Work Text:
forsythia—anticipation
Louis gets to work on Tuesday, and a single branch of yellow forsythia awaits him next to his cash register. The scrap of paper next to it reads: forsythia--anticipation.
"Cryptic bastard," he mumbles under his breath, crumpling up the note in his fist yet unable to keep a half smile at bay. Harry's notes, usually a sentence or two long, have gotten shorter and shorter ever since last week, and Louis doesn't know what he's on about. Only that it's kept him wondering, and it surely will for a while still.
"Finally, you're here." Zayn emerges from the back room, comes over and bumps Louis’s shoulder in greeting. "Lecture get out late again?"
"Oh, yeah," Louis lies smoothly. Zayn narrows his eyes. Louis doesn't know why he even bothers with the pretense anymore. Louis has admitted more than once that he often stops back at his flat for a fifteen minute power nap with Niall on the sofa before coming to work. But can Zayn really blame him for that? "Sorry, mate."
"Right." Zayn eyes the crumpled note in Louis’s fist. He crosses his thin arms in front of his chest and gets all smug. "The kid's getting twitchier every time he comes in here, y'know. Gonna do something about that soon?"
"Fuck you." The insult is mild at best. Still, Zayn can mind his own business. Harry isn’t a kid, either, innit. Louis gives Zayn a look before shoving his rucksack with his books into the cupboard below the counter and claiming the stool there.
"'m serious, Lou. What was it today? Anticipation or some shit? He's waiting for you to make a move."
"He's never once hinted at such a thing," Louis says. And it's true. Harry's bought him a flower a day for two months straight now, and still, every time Louis sees him in person, he's friendly and charming but nothing more than that. Louis would've noticed by now if anything was otherwise.
"Mate. Please." Zayn grabs his wallet from the desk along with a pack of cigs and shuffles one out. He places it behind his ear as he adds, "I dunno why else you'd've held his interest this long. How much longer you gonna make me deal with him every morning?"
"Oi, piss off. Go home." Louis flails his arms at Zayn until he backs off with hands raised in surrender.
"Just saying! Save you both a lot of misery if you stop dragging this out."
"Get out of my shop!" Louis yells at his retreating back.
Zayn leaves with a half-sigh, half-laugh. Only then can Louis slump over the counter and plunk his head in his hand, surveying the empty flower shop with dismay. He ought to've bummed a cig off Zayn before he went. Now Louis has no excuse to go out and see Harry across the street before his shift is up.
gardenia—you are lovely
The door of the flower shop trills at someone’s arrival, but Louis doesn’t look up from his book. He’s a bad employee. Sometimes he wonders how he hasn’t been fired yet.
He expects whoever it is to poke around a bit, probably leave in disinterest after a few minutes like most people do. It’s to his surprise, then, that the guest comes up to his counter right away.
“Erm. Hello.”
Louis startles a bit at the deep voice, but still takes care to finish what he was writing before looking up. When he finally does, he can’t help but stare for a moment, because the deep voice belongs to a tall, broad, tattooed guy with long hair half up in a bun, and Jesus shit, he’s lovely, isn’t he.
“Sorry, er.” Louis hastily closes his textbook on his pencil and stands up. “What can I do for you?”
A slow grin spreads across the guy’s face. “Mostly came to introduce myself. ‘m Harry. New at the tattoo place across the street?”
Louis nods weakly as he shakes Harry’s hand. It’s enormous, and his grip is gentle.
Louis clears his throat. “Louis. Nice to meet you.”
Harry’s grin widens. “Good to meet you too, Louis. We might be seeing a lot of each other.” At Louis’s quizzical look, he adds, “They hired me over there because I specialize, I guess, in, like, natural and floral designs? And I always study flowers a lot to get the drawings right and such, so.” His look turns a little sheepish. “Might come over and stare at your flowers quite often, actually.”
“All right by me,” Louis says casually as possible. He tucks his hands behind his back and rolls on the balls of his feet, trying not to let his eyes keep from roving over Harry’s features and probably failing miserably. “Anything in particular you needed to see today?”
“Any chance you have any gardenias around?”
Louis nods and beckons for Harry to follow him, textbook and everything else completely forgotten at the counter. The gardenias are toward the back of the shop, and they’ve only got a few bushes, but it seems enough for Harry.
He gets close, squatting near them on the floor and reaching out to stroke a leaf.
