Chapter Text
Inosculation: A natural phenomenon in which trunks, branches, or roots of two trees grow together.
Viktor Nikiforov walks down his street quickly, his head down and his hands jammed in his pockets. Despite his efforts rain soaks his face, water droplets gathering together above his lips. It was definitely the day to have brought an umbrella; a barista gives Viktor a look as he passes, hurrying to set up the outdoor tables. It was hardly Viktor's fault; in a strange act of defiance Makkachin had chewed up his last umbrella, leaving shredded pieces scattered across his flat. He had tried his best to be angry, picking up the bits and waving them at his disobedient pet. 'Who did this? Was it you Makkachin?' he had asked as the culprit looked for someone else to blame. In the end Makkachin had licked his face, receiving immediate forgiveness. Viktor does wish he had remembered to buy another umbrella though. He frowns, wiping a hand across his forehead as he reaches the flower shop.
Stammi Vicino is written in looping cursive across the wooden sign. It's old fashioned, carved by Yuri's Grandfather. The effort is palpable; each time he sees it Viktor imagines the old man carefully painting the calligraphy, transferring it onto the wood, whittling away with skill he wouldn't find anywhere else. Sadly the paint has begun to peel again. It's part of the shop's charm and customers often comment on it, but it does require some upkeep. He inhales deeply as he unlocks his shop's door, breathing in the smell. Equal parts fresh and sweet, he's witnessed customers walk straight back out while their companions look through the arrangements. It makes some people dizzy; so many flowers together can be overpowering.
Viktor trails around the shop floor checking the stock; the arrangements he cut yesterday evening still look fresh, and he changes the water in their little pots. He rubs his hair with a small towel he keeps behind the counter; also wood, although the modern cash register mars the effect somewhat. He checks the backroom, winding up the blinds on the windows to let in the morning light. He had bought the lower floor of the building because of this room. A real greenhouse was the ideal, kept neatly at the back of his mind. He often imagined it; his shop, but with a thriving garden and beautiful glass room to grow his flowers in. Right now it was a ridiculous dream, far too extravagant for his small business, and nearly impossible in the city. The backroom was as close as he could get. The previous owners had built the extension onto the small yard - complete with skylights. It was a very unusual space to find in the city, and Viktor had leapt on it. Now he double checks the float in the till, runs his finger along the paper bags and containers on the side, and flips the closed sign to open. He moves back behind the till, almost regretful. If he hadn’t done so much preparation last night he’d have far more interesting tasks this morning.
Every day is the same. Every day Viktor checks the flowers and opens the blinds and counts the till. Every day customers push open the door with a sparkle in their eyes, ready to buy flowers for a special event, or a special someone. Sometimes they're taken in by the old fashioned exterior, purchasing a single bloom on a whim. Sometimes they walk in after studiously researching online, looking for a good, reasonably priced florists. Sometimes they rush in, usually clutching a box of chocolates already, asking how fast he can help them and how much for that red bouquet in the window? Viktor assists each customer with a charming smile on his face, reassuring them that the flowers will be fine for a good few days, that he cuts them fresh, that a person he has never met will definitely like them.
And through all of this Viktor yearns. He is a romantic; he does own a flower shop after all. He daydreams of someone walking through that door who hasn't found their other half, a man who looks into his eyes and sees past his smiles, into his very core. He could keep going to bars and meeting friends of friends, but it’s only ever resulted in brief passions that quickly become lukewarm and tepid. He wants a true love, a soulmate; perhaps it's unrealistic but Viktor has read too many romance novels, spent far too much time by himself to not believe. He’s experienced too much heartbreak to accept his lot, that he is not deserving of a once in a lifetime person. And yet somehow, despite his friendly demeanour and valiant efforts on the dating scene and - if he does say so himself - his above average attractiveness, he has yet to meet The One.
Viktor is twenty eight and his greatest love is a poodle.
He casts a disparaging glance at the rain outside. Out of all the days, today is definitely not the one for meeting his soulmate. No one in their right mind would be casually looking at flowers in this weather.
