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The sun is coating flower petals in a golden shine when the regular walks in. His blond hair nearly matches the sunflowers that decorate the entrance—a deliberate choice made by a certain florist—and he admires the flowers on display as he always does before walking up to the counter at the back of the store. There, a short brunet by the name of George works diligently to prepare an arrangement for an order. The regular leaves him to finish up, observing the way his delicate fingers graze the petals of a pink dahlia.
Right after he sinks the last flower into a block of floral foam, he looks up at the blond with a smile.
“Same as always, Dream?” he asks, accent curling around the words as if they’re something precious. The man, Dream, nods.
“I only ask that you include a pink flower in it. After seeing you holding the one from the other arrangement, I can confidently say pink is your color. It makes the faint blush on your cheeks stand out more,” he notes, his smile unknowingly growing fond as he speaks of the florist.
“You can’t just say those sorts of things so easily,” George mutters, rolling his eyes, “but fine, I’ll honor your request.” He moves out from behind the counter and turns to the back storage room. When he comes out, he’s carrying bundles of white and pink flowers. Dream knows none of the names, but George sometimes explains them to him as he puts the bouquet together. Even if he doesn’t, he always makes a little card that lists out the flower names. Dream has always admired his extensive knowledge of the floral universe.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to ask, who are all these bouquets for? I mean, you basically come every day, so you must be giving them to someone , right?” he asks. His eyes are dilated with curiosity, almost like he’s expecting a certain answer.
“Well, to be honest, I keep them all to myself. They’re decorating every inch of space in my apartment!” he answers, laughing. George’s eyes widen for a brief moment before he looks back down at his work, letting out a small hum.
He picks up a white flower and twirls it between his fingers. The petals blend with one another, and it mesmerizes Dream. George’s voice brings his attention away from the flower.
“This one is a camellia. It comes in other colors too, like red and pink. I personally like the white ones the best, though,” he explains, smiling. After spending so much time in this little shop, Dream has noticed many things. One of which is the way George seems to glow when he speaks about flowers. It doesn’t happen very often, but from time to time he goes on little tangents, explaining everything from where they originated from to how to best take care of them. The sound of his voice entrances Dream every time.
George picks up one of the pink flowers now, snipping off part of the stem. It looks somewhat similar to the camellia.
“Now this one is a peony. It’s typically given at weddings since it means love and prosperity. We just got this one in a shipment an hour ago, so you’re the first person to receive it.” His face is flushed as he speaks and Dream can’t understand why. He would say it’s because of the heat, but the inside of the shop is quite cool. Either way, he thinks the brunet looks pretty.
George finishes the bouquet soon after, tying it with a pale pink ribbon. He quickly writes down the names on a card as always and walks around the counter. He hands them to Dream, attempting to look up at him, but his eyes keep shifting so he’s unable to hold proper eye contact.
“Thanks as always George, these will look nice on my windowsill,” he said, thumbing a petal with a tender touch. He heads for the door to leave, George sending him a tiny wave before the bell above the door chimes, and Dream walks off down the sidewalk.
Almost as soon as Dream leaves, George’s co-worker and best friend, Karl, approaches from the storage room.
“I finished organizing the orchids…” he trails off once he gets a glimpse of George’s flushed face, “he came again, didn’t he?” George only nods, still recovering from the bright smile the blond sent his way.
“Well, has he figured it out yet?” he asks, grabbing George’s arm and clinging onto him. George sighs.
“No! And today I literally told him the meanings of the flowers! Specifically, the love meanings. How much more obvious do I need to be?” He groans, exasperated. Karl smacks his forehead and the sound nearly makes George jump.
“I honestly don’t get why you have a crush on an idiot like him. I mean, come on, you're like- gorgeous! You could get any guy you wanted. You could even pull me,” he giggles. The comment earns him a light smack on his arm from George.
“You know what I don't get? Why I’m friends with you!” he glares before bursting into laughter. This time, Karl is the one to smack him. “Either way, Karl, you wouldn't understand. He’s like… the sun reincarnated!”
“Aw, then does that make you a little flower who wants some attention from the oh-so-handsome sun?”
“Shut up before I whack you with a flower pot.”
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The next day, Dream shows up to ask for the same order as always. He enters with the same bright smile as always, excitement and admiration flowing off him in constant waves. He thinks he could come to this shop forever and never get bored.
But, what he sees when he locks eyes on the counter nearly makes his smile falter for reasons he doesn’t quite understand.
