Chapter Text
Why do you build me up (Build me up)
Buttercup, baby
Just to let me down? (Let me down)
And mess me around
“What the hell are these?”
Crowley eyed the bouquet incredulously. He hadn’t meant to start the conversation that way, especially with the delivery person still there. They were looking at him expectantly, holding the aforementioned flowers up. He hadn’t made a move to take them.
“Flowers for, um,” the courier started, fumbling their phone out from their pocket and checking something. “Flowers for Mr Crowley? This the wrong address?”
The courier- young and inexperienced, from the looks of them- glanced back at Crowley nervously. It was at that moment the demon figured he should probably do something. He took the bouquet from their waiting hands, frowning at the vibrant blooms. It was pretty enough; a bunch of fresh, bright blue hydrangeas, expertly wrapped in white paper and secured with a baby blue ribbon.
“No, no, you’ve got the right one,” he murmured, still scrutinising the poor things. The hydrangeas shivered slightly. “Sorry, rough night, is all.”
A ‘rough night’ didn’t even begin to describe it. Crowley had once again stayed up and drank copious amounts of alcohol. Each drink was interspersed with bouts of incoherent rambling concerning the very nature of ineffability. He had ranted about the Great Plan, and had shouted vaguely in Heaven and Hell’s respective directions, demanding why they all had to bother them when they were so close to being happy-
He had barely miracled away the dreadful hangover when his doorbell rang.
“It’s alright, mate. Happens to the best of us.” The courier checked their phone again. “This one’s from, uh, one A.Z. Fell? Weird name.”
Crowley froze.
It had been a few days since he left. In the period between that fateful day and this afternoon, he had done nothing but move back into his old flat in Mayfair. And there was the drinking, of course.
He had heard nothing from Aziraphale these past few days and had expected to hear nothing from the angel- Supreme Archangel of Heaven, he thought bitterly- for the next few years or whenever the Second Coming was scheduled to begin. He imagined they would meet at odds yet again, or maybe he’d swallow holy water in his despair before that day could come.
He certainly didn’t expect to be sent flowers, of all things.
In a daze, Crowley thanked the delivery person, tipping them generously before shutting the door. He gripped the hydrangeas tightly, the emotions he had tried to drown with alcohol the night before coming back in full force.
“Damn it,” he hissed.
The first bouquet arrived a few days after Aziraphale left.
It promptly found its way into the nearest garbage bin outside the building.
Finley Perez, a delivery rider for the new flower shop in the area, stared at the abandoned hydrangeas. He had been pushing his scooter out into the street proper when the sound of something rustling in a nearby dumpster piqued their curiosity. Thinking that a stray cat or some other kind of animal was struggling to hop out of the bin, they approached the large container and peered in.
There, lying on a pile of trash bags, semi-empty takeaway containers, and rotting food, was the bouquet. Already, the wrapping paper had started to absorb some sort of foul-smelling liquid from the bottom of the bin and the hydrangeas were covered in… well, he didn’t want to know.
They had no idea how Mr Crowley had managed to dump the bouquet without him noticing. A part of him entertained the thought that the redhead had artfully chucked it out a window, but a quick inspection of the side of the building proved otherwise. Either way, they had to admit his odd behaviour was intriguing. He whistled and took a moment to mourn the wasted flowers. Mira would not be pleased.
“That bad, huh?”
“He threw it away?!”
Best Buds Flower Shop was Mira Flores' pride and joy. It had opened only recently, yet Mira had been quickly acquainted with the Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association, thanks to the tireless- almost too tireless- efforts of one Mr Brown.
If one were to step over the threshold into the shop proper, they would immediately be met with the smell of rain and wet grass, accompanied by the perfume of whatever dewy fresh flower was displayed by the entrance. The cheery tinkling of bells hung by the door would announce a new arrival, eliciting an equally cheerful greeting from Mira, who would usually be stationed behind the register.
A few lush ferns in hanging baskets decorated the ceiling, swaying lazily in the faint breeze. Flowers of every colour sat in either small pots on shelves or large bunches carefully arranged in baskets on the floor. Some more shelves closer to the back were lined with a selection of gardening essentials; seeds, pots, and a couple of home garden starter kits, to name some of the wares. At the register, an army of succulents were gathered, ready and waiting for any last-minute impulse purchases.
Almost everything in the shop was bathed in a warm glow. The glass storefront allowed sunlight to pass. Overall, it was a quiet, cosy operation. Mira was mainly in charge of the care and handling of the plants, specialising in floral arrangements. Finley graciously volunteered to help with promotion, so they were put in charge of the shop's social media page. He had also agreed to help deliver orders, though it was an uncommon occurrence.
