the faint sounds of flowy music from outside the door. He took a deep breathe, blinked hard and then pushed the door open.

A bell chimed out as Sal stepped inside. Somehow, the inside was worse than the outside. The floors were bright green, the walls were bright blue, and there was a crystal chandelier hanging above the register. There were shelves and tables and walls of hundreds of types of flowers and herbs and crystals. The entire place smelled like cotton candy and old lady. Pop music played on the speakers. It was the worst thing Sal had ever been a part of.

On the ground, stocking up a row of orchids, was Larry. His hair was in a long braid, tangled up with flowers and trailed down his back and onto the floor. Sal could barely see since Larry was crouched, but he was pretty sure Larry was wearing a crop top.

Larry turned and stood up to greet the customer after putting away the final orchid, and suddenly Sal was very aware of Larry’s crop top.

“You’re back!” Larry squealed. He walked over and put his hands on Sal’s shoulders. “Good morning, Bluebell!”

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” Sal jerked back away from his touch. “What did you just call me?”

Larry blinked. “Bluebell! You know, like the-“

“Flower! Yes, I got it!”

“And your hair is-“

“Blue! I know!” Sal huffed. He crossed his arms in front of him. “Why the hell would you call me that?!”

“Well, I never got your name.” Larry said shyly. He rubbed his cheek, accidentally smearing yellow paint and dirt across his face. “So I just kind of made one for you.”

“That’s so lame.” Sal grumbled, checking his shoulders for paint. “Listen, I just need a bouquet of some stuff for my friend. Can you just give me, like, one of every flower and call it a day?”

“Oh, sure.” Larry winked. “For your friend.”

“No, it’s really for a friend.”

“I’ll throw in some extra daisies. For your friend.” Larry winked again before walking towards the back of the store to get some newspaper. “I’m sure your friendwould like those. Right, Bluebell?” Larry looked over his shoulder at him. “You look like a daisy guy.”

“I hate daisies.”

“Oh, sure.”

“And it’s not Bluebell! It’s Sal.”

“Thank you for finally telling me your name, Sal.” Larry laughed, scrunching up his nose as he did so. Sal almost threw up in his mouth from how cute it was. Was that a good or a bad thing? Even he didn’t know.

Larry started to go around the store, picking one flower from each section. He was humming and swaying to the music playing in the store. “Do you like Stevie?”

“What?”

“Stevie Nicks. I love this song.” He walked a few paces before twirling, sending his braid flying. “She just makes me so happy.” He started to sing along lowly, examining each flower before dutifully tucking it into the newspaper.

“I only listen to good music.” Sal’s heart was speeding up as he watched Larry float around to gather everything for Ash.

“I would love to hear what you consider good music.” Larry walked back and handed the huge bouquet to Sal. “Here you go. I hope you like it. Um, I mean, I hope your friend likes it.” He brushed his hands against Sal’s as he passed him the flowers. It made Sal shiver.

“Don’t I have to pay?” Sal looked Larry up and down, both repelled and attracted to him in his light purple cropped shirt and white skinny jeans.

“No. It’s on the house.”

“First your mom, then you, now you again. You all can’t just keep giving your flowers away for free.”

“We don’t do it to everyone. Just people we really like.” Larry’s face flushed as he said it.

Sal didn’t like that one bit. He dug in his pocket, whipping out a twenty and slammed in Larry’s hand. “Well, don’t like me.”

“Too late!” Larry tucked the bill into Sal’s bouquet. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He walked back over to the counter to return to a painting project that he had probably been working on before putting up the flowers.

“You won’t see me tomorrow. I have absolutely no reason to come back.” Sal pulled the twenty dollar bill out of the bouquet, dropped it on the bright green floor of the shop and busted out the door.

to their dark, underground cities —
and all day
under the shifty wind, 
as in a dance to the great wedding,

Ash made him go back every single day for two weeks.

Why she couldn’t get up off her ass and go to Johnson’s Floral Emporium, Sal would never know. Why she needed so many flowers, Sal would never know. Why Larry refused to let him pay, he would never know. Why Larry would give him triple the amount he asked for, he would never know.

“Good morning, Bluebell!” was a familiar phrase to him now. It had the same excitement and cadence every single time Sal heard it. It was etched into his brain like a tattoo.

“Good morning, Bluebell!”

He heard it in his fucking sleep. Not that he would ever admit out loud that he had dreamt about Larry before.

