Work Text:
Carefully wiping away the ink mixed with blood from his client’s upper arm, Hazard announced, “You're just about done now.” He reached for the plastic he used to wrap fresh tattoos, and handed the woman the flyer containing his idiot-proof guide to making sure your tattoo doesn't get you killed. It wasn't easy, unless you were stubborn and an absolute madman. He'd had close calls like that, unfortunately. This particular customer was a good friend of his, a sensible woman, but he'd worked too hard on that flyer to not hand it out every time.
“Thanks Haz, looks great.” Ashe replied gratefully, twisting her arm to look at the design under the plastic.
Hazard chuckled as he turned to wipe the counter clean of any residual ink splotches, “I've done enough skull tattoos to write a book about ‘em. Don't gotta thank me.”
Ashe stood, pulling on her coat. “You callin’ me basic?” To which Hazard laughed, throwing his head back. “Nah! It suits ya.”
“You charmer.” She replied, waving the compliment away. “Now, I was meanin’ to ask, I'll be celebrating my birthday soon and I'd like to have you there. If you can squeeze me in your tight schedule, that is.” The last part was tacked on with a smirk.
“When's that, the first?”
“Bingo.” Ashe said, pulling out a credit card.
Hazard handed her the card reader, trying to remember any appointments for October 1st, about a month from now. “Nah, think I'm free.” The machine in his hand beeped. “I’ll do my best to keep it that way, yeah?”
“You'd better,” Ashe joked, turning to the door.
With that, perhaps the busiest week Hazard had ever had was over. And yeah, he loved his job – it really was an amazing feeling to watch this business he built from the ground up actually be successful – but that didn't make it any less exhausting. It was more engaging than his previous job, at least.
It was rewarding to see people's delight at his work in real-time, their appreciation for his art; if you'd told teenage Findlay that people would be paying to have his art on their skin permanently, he would have laughed at you. Sometimes, he still couldn't believe it. It was weird, that a life-altering injury like the one he'd suffered left him better off than he was before, at least mentally. Almost dying left him feeling more alive than he ever did before. Life’s funny like that.
Over the past few weeks in which he'd been swamped with work, a new shop had popped up a little down the street, adjacent to his own tattoo parlor. The floral scents that wafted from the building when he passed by it while walking home at night led Hazard to assume it was a flower shop. So considering he was one for supporting fellow small businesses and had an upcoming appointment for a floral design, he figured scoping the place out wouldn't do any harm.
It was a quaint little thing, wedged between two residential blocks. Foliage coated the inside so thoroughly that the windows were almost completely obstructed, but faint, warm light peeked through the vines nonetheless. A few pots guarded the entrance, little sprouts peeking from the soil. Labels on the pots indicated they housed pears and apricots, respectively.
The door swung open easily with a faint ‘ding’ sound, revealing a lovingly decorated yet lived-in looking interior, despite the store only being here a week or two. The walls were coated with plants, bouquets and fresh flowers, though the latter didn’t seem to be for sale.. A lone couch sat up against the wall on the right, cream coloured and embroidered with a vibrant floral pattern. Beside that door stood a desk, filled with craft supplies; tape, patterned paper, ribbons. Behind the desk stood a man, dressed in an apron covered with dirt.
“Hello!” The florist greeted warmly, a genuine kindness in his voice.
“Hey!” Hazard practically yelled in an attempt to mirror the other man’s friendliness.
He smiled, “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Nah…” he dragged the vowel out as he looked around the store, before recalling his business there. “...yeah, actually. I was wonderin’ if you know about uhh… flower meanings?”
“What, has someone sent you a bouquet in code?” The florist joked.
Hazard laughed. “Nah. Ain’t never been given flowers. I've just gotta know a few ones that’re good for newlyweds. ‘Love,’ ‘Forever…’ y’know. Shit like that.”
The man rested his head on his hand, “I find it hard to believe no one has bought you flowers,” he replied.
“I'm not really a lad you buy flowers for, am I?” He chuckled.
The blonde shrugged, “There’s a flower for everyone. Yours would be the sea lavender.” His smile made little creases around his eyes. “Anyhow, I'd love to show you around our collection, we have a lovely selection for… how did you put it, ‘love, forever and shit like that?’ “ he continued, suddenly all business.
The tour began at a shelf of red flowers. “Red roses, red tulips, and carnations,” the florist listed. “Passionate love, perfect love and affection, in that order. The slightest bit basic, but they're absolutely stunning, don't you think?”
