#im working on a haley writing again bc im still biased towards them two

[carpsurprise]

 ˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ flower shop!au sam ... !

→ gender neutral — (they/them pronouns)

→ notes: ok tbh, this is more of a home depot!au because it made more sense for a farmer. but he DOES mention making flower arrangements. give me a break. under a read more so i don’t clog the main tag. tell me if this is boring?? also i’m posting this to ao3. 

→ word count: 1.5k

The deep clinging of brass bells echoed above the farmer’s head as they entered the flower shop, already tinged with sweat on the back of their neck from the weight of the summer. Inside, a boy hunched over on a frail wooden stool sat on his console, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in unaltered concentration. The farmer idly wandered about the store, window shopping to see if any fertilizer would come to mind, or if a bird feeder they had dreamed of happened to appear. 

“Oh, hey! DIdn’t see ya come in, my bad!”

The farmer turned around, face-to-face with the boy from behind the counter. He was sweating, just as they were, a thick pink soaked into his cheeks and neck from working in the sun. The air conditioning was working over itself, whirring out in pained cries to fill the tiny shop with some solace from the outside air. 

“Don’t worry about it.” They smiled kindly. “I’m just looking around.”

He nodded, stepping back from them. His apron was an airy lavender, with the name ‘SAM’ written sloppily above the shallow pocket— thick lines and squiggles danced around his name in a joyous, child-like harmony. Gold stars lined up under his name, some peeling off from the mix of canvas fabric and sweat. The farmer had frequented the shop enough before to know that the employees were not rewarded with gold stars. Ignoring their odd realization, they returned their attention back to the lined shelves, stocked full and neat with fertilizers and bird seed.

“I can make arrangements, too, if you’re in the business for those,” he said, almost stuttering with urgency. The farmer looked at him, assuring him with another friendly smile. Their hopes that he would take this silent cue and step away had wilted. “I can get you one for free. Like, a free sample.”

“It’s okay, I’m really just here to look for some flower pots. I got a little distracted looking at these.”

Sam turned his head, allowing the almost pitiful way he tied his hair up off of his neck to finally be shown. The farmer could not even fault him, not with the way the heat had become near parasitic to the land. Even with the air conditioning roaring above them, the weight of the humidity had still managed to crawl into the shop. Excusing themselves, the farmer made their way to the outdoor section.

“Do you need me to show you where the pots are?” Sam called out, standing on the tips of his toes to see above the display stands.

The farmer turned to face him, waving their hand dismissively. “No, thank you! I’m fine,” they yelled back. “Thank you, though!”

They knew exactly where they needed to be: the spinning rack of seeds and the empty pots. Their time looking for seeds was short, immediately retrieving their learned (by trial and error, unfortunately) knowledge of what seeds would work with the amount of time they had left in the season. The shops’ assortment of pots had expanded since the last time they visited, all beautifully crafter and shaped in fun, different ways. 

Wanting some difference for their garden, they strayed from the terracotta pots and into the fancier ones. Even with tight funds, there was never a more opportune time to treat oneself than when buying plants. The glazed ceramic pots stood out against their company, shining in the sun with its finish and large size.

The farmer’s fingers gripped the lipped edges, spinning the pot around to look for any hidden scratches or gashes. Deciding the pot was beautiful as is, they pulled it out into the walkway further, bending down in preparation to lift it. Despite its hollow center, it carried the weight of solid brick. The soreness that accompanied them radiated in their lower back and arms, eliciting a wince and muffled groan from the back of their throat. 

After pushing a deep breath from their nose, their body still bent over the clay pot, they raised their head to peer into the dark windows of the flower shop. Sam was so floaty before their separation, following the farmer’s heels like a loyal dog— or a late-day shadow— and when they needed him most, he seemed to have vanished. His silhouette inside of the shop was pinpointed easily, with his spiked hair out of his small ponytail, towering in height, and in constant motion. Standing in front of him was a smaller shadow, holding up two bird feeders in their hands.

“Dammit,” the farmer cursed under their breath, recognizing the shape of one they held up. 

Feeling envious of another customer snagging what was supposed to become a treat for themself, they channeled their energy into their shoulders in one more attempt to lift the pot. A sharp pain pulsed in their shoulder once more. They rolled both shoulders forward and backward, looking back into the shop for any hope to catch Sam and flag him down.

Sam’s saving grace had appeared after a few minutes, his head poking out from the shop door. “Hey, they, are you still doing alright out here?”

The farmer’s head lifted, snapped up as if they had been dozing off, beaded with sweat and red in the face. He caught on with an immediate rush, breaching himself into the sun and over to the pot anchored in front of the farmer’s feet. His legs separated from each other, ready to brace the weight of solid clay, just before he paused— with his hand held up to his customer— before letting out a sudden sneeze into his elbow.

Their eyebrows furrowed for a split second, before regaining their composure. “Bless you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Sam responded, lowering himself to cradle the curves of the pot, lifting it and suspending the weight onto the center of his stomach. The farmer jogged before him, holding the door open for him as they returned to the haven of the shop. He thanked them in a strained voice, before continuing to speak. “I’m just allergic to flowers.”

They looked at him carefully, admiring the curves of his face. “Why do you work at a flower shop if you’re allergic to flowers?”

He muttered something under his breath, carefully setting the pot against the counter before dropping it with a thud, retracting his bony fingers quickly. The counter shook under the force of the drop, and Sam hurried himself back to the register with a shaky smile. “I just think they’re pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” the farmer responded simply, looking at the finish on their new pot with a blank look. “I guess so.”

“And my mom really likes them,” he added. 

Picking up the price scanner, he splayed his hands around the curve of the pot, spinning it around. After scanning the same seed packet a few times, he started poking at the buttons of the cash register. The farmer, left to their own devices in their patient waiting, had peeked around the store, looking for any one object to jump out at them— scream their importance— or jog their memory of any forgotten needs. A hanging pot of vibrant red flowers had caught their wandering eye. The bulbs nearly spilled over the sides, vibrant and full of life.

Biting back a surprised gasp, the farmer lifted their finger up to Sam. “So sorry, just give me one moment!” 

Hurrying themself over towards the flowers, they carefully lifted the plastic hook from its hanging home and supported the weight with an opposite hand placed gently underneath it. They returned to Sam’s counter, placing them with the utmost tender care of a gardener. Sam raised his head from the register, looked to the flowers curiously, then back to the farmer. His hand cradled the tag, his eyes scanning across their scientific name in a small, italicized font, with the price and barcode just below it, and the sun bleached caring instructions. Letting go of the tag, Sam reached to grab a paper bag.

“That comes out to,” he paused, looking back at the screen, “seventeen gold.”

The farmer moved their hand to turn the price tag to verify the price.

“Don’t worry about that!” He grinned. “Those are on me.”

“Oh,” they cried out, moving their hand to touch one of the velvet petals. “Thank you so much, that’s so kind.”

Sam shook his head, handing their bag to them with a gentle hand. “I can help you get that out to your care, if you need me to.”

The farmer hummed, eyeing the deep blue of the pot before placing their bag inside of it, setting their new flowers on top. Hugging it awkwardly, they lifted it from the counter. While the pain in their back began to rip into their muscles, it was not nearly as agonizing as lifting from the ground. Sticking their head out from around the pot, they let a strained smile stretch across their face. “I got it, I think. Thank you, though.”

He smiled at them, still pink in the cheeks. “Anytime.” The farmer kept their grin, watching the pink of his face deepen into a reddish tone. “Come back to the shop soon.”

“I guess I’ll have to, huh?”