Chapter Text
THE FIRST BOUQUET
February
Charles never had anything against Valentine’s Day. He just wasn’t the type to go out of his way to celebrate it. Most years, he’d been single anyway, and even when he was dating someone, he’d never done anything big for it. He and Crystal definitely hadn’t been the romantic type when they were together.
But somehow, Valentine’s Day was always one of the busiest days of the year at the shop. Every year, he spent it tattooing roses, hearts, and cupids—getting closer and closer to full-on hating the holiday. Both he and Jenny were booked for three sessions each. Nothing tricky, but he knew a bunch of walk-ins would show up wanting their lover’s name over their hearts or some wild mix of hearts and flowers. If they were lucky, they’d push some of it off onto the new hires. But if they finished early, he knew he’d end up doing a few himself.
He hoped the overcast skies would keep some of those lovebirds from wandering down to his street to get impulse tattoos. There hadn’t been snow in a while, but the air still nipped at your ears and nose.
Days like this were usually his favorite. Quiet streets in the morning meant the shop was calm too, aside from the hum of the heater and the soft clinks as he and the other artists organized their tools. And, of course, his 80s music low in the background. As he scrolled through the client schedule, the bell over the door gave a jingle, and Jenny slipped in. The chill that followed her nipped at his cheeks before the door clicked shut.
“Hey, looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.” She held up a small bouquet of pink and purple flowers and placed them down on his station.
“What?” He grabbed the bouquet, curiosity sparking as he turned it over in his hands. Delicate stems wrapped in soft brown paper, tied with twine, and a card with his name in slanted cursive. Flipping the card over, he found more of the same handwriting.
Every time you look my way
I lose the words I want to say
So I send to you today
This secret bouquet
“Did you see who left it?” He flipped the card again, looking for any hint of who’d sent it. No name.
“Nope.”
He looked down at the flowers. It was Valentine’s Day, he supposed. But he couldn’t for the life of him figure out who might have left them. Still, he’d never actually been given flowers like this—not for Valentine’s or any other day—and he could feel a smile creeping in before he could stop it.
“Hey, lover boy,” Jenny called over. “Clients incoming.”
“Right.” He set the bouquet in the corner of his station, planning to come back to it later.
The day was, predictably, long and exhausting. By the end of it, his wrist ached, and he’d almost forgotten about the flowers from that morning. Right then, he decided that if he had to tattoo one more rose, he might just lose it. The bunch of pink and purple flowers was a nice change from the roses, at least.
He grabbed the bouquet and called out to Jenny to lock the shop door behind her, announcing that he was heading up to his flat early.
He wasn’t exactly sure what you did to keep flowers alive, but a vase and some water seemed a good start. He even had a vase lying around—a gift from the florist next door. He’d meant to return it ages ago, but it’d ended up gathering dust in his kitchen. Well, that had been a rough patch for him anyway, so returning a vase wasn’t exactly high on his list at the time.
MAKING FRIENDS
April last year
The day was abnormally bright and clear, an unusual treat for London this time of year. For nearly a week, they’d been stuck in a gray, relentless rain, so Edwin supposed that today was as good a day as any to give someone sunflowers. He didn’t typically do this. But Niko could be quite convincing when she wanted to be.
Apparently, he didn’t have enough friends. He would argue that Niko was really the only friend he could need. She understood him better than anyone he’d met before and was one of the only people he could stand to be in the presence of for longer than ten minutes.
The storefront next to his had received new tenants a few days ago. Niko had, naturally, already introduced herself, and she’d urged him to do the same. After an hour of negotiation, he had found himself spending half the night deliberating what type of arrangement would be best to appear both welcoming and appropriately restrained. First impressions were important to him, after all.
In the end, he’d decided on sunflowers for luck and ambition, paired with gypsophila for new beginnings. Simple, elegant, and nothing too forward.
With quiet concentration, Edwin set a vase on his counter and carefully arranged the flowers. It struck him that new residents might not yet have vases of their own, and this way, at least, he knew the flowers would be properly tended to. It was a small, considerate touch. He adjusted the stems one last time, ensuring the display was impeccable, before lifting the vase and steeling himself to go next door.
