Chapter Text
The florist was used to young folks coming into his father's shop.
Despite the multiple warning signs of "Look, But Don't Touch!" and "Break It, You Buy It!", he would watch on with amusement as the young ones would longingly gaze at the bouquet arrangements sitting in his display case, or stroke the velvety flower petals whenever they thought his back was turned. He didn't miss the forlorn, pained look in their eyes when the girls would turn the price tag around, muttering to themselves before they would scurry away. The few dalcs afforded from their allowance wouldn't be enough to cover for a mixed bouquet of sunflowers, roses or bushels of lavender, nor would their dream sweethearts from school. Even if his father would attempt to shoo away any possible loitering, the florist would let them linger and explore their shop. Why hurt the potential of future customers, when he could show even the smallest bit of hospitality?
It had been a rather stormy day when the young man had first stepped foot into the flower shop. He was a rather pitiful sight, with his dress uniform soaked, his hair a dripping, matted mess plastered against his forehead. "Oh dear," the florist murmured. He stood from behind the register counter, grabbing a dry cleaning rag from beneath. "Looks like you just escaped the worst of it."
The young man had already looked miserable, but the florist had realized a bit too late that his statement was of no further help. He pouted as he took the florist's offered hand towel. "The afternoon bus rerouted," he sighed. He ruffled the towel in his hair. "Instead of 3:45, they moved it to 4:15."
The florist gave him a sympathetic smile. The city bus stop was only half a block away from the shop, a simple metal bench left unguarded against a typical Berlint thunderstorm. "Ah, that is the worst, isn't it? Perhaps to them, thirty minutes is no problem. But to us? That's our whole day gone."
The young man peered up at him through long, haphazardly dried bangs. He looked skeptical at the florist's attempts of encouraging small talk, but he gave back a wry smile. He finally took a look at his surroundings. The boy had rushed into the store to find shelter, yet the floral shop was not necessarily a cozy place to stay. There was only one small table with two chairs in the corner of the store, with a few reference books for ordering wedding bouquets and funeral wreaths. The young man pressed his lips together, his eyes lingering on the only seating available.
"Go 'head, lad," the florist chuckled. "It isn't gonna bite ya."
The young man looked up at him. There had once been a sharpness much too cold for his age, but now the florist's offer had done something to soften him. "I'm soaked."
"That y'are." The florist went behind the register counter again to grab a few more hand towels. "Got any homework in that big, fancy bag of yours?"
The young man looked over his shoulder, and his frown deepened. He winced. "If any of it is still dry," he mumbled.
"It should be. Ya got a great bag there." The florist draped a few towels on the chair as the young man dug through his bag and placed one book after another on the table.
The florist smile grew as each book remained completely dry despite the downpour. He had only meant to peek at the book titles out of curiosity before he froze. He had expected simple geometry, Ostanian history textbooks for someone of a young man's typical build. Perhaps he had been wildly incorrect about placing the young man's age, because as the young man finished placing the hefty stack on the table and found all of his copies to be quite dry despite the downpour, the florist read titles such as Practical Statistics and Far Eastern Philosophy.
The young man continued to dry his hair and neck with the towel, a bit more at ease now knowing his books were still intact. With his gaze averted to the ground, the florist took his time to assess him. The young man couldn't be any older than thirteen, fourteen at the most. His dress shirt wasn't familiar to the man. He'd seen students from all of the surrounding primary and secondary schools, their school insignia stitched onto their breast pocket, yet this young man's remained clean of any branding.
"You're staring."
The florist startled. The young man didn't seem perturbed by his gawking, but slightly amused with a crooked smile. The florist settled for honesty. "Never seen a child quite interested in subjects like those before."
The young man smirked. "Not so much an interest in the subjects themselves, as much as I am in passing them."
"Passing…?"
The young man dug into his bag to pull out a few more items. A black fountain pen, a simple composition notebook and a bound agenda journal with a familiar insignia decorating the front. "Berlint University?"
The young man practically swelled with pride at the high pitch in the florist's voice. "The one and only."
The rumor mill had been running rampantly throughout the business district of Berlint through the slower month of the school year starting up again, then settling down. Salacious rumors of wealthy spouses cheating on one another to gain advantages for their child's education or pocketing blackmail for future uses. Money being slipped under the table. The typical gossip that happened every school year, that always made the florist roll his eyes and wish to crawl back to whatever mundane task could clear his mind of such drivel. Yet the newest addition to the rumor mill was an innocent one, a tiny blip on Berlint's Good News radar.
A young man who had graduated from high school early, set on the greatest achievement on becoming the youngest student to graduate Berlint University.
The florist's eyebrows rose. "You?" he inquired dumbly.
"Perhaps." The young man sat himself down and tucked a few of the textbooks back into his bag, leaving the statistics book to remain. "Depending on what you're actually trying to ask me."
