#with a bouquet of geraniums in clenched fist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missorgana · 3 years

Text

you shine, i'll shine for you

pairing: alina starkov/genya safin, background nina zenik/matthias helvar

fandom: shadow and bone (tv)

rating: general

word count: 5163

warning: referenced cheating, swearing

summary: Genya thought she’d seen it all, until today, where a young person her age rushes through the door and approaches her with a strange question, “What sort of flowers do you get to tell someone to go fuck themselves?” (flower shop au)

(a fluffy au that’s been loooong underway !! inspired by this post, naturally. had a bit too much fun searching up flower meanings as well so... hope you enjoy!)

read on ao3

Genya believes flowers speak their own language.

They show love, adoration, and everything in between, and there’s a reason they’re used for most special occasions, she thinks; although a staple gift when you barely know someone, they’re also an invitation to get to know someone better.

Like Nina and Matthias. It didn’t surprise her in the least that he wanted to ask Nina out, alas, he asked Genya for help on the bouquet, since he just started. The look on her friend’s face when she told her about their fast date was too precious.

And naturally, this is why she opened her little flower shop in the first place. She loved the area, homely and cozy, the atmosphere and the residents.

She’s helped their clients with gifts for any situation you could think of; a last minute anniversary gift, flower arrangements for that big fairytale wedding, the perfect Mother’s Day bouquet, and the businessman getting flowers for his beloved sister’s grave touched her deeply.

Genya thought she’d seen it all, until today, where a young person her age rushes through the door and approaches her with a strange question, “What sort of flowers do you get to tell someone to go fuck themselves?”

She’s simply baffled by the request.

The client’s got restless hands and fire in their eyes, dark hair in a braided bun and wearing a baby blue dress, neck and ears dressed with gold jewelry and a matching septum piercing. They’re almost glowing in the late autumn sun, to be completely honest.

In fact, they’re already reaching for their purse, while Genya tries to work through her confusion and do her best - this is an assignment like any other, she reminds herself, this is her job.

“Oh, uh, depends on the occasion, really…” she starts, and since the customer in front of her curses themself as they find their wallet, the clear anger on their face intensifying, she figures she’ll need to keep her cool, “If I may ask?”

In customer service you’ll have to deal with rude clientele, God knows Genya has, and although this person in no way seems like that type of person, she still keeps it a priority to not upset them anymore than someone else already has.

She smiles, giving them less of her staple customer service smile, more a hesitant smile because the client also sniffs, and wipes their eyes rather stubbornly before looking back at her.

They’re also more beautiful than sunflowers in bloom, that much is obvious. But someone’s hurt them, and it makes Genya’s heart ache for them with a stinging kind of certainty.

“Sure,” they reply, sniffling again, “My boyfriend’s cheated on me for the second time.”

Second time? Dear God.

Genya doesn’t even know this man, but she does know he’s an asshole, mind the language. She’s sure she must look shocked, because the client chuckles bitterly, clutching their wallet a bit tighter.

“I just need him to fuck off for good. It’s long overdue, really.”

She decides to smile again, nodding, hoping she’s conveying her sympathy right, “I understand.”

And since she gets a timid smile back, albeit still with clenched fists down their side, it makes Genya a little more sure of herself again. If the person wasn’t pretty before, they’re even prettier now. She mentally curses whoever this man is for making them this angry, and making them cry. No one deserves that, but especially not them, Genya thinks.

Luckily it’s a Monday, a slow day for flower sales, and they’re the only customer inside, so she’s reaching for her encyclopedia immediately.

“I do know a bit about flower meanings,” she explains to them, “It’s not common knowledge, but I got a few ideas.”

The client nods, satisfied, and their eyes turn a little less angry and more curious.

“What’s your budget?” she asks while flickering through the pages, and the person in front of her takes less than a second to answer, “The biggest you got, he- We were supposed to go to Paris, so I’ve been saving up. Got some money to blow.”

What a fucking douchebag. Again, excuse the language, but this really sounds like the sort of person who’s drink she would gladly spit in. She might be really excited for this bouquet, now. Serves him right.

Everything that jumps to her mind should be in stock, actually. Genya’s never had to look up negative meanings to the flowers before, admittedly, but she does find some scribbled notes in what appears to be Nina’s handwriting next to the black roses. Revenge roses. Okay, maybe a bit too sinister, but she’ll keep them in mind.

She finds herself moving out behind the counter before she knows it, and when she picks up the first bunch she notices her client looking over her shoulder in an adorable kind of confusion, so Genya speaks up, “These are yellow carnations, they signal disappointment.”

They nod again, the small smile on their lips growing just an inch brighter. Their hands seem more relaxed, she finds herself noticing.

“Perfect,” they approve, “Is there a hate flower, you think?”

The bluntness no longer surprises her, and since the client huffs at themselves, Genya returns the smile with more certainty. Fair enough, she decides.

“Yes, surprisingly enough,” she chuckles, “Orange lilies. I also have foxglove for insincerity?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“I thought so,” Genya likes this person, she decides, probably way more than she should for a complete stranger, but… can you blame her?

She likes the guts it takes to make a bouquet like this, to be honest. And it’s like they keep getting prettier and prettier the more Genya looks at them, is that crazy? Probably. Matthias would roll his eyes at her, but she and Nina both know how cheesy he actually is, so whatever.

This client is also getting a hate bouquet for a soon-to-be-ex, though, so she’s real with herself, she can’t allow herself to get attached or anything. Would be unprofessional, regardless, but she can admire them anyway, right?

“What else, what else…” Genya wanders a bit more, her client following in tow, she’s got the centerpieces, but the white of this flower would add nicely to the overall look, “Meadowsweet! It, uh, it stands for uselessness.”

The person in front of her lights even more up at the suggestion. She’s thrilled, because honestly, not only helping them but also maybe, possibly impressing this client is suddenly very important to her.

“Alright, I think that’ll do nicely,” she finally tells them, writing the names and price ranges down on her notepad. “Unless you want to add some geraniums, too?” The customer looks at the sample she shows them, biting their lip in contemplation.

“It’s beautiful,” they confess.

“It is,” she agrees, “But it also signals stupidity.”

They laugh at that, a ringing sound like bells or… butterfly wings, maybe. This is just about making Genya’s whole week right now.

“Yeah, I need those.”

And so it’s decided, and she returns to her counter with the notes and shows the client the different bouquet sizes. She figures they might need a card, too, “I don’t have any ‘Fuck you’ cards, unfortunately. Will a blank one be alright?”

They nod, more eager than ever.

“Actually,” they’re running their finger over the sheet with the sizes before looking back at Genya again, “I know this is a big ask, but I was gonna leave the bouquet at his office. Do you think… we could, maybe, cover his desk in these flowers?”

Yet another suggestion that has her standing wide-eyed.

The client chuckles at themself again and fumbles a strand of hair behind their ear, “I’ll pay whatever it costs, I promise. If it’s even possible, that is.”

Genya considers this, and well, it’s definitely possible, they’ve got enough stock for it. The same thing as decorating a chapel for a wedding, sort of, but on a smaller scale. It’s doable.

