Work Text:
The chime above the door of "The Gilded Petal" usually announced a gentle ingress, a whisper of wind or the soft tread of a shoe. Today, it shrieked as the door opened and then quickly snapped closed again.
Alexander Claremont-Diaz, or really, Alex to Henry, usually radiating a sort of confident, boisterous warmth, stormed in with the fury of a hurricane. His usually bright eyes were narrowed slits, his jaw was clenched so tight Henry could practically hear the grinding of molars and his curls were ruffled as if he’d run his hands through them a thousand times.
Henry, mid-way through carefully arranging a cascade of deep purple irises, froze, a greeting dying on his lips, seeing the thunderous expression Alex wore. It wasn’t the first time he’d been graced with that look.
After finishing his degree, he had decided that while New York was wondrous in its own way, he hadn’t had enough of the States. His father had often been over here and if it wasn’t for the UK side of the business that kept his mother busy, Henry would have sworn she would have enjoyed being here as he did between movie shoots. Alas, it was not her that gave him those looks frequently when he was back over home, as she was usually on some sort of botanical retreat or field trip when he did find the time. His grandmere was, however, the purveyor of not just the florals, but disapproval, her pronouncements on the family’s centuries-old UK business possibly able to curdle milk at fifty paces and Henry’s stomach contents should he stay longer than required.
Her ghost, in the form of sternly worded letters, emails through the various managerial hierarchy and exasperated sighs when in the same room, often seemed to hover over his pristine, sun-drenched shop in the heart of Washington, forever leaving a cloud over it.
His customers usually fixed that. Alex, especially.
Alex, from the moment Henry had set up here, moved in upstairs and earned the trust of his suppliers, was a fixture in the shop, a regular as reliable as the sunrise. He’d been one of Henry’s first, and most challenging, clients, a university law student and First Son of the United States (something which Henry was privy to, but refused to care about as just because someone was important didn’t mean they needed to be treated like royalty; his father had done the same, despite being famous himself) that meant he came with a swagger that turned Henry off at first.
He’d initially found Alex’s persistent, slightly overwhelming presence irritating. Alex, with his loud opinions on floral arrangements (“No, no, no, Henry, roses are basic. They’re the beige of flowers. I need something with pizzazz!”) and his uncanny ability to spot a wilting petal from across the room, had chipped away at Henry’s reserve with sheer, unadulterated persistence.
Now, the irritation had long since morphed into a genuine, albeit sometimes exasperating, friendship, bordering on something more than Henry couldn’t place. However, right now, that placement and his feelings over it took a backseat as Alex, chest puffed, made it to the counter, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He slammed a crumpled piece of paper onto the polished wood, narrowly missing a delicate arrangement of peonies that Henry had just made for a customer and was about to take to the cool room.
“Alexander?” Henry asked, his voice softer than he intended, a stark contrast to the storm brewing around him. “What’s wrong?”
“Just- just look at it Fox.” Alex’s voice was rough, barely concealing his inner monologue.
Henry, as told, carefully picked up the slip of paper, his brow furrowing as he unfolded it. It was an invitation, embossed with elegant, swirly script. His eyes scanned the names. He didn’t recognise the bride’s name, but the groom’s name - Liam - stood out like a brand on the arse of a steer. Liam. The ex. The one Alex had spoken about in not so candid tones and whose shadow, Henry suspected, loomed larger than any of Alex’s many lovers since.
“They’re getting married.” Alex stated, his voice a low growl. “The bride’s one of Nora’s friends, so I know what they’re doing, inviting me. It’s a fucking brag. They’re laughing in my face cause I can’t keep a relationship down.” He scoffed, a harsh, humourless sound. “Can you fucking believe the audacity? After everything.”
Henry felt a pang of sympathy at that. He knew Alex had been rather noncommittal, as people with divorced parents are, but Alex’s current demeanor was far beyond mere hurt over a simple, albeit not great, joke. This was pure righteous fury, another Alex emotion that Henry had only seen once, but knew it fueled his very being some days.