The florist was left to stand there dumbstruck, simply watching as the young man flipped to a tabbed section in the book. Numbers, symbols and characters he himself never dared to study in college himself, content to only share the burden of his father's business, content to remain in what he'd known since childhood. He had completed his business degree, even despite the threat of a war rising again at any moment, satisfied to never have to look at the formulas and equations ever again. "Outstanding," he found himself mumbling. "Absolutely outstanding."
The young man paid him no mind, flipping open his notebook to a blank page. The florist didn't miss the self-satisfied quirk of his lips before he pressed them back together in a thin, tight line. Incredibly intelligent, perhaps a bit too mature for his age, but still prideful. Human.
The florist smiled.
He let him work. He kept his eye on the rain continuing to pour through the main window, on the clock that hung above the front door, his own work completed for the time being. Ambient orchestra music still softly played on the vinyl in the backroom office, a favorite of his father's. While it continued to bore the florist endlessly, it was comforting to see the young man work in a calm, gentle (and dry) setting. The rain had begun to soften, gently pattering against the window pane, the roof. The clock's hands continue to tick, a soft metronome counting down the seconds, the minutes until the young man could take the bus home.
It was around the 12 minute mark that he noticed the young man's attention to his work had waned. His eyes lingered on the display case behind the florist's shoulder, while he tapped his pencil against his notebook in thought. The florist followed his eyes' path, finding the bouquet of red roses, with bushels of baby's breath and greenery he'd made fresh that morning. Always their number one seller, within good reason.
"Anyone particular in mind?"
The young man flinched. Then, he looked a bit lost once he sensed the meaning in the florist's question. "Sorry?"
"Just see you looking at the roses. Don't mean to spook you, kiddo." Of course the kid wasn't focusing on romantic subjects, especially the age of his current peers being a detriment. He worried that it had been silly to suggest such a thing, even if he had only meant it as a lighthearted joke.
The young man only hummed. "They're just nice." He turned his attention back to his notebook, scribbling something down. "That's all."
The florist sighed with relief. No offense had been taken after all. "They are nice, aren't they?" He leaned forward against the counter, appraising the young man further. The slight flush on his cheeks was still a telling sign, yet he let any other words go unspoken. The young man seemed rather focused in the moment. He let the ticking clock and rainfall fill the space before the young man put down his pen.
"My sister…my sister would really like them," he confessed softly.
"Would she?" Of course not a love interest, but his sister. The florist's smile gentled. "Older or younger?"
"Older." The young man fiddled with the corner of his notebook, softening the paper between his fingertips. He didn't add much more, his lips pressed tightly together, as if weighing out how much he'd like to tell. "We…we used to have rose bushes in front of our home. Our old home."
There was a heavy nostalgia that weighed on his words. One that veterans of war and great-grandmothers would share through their stories of woe and fondness. That once something too mature had once tensed the young man's shoulders, pained his eyes, returned once more. The florist's heart sunk. "I'm sure it was a beautiful sight."
The young man's smile was gentle. Sad. "It was." The clock continued to tick. The bus was sure to come soon, yet the rain continued to pour.
The florist was unsure of what to say. He'd never been great with condolences. He had always followed a strict guideline as to what to say while filling out funeral orders for wreaths and bouquets, yet that was where the formalities always ended. He chewed over the silence for awhile before he finally mumbled, "I have an umbrella you can have. One moment."
Before the florist could rise, the young man was quick to oppose. "Of course not! I don't want to take yours. You'll be soaked."
"Don't worry. It's just one from the Lost and Found," the florist lied. He only held one, tucked underneath the office desk. The young man was right. He'd be positively drenched before he'd make it halfway home. "Been there for months. No one's gonna miss it."
The young man looked rightfully skeptical, but seemed to understand that any further denial would get him nowhere. He only nodded, and the florist walked to the back room. He only stepped a foot away from the backroom refrigerator before opening its door.
There was a rose he had skipped over that morning while making the bouquet. One of its petals' edges had begun to brown, and it was only a matter of time before it would begin to wilt. He had meant to throw it out that morning, but yet…
He plucked the rose from the bunch. He quickly tended to shaving off its thorns, wrapping it with gift tissue and securing it with a thin, red ribbon before grabbing his umbrella from the office, all within record timing. He held the rose behind his back as he made his way to the front. The young man was already packing his things, his lips pursed in thought as he prepared himself to face the elements. He was ready to meet the florist with a polite, tight smile before seeing what the florist held in both hands.
"Wh-what-"
"For your sister." The florist gave the young man a moment, seeing the confusion turn to hesitation even still. Then gratitude. Then distrust. "You come back whenever it's a sunny day if you don't want to keep the umbrella, of course."
The young man frowned. "But the rose…I don't have any money except for the bus fare."
"And once you find yourself a nice job, you know who to come to for those roses for your sister." The florist gently rested the umbrella, then the rose upon the table. Not a sign of force, but an option. A sign of trust. Of charity. "One day."
The young man squinted at him. "You really want…nothing from me? Nothing in return?"
