Work Text:
Student life is a lot of things, and allegedly it’s supposed to be the best years of your life. Honestly, who ever said that? For you, it was draining and expensive. That was why you ended up with a part time job at the florist a fifteen minute walk from campus, working just three days a week to help cover your groceries each month, since the majority of what you’d saved for university before starting your course was spent on rent. It wasn’t so bad, as far as jobs went, it was fairly relaxed. Most days you spent helping boyfriends pick out flowers for their girlfriends, talking to families who wanted a bouquet for a grave of a loved one, or women your own age who wanted something to help brighten their homes. It was peaceful, and fairly low maintenance. You had to thank your grandmother for being a flower enthusiast with her own garden while you were growing up, or you’d have been hopeless when you started, not knowing a daisy from a daffodil.
But there was one regular that stood out from the rest, and you were always pleased to see him when he did pass through. He never spoke much, and he didn’t cause any trouble - it seemed old miss Jacobs was fond of the boy even considering the allowance he was afforded. What you had learned through limited interactions though was that his name was Wignall, he was a student at your university, and he studied art. He came to the shop to sketch flowers. You never asked why he drew so many flowers, it felt rude, but you did have to wonder. He came through once a week- that’s a lot of flowers!
Once he’d even offered you a page he’d done because it ‘wasn’t good enough’ but it was some of the most beautiful ‘sketches’ you’d ever seen. You had put it in the frame your parents had bought for your apartment that you’d never had a picture to go inside of, and it hung over your bed. Just a little something to spruce up the place.
“Good afternoon.” Wignall politely greeted when he entered the shop, the bell above the door ringing as he spoke. It was a familiar presence by now, and after he’d been missing last week, it was good to see him.
“Welcome back, Wignall. We missed you last week.” You replied, leaning against the counter that held the register, chin resting in your hand.
“Oh, I came down with the flu. But I’m back to full health now, and here to keep you company for a few hours.” That was the extent of the conversations you ever had. He’d grab the stool from where it always was and take a seat there, then fall into silence as he focused. You didn’t mind, the music that played on low through the store was enough to fill the silence, and his presence itself was almost comforting. He was just a guy, you barely even knew him, and yet having him there on that same stool as always, sketching in that same book he always did, had become a part of your routine each week. You almost missed him whenever he didn’t come by, even if you didn’t really speak. Sometimes you don’t need to speak.
After an hour, you padded across the store floor to deliver him a cup of tea, which he glanced up to take from you.
“You didn’t have to.” He said.
“No, but I could hear that you’re still scratchy from that flu. This will help.” You replied, and you didn’t need to say any more than that. The smile on his face was thanks enough. So you returned to your post and your own drink that you’d made at the same time, returning to doing inventory for Miss Jacobs.
The year passed by like that. Quiet, largely uneventful. As exam season rolled around, Miss Jacobs helped you structure your work schedule better to allow you more time to study, and then extra shifts immediately after to recoup and save for summer with your friends. Coffee and study ‘dates’ with friends, late night cram sessions, lectures spent furiously scribbling over past notes to ensure you had every detail you could possibly write down. And it was enough. You’d finished every assignment, sat every exam - now summer was upon you. Or, well, nearly. It was that part of the school year where technically the semester wasn’t over, and some things were still being held, but you had no classes or exams left, and neither did your friends.
So you treated yourselves to a night out at the club.
Colette, Will and Rosti all agreed to join you, so your little usual group of four was ready to paint the town red! Or, at least, jump around on the dance floor and laugh together. It would be nice to get to let loose and just have fun after another year of working hard towards your goals. The hard work was worth it, but it was tiring, so getting a night to genuinely have fun without having to worry about anything was exactly what the doctor ordered.
You got ready together at Colette’s place since it was the biggest, and you had a few drinks together there to make the night as cheap as possible. It also helped get everyone’s energy up ahead of your arrival, which was definitely needed when you were going to a student bar where people were crammed in like sardines and drunker than a skunk.
When you arrived, the club was already brimming with energy and other students celebrating another year complete on campus. You fit right in. Colette headed to the bar with Will to find drinks, while you and Rosti cut through the throngs of people to find a table you could use as a home base. You all dumped your jackets there, and spent the first little while just drinking and chatting as more people arrived.