“You’re lovely,” he murmurs. Which—did Louis hear that right?
“Erm. What?”
“Oh.” Harry lets out an embarrassed laugh, glancing at Louis all sheepish again. “It’s nothing, sorry. Just. Floriography, y’know? Gardenias are used to say you’re lovely. Can see why.”
Louis scrunches up his nose. “Floriography?”
Harry twists around and eyes him incredulously. “Yeah, flower language. You don’t know it? No fucking way.” Louis shakes his head as Harry laughs again. “Really. Well. Maybe I have a thing or two to teach you about flowers yet. I use floriography all the time to influence my designs.”
“Hmm. Guess we’ll see about that,” Louis says, flushing, pleased, at the implication of seeing Harry again. A hot boy who looks at flowers with reverence despite his decidedly rugged appearance? Bit of a walking contraction, innit. Louis doesn’t mind.
Harry straightens up, swaying for a moment as he regains his balance. “How much for just one bloom?”
Louis scoffs. He disappears for a moment and comes back with a pair of scissors. He snips off a gardenia and passes it over to Harry. “On the house, mate.”
Harry takes it wordlessly and follows Louis back to the counter. Silence stretches between them, but not uncomfortably.
“Best get back, I s’pose,” Harry says eventually. His words are regretful, but when Louis meets his eyes, they’re still bright. “It was a pleasure, Louis. And--”
He brings his hand from behind his back and holds out the gardenia. For Louis.
He takes it wordlessly, staring down at it and thinking of its meaning: you’re lovely.
When he looks up again, the bell over the door is tinkling, and Harry is gone. Louis leaves the gardenia in a vase right next to his cash register, and that’s how it all begins.
chrysanthemum—wonderful friend
“Got a light?”
Louis looks up, halfway through his smoke break, and grins. The fates are looking out for him today.
“Hmm.” He pauses for a moment and pretends to consider it, exhaling and blowing the smoke Harry’s way. “I guess. Since we’re apparently mates at all.”
Harry gives him a crooked grin, made even more attractive by his wide stance at the curb in front of Louis, arms crossed in front of his chest and cigarette tucked behind his ear. His hair’s tied up in a bun that should look ridiculous but really just looks Harry.
“So my plan worked, then.” He comes over and ungracefully sits himself next to Louis, leaning against the brick wall not two fingers away. “Not sure the message would come across clearly, y’know.”
Louis rolls his eyes, though it’s all for show. He passes over his lighter and says, “You thought a week’s worth of flowers that mean varying degrees of good friend wouldn’t be clear enough? You’re lucky I don’t find you mental after that.”
“Very lucky,” Harry agrees with a laugh. His eyes are squinty with mirth as he passes back the lighter and takes a drag. When he exhales, he lets out a content hum. Louis can relate.
“How was lecture today?” Harry asks.
Louis shrugs, brushing his fringe out of his face. “Meh. Same old. Nearly fell asleep. Wanted to commit every time the prof mentioned my thesis and all the revisions I’ll have to do. So, yeah. Nothing new.”
“Lou.” Harry rolls his head to Louis’s side to look at him disapprovingly, same way he’s done every time Louis moans about his courses. “You know it’ll turn out great. You can do it, I know you can.”
Louis hides his affection by taking a long drag and ignoring the way Harry bumps his knee into Louis’s insistently.
“Thanks, Curly,” he mutters eventually.
“Tell me about lecture today. What was the topic?”
It’s a mate thing, right? Sort of. The fact that Harry seeks out Louis and asks after him, his day, how school’s been. He gets interested since he never even went to uni himself, Louis knows this. But the fact he’s spending his own break from work hearing about Louis drone on about educational theories and child development…that’s not something any of Louis’s other mates ever willingly listen to. Just Harry.
Before Harry goes back across the street, Louis fetches the chrysanthemum from his counter and brings it back to tuck behind Harry’s ear. He feels like a bit of an idiot, but Harry’s beam makes it all worth it.
wisteria—youth, playfulness, spontaneity
It only takes Harry three trips to the flower shop in all before he can peg Louis’s personality perfectly. Peg it in the form of a flower, that is.
Louis doesn’t quite get it; whenever Harry comes in, they partake in mindless chatter, in which Louis mostly just embarrasses himself by talking shit and tries not to stare at Harry obsessively, other than when Harry gets cocky and shows off his eclectic collection of tattoos. Those times, Louis thinks he’s afforded a free pass or whatever.
