Archive of Our Own ^beta

Druvis loves working. 

She’s aware not many share the sentiment, stuck with jobs for the sake of convenience rather than pleasure. Druvis, however, is lucky. 

Her main source of income is freelancing at a local park – something she’s picked up on the side to help out with school. Sure, she’s born into a family of fame and even more infamous money; her parents could’ve had her tuition covered with ease. 

Except, except. 

Day by day, she’s abided by their backyard garden, pours her time into tracing every shape of the moss on the trunk, memorizing each figure of ant colony by its root. To heed their secrets, she’s failed her mother again and again, running away from endless banquets into the long night of the forest. It’s only natural nature has grown even more roots in her since then, and she writes thesis after thesis on her frequent visits to the Cascade Range in pursuit of an Environmental Science program. 

Unfortunately, her stepfather was no stranger to the Cascades, either. 

Druvis found herself in between the trees, but he lost himself in them. His business used to bulldoze every tree or sell every hectare without realizing it only hastened logging bans; his profit stagnated, then, of course, burning down the forest for cattles and crops was an equal if not worse short-sighted solution. 

In the fall after graduating high school, she’s wished to live differently. 

Independent of his money until her degree comes to pass and helps restore the land first, the Weyerhauser name second. 

Duties aside, though, Druvis keeps her childlike wonder. Where her heart truly soars is at a humble flower shop her best friend turned roommate Sotheby had run to make use of leftover herbal stocks from class, which has – through some miracles, you’d dare to say, magic – fallen into her hands. 

Sotheby’s was a staple of her town, her childhood. If Druvis sought refuge in the woods at nights, she was in the company of various flowers and a Sotheby bubbly like her cauldron in the mornings. So many afternoons were spent with the shopkeeper leaning over the counter, watching Druvis put together bouquets and clip stems and sort seeds. She was a natural, as though her talent is another flower that blooms best under their airy, sun-lit roof; eventually, Sotheby entrusted Druvis with her textbooks that spoke of potion recipes but may as well be languages of flowers. 

It was mutual; Druvis found a second home with actual human company that felt more home than her own. Sometimes she brought back parts of the shop to grow new species in her backyard, much to her mother’s dismay over getting her gown and heels dirty. Even as scholarships held her time hostage, she still made time to visit Sotheby’s at least once every month. Nothing good ever lasted, though; she should’ve learnt that from her hostile father. By the time she was halfway through with her postgrad degree, Sotheby had frowned. 

“You are…leaving? But, why?” 

Sotheby sighed, wiping non-existent dust off the counter. “I need to go do field work for the semester. I didn’t think it’d happen so soon, but what can you do? Duty calls.” 

And Druvis had observed Sotheby’s ghost of a smile as though forfeiting their safe space would be untethering, like seedlings uprooted. Bad enough that Sotheby was leaving, worse was Druvis didn’t make any other friend here, too fixated on her lifelong goals – but losing Sotheby’s in its entirety was unfathomable, if not for them then for their town. 

“What can I do?” She would’ve pleaded, not simply asked, keeping her tears at bay, her panic away, if she didn’t grow up all composed to keep her family name, but never her own will. 

Sotheby smiled again, for real this time. “That’s the single response I’ve waited to hear from you all day. I do have to leave. But you don’t. Not if you don’t want to!” 

Now, years later, Druvis still tends to Sotheby’s like it’s alive, like her lifeline. She earns more from weekends pruning vines at the park, true, and her sporadic openings from stress means some customers filtered out, also true, but the sense of grounding makes up for all of it. 

This Saturday is one of her slow days – only one client, just after dawn, an elderly lady who aspires for a cactus and succulent windowsill. Druvis spends the rest of the day doing her usual round of chores, and is idling by the counter, expecting to close up without anyone else, when the door rings the wind chime. 

She glances up from inventories, her usual “How can I help you?” fast on her tongue but dissolves even quicker. 

Because Druvis has lived in this neighborhood for years by her dorm, knows every single resident, despite not exchanging any word but courtesy – yet, the customer is a foreign face. 

She looks around Druvis’s age, maybe a bit younger; whatever it is, though, doesn’t deter the fact that she’s stunning, intimidatingly so, with shaggy blonde hair and deep blue irises.

“I need flowers.” Curtly, the stranger declares, and Druvis’s breath hitches at her thick Russian accent. 

Druvis blinks the daze off her face. “What?” 

“I’m here.” She gestures at herself. “For flowers.” 

Well, you wouldn’t be here for much else , Druvis muses, amused. Out loud, she says, “Well, we are in a flower shop. Feel free to look around.” 

With a “Right, thanks”, and a quick nod, she watches her mysterious customer walk to a shelf and inspect a bundle of roses. She keeps watching as the stranger jiggles her car(?) key on her forefinger, a nervous tick, perhaps? 

And Druvis watches as a branch was picked up, turned over, and returned.

She slips away from the counter, keenly aware of an anxiety gnawing at her chest. With a deep breath, she pushes it back and approaches. 

💐🍷

Lilya has been paying close attention to the red roses, wondering if they could really be this bright of a color out in nature when a voice probes her. 

“Need a hand?” 

She jumps, startled at the shopkeeper’s proximity. Was she too lost in thought, or could the other move that discreetly? Motioning in her space like she belongs there; actually, she does. All this space belongs to her. Okay, literally, not…you know. Lilya suddenly feels like intruding on such a tender presence.

 “Oh! I – uh – sure. Roses don’t work for this, anyway. I was just – looking.” 

The florist flashes her a grin, reaching out a hand and brushing it against soft petals. Something about it also brushes at Lilya’s heartstrings. “They are pretty. But not what you’re looking for?” 

“No.” 

“Anything in mind?” 

Lilya rubs her forehead. Another nervous tick. “Not really, no. Just not roses.” 

“Alright. What are you trying to say, then?” 

“Say?” A raise of an eyebrow. 

A similar rose-colored blush, as if Druvis’s regretting her word choice. “With the flowers…What’s the occasion?” 

“Oh. Sort of a…‘get well soon’, I guess?” 

“Easy enough. Anything more specific?” 

Lilya snorts. “Nope. Not unless you can get me something that says ‘Please wake up from your coma sooner or I’ll break in through the hospital’s window and kidnap you out, XOXO.’” 

She hasn’t meant it to be hilarious, but Lilya watches the florist’s face morph from shock into laughter. She watches her bring a hand to her face in an attempt to cover her smile, but diverges on its track and brushes a strand of hair out of her face instead. 

Fuck. Smile. Flowers. Smile. Must focus. 

“Oh, my apologies. That is terrible, I shouldn’t be laughing.” 

