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The local flower shop seems awfully empty, maybe even abandoned. But the big, flashy sign on the door says “Open”. So, he walks in.
The swing of the door makes a bell-like sound, and it doesn’t take long before he smells the scent of freshly picked flowers.
The register lacked the bright green hair who’s always sitting there no matter the time. You could find him doing anything there—writing, reading, studying, eating, cooking—? The most bizarre activity he ever saw happening was cake batter being mixed. A close second was doing a solo karaoke performance in a trance. Both days, he was threatened with a shovel to keep his mouth shut.
Besides that, the flowers seem to be well despite the lack of a flowerkeeper. You can tell they were given only the best care, hardly any were in a low quality state.
He spots a flower from the corner of his eye. It was coloured in a vibrant purple clothed in large and complex petals which made it look almost puffy. With his interest piqued, he picks the flower up. He doesn’t bother learning the name (that’s written in bold just right next to it), but he thought it would make a perfect gift for someone.
While he was so busy smelling the flowers (like a princess in a fairytale story), he failed to notice the door behind the register clicking open.
“Are you gonna buy anything? Or are you just gonna keep standing there like some lost kid? The door’s that way, you know?”
It was Parrot, his all-time favourite flowerboy. But something was off. The hair that he usually kept tidy—messy but well-kept—was certainly disheveled. He also seemed to lack that earnest and disciplined look he always had.
“Wemmbu?”
“Ah sorry—you’re right! I’m but a lost child who’s stumbled himself into the store of a florist, and I do so desperately need your help finding my way back home.”
His hand latched onto his chest, making exaggerated expressions, but it didn’t impress Parrot. It didn’t make him laugh—not even a giggle.
This was dangerous.
“Whatever.”
Parrot makes his way back to the register, burying his head into his arms. His body gives out and he sighs.
He doesn’t seem to be doing well, Wemmbu can’t leave a friend in this state.
But he doesn’t wanna seem like he cares too much. He doesn’t— people do stuff for others, right? No matter their relationship status. It’s just good manners.
It’s also kinda embarrassing…
He takes the nameless purple flower from before, and sets it on the register’s counter. Parrot brings his head up, looking even worse than before.
“Just this, then?” asks Parrot.
“Yeah… just that.”
“Usually you get— well, whatever. Not like I have any reason to care.”
The transaction was swift. It happened before Wemmbu could even realize it was done.
He hesitates for a moment.
He raises the flower—coloured in that same vibrant purple—and puts it down on the counter, like he’s offering it.
“Here, uh… this is for you. You should take it. I don’t—”
He pauses.
“I hope you feel better.”
For a split second, they share a moment of confusion. Silence stretched on, each of them staring into the eyes of the other, before Wemmbu frantically broke the silence.
“Okay—I have to go now!”
He practically sprints out of that store, leaving behind him only a confused Parrot.
Despite the odd interaction, Parrot can’t help but feel a little bit better. The flower—which happens to be an Anemone—is safely kept in a flower pot on the counter for the many, many weeks to come.