Chapter Text
Fluixon hated the weather. He hated the trees, he hated his life, and he especially hated Tuesday afternoons. Tuesday afternoons meant Cynikka had found another "perfect match" for him. It meant another girl with a nice smile and a hobby Fluixon would forget within twenty minutes of sitting across from her at a coffee shop.
"You just haven't met the right one yet," Cynikka had insisted that morning, shoving a sticky note with an address into his hand. "And don't forget to buy her flowers this time. Be a gentleman."
Groaning at the memory, Fluixon kept his head down during the entire walk to the flower shop near the café, actively refusing to acknowledge his own existence. It was only 10:30 AM, and his blind date wasn't until noon, but Cynikka had forced him out the door early. Ugh.
When the shop finally came into view, he pushed the door open with a heavy sigh. A brass bell chimed sharply overhead, and a strong, heavy scent—a chaotic mix of damp earth, pollen, and wet vegetation—hit him instantly.
He hated it. Or rather, hate was too strong a word. He just intensely disliked overwhelming smells, and the dense clash of different plants did exactly that. He preferred refreshing, crisp air. Like people always say, air can affect your mood. He hadn’t just made that up on the spot, right?
The shop was large and disorganized. Tall snapdragons reached upward from glass vases, exotic orchids sat nestled in mossy pots, and buckets of vibrant blooms lined the walls. Fluixon wandered down the aisles, completely lost. He needed a bouquet that wasn't basically a marriage proposal, but something polite enough to satisfy Cynikka. Unfortunately, his knowledge of flowers began and ended with the fact that they grew in dirt. He had no idea what to choose.
"Need help picking a bouquet?" A smooth voice rang out from behind him.
Fluixon turned around, the complaints already rolling off his tongue.
"I just need a basic bouquet. Polite. Not too eager. It's for a—"
The words died in his throat.
The florist standing before him was utterly captivating. Hair as white as fresh snow framed a face dominated by eyes that gleamed like the golden sun. He looked heavenly, as if an angel had just descended to earth.
Right then and there, Fluixon knew it. He was completely in love with this stranger. He wasn't going to deny it, either; he knew exactly how his own emotions and feelings worked.
He wasn't like those cliché couples in books who get caught up in endless misunderstandings and refuse to acknowledge their feelings, those type of people are a waste of space in this planet.
Suddenly, the air around them seemed to shift. The suffocating, heavy scent of the shop vanished, replaced by something incredibly refreshing. It was as if simply seeing this person made Fluixon's entire world brighter. He froze, completely forgetting how much he hated Tuesdays.
"You still with me?" the florist asked, tilting his head.
"...Sorry about that," Fluixon stammered, still slightly dazed. "It's for a blind date my sister set up for me."
"Must be hell for you, then," the florist laughed.
God. His laugh was so cute. Fluixon could probably record it and set it as his morning alarm. Wait, was that weird? Who cared?
Fluixon wandered the aisles with the florist for a while, listening to him explain the different meanings of the plants. Eventually, they settled on a classic bouquet: a mix of light pink roses, white daisies, and baby's breath. It was traditional, smelled clean, and avoided the heavy, intense commitment of deep red roses.
The walk to the nearby café felt incredibly short because Fluixon’s mind kept replaying every single second he had just spent with the florist.
"—and honestly, the energy of a ceramic studio is just so grounding, you know? Like, the clay really speaks to you. Anyway, what's your star sign? I feel like you give off heavy earth-sign energy, but my last boyfriend was a Capricorn and he was a total nightmare, so I'm really hoping you're a water sign..."
The girl—whose name Fluixon had lost somewhere between the cafe's front door and the counter—was still talking.
She hadn't stopped to breathe. Not that Fluixon cared. He stared blankly at her, nodding his head at random intervals to pretend he agreed, praying she wouldn't notice that his brain had entirely tuned her out. His thumb mindlessly traced the rim of his coffee cup.
On the table between them sat the bouquet of light pink roses, white daisies, and baby's breath. It was exactly what he had needed. But looking at the flowers didn't make him think of the girl sitting across from him at all.
Instead, it brought him straight back to the shop. White hair like snow. Golden eyes that captivated him.
He leaned his chin on his hand, completely zoning out as his date started explaining her sister's cat's strict diet. He couldn't shake the memory of those golden eyes tracking him as he walked to the counter. He remembered the slight, amused curve of the florist’s lips when Fluixon had fumbled his wallet. Even the heavy, green scent of the shop—which he had initially hated—now felt a hundred times better than the suffocating smell of roasted coffee beans and his date's heavy vanilla perfume.
"...so I told her, if you don't feed him raw meat, his coat loses its shine! Don't you agree, Fluixon?"
Fluixon blinked, snapping out of the memory of that smooth, melodic voice to face the high-pitched reality of his Tuesday afternoon. "Right," he muttered, having absolutely no clue what he was agreeing to.
The girl beamed, thrilled to have such an "attentive" audience, and immediately launched into a story about a local veterinarian. Fluixon hated talkative people. He firmly believed they just spit out random facts that nobody gave a damn about. He preferred quiet spaces, and this was definitely not one.
"I hope we see each other again, really!" the girl exclaimed when they finally parted ways outside.
He silently hoped he would never have to see her again. He truly hoped she would find someone else to talk her heart out to—someone who wasn't completely lovestruck by a white-haired florist they had met an hour ago.
