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“Jamie Tartt, are you going to keep staring at that fit florist’s arse or are you going to listen to my really important recounting of my date?”
“I’m not staring at his arse!” Jamie said too quickly, whirling around from the window and throwing his hands up. Across the street, the fit florist was staring down an indignant passerby with a withering glare and crossed arms. Those beautiful, muscly arms covered in tattoos, a couple of which Jamie had contributed. Much like the shop plants Jamie tried taking care of, the passerby was wilting the longer he tried to argue with the florist. “I’m just… Making sure he doesn’t need any backup.” He didn’t make eye contact with Keeley as the petite blonde stared blankly.
“You think Roy Kent would need backup?” she asked in a perfect monotone. Jamie cleared his throat.
“I mean… Not… Really? Not usually? You never know, though,” he said innocently.
“You remember how he literally threw a man almost twice his size out of his shop for saying he didn’t know a daisy from a petunia, right?” Keeley asked, hopping up to sit on Jamie’s currently unused tattoo chair. Despite himself, Jamie grinned.
“Absolutely fucking brilliant, that was,” he said.
“Oh, fucking hot,” Keeley agreed without hesitation, “I almost asked him for a shag on the spot!” She turned to look at Jamie with a smirk just as he turned to look at her in affront. “But I had a feeling my best friend never would’ve forgiven me.”
“Fuckin’ wouldn’t have,” Jamie muttered, knowing full well all she would’ve had to do was apologize and give him the big pouty eyes.
Maybe. He really did have it bad for the grumpy bloke.
“Look alive, Jamie, seems he’s locking up and coming over,” Keeley said with a nod towards the window. Jamie followed her gaze and saw Roy looking both ways before he crossed the street, heading straight towards Jamie’s shop. Jamie brightened and hurried over to the floor-length mirror clients would use to check out their work, fussing with his hair and straightening his shirt, checking his jeans looked properly tight. Keeley giggled at him and slipped off the chair.
“You call me later to tell me all about your encounter with that sexy beast, and once we’ve finished squealing over what every detail could mean, I’ll tell you about my date with Rebecca,” she teased, snagging her purse. Jamie scoffed.
“I don’t squeal about every detail,” he huffed with a roll of his eyes. He definitely squealed about every detail. Thank god Keeley would indulge him. She smiled knowingly, kissed his cheek, and headed out the door just as Roy opened it.
“Keeley,” Roy greeted with a nod, stepping to the side politely and holding the door for her. She gave him a sweet smile and tossed her hair, long ponytail flipping elegantly over her shoulder.
“Roy,” she said. “Do us a favor and help this one learn a proper watering schedule for different plants, yeah?”
Roy glanced around at the greenery, much of which was turning to brownery, and cringed. “Jesus Christ…”
Keeley leaned in like she was telling him a secret. “Waters every single one of them on the same schedule—which is when he remembers.” She rolled her eyes. “No matter how much I tell him…”
“Jesus Christ,” Roy muttered again. “Not the worst I’ve fucking seen, at least.”
“Bye, Keeley,” Jamie called pointedly with a grin that was all teeth. She giggled, fluttered her fingers in a wave, and swept out the door, leaving the two alone. Jamie cleared his throat. “All good with the bloke you scared away?”
Roy smirked. “Thought he could tell me when to be available at my own fucking shop. Prick. I needed to come over here for a moment.”
“What brings you in, Roy?” Jamie asked, giving the florist his best friendly-but-flirty face. Roy’s lips quirked into something that was almost a smile.
“Heard your fucking plants screaming,” he said, but his eyes were a little soft around the edges. Jamie liked to think Roy was more relaxed around him than other people.
Regardless, he felt himself flush as he took in the state of his various plants. “I’m, uh… Not too good at remembering to water them,” he admitted. Roy hummed in agreement as he looked pointedly at a wilted (dead) philodendron micans. “I’ll just… Water ‘em now that I’m thinking about it…”
“Have to throw this one out and start all over,” Roy said bluntly with a nod to the philodendron. Jamie winced and curled his hands in the hem of his t-shirt.