George is there like he normally is, except this time he’s accompanied by a guy with light brunet hair. George seems to be laughing at something that person said, cheeks glowing with a wide smile on his face. Dream thinks his laugh sounds beautiful.
He begins to walk up to the counter but is once again stopped in his tracks. The other employee reaches out as George's giggles die down, and he gently brushes a strand of hair out of George’s face. Dream watches as they hold eye contact for a few seconds longer than what he considers normal. George rolls his eyes, and it’s nothing but lightheartedness, while the other steps back and gestures to a door behind them. George waves him off, then turns to face Dream. His eyes widen when he sees the blond.
“Dream! Hi! I didn’t realize you were here. I’m sorry,” he greets, slightly frantic. He turns around at the speed of light to grab a square of white wrapping.
“Who was that?” is all Dream asks, and he hates how his voice rises. George looks at him, head tilted in a way that makes him look like a cat.
“That was Karl, he’s my co-worker and also my friend. We met about a year ago when he first started working here,” he explains, pulling out a long piece of ribbon and laying it out nicely. Dream only nods, words not forming. Some part of him wishes George and Karl never met. He knows it’s unfair, but he also knows something ugly twisted in his gut when he saw such a tender gesture.
The feeling fades as they delve into other conversations, though, George putting extra care into explaining all the details of the flowers he selected. At one point, he even walks around the counter with a tulip, letting Dream hold it. Their fingers brush, and even though it’s only for a brief moment, a thousand thoughts flash through Dream’s mind.
Eventually, they fall into a comfortable silence. Dream observes George’s hands once more and suddenly feels jealous of the flower he’s holding as if it were made of glass. He wonders how pale hands would feel caressing his own with the gentle touch George seems to reserve for soft petals.
He’s pulled out of his daze when Karl comes dashing out from the back door, a smile on his face. He makes eye contact with Dream as he’s running, and when he arrives right behind George, he wraps his arms around his waist. It catches both George and Dream off guard; the brunet jumping and Dream almost taking a step back. The blond has far too many questions racing through his mind, but he knows now is not the time to ask.
Dream decides he should leave now, so he turns around, prepared to dart out the door. But before he can take another step, he hears a sweet voice call out to him.
“Bye, Dream! I… hope you like the flowers,” George blurts. Dream smiles, unable to help himself, but from the corner of his eye, he spots Karl. He notices the way he tightens his grip ever-so-slightly on George’s waist, the way his gaze seems to harden. It’s subtle, the shift, but Dream has always been fairly perceptive. He sends Karl a halfhearted smile, a last effort to get him to lighten up, before exiting the shop.
The moment he’s gone, George wiggles out of Karl’s arms, whipping his head around.
“Karl, what was that about? I mean, I get you’re touchy, but what if Dream gets the wrong idea?” He says, irritation creeping into each syllable. Karl opens his mouth like he’s about to speak, but instead closes it. He sighs and settles for a different response.
“I only did it to help you. Trust me on this, okay?” George nods, and Karl pats him lightly on the shoulder. It’s at this moment that Karl can come to terms with the future.
George doesn’t need to know or concern himself with the ulterior motives Karl holds. He only needs to keep doing what he’s always done; creating the most beautiful flower arrangements, falling for a boy made of sunshine, and forever being out of Karl’s reach. And for Karl, that will have to be enough.
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The next time Dream comes to the store, George isn’t there. He waits and browses through the flowers scattered throughout the store, waiting for George to pop out from the back room and tell Dream all about the most recent shipment of roses. But it gets close to 10 minutes since he arrived, and Dream is about to give up when he sees a vaguely familiar head of brown hair.
“Oh, you’re here,” is all Karl says as he rounds the corner and gets settled behind the counter. Dream immediately recognizes him as the guy who hugged George the other day.
“Hi! Uh-” he glances down at his nametag, “Karl. Do you happen to know where George is? Y’know, he always makes me bouquets, and I wanted to get one to put in my kitchen…” he trails off, slightly embarrassed by his rambling.
“Yup, I know about the bouquets. To be honest, we can’t give out personal information about our employees, but I’ll tell you what, come back once you've figured out what the flowers mean.”
Dream has never been more confused by a sentence in his life. The flowers? What flowers is he talking about? He stands there, pondering, before coming to an understanding.
The bouquets George made for him.
But it still doesn’t make sense; they're simply flowers he requested George put together for him. Maybe Karl is just mistaken.