“I do think my delivery guy can carry it, actually,” she replies, hoping Matthias won’t ask too many questions, but oh well, “We would need entry to the building, though-”

“I have the keys.”

“Oh.”

This person is well prepared. Genya loves it.

“It’s just really a matter of how many bouquets will be needed…” she’s thinking hard, an office cubicle is what she imagines the client is talking about, not too hard to fill up, realistically, “20? Will that be plenty?”

They full-on grin, “God, yes. Make it 22. I, uh, I got cash.”

And so it’s sorted, and a promise of scheduling the delivery for Wednesday, said soon-to-be-ex’s next work day, is settled. Matthias delivers the flowers a little before 8, the customer lets him in and they carry the load together, foolproof plan, Genya’s sure. “This is his number, Matthias Helvar, if you have any trouble, running late or getting into the building, whatever it may be.”

“Thank you so much for this, seriously,” they’re smiling almost from ear to ear, and honestly, she’s a little embarrassed that making this particular person as happy as they appear to be is making her feel so… warm? “This is perfect. I cannot wait to see his face. And walk away.”

It’s a funny sort of bonding experience, or feels like it, less than a transaction.

Before the client leaves, Genya gets their contact information in return, and an excited wave as the doorbell rings them out. Alina Starkov, the card says, and she/they pronouns right underneath.

She wonders if she’ll ever see them again. She doubts it. But she hopes she’s wrong.

Genya does, in fact, see a particular client again, one that for some reason stays on her mind after the delivery is done and in the five weeks till she sees them again, embarrassingly enough.

Matthias didn’t ask a lot of questions, besides the wide eyes and then looking the happiest she’s seen him since Nina kissed him for the first time. He didn’t need convincing, to put it simply.

“Whoever this Alina is, they got some guts,” he laughed to her while they were packaging all those flowers for him, “Practically covered our expenses for the month.”

That’s true, it’s lovely, that pure luck that sometimes hits them like a flood.

She’s over the moon, but of course, she doesn’t mention the part of it being because of that person’s bright smile replacing dried tear stains, and how the change made Genya feel like she’s never done anything more important than making her happy. God, Safin, Nina is rubbing off on you.

The boy lets her know the delivery went smoothly, and that Alina thanked him profusely, but that’s as much as she knows before the bell rings on a late Thursday and Nina’s voice calls from the front of house and reaches to the back where Genya is currently cutting stems.

She dries off her hands in their signature lavender apron - credit to Nina for that, as well - you’d be surprised how dirty a day’s work can get, and Genya takes care not to ruin any of her many, many floral dresses. Yes, she wears florals only to work. Once again, sue her.

She’s not sure why her friend would need assistance, she rarely asks for it, yet, there she stands.

Alina Starkov gives her a smile once again, but it’s less timid today, in no way tearful, instead calm and curious. Like they’re happy to see her, almost.

“Genya! Hi!” she says, and she’s more than a little surprised, much like their first meeting. Did she ever introduce herself? “Sorry, I hope I’m not disturbing, I, uh, I told Nina how grateful I am for your help with you-know-who. Wanted to thank you in person.”

That’s just way too adorable, isn’t it?

She feels her smile growing without even controlling it, and the brunette next to her is definitely looking like she wants to ask some questions ( many questions), but she’ll have to wait, geez, Genya cannot be having a romance novel moment in her store of all places.

Realising she also has to collect herself while being in front of the client and her best friend, and not zone out because her inner hopeless romantic is firing up inside her, she decides to brush it off and try to act casual, somehow, “I’m just happy to help. I assume it went as planned, then?” “Better than planned, even. He’ll be regretting it for the rest of his life, I hope.”

Alina laughs, and Genya gets that warm flush inside her chest again. And out of the corner of her eye, Nina looks less curious and more just straight up smug. Damn her.

“I think Matthias is calling me,” is actually how Nina first speaks up, and while the client nods, like they’re away in thought, Genya sees right through her.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“You didn’t?” her friend questions, tilting her head, already moving towards the door Genya just came through, “Oh, I did. Can’t leave him hanging, might be urgent.”

“Nina-”

“Back in a jiffy!”

She’s left alone with Alina. Which is fine, you know, they were alone when they first met, right- but listen, Genya is still very much thinking about the person saying her name and the realization that she is, of course, wearing a name tag hits simultaneously with another shock: she remembered her name.

Logically, that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Gosh.

But she knows it’s not because it’s a shocking experience and more that a person who’s as beautiful as them is smiling at her and that they might just be the prettiest person she’s ever seen and that the thought of making her happy is making Genya happy, believe it or not. She doesn’t understand why this is different from any of her other experiences, but it is.

She hasn’t seen a smile like theirs before, that she knows. It makes her feel all strange and bubbly, like drinking champagne.

However, Alina is speaking up again, so Genya desperately needs to get out of her head.

“I was actually… uh, wondering if you’re maybe able to help me out again?” she starts, looking a tiny bit nervous, “If you’re not busy, that is, oh my God.”

And maybe Genya shakes her head way too quickly, but sue her, “Not at all!”

The client grins, the blush in their cheeks surely must be from the cold wind outside, and it just makes them prettier, if that’s even possible. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Now, she’s gotten this nickname before. Of course those times weren’t from Alina, and she makes sure to hide just how flustered she’s becoming, shaking her head and swinging her hand, “Stop it. I’ll try my best, heh.”

Alina clears her throat before continuing, “My best friend’s coming home, I haven’t seen him in over a year, and… Do you have, like, friendship flowers? I wanna surprise him at the airport.”

Once again, the person in front of her is just downright adorable. It’s almost frustrating.

Genya chuckles, because she doesn’t need the encyclopedia for this request, and easily makes her way over to the roses.

The client looks over the bouquet she picks up with the very same joy as their first meeting. “Yellow rose is the friendship flower, actually! Usually put together with violets, but I can change it up if you want…?”

“No no no!” they hastily reply, already taking the offer of grabbing the bundle, looking down upon it with visible dimples and eyes shimmering with excitement, “They’re perfect. Mal’s gonna love them, I know it!”

“Ah, I hope so.”

She feels almost shy with all this flattery coming her way, especially from Alina, of course, and once more she thanks her just about five hundred times before hurrying out the shop, phone chiming in the distance.

Even after they’ve left, Genya still cannot believe they came back. And remembered her. Or like, specifically sought out her help, again. Huh.

Nina immediately peeks her head around the corner when the front door has shut, her face lit up like it’s Christmas Eve, “They seemed nice. And pretty.”

“Nina,” is all she can come up with, giving her best glare, while her best friend feigns innocence.

“Yes, Genya?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

She sighs, “Just don’t.”

If Genya’s second encounter with Alina Starkov wasn’t surprising enough already, imagine her shock when she finds exactly this person entering her shop two months later. Events requiring flowers aren’t constant, which, again, is why she didn’t expect to see her ever again, but she’s not complaining, of course.

