Chapter Text
Last month, Chosen had mustered up the courage to arrange a delicate bouquet of red and pink flowers. Red roses, red tulips, pink carnations and peonies. Anxiously, he fiddled around with the petals and stems and leaves of the arrangement, shifting them just the tiniest millimeter to the right. It had to be perfect. It had to be beautiful.
It had to convey what he was trying to say.
Now, Chosen was not a very talkative or social person. Ask anyone he knows (which is kinda hard, because the only people he really knew were Second (who was his brother, so that didn’t count), Freedom (who was the worker at the pizza place in the mall that Chosen saw more frequently than others), and Second’s friends (who didn’t really count, not really, because Chosen doesn’t think he’s said a lick of a word to any of them)).
The point was: Chosen was not the best at speaking.
So, what was the best solution for this?
What he does best at: flower language.
(Which is not something that, uh… anyone else is typically good at.)
Chosen glances out the windows of their quaint little flower shop Jasmine Petals. It’s slightly hard to see, with the flowers and pots set out on the front of the mall as well as the little counters in front of the windows. However, just barely, he can see a sliver of the other side of the hall.
There, was the source of his dilemma (or rather, the den that housed it): Rocket Ink. It had a black and gray color scheme, the text displaying the name a slim and almost futuristic-like shape. Pictures of intricate tattoo designs were hung on the windows, a little stand outside with colorful chalk that read “30% NEW CUSTOMERS!”
The tattoo artist — well, the one that Chosen actually cared about — was a cheeky stick with bright red hair and a seemingly endless grin. His eyes were a deep, void-like black, but his cheeks were soft and pink and his voice was nice to listen to.
“Cho,” calls Second, suddenly, pulling Chosen out of his thoughts. He turns around to see his little brother heft a pot of hydrangeas onto the counter he stood behind. “Are you gonna go give it him, or are you gonna be lame again and chicken out?”
Chosen frowned and tried not to blush. “Shut up. It’s — I’m working on it, alright?”
“Can you work on it a little faster? We’ve got a tall order of some wedding arrangements and they’re asking for a bunch of these,” Second says, tapping the pot of flowers.
Chosen blinks. “Pink ones, right?”
“They specifically said blue.”
“Blue means apology,” Chosen stresses, momentarily putting his own bouquet to the back of his mind. “Are you sure that’s what they want?”
“You wanna call ‘n ask them?”
“No, thank you,” Chosen quickly declines. “You do it.”
Second snaps a finger at him with a fond sigh. “Knew you’d say that.” Then, his face turns mischievous. “Actually, you know what? No.”
Chosen blinked at him. Second never said no. He rushed to do any work Chosen asked of him. “What do you mean no?”
“I mean no,” Second repeats, then jabs Chosen’s chest. His eyes widen in surprise. “Look, I am sick and tired of seeing you swoon after the tattoo guy for a whole month and you have not given him this bouquet.” He gestures wildly to the bouquet in question to emphasize his point. “It’s insane! I’ve seen you swap out the flowers and nudge them around and change the papers almost everyday! Get it over with already!”
“But what if he doesn’t like it?” Chosen blurts as he stares into Second’s green eyes. His little brother could really explode when he’s annoyed. He should probably work on that. Chosen typically didn’t like being on the opposite side of his anger.
“You. Won’t. Know.” Second enunciates each word with another jab to Chosen’s chest. “If. You. Don’t. Give. It. To. Him.”
Valid argument. Chosen can completely understand what he’s trying to say. He also, is a massive coward. One that usually spent his time preparing gifts and confessions for his crushes for the pure sake of imagining a relationship with them rather than seeing any of his plans come to fruition. It was just much safer hiding behind his own gifts if it meant there wasn’t a receiver to reject them.
“So,” Second continues, “if you don’t give it to him, then you’re going to call the client.”
Chosen’s mouth falls open in shock. He stares at his brother, utterly betrayed that he could even stomach putting Chosen through such a thing. “You’re joking, right?”
Second stares at him blankly for a second before fishing out his phone and slamming it in front of Chosen. The phone app is pulled up, and Orange’s finger hovers over someone’s — he’s assuming the client — phone number. Chosen suddenly realizes that his brother is an asshole.
“You wouldn’t,” Chosen pleads. “Come on, Sec. You — he’s just so cool. He has a motorcycle! Why would he even care about me?”
Instead of answering, Second just lowers his fingers some more, almost brushing against the screen. Chosen’s heart seizes with fear, and all of a sudden he has to choose between two evils: risk rejection, or deal with a phone call.
…Rejection it is.
Chosen sags as he reaches a hand out to grab the bouquet. “Fine. You suck. I literally hate you so much,” he mutters, even when Second cheers loudly. “You owe me a drink for this.”
“ You owe me drink and lunch if he accepts it,” Second says with a proud smirk, watching Chosen as he walked around the counter and makes his way to the front door. He throws him a thumbs up, beaming widely. “Good luck, Cho! Don’t chicken out!”
