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Sam was scrolling through a supply website when the bell over his shop door rang. He looked up just as a short, tawny-haired guy slapped a $20 bill on the counter. “How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”
Sam blinked. In the six months since he’d bought Stanford Stems, he hadn’t had a request quite like this. People wanted to say “I love you” or “I’m sorry” or “congratulations”. One high school girl asked for flowers that said “I love you if you’re gay but if you’re straight these are just friendly flowers”. (Sam had sold her pink camellias, which technically meant longing but were also just pretty pink blooms.)
No one had ever asked for hate flowers before.
The man looked- well, he looked like hell. His whiskey-brown eyes were red-rimmed, and there were pillow creases across one cheek. Sam had spent enough days crying in bed after a bad break-up to recognize the signs. He considered, then took the twenty. “If this is your budget, I’d say yellow carnations.”
His customer let out a surprised laugh. “Carnations? Seriously?”
“Well, there are better options,” Sam admitted, grabbing one of the vases he used to collect flowers. “But carnations do mean someone disappointed you.”
“You got that right,” the man muttered. “Got anything that means ‘you’re a cruel bastard and you deserve each other’?” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking tired. “Hell. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be-”
“Marigolds are for cruelty,” Sam cut in. He brought the vase with him down an aisle, scanning the riotous display of loose blooms in buckets. “They’re pretty showy, too. I’m guessing you want these seen, Mr…?”
The man trailed after him. “Novak. Gabriel Novak.”
He clearly expected the name to mean something. Sam wondered if Dean was right and he should read more trashy gossip blogs. It might help if celebrities were going to start wandering through. “Uh, sorry, I don’t really get out much. The shop keeps me busy. I’m Sam Winchester.”
“Nice to meet you, Sam. Thanks for not laughing in my face.” Gabriel reached out to touch a gladiolus. “I have to go to an engagement party tonight. For my ex-boyfriend, who broke up with me last month to marry a titled British actor.”
Sam winced and added a few stems to the vase. “Can’t you get out of it?”
“Balthasar and I were a thing for over a year, even had a cute couple name.” The agile mouth turned down at the corners. “If I play hooky the paparazzi will eat me alive. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.”
“Sounds like I really should have recognized you.” Sam moved down a little in search of lilies. “Are there going to be cameras outside my shop?”
“I don’t know. Probably.” Gabriel sounded more exhausted than embarrassed. “I have a TV show. Nothing serious, just pranks and magic tricks. It’s called Trickster Tuesday.”
That surprised Sam into a laugh. “My brother loves that show. He’s always trying to get me to watch with him.”
The other man smiled faintly. “Your brother clearly has good taste.”
“Don’t be too flattered, he’s an overgrown twelve-year-old. Last week he glued my keys to the dining room table.”
Gabriel laughed again, some of his unhappiness fading. “Now I definitely like him. Are all those marigolds?”
Sam gathered one last flower and headed back towards the front. “Some of them are, some aren’t,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m trying something new.”
Interest lit the brown eyes. Gabriel came to lean on the counter, watching Sam arrange his choices in a purple vase. “Do tell.”
“Well, we have the carnations and marigolds. Orange lilies for hatred, chrysanthemums for a ‘wronged lover’. Monk’s hood sets off all the yellow. Plus, it means ‘watch out’.” He studied the arrangement of flowers critically, then moved a few around and added his last flower right in the middle. “Hydrangea for heartlessness. Sound about right?”
“It sounds perfect.” Gabriel was actually bouncing on his toes a little. “Purple and yellow. This is going to get attention. If he gets caught throwing this away the press will say he’s not over me yet. He’ll have to keep it in his house like a giant middle finger until it dies. You are a genius, Sam Winchester.”
Sam tied a huge, garish gold bow around the vase. “I aim to please. Want a card with this?”
“Sure thing. Can I borrow a pen?”
The man wrote while Sam ran his credit card, the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration. Sam tried not to stare; that little bit of pink was doing funny things to his stomach. Instead he cleared his throat. “We have a tradition here. You inspired the bouquet, it gets named after you. That arrangement is officially ‘Gabriel’s Floral Fuck You’.”
Gabriel grinned across the counter at him. “You’d really put a swear word on your fancy menu board?”
“Honestly, I’ll probably write ‘forget you,’ but I think people will get it.” He couldn’t think of anything else to stall, so he just stepped back. “Have a less shitty night, Gabriel.”
“I will now. Later, Sammitch.” The man picked up his vase and strolled out, whistling. Sam watched until he was gone, then went back to his computer.
If he watched Trickster Tuesday clips on YouTube for the rest of the night, that was his business.
Two days later Gabriel breezed through the door again. There was a spring in his step and a flower pot in his hands. “Miss me, Sam?”
Sam, who had missed him a ridiculous amount, crossed his arms. “We met once, Gabriel.”
“Sounds like a yes to me. I brought you a present.” He set the pot on the counter with a flourish. “Gloxina. From my mother’s garden, actually.”
Gloxina. Love at first sight. Sam felt happiness bubble through him, though he only raised an eyebrow. “Does she know you dug these up?”
Gabriel made a see-sawing gesture with his hand. “She’ll figure it out. It’ll make a good story for our fiftieth anniversary.” He smiled, so full of hope and happiness that Sam couldn't do anything but kiss him, right there across the counter.
It made a great story for their fiftieth anniversary (even if Gabriel's version involved less pants).