“Not as stunning as you,” Hazard thought. But instead, he stammered out a “Sure.” Real slick, Haz. A+ flirting right there.
The florist quirked an eyebrow, “Not to your tastes? Good thing I have a whole store of options.” He said, smiling, before he turned on his heel towards a different table, upon which rested a sea of pink and white. Gesturing to each blossom as he went, he named the plants effortlessly, as if they'd told him their names themselves. On second thought, if anyone could talk to flowers, it was probably this guy. “These are anemones, they represent sincerity. They're commonly worn on boutonnieres.” The blossom resembled a poppy, only white. They looked a bit like eyes, if you squinted. “Here, we have camelias; the white variety says ‘adoration,’ but the pink says ‘longing.’ ” Those looked somewhat like roses, but denser. Like floral clouds. “Similarly, white hyacinths sing of beauty and grace, and their pink sisters of playful joy.”
Amidst his explanation, the flowers’ caretaker seemed to take notice of his client's distraction, “If you don't mind me asking, what exactly do you need these arrangements for?” He asked, turning to look at Hazard.
“Ah, nothin’ special. I work at the tattoo shop down the street, a client I've got’s gonna be getting something to celebrate her marriage to her wife, and flowers were somethin’ she said she wanted. Thought I'd check this place out, two birds, one stone, yeah?” There were other requests, such as a polar bear or a rabbit, but a trip to the zoo was a little less feasible on his schedule.
“I see,” The florist responded. “I have some supplies, if you'd like to work on the design while you're here. Working from memory would be difficult, no?” He mused, nodding towards the work desk in the corner of the room.
Hazard considered his options. Either he left, attempted to recall how the petals were arranged, and wound up drawing a generic rose, or he stayed with this absolute stranger, surrounded by flowers he had been offered the esteemed liberty of drawing. But then again, it was late. It was cold outside, and it wasn't getting any warmer. He didn't know this man. And he hadn't walked his dog tonight yet, either.
“Sounds good.” He decided.
An hour of mindless sketching went by, short doodles to get a handle on the shape of the blossoms, little thumbnail sketches of possible final products, enough to go by for his more finalised illustration for the client’s consideration. The florist had been kind enough to give him a stool to sit on, so that he could comfortably look from the drawing to the real thing. At the moment, he sat in front of the white and pink collection, examining the anemone; considering one of the keywords his client gave him was ‘winter,’ something white and soft looking like the anemone would fit well.
It took a few moments before the floral scent beside him overwhelmed the artist’s tunnelvision and Hazard noticed that the shopkeeper was peering over his shoulder. Hazard looked over at the man, “That my signal to leave?” He joked.
“No,” the man chuckled, “I just wanted to admire your work, is all.”
Hazard clicked the pen closed, lest it dry out, “Not like it's finished, anyway. Just doodles.”
“If your ‘doodles’ are this breathtaking, I fear I wouldn't survive seeing any of your complete works.” He smirked, leaning on his hand.
“Dunno ‘bout that. I survived seeing you, after all.”
In response, the florist chuckled and tried to shield his face with his hand, yet failed to cover the pink dusting his cheeks. His laugh lacked malice, instead full of an infectious joy. His smile spread to Hazard, in what he could only assume was the world’s dopiest grin.
Before the shopkeeper could respond, he was interrupted by a ringtone. He rolled his eyes, “Just a minute.”
A short phone conversation ensued, in which someone who Hazard assumed to be the florist’s roommate chided him for working late despite having promised to make dinner that evening. He wound up ending the conversation in a repetition of the word “sorry.”
“Again,” The florist repeated for the nth timе as he hung his apron up on a hook near the workdesk, replacing it with a knee-length brown trenchcoat. He wore a white button-up under a beige patterned sweater vest, both somehow still clean after a day of working with dirt. “I'm deeply sorry I can't let you stay any longer.”
“Eh, don't sweat it. I got a few good sketches outta it, more than enough to work with.” Hazard shrugged, waiting next to the door for the shopkeeper.
The man across from him wrapped a scarf around his neck, approaching the front door. He sighed, “and we were just beginning to have fun.”
Hazard was grateful for the soberingly cold gust of wind that hit him when he opened the door before he said something stupid. He held it open for the florist, “Guess we gotta wait ‘till next time then, eh?”
His phone buzzed, a text from his neighbour lit up the screen; “Make your dog shut up before I do,” it read.
