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Mischa walked out as the bell for lunch rang and sat down on the green grass of the school to eat. He started slowly unwrapping his tuna sandwich when the sound of a sneeze startled him. He looked to the side to see a boy a few meters to his left, looking down, focused on something. Mischa recognized the boy as one of the choir members, Noel. He had never really spoken to the guy, or ever really seen him outside of choir, but he seemed fine. He was always on time, neat, orderly, and Mischa respected that.
He noticed Noel was making something, a flower crown. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotizing, watching him braid the flowers together. It was a charming, peaceful sight and Mischa almost felt bad for disturbing the calm environment when Noel finally noticed him.
“Oh, Mischa?’, he hesitated around his name, ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you.”
“Is okay. I was just watching, I never done this before.”
“What, flower crowns? Never?” Noel’s incredulous stare made Mischa feel slightly ashamed and self conscious at the prospect of never having tried making one before.
“No. No one ever show me, I not know how.”
“Oh. It’s pretty simple actually, I’ll show you.” Noel scooched closer to Mischa and handed him a bunch of pretty daisies before showing him the basics.
It was, of course, not simple at all. Mischa couldn’t figure out the criss cross of braiding and got confused with which stem went where. His flower crown ended up looking a whole mess, and when Mischa tried to lift it up, it fell apart into pieces. Mischa groaned, frustrated, and Noel looked at him, a bit sorry, before lifting up his own flower crown of violets found near the school, and singular flowers taken from a lilac placed delicately in between, and placing it on top of Mischa’s head. Mischa felt his heart stutter as he looked towards the boy smiling softly in front of him. He opened his mouth to say something, something he would most definitely need to think about later, when the bell rang abruptly, popping the bubble of warmth and comfort they had created. Noel quickly gathered his stuff and shot Mischa a cute smile and a wave before heading to class. Mischa barely registered the goodbye as he raised his hand in return, his head swarming with weird fluttery feelings.
That night, Mischa carefully pulled the flower crown out of his bag and placed it on top of his dresser. He looked up tutorials on the internet and spent hours trying to make a successful flower crown with several daisies he stole from his adoptive parents’ garden. In the end, Mischa had a fragile, flimsy flower crown with damaged petals of many different, crooked angles. It wasn’t perfect like Noel’s, but Mischa hoped the other boy would still like it.
That night, Mischa dreamt of flowers and pretty boys.