Lilya shakes her head, their mirth contagious. “It’s fine. Honestly, it was funny. In hindsight, I mean. When it happened, though, it was uglier. My pal’s repeatedly suffering from work stress, and they plug, like, a hundred cables into her body, sealed over a helmet to analyze the frequency of her ‘brain waves’ or something…Eh, forget it, I don’t do math.” 

“Oh?” Druvis’s expression devolves back into shock. “I hope she’s alright?” 

“Oh, yeah! Vertin’s fine. She will be, she’s the best of us. Don’t tell her I say that, by the way, for I myself am the best in their eyes.” 

The florist looks like she’s about to smile again but is afraid to show teeth. One time is courtesy. Second is interest. Many are vulnerability. Lilya’s well familiar with that. 

They come to stop by a table filled with flowers of more diversity. Lilya can’t name a single one, but Druvis begins to grab what she wants almost with her eyes closed. Lilya’s distracted by the sudden display of grace, enough to almost miss the question directed at her. 

“Is she a close friend? You sound like you care about her in your own ‘tough-love’ ways.” 

Lilya blinks, “Uh, yeah. She’s a prodigy and actually our squad leader at an investigative journalism department. Too young to be that sharp, sometimes.” She chuckles. “Well, I consider her more of my…not-adopted ‘lil sis? Godsibling?” 

“Found family?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Damn, I don’t English, either.”

Lilya receives a pair of twinkling green eyes like they smile for her mouth, then another question. “Do you know her favorite color?” 

“Blue, shades, perhaps purple?” 

“Cooler hues. I can work with that.” 

Lilya steps back as flowers are picked, stems are cut, and ribbons are tied. The end result is a harmonic spectrum of blue to purple flowers, as though Druvis eyedrops a single shade of indigo and plays with its lighting. The bouquet is wrapped with a white bow and black mesh fabric, adorned to their finest. 

The florist hands it to Lilya. Their fingers brush. It’s handy enough that Lilya can hold it in one arm. 

“Well?” Druvis prompts nonchalantly. “Thoughts? Does it work?” 

Lilya can’t help but grin ear to ear – not one of her usual aggressive, challenging smiles, but something more resigned and helpless. Hopeless. “It more than works! Thank you, um, Ms. –” 

“Druvis. Druvis Weyerhauser. But, please, don’t address me with formalities.” 

Lilya’s eyes seem to glint with understanding. They were blue, like water. Now lighter, more of a sky, like it reflects the ocean, like it looks after your every move. Druvis wonders if Lilya herself has something to do with that, too –  open and boundless and transparent. “Thanks, Druvis.” 

“I’m glad. Think nothing of it, I really love what I do.” 

She knows she’s expected to pay and leave, but she can’t bring herself to do so just yet. Instead, “Any particular reason you chose this bunch?” 

“See, here we’ve got purple hyacinths, which represent asking for forgiveness. Heathers mean good luck and protection; bellflowers mean unwavering love. The white ones are baby’s breath, which are often placed to complement the other species,” here Druvis’s pride surfaces, “but they also stand for purity of the heart, which I get a florist hunch this Vertin of yours possesses.” 

Lilya laughs, delighted, and there’s nowhere else for that emotion to pour. “Oh, she’s gonna love that! Very очаровательный! Very much so.” 

Druvis turns toward the counter, less like she senses the moment closing but more like she’s hiding something on her face. She whirrs the cash register to life and takes Lilya’s card. 

“I’m glad you stopped by Sotheby’s,” is what greets Lilya when she looks back up again. 

It’s probably just something she bids farewell to every customer to keep them returning. That doesn’t stop a rush of warmth from settling into Lilya’s chest, head lost in the clouds. She’d know. She loves flying. 

“Me too.”

💐🍷

All in all, Druvis never expects to see Lilya again. 

But she hasn’t been expecting to see her the first time either, so really, what does she know? 

Well, for starters, she knows that Lilya turns out to not just be all good looks, but dismantling. She knows that Lilya thought her flower language was charming. She knows that she’d wanted to tell Lilya her bouquet that day was on the house, but they’d only just met and Druvis didn’t want to be too forward. She has college debts, anyway. 

Druvis knew other things, too. Like how Lilya revisited a couple days later with two glasses of zubrowka tonic in hand as a thank-you because “Vertin was so grateful when she got discharged, you’d think it’s the flowers that nursed her back to health.” Or that despite taking her cocktail with too much if not all vodka, Lilya brewed Druvis’s light; though the latter never did fancy alcohol from all her uppercrust socials, either, she still emptied the glass because Lilya had taken the time out of her day, and “попробуй, ‘tis good for artists and you’re the arts!” She knew that when they finished their drinks, Lilya didn’t leave, just chilling on a customer bench, designed for long days and longer lines, asking “what is a lady like you doing in a flower shop, anyways?” And she knew Lilya hung on her every word in response, even as it drifted to mentions of Sotheby when a tint of longing broke their eye contact and trained Druvis’s back on cracks and crevices of the chipped-wood counter. 

Druvis got to know that Lilya found Sotheby’s because she’d decided to go on a walk, but not where the walk should go. She got to know that Lilya brushed her hair up on a ponytail a lot midway through conversations, exposing more curious scars under that golden mane at an alarming number. She got to know that Lilya was an exchange student from Moscow because she’d “wanted some fresh air”, and that her major was aviation. She got to know that she actually helps out a friend at a quaint mechanic shop just three streets over, and that she’s an adrenaline junkie, riding if not racing her sleek motorbike entitled ‘Lady Su-01ве’ everywhere, except on days of aimless walks like last Saturday.

All that was learnt in the span of one evening that Druvis surprisingly wished wouldn’t end until Lilya’s phone had rang and she frowned at the caller ID. 

“I should go,” she said, pocketing the device. “I wasn’t aware how much time had passed.”

“Alright. Thanks for the drink,” Druvis offered, reluctant but no less gentle. “The bison grass smelled fresh, and tender, like thyme and lavender in spring. I believe it is precious.”

“You can…smell things?” 

The dumbfounded remark actually earned a snicker out of Druvis, a sound that’d never failed to make Lilya scratch the back of her head, face flushing from something other than alcohol. “Hey, don’t mention it!” She digressed, “actually,” and whipped around to grab a handful of magnolia, “I’m buying these.” 

“Oh? Any particular reason?” 

“Because they were the closest thing.” 

Druvis is full-on laughing now. “You don’t have to!” A horrible, horrible marketing ploy. Her father would be ashamed. 

But Lilya was adamant, putting them up for checkout. “I am in a flower shop, right?”