“So, because of that-” Alex continued, his eyes locking onto Henry’s, a dangerous glint in them. “- I need a gift and it’s going to be flowers. Flowers that scream ‘fuck you’ loud enough to be heard on Mars. Flowers that will make Liam and her regret every single decision they’ve made in the last 7 months and their current life choices. Flowers that say, ‘I’m here, I’m fabulous, and you royally screwed up.’” He leaned forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “What have you got, Henry? Something with thorns, maybe? Something… disgustingly passive-aggressive? Work with me here.”
Henry, despite the gravity of Alex’s request and the undeniable sting of his ex’s invitation, felt a flicker of amusement. This was Alex, after all, in his most potent, Vesuvius-about-to-erupt form and while Henry could have refused, calmed Alex down and talked it through with him (something that had happened a few times since they got to know each other), something inside said otherwise and he looked at the invitation again, calculating.
He knew exactly what to do.
“Passive-aggressive, you say?” Henry murmured, Alex watching as he took the peonies from earlier and stashed them in his order cabinet before he walked towards his back room, the scent of damp earth and blooming life clinging to him. Alex followed, his footsteps heavy behind him as Henry rummaged through a cooler, his fingers tracing the velvety leaves of various specimens. He pulled out a few stems, holding them up for Alex’s inspection.
“We start with the obvious-” Henry said, presenting a bunch of deep red tulips. “-these are classic, but with a certain undeniable intensity. ‘I’m here, and I’m not afraid of a little drama.’”
Alex grunted, unimpressed. “Too pretty. Too… romantic.”
“Patience, Alexander.” Henry said, a small smile flickering across his face. He then produced a handful of bright orange lilies, their pollen dusting his fingers and leaving them a little golden as he placed them under his arms with the tulips carefully. “These are rather bold like the tulips, but they’re unapologetic. They say, ‘I’m here to make a statement, and I don’t care if I’m a little overwhelming.’”
Alex’s eyes narrowed, a hint of interest sparking. “Better. What else?”
Henry continued his curated selection, producing a cluster of vibrant fuchsia carnations, their ruffled edges almost defiant and thriving. “These say, ‘You thought I’d wilt? Think again.’ Something that tells someone that the mistake they’d thought they made turned out for the better, only for the person giving the flowers, not receiving.”
Then, he brought out a few stalks of spiky, vibrant blue thistle. “-and these-” He said, his voice taking on a theatrical flourish, his accent making it even more so. “- are for pure, unadulterated spite. Unexpected in an arrangement and frankly, a little prickly. The floral equivalent of a perfectly timed eye-roll or shot of disdain.”
Alex’s lips quirked. “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Bring it on home, Hen.”
“As you wish.” Henry then unveiled his pièce de résistance. Beautiful, crimson gladiolus, its sword-like blooms reaching towards the ceiling. “The grand finale.” He announced confidently. “Gladiolus. It means strength, integrity, and… well, frankly, it means ‘I’m coming for you.’ Plus, the name just sounds vaguely menacing, doesn’t it?”
Quickly placing all the blooms on his workbench, Henry artfully and quickly assembled the bouquet, wrapping it in a blood red ribbon before presenting it to Alex. It was a riot of color and texture: the deep reds of the tulips, the fiery oranges of the lilies, the defiant fuchsia of the carnations, the sharp, almost aggressive blue of the thistle, and the soaring crimson gladiolus standing proud, surrounded by lush greenery that didn’t distract, but complemented.
It was undeniably beautiful, but also undeniably powerful. It wasn’t a bouquet of apologies or well wishes. It was a declaration of intent, of undercurrent feelings and of pure, utter carelessness for the situation it was going to be brought into. It was a Trojan horse of flowers.
Alex, for his part, stared at it, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. He reached out and touched one of the velvety soft petals of a gladiolus. “Henry,” he said, his voice laced with a newfound amusement. “You are a goddamn genius.”
Henry felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the Washington summer sun. “Just doing my job, Alexander. I expect that this might be interpreted as a declaration of war.”
“I will be so honored if it is.” Alex’s voice was practically dripping with sarcasm as he paid for the bouquet (seemingly not caring about the price as spite apparently had no credit card limit) and clutched it in his hands like a battle axe, his anger seemingly diffused, replaced by a gleeful anticipation.
As he turned to leave, he paused at the door. “Thank you, Henry. Seriously.” He said, his voice softer now. “This… this is perfect. You really know how to handle a crisis. You should become a therapist.”
