Archive of Our Own

The first time May goes to the flower shop is on her parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. She’s in a bit of a hurry—totally not a consequence of her forgetting she and Max were planning to surprise them with a nice dinner to celebrate the occasion, which, thanks to her accepting a walk-in this evening, she has only twenty-five minutes to get to—so when she sees the sign outside that says Pokémon are permitted, she figures her best bet at finding the most suitable flowers in the quickest amount of time is by letting her Beautifly sniff them out for her.

It works like a charm, too. Beautifly guides her to a vibrant spring-coloured bouquet that looks to May like it could have been plucked straight out of a photoshoot gallery in one of her mother’s favourite home décor magazines. Even more perfectly, there’s no line at the counter at the back at all, and by the time May makes it there, she’s only down about four minutes from when she left the parlour.

Except, there’s no one there, and she wastes another minute or so craning her neck trying to spot an employee somewhere in this store. She’s never been here before, and the one time she asked Harley about it, thinking maybe they could spruce up the parlour with some flowers to balance out all the potted cacti, he waved her off completely. “I suppose it’s a nice enough place, if you like that sort of thing, but you know I have allergies, don’t you, my darling May?”

After that, she’d felt sort of bad for even entertaining the idea—she didn’t know Harley had a pollen allergy, but if he said that he’d told her so already, then he probably had and she had just unkindly not been paying attention to him—so she’d determined that even though she loved flowers herself, and wouldn’t mind spending her lunch breaks perusing the flower shop across the street and just taking it all in, she wouldn’t dare risk bringing pollen in on her clothes and causing problems for Harley.

But this time, she wouldn’t be going back to work until tomorrow anyway, so no harm, no foul. Or, that would be the case, if there were someone here to just let her pay and get going already.

Finally, after another two minutes spent impatiently tapping her foot and scripting out what excuse she’ll make to Max for being late, a voice behind her says, “If you want to pay for those, the till is actually at the front.”

She nearly jumps out of skin, whirling around to face the owner of the voice. The small smirk he’s wearing perfectly matches his amusedly aloof tone. But she doesn’t have time to be irritated about it, because he turns away from her before she can collect her thoughts well enough to be anything more than embarrassed that she was standing here wasting time at a counter that, now that she’s looking, does not even have a cash register.

“I don’t have time for this,” she despairs to Beautifly, who settles on her shoulder with a sympathetic hum. Gripping the bouquet closer to her chest, she hurries after the employee to the actual register.

When she gets there, though, he doesn’t immediately ring up her purchase. Rather, he holds something out to her: a single red rose, which has her stopping short in confusion as her brain tries and fails to understand the gesture.

“Is this some kind of promotion?” she asks weakly. “Buy one, get a rose free?”

“It’s for your Beautifly.” He gestures to a sign taped to the counter, which reads, Treats available for Pokémon of paying customers upon request! :)

“O-oh.” She laughs, awkwardly, and reaches forward to accept the flower with her free hand, holding it up for a very pleased-looking Beautifly to take from her. “Um, thanks…” She squints at the nametag pinned to his shirt. It’s almost weird how perfectly straight it is. How many minutes did this guy spend in front of the mirror getting it to sit against his chest so perfectly? “Drew.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he says loftily, and all over again she is reminded of his earlier attitude. Ugh. He’s kind of a jerk… “That’ll come to five thousand six hundred.”

May sets down the bouquet and digs her wallet from her purse to fish out the amount. Thankfully, her walk-in this evening was a generous tipper, but she can’t really deny that her Beautifly clearly has more expensive taste than she was banking on when she let it out to help her.

Drew takes the money without so much as a thank you. May tells herself that she shouldn’t waste time being annoyed by that, considering what a tight schedule she’s on. She blurts out a quick thanks of her own, and is about halfway to the door before he calls after her, “Don’t you want the flowers you just bought?”

She freezes, feeling her face go pink as she registers that the thing in her hand now is her wallet, not the bouquet she bought for her parents. Stuffing it back into her purse, she hurries back to the counter and snatches the bouquet up. Catching a glimpse of his smirk only makes her cheeks sting harder. Between the utter humiliation and the stab of real irritation poking at her gut, she doesn’t even think to say anything more to him. It’s only after the door has slammed shut, the bell jingling merrily above her head, that she realizes how rude she just was.

But when she glances down at her watch, she knows—she doesn’t have time to rectify that. She only has twelve minutes to get to dinner, and she’s going to need the twenty minutes it’ll take to bike there to figure out a cover story that doesn’t make her look like a complete and total idiot.

Though the embarrassment keeps her back for a few more days, after her final appointment on Tuesday the following week, May returns to the flower shop. This time, she even goes to the right counter first, but there’s no one to be seen here, either. She is briefly vindicated by this knowledge, until she catches sight of her target on the other side of the room, rearranging a display of bouquets with a sort of meticulousness that seems in a way to drown him out from the rest of the world. She leans against the counter and watches his process, her embarrassment melting under a tide of curiosity. When he’s organizing flowers, he seems—softer, somehow. Not at all the smirking asshole mocking her for getting lost in such a small store.

It doesn’t last long, though, because soon after he glances over his shoulder and catches sight of her, and just like that, the smirking asshole is back.

“Forget something?” he asks casually, and she bristles.

“I was in a rush, okay?” With a huff, she crosses her arms over her chest and pointedly looks away from him. She’s so sick of that goddamned smirk of his. “And, well, I actually came to apologize for being so abrupt the other day, but if you don’t want me to thank you for helping me out…”

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” he dismisses. “And if you’re going to come into a store, you should really be buying something.”

“What?”

“Well, otherwise you’re just taking up my time,” he points out. “I could be helping other customers.”

“What other customers?”

For a moment, he looks somewhat flustered by that. But he schools his expression again so quickly May can’t help wondering if she imagined it.