Yet apparently the mindless chatter (and talking shit and staring) is all Harry needs to capture the essence of Louis. Louis gets to work one afternoon, and there’s a wisteria in the vase on the counter, the first flower Harry’s left him to find on his own. There’s a scrap of paper with its corner tucked under the vase that Louis pulls out as he sits on his stool. Wisterias are used to show youth and playfulness and spontaneity. Maybe they ought to be called Louisteria? Fitting for you, innit. ;)
Louis snorts, he can’t not with the cheesiness. Yet he still folds the note fondly and tucks it into his back pocket, hoping that Zayn somehow hasn’t seen it, much less read it. Unlikely, but.
Whether or not he has, Louis never learns, but Zayn does bring up Harry before he clocks out for the day.
“You know Harry, right?” he says, after they’ve chatted longer than probably acceptable given they’re both on the clock still. Oh well. Louis can’t think about that when he’s tensing up at the thought of what Zayn’s about to say next.
“Erm. Suppose so?”
Zayn nods nonchalantly, tugging his jacket over his shoulders. “Seems like a cool lad, yeah? Said he was gonna draw me up a design to fill in some gaps on my sleeve. Gonna stop by now, I think, see if he’s still around.”
“Oh. Yeah, cool,” Louis says, unable to completely hold back a sigh of relief. Except then—
“I’ll tell ‘im you say hi. And that his note got you blushing like a schoolgirl.”
Louis flips him the bird and shoves him toward the door.
iris—warmth of affection
Louis might be outgoing and an extrovert and all that, but he’s also a homebody. He likes lazing in front of the telly and sleeping in ‘til noon and eating breakfast (and lunch and dinner) in bed. It’s all especially the best when there’s someone else there to be a homebody with him.
He’s never been one for casual. He doesn’t want brief and fleeting; he prefers someone to cuddle after, someone to wake up to, someone to whom he can relate every mundane detail of his day and kiss with sleepy breath and stumble into the shower with. But for some reason he’s never been good at finding someone who wants just the same, and wants it with him. Just him.
He’s closing up shop on a Friday, outside and locking the door shut, when he hears a familiar laugh across the street. Except, it mingles with another, higher, feminine laugh too. Louis’s heart sinks.
When he looks over his shoulder, Harry’s arms are tight around her, a hand on her arse, and his laugh is full of joy. He’s so happy to see her, or be with her, or Louis doesn’t know what. The sight feels like someone dragged a nail right down Louis’s heart, leaving little droplets of blood in its wake.
He thought they’d been getting somewhere. It’s been two months. Two months of flowers, floriography, his dimples and bright eyes. Must not’ve meant as much to him as it did to Louis.
He silently lets himself back into the shop, hoping he went unseen. As ever, his eyes drift to the flower in the vase on his counter. An iris. It doesn’t make sense. And rather than fill him with fondness like it did earlier this afternoon, now it just fills him with annoyance, and hurt. He doesn’t know Harry as well as he thought.
He waits until he hears the laughter trail down the street, then goes to pick a stem of snapdragons and brings them across the street. When Muscley Liam lets him in the tattoo parlor, he only gives Louis a curious look before pointing out Harry’s desk. Louis leaves the flowers there, no vase or water, or note. He thinks Harry will be able to figure out the message all on his own.
snapdragon—deception
daisy—innocence, attachment
After a week of daisies, Zayn raises his eyebrow at Louis. “Mate. How long you going to drag this out?”
Louis pretends he didn’t hear.
heather—admiration
“I need your opinion on something.”
Louis hadn’t even heard the door to the shop open. He looks up, and there’s Harry, rocking back on his heels with his hands behind his back like a little boy. Louis hopes the fond doesn’t show on his face too horribly. It shouldn’t, because they’ve only known each other a few weeks, only just established that they’re mates. But it probably does anyway.
“On what?” He sets his pen in his text so he won’t lose his spot, and Harry’s eyes track his movements. His shoulders droop.
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer before going on, “I didn’t want to bother you, never mind--”
“Curly.” Louis gives him a bewildered look. “You’re not interrupting anything. I’m the one studying whilst I’m meant to be working. I’m to fault, if anyone.”
“But it’s important stuff.” Harry pouts. “You’re in grad school. That’s big, int it.”
