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“Ahchoo!” Stiles’ sneeze rang out through the quiet shop, and the baby’s breath in the bouquet of snapdragons he had just finished arranging waved in the blast of it. “Fuck,” he muttered, checking to be sure he hadn’t ruined his hard work. Satisfied that the flowers were unscathed, he picked up the vase and moved it into the cooler behind the counter. After he securely closed the door, he grabbed a tissue from the box on the workbench and blew his nose.
Tossing the tissue, he heard the bell over the door ring out. “Welcome to Blooming Mad!” He cursed the way the words came out due to his stuffed-up nose, but he couldn’t control it.
“Er, hello,” a man said, moving around the display case that blocked the door from the view of the counter. “Do you have any roses?” he asked, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking anywhere except at Stiles.
Chuckling, Stiles gestured to the coolers on the far wall that held various colors of roses and other popular flowers. He could give a sarcastic comment, but he knew it wasn’t unusual for the shop to run out of roses, especially on the weekends. He’d noticed that the first week and started doubling the order. “Are you looking for a particular shade? Or message?” he asked.
The man’s head jerked up, and he narrowed his eyes when Stiles sneezed again, this time catching it with the crook of his elbow. He raised a hand in apology as he reached for a tissue from the box on the counter, blowing his nose and throwing it away.
“Are you alright?” the man asked.
Stiles nodded. “Allergies,” he explained. “Now, what color did you need?”
The man raised an eyebrow without speaking, giving Stiles a chance to observe him. He looked vaguely familiar, but Stiles had been gone from Beacon Hills for many years finishing college and then a master’s degree. He had thought about going for his doctorate and still might, but a phone call from his dad had put a kink in his plans.
“What are you allergic to?” the man asked when Stiles sneezed again.
“Flowers,” Stiles responded, wiping at his nose this time.
“And you work in a flower shop?”
“Long story,” Stiles responded, trying to reign in his impatience. “Roses. Color? How many?” He coughed to clear his throat and repeated the question.
“It is painful listening to you talk,” the man said as he crossed the room to look through the glass doors of the cooler.
“It’s painful to look at your face,” Stiles muttered, immediately feeling bad when the man’s head jerked up and glared at him. “Sorry,” Stiles said. His allergies made him miserable, but that didn’t give him the right to take it out on a customer; his dad would be disappointed in him.
He crossed to stand next to the man, taking a tissue with him if he needed to sneeze again. He also grabbed the laminated sheet of rose color meanings that the owner kept attached to the wall behind the counter. Stiles had it memorized, but he didn’t want to punish the man by making him listen to him talk any more than necessary.
Handing him the list, Stiles also pointed to the sign advertising the prices. The man looked at them. “You look familiar,” he said after a few minutes, glancing between the list and the roses.
“Grew up here,” Stiles said, sniffling. “Went away. Back now.”
The man chuckled and nodded. “Same,” he said, his voice subdued. “These are for a grave,” he explained. “I don’t…” He waved the list around a bit.
“Sorry for your loss,” Stiles said, taking the list back. He hated saying those words, knowing they did nothing to help the person suffering the loss, but they were still better than standing in awkward silences.
“It was a long time ago,” the man said. “My mom always liked white roses, and my dad’s favorite color was blue. My sisters liked pink.” He frowned. “My brother hated roses. He preferred cacti.”
“Derek Hale,” Stiles said, and the man nodded, looking resigned.
Of course, Stiles remembered Derek and the fire that had killed nearly his entire family. He’d been at the station when his dad had led Derek and his oldest sister wrapped in shock blankets, faces covered in soot. He’d snuck over to them when his dad disappeared to talk to someone. He shared his candy stash from his backpack with them, but although they’d taken the candy, neither of them had eaten it.
“Stiles Stilinski,” he said, putting a hand to his chest, hoping his stuffed up nose didn’t make his name even more indecipherable than the one he’d been given at birth.
“The Sheriff’s son,” Derek said, and Stiles nodded. “You gave me candy.” Another nod. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, do you need a big…” He trailed off as what Derek had said sunk in. “You said ‘sisters,’ but only one….”
Derek’s chin dropped to his chest. “Laura died last week in New York,” he explained. “I brought her home to be with our family.”
Stiles laid his hand on Derek’s bicep, squeezing gently before turning to pull open the cooler. He sneezed four times in rapid succession, nearly falling over except for Derek’s hand on his lower back, keeping him upright.
“You really need a new job,” Derek said, pulling Stiles away from the cooler by the back of his shirt. “You tell me what to grab and what to do.”
