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Steve is allergic to everything. Dust, hay, dander, pollen, bees, penicillin, most antibiotics, peanut butter, a lactose intolerance – the list goes on. Steve’s ma has a comprehensive list framed in their family home; it’s a big frame and it never ceases to make Sarah Rogers laugh whenever a guest asks about it.
At 25, Steve mostly has his allergies under control. Allergy shots help for the most annoying allergens, and he has lactase pills for when he really just wants some damn ice cream not made from soybeans. All in all, he gets by without issue. Unfortunately, the inability to take penicillin and antibiotics at a pivotal point in his life (read: puberty) caused him to have stunted growth.
So, yeah, he’s a 5-foot-three, 100-pound, 25-year-old asthmatic with severe allergies. It’s a wonder he can’t get a date. He does, however, have a job as a comic artist and he’s successful enough to own his own place in the city.
Okay, he rents the place.
And it’s right above a flower shop.
It’s gotta be some kind of cosmic joke that the guy most likely to be allergic to air gets stuck over a damn flower shop, but it was just under his price range and frankly, he’s willing to put up with a bit of sneezing if it means some independence from his (good-intentioned, well-meaning) overbearing mother.
And honestly he hasn’t had any more issues than normal with his allergies since moving above the shop. After all, it’s not like the owners are pumping the pollen straight into the air ducts of his apartment.
When the sneezing starts, Steve chalks it up to the weather; he’s always miserable at the turn of the season, especially spring. And now, at the end of April, it’s not surprising that he wakes up unable to breathe through his nose with watery eyes and a pounding sinus headache.
Except that his usual meds aren’t working. They always work. This is something else and as Steve passes by the front of the flower shop, heading toward the wooden stairs in the alleyway that lead up to his apartment, he sees the sign. It reads: New Seasonal Assortments! in bright, red letters.
He stops in front of the sign and frowns. The front of the store is so overcrowded with plants that it’s near impossible to see inside the shop even though the doors are wide open.
“Can I help you find something?”
Steve looks around for a voice and finally spots the man who spoke. He must be Steve’s age only he’s different in every way imaginable: tall, fit, has long, dark hair that’s pulled back from his face. He’s wearing a dark green apron that’s streaked with dirt. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows showing off a tattoo sleeve that’s impossible to make out from this distance. In his right hand is a watering can and he motions it toward the inside of the store. “Most of our good stuff is inside,” the man says.
“Oh,” Steve says because how has this guy worked below him all these months and never once shown himself to Steve?
The man smiles a little. “Girlfriend?” he asks.
Steve’s mouth drops open because he’s sure this guy can’t be asking him because he’s interested, right?
“I find they usually like roses,” the man continues.
Oh. Right. He sells flowers. He’s doing his job and Steve is taking up his time.
Steve waves his hand. “No. No, sorry. I was just looking.”
The man’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, all right. Let me know if you need anything.” And with that, he disappears into the shop.
The next day Steve (beautifully, miraculously) doesn’t have any work to do, so he gives himself a different job: find out why the hell he can’t breathe every morning. He’s certain it has to do with the new shipment of flowers the folks downstairs got in, but is it all of them? One of them? There’s really only one way to find out.
Luckily for Steve, his reaction to unusually potent flowers is immediate. If he can find the culprit, he’ll know for sure which flower is giving him problems. Then, of course, he has to try and convince his downstairs neighbors to stop selling it, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.
This time Steve walks into the shop with a purpose. His gumption quickly runs out, though, when he takes in just how many different kinds of flowers can fill such a tiny space. Every colorful plant he’s seen, and even more he hasn’t, line the walls and shelves of the shop. It’s a beautiful, colorful disarray of flowers. It looks like absolute, total chaos. And yet there must be a method to the madness because the man Steve saw before is rushing about the shop helping an elderly woman make a very specific bouquet.
“No, no, not the violet. The lavender ones. Yes, those.” The shopkeep pulls down two flowers Steve’s sure must be plastic to be that vibrant and sticks them in the bouquet in the glass vase on the counter. He stands back to admire his handywork and the woman nods appreciatively. “Yes, that should do it.”
“Marjorie, no one appreciates your eye for flower arrangements,” the man comments with his hands on his hips.
“Well, that’s probably true. But Joe at least pretends to be impressed.”
