The Flower Shop Punk [Pastel! Punk! Phan]

Money (1)

"But muuuum!" Daniel mewed to his mother, practically on his knees.

"I haven't any money for you to waste on more shoes!" She says, exasperated by her son's behavior.

Dan wanted new shoes from the 'Chicly Goth' line from Linkin City, but his mum would not give in. He had every pair from the line, and many more to add onto that. Daniel had a blog to run, it being based off of pastel aesthetic. That is the reason he needed the black sneakers with studded heels.

"I have a blog to run! Can't you just spare 50 pounds (I haven't a clue how British money works I'm sorry)?" He whines to his mother, going full on begging-on-the-knees.

Daniel's mother shook her head, sighing tiredly.
"If you need the bloody shoes that bad, get a job." She says after a string of taps of her foot.

Dan rolls his eyes, obviously done begging, and says, "There isn't a place that I can work, you know that!"

Not many Tescos or libraries would hire a teenage boy with a strange haircut and an obsession with flower crowns. He had not many choices to pick from so he stomped up to his room, glaring at the shoes he already had. Dan slid onto his bed, plucking out his pastel pink-and-white high tops and slipping them onto his feet. He stood and dug a small desk lamp out from a box and set it on the ground, angling it to face his shoes, and snapped a couple pictures.

Dan smiled as he saw the perfect photo from the few; lighting perfect, positioning splendid, and resolution outstanding. He quickly went to Tumblr and posted the picture with a snazzy filter and caption, it saying,

The new shoes are on their way!

Though in fact, that was far from true. After the mini photo shoot was over, Dan popped the shoes off and replaced them nearly back in a line with the rest. He then flopped onto his bed, not before letting out a long groan. Why couldn't he just get what he wanted?

PHIL POV

It seemed as if the sweeping was endless, dried, crinkly rose petals sliding roughly across the dirty tiles of the flower shop. Phil sighed and flipped his ebony hair from his sight. He knew owning the shop would be hard work, he just wished he didn't have to do it alone. Not many people would die to be working at a flower shop. The shop was quite small, indeed, though it took a lot for one person to keep it together.

DING!

The bell that hung on the door signaled that a customer had arrived. Phil tossed the dirty broom against a wall and hurried to greet the customer, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Hello, what would you recommend for a er..." The patron began awkwardly. He looked about 16, skinny, had a brown, curly fringe about his head, and mysterious eyes.

"A funeral?" Phil attempted to finish the sentence for him.

"A flower boy..." He finally says. Phil understood exactly why the teenager had felt hesitant to say the reason for the flowers.

"Well, what does the bride like? I would recommend roses, red or white." Phil said calmly, as if nothing had happened.

Phil proceeded to show the brown haired boy to the roses, stacked neatly on a shelf. The teenager thought for a bit and chose a handful of white roses from the rack, a few petals falling in its wake.

"This is all, thank you." He said.

Phil nodded and lead the way back to the register.

"I'll need a name, please." Phil said, grabbing a piece of paper from a small stack beside the register.

"PJ. PJ Liguori." PJ says, slipping Phil the money and hurrying out of the store.