Larry made Sal feel something deep inside of him, something he thought had long disappeared. There were bubbles, little tiny air pockets holding joy and hope and love. And every single time Sal saw Larry, one of these microscopic bubbles would pop and Sal would go one step closer to being a human again.

“This changed!” Larry grabbed Sal’s wrist one day and pulled it close to look at it. “You didn’t have Saturn there before, you had some kind of cat.”

Sal yanked back his hand. “I practice my designs first on me before putting them on a flash sheet. It’s pen, not a tat. Calm down.”

“So you draw on yourself like all the time? Can I paint on you?!” Larry was nearly bouncing with excitement.

And that’s how Larry and Sal started painting on each other and doodling each other during every visit.

"Sal has a crush!" Ash would sing every time she noticed a new little pastel painting on Sal's arm.

"Sal has control of your paycheck!" He would bite back.

But Sal was slipping fast. And he knew it.

The routine went the same every day. Sal would walk in, hand a list to Larry, and he would dance around and pick out the flowers and ask Sal endless questions about himself and tell Sal endless fun facts about flowers and music and art. It was charming, Sal had to admit, and soon seeing Larry felt like a normal, expected, safe part of his day. Every single day, around noon, he would go see him. He would leave annoyed, flustered, and somehow in a much better mood than when he arrived. It was very confusing.

On this day, though, Sal walked into the store not to find Larry painting or stocking flowers or sweeping. He walked in to find the music turned up twice as loud, and Larry twirling around dancing to some old 80s pop. Sal was frozen in place as he watched Larry laughing and swaying with his giant curtain of hair following him. His flower crown, made of lavender and roses this time, held onto his head for dear life.

“What are you doing?!” Sal called over the music.

“I’m having a good day!” Larry rushed over and took Sal’s hands. “You look beautiful today. Dance with me!”

“I don’t dance!” Sal managed to yell out before Larry dragged him farther into the store, spinning him.

“You’re dancing now!” The taller boy cried.

“No, I’m being dragged around by an idiot!”

That made Larry laugh and pull Sal closer. Sal didn’t like how short he felt next to this dumbass. Larry’s hand made his way to his waist, and his other hand stayed holding Sal’s. Before long, they were ballroom dancing through the flowers while Whitney Houston serenaded them through the old speakers.

Sal was living his worst nightmare. Or his best dream. He couldn’t figure out which was worse. The spot where Larry held him felt like it was on fire. His stomach was in a knot. He was terrified of crushing Larry’s bare feet with his heavy steel-toed boots. Even so, it didn’t take long for Larry’s spinning to make Sal start to smile, and Larry’s singing to make Sal laugh. Before he knew it, he was singing along too, and genuinely enjoying himself. He had forgotten why he even came in here.

“This is so stupid!” Sal laughed over the music.

“You love it!” Larry let his waist go and grabbed his hand again, so they were spinning around in a while circle, holding on to each other so they didn’t fall. Sal threw his head back with laughter, letting himself forget who he was for just a moment. Then, Larry yanked him forward, probably to try to pull Sal against his chest again. But Sal’s head flew forward, and his prosthetic went with it, slamming right into Larry’s face. Larry fell backwards, landing on his ass right onto the cold floor.

“Shit!” Sal screamed. “I’m so sorry, dude!” He leaned over Larry and covered his mouth. “Oh, shit, your nose is bleeding!”

Larry shook his head and sat up, looking up at Sal with the same amount of joy and excitement as before. “It’s fine! I promise. I get nosebleeds all the time. You don’t have a beak like this and not have a high tolerance for getting hit in the nose.” Larry cupped his nose with his hand.

“It’s going to stain your shirt.” Sal worried his lip between his teeth. That’s when it finally hit him. His mask was on the floor, next to Larry, splattered with his blood. It wasn’t on Sal’s face. Larry was looking at him, wide-eyed and adoring and unphased, while Sal was fully exposed. He turned away so his back faced Larry and covered his face. “Go clean up!”

He started to clamber to his feet. “Bluebell, I’m fine. What’s wrong? Why are you-“

“Go. Clean up the blood.” Sal repeated, firmer and harsher. “Don’t fucking look at me.”

“Sal.” Larry said softly. He tapped Sal’s shoulder and held out his mask to him. “You don’t have to hide from me.” The words hit Sal like a truck. He didn’t even have time to think of some kind of sarcastic remark before Larry slipped his mask back into his hands. “There you go. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Sal slowly buckled it back on, fluffing his hair around it. His heartbeat was in his throat. When he turned around, Larry was still there. Bloody, worried, and holding out a single pink peony. “I still think you’re pretty, Sal.” He smiled gently, his brows upturned.

