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It starts when Byleth hands him a flower.
Dimitri squints down at it curiously before raising his gaze to look at her. When their eyes meet, there is something there that he cannot exactly put a name to. He hears Mercedes talking to the other worker on duty somewhere to his left and desperately wonders how he should act in front of her. Byleth stares right at him with a steady gaze. Mentally, Dimitri kicks himself, cradling the white carnation in his hand with care, the stem too fragile in his grasp.
A flower. She… handed me a…flower.
He inclines his head and asks slowly, “For… me?”
She nods.
“How… how much?”
She crinkles her brow. Confused, she says, “For you.”
It’s Dimitri’s turn to be confused. “Uh… then…”
“Free.”
Dimitri blinks and tells her, “Then, I thank you.”
Byleth’s eyes shift before she hums, a quiet you’re welcome before turning on her heel, striding to the other side of the shop to attend to the other customers.
He is, of course, confused beyond belief, but Dimitri is nothing but kind, so he is gracious for the gift. When Mercedes turns to him, ready to go, and he is more than ready to flee; so, Dimitri exits the flower shop he had been in with Mercedes, the flower he holds in his grasp a hard contrast against the rich blue of his sweater. He cannot help but glance down at it in wonder, and then to Mercedes, who holds a bouquet of rainbows in her arms.
Mercedes’ tone is playful when she gestures to the carnation. “An admirer?”
“A gift,” he corrects smoothly, although her meaning isn’t lost on him. It wasn’t the first time he had accompanied her to the flower shop—she loved to gift flowers, and especially to her girlfriend, who had just passed a rough exam she had been dreading for a few months now. Dimitri was sure that Mercedes would force him to come again, in a few weeks, when their anniversary was up. He cannot decide if he’s looking forward to it, or sick to his stomach with anticipation. “Why do you always drag me along with you, Mercedes?”
“Because you always make googly eyes at Byleth,” she tells him, incredulous, as if there wouldn’t be any other reason.
That’s right, he thinks, a taste of bitterness on his tongue.
“Remind me again why I ever told you I thought she was pretty.”
Mercedes hums in thought, yet he knows better than to fall for her act. “Because, I thought your crush was adorable and forced you to tell me—but you’ve got it wrong!” She laughs sweetly, and Dimitri cannot help but think her the Devil. “You said, and I quote, ‘she is prettier than all the flowers combined!’”
“That’s right,” Dimitri mutters it aloud this time, weakly. There were days where he regrets ever allowing Mercedes to pry it out of him. Dimitri was fine with bottling his emotions; he recalls the moment she welcomed him to Rhea Floral for the first time, over a year ago, and asked if there was anything in particular he was looking for as he stood there, waiting for Mercedes; he recalls sputtering and stammering, dropping his bag full of heavy books right on Byleth’s foot.
She hadn’t seemed to mind, and she suffered no broken bones—but that wasn’t the point!
Dimitri only saw her in passing from time to time. Although the flower shop was en route to his college, he never stopped in without Mercedes there next to him. He was fully aware of the fact he could bury the bridge between them with a simple push of a door, with the simple cling of a bell dinging overhead.
However, Dimitri was a bit of a coward.
Beside him, Mercedes sighs, pulling him from his thoughts. “That’s a carnation, isn’t it?”
“Uh—I believe so.” Truthfully, Dimitri knew little about flowers.
“A white one, huh…”
He squints at her mischievous expression, knowing he is going to regret asking but does anyway. “Does it mean something?”
“Pure love!”
Dimitri almost trips over his own two feet—almost, and calls her a liar.
***
He isn’t sure what comes over him—honestly, Dimitri thinks that maybe Mercedes cursed him, or maybe she got one of their friends to do it for her. Felix’s laughing face flashes through his mind and Dimitri is sure, for a fact, the guy could and would curse him without even anyone having to ask!
Byleth is outside of the flower shop, the sign which dons Rhea Floral swaying in the breeze. She is bent at the waist slightly, watering can in hand. From across the street, she looks… so far away.
Of course, his mind tells him logically, while his heart screams stupidly, go after her!
And so, Dimitri’s feet guides him to the other side of the street. He barely remembers to look both ways for oncoming traffic. It felt like teleportation—one minute, she wasn’t right in front of him, and now, there she was, her back to him because she hadn’t heard him approach.
“H—Hello.” Dimitri hates the fact he stutters, but ends up going easy on himself upon seeing Byleth’s form jump in surprise. She turns quickly, wide eyed, mouth parted slightly. Immediately, Dimitri breaks into a smile and cannot tell whether it was from her reaction, or the dirt on her left cheek. “I apologize for startling you,” he says hurriedly. “I saw you from—from… across… the street.”
Once the words are out of his mouth, he can tell how they sound.
“I thought I would… say… hi.”
A moment passes sluggishly until finally, she laughs.
Dimitri stands there, wide eyed, face increasing in warmth the more she laughs. She presses her lips together, but it doesn’t do much. Her laugh bursts through, and Byleth is quick to cover to mouth with the back of her hand, eyes half closed with laughter. Dimitri finds he doesn’t hate the sight—in fact, quite the opposite.