“I can’t - “ Violent sneezes cut off Stiles’ argument, and he hurried back to the counter for more tissues, as well as to check if he was due for more allergy medicine.
Sighing, he guided Derek through which roses to pull out of the cooler while he moved to the other side of the store where the succulents were displayed. He loved that side of the store because he never sneezed over there, and he had the perfect idea for a vase. He found the double bowl vase situated on a bottom shelf where it had been relegated when no one had shown any interest in it.
Hefting the vase, he carried it over to the counter, setting it down next to the small pile of roses that Derek had grabbed. He returned to find the best cactus they currently had in the store, pleased to see it had actually flowered a bit, the shade matching some of the roses. Working carefully, Stiles planted the cactus in the center of the vase before filling the outer ring with floral foam.
He explained to Derek how to dethorn the roses, trying not to laugh when he stuck himself. “Rite of passage in the florist biz,” he said, showing off the bandaids on the tips of a couple of his fingers as he slid over a box of Superman bandaids.
“Nice,” Derek commented, sucking at the pad of his right thumb while he tried to wrestle open the box.
Stiles took the box and opened one of the bandaids, wrapping it around Derek’s thumb. He sneezed twice, and Derek nudged him away from the counter. “Seriously, why did you become a florist if you’re allergic to flowers?” Derek asked as he picked up a couple of roses and placed them where Stiles pointed.
“I’m not a florist,” he responded, moving away from the counter to grab some greenery and baby’s breath.
“So, this is just a clever disguise?” Derek asked, and Stiles sneezed. “Or not so clever.” Stiles chuckled. “No, let me guess, you were robbing the place when I came in, and now you’re pretending to be the florist so that I won’t find the body of the actual florist in the coolers behind the roses.”
“And people say I have a wild imagination,” Stiles commented. “The shop belongs to a woman that my pops knows. She fell and broke her hip last week, and I was between jobs, so I offered to help.” He chuckled. “Or rather, my dad volunteered me to help.”
“Despite your allergies?” Derek continued to follow Stiles’ unspoken directions, and soon the outer ring of the vase was full of various colored roses. “Huh, this turned out good.”
“I know what I’m doing. Most of the time,” Stiles told him. “My allergies are a minor inconvenience if it means helping out Mrs. Spencer.”
Derek’s lips curved into a small smile. “She used to watch my sisters and me,” he said.
“After my mom died, when I wasn’t at school, Scott’s house, or the station, I was at her house,” Stiles told him.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said.
“It was a long time ago,” Stiles parroted his earlier words.”I’m surprised our paths didn’t cross back then.”
“We were different people back then,” Derek said. He smiled down at the flowers, running his fingers over the white roses. “What were your mom’s favorite flowers?”
“My mom?” Stiles asked, and Derek nodded. “Stargazer lilies.” He moved to the cooler and opened it, barely holding back a sneeze as he pulled out a single bloom, the white-rimmed red petals bright even in the oncoming twilight. “She loved anything to do with stars.”
Derek studied him. “Obviously, she loved you.” Stiles’ face scrunched up in confusion. “You have constellations on your skin.” He reached out and gestured to the moles dotting Stiles’ skin.
“Huh. I never thought of them that way.” He smiled, wishing someone had said that to him when he was younger and the other kids teased him about his spots.
Derek hid a smile. “Can I get a dozen of these?” He gestured to the lily. Stiles nodded and gathered them quickly, happy that he only sneezed twice in the process but disappointed that Derek completely depleted the stargazer lily supply, meaning he’d have to find something else to take to his mom’s grave the next day.
Stiles rang up the flowers, impressed when Derek didn’t complain about the price like most of the customers did and just handed over his credit card. “It was nice seeing you,” Stiles said as he handed the card back. “Are you staying in town long?”
Derek looked thoughtful as he returned the card to his wallet and slid it into his pocket. “I hadn’t planned to stick around, but maybe I’ll find a reason to do so. What about you?”
“Mrs. Spencer should be back in a couple of weeks, and then I’ll have to figure out what to do next.” He shrugged. “Might be time to stop going to school and put my degrees to work.”
“We should grab lunch and catch up,” Derek offered, his eyes on the wall over Stiles’ shoulder.
“Sure,” Stiles agreed, smiling. He grabbed one of the shop’s business cards and scribbled his cell number on the back. “Give me a call.”
Derek took the card, pocketing it before grabbing the flowers and heading out the door. Stiles started to call out a goodbye when a sneezing fit took him over. He heard Derek laughing as the door closed behind him, and Stiles wondered if he could find someone else to watch the shop until Mrs. Spencer came back while he stayed in the office away from the blooms.