The man laughs and it’s so stunningly attractive, Steve can feel his cheeks warm just listening to it. Okay, hold it together, Steve. You’re here for a reason.
The woman pays for her flowers and leaves. There are few other shoppers who, like Steve, seem transfixed by the sheer variety the store offers.
“You’re back.”
Steve nearly jumps out of his skin before he turns to face the grinning shopkeep. He frowns deeply at the man whose grin only gets wider at the look of annoyance on Steve’s face.
“Do you make a point of scaring all your customers,” Steve spots the nametag pinned to his apron, “James?”
James frowns. “Only my mom calls me James,” he says.
“Oh, did your mom make your nametag, then?” Steve teases.
James glances down at the nametag. “Yeah, she did.”
“Oh.”
“She owns the place. I’m just working here for the summer before classes start back up again.”
“Oh.”
“You say that a lot,” James points out with a smile. “So, can I help you or what?”
Steve clears his throat. “Yeah, actually.”
“You get a girlfriend since the last time I saw ya?” he teases as he makes his way behind the counter to pull out an order sheet.
“What? No. I mean…”
James raises his hand. “I’m kidding, pal. What can I do for you?”
He looks at Steve expectantly with (astonishing, bright) blue eyes and it occurs to Steve that he can hardly ask “one of everything” without bankrupting himself. He could spend all day walking around the store smelling every single flower, but this guy clearly already thinks Steve’s a bit off his rocker, and Steve’s really trying to keep the last semblance of his dignity.
“Um. I’m not sure. Something… for my mom,” Steve says.
“All right,” James says. He leans forward on the counter and clicks the pen in his hand a few times. “What does your mom like?”
“Um. Something… unique? And if all the flowers were different, that would be awesome.”
James scribbles something on the paper and stands up straight. He eyes the arrangements along the wall slowly. “Okay, hold tight. I think I’ve got it.” He scurries off. In a matter of minutes he’s returned with an armful of flowers. He wraps them in newspaper and pulls at a few to make them stand up farther than the others. The finished product is nothing short of magnificent. It’s an arrangement of stunning blues, purples, greens, and yellows.
“This okay?” James asks.
“Holy shit.” Steve takes the proffered bouquet with wide eyes.
James laughs. “Yeah, you get good when you’ve been working here since you were 10. You should see my mom’s place. It’s like a Good Housekeeping cover.”
“I bet,” Steve mutters.
James jots down a few more things on the order sheet before typing away at the cash register. The total is nothing to scoff at, but Steve reasons that it’s worth spending this much if it’s for his health. Regardless, he’s certainly not spending as much at the upcoming comic convention in May as he had originally planned.
“Well, thanks, not-James,” Steve says when he’s handed the receipt.
James laughs. “Bucky,” he says and holds out his hand.
Steve takes it with a smile. “Steve.”
“I’ll see ya later, Steve,” Bucky says.
On the one hand, Steve is unsurprised but annoyed that none of the flowers in the bouquet cause him discomfort. On the other hand, it gives him good reason to see Bucky again. Even if it is going to cost him more money than any one person should spend on something that’s going to die in a matter of weeks.
Steve returns to the shop the next day. Bucky isn’t there when Steve first arrives and he’s deep into a conversation with who can only be Bucky’s mother about what kind of flowers were in the last bouquet that cannot be in this new bouquet when Bucky appears from the back door. He catches Steve’s eye immediately and must see the HELP plastered on his face because Bucky touches his mother’s arm and politely says, “I can take care of this, Ma. You go help someone else.”
Once she leaves, Bucky’s easy smile falls. “Something wrong with the last bouquet?” he asks. “We do have a money-back guarantee-.”
“No, it’s not that,” Steve says quickly. “It’s, um, my mom. She liked it so much she wanted another one. Y’know, to match? Except. Not match. Because she wants them all to be different again.”
Bucky gives Steve a blank stare and Steve’s sure he’s about to be called out, but then Bucky is pulling another order sheet from under the counter and marking off different boxes on the sheet. “Give me a minute,” he says and once again disappears to collect flowers.
The new bouquet is somehow better than the first. It’s far brighter, sporting oranges and reds and yellows – like a sunset in its complexity of colors. It almost makes Steve want to tell Bucky to pause so he can run upstairs and grab his sketchbook, but he refrains if only because he’s walking on thin ice with this guy and his ability to withstand Steve’s quirky need for “unique” bouquets.