This poor, poor thing. "Nothing." The florist chuckled. "Perhaps, except, your name. I'd like to be on first name basis with my future customer."
The young man seemed to relax at that. A smile slowly formed on his face once more, soft and more of his age. "Yuri. Yuri Briar."
The following days after, the rain never let up. Only small pauses of sunshine in between thunderstorms seemed to promise relief. The work days were slow, but regulars continued to make their way through. Lovers, charity events and tea parties continued on, rain or shine. Birthdays and funerals alike filled their calendar. Hand-counting daily inventory, trimming and cutting the stock, the mundane continued. The florist still thought of Yuri Briar from time to time whenever there was a moment of reprieve. Whenever he'd locked up the shop and walked back home, he passed by that young man's bus stop, seeing if he might be there, if only to say hello.
Was the young man doing okay? Did his sister enjoy the rose? Did the rose make its way to her to begin with? The young man certainly didn't seem to be the type to throw it away. The excitement had been palpable, even if he had been hesitant at first to take something without giving anything in return.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.
Until one chilly late-afternoon, Yuri Briar returned into the shop once again. Cheeks flushed from the cold, his breath quick from seeming to race towards the store in a rush. He held a tight fistful of dalc in one hand, his other hand on his chest in an attempt to slow his heart. He took a deep breath before rushing out his words. "I never got your name."
The florist smiled.
The florist watched Yuri Briar grow up.
The kiddo that used to reach mid-chest, was now a man who towered over him. The growth spurt hadn't happened overnight, yet the florist was unsure as to when it finally registered for him that the young man was finally, truly a man.
Perhaps it was when Yuri had returned from a two week spring break with his sister that the florist had realized how much taller he was. Perhaps it was when Yuri walked in while wearing a work suit for his "big boy job" for the first time, that it truly sunk in that he was an adult. Perhaps it was every other month where the bouquet orders grew larger and more elaborate for sister, when the florist knew this man had a career. The young man who could only afford a rose once every two weeks, who couldn't quite meet his eyes, now stood tall and proud with a large grin in his door way every week asking for another set of red roses.
Or it was in the aches and pains in the florist's joints and muscles that made him aware of just how much time had passed, and how the babies he'd once known were now grown enough to own their own homes, own cars. It was terribly daunting.
Yuri Briar had become a creature of habit. Every Friday, he'd arrive late after work to pick up his sister's bouquet. Eighteen red roses, with baby's breath and heather as filler, wrapped in pink and white tissue paper, with a red satin ribbon for flourish. A blank card was always left for Yuri to write his own message upon arrival. In the time that it took for him to pay for his order and write a small message for his sister, the florist would always learn something new about the young man and his beloved elder sister. He made it a habit of showing a new wallet photo of him and his sister every week. He stood a head taller than her now, but they still looked practically identical. They shared the same sleek black hair, the same uniquely beautiful eyes. She always gave the camera a soft, reserved smile. The florist kept his questions to himself, but he always wondered. Yuri never spoke of his parents. Never had photos of them.
Was it truly just the two of them?
Yuri Briar never really spoke about himself. The younger version of him always prided himself about his accomplishments whenever he'd write his card. President's List. Summa cum laude. Salutatorian. National Berlint Scholar. Now the young man insisted on keeping himself humble, only cracking under pressure at the florist's insistence. The long and short of his career was that he worked as a diplomat for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which was incredibly noble of him for someone of his age and experience. It was on a particularly rainy day that Yuri wore a sadness the florist hadn't seen since their first day. He was weeks away from moving out of his sister's apartment, and he wanted to gift her something even more elaborate before he'd leave her.
Despite his work schedule, he still made the effort to always gift her something. His job had made it difficult to reach the florist's shop every Friday. It was always a long work trip out of the country, or long, grueling shifts stuck in his office. Yet he still made it every week. Scheduled deliveries to City Hall. Scheduled deliveries to her apartment. If it was posssible for the florist to parachute a bouquet to his sister, he was sure Yuri would have ordered it.
The florist truly wanted to meet this amazing, saintly woman, if only just to experience who she was. It was obvious that the young man adored her. Throughout the years of small talk, it was clear that he spoke about her with reverence. Yuri Briar was impressive in his own ways, yet he seemed more willing to brag out his sister's civilian job at City Hall, despite his own accolades.
Then the changes had come. It had been almost three weeks before the florist had seen Yuri Briar face to face again. It had been payphone calls every week, with Yuri stuck out of the country or Yuri stuck in the office for another long work weekend. Even despite the obvious exhaustion in the man's voice, there was always the same eagerness he had to ensure his sister's happiness. The persistence in keeping his sister's happiness, even from hours away, from regions away. The florist happily and dutifully continued to fill the same orders again and again.
Until, one fateful day, when the florist's assistant nervously stood in his office door way.
"What is it?" he asked, still not looking away from his inventory slip. How did he end up with an odd count of lilies again?
The assistant rung their hands. "It's Mr. Briar, sir."