“Whoops…”
It was awkwardly quiet for a moment, Jamie watching Roy out of the corner of his eye despite his embarrassment, and Roy standing there with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Roy glanced at Jamie before looking away and pretending to be interested in the dead philodendron.
“I could help you. If you wanted,” he offered. “Fucking… Expert, or whatever.”
Jamie watched as Roy closed his eyes and shook his head at himself, and suddenly had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from grinning like a loon. Maybe he was biased and hopeful, but that had the air of a man trying to flirt despite his veritable and well-known gruffness.
(Jamie had been taking lessons from Keeley about body language. She was great at reading people.)
“I think that’d be fucking great, actually,” Jamie grinned, and sat down on his stool and spread his arms out. “Aside from coming to rescue the shop plants, what brings you across the street?”
Roy took the out Jamie offered and slid off his jacket. Jamie thanked whatever deity watched over hopelessly crushing tattoo artists that Roy was wearing a black t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. The man’s arms were… Mmmm.
“Wanted to see if you had time for a consult in between appointments,” Roy said. “I’m thinking about turning my forearm into a full sleeve.” He lifted his right arm, where there was only a baby dragon holding an ice cream cone, done for his niece. It was one of two color pieces of Roy’s; the other was a negative-space style tattoo of a little boy and a little girl, blank outlines against a swirling galaxy for his sister (a brilliant surgeon who’d done an emergency appendectomy on Jamie’s mother). Jamie had proudly done both. Roy’s other tattoos had been done by other artists around England, all grayscale and photorealistic. Skulls, dangerous plants like foxglove and belladonna, geometric designs, the London skyline, white orchids—the man had an extensive collection, even more than Jamie, an actual tattoo artist. Odd that the fit man with so many tattoos and an angry reputation was a highly successful florist, of all things, but Roy Kent didn’t really give a shit about what was supposed to make sense for him. He did his own thing, opinions be damned.
Londoners seemed to enjoy the dichotomy, anyway. Ecstatic brides, grateful families in mourning, relieved partners who’d forgotten anniversaries, shy would-be boyfriends—Roy’s Google reviews were overwhelmingly positive, aside from the occasional bigot who was upset about a man being so good with flowers (Roy liked to respond to those with facts about highly poisonous plants—it usually got the point across).
“I’ve always got time for you,” Jamie said, perhaps a little too honestly. It made Roy smile, so he didn’t regret it.
“You say that now,” Roy said, “but wait until I’ve come over three times a day to make you water your fucking plants and move them out of direct sunlight.”
Three times a day? Jamie would fall to his knees in happiness (and maybe a touch of readiness). Keeley would never let him live it down.
“If you came over here to work that often, I’d have to give you a free tattoo,” Jamie said playfully as he grabbed sketch paper and a pen and rolled over to his desk. Roy followed and stood next to him a little closer than personal space usually allowed. “You got any ideas of what you want? A proper sleeve, or a collection of things and need help with the flow?”
Roy shook his head. “Coming over here isn’t work.” Jamie’s heart did something funny in his chest at that. Dumb thing. He started sketching just to distract his stupid little heart from the acrobatics. “I’ve got a couple ideas, yeah, but I thought I’d ask you if you wanted to think of anything. I scrolled through your Instagram last night—I like what you come up with for your clients when they give you free reign.”
Jamie was well aware Roy had gone through his professional Instagram. He had started gasping in excitement and shoving his phone in Keeley’s face when the notifications of “RoyKent6 liked your post!” started coming through. Keeley had lovingly teased him at first about his excitement, but the more notes came in, the more she had squealed with him.
“I figured that’s what those notifications meant,” Jamie teased as he pretended his heart wasn’t doing more funny things at Roy’s compliment. He paused as Roy gave a wry laugh and looked away, scratching the back of his neck.
