Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As far as Estinien knew,  Snowdrop Bouquets  had been in the same place for years. Hells, he’d been there with Alberic in the past to buy flowers for each of his family’s graves, as long as twenty years ago. Even as his own visits had grown more and more infrequent, he still remembered the lady that owned and ran the place. She was nice—old, short, and somehow remembered him by name. She’d still owned the place when he’d bought the empty shop across the street, and had brought him a bouquet that expressed her well-wishes for good fortune with his business. 

He wasn’t sure what any of it meant—the language of flowers or any of that bullshite, but he thanked her and displayed them on his front counter until they withered and died. One of his customers had even idly expressed, on a whim, how pretty it would be to create a tattoo of them. 

It was about a year later that he’d heard her health had declined, and she stopped coming in for work. Estinien had realized the time coincided with the last time she’d dropped by just to give them another bouquet, smiling. Not long after, he heard she’d passed on, and he’d wondered briefly what would happen to her shop. 

It didn’t matter much to him in the grand scheme of things, so Estinien continued operating as normal. 

Curiously, after her death, the name didn’t change. The storefront didn’t change. The employees, for the most part, didn’t change. He’d expected a buyout, a rebranding, a total store closing, or any number of things that happen to local businesses once their owners die or move on, but none of it happened. It kept operating as if the owner hadn’t passed on, at least on the surface, and Estinien let it slip to the back of his mind. He was a tattoo artist and business owner, and he had a lot more shite to deal with than whatever was going on at the shop next door. 

It was a few weeks later, as he pulled up and parked in the small private lot next to  Snowdrop ,  that he noticed the dark-haired man watering the outdoor plants. 

What struck Estinien first was his clothes—they were nice. Much nicer than he’d expect from someone who worked as a florist. Well-tailored black slacks, crisp button-up shirt, sleeves carefully rolled up just under his elbows, and shiny black shoes that just looked like money. He wore a  Snowdrop Bouquets  apron over it all, and at first he thought the man was compensating for being a new hire. 

The next thing that struck Estinien, after the man had noticed him and given him a smile, was that he was beautiful. He didn’t even know if it was appropriate to think that about him, or where the thought came from, but it hit him with the full force of a fist to his gut. Not literally, of course, but he almost wished he had an excuse for the way his stomach lurched at the man’s grin. It was definitely the kind of face that would make the normal clientele of  Snowdrop  titter behind their hands and ask to introduce their daughters or granddaughters or nieces. 

He realized that he was probably being rude, standing there stone-faced ever since the beautiful man had smiled at him in greeting, and forced himself to react. Estinien gave a nod, a short and jerky thing, before he turned to cross the street at last, fumbling with his keys so he could prepare to open  Dragonsong  for the day. 

As soon as the door had closed behind him, with a jingle of the damned bell that he kept meaning to replace with something less shrill, he resolved to put the handsome man out of his mind. He had a full day of appointments, after all, and he needed to start preparing for them. And that man, whoever he was, would probably work a few weeks, a few months, and disappear again. It didn’t matter if Estinien couldn’t get the picture of him out of his head—crystalline blue eyes, a smile soft and bright, raven hair and smooth, pale skin to contrast—because his presence would be temporary. 

Only, a few weeks passed and the man was still there. 

Nearly every day when Estinien arrived, a bit before eleven in the morning to open his shop, the handsome man was watering the flowers. He was always smartly dressed, paying attention and feeling the soil as he watered and doing whatever it was that florists did, but he was still there. If he noticed Estinien’s arrival, he’d look up and smile, and Estinien would repeat his jerky nod and continue on his way.  

When the florist spoke his greetings, it was in a soft, warm tone, smooth and rich in a way that lingered in the back of Estinien’s mind. His words were always a very simple and proper sounding, “Good morning.” 

Estinien’s spoken answers never strayed from a gruff, “Hello.”  

Sometimes he was pretty certain they sounded more like unintelligible grunts of acknowledgement than hellos, but that was fine. It got the point across just the same. It was recognition of some sort, better than staying silent, so he didn’t come off as a complete arsehole. Haurchefant kept telling him he needed to look less like he was about to commit murder all the time, so Estinien figured a token effort here would help his case. Not that he usually paid attention to things that Haurchefant thought he should do.  Usually . 

As the weeks went by, one thing that Estinien couldn’t shake was just how often he thought about that florist. He wondered if it was rude, when he didn’t even know the man’s name. And then he questioned why he cared if it was rude, when he didn’t give a damn what other people thought about the things that he did under normal circumstances. But, if Estinien was good at one thing, it was pushing everything to the side to focus on something else—so he decided not to be concerned with it, and instead put himself to work.  

Ever since he’d noticed the florist, Ysayle was just looking for ways to get under his skin during the work day. It was almost like she  knew . In a few weeks, she’d made enough comments about his head being in the clouds to drive him mad. He supposed he just had to be thankful she hadn’t said anything in front of their customers. The last thing he wanted was a person in his face, getting angry at him for being distracted while he was dragging his tattoo gun across their skin. Especially when he wasn’t distracted at all.  

He wasn’t. 

He proved it with his work. He touched up a dragon piece he’d done a few years ago during his apprenticeship at another parlor,  inked some tacky tattoos across a man’s knuckles, did one of those where it looked like there was something beneath  torn skin, and more. He completed the second appointment for a back tattoo that would take five sessions, one for each of the four lords and their respective elements swirling around a center point. That center would be the fifth appointment and consisted of a glowing crystal wrapped in chains. 

He liked working on that one. It was detailed but still full of action and life—just the way Tenzen wanted it. The sessions were long but Tenzen was actually pleasant to work with and didn’t move or twitch like so many others did on Estinien’s table. And when the session was done, he was ready and willing to schedule the next. He showed up with dates he was available and they penned him in on the calendar. 

Shortly after, Ysayle returned from her lunch. He was in the midst of cleaning up after Tenzen had left, and glanced up to nod at her. 

“Your turn, Wyrmblood,” she reminded him unnecessarily. He knew it was his lunch—he was the one who made the schedule, after all. With, perhaps, some help from Heustienne. 

“Your appointment’s already here, Dangoulain.” 

She huffed at his lack of urgency without any true malice, and went to greet the woman waiting for her. Before Ysayle had left for her lunch, she’d prepared her space by pulling out the dividers, and if Estinien remembered the booking, it was because the client wanted some sort of tattoo across her chest. He didn’t care for the details beyond that, and once his station was set to rights he headed out, nodding to Heustienne as he passed. She nodded back and continued making a note in one of the books.  

It was a crisp day early in the spring, so Estinien’s steps took him hastily to the  Holy See Roasterie . Haurchefant had nearly demanded that Estinien drop by at least once a week for lunch, so he made a habit of doing so on Windsday or Iceday. If he didn’t, Haurchefant was likely to show up at the shop and heckle him about ignoring his friends in front of whoever happened to be present.  

Estinien didn’t want to give Ysayle any more reasons to snicker at him than she already had. 

“Estinien, my friend!” The greeting was quick, coming nearly as soon as he stepped through the door. As  his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he spotted Haurchefant already moving towards their preferred table. He tilted his head as an invitation for Estinien to follow, already carrying a tray with food for two in his hands. “Come, sit awhile with me!” 

Estinien scoffed as he made his way past a pair of gossiping university students, whose tones hushed as he swept by. “What did you think I was doing, Greystone?” 