“It’s a slow day,” he allows. “But I do have work to do, so if you don’t need any help finding something…”

“I’ll look around,” May says quickly, and then stops, surprised at herself. She didn’t come here for flowers this time at all—but she can’t deny she’s interested in the display he’s working on. All in all, the store is, well…it’s pretty, in a way that isn’t just thanks to the inviting aroma of blossoming flowers. In spite of all the different kinds of arrangements, nothing clashes. From what she can see, there’s not a single flower that’s wilting or even anything close to it. Tentatively, she creeps closer to him, peering over his shoulder at the bouquets he’s putting on display now. “Do you grow these yourself? There’s a garden out back, right? I see it sometimes when I’m on my way home…”

He looks her over for a moment, but when she doesn’t move, he just turns back to spacing out the bouquets. “Some of them,” he says vaguely.

“Which ones?”

“I thought you said you were looking around?”

May huffs. “I am. I’m looking right here! These ones are so pretty. What kind of flowers are these?”

He pauses, lifting his gaze again to following the direction of her attention to a cluster of orange blossoms.

“Chrysanthemums,” he says. “They’re not really in-season right now, but they’re popular all year round. People like the bonsai chrysanthemums a lot, too.” He twists around, pointing to a display farther back into the store. “In the autumn, some people even do bonsai competitions with them.”

“Those are so cute,” May gushes.

“Do you want to buy one?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no!” She runs a hand through her hair, offering him a bashful smile. “I’m just looking, remember?”

“Your definition of looking seems to involve a lot of talking,” he remarks.

“Well, you clearly know more than I do!” May looks around again, and zeroes in on a different flower, right in front of Drew. “These ones are pretty, too. What are they?”

She’s definitely not imagining the exasperation in his gaze when it passes over her, but, beneath that, there’s a glimmer of a smile, too. His love for flowers must outweigh his love of poking fun at undeserving customers, then.

Each question she has, he answers effortlessly, further proving her theory that he’s not really annoyed by her presence at all, so long as it gives him the opportunity to talk about something he is clearly very interested in. The more he talks, the more he softens, too; by the time she looks down to see it’s well past dinnertime, his smile is just a little more obvious.

“Just how late are you open here?” she asks. “Do you get many customers this late? I haven’t seen a single person come in since I got here.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket to check the time, then says, casually, like it doesn’t even matter, “I normally would have locked up about an hour ago.”

“Huh?!” May puts a hand over her mouth, stifling a groan at her own inability to keep track of time like a normal person. “You should have said something! You could have kicked me out!”

He just shrugs. “I would’ve been here anyway.”

“Still! I have to get home.” She pauses, realizing she’s being too abrupt again. Forcing herself to slow down, she offers him a smile, and says, “Thanks for teaching me so much. I like flowers, and I get asked to draw a lot of them, but I don’t really know that much about them. Now I know a lot more!”

Briefly, his expression registers surprise. Just as quickly, he looks away from her, as if he doesn’t want her to see such a clear display of emotion upon his face.

“It’s my job,” he says nonchalantly.

But when May thinks about her job, she knows—it is not a matter of mere duty or obligation that ties her to her clients. She comes to work every day with a smile because she loves her job, and with the hours gone by to prove his care, she thinks that might be a sentiment Drew shares.

“You can tell me even more next time, then,” she decides. “Until then, um…good night, Drew. I hope you don’t have to stay too late because of me.”

“Wait,” he says, just as she has begun walking toward the door. She stops short, watching in bemusement as he finds his way behind the counter and gestures for her to come over. Once she has, he holds out a rose, so close to her face it tickles against her nose. She reaches a tentative hand up to accept it. As her fingers brush against his, she sees his chest hitch, and then he tells her with that same aloof air about him as ever, “Make sure that gets to your Beautifly.”

Her grip on the stem tightens. He pulls away quickly, as though to avoid her touch.

Confused, she holds the rose against her chest. He’s not meeting her eyes, but he’s not telling her to leave yet, either.

“So, um,” she says, then stops, embarrassed by the pitch of her voice. She tries again: “You know, you still haven’t asked for my name…”

His gaze flickers over to her, and then rapidly away again. After a beat, he says, “I figured if you wanted me to know, you would have told me. You don’t seem to have any problems with talking.”

It should be insulting, but she’s too focussed on the bite of the rose’s thorns against the pads of her fingers to let it faze her.

“May,” she says. “My name’s May.”

Silence.

Until—

“Good night, then, May. Get home safe.”

Despite everything, the words curve her lips. She ducks her head, taking in the luscious scent of the rose, and says softly, “Thanks, Drew. I’ll see you around.”

When she glances up again, he nods. She leaves the flower shop with a chest lightened by the weight of the rose in her hands.

It becomes part of her routine, after that. Every day after her last appointment, she finds herself in a rush packing up her sketchbook and her purse so she can get to the flower shop sooner. Some days, there are more customers than just her, and she finds herself sitting by the counter at the back of the store instead, doodling the various flowers around her until Drew is free to tell her what the names of them are, when they are in season, what kinds of occasions they are used for. She tries to listen, but sometimes the way his cadence softens as he gets deeper into an explanation has her losing focus on the words themselves, until she is caught in an absent spiral drawing out the flower in question and listening to her heart pound out a steady beat underlying the rhythm of his voice.

It begins to bleed into the other parts of her day, too, as the weeks go on. It’s during a particularly slow day that Harley catches her drawing more mock-up flower designs, and comments, “More flowers? Your InstaSnap followers must be getting bored of that by now, don’t you think?”

May jumps, her pencil flying out of her hand. Harley reaches out to grab it just before it clatters to the floor, and holds it tantalizingly in front of her face. When she makes to take it from him, however, he pulls it back, eyes sparkling.

