Chapter Text
“Feed me.”
Victor looked up briefly from his work table where he had been trimming a sweet basil. His younger co-worker was draped across the front counter of Mushnik’s Flower Shop, playing with the fraying end of his checkered scarf and looking glumly at the street outside.
“Ask Henry,” Victor said, returning to his work. The basil had been growing flowers, which was taking valuable energy away from sprouting more leaves- clipping the offending white blossoms off would fix that, and eventually, train the herb to spend all its energy on increasing its size. Victor really did prefer if he wasn’t interrupted when he was working, but it seemed almost impossible for Seymour to stay quiet for long.
“The boss’ll probably kill me if I do,” He sighed. “Why can’t Henry ever come over here? His boss actually likes him.”
Victor hummed, knowing full well that Seymour would keep on talking. Sometimes he thought the kid just liked the sound of his own squeaky voice, but more likely, he just thought best out loud. Unfortunately, Victor thought best when it was nice and quiet .
“I keep asking the boss to let me wander over there when business is slow, but he never lets me. Says that we’re in the ketchup and all need to work harder to stay afloat. But it’s not my fault he only sells boring plants!”
The back door flew open Victor winced as it slammed against the wall, but kept working. The basil’s aroma curled around him and wrapped around his hands, kissing his mouth and nose with its sweetness. The scent- and its taste, which he was less fond of- came from methyl chavicol, which was also found in anise and fennel.
“Seymour, get back to work,” Mushnik said dully. He set several plants down on Victor’s table.
“Prune these when you’re done,” He said, and Victor nodded, reading the man’s shirt. It read, ‘I’m Quite Frond of Plants’ and was decorated with cartoonish palm fronds. Mushnik retreated back into the garden, slamming the door yet again on his way out.
“See?” Seymour said right after the door shut. “He’s always bossing us around.”
“He’s our boss,” Victor pointed out and Seymour let out an exasperated sigh, but before he could get any words out, the bell above the door jingled to announce the arrival of a customer. Victor’s head had already begun to ache, which told him it was going to be a long afternoon- usually, his headaches didn’t start to develop until later in the day.
“Hey!” Seymour chirped, immediately standing up and putting on a friendly smile- his amiability was the only thing that kept him employed, really. “Can I help you find anything?”
“I want to give my buddy some flowers, but I don’t want any of the romantic stuff,” The customer, a stocky person with long hair, explained.
Seymour turned to Victor, who pressed his lips together as he was forced to pause his work once more. At least this was something he enjoyed, though. Without turning around, he said, “Sunflowers and yellow roses are widely-known symbols of a strong platonic bond, as are alstroemerias, which are also found under the name Peruvian Lily, despite not belonging to the family Liliaceae . They do share the same order of Liliales , however.”
“Huh,” The customer dug some coins out of their pocket. “Which ones the cheapest?”
“They’re all very affordable,” Seymour assured. He took a plant from the shelves with striking pink petals- the innermost petals were yellow in their bottom halves with brown flecks like a firework. The flowers were almost trumpet-shaped and, to the untrained eye, were just colorful lilies. “Take a look at this! Wouldn’t your friend love it?”
“She would,” The customer mused, and Victor knew they’d been sold. Seymour may grate on Mushnik’s nerves- and Victor’s, if he was honest- but no one could deny that he was an excellent salesman, and Victor, for all his botanical knowledge, couldn’t sell a plant to save his life.
Victor finished with the sweet basil and put it by the back door- herbs preferred full sun and it would flourish if placed outside. The walled garden was perfect, in fact, as the sun could only shine in over the walls for about 8 hours a day, which suited the herbs just fine.
His next plant was a mint in a large pot. Mint plants went wild and choked out any competition when placed in the ground, but even in a pot, it sprouted new growth frequently. But that meant you could take clippings and start an entire army of the things; Victor had given at least 10 of them to his best friend by now, seeing as Henry couldn’t keep one alive even with the most strict and detailed of instructions. Likely, the water at his apartment contained too much of a certain mineral and slowly killed the plants. If Victor had a chemistry kit, he’d be able to find out which one, although he didn’t know what he’d do with the information. Besides, Henry’s father would never let him inside- the man hated him, ever since he was a child.