She’s working the counter when the door opening reveals Alina, their golden earrings present as always and her hair in two buns, wearing a cropped rainbow sweater and dungarees. Looking just as pretty as last time she saw them, oh God, that fluster’s coming right back.

Except she’s not alone this time. Alina’s got a taller stranger in tow, with curly hair, lip ring and pink floral shirt layered over possibly the most ridiculous graphic tee Genya’s ever laid her eyes upon.

Her recurring client waves when they spot her, heading straight to her, while their friend is almost spinning around in awe.

“Hello again,” Genya greets her, because fuck, she might just get excited over the mere sight of them. Meeting again. Is the universe trying to tell her something?

It’s an absurd thought that shouldn’t matter at all, get yourself together, she tells herself.

“Hi!” They seem even more excited than last time she saw them, and Genya wonders what the occasion could be before Alina continues, “How’ve you been?”

There’s that funny feeling again.

It’s kind of like a lump in her throat, this time, but still as bubbly and warm as before. It’s also just endearing for many different reasons, one being that she rarely gets customers twice, or thrice, and casual conversation is never as easy as theirs. She’s overthinking it, definitely.

“Busy, but good,” Genya tells her, and is about to return it, while remembering their companion, “You? And sorry, ah, I’m Genya.”

Alina’s eyes are like fireworks, almost, and she waves over her friend who’s entranced by the lilies. They’ve got a spring in their step as they make it over to them.

“This is Jesper,” they introduce them, and the tall stranger winks in greeting, “Jesper, this is Genya. I told him all about the shop, cause you’re like… the queen of flowers.”

Oh my God, why is she so sweet? It almost makes her feel embarrassed, the two of them looking at her as she imagines a blush rising just from the client’s words.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Right back at ya!” he replies, one hand in his pocket and another gesturing wildly in the air, “This is amazing, by the way. I see why Alina goes to you for stuff like this.”

Genya laughs, feeling strangely more comfortable and less nervous now. Still, she figures she should probably get to business, they wouldn’t have come here if they didn’t have a purchase in mind, right? As much as the compliments are much appreciated, Alina being the source of them is yet again making her slightly incapable of functioning normally.

She can only hope she’s improved at hiding crushes since high school, because, well… that is what this is. Genya can’t really lie to herself anymore, or pretend it’s nothing.

It’s making her slightly breathless, this person appearing and reappearing in her life.

But she does need to get over it, because as she tells herself every time, Alina is a customer and she is a salesperson. Her life isn’t a rom-com, as tragic as that may be.

“I hope your friend liked the flowers,” she said, not even needing to wait for a response as they lit up again and confirmed, dimpled smile and all, “Can I help you with anything today?”

Alina nods and hooks her arm with Jesper, “You know it. Friends of ours just got engaged, we wanna have a, uh… tiny celebration for them.”

“By that we mean surprise the shit out of them,” he follows with no hesitation, and Genya and Alina laugh, in syncron. Alright, that’s also totally fine.

“I’m sure we can figure something out for that,” she tells them. She figures flower meanings are less necessary this time around, and when she spots the bottle of champagne and heart shaped box in the client’s tote bag, she decides on a simple question, “Well, red roses are the classic. Most romantic. Do they have any favorite flowers or colors, and such?”

Jesper seems to be squinting in concentration, and Alina bites their lip. It’s quite endearing.

But the client’s eyes widen, then, and they blurt out with only a beat difference, “Pink!”

It comes out as a half-yell, actually, judging by the sweet elderly woman from down the block jumping in the other end of the shop, and Matthias nearly dropping the bunch of tulips he’s carrying onto the back of his bike wagon. The two look awfully apologetic during it all.

“Inej’s favorite color,” Alina explains with an embarrassed giggle, ducking their head, “It’s pink.”

Genya nods, “I see. How about… pink and white lilies, then?”

Jesper seems to smile in approval. “I like that. See, I would’ve just gone with pink roses.”

She gives them a sample, which they both seem pleased with, she hopes so at least, while chuckling once more at his statement, “Could work as well. But these are popular for gifts, they symbolise admiration.”

Her (favorite) client scrunches her nose with as big a grin as hers, already made up their mind, “I think she’ll love them.” And Genya, of course, feels a massive honor in helping them. Again. She can’t believe Alina’s come back two times. Gosh, she’s thinking too much.

“I’ll write these up for you, then,” she tells them while they’re already following her to the counter. At the same time, Jesper’s got furrowed brows in a thinkful sort of face, and Genya doesn’t really know if this is directed to Alina or herself, nevertheless he wonders aloud, “Not sure what my favorite flower is. You got one, Alina?”

“Duh,” the shorter person answers, without hesitation, “Sunflower. Everyone’s got one, right?

Sunflower .

In her mind, nothing else has made as much sense as this. This was the flower she first associated her client with, what their beauty could only be compared with. They shine, so much it’s near blinding Genya, at this point. Yes, she knows it’s cheesy, but it’s only in her head, after all.

Genya realises this question, however, is very much meant for her, and so she answers while typing in their total, bouquet already wrapped up to go, “I think so, yeah. I think your favorite means a lot for you, as a person.”

The taller man seems to consider this.

Then, “I like daffodils.”

“They mean rebirth,” she tells him, “Good choice.”

He looks pleased by her explanation. Alina seems to be the one deep in thought now, though, in fact, they’ve already paid and got the bunch in hand, Jesper saluting Genya in goodbye when the client asks, “What’s your favorite?”

As many times before, they never cease to surprise her, do they?

“My favorite flowers?”

She nods.

“Magnolias,” Genya needs no time to consider this, it’s easy, “Perseverance.”

Alina’s got her wide grin again, but… it changes, a little bit. It’s almost secretive. Promising. Regardless, Genya doesn’t know what to do with her thoughts about it, or the client bidding them their own farewell with, “Till next time!”

She’s quite sure this person will be the death of her, sooner or later.

And as if they could read her mind, Nina and Matthias appear at her side, the man’s arms crossed and her best friend’s arm around his waist, both looking at Genya like they could somehow dig into her brain and know all her secrets. They’re so annoying sometimes. When they’re not adorable. Mostly annoying, though.

“What are you two looking at?” she asks them, and the couple exchange a look before Nina grins.

“They asked for your favorite flower,” she says, her boyfriend nodding in agreement. Genya doesn’t know what to say.

“I know.”

Matthias cocks a brow, “You do?”

She scoffs in disbelief at whatever game they have going on, “Yes?”

Her best friend sighs and puts her free on her shoulder. She tilts her head, “Matthias asked for my favorite before our first date.”

Genya frowns. “I know.”

Nina then chuckles, because they’re both weird and wonderful at the same time, apparently, “You’re impossible.”

“I know what you’re suggesting, Nin,” she then says, because come on, it’s obvious what they’re implying. And it’s bullshit. It was just a question, you know? It must’ve been. Curiosity, that’s all. “But that is impossible.”

And because Nina’s looking at her in disbelief, she tilts her head in return, and her friend gives up on the staring contest soon enough. “Whatever you say, babe.”