“Yeah, I… Guess I got carried away. Sorry for blowing up your phone.”
Oh, no, that wasn’t what Jamie wanted at all! (He wanted to yell at Roy to blow him instead of blow up his phone, but that would probably be inappropriate. Keeley said so. Wise lady, that Keeley.)
“No, no, you didn’t!” Jamie said hastily. “Artists, we love that shit! I have more on my personal Instagram that I’ve drawn, if you—if you wanted to see any of that.”
Roy’s shoulders relaxed at Jamie’s assurance. “Sure, if you don’t mind giving me your personal account,” he said.
“Course not. You’re me mate across the street, yeah?” Jamie said much more confidently than he felt, claiming Roy’s friendship like that. Roy did that smile again where he looked away before returning his gaze, like he was almost shy to keep eye contact. Fuck, was it cute.
“Yeah, sure.” Roy pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and pulled up Instagram. “What is it?”
Only now did Jamie remember his personal account was under the childhood nickname his mum had given him and wanted to smack his face against a wall. “Oh, uh… Don’t take the piss, yeah?” he started awkwardly. “It’s, um. A nickname from me mum. When I was a kid.”
Roy glanced up from his phone screen with raised eyebrows and a small smile. “It can’t be any fucking stupider than what the fuck my sister insisted on calling me.”
Jamie really wanted that nugget of personal information. Normally, getting anything from Roy was like pulling teeth from a honey badger. “I’ll tell you mine, you tell me yours?” he suggested hopefully, grinning when Roy snorted.
“Fuck, why not.”
“Alright, well. Me personal handle’s JamTart9. Yeah, like the pastry. No spaces,” Jamie admitted, trying not to smile when Roy smirked.
“Definitely not as fucking stupid as mine,” Roy said. Jamie waited as Roy found his account and requested to follow it. “Done.”
Jamie went to accept the request and follow him back. “So, what’s your sister’s stupid nickname for you?” he asked, unwilling to let it slide.
Roy groaned. “You’ll want to take the piss about it. Don’t.” He waited for Jamie to nod, ignoring the impish smile, and sighed. “Royboy.”
Jamie laughed before he could stop himself. “Oh, come on, mate, that could be so much worse! No, I mean it, it’s cute!”
“Did you want your friends to hear a cute nickname when you were a kid?” Roy asked, arching an eyebrow. Jamie tilted his head.
“Well, no, suppose not. Mum never called me her jam tart in front of anyone.”
“That’s because she’s your mum and not your sister,” Roy sighed with the weary knowledge of experience. “Can’t tell you how many little pricks tried that at school. Oh, hell, what’re you drawing?”
Jamie snickered. “It’s nothing to do with childhood nicknames, I promise.”
“Then what the fuck is it?” Roy asked curiously, leaning forward to take a peek. Jamie leaned away, covering the sketch he’d been working on for the past couple minutes with his arm, like a little boy trying to protect his test from keen eyes. “Oi!”
Jamie couldn’t stop the giant grin as Roy grabbed his forearm and tugged insistently—that was the first time they’d actually breached personal space aside from Jamie being a professional tattoo artist, the first time Roy had actually touched him, and Roy was the one to initiate it, and it was just—playful and silly and flirtatious, and Roy was fucking grinning and it was like the sun came out of a category five hurricane.
Oh, Jamie was a fucking goner, seeing the way Roy’s face lit up and his eyes crinkled. His stupid little heart tripped over itself and fell flat on its face.
He finally relented and lifted his arm, trying to ignore the way he was giggling unmanfully because there was no way that was attractive. Thankfully, gloriously, Roy kept those warm, calloused fingers wrapped around his wrist as he peered at the rough sketch Jamie had created while staring at Roy’s arm.