“Well, if I left you to your own devices, only Halone knows,” the slightly younger man laughed easily, as he was wont to do. “If I did not pester you to come visit more often, I fear you’d never stop by.” 

“Keep talking and maybe I won’t.” 

The cheerful man just beamed at him, pushing his lunch toward him. Estinien picked up the sandwich—his usual, because of course Haurchefant would remember that—and gave his friend a grumpy stare as he bit into it. Haurchefant shook his head, let out yet another laugh, and picked up his own sandwich. It struck him as strange, that he was just eating now, so when Estinien swallowed he decided to speak up. 

“Isn’t it a bit late for your lunch?” 

His friend blinked, and grinned sheepishly. “A bit. Ninne had an emergency and was late getting in. Mother Miounne insisted she could handle it, of course, but I wasn’t about to leave her to face the midday rush on her own.” 

“She wouldn’t have been on her own,” Estinien said, glancing back to the counter. There were at least four people around on any given shift, and judging by the staff he could see, Belmont at least was probably one of them. 

Haurchefant shook his head, “No, not truly, but some days being even one set of hands down over lunch is a setback. And I, for one, have plans with Francel after I close up here tonight, and I would rather not have to take extra time to clean and tidy the place up before I leave.” 

Estinien tried not to snort, but he was entirely unsuccessful. “The only thing that can keep you from food is—” 

“Do not finish that sentence in my shop,” Haurchefant threatened, an underlying edge in his cheerful tone. 

This time, he scoffed. “Oh, so you can tell me I need to get laid, but I can’t say anything about you?”  

On days when Estinien had been particularly grumpy in the past, Haurchefant had often laughed him off and made lewd insinuations. Back many years ago when Estinien and Ysayle had been an on-again, off-again couple, it was even more frequent for Haurchefant to make colorful comments than it was now, but he still made them in the selfsame shop he had forbidden Estinien to talk about his sex life in. Hypocrisy. 

“Yes, well, you’re not a co-owner of this place, and talking about how  you  need to get laid doesn’t have any effect on my clientele. And  you  don’t have to see most of them every day,” he gestured flippantly towards where Jannequinard de Durendaire was flirting with Ninne, “so what they think about you won’t change how often they come into the shop.” 

He rolled his eyes at Haurchefant, but took another bite of his sandwich rather than remark. Across the table, Haurchefant gave one of his charming grins and moved to continue his own meal. They ate in silence for a time after that, Estinien still mulling over the hypocrisy—talking about anyone’s sex life could change some opinions, regardless of whether or not it was Haurchefant’s own in question, after all. After a time, Haurchefant started up a conversation again, asking if Estinien had given any ridiculous tattoos lately. 

He recalled Hoary Boulder coming in, and he might never know if the man was just very unlucky and had lost a bet or if it was voluntary. The tattoo that he had requested—the tattoo Estinien might never expunge from his memory—was of Eorzea’s self-proclaimed premiere aesthetician. Jandelaine plastered his face across all his haircare products and more, and made frequent television appearances, so Estinien didn’t want for references. But the man had brought his personal shampoo bottle as a guideline, so Estinien used it.  

He didn’t care what Jandelaine did or what he plastered himself on, but inking the man’s face on Hoary Boulder’s left ass cheek was not something Estinien wanted to have burned into his mind’s eye, however amusing it might be in retrospect. 

So, of course, he told Haurchefant about that one. Haurchefant very nearly choked on his hot chocolate, then laughed loudly enough that a few of the other patrons turned to look as he struggled to stifle it. He raised his hand to assure them he was okay, wheezing behind the other, and regulars chuckled and looked away. They knew he was a cheerful sort, after all, so raucous laughter didn’t particularly surprise most of them. Or so Estinien assumed, having known the man for several years himself. 

“ Estinien ,” he managed when he regained his breath, and the man shrugged. 

“You asked,” he answered simply, finishing his sandwich. “I answered.” 

After he regained his breath, Haurchefant tried to take on a lecturing tone. “Estinien, what have I told you about tact? And being nice to people?” 

“I have been!” 

He gave Estinien a look that clearly said he didn’t think it was possible. 

“Let us presume, for a moment, that I believe you,” he began, taking a drink of his hot cocoa. “The lack of tact in trying to bring up  certain  subjects in my shop notwithstanding, who have you even been nice to? Your customers don’t count, either. You  have  to be nice to them.” 

A flash of crystalline blue, midnight hair, and a smile that blossomed warmly across his face when he nodded or greeted Estinien in the mornings. 

“Estinien?” 

He cleared his throat roughly at Haurchefant’s prompting, taking a drink of his coffee and finally forcing the words out. “The new guy at  Snowdrop . He waters the flowers around when we open, sometimes says hello. I say hello back.” 

After a moment, Haurchefant’s face underwent a series of transformations. He went through recognition, understanding, and then finally ended with a knowing smirk. “Oh?” 

Estinien didn’t really know what it meant, but he felt the hair raise on the back of his neck. If his friend was acting like this, it couldn’t be good. “See? I can be nice,” he bit out instead, glancing at the old watch on his wrist. Still time before he had to go back, which he, for once, lamented. He didn’t have a reason to excuse himself, even though he was skeptical of whatever his friend would say next. 

“I’m surprised you paid enough attention to  Snowdrop  to notice him,” he said instead, laughing. “Though to say  new  would be an understatement, if you’re talking about Aymeric.” 

“Aymeric?” 

Haurchefant hummed the affirmative, taking a bite of his meal before continuing. “Yes, Aymeric de Borel. Reasonably tall, lovely dark hair, bright blue eyes,” Haurchefant gestured to each feature on himself with a flourish as he was describing it. “All in all, quite a handsome man. That  is  the one you’re speaking of, yes?” 

He knew there was some trap in the question, but he’d long since given up trying to figure out all of Haurchefant’s knowing glances.  

“Sounds like him,” Estinien answered instead. “Always dressed too nice for a florist.”  

“Definitely Aymeric!” And somehow, Estininen wasn’t surprised by the fact that Haurchefant knew who he was. He seemed to know everyone, especially in this small district full of local businesses. “He’s the adopted and only son of the late owners, so the shop belongs to him now. I couldn’t tell you how many summers he’s helped out there, just maybe not as an official employee. And as for the clothes—he’s working at least part-time with his previous job. He works from home,  but is expected to be well-dressed on video conferences, from what he tells me, so he still dresses for the office every day.” 

That..explained a lot. What it  didn’t  explain were the hours—how did he work a part-time job when he was always at the florist before Estinien arrived, and left near the same time that Estinien did most evenings? 

Instead of saying any of that out loud, he remarked drily, “Guess that explains why it didn’t look like that’d been sold out.” 

“Now I  know  you’ve been lying about being nice,” Haurchefant snorted, draining the rest of his drink. “But yes, it was never sold. It merely passed into Aymeric’s hands, with the aid of his capable staff.” 

He remembered that two of Francel’s siblings used to work there. And when he thought about it, he realized he was quite sure that both of them  still  did—Laniaitte and Aurvael. He wasn’t familiar with the other few employees, but at least now he had a name to put to the smile that greeted him most mornings. Not that he  needed  one, he reminded himself.  

“He’s worked there before, you said?” Estinien backtracked slightly. He tried to remember if the man had been in the shop when they were younger, when he used to get pulled in by Alberic for the Ishgardian Memorial Day. They were of an age, he thought, and if this Aymeric had spent time in his youth working at the shop it was possible. Estinien couldn’t quite recall, though. 