“Maybe,” Louis acquiesces. He’s told Harry more than once, though, that grad school was also his out for not knowing what to do after university. More of a coward’s move than anything. Harry ever refuses to accept that as valid, though.
“Oh, come on, then,” Louis urges when Harry still hesitates. He leans forward and tries to crane his neck around to see what’s behind Harry’s back. “’ve you got a surprise for me?”
“Just some designs,” Harry says, all shy now. How he can be all like that yet simultaneously hot as hell, Louis has no idea. It drives him crazy in the best way. “Need a second opinion.”
“Right, get here, then,” Louis insists, shoving his stuff aside on the counter. He eyes Harry expectantly and grins when he finally comes over and starts laying out his designs. Harry showing off his work is a sight to behold, Louis’s learned. His eyes light up in this certain way that always leaves Louis fighting off a smile. Harry’s just talented, is the thing. His designs are things people drive from different cities to see, book appointments months in advance. He’s brilliant at what he does. The fact he admires Louis for spending all day with a nose in a book is really actually baffling. But that’s Harry.
Louis unabashedly leans in closer and tries to focus on what Harry’s saying. It’s hard, though, when with him so close. His presence is always intoxicating, but the nearness, the intimate way he looks at Louis through his lashes—that Louis still needs to get used to. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if he never did. He’d be content spending some time to figure it out.
Their shoulders accidentally brush when Louis leans in again. Neither of them move away. (In fact, Louis might be dreaming, but there’s a chance Harry moves in even closer. He’s not complaining.)
Before Harry goes back across the street that afternoon, he hunts through the shop for a stem of heather and drops it in Louis’s vase with a coy smirk on his way out.
“What’s it mean?” Louis calls out at Harry’s broad shoulders.
“Look it up yourself this time!”
He can hear the smile in Harry’s voice as he goes. It leaves Louis smiling maniacally at his textbook the rest of the night.
zinnia—lasting affection
Some days, Louis can convince Niall to bring him dinner during his shift at the flower shop. Today is one of those days.
“You owe me a tenner,” Niall says as he unceremoniously drops a paper bag full of food on Louis’s counter. He finds an empty crate and drags it over to sit on.
“You’re a cheap date, Horan,” Louis huffs. He digs through the bag and pulls out his burrito. Unwrapping it, he finds that Niall’s remembered the extra cheese and green salsa. Niall is a good roommate. He loves Niall.
“Whatever, you love me,” Niall says, unbothered. He grabs his own burrito and digs in. “I know you’re still pining, but I’m not gonna keep paying for you. The line has been drawn. And my wallet has been made empty.”
“Who’s pining?” Louis says through a mouthful of burrito. Niall rolls his eyes.
“Still don’t know why you haven’t made a move.”
“That seems to be the only thing you and Zayn can say these days.”
“Yeah, well. Since when is Louis Tomlinson shy?”
Louis gets grumpy at that. Niall can fuck right off.
“It has nothing to do with being shy.”
“Then what? Seriously, mate.”
Louis shrugs like it’s not a big deal. It’s not, innit. He hardly knows Harry, anyway. He thought maybe he was getting there, but. Then he inadvertently learned Harry was into girls, and probably, as such, not into Louis. So. Harry’s just the guy who works across the street and Louis’s just a guy who works in a flower shop. End of.
Apparently, though, his mouth doesn’t feel the need to listen to his brain. It goes spouting off nonsense Louis really wish he could’ve just kept in.
“Not about to make a move on a guy with a girlfriend, is all,” he says. And immediately scowls at himself after.
“What?” Niall exclaims, bits of rice flying from his mouth. Louis recoils with a low eugh. “Girlfriend? Where’d you hear that?”
“Saw it, more like.” He shrugs and avoids Niall’s gaze. As he mentally scolds himself for even bringing it up, he accidentally squeezes his own burrito so hard that some pieces of chicken fall into his lap. They’re making such a mess.
“Huh.” Niall sets aside his food and gets contemplative. Quite a feat for him, Louis knows. “See, that’s interesting. He seemed so depressed yesterday. Figured he must be going around acting just as mental as you lately.”
The thought of Harry sad makes Louis thrum with some strange emotion; protectiveness or some shit. Except, maybe he’s the one behind it. So really, he ought to just strangle himself? Might save some of his problems.
He tries to muddle his way through his thoughts. “Wait, yesterday? What?”