“Now, my darling May, I don’t mean to be presumptuous”—that can’t possibly be true, can it? Didn’t Harley tell her once he loves making assumptions about people?—“but you’ve been awfully fixated on flowers lately, and a little birdie told me you’ve been spending a lot of time at Roselia’s Flowers across the street…”

May lets out a squeak, raising her hands up defensively. “W-who told you that?!”

“You did,” he singsongs. “Just now, with that reaction! Now, tell me…” He leans down, and plucks up her sketchbook, flipping idly through the pages. After a few long seconds of this, he looks up and waggles his eyebrows at her. “Just who is this lucky boy you’re drawing hyacinths for?”

“They’re not for him,” May hedges. “He was just telling me about them and I thought they were pretty, so…”

“But there is a boy, hm?” Without ceremony, Harley drops her sketchbook back on her lap, though he keeps her pencil in hand, twirling it between his fingers as if in serious contemplation. “Listen, hon, I don’t want to make you feel bad for me or anything, but this boy you like is a serious jerk. I’m only telling you this because I care about you, okay?”

May’s heart sinks low in her chest. “He is?” The more time has passed, the more May’s started to think Drew’s softer side makes up for his more antagonistic moments after all. Sometimes, she’s even wondered if he meant to be such a jerk in the first place, or if he’s just a little socially awkward. In that sense, she’s started to find his smirk the slightest bit endearing. “How do you know him, Harley?”

“Well,” Harley says heavily, “it all started two years ago… The Prickly Cactus was just starting to pick up business, remember? It was the happiest I’d ever been in my life! Oh, those were beautiful days. I was on top of the world! But then…” He clenches his fist, his expression tightening into a scowl. “One day, I came into work…only to find that someone had taken my parking spot!”

“Oh, no!” May gasps. “Did you have to park really far away?”

“Of course not, silly. I just parked in the next spot over. But, well, you might not realize this, but the sun shines a little more harshly on that spot, and I had brought with me a bag of treats I was hoping to enjoy after work that day… And you’ll never guess what happened to them!”

May widens her eyes. “Did someone steal them?”

“No, no. They melted, because of the slant of that horrible sun! Oh, what a terrible, terrible day it was… My ever-so-expensive Kalosian chocolates! They just aren’t the same once they’ve lost their shape and texture! And do you know how this all could have been avoided?” He pauses for dramatic effect, and then declares, “If that meanie hadn’t stolen my parking spot!”

“It was Drew? I didn’t even know he drove a car…”

“There are many things you don’t know about him,” Harley says gravely. “Like the fact that, when I confronted him, he told me it didn’t matter and I needed to just get over it!”

“He probably just didn’t realize how important it was to you,” May assures him. “I think he’s nicer than he lets on.”

“May, hon, you’re blinded by your attraction! You need to be careful. He’ll sweeten you up, and the next thing you know, he’ll steal your parking spot and call you horrible names!”

“He called you names?” May asks, shocked. That doesn’t sound like Drew at all, but…

Well, she’s only known him a couple weeks. Harley’s known him for years. How can she really be so sure what she sees is the truth?

And yet, every day she comes into the flower shop, he talks to her. He shows her new flowers. He stands beside her, close enough that she can catch the amused glimmer in his eyes each time she gets excited about a new bouquet he’s put on display for the day. More and more often, he comes over to watch her doodle. He doesn’t comment; when she turns to look at him, he avoids her gaze, but she can still see, sometimes, the briefest touch of a smile on his face. It does something funny to her insides, makes her warm and antsy and unable to keep herself from grinning as she continues to sketch out her favourites of the flowers he pointed out to her that day. At the end of their visits, he always calls her over and gifts her a rose before she goes home. After the fourth or fifth time, he stopped telling her to give them to Beautifly. The part of her that used to love watching romance movies with her mother hasn’t been able to stop wondering ever since if maybe that means something.

“Horrible names,” Harley confirms sadly. “I can’t even repeat them, they were so terrible. He’s a bad, bad man, May. I just want you to be safe, hon.”

“This was a couple years ago, right?” May frowns. “Maybe he’s changed?”

“Oh, my sweet May… One day that naivety of yours is going to land you in trouble, you know!”

“I’m not being naïve,” she protests. “People change for the better all the time! I even heard you say that to a client just the other day.”

“Oh, please, I was just saying that to get her to relax. The last thing she needed was me to mess up her ink because she was crying over her shitty ex boyfriend! The real world’s not really like that, you know…”

“I don’t think that’s true,” May says stubbornly. “Maybe you should just try talking to him, and you can be friends!”

“Friends!” Harley all but rolls his eyes at her, and doesn’t seem particularly fazed when she pouts in response to that. “I would never be caught dead hanging out with that little jerk after what he did to me!”

“Okay, maybe not friends, but…acquaintances?”

“Absolutely not.” He sniffs. “And I wouldn’t step one foot into that gaudy flower shop of his, either.”

“Oh, that’s right.” May offers him a sympathetic smile. “I guess having a pollen allergy would make it hard to be friends with a florist, huh?"

“Pollen allergy?” He pauses. “Oh, right. Yes, yes, that’s exactly right, hon. Honestly, sometimes just walking by the place is enough to have my allergies acting up!”

“That must be horrible!”

Harley sighs a hefty, put-upon sigh, and leans down to catch May’s gaze up close. “Now, remember, my darling May, the choice is all yours… But Harley’s just trying to keep you safe. So at least tell me you’ll think about what I said?”

“Of course I will!” May reaches out to grab his hand in both of hers, meeting his gaze with resolute sincerity. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Harley. I would never want to let that happen to you again. I’ll do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t!”

Harley sniffles, and brings his other hand up to pat her cheek. “You’re so kind, May. So unlike that awful parking spot-stealer!”

