Chapter Text
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
- Walter Raleigh,
The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd
Caitlyn has the tendency to buy anything that looks lonely.
Basically, everything that her eyes deem resembles doom and gloom. This is why she has an empty grocery cart inside her apartment, a pearl necklace she doesn’t need, a collection of gloves she’ll never wear, skateboard protective gear she bought from a child, snorkeling gear she tried once, and those broken portable sculptures.
Even Caitlyn’s impulses don’t understand anymore. Not knowing if she’s going to dive in, drown in, or she simply breathes easy inside the pools of chaos.
Of course, her current favorite one must be the flower shop.
Caitlyn, at that time, just moved into the city and it’s raining. She runs to the nearest building outside, catching the large sign clearly declaring the shop’s for sale.
With the sirens in Caitlyn’s head, mind less on the past and more on the golden opportunity.
Her fingers never dally over her clothes. Her hands are always on her hips, where the ends of her hair sit upon. She always had incredibly long hair. Once almost getting a haircut, always running away, and never truly knowing why. Maybe the shears don’t look sad enough.
Or maybe it’s her being despicable or her undue pride, but someone once told her that when she flips her hair, everyone around stops and stares. Attention has never been a stranger, never been a bother—if it helps for people to not dig deeper.
If there's an ode to lack of restraint for sad things, it should sing about her life. She ditches the family’s legacy, steals a lot of their cash, picks up profanity, and never looks back. She goes anywhere, not regretting a thing. She kisses him, she makes out with her.
What’s regret but an excuse to never get hurt?
“Can I ask something?”
Arranging a makeshift bouquet for an impromptu bridal shoot, Caitlyn hasn’t a second to look at the potential customer.
The voice continues to speak, “Do you know where this flower originally came from?”
That question catches the full attention of Caitlyn. People usually ask the meaning, other colors, then the price. Very rare to hear a question about where the flower comes from.
When Caitlyn finally whips around, she’s expecting to see an old woman with a cardigan and a warm beam like all of her loyal customers are—
But Caitlyn only sees a woman, surely near her age, with a sleeveless top revealing all the tattoos on her arms. Her outfit seems like something she puts on without thinking, but it works.
She’s seen her before—they call her Vi, based on what she heard from one of her customers. That good-hearted and skilled tattoo artist who opened a tattoo parlor right across the street a month ago, as if they’re in those films trying to restore the balance of the universe.
What irks Caitlyn a little is how Vi holds and caresses the flower, the tip of her fingers with too much kindness. The flower’s been placed inside the chipped mug on the counter table, so this scene’s only steps away from Caitlyn.
“Please don’t touch the flower so carelessly,” Caitlyn calls her out.
Vi’s hands fall to her sides and she takes a deep breath. “Right, sorry. I’d like to pay for it.”
“Are you buying it?”
“Yes, if you want.”
“...Why will you buy the flower that I want?”
Vi begins to shake her head. Once, twice, before she exclaims, “I mean if you want me to or need me to pay for it. Like that rule. Um, what’s it called again? Once broken, considered sold?”
Caitlyn tries her best not to grin. “I think you’re fine, the shop doesn’t have that rule. The flower—” Caitlyn pretends to check on the flower, “—it’s not broken either.”
Sighing in relief, Vi takes a step backward. “But do you have a rule that if I ask for information, I'd need to pay for it?”
“Is this how people try to brag they’re rich nowadays?” Caitlyn teases. “No, by the way, this isn’t a bar. I don’t sell information.”
“That’s not it. It’s just about a flower, I want to know its meaning—”
“Is this for a… tattoo?” Caitlyn cuts her off, taking a guess.
“Oh, so you know me. Yeah, yeah. It’s for a tattoo.”
“I’ll be honest. I can’t tell you any meaning of the flower ‘cause, oh and please don’t go batshit over this, I actually don’t know shit about flowers.”
“What—How? You sell flowers. You have the name tag.”
“A what?”
“That. That means you’re someone who’s important around here, right?” Vi points to Caitlyn’s apron that’s given to her by the shop’s part-timer. “It says ‘Hello! My name is Caitlyn. How can I help you?’, right?”
Caitlyn laughs, unconsciously brushing her fingers on her name tag. “These don’t come with the encyclopedia of flowers. I apologize, dearest customer.”
Vi blinks at Caitlyn. Her expression's as if she's been from several centuries ago where tulips were more treasured than gold—lighter and settled inside but most probably going about it the wrong way.
Caitlyn seems right when Vi responds with, “But the name tag comes with a pretty face and pretty laugh, I guess. So that’s a plus… I guess.”
“You can’t flirt the flower’s meaning out of me.” A pause. Caitlyn’s mind suddenly changes. “Although I can research about it with this state of the art,” she points to the laptop in front of her, “and I’ll get back to you on it.”
“You… You’ll do that for me?”
“I do it for every customer who doesn’t know what flower they want to buy. I still need to sell.”
Vi scoffs lightly. Then she grins. “When will you be ready?”
