Chapter Text
Stede Bonnet was no stranger to being told he was a bit odd. He’d once hated that about himself, striving to meet the expectations of the people around him—classmates, teachers, and his father most of all—but the older he’d gotten, the more he’d realized that normal was overrated, and the only person he could ever really be was himself.
But some days that was easier said than done. Sometimes, he had to stand up to another person and remind himself that no matter what they said or thought about him, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And often, he didn’t even think whatever he’d done was even that odd in the first place, so—take that, everyone else!
Now, at the florist, was apparently one of those times.
“You’re celebrating what?”
The man across the counter crossed his arms over his chest, right under a name tag that read Izzyand featured, of all things, a messy doodle of a unicorn in chalk paint. He was either glaring at Stede, or else his face simply always looked like he’d just sucked on a lemon. Maybe he thought he had to make an effort to look tough, given his short stature? Then again, he was surrounded by sweet smells and beautiful blooms regardless, so he gave off the overall impression of trying too hard.
It was, Stede thought, very difficult to be in a bad mood in a place like this. Izzy had evidently found a way. He took a look at the banner on the wall, which portrayed a cartoon mascot declaring the store's name in a speech bubble: What in Carnation? Very charming, he thought! It was what had drawn him to this particular shop in the first place, and he'd expected the attitude of the employees to match that whimsy.
“I’m celebrating my divorce,” Stede said, plainly. He’d worried about how to broach the topic before he’d entered the shop, having not mentioned he was even getting divorced to much of anyone other than Mary (of course) and the children (which had been a difficult enough conversation, even though both of them had cheerfully agreed that this was surely for the best). Straightforward was ideal, and if he was judged for that, then so be it.
“Not much to fucking celebrate, is it?”
“Language, Izzy,” said a man in a striped shirt, who was tidying up some shelves nearby. His name tag read Ivan. “Don’t want you to get written up for this again.”
“Not much to celebrate,” Izzy said without missing a beat, like he was incredibly used to being lectured about cursing at customers and didn’t especially care.
Stede sniffed, reminding himself that this was his decision, and it was a good one. “It is for me. And it’s getting finalized today, so I need to get this done.” A beat, and then he added: “Please.”
Kill with kindness, and all of that. Even if this Izzy was taking his chihuahua complex out on a paying customer. He had to get this done and get it done right, if for no other reason than because Mary deserved this. He’d never been a good partner to her, in no small part because he’d never been romantically interested in her at all (oops!) but at least he could be a good co-parent, and a good friend to her. The very least he could do is make a kind gesture like this. Mary liked flowers—he thought.
“Why?”
“I want to maintain a good relationship with my ex-wife,” he said, though he really didn’t owe such an unpleasant man any kind of explanation at all.
“Good luck with that,” said Izzy.
His sarcasm was clear, but Stede ignored it. Why dignify that attitude with a response in kind when he could instead kill with kindness? “Thank you, I think it will go well.”
“Divorce never goes as smooth as you want it to. Take it from me.”
“I don’t think I will. A nice enough bouquet and she should start to come around.”
“Made to order, or premade?”
“Made to order. Are you always like this with customers?”
Izzy frowned even deeper, which was somehow possible. “Yes,” he said, and reached for something under the counter. A moment later he came up with a piece of paper and a pen, which he slid over to Stede. “Order form’s here, just need your information and then we can discuss the specifics. We’ve got an online order form if you prefer,” he said, pointing to a QR code that was taped to the counter, “but don’t ask me how to use one of these codes, because I don’t fucking know.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it? But oh, do I need to? Your signage does indicate that's an option.”
“Yeah, and you have to place your order 48 hours in advance. Or just pick one out and I’ll ring you up and you can be on your way.”
It seemed a little excessive, but he could talk his way into what he needed, surely. “I’d like it now.”
“Tough luck, huh? That’s the policy.”
“What happened to the customer always being right?”
“I never said that. Just fill out the fucking form, or don’t.”
Stede took a deep breath and resisted the urge to criticize the persistent crude language, although there was a good chance he would be submitting feedback to the store manager later. It wasn’t even that he particularly disliked cursing, but it was the principle of the thing! Instead, he leaned over to start filling out the form right on the counter, having not been offered a clipboard.
“Stede Bonnet,” Izzy read upside-down as Stede began to write.