Well, odd count of lilies be damned! He'd count them again later! The florist grinned at his assistant. "Ah! My good friend. Has he arrived, finally?"
The assistant didn't quite meet the florist's eagerness. Instead they looked...terrified?
The florist ran to the front counter and saw the tall bush of white orchids in the arms of an even taller, familiar looking man.
White orchids. White flowers were a popular order for their store, as the color white carried a deep significance for many cultures. Most ordered the color white for weddings for its signficance in purity and new beginnings. A blank slate. Refinement. Balance. Then there was its unfortunate, but natural signficance. Reverance for those who had passed on. Mourning. Loss. Then there were the orchids themselves, heavily regarded for their symmetry and rarity in Ostania. Pairing the two of them led to its higher price point, yet as he had come to find with Yuri Briar, price was never an issue, especially when it came to his sister.
The florist felt his stomach drop at the look on the man's face. His eyes were bloodshot, the thin skin beneath them dark and worn with exhaustion and...had he been crying?
The florist truly feared for the worst. "Yuri...what on Earth has happened?"
Yuri's bottom lip quivered. "My sister..."
The florist's knees suddenly felt too weak to support his weight. No. No, he had already checked the obituaries that morning in the newspaper. There was truly nothing that could signify...surely it wasn't-
"She...she...she's married."
The florist's assistant sighed.
Even despite the very heavy weight that had lifted off the florist's shoulders, he still felt unsettled. Yet, the florist still had to try. "Erm. Congratulations?" Yuri's face soured even more. Wrong choice of words, then. "Sorry. Ah. My condolences?"
Yuri let out a thin, pitiful whine before his forehead dropped against the counter with a heavy thud. "Married. Married. Hasn't said a word to me. Hasn't spoken a word about that dreadful man until now-"
The florist looked over to assistant helplessly. The assistant quickly busied themselves with something, anything other than the man who was falling apart on the register counter. The florist could only watch on as the man rambled on through incoherent hiccups and gasps. He could just barely make anything out of the story the man was weaving now. His impression of his sister had been that she was an unmarried woman, which was uncommon for her age and anyone who held that level of beauty. He had wondered if she had no interests in relationships, or if Yuri was simply scaring away any oppurtunity. The florist smiled at the idea of the latter, seeing how the man had crumbled before him. "Now, now Yuri. I'm sure your sister had picked someone of good pedigree. It would be an insult to your sister to assume otherwise."
Yuri fixed him with a mean glare, a bit of snot dribbling from his nose. "I would never insult my sister."
The florist held up his hands helplessly. "Of course you wouldn't!" He looked to the large bouquet of white orchids. It was a common bouquet for those who had lost someone of great signficance, which seemed more relevant for Yuri's case and not for his own sister's. There was still a beautiful message hidden within the context of it all, and the florist could only find himself smiling. "You picked a beautiful selection, Yuri." He gently spun the vase in a small circle, inspecting the florals one at a time. Not a single one showed signs of wilting. "It may be different from the roses she's accustomed to, yet I have a good feeling she'd love them all the same." He grinned even wider. "Especially seeing that they'd come from you."
Yuri's frown softened and he sniffled. "You think so?"
Not a clue. "I know so."
Yuri Briar hadn't been to the flower shop in quite some time.
The florist grew concerned. It had been close to two months since he had placed another order. Three dozen roses, seemingly ordered out of spite while Yuri placed it with a smirk and a victorious humph. Then, nothing.
The florist, no matter how he busied himself in paperwork and trimmings and mundane cleaning tasks, always wondered. Always worried. Worst case scenarios were simply just wild figments of his overworked imagination, yet he wondered if it was best to just call.
Yuri Briar's number sat in his customers' contact information catalogue. His hand itched everytime he stared at the cradle phone in the office. It would just take one second of impulse, a few seconds to punch the numbers in, then several seconds to wait for the phone to ring as he would wait.
He had to sit there for a moment in reflection while the clock hands seemed to drag slowly on one rainy Friday afternoon. It was always painful to lose a regular, not just from a finanical standpoint, but also from the loss of a routine. A loss of a familiar face. He had thought he was used to losing regulars before. Sometimes it was from financial means, which was understandable. Bouquets were a luxury, not a necessity. Other times it was from fate's cruel hands. It was common for him to lose those he had once cared for as a teenager. One week he had prepared a bouquet of roses and sunflowers for a regular he'd seen since he was a little boy. The next, he prepared funeral wreaths for her wake. Grief would still find him in those moments, yet to not see Yuri Briar for some time, it really stuck to him.
It unnerved him.
Spring was slowly beginning to roll in. Despite working in a flower shop, his allergies still got the best of him. The medication practically rendered him useless, even to the point where his assistant had to kick him out for making one too many mistakes. He felt like a miserable son of a gun, yet he was albeit thankful for a small bit of relief. Years of endless orders for weddings, formal dance corsages and boutonnieres, and funeral wreaths was starting to wear him down, and while he could excuse his current exhaustion on an episode of seasonal allergies, as he laid in his bed and waited for sleep to take him, he still worried.