“Yes,” Haurchefant nodded, “but for specifics on that, I’m afraid you’ll have to go speak with Aymeric himself.” 

Estinien snorted, “I don’t have any reason to go into a flower shop, Haurchefant. I’m busy enough with the parlor as it is.” 

“Do you need a reason to go say hello to your neighbors?” he feigned astonishment. “Why, Estinien, I thought you were going to make a point of being nicer to people, and didn’t you promise me that you’d try to get to know some of the other businesses around here? To that end...why not start that with the business owned by a person you claim you’re already  being  nice to?” 

“Don’t push your luck, Haurchefant.” 

The man had the audacity to laugh. 

“I’m just saying, it won’t hurt you to talk to other people. You never know, Es, maybe you’ll make some new friends. Perish the thought!” 

Estinien snorted, but didn’t take the bait. They finished their meal in relative peace after that, and then Estinien went back to  Dragonsong  and Haurchefant slipped back behind the counter, his  Holy See Roasterie  apron pulled back on and his incorrigible smile hitched back into place. 

Not a week later, and Estinien was staring at the multitude of sketches across his small workstation and groaned. Ysayle snickered at him as she tugged her jacket on and prepared to leave for her last break of the evening.  

“She asked for you, specifically,” she reminded him, glancing down at the papers in front of him. She reached forward to slide a few of them for a good look. “You could do better, I’m sure, but these look fine to me.” 

“Couldn’t you have booked her, and told her I was full?” he grumbled.  Fine  didn’t cut it—he was running a business, and if his sketches were just  fine , what would his ink be? “You’re better at florals than I am, and you know it.” 

“If you put it that way, V’kebbe is better at florals than the both of us,” Ysayle shrugged. “You’ll work it out, Wyrmblood. Just practice drawing more flowers or something. There  is  a florist directly across the way, you know, if you need to reference a real flower instead of pictures from the Moogle search on your tomephone.” 

Gods , he was a fool.  Snowdrop Bouquets  was right there, and he could easily cross the street and buy a godsdamned flower. It was just a  rose , for Fury's sake, and he’d be incredibly surprised if they didn’t have at least red roses if not a variety of the damn things. In fact, he was quite certain he’d glimpsed them more than once through the windows or in the hands of customers as they left. 

“Ah, I see that struck a nerve,” Ysayle commented wryly, snorting. “Well, they’re open as long as we are. Your break is right when I get back, so you could always run over then.” 

“I know when my break is,” he said in lieu of actually trying to refute the idea, and she just shook her head. 

“Anyway, I’ll be back in fifteen. Try not to lose your mind while I’m gone.” 

“I think I’m less likely to lose it while you’re gone,” he shot back, and she flipped him off as she exited the parlor. Were he any other sort of boss, he might’ve been offended at that, but Estinien just snorted and stacked his sketches to shove them aside. Instead, he stood and made his way to the front desk to check the booking for the floral tattoo.  

Estinien could do many things. He could do tribal designs, or portraits, skulls, skeletons, monsters,  dragons —but floral tattoos were one thing he’d never been particularly great at. People usually booked Ysayle or V’kebbe for those, because their walls of examples had plenty to refer to. Estinien’s wall was the darkest one, and yet this woman wanted  him  for her tattoo?  

Granted, there  was  a skull in it. She wanted something like a dragon skull with a broken, curling horn—something he could do—but then she wanted it cushioned upon a bed of roses, with more falling from the eye sockets. At least, according to the notes she had left with Heustienne when she came in and made the booking earlier. She’d even left some rough sketches, said she’d be back in sometime in the middle of the following week to see Estinien’s sketches before her appointment the week after. 

He could work with it, but it meant more effort on his part than he was used to, just to do a damn flower. 

The phone rang while he was glancing over the sketches that the girl had left, and he begrudgingly answered it. He schooled his tone the way Haurchefant and Ysayle and Heustienne always told him to.  Try not to sound like you’ll tear out their throats at the drop of a hat , Ysayle had told him scathingly once, very in line with Haurchefant’s pestering. Estinien had to try really hard, though, when it was someone who’d  forgotten  the time of their appointment and wanted to check. They gave appointment cards for a  reason . 

He found it on the bookings for this Lightningday, and the caller was blessedly still free for it, and the call ended. Heustienne, who had come out from the back when she heard the phone ring, gave him a teasing golf clap and Estinien glared at her. 

“Rude,” she snorted. 

“You asked for it,” he countered, then went back to looking at the sketches. “The tattoo for the Leveilleur girl—I’m supposed to have the rough sketches by the middle of next week?” 

She hummed in agreement, then said, “Yes, by Watersday.” 

It was just Windsday now, so he had nearly a full week to figure out how to draw flowers for the damn girl. But...the sketches she provided were good, and she had even added notes next to parts that she wanted to see a bit of change in.  

Before he could help himself, he asked, “Did she draw these?” 

Had she done so...well, he might take an apprentice if she had any mind to become a tattoo artist in the future. As he understood, the tattoo was her gift to herself for becoming of age, which meant that she was of an age to take into apprenticeship. 

“Ah, I think she said her ‘ daft brother ’ drew them at her behest,” Heustienne recalled, then chuckled. “She also said something about how he would probably be beside himself if he found out she was using it for a tattoo.” 

Estinien grinned at that. Even if she  wasn’t  a prospective apprentice, she had an attitude he could approve of. From what Heustienne said, though, it sounded as though her artistic brother, unfortunately, would not be dropping by to beg for an apprenticeship either. When Estinien looked at his sketches, he couldn’t help but lament that fact, just a little. 

“Well, it just proves that she has all the taste,” another voice pitched in, and Estinien looked up to find Ysayle returning. Had it been fifteen minutes already?  

Heustienne laughed and Estinien couldn’t help but snort.  

“Anyway,” she moved towards her station, rolling back her sleeves as she did. She’d have an appointment arriving within the next ten minutes, if they were going to be on time or a little early. “It’s your break, Wyrmblood. Go buy yourself some pretty flowers—Halone knows no one else will buy them for you.” 

Estinien, in the midst of tucking the sketches back into the file, flipped her off for good measure. Ysayle just tossed her hair back and laughed before moving to tie it up. He never understood why she put it up for appointments then let it back down again between them. If he put his hair up, he’d leave it that way. It wasn’t his business and he didn’t really care, so he tugged his jacket on and moved toward the door. 

“Have a good break!” Heustienne called, and he just grunted as he pulled the door open. He ignored the bell chiming overhead and beelined for the door to  Snowdrop  after a cursory glance for traffic. He crossed the street at a swift pace anyway, and found himself on the sidewalk where the new owner, apparently, was always watering the flowers in the mornings.  Aymeric , he reminded himself. 

Haurchefant would be proud that he’d remembered. Estinien scowled at the thought. 

The bell above this door was louder and more melodic than the one in his shop. And the space inside was brighter, somehow, even though Estinien was certain they had the same cheap, industrial overhead lights that every other store on the strip had. If he had to judge, he’d say it just seemed brighter because of all the flowers, as compared to all the sterile instruments and bottles and dark leather chairs in  Dragonsong . 