As Genya expected, although much to her disappointment, it seems she won’t see anymore of her beautiful client with raven hair and smile like the sun itself, tragically.

It’s her own fault, really, getting… a bit too attached. She’s fine!

Of course Nina and Matthias are right about her crush, she already knew this. And a month after their last meeting, she admitted defeat just so they could get off her ass about it. Now, though, her best friend looks at her with a sad smile sometimes, like she can sense the disappointment that Alina’s presence is missing entirely from the shop.

They don’t have anything requiring flowers, she didn’t expect them to, all the time. And like, asking for Genya’s favorite flower didn’t mean anything, as her friends kept insisting. They were having a conversation. Customer and shop owner.

Why does she miss her? God, Genya needs to get a grip. It’s just a bit annoying, because she doesn’t feel bubbly and light anymore without Alina Starkov, and she still loves her job, of course , but maybe she does find herself a little bit jealous when the wedding season kicks in and the boutique is full of couples day in and day out, young and old, all looking at each other like no flower can compare to their love. It’s making her a little nauseous, not that she’ll ever admit it out loud.

Strangely enough, she does get a visit from a couple, a grumpy fellow and a woman with a soft smile, who never let go of each other’s hands while Genya sketched out ideas for the flower arrangement. They wanted geraniums. She somehow recalled her name: Inej Ghafa. And Kaz Brekker. Huh.

Matthias’ birthday passes, where Nina gets him cornflowers (of course), and a month later yet, a familiar face returns when Jesper stumbles in the door in excitement, eagerly purchasing a bouquet of irises for his boyfriend.

Even her mom’s in love, she tells her over the phone, and God, she’s happy for them all. Maybe Genya’s just been lonely too long.

She hadn’t even thought of dating in forever. Hadn’t thought of being single could possibly bore her, or tire her. Until, you know. Alina.

Whatever, whatever!

She’ll get over her stupid infatuation, eventually, she just needs to focus on her work, it was just a string of coindences, and once wedding season is over she’ll forget all about her favorite client who got away. Hopefully.

The universe has way, way different plans for her, though, apparently, because as she and Nina lock up for the evening, Matthias helping them carry the last load of a busy day even though this is technically his off-day (probably an excuse to be with his girlfriend even more, she suspects, but hey), Genya stops in her tracks in the parking lot.

The couple a few steps in front of her appear totally unfazed. They must know what’s going on.

And her suspicion is right, because Nina’s grinning from ear to ear when she looks back at her, “You okay, Gen?”

Genya blinks in disbelief.

Her car. It’s completely covered in… in magnolias. She can barely see any trace of her car, in fact, if it wasn’t for the lights blinking when she unlocked it.

What the hell is going on?

She’d had a rather normal day, busy but normal, and scheduled to drive back home to her mom for her birthday early tomorrow. But this is strange. Unreal. Not necessarily in a bad way, the flowers’ smell reaches her all the way over here, but just strange.

Matthias cocks his head and grabs Nina’s hand, “Aren’t you gonna look at your gift?”

“My… my gift?” she asks him, not sure what to say anymore. They definitely had a hand in this. “You already gave me gifts yesterday,” she tells them, dumbfounded.

Her best friend rolls her eyes, “It’s not from us, dummy.” “Who’s it from, then?”

“Shh! That’s a surprise.”

“Nina,” she warns, feeling the exhaustion take over her ever so quickly.

The brunette kisses her cheek and then tugs at her boyfriend’s arm towards her own car. Matthias winks. Screw them.

“Take a look!” they yell to her.

Well… okay then. Genya approaches her car slowly, only a little scared someone’ll jump out from the mountain of pink flowers and scare her half to death. Of course, this isn’t a prank, because her friends are bad at pranks, and the magnolias are so gorgeous she may be getting a little teary eyed.

These little ones reminded her to keep going, when she was at her lowest. It’s stupid, but she felt like she could overcome anything, learning the flower’s meaning and finding a blossom outside of her window back then, like a little reminder from the universe. That’s why they're her favorite. Perseverance.

Bugger, she should probably get started on digging her vehicle out from somewhere in there. Except… her eyes fall upon a little pink card, secured on the wiper. And on it, her name is written, in cursive, gold letters.

Her curiosity takes over, of course it bloody does, and she picks up the card immediately, and when she flips it over…

Is this a fever dream?

Happy early birthday, Genya Safin. Call me? Sincerest wishes (and apologies for the car, grand gesture), Alina Starkov.

This is most definitely a fever dream. Except the card is very real in her hands, and the smell of the magnolias embrace her like a warm hug, and her friends honk as they leave the lot, laughing audible even with the windows all the way up.

Alina’s phone number is written at the bottom, underlined and everything, with a tiny heart next to it.

A grand gesture. A grand romantic gesture, at that. Genya cannot for the life of her stop smiling, big and in shock and flushed and excitement flowing through her veins.

They remembered.

25 notes · View notes

catsandstrawberries · 5 years

Text

Real Family: 12

Pairings: BTS x teen female reader, platonic love

Warnings: Language, neglect, past child abuse, toxic relationships, cliche fluff

A/N: Hope you guys like it! Taglist is CLOSED!!

Summary: It’s not blood that makes a family. It’s love.

Masterlist

Jungkook slammed his door shut just as we had gotten back to the house. I carefully climbed out of the car, making sure not to step into any puke. Jungkook didn’t spare a glance at me and instead went straight into the house, fists clenched at his side. I followed him, watching as he threw his mask and bucket hat onto the table. He reached below into the cabinets, clattering and clashing noises erupting from where he kneeled, in search for something.

“What are you looking for?” He grumbled at my question, and choose not to answer me, training his focus back to the cabinet. He placed some plastic gloves on the counter, standing up and looking through the food cabinets than taking out a bottle of vinegar.

“Jungkook, I'm sorry.” He stopped what he was doing and turned to me, crossing his arms across his chest and giving me a disappointed look.

“Sorry for what? Going to a party, getting your friend drunk, lying to me, or your friends puking in my car?” His glare was unsettling and caused goosebumps to form on my arms, his tone stern.

“I'm sorry for everything. It was stupid. But aren't you happy I called you and told you the truth?” Jungkook who had gone back to searching for his stuff suddenly through a roll of paper towels across the room.

“Fuck!” He shouted running his hand through his dark hair, brown eyes seething with rage. “I can't handle this. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He brushed past me, barely glancing at me as he stomped up the steps. I turned back to the counter, paper towels, vinegar, gloves, sponges. All the materials needed to clean the car. In a haste I zipped my coat up, pulling on my shoes, and grabbing an empty spray bottle, filling it half with water and vinegar. I grabbed my phone, turning on the flashlight and venturing outside into the dark towards Jungkook's beamer.

As soon as I opened the door to the white beamer I immediately recoiled, the disgusting smell filling my nostrils and making me want to gag. Snapping on the black plastic gloves I grabbed the paper towels, scraping out as much puke as possible with the roll and spraying the leather with the rest of the liquid. Taking the sponge I got to scrubbing the seats, phone clenched in my mouth, flashlight turned on high. I could only hope Jungkook would forgive me after this.

