Chapter Text
Morning light just barely shone through the shop windows, illuminating the morning’s collection of daisies and roses showcased at the sill. The light stretched across to the opposing wall, interrupted as it was by the stands and displays carefully arranged around the room. Aside from the quiet radio playing something old and jazzy behind the counter, and the familiar rummaging of her father working in the back, all was quiet, and Byleth was left with only her thoughts. This part of the morning was her favorite; the flower shop had yet to see a client, as the rest of the world was still waking up, and the quiet left her with ample time to wake up, mentally prepare for the day that would follow. In the early morning quiet, Byleth checked over each display, each collection of roses or lilies or tulips, picking out any that had wilted too much to showcase or trimming off browning leaves, if the flower could still be salvaged. Flowers too old to sell were tucked under her arm, perhaps arranged at the front counter if they looked nice enough, or else kept for her own use, to be pressed flat between the pages of heavy books or something similar. Byleth had always enjoyed finding ways she could still save the flowers leftover from their stock. Her father found his own ways, handing them out to young lovestruck teens with a small budget and children dragged along after school as their parent scrambled to find a last-minute gift for their spouse. She followed his example in that regard, of course, but immortalizing the blossoms was its own fun.
The soft chiming of the bell at the shop’s door announces a customer, interrupting Byleth’s train of thought. She turned from the bouquet she regarded, shifting her weight to peer around a decorated stand to take in the figure standing at the door. With the sunlight behind them, and shining directly into her eyes, she couldn’t make them out particularly well.
“Morning. I’ll be just a moment,” came her greeting, tucking her shears in the pocket of her apron as she made her way to the front counter.
Stepping into the shade allowed her a better look at the customer, and she took a moment to study him, though he’d moved to inspect a small vase of golden dahlias. He was young, maybe around her own age, and with the simple yellow t-shirt, not anticipating any sort of formal event. That likely ruled out an anniversary, or wedding, or any other event that dahlias would be appropriate for. By his casual posture, easy smile, he wasn’t in any sort of a hurry. And, she realized, as she placed her collection of discarded flowers at the counter and tugged off the thick gloves, she recognized him. Claude von Reigan, member of the student council at the nearby University; how could she not? She wasn’t particularly invested in any of the school politics, or social goings-ons, but Byleth had seen him around enough to know his face, his name, and his winning smile, if nothing else.
“Just looking?” She prompted, as he gave no sign of acknowledging her. Claude turned now, eyebrows lifting as if surprised she’d moved. Byleth found she didn’t quite believe him, not with how quickly his eyes had found her, how sharp they were. The crooked smile on his face grew, as he lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
“Sure, something like that.” His ambiguous answer earned a twitch of her eyebrow, though if he noticed, he gave no indication. Instead, he turned back towards the bouquet, before continuing, “I only just found out this place was here, actually, thought I’d check it out.”
The small shop was admittedly easy to miss, tucked between two buildings with much flashier signs than their own. This didn’t bother its owner too much; their business didn’t come from marketing and advertising, after all. It came from their reputation. Still-- Byleth couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow. It was a little early to deal with the type of would-be customer that was 'just looking.' “I didn’t realize a little flower shop was worth ‘checking out.’ Most of them have the same things.”
This made Claude’s smile grow, though she wasn’t certain why. He moved along from the display of dahlias, meandering instead to the wall of flowers grouped together by type-- for build-your-own bouquets, so clients could see their selections together before they decided to buy them. “Well, maybe I have some special occasions coming up, and I’m really picky about the quality of my flowers. That’s worth checking out a little shop, isn’t it?”
She wasn’t a fan of hypotheticals this early in the morning either, she decided. If her acknowledging hum was a little less than impressed, she could hardly be faulted; and he didn’t seem to, as he paused in front of a collection of hyacinths in different colors, ranging from white to violet to yellow. The flowers on this wall were meant to be handled by employees, for the sake of their fragile states, or to avoid being liable if someone was jabbed by a thorn. But Claude didn’t seem to know as much, as he reached for the yellow variety, carefully pulling one from the bundle to get a closer look at. Byleth only watched quietly, though she recalled her father’s warnings about wearing gloves when handling these particular flowers. She’d warn him about the mild rash he may develop, but not quite yet; it was his own fault for just grabbing for such fragile merchandise anyways. He didn’t seem to take note of her somewhat amused silence, as he was turning back to her, regarding her with a tilt of his head for a moment.