He didn’t know what to say. He slowly took the flower out of Larry’s hand. “I, uh-“

“You’re really good. For someone who doesn’t dance.” Larry giggled. At those words, Lisa walked out of the backroom.

“Larry, the music is too loud again-“ She paused, looking between her bloody son and a frozen, shrunken Sal. “Larry. Go change.” He nodded and gave a little wave to Sal before going to the backroom. Lisa stood there looking at Sal for a moment before gesturing for him to come closer. “Let’s clean up your face.”

She used soft, motherly hands to clean the blood off of Sal’s mask. “The blood matches your outfit.” She said in an attempted to make Sal laugh. It didn’t work. “You know, I told you that you and Larry would get along. Remember? I told you that he would adore you. Don’t doubt that he does, no matter what. Okay?”

Sal hesitated before nodding. “Okay.”

the flowers bend their bright bodies, 
and tip their fragrance to the air, 
and rise, 
their red stems holding

“I have a surprised for you!” Larry wiggled with excitement when Sal came back a week later. They had danced together again during that time, and Sal didn’t lose his mask. And Sal still managed to not crush Larry’s feet, to both boys’ surprised.

“Why don’t you all wear shoes?” Sal had asked one day.

“I feel closer to the world when I don’t.”

It was the lamest but the most beautiful answer in the world.

Sal had started to finally admit to himself, and to Ash, that he had grown fond of Larry Johnson. He started to like how Larry dressed. And like the music that Larry liked. And managed to not absolutely hate dancing with him. And managed to doodle him a thousand times while thinking of tattoo concepts. All of Sal’s sketchbooks were flower boy themed now.

 Sal didn’t feel too ashamed of it, though, since Larry had worked him into one of his paintings. It was small, barely there, but in Larry’s landscape piece of the block, you could see Sal walking past in the distance. It was simply adorable.

“A surprised, huh?” Sal rolled his eye. “This should be good.”

And with that, Larry whipped out a pale pink flower crown woven together with peonies and baby’s breath. “Ta-da!”

Sal didn’t expect that. “Oh.”

 “Take it! It’s for you!”

Sal didn’t reach for it. “Like…to wear?”

“Yeah!” Larry set the crown on Sal’s head gently before grabbing the pre-made bouquet he had ready for him. “Here, for Ash.”

Sal grabbed the bouquet and ripped off the crown. “I can’t wear this, dude.”

Larry, for the first time ever, looked a little sad. “Why not?”

“It’s pink.”

“So?”

 “I don’t fucking wear pink.” Sal’s heart was starting to speed up from anxiety. Just the idea of him wearing the color was making him sweat.

“Why don’t you like pink?” Larry laughed. He picked up another pre-made bouquet, playing with the petals of a daisy. “It looks so beautiful on you, you’re like if cotton candy was a person! Pink would suit you, Bluebell!”

“My mom’s favorite color was pink.” Sal said in a monotone voice.

“Well, isn’t that a good thing?”

“She’s dead now.”

Larry jolted to a stop. His grip tightened on the flowers in his arms. “Oh. Sal, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Can I go now?” Sal didn’t like talking about it. He felt very anxious very quickly, and he honestly felt a little nauseas. He dropped the crown on the floor and turned away, marching out of the store as fast as possible.

all that dampness and recklessness 
gladly and lightly, 
and there it is again — 
beauty the brave, the exemplary,
blazing open.

When Sal got to the tattoo shop the next day, there was a little bouquet of bluebells with a four page hand-written apology letter from Larry Johnson. He didn’t pass the flower shop that morning, for he had made purposeful detours just to get away from him. It added twenty whole minutes to his walk, but it had been worth it at the time. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He could imagine Larry sitting in front of the store, waiting eagerly for Sal. Just like he had done every morning since they met.

Sal genuinely felt bad for him.

Dammit.

“This kid is so nice that it’s going to kill me.” He let out a heavy sigh and plopped next to Ash on the backroom couch. “I mean, seriously? A bouquet?”

“I was here when he dropped it off. He looked like he was really shaken up. I can’t believe you gave him a black eye.”

Sal sat up straight. “What? A black eye?”

“…I’m assuming that was you?” Ash furrowed her brow. “I mean, he comes to drop off an ‘I’m sorry, please love me’ gift with a black eye. I assumed it was you. Which I do not condone, by the way. I was going to lecture you.”

“I didn’t fucking punch him!” Sal threw his hands up and grabbed his pigtails.