By the time I had finished cleaning Jungkook's car, it was well past one A.M. After putting the pine tree scented air freshener on his front mirror I quickly ran inside and washed my hands. I stumbled in my steps, my eyes struggling to stay open, after noticing how late it was I realized there was no way I would make it up to the stairs, so instead, I crashed onto the couch.

I rub at my eyes as I groggily sit up, a steaming cup of coffee is handed to me as someone sits next to me on the couch. I yawn and stretch my back as I turned to face him, watching Jungkook look at me with his big doe eyes.

“Thank You,” I mumbled, taking the coffee and a gentle sip at the hot substance. We both sit in silence before Jungkook speaks up,

“I’m sorry for getting so angry last night.”

“I’m sorry for lying,” I responded almost instantly turning to face him on the couch.

“I saw that you cleaned my car out, thank you. I decided that we can keep this between the two of us.” I perked up at his comment,

“Really?” He nodded,

“Yes, but you’re still grounded.” I slumped at his words, a pout forming on my lips. “Don’t give me that look, you still lied. You're grounded, three days of you coming home and acting miserable.” I laughed at his comment and he gave me a gentle smile. His front teeth barely peeking out past his lips.

“I’ll try to act miserable for you.”

Zara and I hadn’t messaged each other at all for the past few days. She purposely avoided me at school and wouldn’t even glance at me. The whole argument felt ridiculous but I didn't know how to fix it. Instead, I decided to do something stupid. After my three days of being grounded, I decided to randomly show up at her house with a handful of flowers I picked from the yard when our gardener wasn't looking.

The boy's performance at the award show was this weekend so I didn't want to have to ask them to take time away from there rehearsal. Alternatively, I asked my driver to take me to her address, nerves on end the closer we got to her house. Once we had pulled up into her yard I cautiously walked up to the stone pathway to her front door. What if she wasn't home? Or if she didn't want to see me? Was this really a good idea? Before I could turn and run, I found myself in front of her mahogany door, hand in fist knocking against the wood. After a brief silence, Zara opened the door an annoyed look on her face,

"What do you want?" Her blue eyes drew into slits as she glared at me.

"I came to talk to you, and I brought you flowers." I held up the bouquet of purple and red flowers and she immediately recoiled.

"Are those geraniums?" I pulled the flowers back to inspect them, truth be told I grabbed the first ones that caught my eye. I had no idea what flowers I was holding. "(Y/N) I'm allergic to geraniums." I paled and quickly held the flowers behind my back, dropping them onto the ground.

"What! Sorry, just forget about those...Look, Zara, don't you think this argument is silly? You can't still be mad at me?" Zara crossed her arms against her chest and leaned against her door frame.

"Yeah, I can. How could you even help Amber, after everything she’s put us through?"

This was not how I wanted this conversation to go.

"I wasn't just going to watch her drown and get made fun off by a bunch of teenagers. Why does it matter so much?"

"It matters because you haven't noticed why I've never had any friends? Amber always get what she wants, and she wants me and you not to be friends."

Was this the problem? Zara thinking I was going to leave her for Amber?

"That's not going to happen." Zara took a step forward so we were eye level with each other.

"Really, because the two of you seem pretty chummy to me." I let out an aggravated groan at her words.

"Zara I understand that-"

"How could you understand? You haven't been bullied and tormented by this girl. She's manipulative." I gave Zara a confused look. If only I could tell her how many manipulative people I've been around.

"You're not the only person who's had trouble’s in life Zara. I know what it's like to be mistreated." She scoffed at me,

"Sure you do, I'm sure you struggle so much living with BTS. I'm sure you aren't drowning in riches or being featured on youtube." I glared at Zara raising my voice,

"That's uncalled for. Why are you being such a bitch?" She recoiled slightly at my tone but equally matched my assault.

"You're right. God forbid Zara stands up for herself." This whole conversation was so frustrating, and for a moment I forgot the whole reason I came here was to apologize. I wanted to stop the fighting but this was only making it worse.

"I'm leaving," I turned my back to her, kicking the flowers as I rushed down her steps. Ignoring her as she shouted behind me,

"Fuck you."

Just as the words escaped her mouth I jumped into the car that had been waiting on the street. Pulling out my phone as it beeped, a message appearing across the screen from an unknown number.

‘I'm coming for You’

Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. Zara and I were drifting further and further apart. Not to mention, school was horrible and I wasn't understanding anything no matter how much time I spent after school with the teachers. And I was still getting text messages from an unknown number. I went to block them but I kept getting more unsettling words from different area codes. I tempted telling one of the boys but they were all so stressed, Bang had been pushing them really hard lately especially because of their up and coming performance. Surprisingly it was Bang who had asked if I wanted to go to the show. He explained that other kpop groups would be there and it would be good exposure for me to go. Honestly, that sounded a lot better than staying at home and eating peanut butter fluff sandwiches on the couch. After Bang explained to me the whole cameras situation, and how to act when a camera pans to see my reaction he decided that I would be going as the boys plus one. He even had the stylist team fit me for a dress. Despite how cool the situation seemed, I felt like everything around me was falling apart and I had no one to confide in. Instead of explaining the situation to someone I kept my mouth shut and went through the motions until the night of the performance. All eight of us went to Bighit first, the stylist team fixing us up. Putting me in a black, long-sleeved, A-line style dress that ended above my knees, mesh lines on the bottom edge and the cuffs on my wrist. After getting changed I was practically shoved into a car full of random people that I didn't know, and they didn't seem to care. It wasn't until we arrived at the revenue that I was shoved into the seven boys, getting my first glance at them since leaving BigHit, bangs words echoing in my head.

‘Once you get there, all eyes will be on you. So no pressure, but pressure.’

I gave Hoseok an apologetic smile as flashes from cameras erupted from around us. “Sorry,” I said sheepishly as we were ushered inside,

“you’re fine.” He gave me a gentle smile then turned to Namjoon asking him some questions that didn’t concern me. Some staff members led us through a concrete hallway, till finally bringing us into an open arena like area. They led us past tables and chairs towards a long white couch with enough space for all eight of us to fit. Several other groups passed by and I couldn't help but stare in awe at all of them. Especially when (G)I-DlE walked by towards there seat a few rows down from us. I made eye contact with Shuhua who gave me a small wave while I stared at her like an idiot. Mouth parted and dreamy eyes cast on her figure. She was so young, 19, only three years older than me yet she was already a global superstar. I tugged at Yoongi's sleeve upon seeing the group,

“Yoongi, is that (G)I-DlE?” I asked my eyes still on a group of girls. He laughed at my question and sat down on the couch, I followed his lead and he, in turn, leaned over so he could whisper,

“I'll introduce you to them after if you want.” I turned to him, smiling at the boy and cracking a huge smile. Before I could respond the house lights dimmed, signaling the show was starting, the host appeared on the stage introducing all the bands performing such as Exo, (G)I-DlE, BlackPink, Ikon, Seventeen, and BTS. Followed by a few other bands I did not recognize. The start of the show went smoothly, Exo started off the night by performing Love Shot and BlackPink followed with playing with fire, and ddu-du ddu-du. But I couldn't help but feel as if someone was watching us, and not just because of the cameras and audiences. I tilted my head to the side to look at the group behind us, they were a group of five boys who I didn't recognize, all whispering and chuckling to one another. I poked Yoongi again and he turned to me, tearing his attention away from the stage.

