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You had certainly heard of the name Seymour Krelborn- who hadn’t? His name was all over the radio, the newspapers, and that shop he worked at was the talk of the town! It was like his face had followed you everywhere.
Truthfully, it irked you a bit. His rosy lips, his sparkling brown eyes, his round boyish face underneath those glasses- if someone were to accuse you of having a teensy tiny crush on a certain botanical genius, you’d call them crazy!
You hadn’t ever met the man, and yet you can already tell you hate him. His interview on Wink Wilkinson's Weird and Wacky World was what first introduced you to him. Him and his strange and interesting plant that everyone wouldn’t shut up about. You're tired of it.
You’ve been debating for the past few days to maybe drop by Mushnik’s Flower Shop and see that plant for yourself. From word of mouth, apparently it’s ginormous now! But, considering that it’s currently around 8pm and the shop has been closed for the past two hours, intuition tells you that you won’t be seeing it any time today.
But hey, you never know! So maybe if you changed up your path home today to walk by the shop to try and sneak a peek at the plant through the windows, who’d know? Not like you can see through all of the thick foliage covering the window anyways.
It seems you were stuck too deep in your thoughts however, missing the sound of a Harley squealing louder as it neared you. The sound of a feminine gasp reached your ears from down the street, a brief male curse being the last thing you hear before the entire world went hazy and your side erupted in pain.
You let out a loud yelp, crashing into the sidewalk face-first as the motorcycle that ran you over squeals to a stop, the driver hopping off and meandering over to your still body with a casualness that belies the situation.
“Crap. I guess that’s another one.”
The voice says above you, a greaser-type accent clear in his drawl.
The sound of heels clicking closer is the next thing you hear as your vision starts to come back to you.
“Oh my goodness! Orin! What happened?” The soft feminine voice says in shock, panting as both people stand over your crumpled form.
“Eh, don’t worry about it Doll. Don’t think you’re off the hook because of this- you’re coming with me!” The man says as you can only assume he grabs her wrist and drags her inside of the apartment building you’re left in front of.
With a soft groan, you slowly pushed yourself up off the damp and dirty floor. Your head was killing you, and a distinct wetness that wasn’t dirty puddle water was dripping down your face. Reaching up shakily, you exhale in shock at your bleeding nose. Blood spurts down your chin and onto your clothes as you shudder and hug your coat tighter around yourself.
You attempt to stand up, only to immediately fall over again onto your face and crush your tender nose. You whine softly in pain as you push yourself up again, gripping your head that pounds with each harsh gust of wind battering against your bruised body.
“God- I shouldn’t have come here…” You mutter in annoyance, closing your eyes as you attempt to get the world to stop spinning for long enough to regain your bearings and stand up again.
Your eyes snap open when you hear a bell chime in the cold late night air, your attention drawn to the shop you came here for. The lights are on, but what truly catches your attention is a familiar local celebrity rushing out the front door with a concerned furrow to his brow.
“Uh- hello?! Are you okay?” He says nervously, his eyes blown wide in concern as he kneels over your frame, his hands hovering in the air unsure of what to do as you bleed out in front of him.
You bite back a groan at seeing Seymour Krelborn in front of your face- because OF COURSE it’s him! Just what is your luck today? Not only do you have to walk home in the cold with only a flimsy coat, but you also get run over and now the guy you’ve come to hate is checking up on you?
You grunt softly as you sit up, not letting your annoyance show as you wince softly. “No, no, I’m alright. Thank you. Just a little light headed, is all.” You dismiss quickly, not wanting to be around Seymour any longer than you have to be.
Seymour doesn’t look very convinced as he gently helps you up, letting you lean against him as you wobble to your feet.
“You aren’t okay! You just got hit by a Harley! I’m taking you to my shop, there’s a medical kit there that I can use to help clean you up.” Seymour explains as he looks down both ends of the street for any other dangers before helping both of you cross.
Stumbling into the shop, Seymour quickly sits you down on a chair at the counter. He pulls out a medical kit from a nearby door leading to who knows where, opening it and pulling out some wipes.
Seymour winces when he sees your face again, tenderly wiping down your nose and chin of the sticky crimson liquid seeping down the chilled skin. “I’m sorry, I know it isn’t much.” He apologized quietly, trying his best to not be too rough.
You have to bite your lip to keep from saying anything, shutting your eyes tightly so you don’t have to see that stupid concerned look he has. The fact that he’s so close to you isn’t helping at all, and you swear you can feel a blush starting to rise up your cheeks and warm up your freezing body.
“I’m alright, Mr. Krelborn.” You say softly, blinking open your eyes again. You take in the surprised look on his face before he chuckles awkwardly.
“Um, sorry. I’m not used to people knowing me. The whole ‘fame’ thing is all new…” He says apologetically, his hands and touch slowly becoming softer until he pulls them away entirely. “Just call me Seymour. ‘Mr. Krelborn’ sounds… strange.”
It seems that now with your face cleaned up, he’s really getting a good look at you. Maybe too good of a look… You have to bite your tongue and keep your face neutral as he stares into your eyes, barely a foot away from you.
But you both get knocked out of your strange staring contest when a loud THUMP echoes from the other side of the small shop near the windows. Eyes darting over, you’re caught off guard immediately.
My god, that IS a huge plant! It’s gotta be at least four feet tall! It would tower over a child!
Peering around Seymour’s frame to look at the plant, it’s quite obvious that it had stolen your attention from the man who was patching you up.
“Is that ‘Audrey II’? That thing is huge! What have you been feeding it?” You say in astonishment, your eyebrows furrowing in shock.