Druvis sighed; she’s also figured out Lilya is stubborn, moreso when tipsy. She took her card for the second time in less than a week, but lowered the already low price. 

Before departing, Lilya stood, flowers in hand, and prompted, “Do these mean anything?” 

It was hard for Druvis to bite back a grin that Lilya was genuinely intrigued despite the lack of occasion. “Nobility and perseverance.” 

“Tough flowers.” 

“Yes. Tough flowers.”

Only then did Lilya leave. Only then did Druvis realize her heart was fluttering, but not in its usual anxious way, all uptight and business. 

I’m so not used to friendly interactions, she thought, I’m about to wither from it.

And the alcohol, too.

💐🍷

Lilya didn’t mean to return.

Well, the first time, she did. She wasn’t lying about Vertin’s joy, and though nobody was holding it over head, she’d wanted to spread it, too.

So she brewed Druvis tonic. Maybe make her laugh. Simple enough. 

Except, Lilya once again couldn’t bring herself to leave early, and Druvis had been wearing fall fits that unfairly accented her features. Rich black robe, white flaps, and a headband with a crescent over her hair. 

She hung out for a while. An hour. Okay, a little more. Then Sonetto rang and Lilya remembered that she was invited for dinner, and should probably head there. She had already taken Druvis her whole day, anyway, might as well bought some flowers, which ended up on Sonetto’s kitchen table, but not without one of Regulus’s signature bemused looks. 

Then, she went home. And would’ve forgotten about Druvis entirely. Except. 

Her laughter. The shine in her eyes, like fresh dews on grass. The way she tends to her flowers with utmost care. The things she knew. The things she’s come to know. The things Lilya knows she wants to know. 

Lilya didn’t mean to return. 

But she does, starting with only once in a while but soon escalating until it’s part of her routine, until she knows the hours Druvis would probably open (from Tuesday to Saturday, 9 to 7), and Druvis’s favorite drink (which turned out to still be alcohol, just Celtic ale.) 

And every time she comes, every time she goes, she’d buy a flower. Druvis’s voice detailing their symbols is like music to her ears. And because decorating those flowers back in the apartment above her and Regulus’s workshop is like carrying a piece of Druvis home. And because…

Because Lilya was maybe, possibly, positively starting to fancy Druvis. Like, like like her. Druvis lifts her up in midair, crashlands her back onto the earth – oh, pick a struggle; and not like she’s trying to impress Druvis or make her reciprocate or anything, but she doesn’t know whether it happening or not would be worse. Dizzy. Motion-sick. Fucked. She seeks refuge in her spirits again and passes out dreaming of soaring through a field of every flower she’s now known by heart. 

💐🍷

“Lilya!” 

“Hruhhh?” A voice slurs. 

“Holy cow Lilya, why are there so many dead flowers???” 

Regulus, whose tool belt is already fastened around her waist, barges into Lilya’s room to rouse the sleepyhead for breakfast and watches her defend groggily. “They aren’t dead!” 

Indignantly, Regulus points at the vase of wilting flowers on her bedpost. 

“Okay, so the лилии are having a tough time. But the розы are meant to be dead. I’m drying them.” 

“And I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why you’re trashing our apartment to make a plant graveyard.” 

“Oh, yeah? New hobby.” 

Lilya’s gaze never falters, but then again, she’s never been a great liar, too candid. 

“Lilya, do you remember Mr. Golden Sun that you adopted yourself?” 

“Mr. Golden Su – the fish?” 

“Yes, the fish, my fish. Remember what happened when you kept him while I was on vacation for a week?” 

“I thought we worked past that.” 

“He didn’t just die , Lilya, he changed color! A goldfish. He turned pink!” 

“Maybe he was part chameleon.” 

“All I’m saying is,” Regulus retorts, “That I find it really strange that you of all people choose a hobby which you have to keep things alive.” 

“Practice makes perfect! Besides, at least this time the color change is natural.” 

Regulus can’t argue with that, and let the topic drop. For now. They switch to swapping the latest hot-goss in town over lamb chops and apple cider (Regulus’s go-to, which Lilya had rolled her eyes at when she first moved in but now is gobbling it down like water). There comes a lull in conversation as both chew their bones clean, making a ping from Lilya’s phone ring across the room. Usually, she wouldn’t answer texts from random contacts to save her face after she drinks. It’s also too early in the morning for either Vertin or Sonetto to dial her up, unless it’s work, but in which case Regulus’s would’ve also rung. Today, though, she glances at the screen, and drops Regulus’s jaw by straight up grinning . Not a devious, plotting grin. No, it’s the grin of someone who’s over the moon about the text they’ve received. 

“Looks like Mr. Golden Sun wasn’t the only one turning pink,” Regulus comments, trying and failing to keep the jab out of her voice. 

The curve of Lilya’s mouth melts away into a straight line. “It’s nothing,” she waves, nevermind the fact that she’s unlocking her phone and replying with only her left hand. “Just a new friend.” 

“Lilya makes a friend? Who she texts back immediately? I ain’t be believing ya.” 

“Ha-ha,” she retaliates, also nevermind the fact that she still won’t hold her partner’s gaze whose curiosity is rising by the second. 

Aware that squeezing an honest answer out of Lilya would take ages and a dozen eye-rolls, Regulus just motions subtly, unlike someone else in the room. 

“Wh – Regulus!” 

But the rascal is already skipping away, eyes on the screen. Someone has sent Lilya a picture of lilies of the Nile in their garden with some follow-up messages, “They remind me of you, eyes and name. They also resemble hardiness, or foolhardiness , in your case”, and Lilya’s reply is a simple “bet.” 

What really catches Regulus’s eyes, though, is the contact’s name. 

Druvis 💐💚

“Who the fu – ow!” 

Lilya tackles her from behind. They both tumble back onto her bed, Regulus holding the phone up so it wouldn’t hit the headboard. Without a second wasted, Lilya plucks it from her hands. 

“You. Are. SO. Paying for that,” she gasps, propping herself up. 

Regulus turns, grin all over her face. “Me? I’m not the one acting like texting some ‘horticulturist’ is a government secret!” 

“She’s – I told you, she’s a new friend!” 

“A friend you just forgot to mention?” 

Lilya looks poised to retaliate, but she’s fighting a losing battle. She offers Regulus a hand. Regulus takes it and sits back up. 

Lilya sighs and runs a hand through her hair, “Look, she really is a friend. I met her some time ago, and I didn’t even mean to, like – even become friends. But she’s…nice. And new, who isn’t someone who knows me for years and…feels pressed to restrict whatever I’m up to, you know? Yeah, also, she hasn’t known me for years, but it feels easy. Around her. Like she actually does.” 