He approached the shop slowly, rehearsing his script as he went. The storefront, newly painted black, was a marked improvement over the ghastly green it had worn before. Black was not his usual taste, but he acknowledged it was rather stylish—certainly fitting for a tattoo shop.
Upon opening the door, a delicate chime sounded above him, and Edwin stepped inside. Well, there was no retreating now. He glanced around, noting the muted, somber tones of the shop’s decor. There was only one person present, standing with his back turned, appearing not to hear him.
“Hello?”
The man turned, and Edwin’s practiced introduction vanished entirely as he took in the stranger’s face. The first thing he noticed was the unshed tears in the man’s eyes, followed by a quiet beauty that caught him off guard. The man’s skin, a warm tan, was decorated with intricate tattoos.
Edwin didn’t have any tattoos, nor had he ever entertained the thought of getting one, but he had always pictured tattoo artists to be rough around the edges, perhaps a bit scary and thuggish. But this man was none of that.
He was soft. His dark, glassy eyes held a quiet intensity that Edwin could have drowned in, had he allowed himself to look too long. The sides of his head were shaved close, accentuating the delicate curve of gold earrings, and his dark curls spilled gently over his forehead. Edwin felt an absurd desire to reach out and run his fingers through them.
“I’m so sorry. This seems to be a bad time.” Edwin’s composure faltered briefly; he hardly knew how to approach such visible emotion. And yet, strangely, some part of him wanted to offer whatever comfort he could to the beautiful stranger before him.
The man quickly scrubbed a hand over his eyes, wiping away the tears that hadn’t quite fallen. “Nah, mate. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, well, I just—I own the flower shop next door, and I wanted to give you these,” he stammered, recalling his original intent, “to welcome you to the street.”
The man looked down at the vase, his gaze lingering. For a moment, Edwin feared he might start crying. “Thanks, mate.”
He accepted the vase and placed it on the back counter, the sunflowers standing out brightly against the subdued atmosphere. Edwin silently hoped that perhaps the flowers would offer some small bit of light through whatever difficulty this man was clearly enduring.
“Well,” Edwin murmured, hesitant. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”
He turned to leave, almost reaching the door before a voice behind him stopped him.
“You said you own the flower shop next door, yeah?”
He turned back, giving a small nod. “Yes.”
The man shifted, an uncertain tension in his posture. His eyes held back more unshed tears, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, almost fragile.
“Do you… do you do funeral arrangements, by any chance?” His voice caught on the word funeral , and Edwin’s heart twisted with empathy.
“I do.” He answered simply. The tattoo artist’s shoulders relaxed a little, though a haunted look lingered in his gaze.
Edwin understood that look too well. When he’d lost his parents, he’d felt similarly: alone, unanchored, left to handle the cold practicalities. No one should have to add planning arrangements to their grief.
“I know people who could help with other accommodations if you’d like,” he offered gently.
The man gave a weary smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but felt genuine enough. “That’d be brills, mate.”
A comfortable quiet settled over them for a few beats. Then Edwin recalled a final, important detail from his original plan.
“I’m Edwin, by the way,” he said, offering his name with a slight, polite smile.
The man returned it, softer now. “Charles.”
SECRET ADMIRER
Present day, a week after Valentine’s day
A week had passed, and somehow, he couldn’t stop thinking about those flowers on his dresser. He’d mentioned it to Crystal, and she’d teased that maybe it was some client he’d been “too friendly” with, though that didn’t exactly narrow it down. Apparently, he had a habit of turning on the charm a bit too much, though he swore he was just being friendly. Not every artist had to be like Jenny Green, after all, who preferred her clients silent and smiled maybe once a week.
No more notes had shown up, no more flowers. No hints as to who might’ve left them. So, eventually, he’d just chalked it up as a one-off Valentine’s Day thing. Which was why he did a full double take when, on his way downstairs to open up the shop, he spotted another bouquet sitting on the ledge by the door.
This one was different. It still had that same neat brown paper and twine, but instead of pink flowers, this bunch was a mix of white blooms with some kind of long-stemmed purple flowers mixed in. He turned the bouquet over in his hands, feeling the paper crinkle beneath his fingers, and, sure enough, there was another card with his name in that same cursive handwriting. Flipping it over, he found another little poem:
I’m fearful to hope
that you could understand
How much I long
for just a brush of your hand.