It's past three, and Viktor has served two customers; a rushing man who grabbed a bouquet without even looking, and an elderly lady who pursed her lips at the displays before tutting and purchasing some petunias. Apparently her usual florists was closed, a fact she made sure he was aware of. Viktor had bitten his tongue, smile firmly in place as he carefully double bagged them for her. Now he stares gloomily at the door. It was hardly worth opening up; he could have had the day off.
Just as he is contemplating getting up to switch the sign, a figure stops by the window. Viktor can't quite see them; the glass has steamed up and the rain is still heavy. They peer in at the display for almost a minute, then continue walking. Viktor sighs, stands, and begins closing down the till. Then the bell chimes as someone nudges open the door, not anticipating how heavy it is.
A man stands in the doorway, dripping onto the floor. He peers around, running a hand through his wet hair. Viktor stares. He has a round face with chubby cheeks, and Viktor can’t decide how old he might be. Definitely in his twenties, but certainly younger than Viktor. He's a little shorter, but not too short, and quite slim. He's asian; perhaps Japanese? Viktor isn't sure. The man has also forgotten his umbrella. He looks up at Viktor and flushes, turning awkwardly to study the display near the window. Was it him outside a moment ago? Viktor's heart is thumping, and his neck feels hot. The man is quite attractive, and his awkwardness endearing. The florist watches as he wanders around, trying to be casual as he looks at the flowers, leaning in close to each arrangement.
Every so often he glances over at the till and quickly looks back, his face redder each time. Viktor continues to watch him, leaning against the counter. The game continues for some time; the shy man pretending Viktor isn't watching him, glancing over to confirm he is, and then blushing a little deeper. It's absolutely adorable, and funny, and Viktor realises he is grinning. He schools his expression into something a little more neutral, letting the man's charade of looking at the bouquets carry on a few moments longer before he speaks.
"Can I help you with anything?" The man jumps, as if he didn't expect Viktor to speak and swings round, looking at the floor.
"Um, actually, yes. You don't - uh...you don't have any seeds, do you?" For a moment Viktor is thrown.
"Flower seeds?"
"Well," The man looks around him helplessly. "Yes. I mean, this is a flower shop, isn't it?"
Viktor laughs. At this the man seems to lose a little of his nerves to make way for annoyance. Before he can speak, Viktor replies.
"Yes of course. Sorry, not too many people ask me for seeds; usually they come in for the arrangements. I keep some out the back, I'll go check what I have. Anything particular in mind?"
The man shakes his head, casting his gaze again. Viktor smiles, and jogs to the back room. Of course he does have seeds, however they're not usually for sale; surprisingly few people have asked. He sells the blooms he grows himself, rather than gardening supplies. Still, he's not about to deny his only interesting customer of the day. He opens a drawer and picks some out, making sure to get a selection. He hurries back to the shop floor. The man is waiting for him, peering at the flowers again. Viktor pauses for a moment, taking him in. His eyebrows are scrunched as he looks carefully at the different flowers. His hands are clasped behind his back, fingers knotted together. He's wearing a blue trench coat, still dripping.
Viktor clears his throat gently. "Here you go; I brought a few since you're not sure what you're looking for yet." The man approaches as Viktor spreads the packets across the counter. He nibbles his lip as he picks up the first packet to examine it, holding it close to his face. Viktor can see him properly now, and his hand's tingle. He is beautiful. His face is soft, his cheeks still a little pink. His nose slopes upwards slightly, and his eyelashes are impossibly long. Viktor can't quite see his eyes properly, but he's more focused on the lip he tugs with his teeth. It's not just beautiful, it's hot, and now Viktor is the one feeling his neck heat. He is content to stare at this man for an eternity, but he's clearly struggling to choose between the seeds as his sorts through them.
"What colour flowers do you like?"
The man blinks at him, then lowers the seed packet from his face. His eyes are so deep, so brown. Viktor remebers a comment his friend Chris made a few months ago.
'Brown eyes are boring anyway.' He'd explained, bitter about a recent break up. Chris was obviously wrong; this customer's eyes are in no way boring. They are stunning. They're the kind of eyes Viktor yearns to fall into, to be lost in, to wake up and look into each day.
"Blue." He is jolted back to reality as the man replies.