By the second round of drinks there in the bar, you all were up and dancing. Well, dancing was a strong word for it, but you were having fun and that was what mattered. Loud music, coloured lights, and bodies bumping each other as the whole club screamed the lyrics to song after song, letting go of everything that had been weighing on you all year. Colette reached for you when her favourite came on, dragging you closer until you were practically pressed chest to chest in her excitement, and Will and Rosti watched on with amusement, laughter being silenced by the volume in the room.
More people came and went, bumping you as they passed because the room was so packed, and you were already pouring with sweat. Part of you wished you’d thought to bring along some sort of body spray, but then with how many people around you were doused in seemingly entire bottles of perfume or aftershave, you figured it’d probably be fine. So you kept dancing, and when Rosti arrived with more drinks, you quickly took yours before someone could knock it from his hand, and drank it all in just two sips. No use keeping it in hand and risking half of it ending up over your clothes instead of in your stomach.
When the room span a few minutes later, you assumed it was because Will had reached and pulled you away from someone who had been about to trip over you in their drunken state, and you quickly thanked him. But when it happened again after not very long, you began to wonder if maybe you’d not eaten enough before leaving the house. You shouted over the music to let Colette know you were going to sit at the table you’d used earlier, and attempted to start cutting through the crowd.
You didn’t make it half way there before you were falling, like your feet had been totally taken out from beneath you, and you were undoubtedly headed for the floor. Until someone’s chest seemed to find its way into your path instead. You grabbed at the person, and immediately started apologising. When you lifted your head though, you found familiar eyes meeting yours.
“Wignall?” You asked, and he nodded, concern pooling deep in his eyes. He was the one who ended up guiding you to the table, rather than risking you falling again. He knelt in front of you to look at you more closely, a hand resting on your knee.
“Are you feeling alright?” He asked, having leaned in close to your ear so you’d be able to hear him, and neither of you would need to shout.
“I don’t know. Things keep.. spinning.” You replied, and that didn’t seem to lessen his concern. Will was the first of your friends to come to check on you, and he ended up helping Wignall to carry you outside to the fresh air to test if that would help.
“Have you drank or eaten anything strange today?” Wignall asked, tilting your chin up to make you look at him again, inspecting you closely.
“No- I made my own dinner before we came out, and I’ve only drank things me or my friends bought, and I trust my friends completely.” You told him, ignoring how your heart stuttered with him looking at you so intently.
“Your pupils are blown.” He said, lips pressed into a line, displeasure written into every inch of his face.
“Do you think..” Will trailed off before he could finish.
“Yes, I think you’ve been spiked, love.” Wignall confirmed, but his words were directed to you.
“Spiked? But who..”
“It could’ve been anyone. If you trust your friends, then I believe you, that doesn’t mean they’re perfect. Even a second spent looking at something other than your drink, like paying for it, is a chance for someone to slip something inside.” You thought back to the drink you’d accepted from Rosti and drank so quickly that the taste hadn’t even registered, and you sighed. Was that why you’d missed it?
“We should get you home.” Will said, but that was when Colette and Rosti emerged from the bar, with Colette resting against Rosti heavily.
“She’s not going to be able to get home on her own, and I don’t know the code for her building, you’ll need to come with us, Will.” Rosti explained, an arm around Colette’s waist to steady her. Will took a chance to check Colette’s eyes, to see if hers were blown like yours, but thankfully she was okay. Just drunk.
“I don’t..” Will looked between you and Colette, then his eyes drifted to Wignall.
“I know him,” you said, pressing fingers to your temple where a headache was beginning to bloom, “he comes to work all the time. It’s okay - go with Colette. I’ll text you in the morning.”
That was how you ended up laying in Wignall’s bed fully dressed, on top of the sheets as he poured you a glass of water. Everything was still spinning, and you’d been sick when you’d first arrived - not your idea of a good time.
He was smiling when he returned to the room, and gently set the water on the nightstand in case you needed it.
“How are you feeling? Did throwing up help at all?” He asked, perching on the edge of the bed.
“My head is pounding, but I think getting it out of my system has helped.. slow down how quick everything hits me.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.” Wignall reached over to press the back of his hand to your forehead to check on your temperature, and hummed.
