Chapter Text
It's too early Monday morning when Wolfwood deals with what he thinks might be his worst customer yet.
Maybe he was being a little harsh— he probably isn’t the worst , but it was early and Wolfwood wasn't a morning person at all— the blonde just has too many questions for him to be thinking about and answering so early in the day. He is talkative, and Wolfwood, clearly, is not.
The blonde was meant to be picking up a bouquet of red peonies, fountain grass, and prairie bells to make it full. It was an incredibly well thought out bouquet, the intentions of love and honor in the peonies did not go unnoticed. As much as Wolfwood would have loved to talk about it more in depth with the customer, it was supposed to be a quick two minute interaction, paying for the flowers and leaving. But here Wolfwood is, squinting at the customer’s too-bright phone screen trying to decipher why his geraniums at home were on the brink of death. Wolfwood has never seen a plant in worse condition. It was obvious that this was not the same man who placed the order.
“So, do you think there's any saving it?”
The blonde asks with a pout, ushering the glaringly bright phone screen closer and closer to Wolfwood’s face, as if he hadn't already seen the depressing image of dark, droopy leaves and the red petals on the ground around it. He deserves an award, really, for how miserable this plant looks. Wolfwood moves back and away from the screen, the burning feeling in his eyes creating a straining sensation— the beginnings of a headache. He brings his fingers to rub at his temple.
“Look, the flower is in pretty bad condition, but,” He grabs hold of the man's phone, turning down the brightness to an tolerable level, and zooming in on the sagging stem.
“You can cut underneath the nodes there, see?”
“Mhm.” The blonde hovers over him, his gaze shifting between Wolfwood and the phone.
“You can take those cutoffs, try propagating them.”
“Oh! So that means-”
“You’re gonna need special soil for geraniums, if you only got regular soil that's fine too, but,”
Wolfwood exits out from the image on screen, pulling up the man's contacts to put in his information.
“Here, just text me if you need any help.” He extends the phone back to a noticeably flushed customer, stumbling over his words as he reaches for his phone, nearly dropping it in the process.
“Haha, yea uh…sure, thanks!” He manages to prevent his phone from falling to the floor, Wolfwood watches with mild amusement.
“Yeah, no problem. Anything else?”
“N-no! No, I think that's all!” Not that Wolfwood would admit it, but it was cute, the way the blonde was so red in the face. The man pockets his phone, reaching for the bouquet.
“Oh, forgot to ask, how long will it be ‘till that gets put in some water?”
“Mm, tomorrow?”
“Let me get that in some water now then.”
Wolfwood enters the very back of the shop, pulling from the corner a bright orange bucket and filling it with water. The blonde hovers over him, visibly confused as to what is happening.
“A bucket? Is that really necessary?”
“If you want the flowers to look good for tomorrow, then yeah. It is.”
“...It’s kinda big though, I’d look a little silly carrying it around, don’t you think?”
Wolfwood holds back the urge to agree with him, biting his tongue to keep himself from saying how stupid he already looks. But, he was lucky enough to be blessed with just an ounce of self control this morning, and he is grateful for it.
“It’ll keep the flowers fresh. And, clearly ,” He looks the customer up and down when he says it, as if to drive his point further that the man before him is an idiot, and it is far too early to be dealing with a question like that. “Someone put a lot of thought into choosing the arrangement. So, yeah, I’d take the bucket.”
“R-right.” Wolfwood takes the bouquet from his hands, placing it into the bucket before handing it to the red-faced customer. He makes his way back to the front of the shop, ushering the customer out as quickly as possible so he can sneak in a smoke break—for his steadily growing headache.
“You should be good to go now, best of luck with those geraniums.”
Wolfwood sits behind the counter, waiting for the sound of the door closing, but it never comes. He looks up to find the blonde eyeing the store calendar, body halfway out the door.
“...Ya need something?”
He turns back to Wolfwood startled, “Ah, actually, are you working tomorrow?” He asks as if he wasn't just staring intensely at Wolfwood's work schedule.
“...Yeah? What’s up?”
“I was just hoping you could help me organize some arrangements for an event?”
The headache becomes worse. “Sure, we can work that out. Ya don’t have to come in though, can always call in advance.” Wolfwood doesnt mean for it to come off in a passive aggressive way, but if he has to spend another second staring at the blonde's stupidly bright smile, he’ll be needing a much longer smoke break than what he was planning for.
“Well, I thought it’d be nice to stop in! Maybe learn some more?” Wolfwood can feel his headache getting worse by the second.
“Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow.”
“See ya then!” The door hits the man on his way out, nearly dropping the bucket in the process. He waves wildly outside the glass door as Wolfwood lets out a groan, making his way to the back of the shop for a smoke, away from the plants.