“Wow,” Steve says as he takes the flowers.
“Hopefully this one’ll please your mom, huh?”
“Yeah, I think it will.”
Bucky rings him up and Steve considers asking for a third bouquet, but figures he’s already pushing the limit as it is.
“Thanks,” Steve says. “Again.”
Bucky smiles and Steve can feel himself blushing self-consciously behind the flowers that are half his size. “You’re welcome again,” Bucky says.
Steve isn’t allergic to any of the flowers Bucky has given him. (That Steve bought from Bucky, he corrects himself. Bucky didn’t give him flowers, in spite of what his imagination clearly wants.)
That means Steve isn’t allergic to 48 different kind of flowers. That’d be almost heartening if it didn’t mean he still has to pay a buttload of money to figure out which flower he is allergic to. And he’s getting desperate. His allergies are starting to affect his work and he’s now elected to taking his laptop and tablet to the local Starbucks to get anything done.
A few days pass and Steve figures it’s been long enough to get another bouquet. And this time he’s armed with an excuse other than “my mom wants another bouquet.”
“Your ma want another bouquet?” Bucky asks. He’s sitting behind the counter with his feet propped up on the edge of the counter. He rocks back dangerously on two of the stool’s legs before crashing back down again.
“Uh, no. No. My friend. She saw the ones at my mom’s and now she wants one. She lives in Queens so I told her I’d pick one up for her.”
Something like mirth dances behind Bucky’s eyes and Steve’s sure the guy knows he’s lying, but then he’s pulling another order sheet out and marking something down. “So there’s no reason I can’t repeat some of those flowers I used in the last two, then, right?” Bucky asks as his finger trails down the paper.
Oh shit. Steve hadn’t thought of that. Logically, there’s no reason the new bouquet couldn’t have some of the same flowers from the last two, but then Steve’ll be paying for flowers he knows he’s not allergic to. He almost loses his nerve and tells Bucky the truth, but then Bucky says: “But where’s the fun in that? I’ve been having fun trying to figure out new bouquets not using any of the same flowers, y’know?”
“Oh,” Steve says and the relief is palpable.
Bucky gives Steve a look and then smiles. “I’ll be back.”
Again, Steve is amazed at the proficiency with which Bucky creates what can only be described as art. Coming from an artist, that’s gotta mean something, right?
“Never fails to amaze me,” Steve mutters and he’s almost sure Bucky doesn’t hear him except he’s trying and failing to hide a smile. Steve blushes and Bucky pretends not to notice. “It’s slow today,” Steve notes awkwardly, although it’s true. There’s not a single other customer.
“Yeah, it happens. Less often than I wish it did. It’s the only time I get some peace and quiet.”
“Right. Well, I should get going, then,” Steve says, motioning toward the door.
“Oh, I didn’t mean you,” Bucky says quickly and this time it’s his turn to blush. “That was… so lame. Anyway.”
Steve laughs and shakes his head. “It wasn’t. I’ll, um, see you later.”
“Yeah, see you.”
Steve’s halfway up the stairs to his apartment when he hears his name being called. He turns and sees Bucky looking bewildered at the end of the alleyway. He looks both ways down the street without spotting Steve before putting his hands on his hips.
“Bucky!” Steve calls and Bucky finally turns toward the alley. His eyes go wide as they meet each other in the middle, Steve standing on the first step so he’s the same height as Bucky.
“Wait, you live above the shop?” Bucky asks, incredulous.
“Uh, yeah?”
“Why the hell didn’t you say something?!”
“Why would I?”
“I… Well, I don’t know. My mom loves you, by the way. Her last above-door neighbors were a couple of fratboys who blasted dubstep in the middle of the day. She mentioned her new neighbor was blessedly quiet.”
Steve laughs. “Yeah, that’s me. Don’t think I have the temperament for dubstep. Anyway, did you need something?”
“Oh. You just forgot your receipt.” Bucky hands the little slip of paper to Steve.
“Thanks,” Steve says.
There’s a moment when Steve thinks Bucky’s about to say something else, but then he shakes his head slightly and smiles. “Well, I should get back to work.”
