Chapter Text
Grace was going as fast as his bike allowed.
Crap, crap, crap! I’ll be so late!
He had everything planned, he swears! He just… look, he has a lot of tests to grade, and maybe this much coffee at once did make him extra drowsy (of which fact he is aware, but foolishly thought it to be unimportant), but at least the alarm that he set (the third out of four) worked!
He was able to make himself look respectable, even packed some lunch to have breakfast at work, and then he took the shortest route to the shop to get the supplies for the lesson. He thought he even had the time to get coffee before classes start and maybe feed the cat he keeps seeing there.
Okay, double check: gloves, Susie asked for pens… better get garbage bags too, dissected flowers will go in the recycl– oh no. The flowers. The literal centerpiece of today's dissection lesson. He didn't plan to buy them. He forgot.
…So that is why he was rushing to the closest and earliest-to-open flowershop according to google maps.
He almost hits the aforementioned cat (he thinks, he doesn't really notice the fine details), yelps an apology, and proceeds to speed past some green structure, which in hindsight (and the navigator tells him that quickly) was the place he was looking for. So a few seconds later he very messily parks the bike, not bothering to lock it to anything, and rushes inside. On his way in he sees an “open” sign, and prays to all gods for it to be correct.
The bell on the door rings at the same time as he catches his breath and starts talking. “Sorry to bother you guys so early, but do you have any…” the place looks very warm: bright, natural light and plants everywhere. And in the middle of it a man. Dark curly hair, calm dark eyes, his appearance overall is steady, like an eye of the storm. The storm that is Ryland Grace right now. He feels like he has been too silent and too loud at the same time, and how long has he been staring at the cashier now?? “... uh, have– sorry, do you… sell.. lilies?” Great way to start a conversation.
The man (Grace doesn't see a nametag) seems to be still processing what is going on, as he says nothing, only raising eyebrow suggesting he is waiting for a clarification.
“Ah, hi, guys– guy– sir?, surprised you are open this early. I'm here for lilies, I think? I mean, anything not too complicated works, tulips too? it just has to have a stem, and.. normal petals.. and leaves and other stuff... For, uh, dissection. I'm sorry if I'm talking too fast,” he has started half-pacing at this point, “I think I'm gonna be late, I totally forgot about it and I can't postpone the class, kids were waiting for it for a while, and I really don't wanna let them down. And don't get me started on Stratt’s position, I won't hear the end of it from her! The last time I missed the final module we had to reschedule a bunch of other stuff and The Tests, and she was not so forgiving–”
“Do you usually talk this much?” Grace almost hits a hanging plant, but pivots at the last second. The guy was looking at him still weirdly, concerned maybe? Grace didn’t know, because he hasn't had time to think about it yet. The question took him by surprise. “Yes, I mean I guess? I never really paid attention to it. But yeah, I guess I did, because people have told me to shut up, but like–”
“Your name,” the man interrupts another tangent, and shifts to rest his elbow (oh, he's an amputee) on the counter, and smirks. “What's your name? And yes, we've got lilies here,” and quieter, glancing to the side, where an array of non-potted plants are placed, “plenty of ‘em, actually.” Oh, this guy is cool. Nonchalant and confident. He feels heat creep up his neck and face. “Grace,” he clears his throat to sound more serious, but that was all likely undone by his behaviour so far, “uh, Ryland Grace.”
“Grace, huh?” He looks him up and down, and smiles. Like, a proper smile. Well, at least one of them is having fun. Grace himself is dying of embarrassment. “Calm down, I'll get you flowers, and you will be on your merry way. How many do you need? And I'm assuming the color doesn't matter, so will white do?”
The aura from the moment he entered the shop has returned: he felt grounded, truly calmer; low, measured voice of the man is helping, as is the way he holds himself. He is glad someone took the reins. “Well, they will be working in groups, so.. twelve will be enough. And yes, any color.” The other nods and walks away, first to the back of the shop, then quickly returns with some tools, and then to the flower stand, searching for the right ones, picking the vases, carrying them over to the table.
Grace actually has time to breathe now, and there's something mesmerising in how the other man works. It's methodical, practised.
He wonders how he has never been here before. Maybe noticed its existence, the shop is in his work-home path, but never went in. If not for the flowers (yeah, who would he give them to?), then for houseplants. Though he hasn't been buying them for a while, the current ones seem to still live (or survive).
He can now also take a proper look at the other man, and notices that his hair is held by a bandana and a hair tie (is his hair longer when he doesn't use them?), and that he has scars: on his face, ear, arms (neck?) — he's wearing short sleeves and doesn't hide them (dope, cool!) — and that the green and black uniform suits him… was that a weird thing to notice? He hopes not, and anyway, the fact is an objective observation. Like when Rocky helps him shop, but with no mocking (listen, these pun shirts may be silly, but they're still funny!).
At some point the guy has to cut the stems, and it seems at first like a cumbersome task for one hand, and Grace already opens his mouth to ask if he needs help, but he starts working on it easily, as if he was used to that. He probably was, judging by his movements in general. The entire preparation takes about five minutes, and all that is left is to pack them.
