a passive aggressive fuck you - larry stylinson

prologue

Every day was the same for Harry Styles, owner of Pots and Plants Flower Shop. Wake up at five, feed Señor Whiskers, open the shop up for five thirty, lock up the shop by seven, then go home and sleep.

Everyday for the past three years, this is what Harry did. When he was fourteen, he found a love for flowers and gardens. It started when his stepfather, Robin, opened Pots And Plants, bringing Harry in after school each day to earn a little extra money for himself instead of Harry begging his mother, Anne, for extra allowance each week. Each Christmas, Harry would beg for new potting plants, heat lamps, fertilizer, and basically anything you can imagine that could make a flower grow.

When he turned sixteen, Robin got sick. He could no longer take care of the plants in the shop, eventually allowing Harry to run it full time when he turned eighteen. Robin, who is better now having beat liver cancer, allowed Harry to keep ownership of the flower shop.

Harry, now nineteen, decided to stay in Cheshire once he turned eighteen, not only to stay close to his family, but to take care of the shop as well.

Today was no different than any other day.

He had decided the night before to wear black skinny jeans, a white t-shirt, and tan work boots. His hair was down, curling past his ears. He put a white headband in for good measure before he left for work.

Currently, Harry was squatting behind the check out desk, about to re-pot an over grown strawberry bush.

"Excuse me, where are the chrysanthemums?" A particularly bitchy old lady asks, swinging her pastel purple purse from one fake hip to the other.

Harry stands up from his squatting position and gently pushes the strawberries and bag of dirt under the counter. They'd have to wait. He shoots a warm, dimple-filled smile at the seemingly impatient woman.

"Outside in the greenhouse. Row eleven." Harry smiles, picking his watering can back up from the ground, turning to water the baby jade plants on the display shelf next to the counter.

The woman huffs and walks outside, nearly stepping on Señor Whiskers on her way out. The small orange cat yelps, gaining Harry's attention. Harry picks up the cat and pets it softy, cooing at him as he purrs in his arms. He puts him on the ground and walks back to his spot behind the counter. The bells tied to the door jingle, making Harry look up.

A very angry looking man in his late-teens-early-twenties dressed in black Adidas pants and a red hoodie makes his way over to the counter, dramatically placing both hands on the marble countertop.

"How may I help you?" Harry asks politely, taking in the boys brown hair and blue eyes.

"How do I passive aggressively say fuck you in flowers?" The boy asks with the most serious expression Harry had ever seen before.

He can't help but laugh.

"Follow me." He says, still laughing as he turns around, grabbing a clear flower bag for the bouquet from the dispenser.

The boy in front of the counter leans down, and Harry's assumptions were right as he turns the corner to see a fluffy orange tail.

"What's his name?" He asks, scratching the cats' head before standing back up.

"Señor Whiskers." Harry says, waiting for the usual snide reply. It never comes.

"Sick name." The boy nods to the cat. "I'm Louis." He smiles, pushing his hand out towards Harry.

"Harry."  Harry smiles, shaking Louis' hand. "So tell me Louis, why must you say fuck you to someone in flowers?" Harry says, leading Louis to the front of the flower shop where the geraniums are perched in the windowsills.