He found it funny how Yuri Briar would return to him so suddenly. Was it sixth sense? Divine intervention?
The florist had meant to sleep until his body would naturally rise. He hadn't fallen asleep easily, after all. His eyes had finally drifted closed early in the morning. The phone had caused him to rise instead. He grumbled an incoherent, drowsy response into the phone. His assistant sounded deeply unamused.
"It's him, boss. It's imperative that you're here as soon as you're able."
The florist didn't have a single clean uniform, nor had the medication settled in his system. Yet he hadn't cared. He grabbed the first clean shirt and pair of jeans he could find, and he ran. The Berlint sun was unforgiving and much too bright on his hazy eyes, and his sinuses were much too clogged for regulating his breathing, yet he couldn't find it within himself to give a damn. His aging bones ached. His lungs burned. Yet he ran with a smile.
Yuri Briar greeted him with a smile at first, before he saw the florist could barely hold himself upright against the doorframe. Yuri didn't speak at first. The florist did his best to wave them off, yet Yuri and the florist's assistant walked him to the small table and two chairs, easing him down. The florist huffed out a laugh once he was able to catch his breath. "Didn't seem that long ago when I walked ya to this table," he grinned.
Yuri gave him a soft, exasperated smile back. "It really wasn't." He frowned. "Had I known you were like this, I wouldn't have asked for you. I could have come another-"
"No. No." The florist could have excused his slip of the tongue due to his medication, yet he had forgotten to take the next dose before he ran out the door. "It's great to see ya again. We're lucky to have you. Now." He clasped his hands around Yuri's. He tried not to think too much on how aged his skin was compared to the young man's. How weathered and calloused they looked and felt from physical labor and the cruelness of time. "Ya here for your regular today?"
Yuri looked a bit sheepish before he pulled himself away to dig out his wallet from his pocket. "Actually...I need your assistance with a new one." A new trifold of photos were brought before the florist and he eagerly leaned in to see what else the young man had in store for him now. The first in the trifold was a picture of his sister with two brand new faces. The young man she sat next to was remarkably handsome, his smile reserved and polite for the camera, his eyes soft. A little girl with rosy hair sat upon Yuri's sister's lap, cheesing it up for the camera. Where Yuri's sister normally had a gentle, reserved smile for professional shoots, her disposition was absolutely radiant in this photo alone.
Then the next. Just his sister and the little girl this time, with the little girl draped across her back, the camera catching them both mid-laugh. The woman was looking back at the little girl with the utter most adoration, and the florist looked up at Yuri to catch him smiling softly.
"Now, who's this little one?" the florist asked.
"Anya." The name was spoken fondly. "Her name is Anya."
The florist's tongue slipped again. "Theirs?"
Yuri seemed unoffended by his question, but expectant. "His. But when you look at Yor and her sitting together," he smiled. "You wouldn't be able to tell." The adoration in his sister's eyes was palpable. She clearly loved this little girl, regardless of blood relation. Yuri himself even seemed affected by the little girl.
"She seems like a sweet girl."
Yuri scoffed. "Don't be fooled." He flipped to the next photo, where Anya was the main focus. "She's still her father's daughter." She wore a familar looking uniform, decorated with five golden stars on the chest.
The florist's jaw dropped. "Eden?!"
"The one and only."
The florist looked a bit closer, feeling dumbfounded. Blood relation or not, Anya looked to be the spitting image of the young man that first walked through the flower shop's door on that rainy day. The slightly smug half-smile she had on her face as she posed for the camera, holding herself as tall as she could for her small stature. She couldn't have been any older than six, seven years old, yet she carried herself with enough pride that matured her. The florist's eyes moved from the photo, to the young man that sat before him. Surely there had to be some relation...not that he would ever dare to ask.
"Her...her first year is almost over in the next coming weeks," Yuri murmured. He leaned back against the chair with a sigh. "I'd...I'd like to get something for her. I just don't know what."
The florist flipped back to the previous photo, where Yor carried Anya on her back. Their twinning smiles. The obvious love they had for one another. Their flushed cheeks from the sun, from their laughter. He smiled. "I have just the thing."
Yuri Briar was a regular once more.
A dozen pink carnations for little Anya Forger.
With a dozen pink roses for Yor Forger.
It had taken a great deal of effort for Yuri to hiss her married name through gritted teeth, but the florist was proud of him for doing so. A positive step in the right direction.
On one particular day, before Yuri had opened his checkbook, he pressed a folded up construction paper into the florist's hand. "Anya wanted to make sure this reached you as quickly as possible," he winked. "Very urgent."
The florist opened the paper. It took a few moments to register exactly what he was looking at before he realized. The little girl's handwriting and spelling was admittedly awful. Thank yu 4 the flours. Then there were four stick figures, two of which held what he recognized to be a bushel of flowers (trees? broccoli?), with a large mass with eyeballs sat besides them. Arrows pointed to each figure, introducing the characters Mama, Papa, Unkie, Bond and Starlight Anya. The florist felt his face warm from such a sweet message. He made it his mission to frame it and hang it in his office as soon as Yuri left.
