Chapter Text
Tommy Doesn't know how he got here.
He's surrounded by bright colors that never seem to become too much. He's surrounded by hundreds of leaves and stems and petals. He's surrounded by what seems like a million different smells.
Most importantly he's surrounded by life.
He really isn’t sure how he got here. He thinks he scored the job out of pity. A lonely foster kid showed up at a flower shop, the only thing in his hands being an old book he had of different flowers and what they stand for? He definitely got the job out of pity.
Not that he’s complaining. In this scenario? The pity is welcome.
The pity has him currently elbow-deep in a pot of soil and flowers. They aren’t quite ready to be put on display yet, but they really need to be switched to a new pot so they can grow easier. Which is what he’s doing. Right now.
When the ding indicating a new person had entered rang through the shop, Tommy didn’t bother to look up. Most everyone that came to the store was a regular. They would go off for a few minutes, grab what they needed, and then Tommy would deal with them. Even if they aren’t a regular, they still like to go off and search for what they need first rather than ask about it. Or at the very least wait for him to be done transporting fragile flowers.
Ding!
This guy needs to get with the fucking program.
Ding ding ding!
He looks up, “Can I help you?” and then, “What the fuck are you wearing?”
Ah. There goes the pity job.
The man stares at him, hand still on the small bell, for a solid 3 seconds before something akin to a scowl forms on his face, “The hell do you mean “What are you wearing”!?”
“Maybe the fact that it’s the middle of summer and you’re wearing a fucking floor-length trenchcoat? Dumbass.”
Really, the job was nice while it lasted. Niki’s a really great boss, but there’s no way she’s gonna let him get away with this one. Maybe he can try saying that the dude was being a Karen? She’s let him get away with cursing out a Karen before. It might work.
“What the- you’re literally a child!” Trench coat bitch yells, crossing his arms.
He squawks, “I am not a fuckin’ child! You’re just a bitch with shitty hair and a trench coat!” He is definitely not going to get away with this one.
“You look like you’re fifteen!”
“I’m seventeen, Dickhead!”
“You are- you are still a child.” He explains, looking dumbfounded.
“You are simply wrong,” Tommy states, pouting. He is really just not helping his case in the slightest.
“You know what? I came here for flowers. Can I get flowers?”
Tommy scowls as he pulls his hands out of the potting soil, making sure to flick some at the weird trench coat man. He ignores the offended yell as he reaches under the counter, pulling out a large binder that lists all of the flowers they have in the shop. “Well I would fuckin’ hope so considering the fact that that’s basically the only damn thing this shop sells. Pick some.”
The man across from him pauses, “Uh, I made an order.”
“We don’t do orders.”
“Niki said it was fine? I called her like- last week.”
That makes Tommy pause, “You know my boss?”
“It’s Niki. Everyone knows Niki.”
Any last hopes he had of keeping this job are gone. He’s fucked. He may as well just walk out of the store. There’s no point anymore.
“..Can I get a name for the order?” Maybe if he’s just really polite for the rest of the transaction he won't have to find a Wendy’s to work at.
“Wilbur.”
Nevermind.
“What kind of name is “Wilbur”? Who looks at a baby and goes “Ah, yes! You shall be Wilbur!” I’m going to call you Bitch Boy instead. It fits better.” Tommy states as he digs around the windowsills behind the counter, looking for anything that might have this dude's name on it.
Wilbur wheezes, “How is Bitch Boy a better name to give to a baby? Would you look at a baby and name it that?” He asks, clutching his chest.
Tommy hums, “Yes. Yes I would. It is a much better name than Wilbur.” His face lights up when he finds a bundle of flowers, a small name tag with the single word “Wilbur” written on it.
He quickly marks it out and writes “bitch boy” instead. Without capital letters. Nobody named Wilbur deserves capital letters.
He lays the bouquet on the counter, doing a quick but efficient check of every flower to ensure that none of them are wilted or damaged.
“Roses and baby’s breath?” Tommy asks, confused.
“My brother hates them. He says they’re too basic. So, naturally, I bought a ton of them and I’m going to put them in random spots so he finds them and gets pissed off over it.”
Tommy blinks, “...That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Right?” Wilbur grins, placing a twenty on the counter as he picks up the flowers, “Is that enough?”
“To much,” Tommy states, reaching for the register, “Give me a second to count out your change-”
“Keep it as a tip,” He says, beginning to walk towards the exit.
Tommy hesitates, “This is a flower shop?”
“Do it anyway.”
And, really, who is Tommy to argue that?
He thought that would be the last time he saw Wilbur. He never saw him before that day, so why would he suddenly start showing up now?
Wilbur proved him wrong when, a week later, he walked through the door.
“Why are you back? Go away.”
Wilbur grins, “What, not excited to see me? Truly, I’m hurt.”
“Stay hurt,” Tommy states, rolling his eyes as he looks back at the shelf he was restocking.
Who the hell is so interested in puke-green mini flower pots that it’s something that needs to be restocked? They don’t even look good with any of the flowers. They’re useless.
He hears Wilbur heave a dramatic sigh behind him, “What, I can’t come to see my favorite worker at my friends store?”
Tommy pauses, blinking in confusion, “I’m the only person that works here? Other than Niki, at least.”
“....My favorite worker in general, then.”
Tommy turns away from the shelf, looking Wilbur in the eyes for only a few seconds before looking away once more. “You don’t even know me. Not in any way that matters, at least.” He remarks, looking down at the flower pot in his hand.