"Blue...lovely colour. Suits you." Viktor nods at the man's trenchcoat, delighting as he blushes once more. He considers options as a sneaky little voice in his head wonders if this man said blue because of Viktor's eyes. He tells the voice to shut up, although he's pleased at the thought.
"Hyacinths are blue, easy to grow too. Cornflowers, Hydrangeas..." He rifles through the seed packets.
"What about those ones, over there?" Viktor follows the direction of his finger to a small blue and white arrangement. He only makes a couple a week, as not many people buy them. It's not a showy collection, lots of small, subtle blooms.
"Forget-me-nots. I'm sure I've got some seeds somewhere. They're wildflowers, so they're very easy to grow. I'm guessing you're a beginner?" The man nods and Viktor beams.
"They're perfect then. Do you have a pot to put them in?" The man nods again.
"Yes, my mother bought me a nice one earlier this year." So that was why he was buying them.
"Fantastic. I'll go find you some now."
Viktor returns a few moments later with the seeds.
"How many packets would you like?"
"Oh...just the one thank you. I'd better start small." he says pulling a face. Viktor laughs and the man's eyes light up. Emotion suddenly clutches him; he would continue to laugh like a lunatic for hours if it kept that expression on his customer’s face. It would probably just scare him off though. He guesses a price and types it into the till, casting his mind around for a conversation topic. Through all his imaginings and daydreams, he has no idea what to say. Then inspiration strikes.
"Yes, forget-me-nots are lovely...subtle, yet meaningful. Allegedly the name comes from a story of two lovers, walking along a riverbank. They see the bright blue blossoms, standing out against the green." Viktor peeks at the man and sees he is listening attentively. "One reached out to pick them for his beloved, but as he did the water swept him away. As he floated down the river, he cried out not to forget him. They're perfect to give to someone special." Morbid, but effective. The man laughs delightedly, and Viktor almost collapses.
"Sadly they're just to brighten up my kitchen a little." Viktor disagrees; this is fantastic news.
"Oh well. They're wonderful for that too." The man pays, and Viktor takes time finding him a small bag. He's fussing far too much, but he doesn't want the man to leave. He needs to give him a reason to come back, or bite the bullet and ask for his number.
"They need proper sunlight, so keep them on a windowsill if you can. Water them a little everyday, but not too much; you don't want to drown them." The man nods enthusiastically, mouthing the instructions after him. It's so sweet that Viktor could die.
"They're easy to grow, but all plants need proper attention. Feel free to come back with any questions. I don't mind." The man shakes his head quickly, and Viktor's heart drops.
"I couldn't trouble you more, you've been so helpful. I'm sure you're very busy." Viktor smiles and gestures to the shop.
"Clearly not." The man looks around as if he hadn't realised they had been alone the entire time.
"I guess not," He chuckles. "Well, thank you for all your help. You've been wonderful; I don't really know what I'm doing, I wasn't even sure this was the right place to buy them." He picks up the bag and turns to leave, and Viktor is suddenly desperate.
"Viktor." The man pauses.
"Sorry?"
"That's my name, in case you do come back. Viktor." At this he plucks a flower from a nearby vase, and hands it to him. It's supposed to be charming, to keep the man's mind on him for the rest of the day. Unfortunately he picked out a plain old daisy. Not as romantic as intended. But the man smiles, takes the flower, and Viktor is certain he could have a heart attack at any moment.
"I'm Yuuri."
"Yurio, I cannot begin to explain how beautiful he is."
"You've been doing an annoyingly good job of it so far. And don't call me that."
"I have to give you a nickname, since he's Yuuri too." Viktor is lounging on a stool, sipping a cappuccino. Yuri had slammed the jug down as he made it, slopping milk onto his own hand and cursing. The coffee shop he works at is just down from Stammi Vicino, and Viktor is a strong believer in friends and family discounts. Unfortunately his friend is not, and no amount of pouting gets him his caramel syrup for free. Yuri glares at him, wiping the spilt milk off the espresso machine.
"I'm the first Yuri. You've only met this guy what, once? Fifteen minutes ago? Give him the stupid nickname."
"Oh Yurio, he deserves more respect than that."
Yuri gives him a nasty look and snatches the coffee as Viktor laughs.