Yuri always had more photos for them every week, especially now that summer had offically begun. While Mr. Forger remained purposefully absent in the photos (and mostly absent from small talk and light conversation), the girls were always a popular feature. Warm beach days with sandcastles and melting ice cream. Trips to a new amusement partk further North. Yuri had even shared a photo of Anya smiling with her pink carnations that the florist had wrapped for her.
Before his eyes began to prickle with tears at the very sight of it, Yuri flipped to the next photo. Then, just as quickly, snapped the wallet shut. The florist blinked, then looked at Yuri.
Was he...blushing?
The florist might be an aging man, but he was still spry. He snatched the wallet from Yuri's hand and flipped it to the photo that Yuri hadn't meant to shown. "Oh, now who is this?"
Yuri hid his face with a groan. "Please, don't. I-"
The photo featured a brand new face standing alongside Yuri. She appeared to be around his age. She was a beautiful young lady with short, alternatively colored violet hair. She formed bunny ears behind his head with her fingers, giving the camera a mischievous wink as Yuri attempted to scowl at the camera. Poor attempt it was, seeing that Yuri's lips were still upturned in the snapshot, and the Yuri that stood before him continued to burn bright red.
The wallet photos were a key into understanding who Yuri truly was. The florist had looked forward to them every Friday afternoon, seeing what else to Briar and the Forgers were up to this week. Even the mention of Loid's name was spoken with less venom and a warmer undertone, even if he was mentioned seldomly. So seeing this new face surely had to mean something.
The florist only smiled before sliding the wallet back to Yuri. "She's real pretty."
Yuri said nothing when he snatched the wallet back. Face still bright red, eyes still casted to the floor, he dug out his checkbook. "The usual amount then?"
The florist chuckled. Somehow the young man appeared to be that same sopping wet, pitiful looking thing that first walked through his door. "The usual."
Only a few days went by before Yuri burst through the front door, only a few spare minutes before closing. While it would have upset him if it had been anyone else, the florist found himself delighted to see his regular so late in the day, yet so early in the week. "Well, hello there, kiddo. What brings you in today?"
"I-" While he'd first come in looking rather frantic and haggard, now he deflated. He'd obviously ran from wherever he lived. His work suit was absent, wearing a sweat stained grey shirt and flannel sleep pants, with slippers still on his feet. Sweat beaded his forehead and his hair was an absolute mess. "I don't know, actually. I was kind of hoping you'd be able to help me."
The florist propped the broom against the small table. He could entertain his favorite regular for the time being. Sweeping could be left for the morning. "Go on?"
Yuri dropped onto a chair with a heavy sigh, looking to the order binders helplessly. "I..."
"Anything to do with your sweetheart in the photo?"
Yuri's jaw dropped. "How did you-"
The florist burst out laughing. "Oh come now, Yuri. You've photos of your sister, your niece, your brother-in-law-"
Yuri groaned. "Why does everyone call him that?"
"-And now you're going to try and tell me that girl has no signficance to you? The girl you had in your wallet?" The florist joined him at the table. He leaned in conspiringly, as if he was a lead detective in an interrogation room. "I could almost bet that she's still in that wallet now. Isn't she?"
Yuri pouted. A telltale blush crept on his cheeks, up his neck as he went digging into his pants' pocket for his wallet. He wordlessly handed the wallet over to the florist.
Not just the same photo, but a new photo of the young woman. Her back was turned towards the photographer, her side profile visible as her chin tilted up high as she looked at something. It was a candid shot of the young woman as her mouth was open mid-sentence, but it seemed to make no difference to the young man that sat before him. She was still beautiful. The florist raised a knowing brow. "Is this my new client, Yuri?"
Yuri sighed. "It...she..." He found the drawstring on his pants to fiddle with, anything to distract him from the clear anxiety he was feeling.
The florist's father used to scold him for attempting to draw anything from a customer's order. If a customer wanted a shrink, they'd go to one. Not a florist without a psychology degree. Yet it was clear to him, as clear as day that Yuri never had a romantic partner. Yor was all that Yuri ever had before the Forgers came along. The young man had dedicated his life to school and work, achieving more than any of his peers ever had. It never left room for romance, certainly.
The florist slid the wallet over and watched as Yuri's eyes cast down to the photo. The florist didn't miss the way Yuri's lips twitched up in a small smile when he saw the photo of her once more, the way his shoulders slumped a bit as his body relaxed. "Tell me a little about her Yuri, to start off with."
Yuri startled at that. "Why me?"
"Well," the florist sighed. "I can't just go based off of photos alone, silly goose. Ya gotta give me something to work with."
Yuri frowned. "You did for Anya."