May chuckles awkwardly as Harley pulls away. She’s saved from having to come up with a response by the door opening up to admit Harley’s two o’clock appointment. He saunters off to go meet her by the door, leaving May at the desk to ponder the contents of her sketchbook. Flipping through with idle fingers, she finds herself wondering how someone who speaks of his passions with such a kind sheen in his eyes could possibly be as bad as Harley says.

It takes a few days for May to work up the courage to confront Drew about Harley’s story, but during each evening when she otherwise would have gone to the flower shop and stayed until after closing listening to him tell her about the various flowers and their symbolisms, she aches with an emotion so fierce all she can do when she gets home is flop down on her bed atop the blankets and stare wistfully at the ceiling, cycling through all the designs the flower shop has inspired that she still hasn’t gotten around to drawing. And yet, without Drew there telling her about them, she just can’t bring herself to open her sketchbook and try.

But when she finally does return, he’s not there. Instead, behind the counter at the back tying up a bouquet of red and white roses, is a pink-haired woman, who looks up as May approaches with thinly-veiled interest.

“Um, hi,” May says. She peers around her again, though she’s already looked for him in every corner of the store, and then asks, “I was wondering…is Drew in today?”

Suddenly, to her surprise, the woman breaks into a beaming smile. “You’re the tattoo girl, aren’t you? From across the street!”

“H-huh? You know me?”

“Sure. Drew talks about you all the time.” Carefully, she sets aside the bouquet, leaning over the counter and looking her over with a decidedly discerning gaze that sends a chill over May’s skin. “May, right? It’s nice to finally meet you! I’m Solidad.”

Mind reeling, May reaches out to accept her hand, giving it a loose shake. It’s only when her skin meets Solidad’s that she realizes how sweaty her palms are, and she’s quick to pull away and wipe them off on her jeans. But for as much as her cheeks sting, Solidad doesn’t say a word about it, just keeps watching her. Smiling. Analyzing.

“So, um…” May looks around again, fruitlessly. “So Drew’s not here today?”

“He had some personal business come up this evening, so he took my morning shift and I took his afternoon shift.” She drums her fingers against the counter, then adds, like it’s not totally exploding May’s brain, “He’s shown me your art before, you know. You’re very talented!”

“He…has?” May casts back in her memory, but… “He’s never taken pictures of my sketches before, though.”

“Oh, no, he wouldn’t do that. He showed me your work on InstaSnap! He’s completely obsessed.”

“He…follows me on InstaSnap?”

Solidad laughs. “Drew? Of course not. He doesn’t really follow anyone… I doubt he’s ever even liked one of your posts. But he’s talked about you for years. When he found out you were working at Harley’s parlour, he was really excited, because he’s always wanted a tattoo from you!”

“…W-what? He…?” May blinks a few times, disbelieving, but Solidad is still there, smiling as brilliantly as thirty seconds ago. Finally, she manages to ask, “Why wouldn’t he just tell me that?”

Solidad’s smile slips slightly, but the sparkle in her eyes remains. “Well…don’t tell him I told you so, but he’s pretty scared of needles… He’s wanted to get close to you for a long time. I seem to remember he even started parking on the other side of the street just to have a better chance at seeing you, but I guess he was always just too nervous to say anything. It doesn’t help that you’re a total cutie, too.”

“I am?”

“Absolutely. And Drew knows that too.” She winks. “When he told me you two had finally started talking, I was wondering how long it would be before we finally got to meet.”

“He never mentioned you,” May says apologetically. “Have you worked together for a long time?”

“Long enough,” Solidad says mysteriously. “But I’m glad I was able to catch you today. I’ve been wondering about the girl that had caught his attention for quite a while. And especially after he got into an argument with Harley about you…” She chuckles. “This meeting has been a long time coming!”

“With Harley? Over me?” May gasps in remembrance of her purpose for coming here today at all. “Did he really call Harley names?!”

“The words ‘selfish idiot’ might have popped up somewhere,” Solidad reflects. “But he was only having such a bad day because he thought parking closer to the tattoo parlour would give him a chance to meet you, and you didn’t even notice what was going on at all. I kept telling him he should just try to talk to you, but maybe he was worried if he came into the tattoo parlour he wouldn’t be able to leave without getting a tattoo and he didn’t feel ready for that yet.”

Well…it’s still not very nice, but it doesn’t seem to be as bad as Harley made it out to be. It’s even a little sweet, if May’s being honest, that he was so interested in her. He hadn’t acted that way the first time they met at all—and yet, from the very beginning, he must have known exactly who she was. Her profile picture on InstaSnap is a selfie of her and Skitty, after all.

“I had no idea,” May murmurs. “Will he be back tomorrow?”

“He should be. Want me to tell him you stopped by?”

“Oh, um…that’s okay.” May smiles, though she suspects it looks at least as awkward as it feels. “I’ll just come back to see him when he’s here.”

“If that’s what you want,” Solidad says warmly. “So, I take it you didn’t come here to buy anything today, right?”

May’s mouth is open to agree, but before the words fall out, a familiar thought crosses her mind. She closes her mouth, and mulls it over.

“Actually,” she says, “maybe there’s something you could help me with?”

With Solidad’s expertise to guide her, May stays up nearly all night with her designs, filled to the brim with an anxious, fluttery feeling that has her smiling more often than she even realizes. It’s a small solace, then, that she is hard at work during the hours of the night when the rest of her family is asleep. She can only imagine how mercilessly her brother would have teased her for her complete inability to keep her feelings off her face.

It means that her workday the next day is uniquely exhausting, but thankfully she only has a couple clients to see anyway. Most of her time is spent sending surreptitious looks at Harley instead, until the point where he catches her and asks, “May, dear, if you have something to say, then you know I always want to hear your thoughts.”

May flushes, though she can’t quite say why. It must just be her lack of sleep making her extra sensitive. With nervous fingers, she fidgets with the loose metal spirals at the bottom of her sketchbook, and finally brings herself to ask, “Do you really think Drew is so bad?”