“Do you need a bag or a plastic wrap?”
“Bag, please.”
“Okay, here you go then. An order for one Ryland Grace is ready.” Here is that smirk again. “You don't happen to have any water to put them in on your way to school?” He responds to Grace’s nod with the same gesture, and continues, pointing to the flowers, “then remember to put them in water as soon as you get there, and cut the ends of the stems before that. It is better to do it at an angle, this way they will be getting water from the entire surface of the cut, and it won't be covered by the vase’s bottom. Got it?” He pauses for a second, checking for a response, but only gets Grace’s unsure expression. “I could give you a card with that info,” he starts looking around before Grace answers.
“Um, yes, that would be nice, too. Wouldn't want to forget that.” He smiles sheepishly, remembering all his crimes against the plant kingdom. Poor souls, may they rest in peace.
“Good, wait a sec–” he finds a small box with cards, takes one, circles something on it, and puts it in the bag, “–okay, is that all I can do for you?”
“Yes, thank you very much,..” huh, did he not ask him for his name in response? “Actually, I don't believe I caught your name?..”
He (finally!) looks somewhat surprised. Puzzled? People rarely care what their regular shop assistant's name is. But he was so nice and patient, it’s only fair to thank him in response.
“Simon. Simon Butcher.”
No way that's his real name. It has to be a pseudonym. He could ask now. Is that rude? Better not then. Maybe in another visit. Maybe he’ll tell about it himself.
If there will be another visit. Grace hopes so. Maybe they will even be friends.
“Good to meet you, Simon,” he says with a genuine smile.
When he exits the shop and checks the time, he realises that if he doesn't hurry, he'll really be late. But for a second there he forgot everything else existed. What a weird feeling, like in those sci-fi novels about alternative universes and time shenanigans. Anyway, no time for that, he really has to go.
***
He gets to his classroom only five minutes late. He'd be earlier, if he didn't stop by the teacher’s breakroom for a vase and some water. Actually, he's calculated that he should be early to the class, but that wasn't really working for him today, was it.
The thing is, as soon as he started cutting the flowers (biology class was only third today, the flowers would wilt), he noticed a weird one. He thought it was just an unusual lily, but everything except for the white color was different, and honestly it looked more like a rose, but less pretentious. Quick search showed that it was a gardenia. What the heck.
Did Simon put it here by mistake? He seemed like a professional, and that'd be a pretty big mistake, but then it was really early, and anything can happen, even with cool botanists.
Then another idea hit him: did he put it here instead of a lily? Maybe they were short of twelve, so he substituted with a similar flower within the same characteristics. Grace did say that anything would work. He counted them, but the odd one was the thirteenth. Okay, so still a mystery.
Thankfully, a passing teacher, Susie, asked him something — ah, yes, here are your pens, yeah, just Venmo me — and that reminded him that he has a lesson in two minutes, so he had to abandon his detective adventure and rushedly finish flower preparation.
He did spend some extra time to find another, daintier vase for the gardenia. It felt right.
Grace spent the entire day thinking about that flower. It felt weird that Simon would do something like that by accident, and he really didn't want it to be malicious. C'mon, he started liking the guy! He was hoping to find a new friend, and instead he got anxiety.
As time moved toward the end of his classes (bio class went well — another proof that physical experimentation is fun and that he is a cool teacher), he was only more sure that he should come back and explain the situation. Heck, he'd even pay, it couldn't be that much. He just doesn't want any problems, and that seems like the most fair option. The silent judge and culprit stared at him from the windowsill, not having anything helpful to add. At least it's pretty. He would enjoy it even, if not for this all.
***
It's finally evening, and he is finally free, but it doesn't feel as good as it should. The flower is still with him, and so is the task of performing human communication and not failing. Ah, hello good old friend: social anxiety. We meet again.
His ride is uneventful, but he can't keep thinking if he is overreacting. Or underreacting. He knew that the situation was actually simple, but couldn't stop feeling uneasy. It’s also a problem that he is as nervous as he is excited? Or are those the same thing? But he was initially looking forward to meeting Simon again, so maybe this is a good feeling. Feelings are complicated.
Would Simon want to know if the lesson was okay? Or maybe the good-naturedness was a courtesy. Ugh, it'd be so simple if this didn't happen. Maybe he does have only one friend, so what if it stays so– Oh crap, he went past the shop again. Maybe ask them to install lights or signs.
Oh, actually, there were lights. The entire shop is lit with bright garlands outside, and it looks good. Thinking of it, he didn't really notice many other details, which now, in soft evening sunlight, make the plant shop look magical. He even forgets about the worse part of his errand, and just wants to walk in and relax. Maybe it won't be so bad.
The inside lights are on, but no one seems to be at the register. Still, he walks in, and the bell rings.
He hears sounds in the back of the shop, footsteps and a beginning of a standard greeting, “Hello, welcome to…” before he actually sees the man. Grace is seen now, too, and Simon’s polite smile becomes warmer, and he walks faster, “Hi, Grace? Didn't expect to see you so soon. Not that I'm against it.” He is holding some plant (oh, is that a fern?) in one arm and a vase in.. the other? Oh so he does have a prosthetic one. Is it mechanical? Don't they have to be charged? He remembers seeing some youtube videos on them (there are a few varieties, apparently), but doesn't remember much– anyway, back to the man of the hour.