“Yeah, me too,” Steve says and they part ways.
Steve is running out of viable excuses for his need for more bouquets. Bucky, at least, doesn’t seem annoyed by the demands. He’s started to keep the order sheets so he can be sure not to repeat flowers, although it’s almost scary how good his memory is even without the order sheets to go by. Three weeks and 16 bouquets later, Steve feels like he isn’t any closer to discovering which flower is causing him such pain.
Somewhere around the eighth bouquet, Bucky stopped asking who the flowers were for and Steve isn’t forthcoming. Steve realizes now that he should’ve started this whole ordeal very differently. Namely, with the truth. But he loves the way Bucky seems to brighten when he sees Steve walk through the door and how excited he gets to make another bouquet, each one more challenging than the last.
The day comes, of course, when Bucky has checked off almost every single flower on the order sheet and Steve is left with the rest: ten mismatched flowers that, arranged by Bucky, still look like they belong in the hands of a model in a bridal photoshoot.
“Well, that’s every flower,” Bucky says with a sigh. After he hands Steve his receipt, he asks, “So what happens Monday? We gonna start all over again?”
Steve can hear the hidden question: Are you coming back?
“Yeah. I mean, no. I don’t-.”
“We’re supposed to get a new shipment in tomorrow,” Bucky cuts in hopefully. “I didn’t check to see if there was anything new, but I can let you know if you want. Our flowers are lasting a lot longer since we started using this new fertilizer-.”
“New fertilizer?” Steve asks quickly.
Bucky pauses. “Yeah?”
“How long ago did you start using it?”
“About… a month?”
“Could I see some?”
“You want to… see the fertilizer?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Steve replies innocently.
Bucky gives him a skeptical look, but he retreats to the back of the store anyway. He returns with a small bag. He puts it on the counter in front of Steve. Steve bends over and sniffs it. It smells like any other fertilizer he’s ever smelled except this one causes him to start sneezing once, twice, three times.
Bucky snatches the bag off the counter. “Oh shit. Are you okay?”
Steve coughs a few times and nods. “Finally,” he says. “Jesus Christ, finally.”
“What the hell…? Finally?”
Steve runs a hand down his face and lets out a laugh. It’s the fertilizer. Steve spent hundreds of dollars on flowers to only find out he’s allergic to the goddamn fertilizer.
“I sort of…” Steve pauses and wonders if the truth is really the way to go. But what does he have to lose? Bucky clearly already thinks he’s a bona fide nutjob. “My allergies have been really bad lately?” Steve explains slowly. “And I figured it had something to do with the new assortment of flowers you guys got in so I… Well, I had to figure out what flower I was allergic to?”
“Holy fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“Holy fuck, you bought all those flowers trying to find out which one you were allergic to?” Bucky asks, eyes comically wide, mouth agape.
Steve nods sheepishly and rubs his eyes. “Only to find out it was the… the fertilizer. Jesus Christ.”
“Holy fuck,” Bucky says again and when Steve looks back at him, he can see his incredulity is slowly turning into mirth.
“Don’t laugh,” Steve says miserably. “I really thought… I don’t know what I thought. I just thought it’d be… less awkward if I just…”
“Bought every single flower in the shop?” Bucky finishes, now sporting a full-faced grin.
“Jesus, okay, I’m crazy. I get it. I’m fucking… Yeah. Just.” Steve waves a hand in front of himself vaguely. “Forget it.”
And Bucky loses it. He bursts into loud, belly-aching peals of laughter that has what few customers are still milling about heading for the door. Steve frowns deeply, but that only seems to make Bucky laugh harder until even Steve is trying his hardest not to laugh because it is funny.
After a good few minutes pass, Bucky wipes away the tears from his eyes and he leans heavily against the counter between them. He lets out a long, shaky breath and looks up at Steve from beneath dark eyelashes. “Okay, since we’re being honest? I just thought you were getting up the nerve to ask me out so that explanation? Yeah, that’s fucking golden.”
“You–? What?”
Bucky shrugs one shoulder and looks down, but Steve can see the way the tops of his ears turn pink. “What other reason would a guy have for buying out every single goddamn flower in the shop? I mean, you kept coming back! Kinda feel like an idiot.” Bucky rubs the back of his neck and smiles in a self-deprecating manner.