As the wind blew crisp autumn leaves around him, Fluixon walked home, wanting nothing more than to tune out the world. His mind drifted right back to the florist. The way his hair looked like fresh snow, the shop's light casting a halo around his head, and those eyes gleaming like the sun. His voice was a melody Fluixon could play on loop without ever getting bored. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled... Fluixon realized he was absolutely disgusting when he was in love.
He soon reached the apartment building where he lived with his sister. He knocked on their door once.
No reply.
He knocked a second time. The wind rustled the hallway window. He knocked a third time.
Finally, Cynikka swung the door open. "You're back," she grinned, her smile razor-sharp.
"You made me wait," Fluixon retorted, shoving his way past her into the entry hall.
He marched straight toward the interior elevator of the penthouse, pressing the button for the third floor. Dull elevator music played, a sound Fluixon had long since grown used to. The bell chimed as the doors slid open on his floor. He walked down the corridor to his bedroom and slammed the heavy door shut behind him.
Downstairs, he could hear Cynikka shouting up the stairs about him being a rebellious teenager, and how that attitude was the exact reason he couldn't find a girlfriend.
Outrageous. He wasn't a teenager; he was twenty-five years old. Did twenty-five sound like a teenager to her? He didn't even want a girlfriend. Though, he had to admit, she was right about him being rebellious.
Right now, all Fluixon wanted to do was lie on his king-sized bed—which could easily fit a family of five—and think about the cute florist. He was totally justified in daydreaming about the cutie patootie. What he wasn't justified in was how he actually went about it.
Fluixon ran and leaped onto the mattress, face-planting directly into the soft pillows with his shoes still securely on. His room was the only place in the world where he could engage in whatever ridiculous shenanigans he wanted without anyone judging him. It was the closest place to heaven.
Fluixon rolled over onto his back, kicking his feet back and forth like a lovesick teenager. He yanked his phone from his pocket. He needed to tell someone, and his best friend Thomas was the perfect victim.
Fluixon: Thomas. I have met an actual angel.
Thomas: Did you get hit by a car on the way to your date? Are you concussed?
Fluixon: No. The florist. I went to get flowers for the girl like Cynikka said, and he was working there. Thomas, his hair is as white as fresh snow. It literally frames his face perfectly. And his eyes. God, his eyes gleam like the golden sun. Like a literal heavenly deity descended to earth just to cut flower stems.
Thomas: DUDE. Please STOP
Fluixon: I am not finished. He has these two perfect moles, one right under each of his eyes. They look like little symmetrical teardrops of beauty. When he smiles, they move up with his cheeks, and it is the most breathtaking thing I have ever witnessed. And when he laughed? It was the most melodic, cute sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I wanted to record it and make it my morning alarm. I’m not even kidding. The air in the shop literally changed when he looked at me. It became refreshing. My life is brighter now. I am disgusting when I’m in love and I don't care. He is a total cutie patootie.
Thomas: I am physically gagging YOU HAVE BRAIN HEMORRHAGE DONT YOU? YOU'RE WRITING BETTER THAN WHEN YOU WRITE ESSAYS BACK IN COLLEGE
Thomas: “CUTIE PATOOTIE”??? Who are you and what have you done to Fluixon? You hate everything. You hate Tuesdays. You hate the weather. Now you’re TYPING OUT POETRY ABOUT SYMMETRICAL MOLES?
Fluixon: You don’t understand. He chose pink roses and daisies for my date. He called my situation "hell" and smiled at me. His eyes crinkled at the corners, Thomas. Crinkled.
Thomas: Seek professional help immediately I am disgusted by this version of you Delete my number until the grumpy Fluixon returns FUCK YOU
Fluixon’s phone buzzed with one final, judgmental text from Thomas, but he ignored it.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling, still visualizing those twin moles shifting beautifully as the florist laughed.
Then, a loud, heavy bang rattled his bedroom door, shattering the silence.
"Flux! Get your fuckass rear end down here! Dinner is ready!" Cynikka’s voice boomed through the wood, echoing down the third-floor corridor.
Fluixon groaned loudly into his pillow. He had entirely forgotten about the passage of time. Reluctantly, he rolled off the bed, and made his way back to the penthouse elevator.
On his merry way, yet as he took one step, and immediately tripped over the shoelaces of his own shoes. Groaning, he slipped off his shoes, karma got him for not taking off his innocent shoes off.
When the doors opened on the main floor, the heavy aroma of garlic pasta filled the kitchen.
Cynikka was already leaning against the marble counter, a wooden spoon in her hand and a sharp, interrogative grin plastered across her face.
"Well?" she demanded before he could even pull out a barstool.
"How did it go? Did you give her the flowers? Tell me everything."
Fluixon slumped into a seat, his face instantly reverting to his trademark Tuesday scowl. He picked up his fork and poked at the pasta, his voice dropping into a flat, thoroughly negative monotone.
"It was a complete disaster," Fluixon muttered, actively leaving out any mention of the florist. "She didn't stop talking for a single second. She spent twenty minutes explaining her sister's cat's raw meat diet. My ears literally went numb."
Cynikka rolled her eyes, sighing heavily. "Oh, come on, Flux. She’s into ceramics! She’s grounded! You just didn't give her a chance."
"She asked for my star sign and called her ex a Capricorn nightmare," Fluixon snapped, taking a spiteful bite of pasta. "I hope I never have to see her again. Your matchmaking skills are terrible."
Cynikka threw her hands up in defeat, completely unaware that her brother's heart had actually been stolen by the man who sold him the bouquet. Rip to all the future blind dates to come.