“That’s me. Fortunately I won’t have to change my name in the divorce, there’s so much paperwork. I feel bad for Mary, of course she doesn’t have to change it if she doesn’t want to, but I’m sure she will…”
“Right. Do you want to pick this up, or will this be for delivery? Extra fee for delivery, but it makes things easier, especially if your ex-wife lives in an apartment.” Izzy’s slipped into a sort of monotone customer service rambling now; he’s probably used to this. “It’s spring, so things are busy, but our delivery guy can work with you.”
“Oh, no, I still want it right now,” he replied, without missing a beat. “Despite what you said. The store is nearly empty, so I’m sure you’ll have time.”
“Policy didn’t change in the last thirty seconds, did it?”
“It could! You could change it for me. What’s that all about anyway, requiring an order in advance? 48 hours, really?”
“Anything custom require an advance order. Haven’t you ever bought a birthday cake for someone? I don’t know, personalized t-shirts for a family reunion?”
“I really haven’t. I usually have people to do that for me, but I thought this time a personal touch would be appreciated.”
“Of course you did,” said Izzy, a derisive edge in his voice.
Despite his efforts to stay in good spirits, Stede’s patience was running thin. He thought he might ask to work with Ivan instead, but the other man seemed to have vanished. He could just leave and find another florist, but at this point that would feel like giving in and letting Izzy win, and the last thing he wanted to do was to give in to the harsh words of this… bully! Izzy was a bully, just like the rest of them! And Stede was the customer, and the customer was always right, and he’d get through this and then put a formal complaint in to Izzy’s manager, so there.
“If you don’t help me, you’ll lose a customer, and I’ll make sure that your employer knows exactly why.”
That seemed to give Izzy pause. He made a face like he’d just smelled something terrible, but he didn’t complain or try to flip Stede off like he probably wanted to. Bingo—he probably did get a lot of complaints, and couldn’t afford more. Who had even hired him in the first place, honestly!
“Fine,” Izzy grumbled, after a moment of consideration. “Suit yourself. I work better when someone’s not watching me, but I get the feeling you don’t care about that, so I guess you can go fu— you can follow me around and let me know what you want.”
“Will do,” Stede said, grinning wide. “You can do your job, and I can make sure that everything is up to snuff. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? You can do your thing, and I can make sure it’s done properly, and we’ll both have a grand old time. Miserable as you seem here, your job can’t possibly be that difficult or that unpleasant. You get people flowers, for God’s sake! That sounds like a dream come true!”
If you had asked a young Stede what his dream job was, he’d probably have said something like this; he’d always loved flowers. It was the people around him who had told him—sometimes beaten into him—that this wasn’t the right interest for a little boy, that it made him stupid and weak to care so much about these pretty, soft-smelling, delicate things. He wondered if Izzy had ever been told that, or if he had been lucky enough to always feel like he was allowed to be in a place like this.
Maybe the whole thing had been an excuse to go to a florist, come to think of it. He should start buying them for himself. Maybe he deserved it.
Izzy shook his head, but didn’t argue. He had, it appeared, given entirely up, which Stede supposed was fine; people often gave up on him, so he was used to it. His stubbornness, he believed, was an asset. Certainly was at his own job. “Whatever,” Izzy muttered.
The worst part of it was that if he dropped the attitude, Izzy could have been handsome. His salt-and-pepper hair seemed well taken care of and it was trimmed and styled in a way that suited his features. His outfit, though very different from Stede’s own personal style with its black-on-black-on-black color palette, made him look sharp and stylish. (It took effort to match all of your blacks!) If Stede ever had the heart to download a dating app on his phone and the courage to set it to show him men, he would have almost surely swiped right on Izzy—or left, whichever the good one was. Were they even still swiping now? Much to think about.
“You know, I recently had a career change, and now I have to do customer service just like you! I’d heard so many awful things about it, and most of them were true, but I still love it.”
“Great.”
He’d been hoping that Izzy would ask him what he did, and give him a chance to share the many stories he had in just a few months of working in animal rescue as he usually did whenever he got the chance. He should have expected Izzy to brush him off, but a part of him had still hoped that he could have made a friend. Despite the initial tension, he’d taken pleasure in his little victory, and some further banter might have been fun. “Well then, if there will be no chatter—“
“Too late.”
“Onto the flowers! So, I’ve got a list—“
He pulled out his tablet, and showed it proudly.
