Work Text:
Despite the sun peeking out between sparse clouds overhead and the steady stream of people milling about outside, the shop remains empty sans Vector. He perches his elbow on the counter and rests his chin in his palm. Sure, there was still a week or so until the formal end of winter, but didn’t anyone have any birthdays or something coming up? He glances at the pre-made bouquets occupying the island in the center of the store, and their lavish, open blossoms seem to mock him, as if saying maybe someone would buy me if you weren’t so abrasive. He tsks and resigns himself to checking the inventory list for errors for a third time that day.
Eventually Rio reappears from the break room, at least giving Vector someone to bother while they wait for customers. He sighs exaggeratedly the moment she closes the door marked ‘authorized personnel only’ behind her, obviously fishing for her to start a conversation, but Rio knows Vector too well for that. She simply grabs the box of flower food from behind the counter and sets about replacing the water in each of the simple vases they keep the individual types of flowers in. “Riooo.” Vector whines. “Why aren’t there any customers.”
She doesn’t even look at him when she answers, too used to his bullshit. “Because it’s always slow this time of year.” She answers easily. “At least make yourself useful and clean the windows or something.”
Vector’s head lands on the counter with a thunk. Leave it to his tyrannical manager to find something for him to work on even when there was quite literally nothing to do. Nonetheless, he reaches for the bottle of glass cleaner beneath the counter and a couple paper towels, too bored to fight his fate.
By the time he’s finished wiping down the front door and the two long windows on either side of it, Rio’s still only about halfway through her own task. Vector squints at the glass as if that’ll magic some smudges or fingerprints into existence for him to scrub away, but the surfaces stay sparkling and spotless, making him blow a raspberry into the air and trudge back behind the counter. A glance at the clock reminds him there’s still three hours until closing.
As if descending from Heaven, the bell above the front door rings as it opens, and Vector perks up for the first time that day. “Hi!” He smiles with a grin sweet enough to give someone cavities at the guy who’s just walked inside, pouncing before Rio has the chance to steal his customer away. “Can I help you find anything today?”
The guy looks around for a moment as if he weren’t the only other person in the store and smiles weakly back at Vector. “I’m just looking, thank you.” He answers, glancing towards the pre-made bouquets in the center island before walking over to the right side of the shop where various vases are lined up against the wall, each filled with a dozen or so of their own type of flower. He inspects each one carefully, reading the index card with the flower name and information blurb typed up on it pasted in front of each vase. Vector busies himself with opening the shop’s email and answering any new messages while watching their only customer out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the right moment to walk over and do his job.
He’s wearing a dark red zipper hoodie that’s open in the front, showing off a black shirt with some logo emblazoned on it in white beneath. Distressed black skinny jeans hug his legs, and when he bends over slightly to get a closer look at one of the blooms Vector has to restrain himself from whistling, because damn. His black hair is pulled into a ponytail at the base of his head, curling out as if it were looking to escape the elastic, and he flicks his wild pink bangs to the side as he leans closer to an index card to read it properly. Vector can make out a pair of tiny gold hoops in his earlobes, too, and he has to do a double take when he realizes that the thing poking out from below his hoodie on the side of his neck is a tattoo, the outline and color just barely peeking out from their cloth prison. Vector has to slap himself inwardly to remind himself that he’s supposed to be checking their email, not ogling a customer. He’s sure that Rio noticed, too, from the way she’s throwing dirty looks over her shoulder at him.
“Um.” Vector snaps back to reality then, having gotten a little too into answering a customer email he didn’t particularly like the tone of. He pastes a wide smile back onto his face and hopes the guy didn’t glimpse his sour expression from before. “Yes?” He asks, noticing that the other’s hands are empty, clasped in front of himself like he’s anxious. The guy looks up and meets his eyes then, and it’s all Vector can do not to melt when he realizes he’s wearing eyeliner . He realizes dimly that his bangs match his irises. The other breathes out a nervous laugh, saying, “I think I could use some help, actually.”
What he’s looking for, Vector learns, is a bouquet for a friend of his. He doubts this friend is alive, however, from the distant look that shines in the other’s eyes when Vector lists off a particularly sappy flower meaning or when he points out anything hued blue, as well as since the guy steadfastly uses past tense to refer to them. Ah, and here I was lusting over his sweet ass, he thinks without a trace of shame. Still, a plan Rio would kick him in the dick for unfurls in his mind, and Vector has to focus to keep his grin from devolving into a predatory one.
Eventually the two pick out enough flowers and such to form a solid bouquet, and Vector tugs on a pair of gloves before retrieving their choices then arranging them and rolling them in paper to protect the stems. He ties off the ends with a rubber band. “Did you want to add a card?” He asks, ever the upseller, but the guy shakes his head. “I think this is enough.” He says, smiling with a gentle expression at the bouquet. Vector has never envied flowers more. While the guy is going through the motions of paying with card, Vector scribbles down a certain something on the back of the guarantee slip they staple to every receipt, finishing up just as the register beeps with a completed transaction and spewing out a receipt. He clips them together and hands it to the other, who scans through the guarantee form before flipping it over after noticing there’s writing on the other side.
There, in all its Sharpie’d glory, is Vector’s phone number, as well as a winky face and a heart. The guy’s face lights up pink like a Valentine’s balloon, and he looks up at Vector with wide eyes and a gaping mouth only to be met with said man allowing just a hint of deviousness into his expression. Still, Rio is there, so rather than being as dramatic as he’d like to, Vector mimes the motion for call me. The other clamps his mouth shut and practically shouts, “Thank you!” before all but running out of the store, bouquet tucked into the crook of his elbow. Only then does Vector allow himself to cackle, and Rio glares at him with a look that says you better not have. He shrugs back with a smile, saying how could i not? She makes a face that tells him it’s probably a good time to take his lunch break, if only to escape her wrath.
Somewhere else, a bluish and white bouquet lays in the grass before a certain headstone. Yuma stands from where he’d been sitting cross-legged, dusting off his jeans and pulling the slip out of his pocket. He stares at the number written on the back for a moment, before taking one last look at the headstone and murmuring, “Cross your fingers for me, Astral.” He pulls out his phone.
A shrill scream from the break room is enough to tell Rio she needs to find better employees.