“I’ll be with you in just a moment!” he heard from somewhere behind a row of hanging baskets. The voice was deep and rich and sure enough, when the man finally rounded the table to reach the main aisle, it was Aymeric. Upon seeing Estinien standing there, his eyes widened in surprise, but then his expression softened and he smiled warmly. “Welcome to  Snowdrop . Is there aught I can help you with?” 

Chapter Text

Aymeric loved  Snowdrop Bouquets.  He had spent many hours here when he was younger, either helping his mother out or doing his homework in the back, and there was a certain nostalgia tied to the shop. It caused him a twinge of pain when he inherited it, when he walked through the doors and realized he had not worked there for a few years now. He had been busy as a project manager with his biological father’s company, and the time and energy to come here had waned. He came when his mother asked, of course, but now he wished he had dropped by more often. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.  

Despite his love for the place, Aymeric couldn’t shake the feeling that Aurvael de Haillenarte should’ve been the next owner. When  Snowdrop  became Aymeric’s once the will was settled, he said as much to the man. But the Haillenarte shook his head and clapped a hand to Aymeric’s shoulder and smiled at him.  

“She wanted you to have it. We can take care of it for you, but it will always be yours.”  

The others had said much the same—had even told him they could manage most things, so long as he dropped by to sign off on orders and other such nonsense once or twice a week. As much as he loathed the thought of owning it when he had very little to do with the place, he did that for the first few weeks. Working with his birth father’s firm took as much time and energy as ever, hardly slowing for his period of mourning, and he couldn’t manage more than that.  

Eventually, he wanted more.   

After a few weeks of walking into the little shop that felt like  home  just to sign off on some paperwork that his capable employees had already prepared for him, he knew he wanted to be there more often. The scent of the flowers in the air and the genuinely smiling faces that greeted him as he entered—they were all enough to remind him how much he’d loved the shop. Perhaps never as much as his mother, but it had been dear to him as well.  

It was then that Aymeric made a new plan for his workdays. He already performed the bulk of his duties for the  Heaven’s Ward  from home, and  Snowdrop  had a perfectly serviceable office in the back. The flowers he’d helped his mother tend to in the past made him feel like he still had something of his adopted parents to cling to, outside of the house he’d also inherited that felt too big and empty for him alone.  

It was about a week after he’d started coming in and using the office in the back for his other job that Aymeric saw  him  for the first time. He looked tall and lean but could scarcely be much taller than Aymeric himself, and had hair that gleamed silver in the sun. He exited the employee parking lot next to  Snowdrop  and beelined across the street, pulling out a key and unlocking  Dragonsong , the tattoo parlor. He entered and did not emerge again whilst Aymeric was outside, and he forced himself to finish his watering and return to his other duties within the shop.  

At first it was a sense of curiosity that drew him to watering the outdoor plants near the same time the following day, and when the man reappeared around then once more, it became a habit. On the day when the handsome stranger finally caught Aymeric looking at him as he was watering the daffodils, Aymeric just smiled warmly in greeting and nodded on reflex before panic could rise in his throat. And when he received a nod in return, he could breathe easier. He turned away as quickly as he could without seeming too hasty, and exhaled slowly. When he could focus once more, the yellow and white flowers in front of him just seemed livelier, and he chuckled to himself.  

And then greeting the man became routine.   

W hen the bell chimed after Laniaitte had left for the evening, Aymeric was tending some petunias that she had asked him to look over. Edgyth was worried about them, and Laniaitte couldn’t soothe her by herself.   

“I’ll be with you in just a moment!” he called, tugging the flowerpot out so he knew where to continue his inspection later. He hadn’t noticed anything amiss just yet, but he would call Fufucha in on the morrow if he had cause for concern. Aymeric turned towards the main aisle and took a few long strides. He reached the end of the row and nearly faltered upon rounding the corner.  

He’s here,  he thought, just as he had every morning since he’d first seen the silver-haired man head to the tattoo parlor across the street. Only this time,  here  was more than seeing him head across the street for work. This time  here  was in front of Aymeric, inside  Snowdrop , and it felt entirely different. From his starlit hair to his high cheekbones to the casual way he carried himself, he was a picture that Aymeric often had trouble removing from his mind, and now here he was in the flesh.   

It felt like a monumental effort, but he pushed his racing thoughts down as he was wont to do and finally offered the man a smile.  

“Welcome to  Snowdrop . Is there aught I can help you with?”  

For a moment, the handsome stranger appeared to struggle for words, then finally bit out, “Roses.”  

The words fell from his lips reluctantly, but in the same deep, raspy tone as his morning greetings did. The word brought Aymeric’s racing thoughts to a halt before sending them careening in a different direction.   

He’s buying roses?  His mind helpfully repeated.  He must have a partner then—of course he does. He’s beautiful.   

After a moment, he managed to pull himself out of his own mind and smile at his guest. He turned and gestured towards the wall at the front of the store.  

“Please, follow me.”  

He received an affirmative grunt, and moved towards the display of roses. He heard heavy footsteps follow after a moment, and contented himself with that as he reached the shelves. Basyle had tended them most recently, and they looked vibrant and full of life. Aymeric stole a glance at the man next to him as he sidled up to them, and thought wistfully,  I hope they know how lucky they are...even if roses are a bit cliché.  

He scolded himself internally for that and then looked over the display. “Were you looking for a bouquet, ser, or—”  

“Estinien,” the other man cut across, gruffly.   

“Pardon?”  

“Call me Estinien, not ser or mister or whatever,” he waved his hand dismissively. “I just need…” he trailed off, looking at the roses, as if deep in thought. “Probably a few of them. And do you have vases, or do I need to just use a glass or something?”  

A  glass ?   

Whoever they were for was certainly lucky he was getting these at all, and also that  Snowdrop  did, in fact, sell vases. He tried not to let his incredulity show, but couldn’t help feeling a smidgeon more amused by that than he should have. The man was so handsome that he had to have  some  kind of fault, after all.  

“Ah, then you may call me Aymeric,” he managed, offering another smile. “And a glass won’t be necessary. We do have vases near the checkout for you to choose from, should you so desire.” Aymeric looked back over the roses just to make sure he didn’t linger too long on him. “Were you looking for any color in particular?”  

“Just the red’s fine,” Estinien said, looking over them and reaching out, tentatively, towards a small bouquet that Aymeric had prepared to replace one that had sold. It was four red roses, with a few snowdrops and baby’s breath to make the deep red pop. He felt his ears grow warm when he recalled that his thoughts had drifted, hopefully, to the man next to him when he’d made it. The man— Estinien , he reminded himself again—didn’t seem to notice. “This one’ll do,” he said instead, tapping the nail into Aymeric’s mental coffin.  

Fury , for him to pick the bouquet that Aymeric had made with  him  in mind—and for someone else, no less—sparked a complicated knot of emotions. That the arrangement spoke to him in some way was gratifying. The hope woven into each snowdrop, however, would fade to disappointment. Perhaps it was a small boon that Aymeric was no stranger to that feeling.  

“Perfect,” he managed, lifting the bouquet gingerly from the display when Estinien pulled his hands back instead of picking it up himself. “Did you need any others, or would you prefer to look at the vases?”  

Estinien’s brow furrowed for a moment, and Aymeric thought he noticed him scowling. The moment passed, and he shook his head. “No more flowers. Just the vase.”  