“If I didn’t need my own one, I might consider it.” Henry simply smirked, getting a barking laugh out of Alex, as well as a look, a complex mix of gratitude and something else that made Henry’s heart flutter in place, before he disappeared into the bright afternoon.
Although Henry didn’t want to say it, the next few days were relatively quiet in "The Gilded Petal." Despite having a steady stream of people come through (most wanting flowers of several different occasions, others just wanting table arrangements; they were always the most egregious customers, Henry found), he found his thoughts wandering, stuck as to how Alex’s ex’s wedding had gone and if his floral ‘fuck you’ Henry had crafted for him had landed.
Then, a week later, the chime above the door sounded and the familiar footfalls of rather expensive Hermes boots already made Henry’s heart race as he looked up, his heart giving an uncharacteristic lurch.
As he suspected, it was Alex, but this Alex was different. The storm from the previous week had completely subsided, his shoulders far more relaxed than before. His curls were neatly in place, he was wearing a crisp, light blue shirt under a jacket, and his eyes, usually so full of restless energy, were calmer than normal - despite that spark still being there easily. There was also a sheepishness to his smile, a vulnerability that Henry hadn't seen before, despite having seen Alex in different moods on occasion.
“Hey,” Alex said, approaching the counter. He held a small, unassuming gift bag in his hand that, as he came closer, Henry could pick up the scent of old pages and something vaguely medicinal that he was familiar with from his literary degree.
“Alexander.” Henry greeted, his own voice betraying a slight nervousness. “How was…?”
“Oh, it was great.” Alex interrupted, smirking and waving a hand dismissively. “The flowers were a hit. As soon as I placed them on the table, Liam almost choked on his champagne and looked like he’d seen a ghost. He and her couldn’t look me in the eye the entire afternoon, so, mission accomplished. Thanks for that again, by the way.” He looked down, nervously fiddling with his fingers. “That’s not why I’m here, though.”
“Okay…?” Henry tilted his head, waiting.
Alex took a deep breath. “Look, Henry, I know this might be… out of the blue and you’re probably going to think I’m completely insane for coming here after what I asked for last week, but honestly, a lot has happened since then. That ‘fuck you’ bouquet you made? It was… therapeutic. It helped me close a door. It also made me realise that I kind of…got something right here that I want to jump on before it possibly gets away from me.”
Henry’s breath hitched. Was he imagining this? “Oh?”
“You’re not just ‘the guy who sells me flowers’, Henry,” Alex continued, his voice gaining a quiet confidence. “You’re… you. My friend. You’re smart, and you’re funny, and you have this incredible way of understanding what people need, even when they don’t know it themselves. You’re the only person who can make me feel like I can be completely ridiculous and also like I can be entirely myself. Most people don’t like me that way, but you don’t care.”
He held out the gift bag. “This is, uh, for you. It’s a first edition of that book you were telling me about. The one about the Victorian botanical artists.”
Henry’s eyes widened. He’d mentioned that book in passing, weeks ago, a casual aside about his grandmother’s disapproval of his American ‘distractions’. “Oh, Alex, you didn’t have to-”
“I wanted to,” Alex insisted. He pushed the bag gently towards Henry, who took it like it was a holy relic, barely stopping for breath as Alex continued talking. “I was also hoping…using the gift as possibly a bit of bribery, that maybe you’d consider letting me take you out for dinner sometime? Not as a customer, but…like on a date?”
Henry almost dropped the book in shock, but managed to swallow it back, the only indication of being affected by Alex’s words being a tremor in his hands before he unpaused and stumbled forward, his fingers brushing Alex’s gently.
“I…I usually close up around 5:30. Perhaps you can come back then? I’ve heard that there is a new seafood restaurant only a few blocks away that’s been getting amazing reviews.”
“Wow, fish and chips?” Alex grinned, laughing a little, Henry’s cheeks pinkening at the teasing tone. “You are such a Brit, sweetheart. I don’t know how you’ve lasted in the capital this long.”
“Same as you, dear. Though spite and questionable decisions.” Henry sassed back easily, making Alex clutch his stomach as he howled, a grin blooming (ha!) across his own face as Alex looked at him lovingly, a warm glow spreading from outside where it rested on the windows to wrap them both in a haze of light.
And Henry felt like like unfolding his petals for once to let it in.