“Are you sure the flowers even mean anything?”
“I’m sure, trust me. I’m doing this for George; there’s no reason for me to make things up. I love him a lot… as a friend, of course,” he rushes out, “so please, all I ask is you do this for him.” There’s something in his voice then as he speaks, and it sounds like the look of a wilted flower, or a broken violin, desperately trying to keep it together for one last performance.
Dream nods, because when you see a look like that, it’s hard not to. He takes one last look at the storage room door, half expecting George to pop out, and then leaves, a sense of determination pulsing in his mind.
Karl, on the other hand, remains behind the counter, legs shaking. He thinks of the nights he’s spent working on flower arrangements, trying to find the perfect combination to present to George on the day he confesses. He thinks of the day George first confided in him about his feelings for the handsome, blond regular, and how the bouquet he brought was left in his bag; wilted within a week. But most of all, he thinks of George’s smile, and the way it made starlight shine into his heart.
He knows that George and Dream are meant to be, he’s been aware of it since the moment he saw them interact. And he also knows that letting George go is what he must do, for there is no room for him in an eclipse that is solely meant for the sun and moon.
All I ask is that you make him smile. Love him with the passion of a thousand suns. And though I am letting him go, I will stand here, waiting for when there ever comes a chance for me to pick up the pieces that you left him with.
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Dream spends almost an hour staring at the most recent bouquet from George, one made up of daffodils. So far, he’s come up with nothing. Apparently, staring at a group of flowers for so long that your vision becomes blurry isn’t the most helpful option for finding answers.
Suddenly, as his eyes are gliding over intricate details of the flower in the center, he gets an idea. He’s going to call someone who might understand what the hell he’s meant to do.
“Tina? Look, this is going to sound really weird, but I need your help,” he pleads.
“Sure, Dream! Just give me one second…” she trails off. He hears shuffling in the background, along with a voice that he recognizes as Foolish’s. “Alright, I’m ready. What’s up?”
“You remember that florist I told you about, right?”
“Of course I do, you talk about him all the time! Is this about him?” she asks.
“Well, yes. I went into the shop today, and he wasn't there, but his friend was! And so I asked him what happened to George, but all he told me was to come back once I've figured out what the flowers mean. I know he’s referring to the arrangements George makes for me, but I have no clue what sort of meaning they could have,” he huffs. He’s met with silence on the other end of the phone.
“Have you ever heard of the language of flowers?” she replies. Dream thinks for a moment.
“No, I don’t think,” he stops himself, remembering the few times George spoke about what each flower symbolizes, “oh, yeah actually. I do.”
“It seems like you have your answer then! I’m assuming you’ll spend some time researching, considering how many of those bouquets you have,” she jokes. Dream giggles, glancing around his living room and spotting multiple arrangements tucked into different types of vases.
“Make sure to update me!” Tina calls out. Dream rolls his eyes.
“Of course, you already know I will. Thanks, Tina,” he says.
They end the call soon after, rushing out brief apologies. Dream goes to open Google, but rethinks his decision. George most likely doesn’t get his knowledge from a surface-level site on the internet, his understanding appears to be deeper than that. So instead, Dream opens up the map app and searches for the nearest library.
He arrives home about an hour later, two books tucked under his arm. The first bouquet he starts with is easy to figure out the meaning of: a bundle of red roses. He remembers telling George that roses were his favorite, and the next day, George had this bouquet ready for him. Dream knows well enough that the roses hold the meaning of love, so he writes that down in the notebook he grabbed off his desk and carries on.
The next one is made up of peonies and camellias. He vaguely remembers George mentioning that weddings have something to do with peonies, so he once again jots it down. He still decides to check for the meaning in his books before coming to any conclusions.
According to the books, peony means both love and prosperity, making their presence at weddings understandable. As for the camellias, they also hold the meaning of love, along with adoration.
He’s beginning to notice a theme here, but it still won’t click. Does George think he’s giving these to his partner? That wouldn’t make sense though, considering he doesn’t have one, and that he told George that he keeps the flowers for himself.
He’s writing down the meaning of carnations when an idea springs forth. It’s a thought that he never guessed would pop into his head, but when it arrives, it makes sense.
George has feelings for him.
That's the only other logical explanation for the excess amount of love flowers. Dream panics for a second, worried about the eventual conversation where he has to turn George down, but his heart puts a stop to the mindless overthinking. The answer, in reality, is simple.