“S-Sorry,” she stammers, red in the face. Byleth clears her throat as she drops her hand. “Really, I’m sorry—it’s just, uh—hello to you, too.”
Dimitri isn’t sure what to say.
“Did you… come for… flowers?”
“No,” is his immediate answer.
Byleth’s expression doesn’t change. It is then that Dimitri feels quiet like a fool. As if controlled, he gestures to the shop, and then the watering can in her hand. “Would you like help?”
“Huh? I couldn’t possibly—“
“Really,” Dimitri interjects, and is unsure why he is so insistent, although he was fully aware as to why. Bury the bridge, is on repeat in his mind. “I do not mind. I possess no green thumb, but…” he trails off, and wonders how much of a fool she thinks him to be.
Rather than stare at him strangely, Byleth looks amused. “I will take you up on your offer, then.”
Dimitri inclines his head in acknowledgment before following her inside. “You are closing shop alone?”
Byleth sighs, pointing to the chair behind the counter, showing him where he can set his bag. “Yes. We close in a few… and Sylvain vanished a while ago. That’s how he is,” she explains, passing him the watering can. “So I don’t think much of it anymore.”
“Sylvain? Sylvain Gautier?”
“Red head, obnoxious laugh?” Byleth asks, and when Dimitri stifles a laugh and nods his head, she looks a bit surprised. “You know him?”
“He is a friend from childhood,” Dimitri tells her. He follows her to a wall lined with individual potted plants, watching as she stares at them, seemingly in thought.
“That’s unexpected.” Byleth turns to him, directing her stare to him—long enough that Dimitri starts to sweat under his collar. Finally, she murmurs, “you guys… aren’t alike at all.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“As you should,” she agrees. With a small smile, she gestures to the cluster of purple flowers. “Water those, please.”
Dimitri followers her lead diligently, listening to her ramble on about how to care for different flowers, what kinds of soils are the best, and the flowers that smell the nicest. It’s relaxing, listening to the soft tone of her voice, and that is all Dimitri hears. He catches little bits of information, here and there, but he is more content with just listening to the rise and fall of her voice—she could talk about anything at all and he was sure he would love every syllable.
He watches her hands the most, though. She is mindful of all of them, treating them gently, her slender fingers seeming to be more fragile than the flowers themselves. Dimitri isn’t sure what causes him to ask, but he cannot stop the words from tumbling off his lips: “You like flowers?”
Byleth hums in thought, a strange expression on her face. “I… don’t know,” she admits, and then laughs. “I guess to do this daily, I must. They are nice to look at, and it is relaxing to care for them, after all. They also smell good. My mother… I suppose this is one thing I got from her? How she loved flowers.”
Dimitri notices the past tense, and understands all too well. He doesn’t say anything more.
He expected the air around them to become strained, but surprisingly, it stays the same. She is mostly silent, and Dimitri as well, but it is far from awkward. Time passes by languidly, until finally, when she looks up at the clock above the counter, she ah’s in surprise.
“I’ve kept you for a while. Sorry about that,” Byleth says, yet she doesn’t sound sorry in the least. Gently, she takes the watering can from Dimitri’s grasp and walks over to set it behind the counter. Dimitri follows slowly, unwilling to leave but knows he must. Byleth picks up his bag, offering it to him over the counter.
“Oh. Thank you.”
“You do know my name, right?”
Dimitri slides the strap over his shoulder, pausing the slightest because—“Ah…”
“Byleth,” she introduces, a small smile curving her lips.
“I—yes, I… knew… but found it inappropriate to call you as such.”
Her laugh is quiet, and when Dimitri looks over to her, he finds that she isn’t looking at him, her eyes grazing over the countertop. “The… same goes for me too, I guess. Dimitri.”
Dimitri blinks a few times, processing her words, and comes to the conclusion that he kind of dislikes the way his face flushes. He forces a chuckle that sounds more awkward than anything else, and says, “It is nice to officially get to know you.”
Byleth hums, looking as though contemplating something. Finally, she clears her throat, and bends the tiniest bit to reach something Dimitri can’t see, before putting a pot of tiny, white flowers in front of him. Without raising her eyes, she pushes it toward him.
A…again… she…
He stares at it for a minute, unwilling to look at her, now. “This… is…?”
“For you. Free.”
“B—Byleth, I couldn’t—“
“I insist.”
“But—?”
“Dimitri. I insist.”
In the end, he leaves with potted plant in his arms and a confused look on his face.
***
It’s two weeks later when Sylvain wraps a casual arm around his shoulder that Dimitri wishes he could get away with possibly murdering someone.
“I got asked about you, Dimitri.”
He hums thoughtlessly, although his mind was reeling. Dimitri slips his handmade bookmark, which he made with the flowers he got from Byleth, into a different section of his book, away from prying eyes and gossiping mouths.