"Carnations are a great gift for the youngins," the florist said, waving a dismissive hand. "Easy-peasy. Can I get a name, at the very least?"
Yuri glanced at the photo again before looking back at the florist. Cheeks still flushed, lips slightly turned into a indignant pout, looking every bit like his niece. "Chloe." He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "Her name."
"Ahh." The florist grinned. "Chloe. Yuri and Chloe, Chloe and Yuri. It really has a nice ring to it, when you say them out loud doesn't it?"
Yuri closely resembled a cherry tomato at the mere suggestion. "Oh God," he groaned.
"Just sayin'. I can see it embroidered on some fancy dinner napkins and paper invitations now. Don't you think that Chloe Briar sounds just lovely?"
The chair screeched when Yuri practically jumped out of his seat. "I asked for help, not to be attacked," he whined.
The florist's stomach hurt from laughing so hard. He couldn't remember the last time he had this much fun with a customer, if at all. He let the man pace in a circle and cool down as he watched, the store well passed closing hours with the door remained unlocked and the register till left open. He didn't care to stand up and lock it, or flip the door sign to "closed." If anyone chose to come in, he'd let them. It wasn't his father's shop anymore, after all.
Once Yuri cooled down, he settled back in his chair. "I just don't know where to start."
"Roses are a great start."
Yuri wrinkled his nose. "I'd like to keep that as my sister's thing...if you wouldn't mind."
The florist hummed. "Not at all! You're my customer regardless. I'd rather you pay for something you'd like." He opened an order book open and flipped through a few of their romantic selections. "We'll go ahead and skip over carnations too then, if you'd like to keep that as Anya's."
Yuri nodded, ruefully smiling. "Thank you."
"Of course." The florist showcased a few. Beautifully layered and softly fragranced peonies, bold and declarative tulips, gentle and subtle sweet peas, if only to give Yuri a certain sense of direction. Yuri's brows furrowed in concentration, nodding along to each suggestion, but something in Yuri's expression gave the florist pause. He seemed more tense than before. "Gardenias, of course," he continued. "Classically known for their beauty and used as secret declarations of love, when feelings couldn't be expressed. We're starting to see a rise in popularity after that new episode of Berlint in Love, when the two spies fell in love and used flower language as code to-"
"There's too much," Yuri deadpanned. "How do I choose?"
The florist almost joked that he could order one of each and he could roll it all into one bouquet, but the grave expression on Yuri's face definitely kept his mouth shut. Instead, he gently closed the book and pushed it forward. "Tell ya what kiddo. Sleep on it tonight. Unless ya have a deadline-"
"I don't."
"Then take your time," the florist continued softly. "Take this home with ya. I used to have them, but go to the library and get one of those books on flower meanings. I'd donated mine to them after they weren't sellin'. Read 'em. Pay attention to Chloe. Real close attention. Ask questions without being too obvious. And then when you're ready, come to me."
Yuri's frown deepened. "How will I know I'm ready?"
The florist took his hand in his once more. "Ya just will." He mulled a thought over, just for a moment or two before asking. "Do ya like her, Yuri?"
Yuri scoffed. "Of course I do."
"Do ya love her, Yuri?"
Yuri gasped, his grip tightening on the florist. There was no wild blush that colored his skin, nor did he jump out of his chair. They sat there for a minute or two, the Berlint sunset dying the skyline in purples and orange hues as Yuri sat with his question in silence. And then, quietly and gently, the most the florist had ever heard, Yuri confessed.
"I do."
The florist smiled. "Then ya will. Ya just will."
Lilacs were used as a common courtship gift back in the 16th century. As one of Ostanian's first spring blooms, they carried the heavy meanings of renewal and transition into a new period. By adding lilacs into a bouquet, there was clear intent in the flowers' messsage. It was signfiied to the person it was gifted to that they were their first love, and hopefully their only. Young love. The first emotions of love. An innocuous, gentle and cautious approach.
The florist prepared the next bouquet with gentle care and a smile. He didn't need much filler for this one, as the directions were simple. Deep purple hues, burlap wrapping and no extra flairs.
Just as Ms. Chloe liked.
The lilacs had started with softer lavender hues intially. He had suggested it himself on the first day Yuri Briar had run in with the book. The softer the hues, the more gentle and innocently persuasive the message had. Further into the relationship, the hue of the lilacs could become deeper and richer. The deeper the color, the more suggestive the implication, he suggested with a wink.
Content with his work, the florist moved the finished bouquet to the walk in refridgerator. The lilacs did require cool temperatures to keep its color and petals in perfect to mint condition. Chloe and Yuri had always seen to take care of them well, using ice cold water to keep them as colorful as possible. Where he had still yet to meet the ever elusive Forger couple, he was always delighted to see Chloe come in with Yuri every week, with the rare instance of Anya showing her face alongside her uncle. Chloe spoke well enough for the two of them, always asking the florist how he was, if his walking cane was helping him better than the last, if they finally got to try the restaurant the week prior. The florist hoped she would be in today again, if only to finally say that yes, the food was excellent and no, the walking cane was actually worse than the one before.