Izzy didn’t seem especially impressed by said list, which had been the result of many frantic internet searches, seeing as Stede was pretty sure flowers had meanings but utterly uninformed about what those meanings… meant. That kind of thing was frivolous, or at least that was what his father had drilled into him from a young age, so his knowledge was lacking. The part of him that loved beautiful things and longed to explore all manner of new aesthetic delights was something that he was only now discovering how to nurture the way that it should have been cared for all along.
“No red roses,” Izzy said the very moment he set eyes on the list. Spoilsport. “Absolutely not. What kind of divorce is this?”
“What’s wrong with it? Roses are for love, and I love Mary more than almost anything—just not the way that a husband should.”
Izzy shook his head, looking disgusted. “Wrong message. Don’t make it weird. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
“If you say so,” Stede heard himself say, though he frankly doubted it. “Just so long as you don’t take issue with all of my suggestions, though I’m beginning to suspect that you might.”
“Maybe,” said Izzy, shrugging. “It’s my job to know these things, I’m damn good at my job, and I’m not going to half-ass it just because you’re a bit of a prick. Come on.”
He said it all with a straight face—no, more than a straight face, a face that was completely turned down. Did he ever smile? Was there a reason he was such a sourpuss? And, most importantly—why did Stede care?
Expert or not, Stede wasn’t about to let Izzy take control over his bouquet. Though the area of the store Izzy went into next was clearly marked for employees, Stede followed him in without being prompted. This was, it appeared, the place where they stored flowers that hadn't yet been arranged for orders. “Look, carnations!” he said. Mary loved carnations.
“Of course we have carnations,” Izzy replied, dryly. He seemed to have given up entirely on telling Stede what he could or couldn't do. “Do you want carnations?”
“Be patient, I’m still deciding.”
“That’s—“
“Right! Okay, on to the next. Aren’t you going to wrap them in tissue paper or something?”
Izzy frowned. “Writing it down,” he said. A notepad and a piece of paper were in his hand. "I'm not supposed to have a fucking backseat driver here."
“No, no, you’re going to have to collect them as we go. We’ll need to see how they look together.”
Wasn’t that obvious?
“What,” Izzy said.
Evidently not!
Soon he found himself more focused on the flowers than on the man, though he let Izzy take on the task of actually gathering the blossoms, arranging them, and wrapping them up. Stede, of course, provided most of the conversation, allowing Izzy a few grunts, here and there. Gosh, the man had better be fired or disciplined soon; doing this again, for himself next time, would probably be miserable. But there was a certain thrill to it, too, if only because it was fun to make Izzy do what he told him to do.
When it came to the final product, some of the flowers were ones that Stede was familiar with, and others were completely new to him. The whole thing was larger than Izzy seemed to expect but precisely the size that Stede had wanted, made up of all of Mary’s favorite colors and arranged with a surprising skill given how cranky Izzy was about it.
“Just so you know, this isn’t typical,” Izzy said, pointing to the card reader. “Tap or chip.”
“Do I seem typical?”
“Guess not.”
That, Stede was used to. But the rest of the day had been an adventure—and he decided that he’d kind of enjoyed it.
Still frugal even now that he hadn’t been struggling financially for years, Izzy wasn’t much for wasting money on evenings out. The cat café a few blocks away felt like a good solution: he could enjoy a coffee while getting a much-needed chance to relax with some animals, and on top of that the café donated a portion of proceeds to the same shelter that the adoptable cats were from. It had taken him a while to make a habit of it, but once he started going he found it a good use of his time, and he made a point of going there almost every Friday after work.
That day, he’d selected a gluten-free cupcake alongside the café’s house blend of coffee and settled into one of the egg-shaped chairs, sans jacket and shoes, and waited. Cats were creatures who knew what they wanted, and he always made a point not to bother them for attention. Some of them always came eventually, and often the shier ones that didn’t enjoy being bothered by the pushier guests. Already he noticed a petite calico eying him from the climbable shelves on the wall, no doubt wondering if Izzy had a good warm lap to sit on.
Friday afternoons tended to be noisy around here, but with some earplugs made to dampen background noise, it wasn’t too bad. A dozen or so other people were spending time with the cats: a friend group, a few pairs on dates, and at a coffee table across the room, two rather well-behaved children. The kids, a young boy and a girl who seemed a few years older, were cooing over a delightfully round gray cat, and Izzy found himself watching them as the cat flopped over, trying to get more pets, but seemed to misjudge the size of the table relative to its own body and fell right off.