“Holy shit, Jamie, are you doing that for my sleeve?” Roy asked hopefully. Jamie smiled shyly and shrugged.
“It’s just an idea, looking at your baby dragon and the galaxy sky,” he said, trying so hard to be offhanded about it, but scuffing the floor with his shoe. The way Roy stared at the quick outline of a jaguar in motion made Jamie’s heart flip and flop and miss a beat—maybe beat double-time, he wasn’t sure. Stupid little thing was going to give him clots if it kept this up. “I’d make it fit your arm, obviously. Not little like this. Um, maybe have something cosmic at the heart, make it look like it’s guarding the baby dragon.”
“Jamie.” Roy blinked. “Is the jaguar supposed to be me?”
Jamie tried so hard to keep his cheeks from turning red. Completely fucking futile, but at least he tried. Of course the black jaguar was Roy—did the man never look in a mirror? “I wasn’t going to say anything, but yeah,” Jamie mumbled. “Protecting your niece, you adore your sister. Symbology, and all that.”
“Symbolism,” Roy corrected absently, back to staring at the jaguar outline. Jamie fidgeted silently as Roy’s eyes swept studiously along, looking like he wanted to speak.
“What is it?” Jamie asked nervously.
“Is it… Stupid, or self-absorbed, or something, to have a tattoo representing yourself?” Roy tapped his fingers on Jamie’s desk restlessly. There was some vulnerability peeking out from behind Roy’s grumpy-ass exterior, but Jamie still made an affronted gasp.
“This is a tattoo finishing up your family piece!” he said indignantly. “Your sister on one forearm over those arteries, Phoebe on the other for those arteries, and you! It completes the—the—” He waved his hands around as if the word he was looking for would appear like a Harry Potter spell.
“The symbolism?” Roy looked unfairly hot when he was amused. Something about his smile and his eyes.
“No,” Jamie huffed on principle. “The…”
“Allegory?”
“No. That makes me think of an alligator named Greg.”
“The—what?”
“Oh, I actually have a client who loves alligators and crocs. I should message her about that, she’d—”
“Jamie.”
Jamie closed his mouth with a snap and pulled his sleeves over his knuckles, peering up at Roy. He didn’t look just amused—Jamie would have bet his entire shop on the fact Roy looked fucking fond. He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”
“You muppet,” Roy chuckled. “Yeah. The jaguar’s fucking cool. I want it.”
Want ME! Jamie’s stupid little heart shrieked insistently. Thank god he didn’t say that out loud. He had to bite his tongue to make sure he didn’t. Hearing Roy’s approval—saying it was cool! —had Jamie grinning from ear to ear.
“It’s yours, then,” Jamie beamed. Never mind he was also talking about his stupid little heart. “Let me see your arm?” He held his hands out expectantly. Roy lifted his right arm for Jamie to get a closer look, and look closer he did. He took Roy’s arm gently, tilting it this way and that, pretending he was being completely professional while enjoying the heat of Roy’s skin against his fingers.
“I’m thinking up here,” Jamie started, drawing his fingertips up the side of Roy’s bicep, definitely unprofessionally, “can be most of the jaguar's body, and up your shoulder,” he traced a path up the along the top of Roy’s scapula through his shirt, “can be the tail.” It didn’t escape his notice how Roy leaned into his touch, just a little.
“That’ll work,” Roy said, holding his arm still and not pulling away. Jamie pushed his luck and dragged his palms down Roy’s arm to the little dragon, surreptitiously observing the way his eyes darkened. Oh, hell yes. Jamie was so good at this flirting shit.
“Most people don’t have forearms like yours, so there’s not normally much else I can do,” Jamie said. Roy visibly tried to curb his smile and wasn’t quite successful.
“Forearms like mine?” he repeated. Jamie cleared his throat.
“Yeah, you know,” he said as casually as he could manage, “thick. You’ve got a lot of muscle.” Now, if only he could remain suave as fuck and not blush like he just did. Thick suddenly seemed like a scandalous word, obscene in the way his tongue had to go between his teeth to form the first sound, then slide back towards his throat to form the last.