Wolfwood finally learns the blonde's name when he comes back the next day at a more reasonable time. He extends a hand to him—a hand of metal—in it he holds a bouquet of red roses and baby breath wrapped in plastic and tied together with rubber bands. If this man isn't the worst customer he's ever had, he is definitely the stupidest. A nervous smile forms and Wolfwood swears he can see beads of sweat falling down the side of his face. Wolfwood imagines if he stayed quiet any longer the man would collapse to the floor, he looked as if he was holding his breath.
“...Do you want me to do something with that? I thought you had something else in mind for the event.”
The blonde is left entirely speechless as his eyes jump between the now shaking bouquet and Wolfwood’s gaze. He eventually decides to let his lungs be filled with air, letting out what sounds like a pained groan, hiding his flushed face in the flowers. His face nearly blending it, the same shade.
“Not that I'm judging, I just don’t know if this is what you're looking for.” His face smothers the flowers more, and Wolfwood realizes that this might just be the most bizarre customer experience he's ever had since working here.
“So- uh,”
“Spikey, I cannot hear a word you’re sayin’.” The nickname does nothing to help the words come out of his mouth, in fact, it makes it worse.
“...Yes.”
“You want me to rearrange it?”
“...Please.” He pushes the flowers towards Wolfwood, his eyes to the floor in shame.
Definitely his strangest customer. “Whatever you say.”
Wolfwood takes the bouquet in his hands, bringing it to the desk to find a more acceptable wrapping paper to hold the flowers in and trim the ends and leaves, the blonde following close behind like a lost puppy.
“Any specific paper you want?”
“...You got a favorite?”
Wolfwood glances at the man, face still flushed red. “Yeah, sure.”
The man holds a metal hand against his mouth tight as he watches Wolfwood unroll sheets of paper and ribbon, as if he were trying to stop anymore words from escaping his mouth.
“Interesting prosthetic.” It catches the blonde off guard, eyes widening at his arm as if it's the first time he's seen such a thing, as if it wasn’t attached to his body.
“Oh! Yeah uh, it's…a prosthetic!” Wolfwood didn't imagine the grave he was digging for himself could get any deeper, but it does.
“Okay,” The scissors glide along the length of the paper, smooth and sharp, “can I ask what happened?”
“Haha oh you know…”
Wolfwood shoots him a look that is beyond confusion, his folding of the paper in his hands coming to a halt.
“Would you believe me if I said I fell down the stairs?”
Despite the stupidity of the man before him, who is Wolfwood to question how he ended up with a prosthetic? “...Sure. Yeah.”
The blonde lets out a choked sound, something between a whimper and a pained laugh. When Wolfwood completes the wrapping, he ushers the other to the register, the man following close behind, a kicked puppy look painted on his face. It puts Wolfwood on edge, the shame and embarrassment coming off the man in waves.
“Can you stop that?”
Said kicked puppy looks to Wolfwood in confusion, “Stop what?”
“That look on your face, like you’re about to cry. You’re not gonna cry in my store, right?”
“No?”
“Good.”
Wolfwood hands the bouquet to the blonde, who is hesitant to grab it, staring wide-eyed between the slightly more presentable flowers and the florist’s eyes.
“You’re not charging me?”
“Nah just…wipe that damn look off your face. It isn’t much anyways.” Bright blue eyes that Wolfwood imagined would become less sad looking only do the opposite, his eyes growing wet with tears.
“God, I thought you said you weren’t gonna cry!”
He starts rubbing furiously at his tearing eyes, “I’m sorry!”
“Just take the flowers and go, Needle noggin!”
“Okay!” He begins to turn toward the door before facing Wolfwood again, “Needle noggin? What does that even mean!”
Wolfwood feels a headache coming on, hands itching for a cigarette. “Your hair? It’s all spikey, like needles.”
“Is this how you treat all your customers?”
“Only the weirdly obnoxious ones.”
The blonde looks utterly defeated, mouth slack as he stares at Wolfwood, arms crossed against his chest as the man slowly makes his walk of shame to the door.
“Can I get a name before ya go, Spikey?”
“I think I’d rather you make up more nicknames at this point.” Spikey grumbled, his grip on the door handle tight.
“Ah, don't be like that.” Wolfwood needed a name, it’d make it easier to talk with the older ladies about his weirdest customer experience yet.
“It’s Vash.”
An interesting name, the grannies will have a blast picking apart that one. “Nicholas D. Wolfwood, at your service, Vash. Enjoy your flowers.”
And just like the day before, Vash makes a hurried exit that nearly has him falling on his ass, and Wolfwood makes his laughter known.