He chucked at the sight of it, for now utterly content with his life.
Of course that wouldn’t last for long.
Just his fucking luck. Joining the children, laughing with them, was the same fucking man who had been a pain in his ass at work earlier this week. It wasn’t that strange all things considered—they were in the same neighborhood—but Izzy couldn’t help but feel that he’d been put under some kind of fucking curse if he was seeing Bonnet again, and so soon.
If he hadn’t just paid, he might leave just so that he could avoid Bonnet, but fuck that. It wasn’t like Bonnet owned the place.
…he didn’t, did he? There was no fucking way. The man obviously had money, judging by his watch and the smell of his cologne and, most importantly, his “I usually have people to do this for me” attitude. That was half the reason he’d had his hackles up immediately when they’d met. Call him terrible at customer service (everyone else already did) but he knew how to recognize customers who had more money than sense, and those types almost always treated service workers like gum stuck to the bottom of their shoes. Some of his coworkers urged him not to judge so hastily, but had he been wrong?
Izzy set down his mug and sunk deeper into the chair, pulling his legs up to his chest. He wasn’t an especially large man, so maybe he could just hide from Bonnet and his kids. It wasn’t as though they were looking for him, and if they’d paid to see the cats, that was what they’d focus on. He tried to ignore them, tried to focus on the cats himself, but he couldn’t help but sneak glances. Bonnet was speaking with the children, but also to some of the employees, and soon he began to walk around the room, nodding at the cats and talking to them, too.
By the time that Izzy realized Bonnet was walking toward him, it was too late to hide.
“Oh, it’s you!” said Bonnet when he noticed Izzy, curled up in the egg chair. “From the flower shop! Have they disciplined you yet?"
“Fuck off,” Izzy said, instinctively. Then, remembering that he was in public and that there were kids within listening distance, he added: “With all due respect, of course.”
Which was none.
Bonnet crossed his arms, huffing, his pretty face screwing into a frown. That was the worst part of it: Bonnet, who Izzy had only put up with because the job paid his rent, who sapped far too much energy to ever be worth his time, who barely knew how to behave himself in a store because he and his money were so used to having people to do things for him, was cute. Obviously took care of himself, too, with his blond hair that had to be dyed and permed, and his manicured nails, and the soft, colorful fabrics he’d dressed himself in.
He was everything Izzy wasn’t, so many things that he’d long ago dismissed as a waste of time and money, and he’d probably never really worked a day in his life.
And Izzy was intrigued. Didn’t actually want Bonnet fucking off at all, did he? No, he was hoping for some pushback, for Bonnet to stand his ground and insist he belonged here, just so they could continue their little song and dance of bickering.
It was stupid. Izzy was being capital-s Stupid.
Which was Bonnet’s fault, clearly. How dare he?
“I won’t,” said Bonnet. “And I can’t, anyway! I’m at work.”
“You don’t work here, I would know if you did,” Izzy scoffed, but he wasn’t so sure. Bonnet had said he worked with customers, which Izzy had assumed meant he was a fucking investment banker or something equally useless. “I’m here all the time and I’ve never seen you.”
“Well, I’m not technically employed here, but I am working, nonetheless! I work at the shelter that’s partnered with this café, where all of the adoptable cats come from.”
Fuck. “And you brought your kids because…”
“Oh, Mary enjoyed the bouquet, but she said if I really cared about making this whole thing go smoothly, I would watch the kids when she and her boyfriend are both busy. I thought, gosh! Fair enough!” He wrinkled his nose, frowning. “Not that you’d have much idea about any of that.”
“Right,” said Izzy. Of course Bonnet didn’t know the first thing about him, didn’t realize that Izzy knew a hell of a lot about how to survive a messy divorce. There hadn’t been kids in the picture, Izzy had made sure the equipment for that possibility had been removed as soon as possible, but his own divorce had still been hell.
Frankly, it was shocking that Bonnet’s wife hadn’t spat in his face when he tried to give her a fucking divorce present. If Edward had done the same thing, he certainly would have. She must be a stronger person than Izzy—had to be, if she’d been married to this twat.
Bonnet, apparently expecting a better response but receiving nothing, turned and walked away, which suited him just fine.