“Hm?” He comes to a complete halt from where he’s been organizing their binder of pre-drawn designs. When he turns to face her, his expression is inscrutable. “Don’t tell me you’re still seeing him?”

“I just think you guys might have had a misunderstanding,” May confesses. “Solidad told me—”

“Solidad?” Harley gasps. “Don’t tell me she took his side! That one is far too nosy for her own good.”

“I don’t think she was taking anyone’s side…”

“Well, good. We were friends first, you know!”

“You know her?” May asks, surprised. “I had no idea.”

“She was a big help in getting the deed to the building,” he admits. “Really, you would have known all of this ages ago if you paid a little more attention to your surroundings, my dear oblivious May.”

That’s probably true, given Solidad’s explanation of the parking spot drama. But now that she does know…

“She told me Drew was just trying to get closer to me.” She looks down at her sketchbook again, though she doesn’t really see it. “She said he really likes my art. And maybe…likes…me…?”

Silence, for a long stretch. When she chances a glance up at Harley, he manages to catch her gaze—and sighs, rather dramatically.

“Oh, it’s a good thing you’re so cute, May,” he croons. “So I suppose this is the point where you tell poor Harley that Drew is the one for you and you don’t care about his horrible parking spot-stealing ways after all?”

“Well…it’s not that I don’t care, but…” Her lips turn up bashfully. “Maybe if we were closer, he wouldn’t have any reason to steal your parking spot anymore?”

“Why, aren’t you just a little pacifist!” Harley pauses. Something of his comportment seems to soften, just so. With a seriousness May so rarely hears from him, he asks, “Do you really like him?”

“I think I do,” May admits. Saying it aloud sparks those odd fluttery sensations all over again. Suddenly, she can’t quite keep the smile off her face.

Harley sighs again. Just as suddenly as his affect shifted, it shifts right back into teasing: “Well, I can tell when I’ve lost. If he’s really the man of your dreams, who would I be to deny you your first love? Just remember, if he tries to break your heart, come tell Harley, and I’ll forgive you for choosing him over me faster than you can blink. And I’ll key his ridiculous car for you, no additional payment needed!”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” May says quickly. “Well, um…if you’re really okay with it, I was wondering… I designed something last night, and I was sort of hoping you might look it over and tell me if it’s any good or not…”

In an instant, he’s popped up right beside her. “Of course, darling, let me see, let me see!”

Relief pooling in her gut, she flips to the page in her sketchbook and turns it over to show him, awkwardly narrating all the while: what her inspiration was, why she chose these, all the time and thought and effort that went into it, even if, initially, it was a complete spur of the moment decision…

Though Harley is often in the habit of dismissing her more directionless rambling, he listens attentively this time, nodding along at her explanations and, occasionally, injecting with a suggestion to improve the sketch, advice she takes on the spot before continuing with her justifications. By the time she’s finished, it does look better; he has an eye for the finer details that May is prone to missing. It’s what she secretly thinks makes The Prickly Cactus so special to their clients.

“Do you think it says everything I want it to?” she asks uncertainly.

He shoots her a smile—a genuine one, the kind she has learned over the years means he’s actually proud of her. “All that and more,” he tells her with a wink. “Now, I don’t have any more appointments today, and I’d be happy to take on any stray walk-ins…”

May snaps her sketchbook shut, eyes widening. “Are you sure?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “You aren’t doing anyone any favours just sitting around here like this, my sweet distracted thing.”

“I’m sorry…”

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth disapprovingly. “Sicknesses of the heart are serious business, dear. Make sure you take care of that before you come back into work. But for today…toodle-oo! Go capture that horrible loser’s heart! He’d really have to be a fool to turn my sweet May down.”

“Thanks, Harley,” May says sincerely. “I’ll do my best.”

“Never had any doubts about that, darling,” he singsongs, and suddenly he is all but shooing her out of the parlour, shouting after her, “I don’t want to see you back here until you’ve claimed your man candy!”

She chuckles nervously at that, but takes his encouragement in stride, clutching her sketchbook close to her chest as she bravely crosses the street—very nearly getting hit by a car she didn’t realize was racing by until the driver was honking at her to get out of their way, but maybe this too is just a side effect of her apparent lovesickness.

All in all, by the time she makes it into the flower shop, she is more than a little breathless. And yet, the moment she sees him, he turns around and spots her back—and now that she is looking for it, she sees it. The way he lights up, and then just as quickly snuffs the light out and affects nonchalance instead. The genuine upturn of his lips that, the moment their eyes meet and the depth of his emotion washes over her, he rearranges into a smirk. It’s practiced. Rehearsed. Just like his careful organization of the flower displays. Just like the nametag perfectly fastened over his breast.

And those things have grown on her, too. Even that infuriating smirk, she has found herself up late at night more than a few times thinking about with a damning lack of upset. But it’s when the mask drops that she really feels her heart racing. That softness underneath it all. A passion and a kindness that underlies those carefully contoured edges in every way.

She’s spent so much of the past weeks just studying him that she thought she saw more of him than she had ever seen of anyone else. But Solidad’s revelation yesterday has cast him in an entirely new light. One she doesn’t think she ever wants to see him outside of again.

It’s the earliest time of day she’s ever come by the shop, so she’s surprised to see that she’s not the only customer here right now, not by a long shot. But while Drew is fiddling with the displays, Solidad is at the cash helping those customers out. She catches May’s eye too, over her current customer’s shoulder, and flashes her a brilliant smile. When she winks, the sentiment fills May with a near resolve, encouraging her to approach Drew at last.

When she comes to a stop beside him, he glances over at her and says, casually, “Been a while. I thought you might finally have gotten sick of flowers.”

There’s an odd edge to his words that tells May he means something else, but trying to figure that out would be a losing battle, so instead she settles for shaking her head and admitting, “I was working on something, actually.”