“That a good thing?” Roy asked, voice pitched lower than usual. Jamie’s heart gasped and fanned itself. Jamie swallowed audibly.
“Yeah,” he said, and there was just a minor huskiness to his voice that made him clear his throat again. Roy observed him for a moment, that almost-smile with dark eyes, before turning his gaze back to his own arm.
“What’s that mean for the tattoo?”
“Um… The—it means I’ve got a little more area to work with. I can fit the front legs near the baby dragon, something like this,” Jamie forced himself to say like his heart wasn’t pumping away in his ribcage, and hurriedly made a couple motions that made sense only to him. Roy opened his mouth like he was going to say something, hesitated, and shut it again. It sent a little frisson of anxiety down the back of Jamie’s neck. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Roy shrugged.
“You were going to say something,” Jamie prodded. He needed Roy to say it; otherwise, he’d be up until four in the morning obsessing and worrying and speculating over what it could’ve been.
“Well… I just. I haven’t gotten any hip tattoos yet, so there’s plenty of area there.” Roy looked away like the abstract art on the wall was particularly fascinating, and Jamie watched a pink tinge flush along his cheekbones. His breath caught in his throat as he had to curl his toes to the point of cramping to not physically scream and tackle Roy off his feet.
His mouth opened to speak, and Jamie had no idea what was about to come out. Please do not let him embarrass himself. “All these tattoos, and you never had your hips done?” Oh thank god, that was almost a normal thing to say as a tattoo artist. Roy chuckled.
“No. I don’t really like most people touching me,” he said. Jamie noticed that important clause—most people, eh? He hummed like he agreed and smiled.
“Got to have an expert touch, right?” Oh. That was almost too much. It startled a laugh out of Roy, though, so it must’ve been okay.
“Something like that, yeah,” Roy said. Jamie reluctantly took his hands off Roy’s arm and leaned back on his stool.
“You came to the right place, anyway,” he said casually. Roy’s eyes flicked to Jamie’s hands and back to his face, holding his gaze.
“I’m aware.”
Jamie was about to fucking scream and look like a lunatic and ruin this whole smooth tattoo artist image he had going if Roy kept looking at him like that. He was cutting it close.
“Thanks, Jamie. I’ll let you work out the logistics and shading. How much you want for this one?” Roy asked, nodding his head towards the jaguar sketch.
Alright, back to business. Mostly. Jamie could handle that. He scoffed and waved a hand like he was waving off a smell. “If you’re going to be coming in here constantly and helping me save these plants, it’s a business trade,” he said. Roy hummed, considering, then held his hand out to shake on it. Jamie, cheering internally, took it immediately. He was holding Roy’s hand.
“It’s a deal, then,” Roy agreed. His hand didn’t exactly loosen around Jamie’s, but there was something in the way they were holding that changed into holding, Jamie looking up at Roy from his artist’s stool with a starry-eyed grin, Roy staring down with soft eyes and a corner of his lip curled into a half-smile.
Jamie’s stupid little heart almost passed out.
Roy finally seemed to realize what he was doing, because his eyes widened and he dropped Jamie’s hand as nonchalantly as he could manage, taking a step back. “I’d… Better get back over to my shop,” he said, hiking a thumb over his shoulder toward the wall and not remotely in the right direction. Jamie bit the corner of his lip and didn’t bother to hide his grin.
“Come back tomorrow so you can help me bring some life back into these plants,” he said, making sure to look up at Roy from under his lashes. Oh, yeah, busting out the big doe eyes. Those always worked, even before he was covered in tattoos. Watching Roy’s lips part and the way he blinked, Jamie was pretty confident he did it again.
“Yeah,” Roy agreed, sounding distracted, like he didn’t even know what he was agreeing to. Jamie smiled sweetly and waved as Roy turned and headed for the door.