This one has little cactuses on it. It’s cute.
He watches from the corner of his eye as Wilbur shrugs it off like that very important fact doesn’t matter in the slightest.
“I know a few things from Niki and our last talk.” He walks up next to Tommy, seeming to be browsing the shelves, “I know your favorite color is red. I know you don’t take shit from people, even if that makes you curse out customers. I know you have a sense of humor. I know you for some reason won’t admit you’re a child. I know you know more than anyone else about flower language.” He looks down, pointing at the blonds nametag, “And I see right here that your name is Tommy. I’d say that’s a good start.”
Tommy turns away, abandoning the mini flower pots and instead walks towards the desk.
"Did you make an order again or are you just gonna grab some shit?" He mumbles, beginning to look around the windowsills.
Wilbur's silent as Tommy picks up a bouquet of roses and baby's breath. When Tommy turns around, he's giving him a look he can't decipher.
"That'll be-" There's a twenty in front of him before he can blink.
"Keep the change."
"This is a flower shop."
"Do it anyway."
The door closes.
It opens again two days later.
"You're back-"
"My favorite color is blue."
Tommy pauses, looking up at Wilbur in confusion, "What?"
"My favorite color is blue. And I like to sing, and I have a twin brother— the one I buy the flowers for. And, even though I don't know much about flowers, I still make my family stop every time we see them just so I can look at them for more than a few seconds." Wilbur talks with his hands. The gestures get more and more dramatic as he speaks, as if that'll help get his point across.
It does.
"Okay. Okay, I get it," Tommy says, sighing in defeat.
Wilbur pauses, hope flickering in his eyes, "You do?"
Tommy takes a deep breath, "Yeah. I do," he held out his hand, "It's nice to officially meet you, Bitch Boy."
Wilbur laughs as he takes Tommy's hand, "Nice to officially meet you too, Gremlin."
Tommy smiles
Wilbur keeps coming back after that.
"You don't even buy flowers anymore. You just show up."
Wilbur looks up from where he's sitting on the floor, putting whatever he was holding back where he found it, "That's not true. I get that one bundle every Friday."
Tommy pursed his lips, "Yeah, but every other day you show up you don't get anything."
"Oh.. would you like me to?" Wilbur asks, eyebrows raised in confusion.
"What? No, I don't care if you buy shit or not. It's just weird. You're weird. Weird old man."
Wilbur scowls, "I'm twenty-four! That is not old!"
Tommy's about to jump in when Wilbur speaks once more, "Either way, it's not like I need to buy anything if I'm just here to see you."
"What?"
"Did you think I hung around here just to look at miniature gardening tools?"
"...Kinda?" Well now he just feels dumb.
"...Tommy."
"Shut."
"Tommy."
"Shut up. No. Stop talking."
Wilbur wheezes, smacking the floor with his hand, "How did you- are you serious!?"
"HOW WAS I MEANT TO KNOW!?" Tommy yells.
"HOW WERE YOU NOT!?"
Tommy huffs, crossing his arms, "Bitch."
"Child."
He scoffs, "I am not a fuckin' child."
"You're seventeen."
"And you're a liar."
Wilbur blinks, looking like he just ran five red lights and survived all of them, "You told me that yourself?"
"I did not."
"You did?"
"No."
Seven red lights now. This is going well.
"If you can call me old when I'm twenty-four I can call you a child when you're seventeen." He says, crossing his arms.
Tommy pauses, thinking about it for a second, "That.. makes no sense."
"Yes, it does."
"No, it doesn't."
"Does!"
"Doesn't!"
"DOES!"
"DOESN-"
Ding! "Uh, hi? Can I get some help here?"
Tommy turns his head, staring at the woman who just rang the bell. She is not a regular. She is not used to his shit. Whoops.
He clears his throat, "...Yeah. What do you need?"
She smiles nervously, "Just- just this." She places one of those stupid fucking puke-green flower pots on the desk.
He immediately dislikes her.
"..Sure thing." He takes the pot, ringing it up before handing it back to her as she gives him the money for it. She does not wait for her change before leaving.
Wilbur barely lasts for three seconds before he lays on the ground and starts wheezing.
"Shut up." Tommy sneers, face heating up in embarrassment.
"YOU LOOKED SO AWKWARD-"
"Never speak again."
Wilbur lays on the floor dying for a solid minute before he sits back up, "That's the best thing I've ever seen," he says, clutching his chest.
Tommy rolls his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, whatever."
He aimlessly starts kicking his leg back and forth, pausing as he kicks his bag under the counter. A small flower falls off and lands gently on the ground.
He looks between the flower and Wilbur as the man slowly stands up, dusting himself off, "Well, I better head out-"
"Wait!"
Wilbur pauses, looking at Tommy with a raised eyebrow.
Tommy hesitates before leaning down. He picks up the flower, refusing to look Wilbur in the eyes as he holds it out to him, "..You might as well not go home empty-handed this time."
Wilbur grins as he takes the flower, treating it as if it's the most fragile thing he's ever held. "What is it?"
"Antirrhinum. Or snapdragon. Same flower, it's just a different name for it."
He doesn't mention how he grew this specific flower himself. How he looked through his book despite having memorized most of it just to make sure he picked the flower with the perfect meaning.
Wilbur pauses, "Are- are you sure I can just take it? I mean, this is a flower shop."
"Take it anyway."
And, really, he can't argue that.