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“Soonyoung, I’m allergic to flowers. You know this.” Junhui has told this at least a million times, probably two million.
“But Junnie,” whined Soonyoung, packing his backpack with extra clothes for later on tonight, “I need to get these flowers now and it doesn’t fit in with my schedule. You know I have to be at that studio at five in the evening sharp.”
“Can’t you go after practice?”
“They’re closed by then?”
“Then go right now!”
“I’m going to miss the train!”
Junhui groaned. “I’m allergic, Soonyoung.” He ran his fingers through his hair, sweeping his hair across as he lightly jerked his head to the side.
“Take medicine!”
“What if they don’t give it to me because I’m not you.”
He pouted. “You’re so complicated, you know that, Junnie?”
“I’m aware.”
“Just tell them you’re picking it up for me, I’m sure they’d let you take it. If you want, you can call me and I can talk to them.”
Junhui sighed in defeat. There was no way out of it. “Okay.”
“You’re the best, Junnie!” Soonyoung grinned as he hugged his friend who was pouting.
–
At least the flower store was a brief stroll from his mutual apartment with Soonyoung. And the weather was nice, so it’s not like it wasn’t an enjoyable walk down two blocks and a turn at the corner.
He was greeted by the scent of pollinated blossoms that filled the air. Or, in Junhui’s case, crammed into his nostrils and caused him to tear up a bit. If anyone was nearby observed, they would have assumed he was crying over a heartbreak. Luckily, the only onlooker was an elderly lady who had her back turned.
Entering the floral shop, he let the collar of his shirt rest on the bridge of his nose, blocking the flowery odor as Junhui plodded his way through the bright, ornate displays of various pansies and daisies and made his way to the counter. There was nobody behind the register, so he tapped the desk bell rather impatiently.
A head popped up from under the counter, causing Junhui to jump back and utter out a curse word in his native tongue. The worker stood tall, probably a few centimetres lower than Junhui’s own stature. He patiently stood there, his dirty blond hair falling ever so slightly over his eyebrows as his gaze was glued to Junhui.
“S-sorry,” coughed Junhui as he pulled down his collar to speak clearly. “I’m here to pick up an order.”
The one with the apron nodded, pulling out a catalog book and flipping it to various pages until he came across today’s date and revolved it, pointing to Soonyoung’s name and drawing a line with his finger to the flower name.
Colour Me Yours - Red alstroemeria, orange carnations, miniature red carnations, yellow daisies and lavender chrysanthemums are arranged with bupleurum and oregonia - with a pretty yellow ribbon tied around the vase for that extra-special touch.
Junhui smiled and nodded at the worker. “Yes, this one.”
Smiling, the boy lifted a finger, gesturing for him to wait a second as he went in the back room to complete the order. Junhui’s eyes prowled around, though he was allergic, it was a reasonably charming mart. And on top of that, the employee was alluring as well.
Junhui turned around, surprised to see the bouquet of flowers aligned in a jar, the worker tying a yellow ribbon and curling it with the ends of the scissors.
This one was a silent worker, Junhui observed, but he got the job done.
After finishing touches, he paid for Soonyoung’s bouquet and carefully clutched the bouquet in his arms and smiled at the worker. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” he finally spoke, almost alarming Junhui as he turned back around. “Come back again soon.”
–
“Junnie… I have another favour…”
“Do you have another flower pick up?”
“Wow, can you read my mind?”
“What’s with you and flowers?”
“They’re nice gifts!”
“Did it not work out with Jihoon the first time around?”
“This is for a different person–”
“Say no more, I’ll get it first thing in the morning.”
“I owe you, Junnie!”
–
Junhui prepared this time, taking his allergy medication prior to closing and locking his door behind him. He dressed up chicer than usual today: a black turtleneck that hugged his chest tightly and a grey cardigan that draped over his shoulders. It was colder this week than the last time he walked the route, but he didn’t mind.
All he really wanted was to see that flower boy once again.