Grace smiles now too, unconsciously mimicking the other, “Hi, yes, I kinda didn't expect that too.” He feels the smile become apologetic, and Simon must've noticed.
“Is everything okay? Was there a problem with the order?” He puts down his things, his voice quickly gets more serious; figures — who would want problems at work?
“Well, no, the lilies were a great medium, thanks again, and they held really well. Usually they're worse by the beginning of the lesson, but I guess that's, again, thanks to your instructions. It was such a pity to just destroy them. Oh, and they also smelled really nice! Some teachers commented on it — uh, because the flowers were in our breakroom, it was easier to have them there all day, instead of in class: kids, you know? never know what they will throw –literally– next — huh, what was I saying? Ah, yes, everything was good. With lilies.” He finally looks up (because he, again, started pacing, and wasn't really looking anywhere in particular), and checks if Simon is still here and following his train of thought. He seems to be… focused? His hand is half-covering his mouth. Well, at least he wasn't interrupted yet, so he takes that as a sign to continue. He tries to look at Simon now. “So thanks again, but did you notice– I mean, I noticed, that there was one more flower? In the order. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be there. But you've already cut it and it's been out an entire day, so I just wanted to come pay for it, it seemed fair.” He finally has the time to breathe in the air, and to return his gaze to the other man. Okay, he's looking weirdly at him. What does.. huh? Is he… freaking smiling behind his hand?!
The change of emotions on Grace's face must've been the last drop, and Simon starts laughing. First only shoulders shaking slightly, but then the dam is broken, and he devolves into golden laughter. Grace doesn't know how to react. Should he be offended? But now he’s been kinda distracted from that. Maybe the situation really is silly. It looks more so every new second that Simon doesn't stop laughing. Grace truly is lost.
Simon stops soon, wiping tears and laughing the last of it. He composes himself, and starts talking.
“Sorry, sorry. I'm not laughing at you. Well, a little maybe, yes, but not like that.” He stands back a bit, half-sitting down on a counter. “It's just, I expected anything but that reaction. But the flower was actually for you.” He stops for a few seconds to let that sink in. “And I didn't mean it as any grand gesture or like a– I don't know, secret-someone’s-gift? Just.. it was sitting here alone. Not that it was bad, but people tend to not take those, so usually I make custom bouquets with them. I kinda had them all together already, but then you come here, and you are all stressed, and in a hurry, and your day obviously didn't start well, so,” he gestures to the flower in Grace’s hand, "I thought you might like a little cheer-up. The last thing I thought was gonna happen is you running here again, panicked. Shit, now that I said it like that, it doesn't sound that funny. Sorry. Anyway, I don't expect you to pay for anything. And if you don't want that, I can just take it home, I don't mind– ”
“No, I like it!” The response may have been a bit too fast. The more he listened, the more he understood other’s reasoning. Grace added, slower, “I mean it. It’s beautiful. I simply didn't expect… that explanation. But that makes so much more sense. And thank you for caring.”
Simon relaxed at these words. “Sure. Wasn't difficult.” He pauses before asking then, “So, you're not mad?”
Grace can now see in Simon’s eyes the same uncertainty he's been through during that day, and something shifts in him. Like he became more peaceful. Funny how this place affects him. "No, I'm not. And I wasn't, just.. nervous. But you got that part. Actually, it may sound silly, but one of my theories was that it was a practical joke or something like that. Really didn't want to believe that.” He tries to catch other’s gaze. It’s easy, he’s got Simon’s full attention. He isn’t used to that, but he doesn’t mind now. “And I'm really glad it wasn't like that.” He smiles, and Simon does too.
He then huffs a laugh, “Well, if we’re already here and talking now, maybe it's time for me to officially tell you that you're welcome here any time. You know, to talk. I gathered you like that.”
It felt a bit too genuine. “Wow, I thought you'd be fed up with my rants by now. You sure that's not guilt talking?” So of course his only reaction is to joke about it.
Simon’s voice only gains gravity, “Yes, I'm sure. Again, you may do what you want with that. But I wouldn't mind company. People there rarely talk to me so much,and even then it’s usually business. It was a nice break from the routine, to listen to something different, and it kinda made my day. So don't sweat it.”
This was so much more than Grace expected from this day. But it wasn't all bad. Like this. “Thanks. Truly. I think I would love that too.” Not thinking, he pressed the flower closer to himself.
“Good. So, see you later?”
“Yes, definitely.”
Leaving feels like breaking something fragile. It felt wrong. But he had to trust it. And Simon. He had to believe that it, whatever they have now, will survive, but he’ll have to work for it.
And maybe he wasn't used to that, but it didn't mean he wasn't going to try.
So Grace went home, put the flower in a new vase, watered other plants and set the instructions card near them. As a reminder.
Maybe he’ll come say hi tomorrow.