“You literally just found out that I’d rather spend hundreds on flowers than ask for help and you feel like an idiot?” Steve asks with a smile.
Bucky laughs lightly at that. “That’s fair.” There’s a pause and Bucky clears his throat. “Well, I’ll ask Ma to stop buying that fertilizer for you. No problem.”
“Really? Thank you so much,” Steve says.
Bucky nods with a smile. “Sure.”
“Well.”
“Well.”
“Guess this means I don’t have any reason to come down here anymore,” Steve says, taking another long look around the store.
Bucky stands up straight and frowns. “Oh,” he says.
“That is, unless you’d like to go get a coffee sometime?” Steve asks.
The smile Bucky gives Steve lights up the whole damn room. “Really?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow too soon?”
“How about tonight? I get off at 7,” Bucky counters.
Steve laughs. “Even better.”
“Okay!” Bucky replies and it’s beyond adorable just how excited he clearly is.
Steve takes a couple steps back and smiles. “Okay. See you tonight.”
Bucky is just locking the front door of the store when Steve rounds the corner from the alleyway. He grins when he sees Bucky and Bucky raises a hand in greeting.
“I got you something,” Bucky says and reveals a flower he’d been hiding behind his back.
Steve takes it with a smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
Bucky shrugs and starts walking. Steve falls into step beside him. “We have to toss the wilting flowers at the end of the day anyway and Ma’s real particular about the definition of ‘wilting’.”
That must be true because the red lily-like flower in Steve’s hand doesn’t look anywhere near death.
Suddenly, Steve stops and Bucky turns to look at him. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“Are you telling me,” Steve asks slowly, “that had I just asked you on that first day, I could’ve saved hundreds of dollars trying to figure out what damn flower was trying to kill me?”
Bucky laughs. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Steve starts walking again, shaking his head. “God, I’m such an idiot,” he mumbles.
Bucky throws his arm around Steve’s shoulder. He’s so warm and his smell is heady – a mix of dirt and the barest hint of cologne and soap.
“Yeah, well,” Bucky says, “you’re in good company.”
They walk like that, pressed close and chatting about anything and everything until their feet grow tired and their appetites too big.
The date is nice. Better than nice. Steve doesn’t have much to compare it to, but it certainly ranks at the top of his list. Bucky is easy to talk to, easy to laugh with and only 30 minutes in and they’re already heckling each other about everything from Steve’s job (“Drawing comics takes talent, Buck. I have a degree.” “A degree in art,” Bucky replies with a smirk.) to Bucky’s hair (“Did you hit your head and forget it’s 2015? Pathological fear of scissors?” “I’ll have you know the man bun is all the rage nowadays. There are entire Instagram accounts dedicated to them.”).
Later, Bucky asks to see some of Steve’s work and Steve accidentally lets slip that really, he likes Bucky’s hair. By the time they’ve finally run out of things to talk about, they’ve taken up a table at the small family-run restaurant for over 3 hours; they tip their waitress well.
Bucky walks Steve back to his apartment and they stop at the bottom of the stairs.
“So,” Bucky says, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking at the ground. The streets are oddly quiet, but they did stay out late. Steve hasn’t checked his phone, but it must be close to midnight.
“You were so self-assured five minutes ago,” Steve says with a smirk. “Now suddenly you’re Mr. Bashful?”
Bucky looks back at Steve with a matching smile before he leans in and kisses him. It takes Steve by surprise, but then he’s melting into the kiss. He feels boneless, like if Bucky’s hand moves from where its cupping his jaw, he’ll just collapse into a heap on the ground. But when Bucky does pull away, his legs hold him up. Bucky laughs at what must be the dopiest look on Steve’s face.
“I’m hoping that look means I get another date,” Bucky says.
Steve shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess.”
Bucky rolls his eyes, but he smiles back. “Is tomorrow too eager?”
Steve pretends to think about it. “Nah. Tomorrow’s perfect.”
“Same time?”
“Sure.”
“Good night, Steve.”
“Night, Bucky.”
The next date is even better than their first somehow and the next is even more fun. And Bucky never lets Steve forget just how weird their meet-cute was – a guy too scared to ask for help he basically buys out an entire flower shop to discover what’s making his allergies act up.
Because before every date, Bucky gives Steve just one flower – a different flower for every single date.