He waited until the door was firmly shut and Roy was halfway across the street before he leapt off the stool and started jumping around and shouting.
+++
Keeley Jones was a godsend, truly. She listened attentively as Jamie recounted every painstaking detail of his interaction with Roy, gasping with wide, captivated eyes and squeaking in all the right spots—especially when Roy let Jamie hold his arm and the little comments—and when Jamie told her about the handshake that turned into something more like a handhold, she squealed out loud and flapped her hands about.
“Jamie!” she shrieked. “He fucking didn’t!”
“He did! I think!”
“Oh, don’t you dare backtrack now!” Keeley gasped, smacking him on the shoulder. “Did he or did he not do all those things you just told me he did?” She waited for Jamie’s nod. “Did he or did he not notice the big eyes when you looked up through your lashes the way I taught you?” Another pause for another nod. “Did you or did you not feel that electricity between the two of you!”
“I did!” Jamie burst out. “Fuckin’ hell, Keels, of course I did, just—he did too, right?”
“Sure fucking sounds like it. No one else sees the man smile so much,” Keeley said confidently. She sprang up from the couch and stared at Jamie, tapping a manicured finger against a perfectly glossed pout. “Question is… Whatcha gonna do about it, Jamie Tartt?” she asked mischievously.
Jamie blinked as those words processed, then made a very nervous, questioning noise, ducking his head. His caveman brain, trying to protect him, said, if you don’t move, she can’t see you! Beware the Keeley Rex!
“Oh, Jamie, that just won’t do,” Keeley warned.
“I knowww,” Jamie whined, flopping sideways on the couch. “I’ll… I’ll figure it out. Something. Somehow.”
Keeley heaved a long-suffering sigh, grabbed a fresh bottle of rosé from the wine rack, and sat back down next to him. “Alright, babes. It’s my turn, yeah? Let me tell you all about Rebecca!”
Jamie sat up immediately and turned his attention to Keeley. His best friend had been incredibly patient with him while bursting to talk about this lioness of a goddess of a woman (her words, not Jamie’s), so Jamie resolved to push all thoughts of Roy away to listen.
However, as Keeley excitedly told him about the dainty bouquet Rebecca had brought, a plan began to form in his mind.
+++
“Roy?” Jamie called the very next day, shutting the flower shop door behind him. He glanced around; Roy had a very specific organization system for his flowers, somehow managing type and color and their most likely occasion. The man was… Particular. Roy had the shop done in a more minimalist style with deeper tones, but it made the flowers stand out. Kind of impressive business tactic if Jamie thought about it.
“Jamie?” Roy answered from somewhere in the rooms behind the desk, sounding curious.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Jamie said and leaned against the counter in a way he hoped was super casual. He made sure to angle his hip out—not too much, mind, because that would look like he was trying too hard. Roy walked out from the off-limits part of his store, sweaty and dirty and looking like… Like…
Well, like Jamie’s wet dream in the flesh, especially as he ran a hand through his hair (with eyes sweeping over Jamie's lackadaisical stance appreciatively—perfect!). Jamie stared at the play of muscles in his arms. It must’ve been something to do with all the gardening and yardwork; Jamie worked out, and he knew he looked good, but something about Roy’s arms had effects on Jamie’s heart and his—
“Can I help you with anything?” Roy asked, interrupting Jamie’s train of thot—thought, he meant thought. Absolutely crashed it, to be honest, because coming in here with a plan and then executing said plan were two entirely different beasts. Jamie’s stupid little heart wasn’t sure if it wanted to wave a white flag or a flashy war banner and charge forward.
Jamie took a deep breath.
“Was just wondering when you planned on popping over to help rescue my plants,” he said lightly. Internally, he screamed in frustration and his stupid little heart sighed mournfully. Apparently, it’d chosen the white flag instead of the war banner. It still worked in Jamie’s favor, at least, as Roy smiled.