“You know-- you look familiar. You attend the University of Garegg Mach, don’t you?” He inquired. “Byleth, right?”
Byleth hesitated, surprised she’d been recognized. She wasn’t a particularly active member of her school’s community; outside of her involvement in the Fencing Club, she kept to herself, only ever showed up to her classes, really. She didn’t live on campus, either. After a moment of hesitation, she nodded. Her surprise must’ve been obvious.
“Thought so. We have a couple classes together.” That made a little more sense-- but it only eased her surprise a little bit.
“There’s a lot of people in our classes. But I suppose I should be flattered that Mr. Popular recognizes me, of all people,” she’s unable to keep the dry sarcasm out of her response. Claude doesn’t seem offended, at least not at face value, as he sauntered over to the counter she stood behind.
“Aw, who made up that nickname? It’s not very creative. Besides, it’s sort of my job to know as many people as I can, as Class Representative, isn’t it?” He planted a hand on the counter and leaned against it as he spoke, twirling his stolen flower between his fingers. Byleth watched as a couple petals fluttered off the stalk, shaken loose by the violent act. That counted as damaged goods in her book.
“I guess it is. Are you planning on paying for that, now that you’ve all but torn it to pieces?” Green eyes lifted towards her, with a flash of surprise. Though whether it was over her dismissal over his title, or because she expected him to pay, she wasn’t sure. It was gone before she could muse on it too long, and he straightened to reach into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out a wallet.
“Of course. Just thought I’d make some conversation with the kind cashier.” Byleth only hummed with his words, partially in disbelief, but said nothing more as she accepted the card he offered with a rather ridiculous flourish.
Card returned, she paused only to retrieve a pair of disposable plastic gloves, sliding them and his receipt across the counter towards him. His eyebrows lifted in question as he first eyed them, then her.
“We don’t recommend handling hyacinths without gloves-- they’re known to cause mild rashes. Have a nice day.” She managed a smile as Claude’s eyes widened slightly, then shifted to the flower in his grip. His grin faltered a bit, looking almost-- what, embarrassed? She settled on this as he gave a huff of a laugh, then nodded.
“Right. Noted. Thanks for the warning.” There was a touch of awkwardness in his voice, and she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t a little satisfying. Byleth only nodded as he stepped away from the counter, making for the door. The bell chimes again as the door swings open, but he pauses here, long enough for Byleth to make note of how gingerly he was holding the flower before he speaks again. “By the way-- your hiring sign is crooked.”
Byleth frowned, turning to where the sign had been rather carelessly taped in the window this night before, and sure enough, it was lopsided. The door swung shut as she stepped out from behind the counter, leaving her to adjust it in peace.
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Byleth had all but forgotten about the early morning encounter with Claude when it came up again. Her father had manned the store alone for the day, as she’d had classes, and the stress of doing as much was apparent on his low brows, the slouch in his shoulders. She’d taken over dinner, and Jeralt had seemed relieved, as he all but collapsed into his chair. They’d exchanged summaries of their days, though it’d primarily been her father complaining about picky clients, while Byleth hummed her sympathy and disapproval where she saw fit. They’d lapsed into peaceful silence now, interrupted only by the sizzling of the stove as she cooked.
“By the way,” Jeralt eventually broke the silence, “This kid came in wanting to apply to the shop. Said he goes to the University.”
“Oh. Are you going to hire him?” It was a relief that they were getting interest so soon after they’d put up their sign advertising as much.
“Dunno. He said he knew you, thought I’d get your opinion. You know a Claude von Reigan?”
This made Byleth pause, turning from the pan to her father in surprise. Jeralt’s chair faced away from the kitchen, but he’d turned to gauge her reaction. “... I know him. He’s in Student Council.”
Her father didn’t seem quite satisfied with her response. “So he said. You think he’s worth hiring?”
She turns back to the stove as she considers her answer. She knew him by reputation alone, aside from their single encounter a few days previous. From what she’d heard, he was a good student, studious and hard-working enough, and incredibly charismatic. Traits suited well enough for working at a store. And they were desperate for another employee, with her in school. Even if she’d found him just a little too coy, egotistical-- well, those were things she could tolerate, if it meant help for her father.
Byleth finally shrugs. “Sure. He seems nice, hardworking. I don’t see why not.”