That never stopped Henry from being his friend, though. He’d repay that kindness with as many plants as he could, and put up with Seymour as patiently as Henry put up with him. Victor had two younger brothers, anyway- what was another? Seymour seemed like he needed an older brother, anyway.
The next customer came at 6:30 sharp, as she did every day, although she wasn’t exactly a customer. Mushnik was the one paying her, in fact, although she also brought money from homebound customers.
“Hi,” She said, propping the door open with her bike. The basket was already filled with other deliveries she would make in the remaining daylight, but the flower shop was always her last stop.
“Audrey!” Seymour exclaimed, hurrying around the counter. He didn’t hug her but stood barely a food from her, hovering awkwardly like a fruitfly. Audrey’s smile was smothered and brittle, but even so, Seymour seemed enamored with it. He’d go on for hours to Victor about how Audrey’s bronze skin shined in the sun or how the silver cuffs in her braided hair complimented her dark eyes so well. Personally, Victor didn’t understand the fascination- he was aromantic and asexual, after all- but he tried to be fraternal and listen anyways.
“Where’s Mushnik?” Audrey asked.
“I’ll go get him!” Seymour offered and hurried into the garden. Victor could feel Audrey’s eyes on his back as he worked, but he didn’t mind it as much as he did with strangers. Audrey’s soft voice and tendency to avoid making loud noises endeared her to him, even if the jingling of her jewelry sometimes got on his nerves.
“How’s it been?” She asked lightly. “Mushnik been working you too hard?”
“No,” He said, and was going to leave it at that, but he saw her admiring some of the alstroemeria plants Seymour had taken from their shelves earlier.
“They’re called alstroemerias,” He told her, and repeated his facts from earlier. But Audrey was a friend, so he decided to tell her a little more. “The genus alstroemeria was named after a Swedish baron, Clas Alströmer, although he wasn’t the one to scientifically describe them.”
“You’re Swedish, right?”
He shook his head, still not looking up from his work. “I’m Swiss- rather, my parents are. I was born just a few blocks from here.”
Audrey hummed quietly in acknowledgment and the back door slammed open again. Victor took a deep, steadying breath.
“We have a bouquet for Mrs. An Cao at the nursing home,” Mushnik said, carrying an array of plants in his muscled arms. “Three pots of daisies for Mr. Edmund Bond at 7th street, and another mint plant for Frankie Schmitt in the ugly orange apartment complex.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mushnik.”
He grunted in response and gave the girl a handful of change as she handed him the money from yesterday’s deliveries. Seymour quickly offered to load the plants into her bike, and nestled the pots carefully between the groceries and other necessities, but he dropped the bouquet.
“Stupid boy,” Mushnik grumbled as Seymour snatched it back up and shook off the dust.
“Good as new,” He chuckled, red-faced, handing them to Audrey. She took them gingerly and offered a final wan smile before taking her bike out of the doorway. Seymour waved as she rode off.
“You’re always goofing around,” Mushnik said, waving a threatening finger in Seymour’s face. “Straighten yourself out and shape up. You’re almost an adult.”
“Okay, okay.” Seymour put his hands up.
“And clean up this mess! You’re always leaving things laying around.” Mushnik went on muttering disdainfully and slammed the door with more force than usual.
“Didn’t even deserve that one,” Seymour mumbled. “Nothing got broken.”
Victor thought that Seymour needed to voice these complaints- Mushnik wasn’t the sort of man to spend time thinking about how others perceived his actions. Unfortunately, Seymour wasn’t the sort of boy to speak up for himself. Victor thought they made a horrible team. But that was part of the problem- Victor thought . He thought this and that, but never spoke up.
He returned to his work. Plants, at least, he could do more than think about. The makeshift lab and half-completed experiment in the cupboard under the stairs proved that.
There were no more customers that day. They started closing the shop around 7:30, although that number changed every day. Whenever Mushnik went upstairs to his loft, Victor would wrap up his work and Seymour would start to sweep up. It wasn’t technically part of Victor’s job to clean up at the end of the day; he was a gardener and Seymour was a shopkeeper, yet he always found himself staying late to help sweep and count the day’s money. But it wasn’t a big deal and it gave Henry time to walk over from his job at the cafe across the street.