Aymeric filed  not big on words  away in his mind as one of the things he knew about Estinien. It fell between mental notes about his appearance and the rough but pleasant tone of his voice. He’d added many such observations since Estinien had walked into  Snowdrop  not five minutes before, and he had a feeling he’d continue to do so. He stifled a chuckle and just smiled warmly again.  

“Of course. If you’ll follow me once more then, Estinien.”  

His expression was unreadable as he nodded, and Aymeric took the lead once more. The bouquet in his hands had never felt so heavy as it did in that moment, as he carried it from one front corner of his shop to the opposite front corner with its muse following behind. Estinien’s footsteps were heavy and sure, and Aymeric knew that he was still following without glancing behind. He was sorely tempted to glance behind him, though.  

“Were you looking for a glass or ceramic vase? Or a more temporary plastic one?” he found his voice again, gingerly placing the bouquet in an empty stand on the counter before he turned to face his customer again. His eyes—a nice clear blue in color, Aymeric noted vaguely, darker than his own—flicked from the roses to Aymeric, and then towards the vases for sale behind him.  

He hadn’t thought about it. It was obvious from the way that Estinien’s gaze roved over the vases, almost unseeing, before he asked, “What would you recommend?” in that gruff tone of his.  

Aymeric moved forward and gestured at the mid-sized glass vases. “As you mentioned using a glass previously,” he started, trying to hide his smile. The amusement still sounded in his tone, and he saw Estinien raise an eyebrow at him. He forged onwards, however. “I would recommend a glass vase of approximately this size. Of course, if you would rather go larger or smaller that is entirely your decision. These will give ample room for the stems, and if you choose one that widens at the top like so, it will allow the bouquet to spread more naturally.”   

He showed the vase in his hands, then returned it to its place. “If you would like them to stand straighter, you can consider a vase that doesn’t flare,” he continued, reaching for another. This one was rectangular in shape, the top quarter frosted glass whilst the rest was clear.   

“That one,” Estinien said before Aymeric could say anything more or show another. “That one’s fine.”  

“If you’re certain,” Aymeric allowed, refraining from putting it back. “Would you like to look at anything else today?”  

“That’s all I needed.” Estinien glanced up at the clock on the wall. Or Aymeric assumed he did, as the clock above the registers was a large floral, almost sculptural thing. Mother had commissioned it years ago from an artisan, and he was loath to remove something she’d loved so dearly.   

Aymeric moved to the register and placed the vase on the counter. “Would you like for me to arrange it in the vase for you, or would you prefer to do it yourself?”  

“Break’s almost over, I can manage myself,” he said, waving a hand as he reached for his wallet. “How much?”  

Aymeric tallied it quickly, and read him the price. Estinien, for his part, didn’t even flinch or complain. Men with similar demeanors had balked at floral purchases of less than Estinien’s bouquet and vase, but he just dutifully pulled out the gil and passed it over. He wondered, idly, if Estinien had to buy them often as some sort of apology, or if he just did it because he liked to give them to his partner. And if that was the case, he wondered how many of his employees here at  Snowdrop  had dealt with him in the past.  

“Thanks,” Estinien’s tone pulled him from his thoughts. Aymeric started to smile, scrambling for an answer, when Estinien added, “Aymeric.”  

It was the first time Estinien had said his name, and Aymeric could scarcely comprehend it. He hadn’t thought  who  said his name could make it seem so different, not until then. But he was nothing if not quick on his feet and with his words, so he managed to hitch his smile into place. “Thank you for coming into  Snowdrop  today. Please don’t hesitate to come again!”  

A throaty sound of acknowledgement and a nod, and then the bell above the door was tinkling merrily as he watched Estinien make his way back across the street to slip through the front door of  Dragonsong .  

“Well,  that  was fun to watch,” a voice said from the door to the back, and Aymeric started. He turned quickly to find Handeloup leaning against the doorframe, grinning. He almost wished Aurvael was here instead, because he’d at least have had the decency to go continue watering the plants.  

“How long did you just  watch ?” Aymeric demanded, feeling his face flush.  

“Hmmm,” the man hummed. “Since he seemed too afraid to pick up the bouquet himself, probably? Though I have to admit, I didn’t expect Estinien to be the type to come in for flowers.  Especially  roses.”  

Handeloup said his name with a certain familiarity that startled Aymeric, but the fact that he didn’t expect Estinien to come in for flowers struck another chord within him. It meant that, were he in the habit of buying flowers as apologies, it was not from here. After a moment, Aymeric found himself asking, “You know him?”  

There were many things he should have asked. Why wasn’t Handeloup continuing the wedding arrangements he’d been working on in the back? Why hadn’t he made his presence known sooner? Was he  certain  that Estinien wasn’t the type to come in for roses?  In the moment, however, the fact that Estinien’s name had dropped so easily from his lips was all Aymeric could think about.  

“A little,” Handeloup moved to look through some flowers, gathering some into the basket on his arm and inadvertently answering one of Aymeric’s unasked questions. “He’s owned  Dragonsong  for a few years now, and Mrs. De Borel was always sending flowers to everyone. She said it was to—”  

“—brighten up everyone’s day.” Aymeric remembered that. It was one of his mother’s favorite phrases, when it came to flowers.  

“Yeah.” Handeloup fell silent for a moment, taking a few more flowers. “I guess he used to be by with Alberic a lot, for memorial bouquets. I don’t know the details, but I’m pretty sure he was adopted by Alberic after some kind of accident.”  

Alberic was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. He was a painter of some repute within Ishgard, and had long served as the chair of Holy See University’s arts department. He used to come into the store quite often when Aymeric was younger, but he couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen Estinien with him. How he lamented a possible missed connection, there.  

“I see,” Aymeric hummed, brushing a few dried petals from the edge of the counter into the compost bin beneath it. “Well, regardless of if he seems the type, we can both say that he bought them.”  

Handeloup chuckled. “Yes, indeed. Though we’ll be hard pressed to convince Laniaitte of that.”   

Aymeric let out a short laugh at that, and agreed. He then inquired about how the arrangements Handeloup was working on were coming along, and returned to his examination of the petunias Edgyth was so worried about.   

Thankfully, he found nothing amiss.  

A long and stressful meeting with the rest of  Heaven’s Ward  was just wrapping up when Aymeric heard a light rap on his office door. He finished bidding farewell as the call disconnected, and made sure the call was off and his microphone was muted for good measure.  

“Please come in,” he called, and after a moment, the door opened.  

“I’m sorry, my friend, did I interrupt you during your meeting?” Haurchefant took one glance at the folders across the desk in front of Aymeric and the headphones that Aymeric was storing away.   

“Nay, we have just finished,” Aymeric smiled, weakly, and gestured to the seat across from him. “Please, take a seat. I will need a moment to put these files away, and then we might chat.”  

“Please, take your time!” Haurchefant placed his drink carrier on the corner of desk farthest from Aymeric and the computer, holding the paper bag in his hands. “I would offer to help, but I suppose these are document’s not meant for the public eye?”  

Aymeric flipped another folder closed and let out a dry laugh. “Right you are, my friend. I do appreciate the thought, however. If you’ll give me just another moment…” He looked up to offer the younger man a smile, before glancing over the labels and arranging everything so he could continue after his break. When he finally stacked the last file and moved them out of the way, he glanced up again and invited, “Please, make yourself comfortable.”  

“Don’t mind if I do!”  