“Give me five minutes tops. I’ll give you everything you need.”
“How about tonight? Tell me during dinner.”
Caitlyn smirks. “Okay, your treat.”
“I’ve brought cupcakes from that popular bakery. You want one?”
“What do you think of me, Vi? I’ve literally everything I need. I have my own shop, my own money, and I can cook my own meals and buy snacks, thank you very much.”
“Okay, I hear you. But do you have a cupcake now?”
“...No.”
“Want one?”
“Fuck you. I hate you.”
“Bet you don’t, Cupcake.”
“When you said you needed help after we ate, I didn’t think you meant scrubbing a wall full of spray paint,” Caitlyn complains. “And what kind of person buys a shop without even requesting the walls to be renovated? I know you’re saving money and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I feel like you’ve still been ripped off.”
It’s been minutes and Caitlyn knows the whining is just wasted effort when Vi keeps on laughing at everything she says. Caitlyn can’t believe this is what’s happening now after their dinner. She remembers Vi giving her a soft gaze, asking for her help. Then she recalls agreeing to it easily.
“You’re good at it, Cupcake. You should apply as a professional remover of spray paint.”
“Well, I’m excellent at it!” she snaps. “I never half-ass things!”
Taking extra caution not to ruin the paint underneath, Caitlyn sprays whatever is inside the bottle and scrubs the wall again.
“No, you don’t,” Vi says calmly with a fond chuckle. “So... What’s your story?”
Caitlyn makes a noncommittal grunt. She turns and faces Vi.
“Don’t have one.”
“Everyone has a story,” Vi returns.
“Okay then. Make me one.”
“Really? How about this? Maybe you got a past lover that you’re running away from—”
Caitlyn shrugs. Not a good start. So unoriginal.
“—or you have an issue with your family, and you wanted to escape the pressure? The life you didn’t want to live was being pushed on you—”
Raising a brow for a second, Caitlyn smiles a little.
“—or you’re just a wildflower.”
Caitlyn’s smile easily fades at that.
Wildflower grows, of course in the wild, without seeds and without being planted. At one point, Caitlyn must've likened herself to these flowers at one point—craving to be a free spirit, being unapologetic, and being anywhere unexpected. Blooming on her own terms and never conforming to anyone.
“Ah, so you kinda have knowledge about flowers, huh?”
“My mom must've mentioned it back then. My sister also loved them, I think.” Vi’s hand suddenly stops moving. Caitlyn turns her head to glance at Vi and she has this solemn expression, so earnest. “Mom told us, 'Even when there are days that you feel like you come from nothing, always try to grow into something' and she'd proceed to kiss our foreheads.”
“Sounds like a good mom.”
“The best one.”
Caitlyn’s heart sinks. Nothing strikes fear and agony in her heart like the thought of her parents. She opens her mouth but closes it quickly, quite hoping she doesn’t look as pained as she feels.
Caitlyn tries to change the topic, “Anyway, why’re you always making me up as someone who keeps running away?”
“Nobody moves here in this city without wanting that.”
“I see. No need to ask your story, then.”
“Knew you'd get me, Cupcake,” Vi says, not denying anything. Not adding anything more about that. Caitlyn feels Vi must’ve seen her looking injured earlier. Her heart doesn’t pound or race when she thinks of that—she only feels at ease and content.
“How's your business still working if you don’t know anything about flowers?”
Caitlyn doesn’t think twice before replying, “Well, I know flowers bloom. And have different colors. And people like to impose those crazy-ass stupid meanings on them.”
“Oh, you must love astrology then.”
Caitlyn chuckles but doesn’t comment on it.
“So, will you answer my question?” Vi asks.
“I guess people like entertainment,” Caitlyn returns calmly, “and people take everything at face value. They’ll start believing you when you spout enough nonsense shit that they’ll forget them the moment those flowers wilt.”
Vi nods, thoughtful. “Still, I’m curious. No one ever left you a low rating?”
“No, not exactly. They can’t leave ratings if the shop doesn't have a page.”
“How the hell is your business working in this day and age?”
Caitlyn only smiles at that.
“No way. Nope. I refuse. This is what you fucking meant?”
Caitlyn notices that Vi’s eyes are wide, but she doesn’t look that shocked at all.
“Yep. Feels bad to be at the receiving end of a blindside, huh?”
“I won’t do it. I’ll do anything but that.”
“What? Come on! You owe me one, Vi!” Caitlyn yells.
“Where’d you even get this?” Vi scans the grocery cart parked in front of them, the good half of it spray-painted with blue and the other half just seems like the common color of the carts. The painter obviously didn’t finish painting it or the can ran out. “Do groceries sell these nowadays too? Or you grabbed one and went home?”
“I bought it.”
“Do I even want to know why? Will you even tell me?”
“It—” Caitlyn swallows before answering truthfully, “It looked so lonely at that thrift shop.”
“How does this piece of a heavy metal look lonely to you?”
“It… was there. At the corner, all alone,” Caitlyn whispers, but Vi manages to hear it.