“Whenever works, really. I need to get a look at what you’ve actually got over there.”
“Well, you’re an expert, or whatever,” he said with a teasing smile, parroting Roy’s words from yesterday. Roy smiled and shook his head a little.
“Fucking right I am,” he muttered.
Alright, Jamie decided, take two. Maybe if he pretended Keeley was holding the door shut, all ferocious forty-nine kilograms of her, he’d be able to do it. “There’s something else I needed your help with, actually,” Jamie said, and cringed as he realized his voice was too loud. Roy looked at him oddly. He cleared his throat to get himself back to a normal volume. “I need… Help with flowers.”
Something in Roy seemed to deflate, even as the man didn’t move a muscle. “For Keeley?”
“What? No, mate—although, next time I have a personal crisis she says is easily averted and I call her at two in the morning, I might take you up on that.” Jamie glanced around at the flowers thoughtfully, trying to get a head start. With any luck, his new, fit florist boyfriend would be available to help. “She says personal fairy godmothers to help clean up your messes don’t come cheap.”
“She seems to be a lioness, that one,” Roy smirked. Jamie huffed a laugh.
“I think I’d rather face down the actual animal than her.” He gestured with a smile to the walls of flowers and the simple but well-made stands supporting more of them propped around the shop. “So! Flowers?”
“Well… What’s it for?” There was the barest edge of hesitation in Roy’s voice.
“There’s, you know… Someone. Um, a lad kind of someone.” Jamie felt his cheeks get a little pink to say it out loud. Roy stared at him with a mask-like expression for a moment before he turned his head away like he was staring at the myriad of flowers.
“What are you trying to say with them?” he finally asked, voice almost painfully calm as he took a few steps away. Jamie winced.
“Hope. Definitely hope,” he muttered. He watched Roy’s critical eyes scan his selection, even as anxiety body-slammed his own stupid heart as Roy’s brow furrowed into something much more disappointed than the customary anger.
“Snowdrops, then.” Roy grabbed a few sprigs, then paused. “How big do you want this?”
“Oh, I—I didn’t really think about that,” Jamie admitted, smiling in embarrassment. “Just a few things, I guess. So, hope, and definitely affection. Interested affection, like.”
“Marigolds,” Roy muttered. He didn’t turn around quickly enough for Jamie to miss the way his face fell. Jamie blinked a couple times.
“I swear Keeley told me those mean jealousy and despair and to never, ever get her one. She hates how they look, too,” he said. Roy grunted.
“Yeah, they mean affection, too. Fucking stupid.”
Jamie was relatively sure he was missing something. He swallowed and nudged the conversation along. “That’s weird, innit? The same flower having two completely opposite meanings? I don’t want that one, the meaning could be skewed.”
“This arseho—uh, bloke know what fucking flowers mean?” Roy finally turned to him again, but it was just to give him a skeptically raised eyebrow. He paused at Jamie’s shy smile.
“He’s pretty well-versed, yeah,” Jamie said quietly. “He’ll definitely know what I mean. Which is kind of…” He trailed off with a shrug. Roy watched him curiously for a moment longer before remembering himself and abruptly turning away. He fidgeted with the snowdrops, hesitating, before speaking again.
“Don’t fucking sell yourself short. He’s lucky. Be confident,” Roy said. Jamie perked up considerably and opened his mouth, but Roy hurried on before he could say anything. “There’s obviously fucking roses—”
“Fuck the roses,” Jamie interrupted. Roy paused.
“No roses?”
“Nah. I had something else in mind.” Jamie looked down to see his fingers curling in his sleeves again. He’d done a little research. “Orchids can symbolize love too, right?” He watched Roy, biting his lip as the man seemed to become still.
“They do.”
“You like orchids, right?” Jamie asked. He knew Roy did. They’d talked about the white orchids he’d gotten on his ribs.