Regulus’s snark softens. “Aw, Lils. I’m so happy for you. Honestly.” 

Then, something clicks in her head – two somethings. The first is Lilya’s ‘friend’ in question takes care of plants, then there’s the bouquet for Vertin, and the flowers during dinner. 

“Is she a florist?” 

Lilya looks surprised, but seems to recall the abundance of flowers. “Yeah.” The second…it’d be a step, a leap, a risk to ask. But Regulus knows. Not like Lilya hasn’t honest-to-god grinned like she already got her flight license approved. 

“Do you like her?” 

No surprise this time. “Yeah.” 

“Awwwwwwww, Lils” Regulus fawns like a school girl with a best friend with a drunken confession with her crush right there, “And you’ve been buying all these flowers!” 

“Anddddd this is exactly why I didn’t tell you, сука!” 

“Come on, you’re half in love already.” 

“I’ll grind you to bits and feed you to Lady Su-01ве if you ever say that again.”

“Okay, okay!” Regulus bites her lip, biting back another laughter. “I’ll stop, but…” 

“No.” 

“I have to meet her.”
“Double no.” 

They hold each other’s stares, neither willing to back down. Lilya is dubbed the ‘Goddess of Victory’ herself, and there’d be other times when her glare alone would’ve shaken her teammates’ resolve. 

Not today.

💐🍷

Lilya’s presence is just as usual in Druvis’s life as the other way around. 

Druvis is fond of routines if they bring out the best in her. She loves learning new things, loves discovering parts of the city she hasn’t seen before, but at the end of the day it’s her and steadily sprouting vines, vying for something stable and secure.  

It actually surprised her at first that Lilya’s frequent visits didn’t bother her too much. They were random, but Druvis still found herself looking forward to them. Over time, they’ve grown more orderly. Rarely just once a week. Sometimes during the day, more often during the evening, after she closes up her workshop. Always parting with a flower bought, the meaning asked.

If Lilya walks in to Druvis preoccupied with a client, she will wave and go rifle through a gardening catalog instead. Druvis will try her best to stay on top of the task at hand, but somehow is always keenly conscious of Lilya’s every move, standing with her legs crossed, leather jacket around her waist, and hair fashionably tousled. 

Lilya never demands anything besides Druvis’s company. She never asks her to leave the store. She did make a joke about having to take Druvis out for a spin on her motorbike, once, and Druvis had laughed, heart on her sleeves. Emotions she’d forgotten existed. Anticipated. Hopeful. 

So, during a late Friday night, when Druvis hears the tell-tale rev of said motorbike, she finds herself leaning on the counter, expectant, eager. 

But Lilya isn’t alone. 

Druvis feels her heart rate pick up; the routine has shifted again, a new anomaly. She’s more than fine with new customers. Not so much with new customers with Lilya. 

As it is, the stranger is all smiles and flamboyant looks. She’s rocking a jacket in such a vibrant, borderline hideous shade of orange that clashes with her turquoise miniskirt and almost every piece of Sotheby’s furniture, too. If Lilya were the sky, she’d be the wind – free, but not all-consuming. More ‘approachable’ – set the ships sailing; more ‘uplifting’ – elevates people’s spirits. She also seems immune to the daggers Lilya is gazing her way.

“Hiya, you must be Druvis!” 

Druvis, caught off guard by the fact that no introduction is needed, smiles. “I must be.” 

“The name’s Regulus,” she informs, motioning her into an enthusiastic handshake. “Lils’s told me so much about you.” 

“Has she now?” 

Lilya pokes out her tongue. “She just wanted to know where all the flowers were coming from.” 

“‘N I have to say,” Regulus leans in closer, feigns conspiring. “You do a much better job at taking care of them than she does.” 

Druvis half-grins, endeared, as Lilya still blushes except she looks 101% sober today. “I’m sure she tries her best. I have been doing this for what seems like my whole life.”

Regulus’s laugh bounces off the walls, “You wouldn’t be saying that if you’ve heard of the tragedy of Mr. Golde–” 

She earns an elbow on her stomach. Druvis watches them banter and deems they must’ve known each other for a long time. Friends with the kind of friendship she’s never had, or is missing right now with Sotheby overseas. 

“Anyway,” Lilya declares. “We aren’t here just to waste your time, Druvis.” 

“You never do.”

A throat is cleared. Druvis can’t just keep putting these out without a single expression on her face or a falter in her voice! It’s as if her soul has picked up a brush to paint from Lilya’s own but still managing to keep its original palette a secret. 

“Right – uh. Thanks, Druvis, that’s – you’re – sweet of you to –”

“Speaking of not wasting time, what Lilya meant to say is that I actually do want some flowers!” Regulus interrupts. “I’m heading to a concert soon, and thought I’d get the performers some. It’s rock ‘n roll time, baby!” 

“Of course. Please wait, I’ve got just what you need.” With that, Druvis slips away. Handpicking various roses and clipping their thorns, the familiar work a relief. At some point, she hears a snicker, then an oof, like the two clients are wrestling right on her floor. 

Upon handing Regulus the bouquet and receipt, she beams at Druvis, fawning all over it, “no wonder Vertin liked hers so much.” 

“Well, I better head home and put these bad boys in a vase. It’s wonderful talking to you, Druvis! I’m just three streets over, if you haven’t noticed before, but I bet you did for a while now.” She witnesses another elbow dug into Regulus’s ribs, live. “We should hang out sometime!”

“If I’m not busy, I’d tell you.” 

“Okie dokie! I’ll get your number from Lils later, then! See you ‘round!”

Regulus waves goodbye, ducking out the door. Druvis glances back at Lilya, who’s been uncharacteristically silent, rooted in place. 

“Are you not leaving?” 

Lilya shakes her head like some words would tumble out on impact. “No, no, I wasn’t planning to. Unless – you want me to?” 

“Oh? What did you plan, exactly?” Druvis inquires just above a giggle. “I’m sure Regulus, as delightful as she is, didn’t cut the list.” 

Lilya scuffs her boots against the floor, hand fiddling a key in her pocket. “Do you think you can close up shop early, красотка?” 

Druvis still doesn’t know what half of Lilya’s slips into Russian mean. What she knows, though, is that she’s never wanted to more. And, as a matter of fact, she can . 

Before long, both of them are standing outside, Lilya waiting for her to finish locking up. Druvis twists the keys, then gives the door a yank, double checking. 

“We’re all set.” 

Lilya flashes her a toothy grin. “Come here, let me introduce you to my second I mean most favorite lady in the world!” They walk towards a nearby lamppost where it stood a rugged, thunderous, velocity-packed motorcycle; stuff of Lilya’s legends. 