Vi goes silent for a while then she declares, “If you’re not going to put on any protective gear, I won’t do it. No way in hell. I can see how this ends. I can’t run you to the hospital pushing a bloody version of you with this shopping cart.”
“Stop that! I’ll wear the protective gear already.” Caitlyn begins strapping herself up with the knee, arm, and wrist pads. She wears the helmet before sharing, “I’ve always wanted to do this when I saw this empty road the first time… But everyone I know didn’t want to push the cart for me.”
Given that Caitlyn has only tried to ask two people in the past, which are the part-timer who politely gapes at her like Caitlyn’s insane then politely declines and a customer who disrespectfully never came back after that to buy flowers.
Her part-timer then informed her that that customer almost went to the police station ‘cause of that. Even calling it as Caitlyn having an ‘inappropriate behavior for a florist’. Caitlyn doesn’t know how the customer cooled off. She doesn’t even want to know at that point. It’s not like Caitlyn asked the customer to off someone or anything, but whatever floats their boat.
Caitlyn gives her all to refrain from asking anyone after that incident.
Until Vi, of course.
“Cupcake, who would in their right mind push a cart down a highway slope at midnight with a person in it?”
Caitlyn sighs loudly and commences to try another tactic. “I’ll bail and jump off it when it seems dangerous, I swear!”
“That’s not comforting.”
“Okay, what’s going to comfort you and convince you to push me down this short slope, at the same time?”
Vi stares at Caitlyn and Caitlyn stares right back, only because she doesn’t know what else to do. Vi’s expression is full of curiosity and exasperation and then she finally gives Caitlyn a small nod, albeit hesitantly. “You really want this, Cupcake?”
Caitlyn is pleasantly surprised by Vi’s agreement that she nods appreciatively.
Vi cracks a smile, a tired one, before reaching out her hand to squeeze Caitlyn’s hand.
“You owe me a flower arrangement.”
“You got it!”
The slope isn’t too steep, not at all. Might've been one of the reasons why Caitlyn wants to do it in this place. Another is there are no cars passing by anymore.
Vi’s push afterward feels even light like a feather, the grocery cart with Caitlyn rolls down nearly peacefully.
Caitlyn’s aware she isn’t afraid of falling down. She only feels free, feeling the air surrounding her. But she freezes when she sees Vi sprinting down the road, getting ahead of the cart, to reach the bottom. It surely is a split second but when Vi stands her ground down there, Caitlyn locks eyes with Vi.
Caitlyn’s back slightly arches, her breezy laughter ceases. She isn’t sure if her heart and her mind stop working altogether.
She doesn't know how she gets the moment to notice the street light and how it hits Vi's shoulders. There’s gold and it’s brazen. Yellow and serene. The rust draws you in, like marigolds with their natural beauty. Like her arms could conjure love from thin air and can light the sky on fire.
She begins regretting her decision, this one, which is so dumb Vi might get hurt when the cart bumps into her. There’s an ache blossoming inside Caitlyn’s chest with naivety. A numb sort of sadness lingering on her skin. A beat, then another.
Caitlyn realizes she’s terrified of falling—not on the rough pavement, not on jagged rocks—
But to the girl, rough around her ravishing edges, who is getting ready to bring the grocery cart’s momentum to a halt with her own hands.
“Vi, when’s the last time you spent the longest with someone?”
“I think it’s when I tattooed this customer who asked for a—Hey, I asked you a question first.”
“Oh, what’s your question again?”
“Do you think you’re buying all the things that look lonely or do you buy them because you were lonely?”
“Do I look like that to you?”
Vi's eyes narrow, feigning a sigh. “You look... like you have the power to hurt me.”
“You’re the one who uses iron near a human skin, Vi. I mean, obviously, you’re the only one here who has the power to hurt anyone.”
“Are you saying your flowers can never hurt anyone?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I mean even beautiful things can hurt sometimes, right?”
Vi shakes her head, lets out a sigh, and snickers. “You know maybe your things get sad ‘cause they’ve never gotten your full attention.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I noticed those things when I bought them and took them in.”
Caitlyn glares at Vi, evidently challenging her to refute that. Vi takes a deep breath.
“One glance, a second of your regard—Once isn’t enough when it’s you. If I was them, I would've wanted your attention all the time.”
“Can I fucking kiss your flowery mouth?”
“Won’t even charm my way out of this one, Cupcake.”
Caitlyn moves forward and presses her lips against Vi’s. She also moves away quickly like she’s been burned.
“A smack? Is that your best kiss? I thought you don’t half-ass anything, Cupcake?”
“I’ll do it better after you’ve marked my body.”
“Does that mean you want a tattoo, Cupcake?”
Caitlyn squeezes her eyes shut, her sides tightening as her body crashes against the hope that everything will be alright.
“Yeah. It means that.” Caitlyn leans down and lightly kisses Vi’s brow with the scar. Her lips curve a little. “By the way, Vi?”
“What is it?” Vi mumbles.
“I think you should get a name tag.”
“Sweet-talk me first, Cupcake, and I might."