Haurchefant pulled one of the drinks out of the carrier and placed it in front of Aymeric, smiling. He read the  Ishgardian Black Tea, 1 Birch Syr  on the paper label and let out a soft chuckle. The co-owner of  The Holy See Roasterie  was really too good to his friends—something Aymeric appreciated and would admonish him for in equal measure. But when he could wrap his long fingers around the warm paper cup after that hellish meeting...well, he could forget the scolding this time.  

“Would you like the La Noscean orange and cranberry scone, or the blueberry?”   

“Whichever you choose, as you well know.”  

Haurchefant heaved a sigh, but then pulled one out and handed it to Aymeric. “Then I will simply make an educated guess and offer you the orange cranberry, since you are far too polite to ask for it yourself.”  

He accepted when Haurchefant offered with another soft chuckle. “You know me well enough to know that I’m perfectly fine with either, Haurchefant.”  

“Yes, yes, and that you  prefer  the La Noscean orange and cranberry. Now, how much work are they trying to pile on you now?” he nodded towards the files. “Not too much, I hope, since you’re only working part time now?”  

Were Aymeric any less practiced at schooling his mannerisms, his sip of tea might have gone down the wrong pipe, or even sprayed his friend. Sometimes it slipped his mind that he had  implied  his work at the  Heavens’ Ward  was only part time, after he’d inherited and started working at  Snowdrop . The truth of the matter was that, while he had tried to lessen his workload, he simply had not been allowed to do so. Charibert insisted that he didn’t do enough as it was, in his position as a project manager—which was a paralegal in all but name, he knew—and simply gave him another case to work on in addition to his others.  

He was only thankful that Lucia had the duty of dealing directly with the clients, as he couldn’t manage that during the hours he spent at  Snowdrop . The one boon he was allowed—an assistant who was capable of handling more than her share of work, for which he was grateful and simultaneously apologetic.  Her  official title was a case manager, which he didn’t think fit, either, for all the work she did. The two of them together were one functioning paralegal with far too many additional assignments tacked on.  

“Ah, well,” he cleared his throat a little once he had swallowed his tea. “It is a manageable amount,” he allowed.  

“So too much, still,” Haurchefant leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Aymeric, you’ve never been treated fairly there. I know it’s your biological father’s firm, but he  left  you. You don’t owe him anything.”  

I know , he thought. And he did know, but it was easier to know than to admit it out loud.  

“Please don’t think I retain that job out of any respect for him,” he said instead, breaking off a piece of scone. “I want to be able to help those less fortunate, and I’m in a place where I can do my best, there.”  

“Aymeric…” Haurchefant paused, then seemed to change his mind. “Just don’t let them overwork you, my friend.”  

It was kind of him to let the subject drop, even though Aymeric could tell he had more to say. So he smiled and nodded and assured his friend that he would do his best, and allowed the conversation to shift in a different direction for a few moments more. Haurchefant asked about the big wedding arrangement order that Handeloup had worked on late last week, and then if other business like that had come in. There was one smaller wedding order that Laniaitte had already handled, but the arrangement itself was pretty, and Aymeric urged Haurchefant to check out the shop’s page in the future. Basyle had insisted on photographing the arrangement to post it soon.  

“I heard you finally met Estinien last week,”  Haurchefant said after a time, and this time Aymeric nearly did choke on his tea. The man’s eyes were twinkling with mischief, and Aymeric desperately regretted ever mentioning the  handsome silver-haired man who works at Dragonsong  that one time, after one too many glasses of wine at an event he used his plus one to take Haurchefant to.  

"Yes," he answered carefully. “I did, indeed.”  

Aymeric studied his friend for a moment. He didn't want to admit that he couldn't banish the thought of Estinien’s gleaming tresses from his mind, or the piercing deep blue of his eyes. And, Halone forbid he let Haurchefant know that the man's cheekbones were tormenting him. His voice cracked a bit when Aymeric finally continued, “What I wonder, however, is how you know that we met.”  

He cleared his throat a little and took a quick sip of his tea, but Haurchefant  waved his hand easily, finishing the last bite of his blueberry scone. “If I didn’t coerce Estinien to come to the shop for lunch at least once a week, he’d  never  get out. He’d just go to the parlor and go home. He’s a lot like you in that respect. He mentioned stopping by in passing, but of course I had to ask why.”  

“Of course,” Aymeric repeated dryly. And then he was forced to ask, out of perhaps a sense of masochism, “Did his intended recipient take well to them, did he say?”  

“Intended recipient?”  

Aymeric furrowed his brow slightly. “He bought a bouquet of  roses , Haurchefant. Surely he was giving them to someone. He didn’t really seem the type for romantic gestures like that, so I’ll forgive him for picking the cliché, but I do wonder who they were for, and how they received them.”  

“What?  Estinien , buying flowers for someone?” Haurchefant snorted, then started laughing. Aymeric just stared at him, dumbfounded, until the other man tapped his hand on the desk between them and drew enough breath to speak once more. “Forgive me, I just...he didn’t even buy flowers for Ysayle when they were together, however many years ago that was!”  

He filed the name and past relationship away, though he was pretty sure it matched the name of the tall woman who also worked at  Dragonsong  and came in to speak with Laniaitte and Edgyth about the language of flowers sometimes. She certainly was a beauty, by anyone’s standards, and he could imagine them together easily. But Haurchefant had spoken of their relationship in the past tense, and he pulled himself to the present.  

“If he was not buying them  for  someone, then why buy roses?” he asked, almost incredulously. “Were he just displaying them in the shop, something else, perhaps for fortune or luck, would be better.”  

“You have it wrong still,” Haurchefant shook his head again, grinning. “He bought them for himself!" Haurchefant laughed after that, then gestured widely as he continued speaking. "Or, to be more exact, he had a request for a tattoo he was struggling with, so he bought it for reference."  

“He bought a bouquet...for reference?” Aymeric asked slowly. When his companion hummed in agreement, draining his hot chocolate,   

“Estinien can’t do floral tattoos very well. Or at least not the  living  floral, though he can do withered flowers just fine. He needed them to practice sketching. He’s got the consultation on Watersday.”  

Aymeric felt his chest tighten in some emotion he wasn’t ready to explore just yet, at the mere notion that Estinien hadn’t been buying the flowers  for  someone else.   

“I appreciate his custom, then, but could he not have looked at images online, or gone to Saint Reinette’s Gardens?”  

“Estinien? Going to the gardens of his own accord? Aymeric, really.”  

“Pray tell, Haurchefant. Am I supposed to know his habits by meeting him just the once?”  

“You certainly know what time he arrives in the mornings, just from watching for him,” the man sniped back, and Aymeric felt heat rise to his cheeks.  

“That tends to happen when one arrives at the same time every day.”  

Haurchefant hummed in a way that told Aymeric that his deflection didn’t work on his old friend. He internally cursed the mandatory business class he’d put off until his final year in university and which Haurchefant had taken his first year, leading to their meeting. But his steady presence had been grounding, and had contributed greatly to weathering the loss of first his adoptive father, and more recently his mother.  

“And nothing to do with how  handsome  you might think him to be, of course,” he finally said, and Aymeric groaned.  

“Haurchefant…”  

“Ah, fine, if you insist,” his eyes still twinkled, but he held his hands before him in surrender. “Estinien is a good man, though a bit rough around the edges. I’m astonished that he has someone like you with an eye on him.”  

“ Haurchefant .”  