(It was the closet romantic in him, Mercedes had laughed, to which Dimitri insisted it was because he needed a new bookmark. To which Mercedes looked at him dubiously, and pondered aloud just who would go to the trouble to carefully press flowers and buy the material, when they could have spent less time and energy just buying a cheap bookmark from the university library, or perhaps just use scratch paper—but, by then, of course, Dimitri blocked her out completely.)
“You aren’t gonna ask?” Sylvain tries to get a rise out of him, leaning in and wiggling his eyebrows at him, and it almost works. Dimitri is curious, of course, but how pitiful would it be, to hear her words from him?
“No.”
“You don’t care?”
“Not… particularly,” he lies.
Sylvain sighs dramatically, taking his arm back from Dimitri’s shoulder. He scoots to the other side of the bench, elbow to his knee, chin to his palm. “I’m gonna tell Byleth you don’t care.”
At the mention of her name, Dimitri’s ears grow hot, and he tries his best to ignore it. He pointedly stares at his book, lines upon lines of things he is sure he should retain, but doesn’t. The handmade bookmark seems to burn through the book itself, its warmth seeping into his fingers.
“She grew that gardenia plant for a while, you know.”
“Mm.”
“They’re kinda difficult to grow if the conditions aren’t right.”
“Mm.”
“But she grew them anyways, and gave them to you when they began to break from the bud.”
“…Mm…”
“Dimitri?” Sylvain’s got a smile plastered on his lips now, a laugh teetering at the edge. “Do you know what they mean?”
“You speak the language of flowers?” Dimitri sounds doubtful.
Sylvain laughs at the wording, and nods. “Of course I do, I work in a flower shop.” Plus, what girl doesn’t like stuff like that? goes unsaid.
Dimitri hums, opting to ignore him although he couldn’t focus on the book in his hands.
“Gardenias mean secret love,” Sylvain tells him—and later, a text from Mercedes confirms it.
***
Dimitri is unsure of what to do.
A month and a half has passed, and the pot of gardenias is growing quiet beautifully, much to his own surprise. He cannot help but think it looks a bit out of place outside on the little balcony of his apartment, but comes to appreciate the view of it in passing and the scent that wafts in every so often.
It is, of course, a constant reminder.
Hadn’t the white carnation he received meant something like pure love? And now, to receive such a plant with such a meaning—secret love! How could he simply sit by and say nothing? Yet, that is when his uncertainty comes to play, but at the same time, how could Dimitri not go see her?
That inner game of go—don’t go is on repeat in his mind until, a few days later on his way home, Dimitri sees her outside the flower shop once again, broom in hand.
The innocent excitement of seeing her is automatic, as is the way his feet take him across the street. This time, she sees him crossing, and pauses in her task to greet him.
“Dimitri.”
It’s then that the words fly out of his mouth before he gets a chance to stop them.
“Y—Your… affections…” he murmurs, loud enough for her to hear. Dimitri lowers his gaze to their feet, too embarrassed to look her in the eye. “If I may be so bold, I would like to return them.”
“Wha…” By the tone of her voice, Dimitri can tell that Byleth is confused. “The—but, those were… free.”
He becomes as confused as she sounds. Finally, Dimitri looks up, brows knitted in confusion until he clarifies, “The… no, your… affections.”
Byleth stares up at him, her expression unchanging, and it has the back of Dimitri’s neck prickling. He thinks, am I making a fool of myself, or… Dimitri clears his throat, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “I mean, it is… the flowers… their… meanings… you… do know, yes?”
“I… do not.”
Those were not the words he was expecting.
“Oh,” comes from his mouth like something heavy. Awkwardly, he clears his throat, opening his mouth for something to say only to clamp it back shut before turning on his heel.
“That—that was, a… a lie…” comes Byleth’s voice from behind.
“Huh?” Dimitri turns around, and is greeted by the sight of her face flushed red.
“It was… a lie. I know what they mean—I mean, Sylvain keeps a book about it in the backroom. So, I… it’s not important!” Byleth laughs awkwardly, waving a hand in the air as if to show just how much it wasn’t important. She clears her throat, unwilling to look up from where she is focusing on the crack in the concrete. “I—that is, my affections—to be honest, I am not sure how to… do this.”
“Oh. That is not a problem. Neither am I.”
His words have her looking up quickly, eyes wide in surprise.
“I… thought…” she murmurs, narrowing her eyes at nothing, “…it was a good idea... My friend—she… loves to get flowers from her girlfriend, so it…”
Byleth hears him chuckle, sees him step forward and reach out a hand to take one of her own. She lets him, pleased with how his hand feels against her, how her heart races at his touch. It wasn’t the first time, of course—brushing past each other in the shop was partly on her own whim, and their hands brushing as he occasionally helped with the flowerbeds might have been both of their whims—and yet…
“It was a good idea,” he tells her, squeezing her hand in his own. “It would be an honor. To—uh, I mean, your… our… my? Our… affections. Uh…” As the words get caught in his throat, Dimitri feels his face flush a deep red.
Byleth blinks rapidly, confused, and Dimitri has this sudden, inkling thought, that listening to her laughter, and watching the way her smile blooms, was something he could do for as long as she would let him.