Though he supposed Yuri Briar's company was just as good.
How many years had he been serving Mr. Briar now? Several years? Over a decade?
He'd worked in this flower shop for over thirty years, with his daughter almost old enough to start greeting customers at the register. She was still too young to count the till, but she was an adorable conversation starter. She sat on the high stool now, scribbling her red crayon in her coloring book as she waited for the next customer to greet. The vinyl record was a bit scratched, but she still hummed along to it as she colored. "Mind if I join you, love bug?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "Do you like the penguin, Papa?"
The florist frowned. "That is a very...red penguin, my dear."
She pouted. "Bet Auntie Anya would love it."
"She absolutely would. But I think Auntie Chloe is going to enjoy it even more." It hurt worse to sit down than to stand with his bad knee, so he propped himself up against the counter as he watched his daughter color with amusement. She sure knew how to color within the lines, but her color theory techniques definitely needed some work.
The bell rang once the store door opened. "Uncle Yuri! Auntie Chloe!" His daughter lept from the chair and jumped into Chloe's waiting arms.
"Hey, pumpkin!" Chloe cooed. Seeing the red crayon still in his little girl's hand, she gave her a dramatic gasp. "Is my lil' artiste making me a new one for my fridge?"
"You mean our fridge," Yuri reminded her cooly.
"My fridge, your fridge, our fridge," Chloe sing-songed. She whispered something conspiringly in his little girl's ear and they both giggled. "Did you help your Papa make the pretty flowers?"
The florist answered for her. "Not this time around. She insisted she finished your, um, masterpiece before either of you arrived."
Chloe let out a small ooh in response. "Well now I definitely have to see this! C'mon, big girl." As Chloe walked his daughter over to check out the coloring page, Yuri met the florist halfway to the cooler.
"Now you know you don't need to help me," the florist sighed. "I don't mind the walk."
"And I need to ask you something," Yuri muttered.
The florist rose an eyebrow at that. Yuri was even more eerily quiet than he was last week. Tense in the shoulders, the crease between his eyebrows deep. They stepped into the cooler and stood before the bouquet. "Sure thing, son. What is it?"
Yuri stared at the bouquet for a bit before shoving his hands in his pockets. "We're thinking of heading to Hugaria next week for our four year anniversary," he said quietly. Even despite the soundproof barrier of the door, he spoke so gently that the florist could barely hear him over the cooling fans. "So we may not be in next week."
The florist smiled. "Ah, well that sounds delightful! A much needed getaway sure, especially after the move."
Yuri smiled wearily. "Right."
"It's no problem at all. We can go ahead and reschedule next week's delivery for the lilacs then."
"Right."
The two men stood in the cooler in silence before the florist felt the obvious tension building. "But that's not what ya askin', is it?" When Yuri only sighed and continue to stare at the bouquet, the florist chuckled. "This feels familiar. Almost like this happened around four years ago."
Yuri's cheeks flushed, and it wasn't from the cold. "H-hey-"
"So, Hugaria. Something tells me ya aren't just getting a hotel and doing some sightseein'...so whatcha plottin'?"
Yuri's lips pressed into a tight, thin line. He slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket and uncurled it. There on his palm sat a tiny black velvet box.
The florist whistled. "Well, I'll be damned. Missus and I had a bet on how long it'd take ya after the move-in, but I guess I owe her dinner."
Yuri looked horrified. "What do you mean you bet on me?!"
"Damn. Still don't know how to do this," the florist muttered. "I guess what I meant to say was 'congratulations'?"
"She hasn't said yes, yet," Yuri groaned. "Don't jinx it."
"Son, she ain't gonna tell you no." The florist gave him a swift flick on the forehead. "Don't be so unsure of yourself."
Yuri rubbed at the mark the florist left behind, grumbling to himself. "Suppose you don't want to actually know what I was going to ask."
"Well, go 'head! Spit it out then!"
Yuri sighed. "I was thinking of something elaborate, of maybe sending her off to do something on her own, and decorate the room with some flowers. I just don't know what."
The florist smiled. "Well that's just the damn near sweetest thing I've heard. Very romantic, well done."
Yuri groaned. "Don't. Loid was the one that suggested it to begin with."
"Could've kept that to yourself, but alright." The florist looked to the bouquet on the rack. "Ya already went to the library?"
"Sure did. The books are helpful to an extent. I just need...guidance." Yuri finally smiled. "You haven't failed me yet."
The florist felt his heart grow twice the size. "Don't inflate my ego, son."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The florist hummed in thought. "Y'know what. Give me until Monday, and I'm sure I'll have some ideas for you. Gives me enough time to dehydrate or pre-package whatever you need for the flight there."
Yuri's head fell to the florist's shoulder. "Thank you," he mumbled. "You have no idea how relieved you just made me."
"A vague idea," the florist laughed. "Now. Lemme see that shiny rock in your hand."