He spent the rest of the open hours trying to formulate a plan and thought he’d figured something out when he flipped the sign to closed. He grabbed the small bouquet of mixed blooms he’d chosen for his mom’s grave and headed for his father’s house.
The next day dawned dismal and overcast. Stiles debated waiting to head to the cemetery but decided the weather fit his mood and headed out the door. Arriving, he noticed a funeral taking place on the small hill near the back of the cemetery. He left his Jeep near the gates and made his way towards his mother’s grave, studying the lone mourner with their head bowed beneath a black umbrella while a priest spoke softly.
He paused a few feet away from his destination when he spotted the stargazer lilies in the stone vase built into the headstone. Smiling, he knelt next to it, ignoring the wet grass soaking through the knees of his jeans. He sniffled as he arranged his bouquet in with the lilies, surprised when the combination looked good together.
He started to rise when he realized the rain was no longer beating down on the hood of his sweatshirt. He saw it hitting the headstone, though. Glancing up, he spotted a black umbrella held by Derek.
“That probably shouldn’t look as good as it does, should it?” he said, head tilted as he studied the flowers.
“You didn’t have to buy my mom flowers,” Stiles said instead of acknowledging the comment.
“I wanted to,” Derek responded. “Everyone liked the flowers for my family. Thank you.”
They stood in the rain under the shared umbrella and talked about Laura’s service until Stiles gave a slight shiver. Derek suggested Stiles come out to his sister’s house for the wake. Derek could lend him some dry clothes and fix a small lunch for the both of them.
Stiles agreed and followed him out to the house. It had been a long time since he’d been back in Beacon Hills, and he’d never known that Laura Hale had rebuilt the Hale house, but that was where they ended up. Stiles glanced up in awe.
“It’s not exactly the same,” Derek said, leading him to the front door with a hand on his back. “It’s just enough to bring back memories but not enough to be morbid.” He gave a dark laugh, and Stiles’ grin was understanding.
Derek led him upstairs to a bedroom with a king-sized bed with a suitcase open on the end. He tossed him a pair of sweats and a shirt before pointing him towards another room to change. Once they were both in dry clothes, they met downstairs in the kitchen. Stiles watched Derek throw together some sandwiches.
They sat on stools next to each other at the counter. Silence stretched between them for a few minutes until Stiles nudged Derek’s foot with his own. “Tell me something about Laura,” he said.
Derek shook his head but launched into a story about the time he and Laura had tried to sneak a dog they’d found in the woods into the house without their parents’ knowledge. The ruse had ended when the pup had snuck out of Laura’s room in the middle of the night and climbed into bed with their mom and dad. They’d both been grounded before breakfast, but Wolf had become a member of the family.
Stiles laughed. “I always wanted a dog, but my dad’s allergic.”
“So, you can suffer your flower allergies for Mrs. Spencer, but he wouldn’t suffer his animal ones for you?” Derek teased.
They passed the rest of the afternoon with discussion and laughter. Stiles’ dad called looking for him early afternoon, and Stiles said his goodbyes to Derek to head home to have dinner with his dad. “Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow?” Stiles asked.
“Like a date?” Derek asked.
“I’d like that if you would, but it can just be as friends if you don’t,” he responded. “We can do the whole flowers and romance thing or just beers and nachos if you want.”
Derek chewed his lip. “Can I let you know?”
“Absolutely,” Stiles said, grinning. “See you tomorrow?”
The next evening, Stiles stood on the porch with his hands shoved in his pockets. He’d struggled to find something to wear, still not knowing if they were going on a date or not. He’d finally decided casual could work in either case. Derek opened the door, a smile on his face and one hand behind his back. He was dressed similarly to Stiles, which didn’t give Stiles any clue where the night would be headed.
“Hey,” he greeted.
“Hi,” Derek responded, bringing his hand out from behind his back to reveal a single red rose.
“So, flowers and romance it is?” Stiles asked, holding his breath, not wanting to sneeze when the rose lit up. A closer look revealed the fiber optics hiding in the highly realistic silk rose.
Derek shrugged. “Fake flowers and real romance,” he quipped.
Stiles smiled and took the flower, pretending to sniff it before sticking it sideways between his teeth and wiggling his eyebrows at Derek. They both burst into laughter, and Derek took the flower from between Stiles’ teeth and bopped him on the tip of the nose with it. Stiles offered Derek his hand and pulled him towards his Jeep with a smile.