He was disappointed when he saw another smiling face behind the counter.
“Hello,” the employee smiled. “Are you here for an order?”
“Y-yeah,” Junhui nodded, internally frowning to himself. “It’s for my friend– Soonyoung?”
“Ah,” he nodded, “let me see real quick…”
He adjusted the apron around his back, retying it, and walked to the back. “Minghao-yah, do you know where the inventory book is?”
“I have it, Jisoo hyung,” a familiar voice replied.
“My co-worker will ring you up,” Jisoo beamed as his hands rested on his side after tying a bow, or an attempt of a bow, behind him. “I’ll get the bouquet and vase ready.”
Leaving Junhui with his thoughts, Jisoo left the scene.
Minghao. That was the quiet flourist’s name.
And sure enough, Minghao stood before him and smiled with a shy wave, totaling the amount due and swiping Junhui’s card for him.
Jisoo came back with the vase full of the colourful flower arrangement.
“I’ll take it from here, hyung. Thanks,” grinned Minghao as his older friend nodded and headed to the back.
Junhui observed as Minghao trimmed off a few excessive leaves that fell to the sides of the container.
Feeling a bit bold, he stepped closer, eyeing the blue flowers. “They’re pretty.” Minghao looked up as Junhui pointed.
“Hydrangeas,” he responded.
A lump in his throat, Junhui swallowed it, tapping his fingertips on the counter as he felt daring to strike a conversation. “What do they mean?”
“Hm?”
“The hydrangeas. Each flower is a symbol of something, right?”
There was a long pause, Junhui mentally flicking himself in the forehead as he felt the elongated stare.
Minghao gently combed through the flowers, gently holding the creme rose by the tips. “These,” he spoke, “represent charm and thoughtfulness.” His fingerpads skimmed to the lilies. “White oriental lilies,” he smiled. “Chasity, innocence, purity.” He grazed to the other white petals. “White alstroemeria. Friendship and devotion.”
Junhui was in awe. For someone who was silent, he knew how to talk flowers. “You sure have a way with flowers.”
“The Earth laughs in flowers,” Minghao beamed, pulling his hand away from the bouquet shyly, softly letting the flowers sway with gravity. “To me, flowers are happiness.”
With a blink, and a faster heartbeat, Junhui carefully cradled the symbolic cluster in his hands, smiling back at Minghao. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”
With a wave, Minghao gave him an eye smile, a smile as delicate as the flowers in Junhui’s hand. “Come back soon!”
–
“Junnie?” Soonyoung blinked, looking up from his laptop on the sofa. “Where are you going?”
“The flower shop,” Junhui answered, fixing the floppy hat on his head. “Why? Do you need me to get an order.”
Shocked, Soonyoung slowly shook his head. “N-no… Seokmin liked the bouquet I gave him.”
“Well, then, that’s good!” Junhui smiled excitedly as he grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter. “I’ll be back!”
“Wait, why are you going? I thought you hated going there–”
“What? No! I love the florist’s!”
–
Minghao surprised Junhui with a rose that day.
“What’s this for?” Junhui asked, gently clasping the rose between his fingers.
“It’s a gift,” Minghao blushed, twiddling his thumbs in the process.
He looked up at the younger one. “For me.. or.. Soonyoung since he orders a lot from you guys.”
They both laughed. “For you. Just you.”
“Thanks.” Junhui’s cheeks glowed. “What do they symbolize?”
With a giggle, Minghao held his left thumb and pointer and dragged them across his lips, earning another chuckle from Junhui.
“What? No hint?”
Minghao shook his head.
“Fine,” Junhui sighed in defeat. “Are we still on for coffee today?”
The other nodded. “I’m done with my shift in five.”
“I guess I can wait ‘til then,” Junhui hummed, as the two proceeded to connect through their conversation. And the way Junhui delicatedly handled the scarlet rose in his hand, the more Minghao smiled to himself with an excited heart rate.
–
The rose speaks of love silently, in a language known only to the heart.