Druvis wonders if her doubts should ebb away or surge tenfold at the sight, and she’s even less sure whether it’s a good mix of feelings to have. But, she supposes it’s always been the thing with Lilya. The thrill of dopamine, but not the fear of surrendering to it; Lilya’s shown time and time again she won’t push her, not at all. 

In an attempt to survey the beast, something else catches Druvis’s eye – a flower just shy of rearing its head from the crack on the sidewalk. Leaning down, she plucks it. 

“Look,” she shows Lilya. “The dandelions are in bloom. You should make a wish.” 

It’s Lilya’s turn to wear an inexplicable face. Druvis watches her take it in, bring the flower closer to her lips, then pauses, a moment of thought. 

“Make one with me?” 

It’s the first offer of the day that can flip Druvis’s stomach, so she only nods. Lilya takes a step toward her until they’re side by side, arms pressed together, flower between them. 

“You should…hold onto it, too. For the wish. That is.” 

“For the wish.” 

She raises her hand and wraps it around Lilya’s. Larger than her own. Cold, jagged, but it’s the same one that handles her every petal with care. 

“On three?” Druvis whispers, almost lost to the wind. 

“On three.” Lilya picks up anyway; she’s acutely aware of everything Druvis. 

“One…” 

“Two…” 

Lilya squeezes her eyes shut. “Three.”

💐🍷

There’s nothing out of the blue about Lilya’s recent, constant good mood. 

“Blimey! She’s smiling again,” Regulus teases when their trio’s out at Vertin’s favorite tea house to celebrate her full recovery. “Vertin, why is she smiling? What is she plotting? Is she planning to run me over?” 

“Oh, shut up won’t you?” Lilya mutters unconvincingly with her phone in hand, snapping a pic of her drink to send to you-know-who. 

“Wow. First, you elbowed me, thrice . Now, you tell me to shut up. I expect an apology bouquet, stat.” Lilya’s about to tell Regulus exactly what kind of cursed flowers in heavens or hell she should expect, but Vertin swivels around in her chair towards them. 

“Quiet, you both! Regulus, Lilya isn’t going to murder you. Isn’t she just happy about her new girlfriend?” 

Lilya yells “She isn’t my girlfriend!” at the same time Regulus exclaims “Yeah must be her girlfriend!” 

Regulus takes five to register the statement. “Wait, haven’t you, like, gone on a bunch of dates? And she’s still not your girlfriend?” 

“Because,” Lilya snaps. “We’re just – hanging out. As friends.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Honestly. It’s like in the shop, except – you know – outside.” 

Regulus gives her a signature unimpressed look. She turns to Vertin, “can you believe that this genius didn’t even think about asking this very pretty florist to go out anywhere that wasn’t her own store? I had to drag her there to do it.” 

Vertin sips her tea in an attempt to mask her cackle.

“Remind me why I decided to hang out with either of you.” 

Vertin puts down her cup, not bothering to hide a smirk this time. “Because nobody in your class wanted to partner up with you? Poor, poor miss valedictorian who only has us.”

Lilya smacks her hand, standing up. “I have plenty of friends, mind you! In fact, I’m going to see one right now.” 

“It’s Druvis, isn’t it?” Regulus deadpans. 

Lilya scoffs. “Bold of you to assume I’m that predictable.” 

“Tell her I say hi. Also, take my bike instead of your death machine, please?” 

“No thanks, I’ll take my chances.” 

“I bet it’s just because you want to see your ‘girlfriend’ as soon as possible.” Vertin chimes in. 

Lilya strides out of the shop with the echoes of Regulus and Vertin’s ‘good luck on your date!’ tailing her. 

Dumbasses. She’d die for them. 

Lady Su-01ве is waiting by the teahouse’s entrance. It’s true she’d reach Sotheby’s faster with it, but there’s another reason for her refusal to take Regulus’s bike. In the recent week, she’s found out that Druvis adores her vehicle. 

The first time she’s driven them around – the same night as dandelions and wishes and standing too close – Druvis hesitated for a grand total of five minutes until Lilya sped through cars on highways that she tossed caution to the wind, letting out a string of uncharacteristic laughter and throwing her hands in the air. She terrified Lilya enough that she had to make a small detour to the nearest Walmart and buy her a helmet. 

“This is absurd,” Druvis fastened the black helmet with cat ears onto her head. “You didn’t have to buy me one.” 

“Well, it’s the only one that fits your head, and if you keep insisting not to hold on, then yes, yes I have to buy you one.” 

“Fine, I’ll hold on.” 

And she did, arms wrapped around Lilya’s waist. They drove around aimlessly, then Lilya, through the earsplitting wind, yelled, “HAVE YOU HAD DINNER YET?” Druvis shook her head no. “DO YOU WANT STEAK?” 

Druvis nodded, clunking their helmets together, which for some reason had been extremely funny at the time, and they’d both burst into laughter, Lilya struggling to focus on the road. 

She laughed a lot around Druvis. Moreso at the end of the night when Druvis had thanked her, citing she’d forgotten how to have this much fun in a long, long time. 

However, she isn’t expecting to take Druvis anywhere today. Lilya has let her know she’d drop by earlier, but there came a reply that said she’s still welcome to, except Druvis herself would probably be too busy to be good company, because ‘it’s Valentine’s and people will fight tooth and nail over those flowers.’ 

So as Lilya pulls up towards Sotheby’s, a car has stolen her usual parking spot, and there’s an actual queue, some standing off to the side, admiring the plethora of scents and colors. She feels a flare of pride; she’s watched Druvis prepare those. 

Normally, she’d go comb through the many magazines on the rack by the door. But that’s mostly because she didn’t want to make things awkward when Druvis was busy with just a few clients, and the shop was almost entirely vacant. 

Today, she takes the opportunity to watch the florist work. As always, it’s done with an other-worldly grace, like arcane magic flows in her blood that she touches up her bouquets with. The rest of the time, Druvis is tentative, browsing through a lot of options before a decision; but here, in her element, she walks the hardwood floor and goes through the shelves like clockwork. Sotheby’s actually empties out fast, and soon Lilya is noticed by Druvis who beams at her before getting swept away by yet another customer. The former thus resorts to a copy of Florists’ Review, anything to not burn up right there and then over being the sole receiver of such a smile from an unearthly woman. 

When only one person is left – a school girl nervously wondering what she should buy for her first Valentine – Lilya sets the journal aside. Ten minutes later, the teenager walks out with sparkling eyes and a bouquet whose flowers Lilya has long memorized.