“Thank you for this.” You said after a moment, when he’d stood to leave again.
“Of course. I couldn’t have left you there alone.”
“But you didn’t need to give me your bed.” You pointed out.
“A gentleman wouldn’t offer anything less.” He retorted. He then said a simple goodnight, and closed the door behind him as he left to settle on the sofa for the night.
It was the early hours of the morning when you woke. You didn’t even remember falling asleep. Your hands were trembling, and your stomach staging a revolt inside you. Quickly, you stumbled from Wignall’s bed and practically threw yourself across the room and down the hall to get to the bathroom in time for when it emptied without your permission. He followed not long after, and knelt beside you rubbing your back until you were done.
“Water?” he offered, and all you could do was nod. He disappeared for a moment, then returned with the half glass of water from your night stand, which you used to quickly rinse your mouth.
“There’s.. gum, in the pocket of my pants, they’re.. somewhere.” You mumbled, and Wignall briefly disappeared before returning to your side with a piece taken from the pack you always kept on you. You never knew when it would come in handy! Besides, Colette was prone to getting too drunk, so you’d used it to help her more than once after a tactical empty at the bar.
“How are you feeling?” Wignall softly asked, but you didn’t reply. You knelt there, silently chewing for a moment, then leaned into him. He stiffened at the contact, then hesitantly wrapped his arms around you, keeping you steady.
“Alright, let’s get you back to bed then.”
Once you were sure you were safe to leave, Wignall helped you back to bed with your arm looped around his neck, and his around your waist, since your vertigo from earlier had returned with a vengeance. He deposited you back into his bed, still sans your jeans, and made sure you were laying comfortably. But when he moved to leave again, you reached for him without thinking.
When you’d first gotten back to his apartment, you’d thought maybe you’d not been spiked and instead had just not cooked your dinner properly - after all, you were just sick, you weren’t experiencing the sort of symptoms associated with being spiked. But clearly, the reality was just that you’d not given it enough time to creep into your system, and now those symptoms were displaying themselves.
“Yes?” He asked, looking down at you, then down at your hold on his wrist. Not tight enough to be painful, but enough that he couldn’t ignore it or pull you away easily. You could see the tiredness on his face, and guilt gripped at you for only a moment before it was eclipsed by the fuzziness in your head.
“Stay. Please.” Your raspy voice asked, gently tugging at him. Wignall’s face was conflicted for a moment, taking in your state.
“I- that wouldn’t be-” He began to stumble, but you just gently pulled at him again.
“I’m scared.”
Paranoia, you’d understand once you woke. A side effect of whatever you’d been given. But in that moment, you couldn’t reconcile your fears with reality, and the overwhelming dread that had settled into your bones couldn’t be soothed. At least if you weren’t alone, it would help, just a little.
Wignall spent a long moment assessing your expression and body language, weighing up what he wanted to do, and then he nodded. He fetched the blanket he’d been using on the sofa, and settled on the bed behind you, over the main comforter that you were using, his separate blanket pulled over himself so that there was distance between you that he found acceptable.
That was how you woke the next morning. Wignall beside you, wrapped in his own blanket, yet still his arm was wrapped around your waist, and you’d turned to face him in the night, leaving your head resting on his chest. You shifted slightly to look up at him, only to find that he was already looking at you.
“Hey.. I’m sorry.” You started softly, throat slightly rough from the long night you’d had.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Wignall replied, his smile tender, and a gentle look in his eyes. His voice was soft, scratchy from sleep rather than discomfort like yours. The thought that it was a comforting sound came from nowhere, but you weren’t in a rush to dismiss it. It was true, and you’d learned to sit with those sorts of things. They didn’t need to mean anything much.
He kept coming in to the florist even after the semester ended. He explained that he actually lived local to the university, and he enjoyed the routine of coming to visit, and it was a nice way to get practice in while getting his family off his back about needing to get out more. He was out of the house, and being productive.
You talked more after that night. Wignall would perch on his stool and sketch as usual, but he’d look up to ask questions about the flowers, or ask you to make arrangements for him to sketch because he claimed he wouldn’t know where to start. It was as quiet and comforting as it had always been, the store always seemed warmer when he was there. You’d make him tea, play the usual playlist over the speaker in the corner, and you’d exist together. You did your summer reading, he started early on some projects for the next year.