“Die.” With that note — Second only snickers at his response — Chosen takes a deep breath as he pushes the glass door in front of him. He steps out and the chattering noise of the mall quickly fills his ears. Chosen grimaces. The shop had been nice and quiet and muffled, with the door closed. But now, thousands of tiny earthquakes were sounding in his ear, the sounds of conversations and walking and overall crowd. Not at all Chosen’s favorite.
Unsteadily, he padded across the crowded hall and stops right outside the door. If he went inside now, there would be no turning back. There was no way he could just simply walk inside and leave without a word. And besides, if he really did go back to his own shop, a dreaded phone call would be awaiting him.
“Okay,” Chosen whispers to himself, heart beginning to speed up, “let’s fucking go.”
He pushes the doors open and steps inside.
A bell rings to signal his arrival. Immediately, he’s greeted by the very stick he’d wanted to see:
Dark.
“Hey, man, first time here?” he says as he jogged over to the front counter. His long red hair was tied up in a ponytail, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders so Chosen could see the rest of his arms. Oh. His face heats up. Dark wasn’t very muscular per se, but his arms were a little toned. A starry night of scars littered the skin, although it was slightly covered up by the sky of black tattoos anlong his anrms, and his hands were covered by a pair of black gloves.
“I — I’m Chosen,” he stammers, and he quickly remembers that it would be best if he maintained eye contact. Right, eye contact. He can do that. Chosen stares into Dark’s irises. “I’m from —“
“Oh!” Dark makes a clicking noise with his tongue and nods. His eyes are darting everywhere, sometimes landing on Chosen’s eyes as well before moving on to something else entire. His eyes would fall to Chosen’s clothes, his eyebrow, sometimes the counter, or perhaps to the door behind him, or even as far as the other side of the room. “From the flower shop across, right?”
“I —“ Chosen swallows. That was not the plan. He’d thought he’d introduce himself with his name, and the shop he worked at. If only Dark hadn’t interrupted and piped up himself. “Yeah. Um. Jasmine Petals.”
“That the shop name or the tattoo you want?” Dark says, and his lips quirk up with a little smile.
“Oh —“ Chosen takes in another breath and holds out the bouquet. He’s starting to become overly aware of his own face. “This. Is um. This is for you.” He nudged it a bit closer.
He watches Dark’s eyes drop down slowly, finally seeming to calm down and focus on one thing for now. “I — this is for me?”
“For you,” Chosen repeats. His hands are shaking the longer Dark doesn’t take the flowers out of them.
“You brought me,” Dark looks up at him, focusing on his face, “flowers.”
Does he not like it? What little bit of hope in Chosen’s chest blew out like a candle. He deflates. Of course Dark wouldn’t want a bouquet of flowers delivered to him. What kind of guy would want that? Especially someone as cool and mystique as Dark? Gods, Chosen’s such an idiot —
Dark suddenly shoots his hands out and grabs the bouquet when Chosen’s hands start to droop. His eyes snap wide and Dark anxiously laughs. “Shit, shit, sorry! Oh my gods, wait, yes, I want them. Holy crap. I was — I was shocked. Really shocked. Um..yeah..” He takes the whole bouquet into his hands and presses it against his chest. Chosen’s hands are empty and cold without it now, and he fiddles with the palm of one hand with the other. “Holy crap, Petal, this is — just — wow.”
Petal. Chosen’s heart accelerates more. “T-they’re, um, red roses,” he fumbles. “There’s also, uh… pink orchids? Red… wait, no, it’s — red orchids and pink carnations. A-and peonies. Pink one, I mean. Sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Dark asks, and his eyes are strained on the flowers as he examines it.
“Aren’t I kind of messing this up?”
“I think it’s perfect,” Dark says sincerely, his eyes flicking up to look at Chosen. He grins. “So, would I be seeing you around more often then, Petal?”
Chosen cannot stop the heat from rising anymore in his cheeks. Dark was looking at him, with his full undivided attention, and Chosen was an absolute blubbering mess and his heart was racing too fast. “I — goodbye,” he blurts stiffly. Then, just to hammer in the final nail in his coffin, Chosen spins around and pretty much runs all the way back to the refuge of his own shop.
When he bursts into the safety cabin that is his own shop, Second jumps on him immediately. His eyes were wide with excitement and he jumps around on his feet. “Well? Well, well well? What’d he say? You don’t have the flowers anymore. He took them, right, right? He must’ve. You’re so red, Cho. Oh! Are you going on a date?”
“I think I fucked up,” Chosen choked out. Oh cursors, he was such an idiot! What kind of a guy just ups and leaves like that? And — and after Dark actually expressed a bit of interest in him! He’d said — Chosen’s eyes widened and his hands flew up to the air in shock. “Sec. Second. He called me Petal.”