“Alright, alright!” This time, he laughed outright. “I must be heading back to the shop soon, anyway. My own break is nearly over, after all. You will try not to work to hard after I leave, won’t you, Aymeric?”  

He thought of the files he had waiting for him, and smiled at his friend.  

“I shall do my best,” he lied.  

Haurchefant took his leave, and Aymeric took another moment to steady himself before diving back into work. If Edgyth or Basyle needed help in the shop, they’d surely come fetch him out, and he would return to his work for the  Ward  later.  

And when they only fetched him when one or the other was on break, he found himself grateful. They were looking out for him in their own ways, he knew, though all of them thought his work was part time.  

He tried not to think about what Haurchefant might say when he found out that Aymeric was still pulling full hours at both jobs. And to distract himself from that, he tried not to think about the heckling he’d get if Haurchefant could see the way he lingered while locking up, just to watch Estinien cross the street and head to the parking lot.   

His hair was pulled back in a low tail, tonight, and Aymeric found it just as fetching as he did when it spilled over his shoulders. If he ever mentioned that particular detail to his friend, he’d never hear the end of it, so he resolved not to do much drinking around Haurchefant for the near future. Not now that he had a clearer image of his face and his name to go with it and was even more incapable of putting Estinien from his mind.  

“Aymeric, you’re a fool,” he told himself, chuckling softly as he flipped the sign on the door and closed it. There was no answer.  

Chapter Text

As cut flowers are wont to do, the bouquet of roses Estinien had bought wilted over the course of the next week.  

A part of him was regretful, but the larger part of him couldn’t help but feel thankful. The sooner they were  gone,  the sooner his employees and coworkers would stop heckling him over them. He was still particularly annoyed at Ysayle’s “Buying flowers for yourself since nobody will buy them for you, Wyrmblood?” 

He’d sniped something back that just made her toss her head back and laugh, and he huffed and returned to his work. 

V’kebbe was next. She had caught him taking pictures of the roses to preserve the reference when the signs of wilting first started to show, and wouldn’t let him live that down either. Instead, laughingly, she asked, “You gonna post that to your  Aethergram  account, mate?” 

Estinien, as  he  was wont to do, growled and scowled and tried to ignore her after a terse  no . 

And then there was Heustienne, who idly commented nearly every chance she got that keeping flowers at his station was a lovely, welcoming touch. He regretted ever leaving them at his small work area, instead of taking them to his actual office in the back. The downside of that was the fact that Estinien rarely used the office, except when he had business calls and paperwork to deal with. They would’ve been noticed far less there, but the chance that he’d forget about them himself was also higher. 

In the worst case, he supposed,  Snowdrop Bouquets  was still right across the street, and he was sure they’d still have roses. He was also convinced that the handsome man— Aymeric , he reminded himself firmly—would be more than happy to help him out again, if he asked. 

Estinien put that thought from his mind and glanced over his sketches for the Leveilleur girl once more. He’d used the concepts from her brother’s sketches, as asked, but made some of the lines richer, sharper, and more as her request dictated. The petals beneath the great wyrm’s skull were his greatest cause for concern, but he  had  managed a few sketches where he was satisfied with them and he just had to believe she would be, too. 

Apparently, it didn’t stop his face from showing his frustration. 

"Don't look so sour," Heustienne commented as she stepped away from the front desk. She had just finished taking a call and brought him the memo—Tenzen had to reschedule, surprisingly, due to an emergency—and then she crossed her arms. She gave him a look that he wasn’t sure how to interpret and continued, "You can't sulk all day just because you're anxious about the flowers." 

" Anxious ?" He scoffed, shuffling the sketches into the Leveilleur girl’s file and closing it. "About the  flowers ? Don't be ridiculous." 

"Well, then what else is it? Did you get dumped?" 

She knew very well he wasn’t seeing anyone, and he scowled. 

Before he could respond, a short laugh sounded. Ysayle entered, back from her break, and smirked. "He'd have to actually be dating for that." 

With that, he stood. Estinien didn’t have the willpower to deal with more than one person’s taunts at a time, and it was forty minutes before his appointment with Alisaie. Ysayle’s return meant it was his break, and he was going to use it. "I'm going for a coffee," he announced shortly, moving towards the exit.  

Ysayle laughed behind him, and he heard Heustienne chuckling to herself as she returned to her own station to start preparing for her next client. 

As he walked towards the Holy See Roasterie, he tried not to think about what questions Haurchefant might ask. He was an incorrigible extrovert and usually stayed out in the café to help with the shop if needed and chat with the clientele, which meant that he’d likely insist on speaking to Estinien for a few moments. And he had an uncanny knack for knowing if Estinien was there on a whim or just to get away from  Dragonsong . 

He supposed he might make it easy, since he didn’t bother masking his own emotions. If an annoyed expression kept others from idle chatter while he was out, where was the harm in that? 

As expected, when Estinien reached  Holy See Roasterie , Haurchefant was beaming at him and moving to greet him.  

“Either my days have run together, or you’re here on a more spontaneous visit,” he reached out to clap Estinien on the shoulder. “Your brow is pinched, Estinien. I suppose our dear Ysayle was getting under your skin again? Or perhaps one of the others?” 

“I’m here for coffee,” he said, a bit stiffly, and Haurchefant laughed.  

“Ah, it seems I’m right on the money once more!” 

Estinien scowled, and then it was his turn to order his coffee. Haurchefant glanced over the shop, as if making sure nothing was amiss, before following him to the side to wait. 

“What was it this time?” he asked, cheerful as ever. 

“I wanted a coffee, Haurchefant,” he said, as blandly as possible, but Haurchefant just laughed and shook his head. 

“Avoiding the question? Estinien, if you don’t talk about it you’ll never wipe that scowl off your face.” 

He heaved a sigh, and debated the pros and cons of simply not answering. Haurchefant was likely to follow him back to  Dragonsong  if he didn’t have anything pressing here, and if he didn’t then Estinien knew he would bring it back up another day. After a long moment of deliberation, he just scowled and muttered, “Flowers.” 

His friend blinked at him. “Flowers?” he asked blankly, but before Estinien could find the right words to begrudgingly explain, Haurchefant’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I see! I take it that someone made some more comments about the roses you bought from Aymeric?” 

Estinien just gave a terse nod, accepting his coffee from Nivie with a gruff thanks. 

Haurchefant chuckled. “And, when you found yourself without a comeback, you opted to storm off instead, using coffee as your excuse. How...completely predictable of you, Estinien.” 

“I didn’t come here for you to mock me.” 

“Of course not,” Haurchefant waved his hand dismissively. “You came here for coffee. And to run away from your coworkers for ten minutes, give or take. And as your friend, it’s my duty to point it out.” 

Estinien thought it would’ve been just as easy for a so-called  friend  to keep such thoughts to himself, and said as much. The damn near  insufferable  man just laughed again, and rather than say anything else, Estinien took a sip of his drink. 

“Your attitude could really use some work, my friend,” Haurchefant shook his head. The sentiment wasn’t new, and Estinien still scoffed. “It’s going to get you in trouble someday, and you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

“I have to get back.” 

Estinien turned towards the door, and Haurchefant huffed, half in amusement and half in exasperation. He didn’t move to bar Estinien’s path, but told him in a serious tone, “Fine, fine, but you’re still coming in tomorrow for lunch, like usual. I won’t take no for an answer!” 

“See you.” 