“So who did?” Ash asked. “Who would punch such a softie?”

It turns out, a group of homophobic rugby players would.

Sal left between clients to go visit the shop, to try to talk to Larry. But he all he found was the word ‘F A G G O T’ in big red letters spray-painted on the door of the store. And inside, and outside, there were shattered flowerpots and ripped up petals. Inside, the police were talking to Lisa while Larry sat uncomfortably on the counter, clutching a few pink peonies to his chest.

“Sir, you can’t be in here.” An officer tried to push Sal out of the door before he had barely stepped in it, but Larry stopped him.

“He’s with me. He’s mine.” Larry grabbed Sal’s hand and pulled him away from the cop. “Hey, Sal.” He said quietly. His eye was bruised, and his hair was frizzy. His shirt had scuffs of dirt on it. “Sorry I look so fucked. The officers told me not to clean up until they had picture evidence and all that.”

“What the hell happened, dude?” Sal reached up and lightly touched Larry’s cheek. Larry leaned into the gesture, and for a moment Sal forgot that they weren’t supposed to be that affectionate yet.

“I was opening up and they were waiting for me, I guess.” Larry shrugged. “I can clean everything up, it’s not a big deal-“

“Yes it is!” Sal cried. “Dude, they fucked up your face! They fucked up your store! How are you not in a fucking rage?!”

Larry looked down at his bare feet, the shattered glass of pots around them. “I’m pretty used to it. I mean, look at me, Bluebell.” Larry gestured to his clothes. It was his favorite pair of overalls, ones that Sal had seen countless times, stained with paint and love. His shirt was short-sleeved, light blue with clouds on it. “I get called stuff like that,” he pointed at the door, “every single day. It’s whatever.”

“It shouldn’t be whatever!” Sal’s face was getting hot with anger. “That’s bullshit!”

“Sal, please-“

“No! No one has a right to treat you like that just because you dress a certain way!”

Larry put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a look that instantly made him shut up. “Do you want to stay here and help me clean? It might help you calm down.”

They cleaned until the sun went down. Sal called Ash to get her to move his clients around, and he spent the rest of the day sweeping and scrubbing with Larry to whatever dumb happy music he put on. Lisa was mainly in the backroom, trying to fix the numbers for all the lost inventory. But she brought them pink lemonade and cupcakes more than once. Even their food was adorable. It made feel Sal sticky just eating it.

Eventually, Lisa went upstairs to the apartment connected to the shop. And Sal and Larry were left alone, with a slow Fleetwood Mac song playing in the background.

“Finally.” Larry stood up and peeled off his gloves. “It’s over.” He turned around to Sal, and he couldn’t help but think that Larry looked like a beautiful fairy all flushed and sweaty and covered in melted glitter. His eye was still black, though, and it made Sal warm with anger.

“All this floor cleaner is making my eyes burn!” Sal unbuckled his mask and set it on the counter. The streetlights cast odd shadows onto his bare face, but instantly he felt like he could breathe again. “God. I hate that thing sometimes.”

Larry walked over and leaned onto the counter. “I’m sorry I tried to make you wear pink. That wasn’t okay.” He said after a moment.

“I’m sorry that I snapped yesterday.” Sal said, looking at his mask on the table. “I just…It’s still sensitive for me, and I’m sorry.”

“My dad is gone. So I understand.”

“What happened?”

Larry picked a dead leaf off a marigold. “We don’t know. One day he’s here, the next day he’s gone and we can’t find him or anything. We just left us. No note. No anything. I go to school with a dad, and I come back and suddenly I don’t.”

“I’m sorry. My, uh...my mom died with me. In a freak accident. We had been in a park, and someone had abandoned a dog there apparently and the fucker got aggressive and rabid. I was a very smart kid, waddling right up to this fucking dog. And then bam. I don’t have a face and my mom, who came over to help, doesn’t have a throat.”

“...shit.” Larry said quietly.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. For dumping that on you.”

“Don’t be.” Larry reached out and played mindless with a piece of Sal’s hair. He moved closer to look deep into Sal’s eyes. “You don’t have to be sorry with me. Ever.”

They stared at each other in silence, Larry’s face extremely close to Sal’s. There was a moment where Sal thought for sure they would kiss, for sure he would get to feel Larry’s plush full lips on his. But Larry must have chickened out, because he pulled away quickly with a face as red as roses. He cleared his throat. “Thanks for helping.”

“Do you want to get a tattoo?” Sal blurted out. It was the closest he had ever come to asking anyone on a date before, and the cadence in his voice suggested it was much deeper than just a tattoo.