“Hey Yoongi, is that group behind us...talking about us?” Yoongi turned around and eyed the group before turning to me.

“Nah, I think you're overthinking it. Don't worry so much.” He nudged me and I smiled at the gesture, yet couldn't shake the uneasy feeling around the group.

Sooner than expected it was time for BTS to perform. I gave them all reassuring smiles and words of encouragement as they left for backstage. I, however, stayed out in the audience watching from my seat as the lights dimmed on the stage and a soft melody started playing in the background, a light blue eliminating the stage as the music got louder and Tae’s vocals flooding through my ears. The boys moved across the stage like lilies floating in a pond, twisting and turning with the music. Watching them perform live was incredible, it was as if watching them I couldn't focus on the hate, dysfunction, or bad relationships. I could only focus on the awe I received while watching them dance, and the way the music impacted my heart like a beat traveling through my veins. The vocal and rap in the song mixed beautifully together and then all of a sudden Jin and Jungkook's ending chorus brought the house down. Their voices traveling through the crowd like waves, filled with so many emotions of sorrow, regret, and hopefulness. An odd combination yet still enticing. Fans stood, screaming and clapping from there seats. I stood to my feet, a proud smile on my face as I applauded them. After watching the boys leave the stage I moved towards the backstage, passing by people in search of the boys only to get sidetracked once hitting the wings. A hand tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to find a short, five foot three at the most, girl standing in front of me. Her soft facial features curved into a smile, her eyes shaping into upside down moons, black wavy hair framing her oval face like a golden picture from the Mona Lisa. She was definitely shorter than average, and I wouldn't compare her to a goddess, more of a runway model, and in her ordinariness, she was strangely unordinary.

“H-hi” I stuttered shyly holding my hands behind my back and twiddling with my fingers. God, why was I acting like such a child all of a sudden? She held her hand out to me, an elated smile on her face.

“Hey! You must be (Y/N), I'm Shuhua.”

I know.

I bit my tongue so I wouldn't make a strange comment and tried my best not to come off as a stalker to my idol. Gently shaking her hand.

(Side note her skin was the softest thing I had ever touched. How much moisturizer did she use?)

“Your hands are so soft.” I internally screamed at myself at my shocked exclamation, now she would think I'm some crazy person.

“Thanks, I use a lot of moisturizers.”

I knew it.

“So you must be that girl that BTS adopted? Everyone's going crazy about you lately.” My shoulders slumped at her comment, of course, all conversation always led back to this.

“In a good way or a bad way?” She winked at my question,

“Both.” She turned around suddenly as someone called her name, a woman that I didn't recognize. “That's my manager, I should probably get going. It was nice talking to you.” She gave me a quick smile and wave before rushing off towards her managers and teammates, leaving me awestruck. I just talked, had a full conversation, with Shuhua of (G)I-DlE. A pair of arms wrapped around my waist sooner than I could comprehend the situation, and I was being lifted into the air, spun around till I was placed in front of a starry-eyed, beaming, and sweaty Hoseok.

"What did you think? Did you like it?" My body automatically reacted to his excitement with more energy. I furiously nodded my head, gushing at the three boys in front of me that I just now noticed.

"Yes! You guys were awesome!" Jungkook, Yoongi, and Hoseok all sent me smiles and I peeked my head around Jungkook's shoulders, finding Jin, Namjoon, Jimin, and Tae talking to some people who I assumed were crew, considering they were dressed in all black, clipboards in hand and headsets on their ears.

"My voice felt like it was cracking during the chorus. (Y/N), could you tell?" I looked back to Jungkook and shook my head,

"you're too rough on yourself. I think you did great." The three of them then started their own conversation about the performance, poking and prodding at Jungkook as his cheeks turned pink from the attention. Yet, my attention wasn't focused on the loving moment in front of me, but the same boys joking around from behind me.

"Is that her?" I heard one of the boys ask, I tilted my head towards the ground, angling my ear at the stranger's to hear the conversation. "I think so, isn't she a little old to be adopted?" My emotions started to bile to the surface as they continued to talk about me. Unless there was some other adopted girl beside me that I didn't know about, highly unlikely.

"Hey!" I jumped at the loud voice so close to my ear, glancing up at a glaring Yoongi. "Watch it, don't be rude." One of the boys who had been deep in the conversation approached the four of us. Hobi gently grabbed the back of my dress and pulled me back towards him the closer the stranger got.

"Excuse me! We were just expressing our thoughts, is that a crime?” Jungkook took a step forward towards the group, towering over the boys.

“Look, we don’t want any problems. We’re just saying you don’t have to be so rude.” A second person from the boy group stepped forward grabbing at the younger boys sleeve.

“Hey, no problems here. Aki apologizes.” The older boy hissed out, and the boy who I assumed was Aki glared at us, mumbling under his breath.

“Sorry.” The older boy smiled at us then pushed Aki back towards his group, similar to how a mother disciplines her child.

“Why am I in trouble. I don't understand, why would they adopt anyway?”

I ignored Aki's comment but his next words had my blood running cold,

“Why would you want someone else’s reject.”

Before I could fully process his words Yoongi was stepping forward, grabbing Aki by the shoulder and whipping him around only to throw his fist at his face. The older boy caught Aki practically effortlessly as he held his face in agony, blood rushing out of his nose and spreading onto his hands. Jimin rushed forward, grabbing at Yoongi’s sleeve and pulling him back.

“Yoongi what the hell! You can’t do that!” Jimin’s loud exclamation tore through Aki's painful cries and Yoongi angrily turned towards Jimin.

“Did you hear what he said about her!?” Jimin shot Yoongi a confused look but both turned to the older boy who was standing next to his three other bandmates after setting Aki down.

“He only said what we were all thinking. Seriously, how can you take on somebody else's problem like that!” He gestured a hand towards me by sending me a glare but I was again pulled back just as Jungkook lunged forward, fists raised. I brushed the handoff of me and rushed in front of Jungkook holding my hands up so he wouldn't punch the boy then turned to face the opposite group. I took a deep breath before calmly stating,

“If you have a problem with me, next time say it to my face instead of talking about a sixteen-year-old girl behind her back. Am I adopted? Yes, and it's none of your business to question it. You didn't choose to adopt me.” I pointed my hand back towards the seven boys, “they did. You don't have to understand, but you do have to keep your opinions to yourself and your mouth shut.” I turned away from the shocked boy band and turned towards the boys. Mouths either parted in shook, or eyes wide in surprise. “Can we go home now?” Namjoon rapidly nodded, walking alongside me and leading me out of the venue.