That was Maisie for you, ever the drama queen. But his neighbour wasn't anything to joke about either - a scary ginger woman who he was convinced was up to something very illegal in that lab of hers. Evidenceless, the best he could do was make sure she didn’t run experiments on his dog.
“I gotta get going, dog’s gone haywire.” He huffed a laugh, pointing behind himself.
The florist smiled, lighting up the dim street. “I'll be looking forward to ‘next time,’ then.”
----
'Next time’ came at the farmer's market.
Niran often found himself there, given the fact he often volunteered in helping with the harvest before he opened his shop. Additionally, it was a great place to get organic groceries. This year, however, he came selling his own goods; he'd set up a little stall nearby the produce section, not far from the ceramics stall and only a short walk away from the antiques section, so that he could maybe pick something shiny up for Satya as bribery - her food was always better and his favourite show was on tonight.
Wrapping a potted strawberry plant in clear plastic and tying it off with a red ribbon, he smiled at the customer, “Make sure they get enough sun,” he instructed. As he waved goodbye to them, Niran fished his phone from his pocket and checked the time. He'd been standing here in the still-blistering early September sun (thanks a lot, global warming) for 4 hours now. Recalling the sweet lady from the neighboring stall’s offer of watching over his goods if he were to take a break, he decided retreating to the better-shaded food carts and the vintage sellers with tarps over their stock for a bit wouldn't do any harm.
Niran looked around as he traversed the market, now having a chance to see shops that weren't there when he first arrived and began setting up. It being the weekend, it was busier than usual, as to be expected. Some faces he recognised, others could have been tourists for all he knew. Among the crowd of volunteers behind the counter of the pastry stand, one stood out; a man with bleach blond hair and a neck tattoo covering a startling amount of area. It dawned on Niran as the man handed him his cup of lemonade with a mechanical arm; it was the same man who visited his shop a few days prior. The guy he definitely embarrassed himself in front of. Oh well, not every day can go well, can it?
He wore a white button-up shirt and a pink apron instead of the all-black getup Niran assumed was his regular attire. Pink and white were a good decision, though, given how hot it would get in pure black clothes. And, additionally, the colors suited him well.
“Thank you,” Niran said, handing the man a fistful of coins.
A lopsided smile spread over the man’s face when he met Niran's eyes, “Oi, you're the guy from the flower shop.”
“I am,” he smiled. “You work here too?”
“Yeah. Friend runs this spot to raise money for fundraisers,” before he could continue, a girl with dark green hair from the opposite end of the booth, the side selling donuts, suddenly appeared at his side, almost as though she had teleported. “This year, we're supporting a dog shelter.” She said, her grin as bright as her orange uniform t-shirt, a vastly different outfit to what the blonde man was wearing. She must’ve tricked him - given the mischievous glint in her eye, that seemed likely. “Friend of yours?” she asked, nodding toward Niran.
He hesitated, probably due to them not even knowing each other's names. “Sure, yeah. Runs a flower shop on my street.” Niran smiled at the girl, waving.
The girl snorted, “You? In a flower shop? Why?”
“Homework for a tattoo I’m doin’,” he responded.
She rested one of her arms on his shoulder, and used another to check her phone, clearly losing interest in the conversation, “Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
“Why aren’tcha workin’?” He inquired, shooing the green haired girl off of himself.
She instead leaned over the counter, sprawling like a housecat with no care in the world. “I’m on break.”
He looked around the stall, noticing two other young adults had joined them, for the next shift, presumably. “We’ve got the same shifts.”
“I know..?” she lowered her phone, shooting him an exasperated look.
The man untied his apron and haphazardly folded it, tossing it on an empty spot atop the counter. “Right, I’m off then.”
He rounded the far side of the counter as he approached Niran, who had just been standing there during the exchange, spectating like this was one of the soap operas Satya hated to admit she loved. “Wanna look around?” The man asked him with a bright smile.
“I’d be delighted.”
“Y’aren’t gonna murder me, right?”
Niran chuckled, “Of course not. There would be too many witnesses.”
“S’pose so.” The man grinned back. “What's on the agenda ‘till then?”
“Well, my roommate is quite fond of antiques, so I thought I might get her a gift,” he explained.
“As an apology for last week?”
Niran shook his head, “Because I really can't be bothered to make dinner tonight.” He looked at the other man sheepishly.
“Bribing our friends, are we?” he joked in mock-disapproval.
Niran smiled. “I love Satya, I really do, but I'm nowhere near as organised as her. Nor am I as good at cooking. Do you have any roommates?” He asked, attempting to further the conversation.