She gestures at where Druvis was last standing, but rather than a nod of affirmation, she’s greeted by the sight of the other opening the door behind the counter that she knows lead into the storage room. 

Unsettled by this turn of events, she just stands, frozen in place. Vertin’s words ring in her skull; it’s true she’s always been inclined to run away, run anywhere, run somewhere alone to work on her own things when it gets hard on others. She remembers pressing her classmates too much back in Zeno since their test flights were few and far between. Ultimately, she opted for vanishing out of their sight; they were holding the prodigy in her back, anyhow. Or, were they? Privately Lilya wonders whether she can lead this one track mind forever. 

Wiping her hands on her shorts, she musters up a conscious effort to make a beeline for the door before her raw instinct wins over. 

She knocks, once, twice. “Hey, Druvis? Can I come in?” 

A muffled hum. 

She gently pushes the door open. She hasn’t been here before, but it’s as cozy as the rest of the shop, lit by the sun streaming in from a floor-to-ceiling window. It isn’t too cluttered, either, everything in its own place, as long as Druvis would have it. 

Said florist is leaning against the wall, hands pressed to her face. For a split second, she doesn’t react after Lilya enters. Then she shoves her hands into her hair, accompanied by a weak smile. 

“Hi, sorry about that,” she starts. “Sometimes it just…sometimes it’s overwhelming, and…” She lets out a strained chuckle. “I just need to calm down. I assumed it’d be better if –” 

“Hey,” Lilya interrupts that train of thought before it can go off the rails. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

But Druvis shakes her head. She rubs her face again. Lilya follows the lines of her palms, and –

“Druvis, you’re bleeding!” 

“Oh.” Druvis exclaims, too calm for the severity of their situation. “Fair. Roses are popular today, thorns and all.” 

“Do you have any bandages?” Panic is mounting in Lilya’s voice. 

“Somewhere around. By the boxes.” 

“I’ll get them.” 

Lilya finds them – and a few alcohol wipes – easily enough. She returns to Druvis, but instead of handing them right to her, she sits on the floor, gesturing the other down next to her. 

“Give me your hands.” 

Wordlessly, Druvis offers her hands. Lilya holds them steady with one of hers after tearing open a wipe. 

“This is gonna sting,” she warns.
“It cannot get any worse.” 

“Good point,” Lilya concedes. She presses the wet swab onto Druvis’s skin, wiping the blood away to apply some bandages on the worst cuts. Suddenly, propelled by her same old recklessness, by the thrill whenever she breaks the speed limit, by something else that may as well tiptoe on love, Lilya holds Druvis’s hands, bringing them up to her lips and planting a kiss over a bandage. 

“There,” she murmurs. “They should feel better now.” 

What is she doing what am I doing what is any of us doin–? 

Druvis looks at Lilya. Who hasn’t pulled away. Who isn’t pulling away, their hands still intertwined. Who’s looking back at her with so much care, open and bare. 

It’ll be too easy. To just lean forward. To stop beating around the bush. 

Perhaps she’s hungover. Or still drunk. Laughably drunk on the alcohol of the wipes. Drunk on too much sun overhead. Drunk on Druvis herself. 

Lilya suddenly snatches her hands away and stands up, nearly toppling over. Druvis, visibly startled by her jolts of movements, follows suit. 

“Lilya? Is everything…alright?” 

“Yeah,” Lilya fakes the realest smile ever. “Yeah, yeah, just – my legs got numb. C’mon, let’s get going…Out for dinner! Again!” 

For another heartbeat, Druvis looks like she’s about to protest. But she sighs, “okay, sounds good to me,” relinquishing. 

Lilya nods fervently. Inside, her lungs are ablative – picking up drag, shedding, burning . 

💐🍷

At first, Druvis doesn’t question it. She’s tasted loss for longer than she remembers her name. 

Grieve the lack of empathy from her parents, rage at her woods no longer towering. Then Sotheby, an absence not as loud, but takes up just as much space. 

All in all, loss has marred her well into adulthood. 

At first, she doesn’t question it. Well, she does , a lot, her mind whirring, her cozy space now careening out of place; but she rationalizes, vies for logic. It’s fine if Lilya doesn’t visit for a day. Or two. Fine if all her texts and calls go unanswered. Fine. 

By the third day, though, the cloud of worry grows into a storm. That afternoon, she dials up Regulus – who by now she’s met often enough for comfort – heart in her throat, bile in her mouth. 

“Hey, Druvis?” Regulus picks up. Her tone has lost its usual glee; she knows what this call is about. 

“Where is she?” Hurt?Gone?Dead?HatesMe? dissipate on the tip of her tongue. 

There’s a sigh on the other line. “Can you come over? There’s something you should probably know.” 

“Of course.” 

Druvis orders an Uber to their workshop. No motorcycle today. 

Regulus is already at the door when she reaches to knock. “Hey. It’s good to see you. Come in.” 

Regulus leads the way upstairs, away from worn equipment and wearier vehicles. Their apartment is evidently lived-in, with a mass of laundry piling up and dirty dishes lolling in the sink. Alas, due to that, it sticks out like a sore thumb that it’s been abandoned in a hurry, too; half-empty canteen on the kitchenette, garter haphazardly discarded on the floor, pocket unzipped. Druvis tries to distract herself from the sickeningly familiar possessions by scanning the flowers around them. There’s a batch of impatiens and a vase of daffodils. Touch-me-not versus New Beginnings. They scream conflict right here in the hallway. At least to a florist. 

They sit down at a small picnic table. Regulus pours Dr. Pepper from a pitcher into two glasses in front of them. Of course Regulus is a Dr. Pepper person. 

“So,” she tears through the silence. “I know you’re really worried.” 

“Is it that obvious?” Druvis’s lip twitches in a way that you smile sometimes when you’re sad, like it’s the last thing you could do – softening yourself to others, pleading for comfort. 

“I think anyone would be.” Even Regulus isn’t in the mood for teases. “But, look – you don’t need to.” 

“I don’t?” 

Regulus groans. “Sorry, I don’t – I’m not really sure how to explain this.” An exhale. “Lilya does this…sometimes. She’s very…free-spirited. Not spirit-free, of course, and thank the great god of rock she’s also an oversharer drunk! I’ve come to know that she’d talked about running away all her childhood, somewhere with less rules and more competence. Something about Lilya kept diving headfirst into danger just for the sake of putting on a show to the point her past academy had to ground her as part of ‘talent preservation’. More like ‘house arrest’ – her words. She went through with it at one point, and – .” Regulus halts herself to sort through her words. “And it sucked. Her parents didn’t know she was applying for a student visa, and had even less clue when she ended up a continent away. It took until a month for the guilt to finally sink in, and I was there, in the same room as their facetimes. A lot of screaming, even more crying. It sucked. Left without a single lead to your loved one.” 