Taglist: @xxqueenwxtchxx @ayyeaestheticgirl18 @im-emo-motherfuckers@kamirichibi @officiallyza @treetops68 @there-could-be-stairs @acklesgold @bisoo-ausucre @bts-edits-bitch @celestial-m00n @springdayblink

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illyrian-bitch-queen · 8 years

Text

Geraniums

Alright, so this isn’t any of the fics I was promising, or anything that was requested. This was kind of just a de-stresser piece that I wrote today to try to relax myself on a really bad day.

It may be awful, or have a lot of errors because I didn’t properly edit it, and I wrote it really quickly while in a bad-ish mood, but I figure you guys might enjoy it anyway.

It was inspired by a random prompt I had saved in a journal for years that I had specially for prompts, so I couldn’t tell you where it came from, but I can tell you it was really stress-relieving to write.

** Rowan, on the outside, hated working surrounded by flowers all day. He made sure all of his friends knew how much he hated the way the scent of flowers clung to him for days after his shift, or the typical clueless men coming into the shop for either their mothers or wives.

But, on the inside, the fresh, varied scent of all the different flowers calmed him. The colors were like a balm to his mind. And putting the flowers together in just the right way to say just the right thing was like a puzzle that he loved to solve.

And it was always fun to see men come in with their tails between their legs, trying to decide how much money in flowers would make up for whatever they'd done. Of course, the mother’s day bouquets and birthday flowers got a bit tedious, but it was a small thing to suffer in comparison to the gratification that always flooded him when he worked at the flower shop.

Today though, it seemed, was set out to be a bad day. A man had come in complaining that the bouquet he'd gotten for his girlfriend hadn't been the right flowers--although Rowan remembered the man coming in only the day before and personally approving them, so the man had really just failed to remember the woman’s favorite flower and needed someone to blame--and demanded a refund.

When Rowan explained, a bit rudely, that it couldn't be done, the man had stormed out and slammed the shop door, knocking a broad arrangement off a shelf and scattering the blooms across the floor.

After cleaning them up, Rowan had gotten a rather nasty call from his Aunt Maeve demanding that he come to see her soon. He was careful with that call, knowing it was unwise to offend his aunt. But he had made no commitments by the end, and was fairly proud of that, even as irritation left a dark stain on his mood for the rest of the day. Not even the smell of flowers could ease the tensions left from dealing with a mad woman like Maeve.

So, by the time he heard someone throw the shop door open just ten minutes before closing time, he was dreading the temper tantrum the customer was about to throw.

He turned away from the arrangement he'd been working on to greet the customer, and froze.

It was not an angry man with a bone to pick, but a stomping woman who looked for all the world like a hurricane that was about to tear the city down.

She was wearing a pair of torn skinny jeans with a tight crop top, both of which showed off her generous curves and fit physique. She appeared strong, her body covered with lean muscle.

Her tall heels made quite the impressive noise as she stomped up to the counter, ripping her dark sunglasses off her face and tearing a mess of cash from her pocket.

Rowan was stunned more by her shockingly blue eyes than the cash she slapped down on the counter. The movement drew his eyes away from her face and to the wad of crumpled, large-amount bills. He saw a couple hundreds peeking out from the mess, and blinked, unsure how to react.

“How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?” She bit out, setting those wild eyes on his. He blinked again in surprise, clearing his throat.

“Oh.” He frowned. “Um, with Geraniums?”

She raised a pale brow before shrugging. “Whatever. Do whatever you have to but make sure it says fuck you, loud and clear.”

Rowan bit his lip hard, closing his eyes to try and reign in the laughter that rose into his chest at the seriousness on the girl’s face.

“Okay,” he said, coughing slightly into his fist in an attempt to remain professional. “Um, when do you need them?”

She tapped her foot impatiently. “Is right now out of the question? I'll pay extra. Honestly, go crazy, as expensive as possible, as long as you can get it done now.”

Her jaw clenched as her phone began to vibrate from her bag. She looked at Rowan again, and he saw a bitter kind of emotion in her eyes.

Yes, this woman was absolutely livid at whoever she was ordering these flowers for, but she was hurting too.

“I can do them now. In fact, you can help if you want. To make sure there's the proper amount of passive-aggressiveness.”

She blinked in surprise at his offer. Then, her lips curled up slyly. She nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

She dropped her bag to the floor right there, dropping her expensive sunglasses to the floor beside them. Rowan cringed a little.

At only twenty-six, he lived very comfortably, and didn't really need to run this business to keep it that way, but it still made him uncomfortable to see someone tossing expensive things around so carelessly.

She waved a hand dismissively at his look. “A gift from him. I could drop them from a cliff and not give a single fuck at this point.”

Rowan nodded with a small smile. This girl was beginning to grow on him. She had a fiery attitude that he found more appealing than he could have expected, given his only other girlfriend had been the exact opposite.

She was the one, in fact, who had opened this shop. Rowan had met her here after fighting with Maeve. He'd been one of those helpless males stumbling in and asking for apology flowers. He'd married Lyria a year later, and she'd been killed a month after their wedding.

He couldn't help but compare her to this wildfire woman. They were exact opposites. Lyria had been the sweetest, shyest young woman he'd ever met. She'd been kind and gentle and everything this girl wasn't.

And something about the blonde appealed to him, despite himself.

“I was just about to close up, so if you don't mind, I'm going to lock up so nobody comes in after hours,” Rowan said, stepping around the counter.

The girl nodded without hesitation. “Okay. Just know that if you try to kill me, I could probably kick your ass, even with my heels on.”

He smiled, pretty confident that she wasn't lying, based on her physical appearance. He flipped the sign to closed, shutting off the light by the outside of the door and locking it securely.

By the time he came back to the counter, the girl had climbed up onto the it, sitting there while she pulled her long, straight hair back into a ponytail.

Rowan allowed himself only a moment to watch the graceful fingers scraping her golden hair back before smiling at her and stepping around the counter, gesturing for her to follow.

She spun around once she'd finished with her hair so she was still sitting on the counter, but her legs now swung over on his side, in front of the flowers in their cooler.

She looked them over curiously, her head tipped to the side in thought. “Why do you store the flowers in coolers? You would think it'd freeze them.”

He smiled a little as he put the unfinished bouquet he'd been working on away. “Flowers don't freeze until something like 28 degrees. And the cooler temperatures make it so that they take longer to dehydrate. There's a high humidity in them too, to keep them from drying out.”

She nodded, her curiosity seemingly sated.

Rowan came back around to face her, pursing his lips. “Okay. So, flowers that say ‘fuck you’.”

A flash of blue made a smile come onto his lips as he looked over the cooler.

“Alright, so there's a plant we use in arrangements. It's blue, so it's really hard to find a better flower to use as a replacement but it's got this nasty odor to it. It's only there if you don't wash the pollen off, but--”

Her eyes lit up. “Wait, you personally have to wash it off? It's not already washed off?”

Rowan grinned. “Right.”

He stepped into the cooler and moved around until he reached the sea holly. He wrinkled his nose when it got too close to his face, but he brought a handful out to the girl.