“Hey, plant people!” The auburn man called as he stepped into the shop, although his voice was kept at an actually reasonable decibel- he’d known Victor long enough that it was practically second nature by now. “How was today?”
“Business to booming,” Seymour said sarcastically, sweeping the floor in messy, harsh strokes. “Grand total of 3 customers today.”
“Sorry to hear it,” Henry said, although a smile quickly lit up his face again. “Still smells great in here though. Like…a fairy’s laughter, or a nymph’s poetry.”
“Oh!” Seymour dropped the broom and Victor’s ears were stabbed as it clattered against the floor. “I’ve got a composition due in a week. Can we go over it tomorrow?”
Victor stayed late to tutor Seymour on days that Henry didn't work- the young shopkeeper had been considering dropping out when he'd first been hired at Mushnik's until Victor lectured him on the importance of education and offered to help him. He nodded and Seymour picked up the broom, returning to his task. Victor had closed the windows and re-shelved the plants, and was updating the ledger at the front desk. Henry leaned against it and talked about some book they were reading in his college- Crime and Punishment, about a destitute university student who kills someone. Victor had never really liked non-fiction, with the exception of poetry, and Shakespeare. His mother had liked Shakespeare.
They were done a few minutes later, although the floor hardly looked cleaner than before. But Seymour was quick in waving goodbye and trotting off to the bus stop, so Victor didn’t have time to point it out. He just sighed as he hung up his apron and locked the door before he and Henry stepped out into the brisk evening air.
“So there was this fellow who came into the cafe today,” Henry was saying, the cold hardly seeming to affect him. How could it, when he practically radiated sunlight? “Liam, I think his name was, a real handsome guy, and he asks me ‘What’s your mildest roast?’, so I tell him, ‘Your fashion sense is mediocre.’ He cracked up and ended up leaving a pretty good tip.”
Victor hummed, halfway paying attention and halfway studying the plants that had pushed through the cracks in the sidewalk and the hard-packed earth of the empty lots they passed. Mostly crabgrass and ragweed, but a few bindweed plants with their white petals with pink centers, and his favorite, dandelions. Taraxacology fascinated him- a dandelion’s ability to thrive virtually anywhere was inspiring to say the least, and he found their orangey-yellow blossoms to be some of the most cheerful in all of the plantae kingdom.
He looked up at his childhood friend who was still relaying tales of the day’s customers with great enthusiasm. In many ways, he reminded Victor of a dandelion- no one was more resilient, more fiercely optimistic, more rebelliously loving and kind than the freckled man next to him.
“So, Victor,” Henry said. “How’s your research project going? It’s been a while since you’ve talked about it.”
Something sparked in Victor’s chest and his steps became energized.
“Very well. I completed the research aspect several months ago, as I believe I told you, and was finally able to begin assembling the experiment! I’ve mentioned before how Mushnik leaves me in charge of finances, and that includes which plants and equipment are ordered, which allows me access to all materials I could need. My main issue so far has been fungi. The storage closet is very damp- there’s a pipe that drips and Mushnik never fixed it- so I’ve been battling a particularly persistent specimen of Cerioporus squamous , and of course Kretzshmaria deusta . I’d like to conduct my experiment somewhere drier and sunnier, but Mushnik would be very displeased if he knew what I was doing, I think, and of course I can’t do it at home. But the Kretzschmaria deusta really worries me- there are no pesticides effective against it and the shop doesn’t have the funding for me to start over. I suppose this experiment is my first trial and I can conduct more once I submit my findings and, ideally, get a grant, but I don’t like laboring so hard over something I know to be imperfect.”
They had reached the crossroads where they parted by the time Victor was done. Henry put his hands in his pockets and nodded, looking up at the sky. Hardly any stars were visible, although only half of the streetlights actually worked.
“Catch you later, alligator,” He said, giving a wave before trotting across the street to his apartment complex. He lived with his father, like Victor, although Henry had no siblings. Maybe his father would be different if he did.
Victor put his hands in his pockets and sighed, continuing the loneliest part of the journey home.