Druvis nods, shakily. She expects the table to break, the ground to crack from the sheer weight of the revelation. Regulus takes a sip of the soft drink before continuing. 

“But she came around. It’s why she’s willing to grind five credits a semester now to earn her way back to on-site training good and right. She did mail her old classmates and instructors an apology. Still, every now and then…” 

The rest of her sentence trails off. Druvis taps a finger against her glass. “Are you ever afraid…that maybe she won’t come back, one day?” 

“Of course I am,” she replies without missing a beat. “Of course I am. But we just have to…trust her. That…this is something she just…she needs to work it out for herself, I guess.” 

Silence settles over them again. “Can you do me a favor?” Regulus probes. 

“Anything.” 

“When she returns, don’t…don’t hate her. Give her a chance. Talk. You can do whatever you want afterwards, but…Talk it out. Please.” 

“I’m,” Druvis brushes a wayward strand of hair out of her face like it’ll also clear up her mind, “I’m just afraid I might’ve done something to push her away. Like I’m not…worth it.” 

“What on earth would you’ve done? Druvis, she thinks you’re, like, the awesomest person alive. Even if she doesn’t say it, I know. Trust me. Tbh, I’d bet on my vinyl records that – privately, you do, too.” 

“Last weekend…” Druvis recalls. “I got a little overwhelmed, and – I’d tried to keep it together, but –” 

“Hey,” Regulus steadies her arm with a palm. “You did nothing wrong, I promise.” 

But I did. I let her see what she means to me. 

Outloud, “alright,” Druvis nods instead. “I’ll take the best friend’s vote of confidence for it.”

“Good! Now, I know these are your working hours, but stay for lunch? The fam really wants to meet you. Especially Vertin, the recipient of your stellar very first impression on us.” 

Druvis’s mind drifts to the last meal she had with Lilya. If she’d known it’d be the last, last time…

But it won’t be. It won’t.

The idea of having lunch with a bunch of strangers is intimidating. But it shall be nowhere near any of her past banquets – it’s a bunch of strangers who want the best for her. Lilya’s talked about their squad so much Druvis feels like she almost knows them all. She figures there’s no harm in meeting the people that are part of Lilya’s life.

“Yes, I’d love to.”

💐🍷

Over the next few days, the ‘Timekeeper’s’ squad becomes a safe haven for Druvis. 

Vertin is as warm and welcoming as Lilya has made her out to be. Sonetto’s tenderness and open arms are a breath of fresh air. Sonetto is searing salmon with a garlic-lemon butter sauce in the kitchen, insisting on a challenge to guess their guest’s taste profile in a lifelong pursuit to better grasp the world around her. The squad entertains Druvis while they wait. She hears stories of Vertin and Sonetto happening to grow up together, how their friendship was tested and strained back in middle school – Sonetto was a model student through and through while Vertin was infamous for her streaks of rule-breakings and a will to forge her own path; then, with time and trust – they sort through their differences in journalism, a department that unites both discipline and vision – fixed and rebuilt. Vertin also finds Druvis’s wisdom on plants refreshing (she has a habit to gather local items, including seeds, in her suitcase on field trips), and they swap tips on how to best grow species from all over the world in a single climate. There’s another message right in this room, somewhere – anything natural can be nurtured, as long as you’re up for it.

By the end of their first lunch, Druvis feels like she’s known them her whole life. 

She returns to Sotheby’s and reopens it everyday now. She waits for the flash of blonde hair and sharp smirk. She gets an influx of new customers from an advertorial column the Timekeeper’s squad has dedicated to her. 

Regulus doesn’t visit as often as Lilya did, but she does pass by, often also with sodas. Sometimes Vertin passes by, when she isn’t busy pulling all-nighters on an issue. Sometimes it’s Sonetto on her way around town to take pictures, and she’ll take breaks under the homey roofs of Sotheby’s, often with a fond insistence to help Druvis out with menial chores. 

They all help Druvis have more faith in solidarity – trust in your loved ones. They all make waiting easier than it would’ve been otherwise.

💐🍷

Sometimes, it’s too much. Sometimes, it’s still not enough at all. 

Sometimes, Lilya looks into the mirror and only sees tell-tale scars from years of splitting the sky open. Back during term breaks from Zeno, her father would sit her down, apply painkillers, and ask how many stitches it’d taken to close her wounds from brushing with high altitude and higher speed. She’d turn to stare down his perturbed face in exacting silence, and with her old childhood nickname, he’d sigh, You’re a loose cannon, my Goddess of Victory. 

That was the first time she’d disappeared, seeking refuge out on the streets with Lady Su-01ве for one-turned-too-many nights. 

Sometimes, she looks into the mirror and thinks that all there is to her is fly or get flown over, run or be run through. Isn’t it ironic how you say fight or flight instinct and she’s a pilot prodigy? But Druvis has looked at her like perhaps that doesn’t have to be true. Doesn’t have to be so on guard, all alone. 

So Lilya does what she’s always done and takes back control by simply fucking vanishing when things have become too much and not enough. 

This time, though, it’s as if she’s flying away against a headwind, and it’s invisible, but she feels it, feels it in her bones – and she knows, knows who they’re blowing her back to, knows exactly where she should be where it softens down to a gentle breeze on the field. And she can hear the wind whispering in her own voice, in all their voices, actually, saying what she’s always longed to hear, what she privately wishes she’d deserved to hear from her classmates, teachers, parents earlier. 

We’re counting on you.  

💐🍷

Another Saturday morning, she’s there like she never left. 

Druvis has had A night, insomnia gripping her in a chokehold; she’s finished two papers, then picked her woodcarving pastime back up well until 5AM, imagining she’s crafting wands for a peculiar realm of magic beyond time and space she often dreams of at night. Often dreams of growing up there.  

She wakes up with a pounding headache and the familiar taste of worry at the back of her throat. She skips breakfast and answers emails. She’s on her way to Sotheby’s, the sun too bright in her eyes. 

It’s a short walk, not more than fifteen minutes. Yet, as opposed to her feet, Druvis’s thoughts are a hundred miles per hour, pondering about her client requests and the flower deliveries today and, as always, of –

Lilya is sitting on the sidewalk. 

She’s hunched over like she’s exhausted, but there’s no mistaking that aviator jacket and messy blonde hair all over her face. Lilya. 

Druvis lets out a strangled gasp and Lilya turns to her, eyes slightly sunken like storm clouds but still are as beautiful as the sky as she ever was. 