She took a sniff at it and immediately choked on the scent, nodding quickly. “Yes, definitely that,” she said, pointing at the flowers as she covered her nose with a cupped hand. Her nails were painted a glossy black, shaped into smooth points. “We have to use that in it.”

She had a wicked smile spread across her lips when she pulled her hand away, and Rowan couldn't help but return a broad grin.

“I'd hate to get on your bad side,” he said with a shake of his head.

The girl shrugged, swinging her legs enough to nudge Rowan’s thigh while he set out the Sea Holly on a piece of delicate silver paper.

“So,” Rowan began, breaking off when he realized that he didn't know what to call her.

“Aelin,” she offered, leaning forward to watch him.

“Aelin,” Rowan echoed, deciding he liked the name quite a lot. He offered his name in return, and she smiled slightly. “So, what did this guy do to deserve this lovely bouquet?”

Aelin wrinkled her nose at him. “You're not supposed to talk about exes when you come across a cute guy,” she said slyly, winking playfully.

Rowan chuckled, his lips turning up wryly at the flirtatious tone. “True, but I think asking the guy to make a ‘fuck you’ bouquet for said ex is a little unorthodox too.”

Aelin smiled at the words, propping her chin up on her hands, her elbows balanced on her knees. She opened her mouth, and a series of words spilled out that made Rowan exceptionally happy to be making this bouquet. He wanted much more than to make it, in fact.

The asshole, Chaol, had obviously hurt her badly if her flippant attitude was ignored long enough to notice her clearing her throat and blinking quickly fairly often.

“I think he deserves more than a bouquet,” he said with a scowl when she'd finished.

Aelin sighed. “Yeah, well, it's been a decent amount of time. But I've seen him pretty often since because one of my best friends has been his best friend since they were kids. I saw him today, which raised my level of spite back up to exceptionally high, and here I am.”

There was a short, easy silence between them as Rowan continued to work. At some point, she had dropped to the floor on his side of the counter and started helping him arrange the assortment of stinky sea holly and other seemingly innocent flowers. He enjoyed telling her what each bloom meant.

“Geraniums,” he said after a moment, as he placed three beautiful white blooms into the middle of the vase they were preparing, “aren't the most pleasant-smelling, although they're nowhere near sea holly. And they mean ‘stupidity’ or ‘foolishness’.”

Her lips were turned up as she ran her fingers over the work they'd done over the last forty-five minutes. It could have been done much quicker, within ten minutes most likely, but Rowan had felt the urge to linger, and Aelin didn't seem to mind at all. She'd, at some point during her story, complained she was hungry. He’d offered her whatever was in the fridge in the back and she'd come back with a pint of ice cream that he hadn't even known was in there.

Now, they'd already shared and finished the ice cream and were moving slowly, dragging their feet. Neither of them wanted this odd meeting and shared time to end.

“Perfect,” Aelin said, tapping her fingers gently on the counter. “Who knew geraniums were so insulting?”

Rowan smiled slightly, still fussing with the way the somewhat large flowers sat amongst the others. What he had kept to himself about geraniums, was their second meaning. Unexpected meetings, usually pleasant ones.

It felt too presumptuous to say aloud, but he was happy that the meaning was there, even if she didn't know it.

He tied a blue bow around the vase, his fingers slow and deliberate. The whole thing was a beautiful arrangement of blue, white and green. Very masculine, and very offensive. Rowan was pretty proud of the beautiful arrangement they'd made, all while having a large ‘fuck you’ behind it.

Rowan especially loved the way Aelin smiled when her fingers touched the cyclamen flowers. They meant ‘resignation’ or ‘good-bye’. Something inside of him was pleased with the way she'd reached for the flowers after he told her what they'd meant and stuck them into the vase among the other flowers, without an ounce of hesitation.

Now that it was finished, they were the only flowers he saw when he looked at it.

“We did good,” Aelin said, appraising the bouquet with a smirk. Rowan nodded with a chuckle, nudging his shoulder against hers.

“I told you geraniums would be perfect.”

Her lips pulled up at the corners as she looked over at him, a pale brow arched upwards. “Yeah. It's definitely the geraniums that make it. But you know what'll be better?” I hummed, waiting for her response. She leaned her back against the counter behind her, crossing her ankles. “The card I plan on putting with it that says ‘fuck you’ in big letters.”

Rowan laughed, unable to help himself. He shook his head. “So much for subtlety.”

Aelin chuckled under her breath, loosened strands of hair falling messily around her face. “I'm not exactly a subtle person, to tell you the truth.”

She was looking up at Rowan through her lashes, and he got the distinct impression that her words were implying something he couldn't quite grasp the meaning of. When she saw his mild confusion, she just laughed. “Well, Rowan, I guess I should head out and let you go home, since I've kept you for almost an hour now.”

She reached back on the counter and began to flip through the money she'd left there, dipping her head towards the vase. “How much?”

Rowan did a quick calculation in his head, grimacing internally at what the amount of flowers they'd used would typically cost. When he offered her a number, it was only half of what he should have charged. He wouldn't be necessarily losing money from it, considering the hefty markup that all florists charged for their bouquets. He just would only be getting back what the flowers cost straight from the supplier. Besides, he could easily afford to give the bouquet away for free. And the amusement he'd gained from helping her make it was much worth it.

Aelin seemed surprised at the price, but nodded without a word. Rowan had a feeling she knew he'd only charged her part of the price, but she didn't protest, which he was thankful for.

She asked about delivery and Rowan agreed to have it delivered to her ex’s workplace tomorrow afternoon. She scribbled down the address and full name, a coy grin playing at her lips that, once again, set Rowan on edge a little.

When she was done, she placed her hand over the paper and slid it across the counter to him. She offered him a full smile, flashing bright white teeth at him. “Thank you for everything, especially the ice cream,” she said, her eyes shining.

When she turned to walk out the door, her bag now slung over her shoulder, she tossed a playful wink over her shoulder.

Rowan blinked after her in surprise, stunned for a long moment.

“Shit,” he muttered as soon as the door shut behind Aelin. He had to stop for a moment and wonder if that had actually happened.

Stunning women didn't typically just wander into his shop and end up staying an hour after he was supposed to close. This kind of thing didn't happen.

He cursed himself under his breath for not even catching anything more than her first name. Likely, he would never run into her again. And without any more than her name, there was little he could do to try and reconcile that.

Rowan didn't know why the thought bothered him so much.

He sighed in resignation, shooting a glare at the stray stem of a deep blue anemone flower.

Anemone. Fading hope.

He swiped the flower aside with a grumbling sigh before grabbing the paper and turning to attach it to the arrangement, along with the card on which Aelin really had only written ‘fuck you. xo, A.A.G’.

When he glanced over the address paper to see where Luca would be delivering to, Rowan blinked. Then he laughed.

‘2543 Adarlan Ct. -Chaol Westfall, the asshole with the stupid haircut.’

And under that, entirely separate from the message above, was ten digits. There was a single heart at the end of the phone number, then:

‘I told you I wasn't subtle.’

He was still grinning when he folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping.

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #empire of storms #modern au

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