Hey guys!! Sorry for updating so late this weekend, I completely forgot to write. Bad news is, I went roller skating with some friends, which, while it was insanely fun, I slipped and fell right on my ass and bruised my tail bone. That's just my luck. Now, it hurts to move hella and im stuck on my laptop in my bedroom. Rip me. But at least now im being forced to write!!
*Viktor
I stared at the flower in the base, smiling fondly at its white petals and golden center. My cheeks were flushed a light red as they have been for the past several hours since the single flower was delivered to my house. A small letter was attached, with a simple question written out in bold, black ink in careful cursive:
Will these do? xx ~Y
Chris was rushing past me with large boxes in his hands and a stressed look across his usually-carefree and relaxed face. His glasses were slipping off the edge of his nose and his brows were pulled together in concentration as he shoved the boxes into another worker's arms, suddenly being replaced by a clipboard and a phone being pressed up against his ear.
"No," he says sassily into the speaker, "I said white. This is an all-white wedding, and how the hell is that going to fit in if the cake is bright green? You're sick. Get me the cake- all white, pearly and perfect- by 5. No exceptions. I'm hanging up." The woman holding the phone to Chris' ear quickly pulls it away and rushes to speak into the phone before the baker could really hanging up, apologizing for Chris' attitude. He's always like this right before the wedding. Anxiety is let out by anger. Worry by stress. I'm surprised he hasn't gotten any permanent worry-lines wrinkled across his forehead after everything he's been through.
He checks and signs three things on the paper in front of him, and when he catches my eye, quickly shoves the papers away and storms over to me. An easy smile fills my dazed features and I look up at him, saying, "Hi, Chris. Lovely day, isn't it?"
"Viktor," he sighs, pinching his temples, "I swear to god. This wedding is in less than 24 hours and we need to get it running! What are you- is that from the flower shop?" He looks at the vase sitting in front of me. I smile, dazed, at the flower and rest my chin on my hand.
"Mhm," I draw out, "isn't it pretty?" Chris nods, and leans closer to inspect the small flower. He seems to have a million thoughts running around his brain, like where to arrange them, are they too small, how many would we need, does the bride's flower crown need to be changed to one with these? Only one went through mine:
The cute boy from the flower shop six blocks away wrote "xx" on a card for me, and gave me a daisy.
Chris leans down to touch the flower's petals, and I quickly slap his hand away. Chris gives me a dumb-founded look, before rolling his eyes and patting my shoulder. "You know he's only sending them for the wedding's money, right?" I gasped dramatically, placing my hand over my heart.
"Can't a man dream?" I ask him, turning my attention back to the flower.
"Tell him these will do, and go purchase however many you can get with this," Chris says, handing me a neatly-tied wad of cash. I nod dreamily.
Chris groans and turns back to his job, rushing off somewhere else, to yell at somebody else.
I happily jump from my seat and shrug on my overcoat on top of my navy sweater. I run my fingers through my silver hair and dash out of the building, grabbing the flower out of the vase and securing it in my hand on the way.
Walking six blocks has never felt so long before, I had realized. It seemed as if I had been trembling down the sidewalk with a bright blush and a light, small and tight smile for hours. Suddenly, though, my feet stopped me as the pastel "open" sign of the small flower shop was smacking me, right in the face.
I took a deep breath, taking in the soft and happy aroma of the shop, and walked in. The bell above my head chimed my arrival as a small, flustered boy's head whirled toward me.
His name was Yuuri.
He was running his friend's flower shop for a few months while they were in Russia, as I had learned. He was going to be returning back to Japan soon.
Dark, raven hair was pushed up his forehead and held back by flowers of Olympic gold, red wine, and piano-key white. His cream apron was stained with dirt, and a nametag pinned to his blue-collared shirt printed out his name in messy cursive. Katsuki Yuuri. He saw me and a flushed smile pinned against his cheeks, and he quickly scrambled over to me. His boyfriend jeans were rolled up at the end and his feet were bare, a few leaves and spots of dirt coating them. Yuuri pushed up his glasses up his nose, and smiled at me shyly. "Hi, Mr. Nikiforov," he said to me, taking my large hand in his small one. I looked at his long, delicate fingers as the could barely wrap halfway around my palm.
He was so, so, so beautiful.
"Hello, Mr. Katsuki. And, please, call me Viktor." His cheeks went red and he laughed a small bit before saying,
"Oh please, call me Yuuri then, Viktor."
"My boss, Chris, wanted me to inform you that the daisies will fit perfectly for the wedding," I said as we strolled through the different bouquets of flowers. I clutched the one I received from him in my left palm, behind my coat.
"Oh, that's wonderful. I was hoping you'd like them, you know- I mean- I was hoping they'd be okay-er," Yuuri fumbled on his words and look away in embarrassment, making me laugh.
"Here," I say, handing him the cash, "get me how many ever this amount will cost."
He stares widely at the bills, flipping them back and mumbling numbers to himself under his breath. His chocolate eyes were focused and intense as he counted in his head, and I had no problem waiting for him to finish. He was so, so, so pretty.
"This is going to be a lot... a lot of daisies," Yuuri says, looking up at me. I think for a second, before a small idea pops into my head and I smile. Taking the wad of cash back from the boy, I take out a few bills and return it back to him.
"We can use this," I wave the bills in front of his face, "on our date this Saturday." He blushes immensely, but before he can stutter out a response, I move past him.
"Let's get these daisies, yeah?" I smile.
Before I leave him again, I leave the daisy, along with a phone number, on the front counter.
/ten months later/
"Yuuri!" I called out his name, raising my hand in the air as high as it could go as I catch a glimpse of raven hair in a crowd of people escaping from the bus.
He looks toward me, his cheeks flushed and his eyes still bright from Japan's city lights and wrapped in a light blue kimono and ripped, light blue boyfriend jeans. The second our eyes met, it felt as if he hadn't left Russia for seven months, and I was just picking him up for our usual Saturday-night date. He wore daisies in his hair.
He ran toward me then, ditching his rubber flip flops behind and sprinting toward me barefoot. As he ran, I watched in slow motion as petals of white daisies ran through the locks of his hair and into the small town, spring sky. He formed a huge smile, and then, he was in my arms, off the ground.
"Mr. Katsuki," I greeted into his hair, taking a moment to breathe in the smell of .
He kissed my lips and placed a daisy behind my ear. "Mr. Nikiforov," he smiled back.