Seymour seems to tense up at that small question, his entire demeanor changing and his anxious shuffling becomes more apparent. He doesn’t respond for a moment, seeming to debate whether you asked a rhetorical question that he needed to answer or not.
“Oh- just… minerals. And water, and a lot of sunlight.” He says eventually, his tone obvious that he’s hiding something.
You don’t pay it too much mind though, as you already know it’s a supposed ‘trade secret’ that the mini-celebrity hasn’t told anyone about yet. You avert your eyes from the plant and look back to Seymour who is clearly uncomfortable now.
“I suppose… I should be leaving soon.” You say slowly, not wanting to sound too desperate to leave or stay.
Seymour merely blinks before his eyebrows pinch together in concern once again and he turns his entire body towards you. “Are you sure? You got hurt pretty badly… Do you need someone to walk you home?”
You swear this stupid nerd knows about your hate-crush and is trying to kill you even more than you’re already struggling to hang on.
Shaking your head, you slowly slide off the chair he sat you down on. When your feet hit the floor, you stumble a bit before clinging to the counter on wobbly legs. You wince as you can feel your ribs and side aching from strain, and you’re certain that if you look in the mirror tomorrow you would be covered in bruises and friction marks with the concrete.
“I’ve got it, thank you.” You say quickly, going to walk out the door but immediately tripping over your feet when your side hits you with a pang of flashing white hot pain.
Seymour gasps and rushes forward, gently holding onto you before you topple fully and eat pavement again. “Careful! Really, I think you should stay a little longer!” He insists worriedly.
With a grit to your teeth and a small, tense sigh, you agree wearily. “Alright.”
“So… Seymour. How’s fame treating you?” You ask, painfully awkward in attempting to fill the empty shop with small-talk.
Seymour seems just as socially inept as you are, unfortunately, as he just shifts around in his spot. He helps you sit down again as he pulls out his own chair to sit beside you in.
“Honestly?”
You glance over at him with a raised eyebrow at his low question, his voice which is usually timid even softer and shakier now.
“Not great.” He says finally, letting out a soft breath that he was apparently holding in this entire time.
You turn back forward as he continues, not wanting to make this more awkward or put more pressure on him than he might already be feeling.
“I’m sure you’ve heard it all before. The appearances, the constant business opportunities, the people crowding me wherever I go… it gets a little tiring after a while. And, it’s certainly been a while.” He says with the smallest chuckle.
He seems to suck on his cheek, debating something further in his mind as his eyebrows pinch together softly. The moonlight streaming into the shop display window perfectly frames his face, making his soft features pop and glow.
You try your best not to stare, but it’s hard to balance wanting to be polite and maintain eye contact, with trying not to embarrass yourself by staring at his face so obviously.
“I’m sorry. I can only imagine what that’s like.” You say quietly in the stillness of the shop. Your voice may as well have been like a shout with how quiet it gets after your small word of pity.
“Yeah,” He breathes out softly, a soft pink dusting his cheeks as he stares at your side profile also framed by the pale moonlight. “It’s nice… but also draining.”
He looks away as quickly as he catches himself staring, his face burning hot in embarrassment at staring at a stranger that way. Especially one who got injured in front of his shop, whom he was supposed to be helping.
He clears his throat, attempting to regain a little normalcy as he takes a calming breath, the slightest tinge of pink still visible on his fair cheeks.
“Um… Sorry for unloading on you. You just… make me feel like I can really talk about what’s been eating me up inside without being judged.” He says as he twiddles his thumbs in his lap.
You nod slowly, your side throbbing with pain the longer you stay in your seat, but you still attempt to pay attention to whatever Seymour is saying anyways. You’d feel bad if you left now after assuring him that you would stay, but you’d probably feel even worse if you had to stay and look at his stupid, cute, clueless face any longer.
God, why couldn’t you just get your emotions in control?! You haven’t had any particular trouble before now controlling your feelings when it comes to others, so why is this stupid walking nerd caricature making you feel like this?!
It seems that Seymour is growing worried at your prolonged silence, especially after he confessed his comfort around you despite meeting literally 15 minutes ago.
“Right, right. Look, I’m so sorry, but I really think I should go now.” You say through gritted teeth, the discomfort and pain visible in your body language and expression.
Any protests Seymour may have had seemed to die on his tongue, a slight panic flaring up deep inside of him at the sight of your pain. He shoots up from his seat, offering you his arm as he fusses over you once again.
“Are you sure? What if you trip like last time? Do you really not want me to walk you home? I-I’m sure I could get you home safely without another incident!” He stammers out, his breath hitching and his words coming out a jumbled mess in his worry.
You let out a soft chuckle as you tilt your head to the side, taking in how cute he could be when he’s so insistent on your safety.
“I’m sure. I don’t live too far away anyways. A pleasure meeting you, Seymour.” You say fondly as you shoot him a small polite smile. He can feel his heart speeding up and beating rapidly in his chest, not knowing that yours is just as fast.
“A… A pleasure.” He says softly in response, any other words not making it past his lips as his mouth hangs open in his reverence. He stares after you as you stand and limp towards the door, the bell jingling high above you and signalling your departure.
Seymour can’t help the look that washes over his face as he keeps his eyes on where you left. He feels a pang of disappointment at the emptiness that now fills the shop without your presence, but he lets you go without any argument.
He hears the soft rustling of foliage behind him, and the low baritone voice of his plant which would normally give him a heart attack were it any other time.
“Well? This certainly got interesting.”
Crap. He had forgotten to get your name.