Alone again, Izzy focused his attention on the calico cat once more. It seemed weary from all the commotion, sitting tense in a low position on its high shelf, but it wasn’t completely scared away. Izzy made a soft clicking noise, managing to get its attention, and then he waited. A minute or two, another noise, and so on, until the cat decided to come a bit closer, jumping down a shelf. Another step closer to victory. It was always the most pragmatic cats, the hardest to gain the attention and love of, that were the sweetest and most affectionate in the end.
“And by the way!”
The calico curled back in shock at the sudden noise, then bounded away. Of course it was Bonnet’s fault: he’d come back, and for some reason brought the children with him.
“You scared him, Dad,” said the boy. “You have to be quiet around cats, that’s what you told me.”
“Bug is actually a lady cat, Louis. Most calico cats are, since the calico coloring requires two x chromosomes. Of course there is a rare condition where a cat is XXY, it’s called—“
“Dad, your friend is staring at us,” said the girl, who seemed to be at the right age to be thoroughly unimpressed with both her father and her younger brother.
“Right! Right, I’m rambling. Izzy, if we’re going to be seeing each other more often, I thought I should introduce you to my children. Their mother is getting primary custody, we all agreed that was for the best, but… things happen!”
Izzy did not fucking know, in fact. But just like the last time, he was in a pickle: if he started a fight now, he’d be the one that would look bad. It wouldn’t get him fired, but it very well might get him banned from the cat café, which was almost worse. This didn’t pay his bills, but at least it gave him some rare inner fucking peace, and he wasn’t about to sit idle while Bonnet took it from him.
“Yeah, hi, kids.” Izzy said. He wasn’t about to bitch at some kids just because their dad was a dick.
“This is Alma, and this is Louis.”
“Hi, Izzy,” said Alma.
“H’lo,” said Louis. “Can I play with the cats some more?”
Bonnet sighed. “Yes, all right,” he said, and both of his children happily left his side. Instead of following, he sat down on the couch nearest to Izzy. “To be honest, I have no idea what to do with them. Do you have children, Izzy?”
“We’re not friends, Bonnet,” Izzy said, forcing his face into more of a scowl than it surely already was. Apparently Bonnet had to hear it that fucking clearly.
“I am trying to be nice to you, Izzy. You know that, right? I am trying to be the bigger person. I have to be here at least a couple of times a week, to drop off new cats and check in on everyone, that kind of thing, and if you’re also here—”
“Nope.”
“What?”
“I don’t come here,” Izzy said.
“You don’t, or you won’t come any more, because you don’t want to see me?”
“Doesn’t matter. I want to drink my coffee.” The man clearly needed Izzy to be blunt with him, and Izzy was happy to fucking oblige. “And before you ask I’m not going to fucking adopt a cat, either.”
“Well, I— never mind. Fine!” Bonnet said, and stomped—stomped! Like a petulant child!—before he walked away.
Once Bonnet was finally gone for good (Izzy watched him go into the employee area this time, probably to complain about him) Izzy had a moment to sit and be alone with his thoughts. Somehow, Bonnet had almost instantly gone from being a complete stranger to a thorn in his side. Had he brought a friend here with him, as he sometimes did, the interaction might have gone differently, with Fang or Frenchie encouraging him to not assume the worst of people, and at the same time make sure that Bonnet stopped being a right twat.
Maybe he’d been too harsh on Bonnet, even though he had committed the worst offense of them all: being a customer.
There was just something about the man that rubbed Izzy in a way that he didn’t like. Bonnet was so… forward, so unpredictable, so unafraid of who he was. Izzy had a similar confidence now< but he’d fought tooth and nail to get there, and it had taken a failure of a marriage, a messy divorce, and a lot of support from his friends and co-workers. He couldn’t imagine Bonnet had anywhere near the same kind of experience, not if he was acting like that.
Was he… jealous? Of a man he barely knew and didn’t like? No fucking way. He just disliked Bonnet because he was a pompous ass who didn’t know how to leave people alone, and that was that.
Izzy watched as the calico cat from before shyly poked her head out from where she’d taken shelter from the noise and chaos outside. She seemed none too worse for the wear, and began to carefully make her way toward Izzy once she confirmed that the path was safe.
He was overthinking this, and there was really no point to it. That was what the rational, reasonable side of him said. But that was easier said than done, and as the cat crawled into his lap, he thought that maybe there was a way to send a message to Bonnet and make sure he stopped bothering him, once and for all.