"I'm only joking Yuri. Please can I have my coffee back." He flutters his eyelashes at the young barista, and Yuri sighs and shoves the paper cup across the counter. "Thank you Yurio, darling brother." At this Yuri flushes red and swears at him.
"I'm not your brother. Any brother of your's would be ugly, like you." Viktor clutches his hand to his heart as Yuri stomps away to deal with another customer, a young woman who looks a little worried as she takes her toddlers hand. Mila walks out of the storeroom, and Viktor shrieks.
"Mila! I had a most lovely encounter today. I met my soulmate." Mila snorts as she starts stacking take out cups.
"Oh really? You seem very sure of yourself for one conversation." Viktor deflates. The door had been cracked open while he was telling Yuri, and his chance to dramatise the story to another person is lost. "I do like the new nickname though. Yurio will hate it forever." She starts making the woman's drink, who is ushering her daughter to a table.
"Go away Mila. Don't encourage his stupidity." Yuri complains as he taps his fingernails on the till.
"So. You didn't ask for his number, or if he lives nearby, or what he likes to do, or his last name. How exactly do you plan on pursuing this soulmate of yours?" Viktor preens.
"I told him he could come back any time, for help with his flowers." Mila stares. "I mean, that's good isn't it? He'll come back?" Mila shrugs.
"Probably not. He's bought the seeds now, and you said yourself they're easy to grow." Viktor is beginning to see some errors he might have made.
"But he has to come back! He just has to!"
"No he doesn't." Yuri interjects, meaner than usual. "Why would he? You were clearly desperate, sat all alone, keeping him waiting ages."
"Don't be cruel Yurio." Mila pats Viktor's shoulder as he looks forlornly at his drink. Yuri busies himself with the till again. "Viktor, forget what I said. I'm sure he'll pop by soon. He might even come by tomorrow, to check he planted them right." Viktor sighs.
"Tomorrow is Sunday."
Yuri snaps. "So open Sunday, if you're that eager."
Viktor beams. "An excellent idea Yurio. I should get going now, Makkachin will need a walk." He hops off the stool and strides out, ignoring Yuri's complaints about his new nickname. Surely if he opens up tomorrow, fate will work in his favour.
Yuuri does not come by on Sunday. Viktor is despondent, despite Mila reassuring him that he probably assumes the shop is closed. These things take time, she says. You have to let people sit on thoughts, let them develop. Yuuri was probably waiting a day so he didn't look too keen. Then Yuuri does not come by on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday either. By Thursday Viktor has begun to berate himself. He does this all the time. Falling in love with perfect strangers, over thinking things, imagining feelings and connections that weren't real. But he's never quite felt as strongly as when he met Yuuri, and he can't help the romantic scenarios he concocts as he serves other customers.
And then, like magic, the bell rings and Yuuri appears in Stammi Vicino's doorway. It's raining again, though not as heavily, and Viktor is struck by how similar the situation is. Aside from two children smelling roses and giggling the shop is empty. He's dripping a little onto the floor again, although not as much.
"Yuuri. What can I do for you?" His tone is calm, but Viktor is ecstatic.
"Oh...hi again." Yuuri seems surprised to be speaking to him. As if he didn't purposefully walk into the flower shop. Viktor is beginning to realise this man is extraordinarily awkward in social situations. It's terribly endearing.
"Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Oh! Yes. I'm having some problems with the Forget-Me-Nots."
Viktor mentally cheers.
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. What’s the issue?”
Yuuri tells him, gesturing despondently, that despite what Viktor told him the Forget-Me-Nots won’t sprout.
“Obviously I’m just bad at growing things. I mean you said they were easy to grow and I’m sure you’re right - you are a professional after all - but I must have done something wrong. Maybe I don’t have a green thumb? Or is it because I misunderstood something?” Yuuri is gazing at his thumb and Viktor tries not to laugh. It’s ever so cute.
“Yuuri. Don’t fret. It’s only been four days. Typically Forget-Me-Nots take between three and five to sprout. I’m sure there’s a little green stalk growing just under the soil.”