Together, they had poured everything into the shop, Mira especially. So she was certainly a bit peeved when she heard about the trashed hydrangeas. At least Mr Fell had paid well. Almost as if he anticipated the loss.
Honestly, neither of them anticipated much fanfare during the grand opening. They both knew that the shop was relatively unknown compared to other flower shops, so business was bound to be a little slow at the start. Much to their surprise, a gentleman had called in that morning, requesting a bouquet to be delivered that afternoon.
"You've reached the Best Buds Flower Shop; you either love it or leaf it. I'm Mira! How can I help you today?"
"Ah, good morning, Ms Mira. I'm looking to have a bouquet delivered?"
He sounded… kind.
"You're at the right place! What kind of bouquet would you like?"
"Um, well, I don't suppose you know the language of flowers?"
"Oh. We focus more on the… appearance? Of the arrangements? How the colours go together, that sort of thing."
"I see…"
"But I can see what I can do! We just stocked up on a bunch of different flowers, I’m sure we’ll find something that will fit you nicely- What's your name, sir? And what’s the occasion, if you don’t mind me asking?"
"... Fell. Mr A.Z. Fell. And I need to apologise to someone."
"Do you… want me to fish it out of the bin?" Finley started slowly, trying to gauge his friend's mood. Mira still looked miffed over the flowers, though it seemed her annoyance had shifted into something more akin to confusion. However, he continued to tread lightly.
"The wrapping paper's long gone, but on the plus side, we can still save the flowers," they added. The florist chuckled and shook her head.
"No, no, it's fine, I'm just confused why Mr Crowley would do something like that." She absently worried at her bottom lip. "Do you think I did something wrong with the bouquet?"
"I've seen your work, don't think that's possible," Finley replied. They reached around the counter and picked up a succulent, inspecting the plump green leaves assembled in a rosette. He poked at it.
"He probably cheated on 'im."
"Oi, stop menacing my plants." She plucked the poor echeveria out of his grasp and cradled the small pot protectively. Finley continued unfazed, reaching around once again and grabbing a tiny cactus in its stead.
"I’ve heard he let a naked man into his bookshop once. The one down the road."
"Ah. Interesting." Mira thought she could have done without that particular nugget of information. She shouldn't be gossiping about her own client, for goodness' sake. Speculating about the man's personal life was not professional at all.
"I guess that's why the name sounded familiar," she noted, her tone non-committal.
"Besides, why else would he throw away an obvious apology bouquet?"
"Maybe he didn’t know it was an apology?"
Finley shot her an incredulous look. They opened their mouth to deliver a snarky response before the phone near the register rang. Mira went to answer it, steadfastly ignoring the string of muttered expletives behind her as Finley frantically tried to catch the cactus pot that had slipped out of his hands.
"You've reached the Best Buds Flower Shop; you either love it or leaf it. I'm-"
"Ms Mira! Good afternoon, dear."
She stilled as the familiar, kind voice greeted her. Her eyes darted towards Finley, who had fortunately managed to save the cactus and her floors from suffering tragic fates.
"Mr Fell! Sorry, give me a minute-"
She put the call on hold and whirled around to face Finley.
"It's him," she hissed. They rolled their eyes.
“Yeah, I see that.”
“What do I say?"
"Tell him the flowers didn't work?"
"God," the florist muttered. She turned her attention back to the call. Hopefully Mr Fell didn't mind the slight wait.
“Alright, sorry about that, had to attend to… something. A customer."
Smooth, Mira.
"H-How can I help you?” She ignored the snickers coming from behind her.
“Oh, it’s perfectly fine, dear. I would just like to ask how the delivery went?”
“Um," she stalled, glancing over to Finley for support. He simply watched her, taking delight in the awkward situation she had found herself in. Bastard. "What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I’m afraid it’s rather silly, but Crowley- Ahem, excuse me, Mr Crowley is a dear…”
A beat. Mira wasn't sure if she imagined the touch of fondness in his tone. And yet it sounded… sad.
“A dear friend of mine, and I do care very much about how he reacts.”
She was too late to stop the strangled noise that made its way out of her throat. Finley quirked an eyebrow. Mira coughed.
“Oh… that’s nice." She trailed off, looking imploringly at her companion to save her. Finley sighed and shook his head, but obligingly held out a hand for the phone. She sagged in relief.
"Rest assured he did receive the bouquet, Mr Fell. I'll allow my associate to tell you more; Finley? How was the delivery?” She all but pushed the phone into their waiting hands.
Finley was better at social interactions. Better than her at social interactions. Engaging with other people was their speciality. Mira just knew how to take orders. Surely, he'd know how to respond to such a delicate question as this-
“Right. I’m just gonna be honest with you, mate. He threw it away.”