He arches an eyebrow at that. “Oh?”

And if she were actually capable of being as smooth as she imagined she would be last night, she would lean a little closer to him, let their shoulders bump together, and open up her sketchbook. Let those feelings shine through to him from the page and encourage him to draw his own conclusions.

But she’s not. So what actually happens is she blurts out, “Is it true you want a tattoo from me?”

He fumbles with the bouquet in his hand, and curses as it goes flying. May scrambles to tuck her sketchbook under her arm and grab it with her free hand before it hits the ground and completely breaks apart, but even though she is successful, the look on his face suggests she might as well have not been. Just as quickly as the horror came over him, it is washed out by a flood of rosy pink.

“W-who told you that?” he splutters.

May laughs, awkwardly, and holds the bouquet out to him—a peace offering of sorts. “So, it’s true, then?” she wonders. “Because, well…I know it’s a little scary—the first one is for a lot of people. You wouldn’t believe how many people I’ve had totally pass out on me! But, well…I’d be there, you know? And, um, I wouldn’t really be able to hold your hand or anything, but if you wanted to talk to me and tell me about your flowers, or—or anything else, really, well…I’d listen, and I’d talk back. If it’d help.”

He's silent for a long moment, just staring at her, cheeks still flaming even as his gaze shutters and leaves her hopeless to interpret his emotions.

But just when she has convinced herself he is going to refuse, a tremulous hand comes up to accept the bouquet. Now that May’s really looking at it, she sees it’s one of the ones Solidad was putting together yesterday evening with the red and white roses. Suddenly, she is struck by the reversal of their roles, and quickly tells him, “These are for you. Not for your Beautifly.”

His hand wraps around hers, cold fingers sending shocks up through her system. This time, in spite of the burn of their skin connecting, he lingers.

“I don’t have a Beautifly,” he says.

“Oh, well, um…they’re not for any of your Pokémon, then!” May giggles. “But, you know…I’m totally serious about the tattoo. Being scared’s not a problem at all. I would never judge you for that.”

At last, Drew pulls the bouquet away, and heaves a sigh. His gaze drops down to the roses for a long moment, but when he finally brings it back up to May’s, he’s sporting a small smile.

“You’ve got me all figured out, huh?” he asks softly.

“Not exactly…” May pulls her sketchbook back, and admits, “I needed a lot of help. I don’t really know anything about flowers, but…you made me really want to learn. With how much you love them, I guess I just started feeling like I loved them too, but…it wasn’t just that, either. Um…I don’t really know how to explain it well. But—but every time I’m here with you, I feel happy and inspired and…and now that I know you maybe…felt the same way about the thing I’m passionate about… W-well, look. You can say no if you totally hate it. I won’t be offended! But I thought, maybe—if you were gonna get a tattoo, then—maybe it could be something like this?”

At last, with trembling fingers, she flips her sketchbook open to the last page and turns it around to show him.

“I thought two flowers made sense,” she explains, “because, well, there’s me and there’s you, right? And…and to me, you’re like—a chrysanthemum. They have so many petals and they look so complicated—and pretty, too—but you told me, all those weeks ago…you told me they’re actually pretty simple to take care of, and I guess in a way that, um, makes them easy for people to love, right? And…you told me, too—they represent good fortune, right? And I guess…meeting you when I did—that kind of felt like really good luck, so…” She takes a deep breath, and then adds, “The other flower is an azalea. I’m sure you figured that out already just from looking at it, but, um, I don’t know. I draw a lot of flowers, but I know I’m not perfect… A-anyway! I asked Solidad to help me out, but I guess…I wanted to pick something that represented your feelings. N-not necessarily feelings for me, but, well…” Her fingers tighten around the page as she lets out an awkward laugh. “She did tell me azaleas bloom in late May, so…”

Though her hands are shaking, he looks down at her sketch with wide, thoughtful eyes, taking in every detail of her sketch: the gentle pink hues of the azalea bleeding into the sunset orange chrysanthemums, the bright spring green vines tying them together in colourful harmony. For more moments than she knows what to do with herself in, he simply looks it over, as if he plans to commit each line and stroke to memory.

And then, finally, he looks up.

He says, “You did this for me?”

Suddenly not trusting her voice, May nods.

He reaches a hand out, tracing the lines over gently with one finger. Almost as if he doesn’t realize it, a small smile graces his lips.

“You really are something else,” he murmurs.

“H-huh?”

“I never thought we’d become friends in the first place,” he continues. “I wasn’t trying to befriend you. But you came in here and just started talking. And if it had been anyone else, I would have found that pretty annoying, but, well…you surprised me. And here you are, surprising me again.” Slowly, he pulls his hand back, and then adjusts the bouquet in his other. May’s heart sinks as he turns to put it back on the display, until he says, albeit to the flowers rather than to her, “Maybe it would be okay, if you talked to me the whole time.”

May blinks. “W-what?”

A pause, and then he glances over at her, exasperated, and clarifies, “Getting a tattoo. That tattoo. Your tattoo.”

My tattoo…?

“Oh!” As May’s brain catches up, she finds herself beaming. In her eagerness to reach out and grab his hands in hers, her sketchbook falls to the floor, but she barely even notices it, too busy intertwining their fingers and pulling Drew closer to her. He yelps, shocked, but does not make any effort to get away. “Really?” she asks excitedly. “You’ll let me give you a tattoo? You’re not too scared?”

He meets her eyes, flushed as red as the roses behind him. “I—I’m not scared! It’s just a little needle.”

“Well…it’s actually a pretty big needle.”

“Still!”

“So, you’ll let me do it? Oh, but…my schedule this week is totally booked up.” She pouts, casting back in her memory to try to determine a time that would work and coming up with nothing. “Today was my only slow day for a while… I’ll have to take a look and pencil you in for a less busy time.”