“Oh.” Yuuri exhales deeply, fiddling with his sleeve, and Viktor is struck by how relieved he seems. How eager he is for his little flowers to be successful. Viktor wonders if Yuuri was truthful when he told him there was no one he wanted to give them to. “So um. I guess I should leave then? I probably shouldn’t buy anything else until I’m sure I can look after these.”
He can’t possibly leave already can he? He only just got here. But Yuuri is already turning to go, and Viktor is out of time.
“Ah, Yuuri-” he swivels suddenly, his foot catching on a plant pot. Viktor winces as it tips, loamy soil pouring out across the floor. The terracotta pot is smashed into big pieces; at least it wasn’t a glass vase. For a moment they stand there, Viktor still behind the counter and Yuuri’s head bent towards the mess. Then they leap into action, Yuuri throwing his hands up in horror, Viktor already waving off his apologies.
“Yuuri, its fine.”
“Viktor, I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy and I don’t know what I was thinking and-”
“Yuuri it was an accident. It’s fine.” They continue in this way for several more minutes as Viktor procures an old plastic shopping bag and shovel. He re-pots the flowers quickly while his customer starts desperately shovelling up the leftover soil. Viktor finishes first, taking the bag from Yuuri.
“Don’t pick up any of the pieces, you need gloves like mine to protect your hands.” At that Yuuri wrings his hands together.
“Please, is there anything at all I can do to help? It was my fault after all.” Debatable considering Viktor was the one who surprised him, but he relents.
“Just in the door of the back room, there should be a rag hanging around. You can help me wipe the floor if you want.” Yuuri scurries off on his mission and Viktor picks up the remaining pieces, eyeing the roses across the room. The kids who were hanging around earlier have vanished, as have several of his flowers.
“I really am sorry, I’ll try to be more careful next time.” Yuuri is beside him with the damp cloth, wiping soil from the wooden floor.
“Yuuri please. It’s totally okay.” Viktor gives him a reassuring smile, and Yuuri flushes. They kneel in silence for a while, Yuuri scrubbing the boards and Viktor desperately trying to think of a conversation starter. He has an opportunity to continue speaking with him and instead he’s just sat there like a fool, checking for bits of plant pot. He finds himself watching Yuuri instead. His face is still red and he’s determinedly cleaning, but his shoulders aren’t shaking and his hands are steady. He seems a little more relaxed than before. Viktor is glad. He turns his attention to his face, blue eyes meeting brown as he realises a moment too late that Yuuri is looking at him as well. Everything is still.
“I should pay for this.”
Viktor is snapped out of his trance as Yuuri speaks. His voice is oddly calm, and now Viktor is the one who is stumbling.
“Oh no, Yuuri I can’t possibly make you - it wasn’t an expensive pot and the crocuses are fine so-”
“I should do something to make it up to you. Please.”
Viktor hatches a plan.
“Well, I suppose you’re right. It’s only polite.” Yuuri nods seriously. “It is silly to make you pay, but…I could use some help.”
“Some help?” Viktor tries to form a sage expression, hoping he looks wise and professional.
“Yes. I do all my prep work for the next day in the evening. Making sure all the plants have water, potting new things, cutting bouquets and arrangements, things like that.” He also counts the till, restocks the bags, cleans the shop so it’s nice for the morning. Viktor doesn’t get a lot of free time.
“So I could help you with that?”
“Absolutely. It would be invaluable; it’s always nice to get away early.” Viktor has every intention of dragging his work on for a long as possible if Yuuri agrees. He does of course.
“Okay, that sounds alright. What time would you like me to come back?”
“Half four should be fine.” That gives him enough time to go to the coffee shop and scream at Mila and Yurio.
“Half four? Don’t you close at six?” Normally yes, but Viktor can’t wait that long.
“Well now, I didn’t realise you were that keen. Been googling me have we?” Yuuri almost catches his chin as he stands up, Viktor moving his head just in time. He stammers, waving his hands in front of him again, red cheeks back in full force. Viktor laughs.
“A joke Yuuri. I close whenever I like, and business has been slow today. Fridays and Saturdays are the busiest; it’s worth more closing early today to prepare for tomorrow.” Yuuri is still red.
“O-okay. I guess I’ll see you at half four then. Don’t forget.”
Viktor wouldn’t dream of it.