Second’s own face mirrored excitement, and he gasps loudly. He grabs Chosen’s hands, and he’s honestly way too shocked right now to even care about the physical touch. “Holy. Fucking. Shit. He called you Petal? That’s — that’s flirting, Cho. Holy crap, that’s a straight up petname!”
“But I fucked up!” Chosen cried out in despair. “He said — he asked me if he would be seeing me around more often and I — I just…”
Second’s excited face turned to trepidation. “What did you do?”
“I… I said goodbye and ran away!”
The rest of Second’s happy expression melted away.
“VIC!” Dark screams, his voice a raw terrified sound. He hears a thunk coming from the back of the shop, and a moment later, the door flings open. His older brother, Victim, sprints out and towards him, looking terrified.
“What? WHAT HAPPENED? WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING?”
“YOU’RE SCREAMING!”
“YOU ARE! WHAT FUCKING HAPPENED?” Victim finally reaches him and slams his hands on Dark’s shoulders. His eyes drop down to the bouquet. “What. The fuck. Is this.”
“FLOWER GUY CAME OVER!” Dark screams. “THE FLOWER GUY!”
“HE GAVE YOU THIS!?”
Dark shoves the bouquet up to Victim’s nose. “THESE. HAVE. RED. ROSES.”
“WHAT?”
“WHAT DOES HE MEAN???”
“Quit yelling,” pipes a tired voice from behind Victim. Dark ignores the voice of the newcomer — his big brother’s fiancé, Agent, as he walks out of the back break room at a more leisurely pace. In fact, he continues yelling. And so does Victim.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT DOES HE MEAN?? YOU KNOW WHAT RED ROSES MEAN!”
“BUT HE JUST LEFT!” Dark wails back. “HE SAID GOODBYE AND LEFT!”
“What.” Victim’s eyes turn from Dark to glare out the door, as if he was finding Chosen all the way in his own shop and staring him down. “You mean he just gave you these and left? Did he not say anything?”
Dark frowned. “Well — okay, so, he said his name, and then — and then I asked him if I would be seeing him around and he —“ Dark sniffs, eyes watering — “he said ‘goodbye’ and ran away.”
“Oh, come on now, Dark,” Victim sighs, “don’t start crying.”
“Was he having a joke? Did he think it was funny to mess with my feelings?”
Victim pats his shoulder. “Don’t worry. If he does, I’ll kill him for you. Bury him in our backyard and hide all the evidence then frame his death as suicide.”
“Jeez, Vic, did you take your meds today?” Agent asks in mild concern.
“No.” Victim sighed again. “Hey, Dark, he’s clearly not worth your time. Any guy who thinks he’s good enough to take you out should at least have the decency to consider your feelings. Forget about him.” He glares at the bouquet of flowers, probably imagining they were Chosen’s face. “Here, give those to me and I’ll toss em away for you —“
“No!” Dark quickly snatches the flowers out from Victim’s hands when they come up to grab them. He glares at his brother when he blinks back at him in surprise. “I’m keeping them! Maybe I’m misreading things? I mean, what the hell do red orchids or red carnations or whatever else it was he said — ahem, what the hell do the other flowers mean?”
“Who cares?”
“He’s a florist! He cares!” Dark insists, frowning down at the petals. Shit, they were really pretty. Had he really taken the wrong idea? But, Chosen had been so abrupt in his departure. And he’d seemed so genuine when he gifted these to Dark. “I need to know. I need to make sure I know what he’s trying to say.”
“Dark, you can’t be serious,” Victim says, with an almost pleading tone.
“Oh, I am so serious.” He puffs out his chest, mind made up. And Victim knows firsthand that if The Dark Lord made up his mind, there was virtually nothing in the world that could stop him. “He said…orchids, carnations, and peonies. I haven’t even heard of carnations or peonies before, and hell if I would know their meanings. But Chosen knows the meanings.”
“Is that his name?” Victim mutters, both with a murderous glint in his eye and an almost maniac excitement. Whoops. Dark probably shouldn’t have exposed his name. Victim now had another piece of information that could potentially assist him in murdering Chosen.
Dark turns to Agent and gestures to his brother with an expression that said: Could you please take care of this?? Agent stared back at him through his half lidded eyes, then shrugged, and didn’t move an inch. Damn asshole was too much of an enabler to Victim’s emotional instability.
“I won’t rest till I figure it all out,” Dark announces, with the determination of a divine figure writing the rules of the universe: The Dark Lord Does Not Give Up. “He wants to be cryptic? He’s underestimating me.”
“Try to sleep at a regular interval,” Agent advises him, wrapping his arms around Victim when he groans with despair and clutches his head like Dark had just struck him with lighting using his newly gained divine powers.
Dark grinned at him. “Of course I will.”
(They all knew he won’t. Sleep is for the weak, the wary, the sane. Besides, there is no rest for the wicked.)