He stares at her for a minute, and then, very softly, he laughs. But before she can get annoyed with him, he’s squeezing her hands and saying, “Maybe in the meantime we could…find something to talk about other than flowers?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—” He cuts off as his voice pitches a little higher than normally. Though he doesn’t pull away from her, he looks away as he tries again: “We should see each other outside of where either of us works.”

“Oh,” says May.

“If you want to, I mean,” Drew rushes out. “But if you don’t, then forget—”

“Of course I want to!” May tugs insistently at his hands, forcing his gaze back to her. “Do you mean as friends, or as…?”

She sees the way his breath catches as she trails off. But when she glances up from his stuttering chest back to his eyes, she sees a determination glittering within them.

He says, somewhat breathlessly, “Whichever you prefer.”

“Then…I think, the second thing…? If that’s okay?”

His expression softens. It kickstarts her heart all over again.

“That’s okay with me,” he says. Finally, he pulls his hands away from hers, and kneels down to pick up her sketchbook. As he passes it back to her, he adds, “But if there are any flowers you want to talk about today, then…I think Solidad can manage the rest of the customers for a while.”

When May looks over, Solidad is very clearly paying more attention to them than to her current attention. She catches May’s gaze and offers her two exaggerated thumbs-ups.

“Yeah,” May agrees with a chuckle. “I think she’s got it handled. So, um…I guess maybe—I already heard a lot about them from Solidad, but I like hearing what you have to say so…what else is there about azaleas that I don’t know yet?”

He smiles, and begins to tell her. This time, she lets herself lean in close, and relish in the feeling of his words wrapping around her right alongside the feeling of his hand brushing against hers, encouraging her to ask as many questions as she wants.

They don’t end up making the appointment until almost two months later. Mostly because, every time May tries, Drew comes up with some sort of excuse to get out of it, up until the point she wonders if he’s changed his mind.

But that’s not it, he insists. And to prove it to her, he chooses a day and a time right on the spot, even though she can see his face paling as he does.

His determination speaks to her, though. In an effort to make it as comfortable as possible for him, she indulges in a few things she suspects might suitably distract him: a container of his favourite assorted fruits, the current issue of the same home décor magazine her mother loves, and a stress ball modelled to look like a Poké Ball. Even so, on the day of the appointment, he is obviously still hesitating, for he stands outside the door of the tattoo parlour for probably five or ten minutes while May and Harley watch from inside.

“If he wasn’t giving total stalker before,” Harley comments, “he definitely is now.”

“He’s not stalking me,” May protests. “We’re dating.”

“Mm, lucky thing, that,” he drawls. “Are you going to rescue him, or should I?”

“I will,” she says quickly. “You should definitely not say a word to him, or he might give this whole thing up before he’s even tried…”

Harley sighs. “If you insist, my darling. But it’s for you, not for him.” He shoots a pointed glare out the glass window for effect.

May giggles. “Okay, okay. Thanks, Harley. I’m gonna get him in here!”

She doesn’t wait for his response before jogging to the door and throwing it open, sending Drew a beaming smile.

“You’re right on time!” she says brightly. “Here, are you ready? It’ll be okay. Promise!”

When she reaches a hand out to him, he hesitates a long moment before reaching back to accept it. But once he does, he wraps his fingers tightly around hers, clearly with no intentions of letting go anytime soon. They’ll have to cross that bridge eventually, but for now, if holding her hand gives him some sense of safety, she’s hardly going to deprive him of it.

As she leads him inside, she watches Harley’s eyes track them across the room, but, true to his word, he doesn’t say anything—even though Drew is shaking fiercely enough for it to be visibly obvious even from across the room. Sympathetically, May turns to face him again once they come to the chair in the back she’s prepared for him.

“You can’t hold my hand,” she says, “but I brought some other stuff that might help. And I’ll be here and we can chat the whole time! If you want to wait a minute before I get ready, though…”

He takes in a deep breath, then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m okay. I’m ready.”

“You’ll be fine,” she assures him. “Trust me! I’m an expert! And…” Releasing his hand, slowly, and then all at once, she turns to grab her bag of Drew supplies, setting it on her tool so she can pull everything out one at a time. As she does, she explains each of her choices, even though he probably already knows perfectly well why she chose each thing. They’ve found they really do have a lot more than just flowers to talk to each other about, after all. With everything unloaded, she at last offers him another wide smile. “I’m gonna do my very best to make sure you feel okay. Promise.”

He breathes out. Though it is still rather shaky, he certainly looks steadier than he did before.

“I know,” he says. “There’s no one else I’d trust to do this to me.”

“Then, I won’t let you down,” May vows. “Take a seat! I’m gonna get everything ready. And, um…don’t look, okay? That’ll probably just stress you out more. It looks scarier than it feels. Promise.”

Not that it’s really a fear she has any personal understanding of herself—she got her first tattoo the minute she turned of age, almost literally. Since then, she’s collected plenty more—mostly just small things, little words and phrases and symbols that remind her of people and places and Pokémon she knows and loves. On slow days, she and Harley have spent hours just decorating each other’s skin to pass the time.

But Drew’s not the first terrified client she’s ever had, and he won’t be the last. It’s different, though, when the way he screws his eyes shut has her heart flooding with sympathy—and, too, a great fondness. He tries so hard to seem unflappable, and yet all it takes is just the thought of a needle poking into his skin to have his face going green.

It’s a testament to how much he cares for her and her work that when she flips his arm over to wipe the inside of his wrist before beginning her work, he barely even flinches. To help calm him down, she starts talking, explaining why she is doing this, and what she is going to do next. How the tattoo gun actually works—that it’s not a needle in the classical sense, like the kind they stick into your veins at the doctor’s office, even though it does look very similar, that it will feel very different once she starts using it. The more she talks, the more he relaxes, until the point where his breathing is somewhat even when the needle touches his skin for the first time.