“Nah. Unless y’count my dog. You got any pets?”
“No,” Niran started, taking a moment to think. “I do like animals. But most aren't compatible with the amount of houseplants I keep. Also, it'd take Satya a while to acclimate to one, I presume. Maybe someday, when we no longer depend on each other for rent.” He looked over to the man walking beside him.
It was strange. He hadn't known him long, yet conversation flowed easily. As though it was no different to breathing.
“May I see your dog?” Niran asked.
The vintage aisle of the market long forgotten, they stood under the shady end of a stall, scrolling through a seemingly unending album of dog photos, the owner of said dog animatedly telling a little anecdote to each.
At a certain point he slowed down. “I'm not botherin’ ya’, am I?”
“Of course not.” Niran reassured. “Although… Your break might be over soon.” He added.
The other man’s palm met his face. No elaboration was needed on the universal gesture for “FUCK!”
He heaved out a heavy sigh. “Right, well, good luck with your antique shopping!” He said, turning back towards the food stalls.
“Wait!” Niran called out, just as the man turned. “I don't think I caught your name.”
He turned back around. “Findlay. But most folks call me Hazard these days. And you?”
Niran smiled. “Quite the hazardous title. But I suppose a rose by any name is just as sweet.” He extended a hand for the other - Hazard - to shake. “My name is Niran.”
Taking Niran’s extended hand in his mechanical one - which was surprisingly warm - Hazard chuckled. “Quoting Shakespeare? Take me out to dinner first.”
“We're much past the proper order of things. I've met your dog already, you've indirectly met my roommate.” He trailed off. “All before our first date.”
Niran reached into his back pocket and extracted a business card for his store from it - upon which his phone number was written, of course.
Hazard gave a sideways smile, his left eye crinkling with it. “You implying you'd like one?”
Niran leaned closer. “I suppose I am.” He slipped the card into the breastpocket of Hazard’s uniform shirt, planting a kiss on his cheek before stepping away.
“Text me. We can work out the details later. You should get back to your stall.”
----
Hazard approached the stand, rubbing his cheek and feeling as giddy as a schoolchild. Fitting nicely into the metaphor, Kiriko stood with her arms crossed over her chest, looking a lot like a disappointed parent. “What took you so long?”
In response, he reached into his pocket, fishing out the business card and shoving it in the younger woman’s face. “I got his number.” He gloated.
“Dude…!” Kiriko looked from the card to Hazard and back again, pride and wide-grinned glee on her face. “DUDE!” She repeated, shaking his shoulders back and forth. “You planned a date yet?”
Hazard retracted his hands and pocketed the card again. “Nah… We just agreed we should go on one.”
“Still!” Kiriko gave a playful punch to his upper arm. “Go Haz!”
The two returned to their stations, but of course Kiriko didn’t last long before growing bored. “So…” She said, leaning on the counter with her back to the customers - or at least where they’d usually be. The evening would soon be upon them, most vendors and visitors had cleared up. “Where’re you gonna take him?”
Hazard turned to look at her. “Uh… I haven’t thought about it.”
She stared at him for a moment. “Nope.” She decided. “Pull up a chair. We’re planning your date with flowerboy.”
They both grabbed a serving of donuts and lemonade before sitting down across from each other within the booth. Kiriko sat cross-legged on hers, using the backboard as an armrest. “So, what can you tell me about Niran?”
He considered for a moment, tapping his fingers against his chair. “He likes flowers. He’s close with his roommate. He says he’s not as organised as her, but after a whole day of working with flowers, his clothes still look clean as new. So he’s probably a fancy lad…”
“So, snazzy expensive restaurant?” Kiriko suggested.
Hazard shook his head. “Nah. Not that fancy.”
“Ooh, how ‘bout a café?” Kiriko fired back. “There's this one spot I love. They've got tons of plants… It's real cozy. My girlfriend took me there once. I'll send you the location.”
Hazard took the first chance to steer the conversation away from himself, “How’s that going, anyway? With your girlfriend?”
Luckily, Kirko didn't seem to mind, and elaborated on her own romantic escapades for the rest of their shift.
“Thank you for bringing us here. This place is lovely.” Niran commented as the waiter brought in their drinks.
The time had passed all too quickly. Before Hazard knew it, he was panicking over whether or not his hair looked good enough, sending picture after picture of his outfit options to Kiriko. The schoolchild metaphor was holding strong.
But all the while, Hazard got the sense he was forgetting something.