His pace was quick, as usual, and he found himself back in the parlor before his break was even due to be over. Instead of dealing with the others out front, Estinien took his coffee to the back office and started on some paperwork that he’d been putting off for a few days already. He was left alone until Alisaie Leveilleur arrived, and when Jacke fetched him, he finally went to meet the girl who had caused all of the week’s turmoil. 

She was petite like all Elezen before they reached twenty, but dressed in a style much like Ysayle. After speaking with her for a mere five minutes, Estinien silently lamented the fact that it was her brother with the artistic talent. She was clever, with a bit of that familiar brand of sass he saw in Ysayle, and best of all? She knew exactly what she wanted. The meeting went smoothly, and she’d only noted a few minor changes to the designs that Estinien had fixed right then and there, and then they’d proceeded to schedule her first of at least two appointments. 

“I can’t wait to see the look on Alphinaud’s face,” she drawled as she stood to leave, once the booking was official—in two weeks and a few days.  

“Your brother the artist, I take it?” Estinien didn’t usually pry, but it slipped out. Alisaie laughed, however, and nodded. 

“Yes, that’s him. And I am supposed to be meeting him at Haurchefant’s shop in a few minutes, so I’d best be on my way. Thanks again, Estinien. See you in a few weeks!” 

“Later,” he raised an idle hand at her retreating back, and Heustienne, leading her latest piercing customer back out to the front desk, laughed a little. 

And then Alisaie swept out, almost as if she’d never been there in the first place. 

When Estinien made his way to the coffee shop for his lunch the following day, Haurchefant was actually busy. He learned as he waited for his food that someone had unexpectedly had to leave early, and the person that was coming at shift change was also running late. Nivie, after she handed him his food, smiled apologetically and assured him that they’d work on trying to convince Haurchefant to actually take his own lunch break as soon as they could. 

Estinien knew how hard that could be, so he just thanked her gruffly and told her not to worry too much about it, and went to their usual booth to start on his lunch.  

A part of him was secretly thankful—a busy Haurchefant meant a Haurchefant that wouldn’t be prying into his business. He decided to take the brief reprieve in stride, but he lingered even after he normally would have finished eating, watching as Haurchefant continued to help run the shop. After a little while, he pulled the pen from his ponytail and idly began sketching on a napkin.  

When he realized he was drawing more  fucking  roses, Estinien crumpled that napkin and began another sketch. He deliberately drew a shape he couldn’t easily turn into a rose, and moved on from there. He stopped paying much attention to his sketch when he was satisfied it wasn’t more of those damn flowers—a face was taking form beneath the tip of his pen. High, elegant cheekbones, a straight nose, delicate lashes. Something in the lips didn’t feel right, so he started another sketch. 

Once he was—well, not wholly satisfied with the look of the mouth, but not dissatisfied either—Estinien started another. He focused on the form and the shapes, the particular quirk of the lips in that gentle smile and the practically artisanal way the ears came to a point. And when he had drawn the same features again, he was compelled to draw a profile as well. 

“Why, Estinien, I didn’t know you were taking up portraiture,” the voice startled him back to the present, and he very nearly ruined his napkin art when he pulled his pen away. “I must say, I didn’t realize you were close enough with him to get such accurate portraits from memory, my friend.” 

“What are you—” Estinien scowled as Haurchefant took a seat, but couldn't finish his likely scathing remarks when he actually  looked  at the man he’d been drawing. 

Aymeric . 

Gods, was he  daft ? What had possessed him to draw the florist, and from multiple angles too? And, he acknowledged begrudgingly, with such accuracy? He’d only truly met the man one time, after all. Surely passing each other from time to time in the mornings and evenings couldn’t have been enough for him to commit Aymeric’s features to memory.  Surely . 

Only the proof was right before him, scrawled upon  napkins , one of which was now in Haurchefant’s hands as he sat across from Estinien. 

“I’m not picking up portraiture,” he finally said, shoving the other napkins aside and returning to whatever was left of his lunch. There was regretfully little food left to distract himself with or hide behind, and his coffee had long since grown lukewarm. 

Haurchefant hummed, but in the manner that Estinien knew meant his friend didn’t believe him. And then he remarked, “No, I see you’ve  already  learned the art. I must confess, I’d forgotten that you are, in more ways than one, the protégé of the great Alberic.” 

He thought of the paintings that his foster father had insisted on keeping in the university gallery, and scowled at Haurchefant. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

As always, his friend just laughed at his expense. “How long has it been since you were last offered a residency?” he asked, lifting his bagel. “One week? Two? You used to get at least a few every month because of your paintings and your connection to Alberic. I’m sure he keeps putting your name out there in the hopes that you’ll find a more reputable career in fine arts.” 

Estinien snorted at that. He couldn’t help it, because the latter was a thought he’d had quite frequently himself. Alberic meant well, surely, but he was quite certain the man wanted him to focus more on fine arts and painting canvas than on inking skin. And at last he answered, “Two months.” 

Another chuckle. “About time for another one, then. In fact, I would say they’re overdue!” 

“I’m quite satisfied when they’re quiet, thank you.” 

“I’m sure you are, my friend, I’m sure you are.” 

Haurchefant, to Estinien’s great relief, let the topic drop. He asked instead how Estinien’s meeting with the Leveilleur girl had gone, which he raised an eyebrow at. There was  some  confidentiality involved, after all. But Haurchefant just laughed and brushed his look away with, “Oh, I saw her coming up the street from that direction earlier, and lest you’ve forgotten, I do know what those roses you’ve had were for." 

He regretted telling Haurchefant as much as he did. The pitfall of being friends with the man was that he never forgot, and somehow he always found out  more  than he was told. Estinien didn’t think he’d ever find out where the man acquired all of his information and didn’t know if he  wanted  to, but the information was always accurate. It was uncanny. 

“It went well,” he finally allowed with a shrug, taking the last sip of his coffee with a grimace. Cold dregs were unpleasant at best. “She knows what she wants, so it makes it easier.” 

“Ah, yes, Alisaie is like that. She likes to get to the point without all of the small talk. Her brother, on the other hand...well, Alphinaud is a practiced orator.” 

Estinien snorted. “Practiced, is he?” 

“He probably speaks three times as much as his sister does,” Haurchefant nodded sagely. “Sometimes I’m convinced that people just agree with him in the hopes that he will stop talking.” 

He had the sneaking suspicion that, at least once or twice, Haurchefant had been one of those people. He was an amiable man and would speak to anyone, but if it was an especially busy day in the Holy See Roasterie, Estinien had known him to be a little less attentive by necessity. The shop was his livelihood, now that he and Francel had put their all into reviving it and making sure it continued to thrive. 

“I’ll stick to his sister, then,” Estinien mused dryly, but then sighed. The clock behind the counter, when he glanced that way, showed that his reprieve was over. “Take it easy, Haurchefant.” 

“As easy as ever,” he beamed, a grin that Estinien didn’t trust. And then he tapped the napkins still on his side of the table, the pen strokes still visible under his hand, still smiling. “Take care, Estinien, and do tell me if you decide to take your portraits to another level. I’m sure Alberic would be pleased!” 

Estinien scowled and pushed himself to his feet as Haurchefant chuckled again, pulling the napkins beyond his reach. He opted not to say anything else and took his trash to the bin on his way out, raising a hand in farewell. Haurchefant called another goodbye after him, mirth still audible.