Lilya stands up in one fluid motion. Druvis knows she should say something, she’s replayed this exact moment about a thousand times and a half the past few days, but now she’s here, her mouth is sealed shut. What if she does, and Lilya disappears again? 

She doesn’t need to, anyway, because Lilya takes the words out her throat. 

“Sometimes…” She starts. “I think about what I do. What I’ve been doing.” 

Druvis exhales. Her turn. “Which is?” 

“I don’t know.” A shrug. “Of…doing something dumb, I guess? I’ve always put myself in danger. Then suddenly, I’m not alone anymore. And…I’m not sure what to do.” 

Druvis nods.

“You don’t have to…forgive me. But I needed – I wanted to see you.” 

That’s Druvis’s incentive to walk closer. She looks Lilya up and down for a second before, ever so tentatively, taking her hand into her own. Tight enough to reassure, but loose enough to let her pull away and trust her not to. 

Lilya doesn’t. So Druvis says, “You don’t need my forgiveness, because I have never been mad at you. But…” 

“Oh…? Yeah?” 

“We need to talk. About this, I mean. About our insecurities. About our past, if we want a future…with both of us in it. 

There’s an unreadable shimmer in Lilya’s irises. She brushes a thumb over Druvis’s palm. “Alright.” 

Druvis finally holds her gaze. The hope is still there, like her eyes smile for her mouth. 

Druvis smiles back. “Alright.” 

💐🍷

They talk. Talk. And talk. 

It’s as fun as pulling out teeth. The aftermath of running always is. 

Still, things slip back into place; Druvis behind the counter, Lilya leaning over it. They don’t say too much at first, but it isn’t remotely awkward, like the air between them puts their words on hold, nurturing a better something – a promise. Then, Lilya helps out with a delivery on her bike, and it really doesn’t have to be so awful. 

When she goes back home, she does get whacked on the head with a rolled up magazine, but Regulus pulls her in for a hug afterwards, then shoves her abruptly away, “You need to talk to Druvis,” before holding her again. 

The weeks pass in a blur of work and catching-ups and talks. She goes out with Druvis, with Regulus, with Druvis and Regulus, with Druvis and Regulus and the rest of the Timekeeper’s squad. She brings Druvis over to their apartment, and the latter helps her sort out her flower graveyard over a few (too many) drinks. They talk. 

Lilya opens up about her scars and Zeno and how she’d always felt like she’s better off on her own. And Druvis tells her about years of loneliness and misunderstanding in a crowd and how she, too, has felt like, or even actually run away sometimes. 

Lilya traces over the scratches from the roses on Valentine’s still fresh on Druvis’s knuckles. “If we met sooner, I’d help take you away.” 

Druvis grins. “We could’ve. We still could.” 

“Госпожа Druvis, are you saying you’d run away with me?” 

Druvis just reaches to tuck Lilya’s hair behind her ear to take all her face in. “Maybe one day,” – and that’s enough for Lilya. 

They don’t go anywhere further, but not like their conversation’s gone stale, more like it’s fulfilled. Lilya orders takeouts and Druvis finds a movie for them to watch, but they fall asleep halfway through. Lilya wakes up the next morning with her neck aching in some other dimension, but Druvis is curled up next to her and all Lilya can care to think on her incredibly hungover head is that – this feels right. They feel right.

💐🍷

Druvis loves working. 

She knows not many share the sentiment. Druvis, however, has gotten lucky. 

Her phone trills. She looks at it and finds a text from Lilya. 

On my way.

It draws a smile out of her. Being anywhere with Lilya does that– a diner, in the park, by a pond, in her apartment. But where she loves above all else is right here, where it all started.

It’s not long before the sleepy quiet of the neighborhood is ruptured by the revving of a motorcycle’s engine. Druvis finds herself sighing before its rider can even come in. 

The door rings the wind chime. 

An expected customer walks in. She looks around Druvis’s age, maybe a bit younger; whatever it is, though, doesn’t deter the fact that she’s stunning, intimidatingly so, with shaggy blonde hair that Druvis loves to comb her fingers through and deep blue irises that never change color beneath the sun like they never waver in their resolve.

“I need flowers.” 

Druvis raises an eyebrow. “What?” 

“I’m here.” Lilya points at herself. “For flowers.” 

Well, you usually aren’t here for just that, Druvis thinks, amused. Out loud, she says, “Well, we’re in a flower shop.” 

Lilya nods. “Good thing. Think you can help me find what I need, or are you gonna let me look around?” 

Druvis slips away from the counter with a laugh. “I think I can lend a hand.” 

“Okay then,” Lilya jiggles her motorbike key on her forefinger. A nervous tick, obviously. “I know exactly what I want. First, red carnations.” 

Carnations (red): admiration, romantic affection. 

“Gardenia.” 

Gardenia: love, refinement, purity of the heart; often seen in wedding floral arrangements. 

“Of course, lavenders and violets.” 

Lavender: devotion, grace, serenity. Violet: faith, mystical inspiration, daydreaming. Both of which symbolize love between two women.

Druvis wraps them up together. Her heart is racing, racing – but her hands are steady as ever. “Quite an unconventional bouquet.” 

Lilya smirks. “I’m all for breaking conventions.” 

Still smiling, Druvis hands her the bouquet. “Anything else?” 

“No, not really. Oh, right!” Lilya pretends to slap her forehead. “I nearly forgot.” 

Out of the pocket of her jacket, she slips out a single dandelion and places it in between the flowers. 

“There, perfect.” Lilya preens. “Also, these are for you, моя леди.” 

She holds out the bouquet, and Druvis takes it back, laughing and elated, and it hurts from all the smiling and flushing; her facial muscles have really, really forgotten how to have this much fun in so long. 

Lightheaded, Lilya flings her across the counter. It’s one of her other genius ideas; Druvis very nearly falls on her face. But, Lilya is reminded, time and time again, that her recklessness doesn’t have to be so bad – with a mix of Druvis’s grace and her strong arms, they hold each other up, and Lilya drags her the rest of the way through. She’s laughing, they both are, and she twirls Druvis around, once, twice, before setting her down. 

Druvis’s always the better one with words; she feels a need to confirm, or reaffirm, thereof. But she looks into Lilya’s eyes like every cloud parting after rain, the perfect weather for take-off, and realizes all that needs to be said has already been said – in the bouquet she holds.

So, instead she takes action. She tilts her head up and closes her eyes. And wishes. 

Then Lilya meets her lips halfway – and it’s surprisingly soft and warm and like a promise and everything, and Druvis thinks, this – they must’ve been exactly Lilya’s wish, too.