He and Niran now sat across from each other, the warm light turning the florist’s blonde hair the color of gold. The walls of the café were lined with wood panneling, decorated with various fancy looking trinkets. Whatever remained of the daylight outside bled through the curtains, although it admittedly wasn't much, due to the rainy weather. The café provided a pleasantly cozy atmosphere, and Hazard found himself glad he'd trusted Kiriko, despite how much of a gamble it was. The place smelled of warm spices, likely from the apple pie on the bartop, or perhaps from the various spices they added to thier teas. Though it did seem strange, he appreciated the creativity, and had found himself considering trying one of their specials.
Hazard explained, “Kiriko recommended it. It was either gonna be a dumpster or the most brilliant spot.”
“Oh, is she that girl with the green hair from the farmer's market?” Niran asked. “How did you two come to meet?”
“Been so long I don't even remember.” He laughed. “She's like a sister to me, these days. How'd you and your roommate meet?”
Niran rested his head on his arm. “We were roommates in college. But even after I dropped out, and she graduated, we kept living together.”
“You dropped out?”
“Yes,” Niran said with a slight nod. “I was studying architecture, same as Satya, but it wasn't as much my calling as it was hers. I'm considering trying again, though. Biology sounds interesting, but Botany sounds fun as well. Biomedicine too, but I worry that there'll be less plants and animals than I expect.” He spoke enthusiastically, a flowy hand gesture going with every other word. “What did you major in in college?”
“Och, I didn’t go.” Hazard replied plainly. “Couldn’a scraped up enough money if I wanted to. Ended up working in construction for a while.”
Niran hummed. “So how did you end up opening your shop?” As he asked, he moved his hand over across the table and placed it atop Hazard’s.
Hazard replied, “Well, I’ve always liked drawing, I never really saw it as a career option, though. After the accident, checks covered cost of living just fine, so I got the chance to dream. I thought, ‘Tattoos are pretty brilliant, I should try doin’ ‘em!’ And, I was good, at least that's what my pals said. Whole lotta paperwork later, I’ve got myself a shop.”
Somewhere between the alcohol and the romantic gestures, Hazard must’ve been hit by a wave of adrenaline. But honestly, he didn’t quite mind rambling. Not when Niran was looking at him like that, with those warm brown eyes that confirmed to him without a shred of doubt that he cared.
Hazard coughed, regaining composure as best he could. “How ‘bout yours?”
“The same goes for me, honestly.” he chuckled. “I've always liked plants. I just regret that I only had the idea of opening a flower shop recently.” He paused, taking a sip from his drink.
“Speaking of business, how did that tattoo you mentioned the evening we met turn out?” Niran asked.
“Don't think I've done it yet. Hold on,” Hazard checked the calendar app on his phone. “Yeah, that tattoo’s booked for this Friday, the 3rd.”
Niran nodded. “In any case, I'm sure your client will love it.” Then, something dawned on him. “Did you say the 3rd?”
“Yeah.”
“Meaning today is the 1st.”
“Yeah.”
Niran retracted his arm, burying his face in his palm. He made a frustrated noise.
“What's wrong?” Hazard asked the other man.
With a sigh, Niran lifted his head up. “I forgot my friend's birthday party was today.”
So that's what Hazard felt he was forgetting.
“Is her name Ashe?” He asked.
Niran looked taken aback. He blinked. “Yes. How did you know?”
Hazard smiled sheepishly. “I might've been invited too.”
Niran chuckled, holding a hand to his mouth. Hazard found himself giggling, too. Before long they'd devolved into hysterical laughter, probably disturbing the other patrons.
“Say,” Niran started as their laughter died down, “How about we take this date elsewhere?”
“Like where?”
“Like Ashe's birthday. Before we miss it altogether.”
----
Perhaps the last thing Ashe expected to interrupt her birthday party was her two no-show friends, looking like they'd run a marathon in the pouring rain. Niran’s expensive winter coat was soaked in rain and draped over Hazard’s shoulders. Niran didn't look any better, though; he was shivering violently and his white button-up shirt had turned translucent.
But the two of them were laughing, clinging to each other for support as though they'd be rolling around in hysteria otherwise. They looked like they were having the time of their lives, standing there on her doorstep, looking like the happiest pair of homeless people Ashe had ever seen.
And you know what? She'd be happy for them. If they weren't an hour late to the festivities, definitely in the process of catching a nasty cold, soaking wet, and about to track mud all over her carpet.
“What the hell happened to you two?”