“…yes.”
“Alright then, I need red orchids,” Jamie said decisively. Roy told him to be confident, and his stupid little heart had picked up its flashy war banner again.
Roy said nothing as he carefully cut three flowering stems.
“What’s to say I really, really mean it?” Jamie swallowed.
“You want sincerity. The… Zephyr lilies are nice.” Roy gestured halfheartedly to a bunch of flowers with six pointed petals each resting in a floor bucket.
“That sounds perfect. They look perfect. I think that’ll do, yeah? Nothing… Too flashy, like. He’s not really a flashy kind of person, you know? Even though he’s fucking fit.” Jamie realized he was getting close to rambling and trailed off with an awkward chuckle. Keeley would be incredulously rolling her eyes at him right now. Not everyone could be as smooth as she was, damn it!
Roy stood there quietly, looking at Jamie with an expression he couldn’t decipher, before walking behind the counter and beginning to fix the flowers together with practiced ease. He reached under the top and pulled out a length of deep red ribbon, flicking his eyes back and forth between it and the bouquet before slicing the length he wanted. Everything was wrapped together so quickly Jamie couldn’t follow the deft movements of his hands.
“Here,” Roy said gruffly, thrusting the bouquet at him. Jamie froze.
What was the next step in the plan?!
Was he supposed to tell Roy they were for him and walk out (like a coward)? Should he try on a confident grin and say he hoped Roy liked his bouquet (like an arrogant douchebag)? Would it be weird if he called Keeley right now and asked what the hell to do (yes it would)? What would Keeley do (WWKD, a most fitting life motto)?
“Uh,” Jamie said intelligently. He and Roy stared at each other, Roy in growing confusion and Jamie in growing panic. Roy lightly shook the bouquet at him.
“…here?” Roy repeated, the end inflection going up like his eyebrows to turn it into a question. Jamie took the flowers with a limb that felt like it was wood. He held it to his chest.
Then handed it back over to Roy. “Here.”
Roy’s body automatically took it as his brain made a noise equivalent of an old car losing power.
They stared at each other in silence for the longest, most awkward six seconds of their lives before Roy’s brain came back online. His eyes widened in realization.
“Oh!”
Jamie watched in adoring fascination as fit florist Roy Kent turned pink. “You—you fucking—you little shit, are they for—? I thought it was some other fucker you—”
“Maybe I should’ve had you put in a few extra pieces of that hope plant to get the point across of just how much hope I needed, yeah?” Jamie broke in nervously, giving Roy a panicky grin that caused him physical pain to form. Roy made an inarticulate noise, leaned over the counter, grabbed Jamie by the back of the neck, and reeled him in for a kiss.
Jamie’s stupid little heart let out a triumphant shriek and exploded.
It was a good kiss. It was a fucking good kiss, feeling Roy’s lips moving against his slowly, almost careful, even as Jamie got with the program and reached up to cup his hands at Roy’s jaw. His beard was a little scratchy and his skin was soft, and Jamie made an embarrassingly eager whimper as he threaded his fingers in Roy’s hair. He felt Roy laugh before pulling away slightly, just to look at him in the fondest exasperation Jamie had ever seen.
“You didn’t need any hope, you muppet, I’ve been fucking mooning after you since the second session for my galaxy tattoo,” Roy admitted as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, like Jamie had no reason to spend hours agonizing with Keeley over every detail of every encounter like a lunatic.
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you headbutted a man unconscious for knocking your beer out of your hand,” Jamie said breathlessly. Roy made a face.
“Ah, you saw that…”
“Of course I fucking saw it. I watch you out the window all the time. It was so hot. That bloke was fucking rude,” Jamie insisted. He let go of Roy just long enough to climb over the counter, then yanked him into another kiss.
+++
One year later, Roy asked Jamie to tattoo red orchids just above his left collarbone. Almost immediately afterward, they started planning what date to get around their left ring fingers.