“Yeah, Zayn dragged me in to look at the designs Harry made him. We picked one out and made the appointment and all.”
Louis seethes. Zayn hadn’t told him this at all. How dare he fraternize with the enemy? Except—he doesn’t want Harry to be the enemy, does he? No, not really. He bites his tongue.
Niall regards him with curiosity. “Maybe you ought to just talk to him, Lou. You never know.”
“Maybe,” Louis concedes in a small voice. “But if he doesn’t have a girlfriend…why hasn’t he made a move?”
“You have been avoiding him like the plague for two weeks. Zayn said he’s seen you walk right past Harry twice the past few times you’ve got here for your shift.”
Well. Louis’s not quite proud of that, but he can’t deny that it’s true. He sighs dramatically.
“Fine. What am I supposed to do now, then?”
hyacinth—sorry
He leaves the flower for Harry overnight once again. He figures it’ll give Harry an easy out, if that’s what he wants. Harry could easily ignore it, and they could go back to avoiding each other and pretending there’d never been anything between them.
Louis can’t say how pleased he is when that’s not what happens at all.
He’s not scheduled to work the next day, which he figures might be for the better. But when he does come in the day after that, he only has to wait half an hour. The door tinkles as it’s opened, and it feels like déjà vu. Except this time Louis looks up right away and openly stares as Harry approaches.
He’s too busy looking at Harry’s face, his small smile, and thinking of what to say that he doesn’t immediately notice the hyacinth Harry holds in his hands in front of his chest. Louis notes its significance immediately.
“For you,” Harry says softly, holding it out to Louis when he’s close enough. Louis takes it quietly, and only then notices the bandage on Harry’s wrist.
“What happened?” he says before he can even say thanks, eyebrows crinkling in concern. Harry glances at his wrist too and heaves a small, embarrassed laugh.
“Oh, erm. Was hoping you’d ask. Got a new tattoo today.” He shyly looks at Louis through his lashes. “Want to see?”
Louis smiles unsurely but nods. After placing the hyacinth in the vase, he gets up and rounds the corner of the counter. Harry’s already peeled off the bandage. He holds out his arm like a peace offering.
Louis knows immediately which tattoo is the new one amidst them all, not only because of the pink skin around it but also because it’s the only colored tattoo inked into Harry’s skin, and that’s—well. The air whooshes out of Louis’s chest in one go. Harry’d said before that he was waiting for something big, meaningful, to be his first colored tattoo. And here he is with a tiny purple stalk of wisteria tattooed onto his wrist. Right where he can see it all the time.
“In my head, I’ve thought of it as The Louis Flower ever since I left it for you,” Harry admits sheepishly. Louis can’t stop staring at the tattoo in wonder. “I, ah. I really like that flower. And I really like you, too.”
Now it’s Louis’s turn to look up a Harry shyly. “You do?”
“Lou.” He shuffles a step closer to Louis, and breathing’s suddenly becoming more difficult. “I left you a flower a day for months. Most of them meaning something to do with how much I like you.”
“Wasn’t sure if you were just, like. Educating me.” Harry snorts and shakes his head. “What about the girl?”
Harry cocks his head, still slowly closing the space between them. “What girl?”
And if that’s his response, well. Louis can’t imagine the girl was anyone important after all. He’s an arse.
“Never mind,” he mutters. Tentatively, he reaches out and smooths just one finger over Harry’s wisteria. “Well. Now what am I to get? Which flower is The Harry Flower?”
Harry gapes for a moment. “You mean—you really--”
“Curly.” Louis rolls his eyes. “You really need me to spell it out for you?”
“Well—just.” Harry looks away. “I guess the reason I always kept my distance was that you, you. Lou. You deserve so much. You’re so amazing. You deserve more than a lowly artist, you need someone on your level, in grad school and all that.”
“What? Harry. Just. Shut up.” It’s the stupidest thing Louis’s ever heard. As he shakes his head and gives Harry a bizarre look, he accidentally presses down on the fresh tattoo. Harry winces.
“Sorry, sorry,” Louis says immediately. He softens his grip. “Still hurts?”
Harry nods silently, wary.
“Ought I to kiss it better?”
One more nod, and a tentative smile.
Louis looks at the wisteria. Strokes it again. Then, nonsensically, he skips the bullshit altogether, pushes up on his toes, and kisses Harry on the lips instead.
And that’s how it actually begins.