Larry heard it. Larry understood. He a slow smile crept onto his face. “Really?”

“Yeah. Ash needs to start doing her own work. And she loves doing flowers. I think it would nice on you.”

“Well, what about you? Why don’t you do it?” Larry asked.

“I’m not your style. Trust me. Traditional isn’t your vibe, I can tell. Ash does watercolor. Really modern and fluffy and pretty. She does a lot of flowers. That’s what you’re going to want to have.”

“Will you hold my hand? While I get it done?” Larry blushed as he asked. “I’m just nervous.”

Sal let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Meet me at the parlor tomorrow. We’ll get you all situated.”

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden, 
and softly, 
and exclaiming of their dearness, 
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

“Do you like it?” Ash asked from behind Larry. He stared into the mirror, his eyes running over his bare torso. One side of his chest now had a beautiful watercolor piece of lavender and peonies on it. Larry had picked the design from Ash’s new flash sheet, and she was absolutely glowing with pride.

“I love it!” He practically squealed. “It’s a painting that’s forever. I’m so in love!” He turned around and tackled her in a tight hug, lifting her off the ground. “Thank you!”

Sal had held his hand the whole time, even though he was pretty sure Larry didn’t need it. It had felt nice, soft and strong. It had callouses from his painting and his flowers and his bike handles. He couldn’t stop thinking about wanting to touch it again.

When Ash walked out, Larry moved back to the cushioned table and sat on it, swinging his legs. “Do you think it looks nice?”

“Of course.” Sal said. He leaned back in seat and put his arms behind his head. “It suits you.”

“I like it a lot. I want more already.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen. They really are addictive.” Sal slipped a look down Larry’s bare chest down to his belly button. “So are piercings. If you want one.”

“Can we go on a real date now?” Larry asked.

It caught Sal off guard. “A real date? But what can be better than getting new ink?”

He was mindlessly rubbing the plastic over his new art. “I would love to show you this cute little park downtown. There’s a concert venue there, too. So we can go do that. If you want.”

Sal nodded, a small smile dancing on his lips. “Yes. I would love that, actually. It’s a date.”

Larry’s face split into a giant grin, showing off his adorable gap. “Awesome!”

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling, 
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?”

It had a month since they had officially started dating.

Sal started to ride to work on the back of Larry’s bright pink bicycle. He would sit on Larry’s handlebars, holding the flowers he had picked out for Sal the night before, and get dropped off every day. Sal would lift his mask and they would share a quick kiss before Larry would wave and return to his family store.

During Larry’s lunch break, he would come to the parlor and watch Sal work or watch Ash paint. Sal loved having him around. It was like having a personal sunshine, his own private shooting star. Larry was the only thing in the whole world that could keep making him smile, over and over and over.

Dancing to 80s music became a regular thing for them during the closing of their stores. If Sal was done early, he would join Larry in the glittering flower shop to sweep and dance around and sneak kisses when Lisa went to the backroom. If Sal had late appointments, Larry would come over and switch the CDs to something sweet and floaty and slow dance with Sal as Ash took out the trash and made fun of them.

At night, Larry would ride Sal back to his apartment and drop him off with a kiss. Sometimes he would follow him inside, and they would drink tea together, and they would wake up naked in the morning light surrounded by pillows and the flowers that had fallen out of Larry’s hair. Sometimes Larry would go back to his own place with his mother, and they would be up all night texting and calling and sending pictures.

But they nights they were together were the best. So were the mornings. There was something so perfectly good, so universally sound, as Larry got dressed with his glitter and his colors next to Sal, with his chains and his flannels and his spikes. There was something right about how Sal helped stick flowers into Larry’s braids and Larry would help Sal shave his undercut into sharp geometric designs. Two halves of a whole, perfectly balanced.

“You know.” Larry said one day. “I would like to dress you up like me one day. I think you would look beautiful. Pastel purple might be your color.”

 “Well, I think that you would look impossibly sexy dressed like me. Your skintone with some reds would be epic.” Sal laughed. “Ash is ready for you when you are. I’m excited to see it when it’s done.” Sal handed Larry the piece of paper that had Larry’s new tattoo design on it: a bundle of bluebells, tied together with a ribbon.

Larry leaned forward and caught Sal’s plastic cheek in a kiss. “See you in like an hour. I love you.”

Sal smiled under his prosthetic, his eye reflecting the glitter from Larry’s rosey cheeks. “I love you, too.”