the flower boy.

three.

sam was walking down the faded sidewalk of wyndale square, the centrepiece and where all the small businesses were located in the small town he lived in. he was about to turn the corner to asher blvd., where his small house resided, when he noticed an unfamiliar sign jutting out from the series of stores and cafés lining the pavement.

"barba's floristry," it read, in a flowery, embellished font.

his eyes lit up. sam had never been inside a flower shop, but he reckoned there'd be flowers of every shape, size, and colour. he was giddy with delight at the thought of seeing exotic flowers in pretty vases, all dressed up.

sam made a beeline for the florist's, telling himself that his mother wouldn't mind if he was late. he guessed she would probably prefer if he never came home, period. after all, she had been the one to ask why, oh why did god leave her stuck with this failure of a child.

she hadn't been very happy after sam's dad had died.

the chime of the little bell above the door voiced sam's arrival.

oh, wow.

that was all he could think.

there were flowers upon flowers upon flowers lined up on the shelves; brightly-coloured tulips of red, pink, and lavender, elegant, wine-red roses reserved for only the most special of occasions, tiny, petite daisies, and large, loud sunflowers.

the most wonderful thing wasn't the flowers, of course.

oh no.

it was the smell.

a million different earthy scents collided at once, creating a mixture of flowery goodness. sam swore he could pick out every different floret. he dreamily walked over to a particularly beautiful specimen, little buds of bright yellow climbing up a rich green stem.

sam stared at it for so long he didn't even notice the curly-haired boy come up behind him, waiting for the right moment to whisper in his ear.

"snapdragon."

he nearly jumped out of his skin. sam spun around and was met face-to-face with possibly the prettiest boy he had ever seen in his life. odd, freckly birthmarks speckled his mostly clear skin, save the few dots of acne here and there. big, green eyes stared back at him, ordinarily green yet the most vivid color sam had ever seen in his life.

"the flower you're looking at. it's called a snapdragon," the boy smiled, a faint dimple appearing on his right cheek, "it's pretty, isn't it?"

sam gulped, smiling awkwardly. he stood, frozen in place. there was something about the boy that seemed warm and comforting, but he couldn't seem to form the right words, like always. the boy seemed to notice his incapability to speak. he tilted his head slightly to the side in confusion, his brows furrowing slightly. "can you not... talk?" he asked hesitantly.

oh, great, you're ruining it.

"n-no," sam stuttered in possibly the most quiet voice ever, shaking his head quickly, "i just... i don't feel... um..."

he bit down on his lip, which was bruised faintly; a slight discolouration at the edge. the boy looked him over, his green gaze swiftly sweeping over sam's "unimpressive" figure (at least, that's what sam called it), lingering for just a moment at his wide-set hips. a faint blush spread across sam's face as he took a step backwards, almost falling onto one of the displays—

but, then, the pretty boy's hands were on his waist, pulling him forwards. he looked down at sam, dreamily, perfectly, prettily. sam felt a tingling sensation course throughout his whole body, sort of fuzzy and happy and weird all at the same time. his breath hitched, and sam swore that the boy could hear his heart, which was hammering loudly in his chest, louder than the silence that enveloped them.

for a moment, a sick, and sinister moment, sam thought the boy would kiss him.

but then he released his grip, looking at sam with an apologetic expression. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to, uh—"

"it's fine." sam squeaked, his short fingernails digging into his palms. stupid, stupid, stupid. he doesn't like you. not like that.

no pretty boy would ever like you like that.

"i'm—" the boy cut himself off to struggle and regain his composure. "i'm gabriel."

sam blinked. he wanted to say something smooth, something cool, like, such a pretty name fits a pretty boy like you, but all he could do was smile his stupid, lopsided smile and mumble: "sam."

—

later, that night, as he was drifting off to sleep, thinking about his encounter with the pretty boy in the florist shop, sam realised:

that was the most he had spoken in months.

———

aaayyy!!

this is the first chapter with a more... intimate style. i hope you liked it! whoever's reading! a.k.a. no one! woohoo!

peace!!
-mae, xx