The reason why he carefully observes the brunet's hands as he gently prunes the flowers he puts together just for Dream, why calling George beautiful is far too easy, slipping out of lips like second nature. In the end, it’s all for the same reason: Dream loves George too.
He curses himself for nearly jumping to conclusions about feelings he should've been aware of for months, he could’ve missed his chance if he wasn’t careful.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the daffodils, and he’s overcome with a sense of curiosity. Naturally, they’ll also be related to love in some capacity, but he needs to know exactly what the meaning is after spending so long observing them earlier.
He snatches up the book he’s come to prefer and makes his way to the vase. He flips through the book, finding the section with all the ‘D’ names, and drags his finger over lines of ink. At last, he spots it.
The meaning makes his smile drop.
Unrequited love.
This bouquet, which was assembled by loving hands with the passion of his entire soul, had such a tragic meaning. This marks the moment in which George laments his predicament, singing to a church with empty pews. It’s a silent call, one that only bellows in the hours of loneliness.
Dream thinks his heart has never ached this much before, and he wishes more than anything that he could wrap George in his arms to protect him from whatever shadowy thoughts dare to plague him.
He understands the only option now is to make George aware of his reciprocated feelings, and he knows just the way to do it.
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The sun is high in the sky when the regular walks in. He holds something behind his back with quivering hands as his eyes gaze over the sunflowers on display. There are fewer of them, but the young ones still crane their necks to face the sun with triumph.
The florist stands in his usual spot behind the counter, surrounded by scraps of stems and discarded thorns, as if they were forming a barrier around him. The blond thinks, I will rid you of this shield today, and for the rest of my days, I will gladly take its place.
“Dream! Welcome back, same as usual?” the brunet greets with a smile. When he finishes his line, he tilts his head down, worrying his lip between his teeth. It makes Dream want to kiss him.
“Actually, no. This time, I have a bouquet for you .” He pulls it out from behind his back, holding it with a reverent touch. His fingers tremble as George reaches out to take it, nearly dropping the whole thing as their skin touches for a mere second. Dream wonders how he never noticed such overpowering emotions before. He must be the embodiment of a fool.
He watches, hesitantly, as George inspects the flowers presented before him. He notices the way his eyes light up when he recognizes a flower or its meaning. Dream knows George is desperately trying to keep himself in check, refraining from getting his hopes up. The blond decides he can’t take it anymore when George looks up at him with glossy eyes.
“So, do you know what the flowers mean?”
He hears George’s breath hitch before starting to speak with a trembling voice.
“This here,” he points at the orange blossom, “is clearly fake, but it's understandable since it’s difficult to find real ones. But it means…” he pauses and looks up at Dream for approval. Is he allowed to utter such precious words? Dream nods, because of course he can, it’s all for him. “It means ‘I will love you forever.’”
“The iris, which from what I can tell is the German iris, symbolizes a message of love.” By now, small tears threaten to fall. Dream vows to catch them if they do.
“And lastly, the ambrosia. This one means,” he sucks in a breath, “mutual love.” The dam breaks and the tears flow freely now. Dream swoops in to cradle George’s face in his hands, gently swiping his thumb under glowing eyes. The brunet reaches his hand up, laying it on top of Dream’s with incredible tenderness. He now knows how those flowers feel when George holds them.
“Do you really mean it?” George whispers.
“Yes, always yes.”
Dream connects their lips in one fluid motion, and it feels natural. Like the sun rising in the morning and the moon appearing in the night, it just makes sense. Salt from George’s tears seeps into their lips, making this moment into something more real. It grounds them both, even though they feel like they could fly into the clouds and never return.
They part, breathless, and though his breath is shaky, George speaks first.
“How in the world did you get all these flowers?” he asks.
“Sorry, but I had to betray you. I went to other flower shops, but it was for a good cause!” he adds, a flair of drama added to his words. George rolls his eyes.
“God, you’re such an idiot.”
“Yeah, but I’m your idiot now.”
“Shut up and kiss me again.”
And kiss they do. They only stop once Karl emerges from the back, intent on congratulating them. Dream doesn’t comment on the look in his eyes or the way his smile tumbles away when George hugs him, thanking him for his help. It seems the understanding is mutual between them, George comes first.
When they move in together a year later, they decorate their apartment with countless flower arrangements. They communicate through them, reminding each other of their love that never fades.
Every morning, they wake up and think: I have never been happier.