It takes some time before he gets comfortable enough to talk back to her, but eventually—though it takes a lot of squeezing of the stress ball—he does. A bit about flowers—but also about the other things in his life he cherishes: his Pokémon, the feeling in the air when the season turns, like it is now, from summer to fall, Solidad, his collection of poetry and art books, May.

After that point, the actual tattooing goes a lot more quickly. Perhaps it’s the same for both of them: time just seems to pass differently when they get to listen to each other talk. It’s easier to relax, and, ironically, to focus on the task in front of her, even though all of Drew’s words still register perfectly in her brain. He might be the only person in the world she can listen to like this, just interested enough to keep her from getting so invested in what she’s doing that she loses sight of him completely.

By the time she’s wrapping up with the colours, he’s even smiling and laughing, though he keeps his gaze firmly away from the tattoo gun—and resultingly, away from May—the entire time. This makes it so much more satisfying, though, when she pulls the gun away for the final time and gets to declare, “You’re done!”

At last, he glances over, looking to her for confirmation, and then dropping his gaze down to the tattoo itself when she offers it to him in the form of an encouraging smile. As his eyes widen with wonder, she explains, “I need to wrap this up, and then when we go I’m going to take you to the drugstore to get some proper lotion and explain how you should take care of it for the next little while, okay?”

He nods, eyes still glued to the tattoo. As she turns back around from grabbing the wrap, she pauses.

“Oh, I didn’t even ask if you liked it! I’m sorry, Drew. Is it okay? Should I change anything?”

His gaze flicks up to hers. A beat passes.

And then he says, dazedly, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

She lets out a squeak, fumbling with the wrap. At the last second, she catches it, letting out a shocked laugh. “I think you might be overselling it a little…”

He shakes his head. “It’s so…you.” Slowly, he lifts his arm, twisting it this way and that to see it from every different perspective he can. Though he winces slightly in pain as he does so, that look of wonder never quite fades, even once he’s set his arm back down on the arm of the chair and met May’s eyes again. “Before I saw your art on InstaSnap, I never wanted a tattoo,” he admits. “Even now…I don’t think I’d ever want one from someone else. You’re really talented, May. And…”

As he trails off, May shifts closer to begin wrapping his tattoo. A few beats later, she gently prompts, “And?”

He starts, as if he hadn’t even realized he stopped talking. He watches her finish wrapping his arm, and says softly, “And I’m not feeling afraid at all. You helped a lot.”

May glances up. She couldn’t have swallowed back the grin that stretches her lips if she’d tried. “I did? Oh, I’m so glad! Some people really don’t like if you talk too much, but I thought maybe if we chatted a bit, it would be a good distraction, and I hope the stress ball helped too. And the magazine, and then—”

She cuts off abruptly as the space in front of her is suddenly filled by something else. Drew’s lips find hers while they are still parted around her rambling words, effectively siphoning them out of her on the wake of a contented sigh as she melts into the kiss, her eyes fluttering closed. His fingers come up to brush against her cheek, eliciting a shiver that has her tilting her head to let him deepen the kiss, just a bit. Even with all they have said to each other, nothing could possibly speak louder than this feeling: her heart thrumming happily between her ears, her skin tingling with the electric undercurrents of Drew’s gentle touch.

It doesn’t last as long as she hoped though, for they are shortly thereafter broken apart by the sound of a loud whistle and a familiar voice crying out, “Let’s try for some public decency, please, people!”

Drew scowls, while May giggles, shooting Harley an apologetic look. He’s obviously more amused than irritated—which, all things considered, is about the best outcome May could have asked for—but he’s just as obviously having a hard time keeping to himself.

May grabs Drew’s hand, lifting his arm up to show the tattoo off to Harley. “Look! Isn’t it so pretty? I think it really suits him!”

“Oh, May, your art would suit anyone, hon. Even annoying brats who steal parking spots from poor unsuspecting victims.”

“What?” Drew says, confused, and May lets out an awkward laugh, lowering his arm down again.

“Don’t worry about it,” May whispers to him. And then, loud enough for Harley to hear: “Well, you know, this was my last appointment for the day…”

Harley huffs. “Oh, fine. Go on, then, you lovebirds. Poor Harley will be here all on his lonesome, taking care of business as usual…”

“Don’t feel so down! Your five o’clock will have plenty of gossip to share with you,” May chirps. “Okay, Drew, how do you feel? If you’re not ready to stand yet, we can wait a little while longer. I don’t mind!”

“I’m ready,” Drew says. “As long as you’re here, I think I could do anything.”

May’s heart skips a beat. Heat rushes up to her face, though it doesn’t do anything to diminish the dorky smile that pulls at her lips. “O-okay! Then I’m right here, no matter what!” Abruptly, she rises, and holds out a hand for him to take. “Let’s get going!”

This time, there is no hesitation when he grasps her hand. The fresh ink on the inside of his forearm stares up at her, a colourful mosaic of their relationship warming her from the inside-out. When he eyes find Drew’s, she knows—he must feel the same way, because his gaze is open and honest and happy, the way she loves so much.

He intertwines their fingers, and then lets her pull him toward the door. She cheerfully bids Harley farewell as she throws it open, stepping confidently side-by-side with Drew into the rest of their day together, and all the days beyond that, too. There’s still so much more they have to talk about, after all. And, perhaps a little selfishly, May’s already planning out how she might convince him to get another tattoo—something just like this one, that means something. For both of them.

When he looks over at him, though, she knows that there’s no rush. They have their whole lives ahead of them for him to teach her everything there is to know about flowers, and for her to draw more for him. For them both to be wrapped in the other’s influence, and in all the love that blossoms within those passions.

He catches her looking, and smiles at her. She can’t help smiling back.

That future ahead of them? She’s really looking forward to it.