Eventually you exchanged numbers, and when you went out to the bar again for the final time before your friends went home for the end of year break (with you staying later to keep working), you invited Wignall and his friends too. He agreed to come along, because ‘who else will take you home if you’re in trouble?’ - you didn’t point out that any one of your friends would do that for you, because you wanted it to be him.
It was a surprisingly foggy morning when Wignall pushed into the shop with a smile and two hot drinks in hand - one for you, and one for him. You weren’t sure when he’d learned your order, but sure enough it was correct.
“Do you think you could do another arrangement for me today?” Wignall asked when he eventually settled in his usual spot, holding his takeout cup to warm up his hands before he started with anything.
“Sure, what sort of arrangement?” You’d asked, because it wasn’t unusual at this point.
“Whatever you like. I think I’ve asked for everything I could think of.” He said with a soft laugh, and you just laughed along and shook your head fondly. So, you made up a floral arrangement of your personal favourites, and set it on the counter for him.
Quiet lapsed between you as he worked, and you served customers when they passed through. The weather made for a slow day, which was more than fine by you - you had other things to catch up on around the store, like cleaning up the back room, and ordering new stock where it was needed.
You had your lunch with Wignall, with you trusting him to keep an eye on things while you went to your usual lunch spot down the street from work, and you bought something for the both of you. A thanks for the drink that morning. He set his sketchbook aside while you ate together, and you talked. You could hardly even remember what about, everything, probably. It was so easy to talk to him, to get lost down winding rabbit holes until you weren’t sure how you’d gotten from the original topic to the latest one. He made hours feel like minutes.
So, soon enough, your shift was ending. He finished up his work as you closed up the store.
“Oh, just before you close down the register,” he said when he saw you pressing buttons, “I’d like to buy the arrangement you made up.”
“Didn’t finish your sketch?” You asked as you entered in the total, then looked up to take the money that he handed you to cover it. Something about the fact that he still used cash in the modern age was oddly endearing.
“Not quite.” He replied, and at first you’d shrugged it off. But when you turned away to adjust the end of shift stock tally, you realised his voice hadn’t really matched the meaning you’d assigned to his words. You’d assumed he meant that no, he hadn’t quite finished his sketch. After consideration, it sounded more like he meant no, that wasn’t quite why he wanted to buy the arrangement. Your hand hovered over the sheet, and when you spun on your heel, he was holding the arrangement out to you with a smile.
“What..?”
“You didn’t have a feeling when I asked you to make an arrangement of your favourites?” He asked, and it only made you sigh. Now you felt a little silly for not realising sooner.
“I honestly didn’t.”
“Then let me be entirely clear when I ask.. could I take you out for a date?” Your lips parted with surprise, brows raising just slightly.
“I.. I would really like that, Wignall.”
You stepped out of the store together, only to grimace from under the awning in front of it. It was raining like the clouds intended to flood the streets. You’d need to make a run for it to make it to the train station.
“Wait- I drove. Let me take you home. My car is closer than the station.” Wignall offered, taking your hand instead of your wrist to stop you from bolting.
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
You stepped out into the rain together, huddled under your jackets, undoubtedly looking like fools as you briskly walked towards where Wignall’s car was parked, but as long as you were laughing, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The warmth of being in his car was a relief when you settled into the passenger seat, and he turned it up to help both of you avoid getting a chill. He let you pick the music, and he took the long route to your place. You didn’t point it out.
You stepped out of the passenger door, and quickly rounded to the driver side. You intended to lean over to address him through the slightly cracked window, but instead, Wignall climbed out too. From the trunk of his car, he pulled an umbrella.
“My hero.” You joked, squeezing beneath it with him as he walked you to your front door. He lingered until the door slowly opened, but you didn’t stop it or step away.
“Thank you for this, Wignall.”
“Anyone would do it.”
“They wouldn’t, and they didn’t. You did.” You insisted, a hand slowly coming to rest on his chest. You spent a moment just looking at each other, the tension between you climbing.
And when he lowered the umbrella as he lost himself in kissing you, you found that actually, you didn’t mind the rain.