He’d have been lying if he said the words didn’t bring a flush of heat to his cheeks. Charles looked up and down the street, hoping for some sign of the sender, though he knew they’d be long gone by now.
Well, so much for it being a one-time thing.
By the time lunch rolled around, he was relieved to step away for a bit. The morning had dragged on, his mind wandering repeatedly back to that bouquet. Thankfully, nothing disastrous had happened, but he knew he wouldn’t last the rest of the day without a break.
He had lunch plans with Crystal, hoping the food and company might give him a breather from the thoughts tumbling around in his head. Once he’d cleaned his station, he grabbed his jacket and stepped into the crisp winter air.
The little Italian restaurant down the street had practically become their second kitchen by now, and Charles swore they made the best pasta around, and for a fair price, too. Crystal was already at their usual table when he arrived, with Niko sitting next to her. It wasn’t unusual for Niko to join them—since she and Crystal had started dating, she’d popped up at a lot of their hangouts.
Niko owned the bakery on the other side of the street. Back when Crystal first arrived, she’d been taking appointments for her psychic work up in their flat, but after a session with Niko, the two hit it off so well that Niko offered her some space in the bakery to hold her sessions. Over time, it had grown into its own little shop. Half the bakery was now filled with displays of witchy trinkets and curiosities. Crystal even had an apprentice now.
“All right, spill it,” Crystal said as he draped his jacket over the back of his chair.
“What?”
“You’ve clearly got something on your mind. Don’t forget, I can read you like a book,” she tutted.
“Oh, yeah. Forgot you’re psychic.”
“And that I’ve been your friend for almost seven years. Now, spill.”
He didn’t bother trying to deny it. “Another bouquet showed up,” he admitted.
Niko’s eyes widened, and she let out a dramatic gasp. “From your secret admirer ?”
“Looks like it,” he said, shrugging. “Same handwriting on the note, but different flowers this time.” He didn’t bother mentioning the poem itself—somehow, it felt too private. “I just… have no idea who’s sending them.”
Niko tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You know, every flower has a meaning, like a coded message. You could look up the meanings and try to figure out what message they’re sending! Might be a clue about who it is.”
“That’s brills!” he exclaimed. Then, a thought hit him. “Wait, I don’t even know what kind of flowers these are, so how am I supposed to look up their meanings?”
Niko brightened as though she’d just cracked the case. “Ask Edwin! He’s like a flower expert. He’ll know what they are and what they mean.”
Edwin Paine. He didn’t know the guy all that well; they rarely crossed paths outside of the odd run-in. Most times, he bumped into Edwin at Niko’s bakery, either loading up on sweets or popping by to meet Crystal. In general, Edwin seemed a bit reserved, kind of awkward even. But Charles had caught glimpses of his sharper side—Edwin could be blunt when he had a point to make, especially around Niko.
Edwin had also been a huge help when Charles had first moved into his flat. Not long after he’d started renovating the shop, his mum had called to tell him his dad had died in a car accident—his dad, drunk as usual, had crashed head-on into another vehicle. Charles had been relieved to hear that the two girls in the other car were unharmed. For as complicated as things had been with his dad, he’d still felt a duty to give his mum whatever support he could.
Edwin had made it all a bit easier, offering to arrange flowers for the service and putting him in touch with people who could handle the other logistics. It had been such a rough time, and Edwin had stepped in without any questions, just a quiet, steady presence when Charles had needed it.
After that, they’d fallen back into their routines, rarely crossing paths except in passing.
Crystal leaned forward. “Plus, you know, the flowers might’ve come from Edwin’s shop. You could ask if he remembers an order like that.”
“Crystal, you’re a genius!”
“Well, we all know you’re not exactly the brains of this operation,” she teased, taking a playful sip of her iced tea.
“Hey, I take great offense to that.”
Niko and Crystal launched into a side conversation, but Charles only half-listened, already plotting his next steps. It looked like his mystery admirer wouldn’t stay a mystery much longer.
He just needed to talk to Edwin.