roses. | eren x levi

roses. | sixty-seven

"wow, um... i'm just..."

you're what?

"i'm sorry, mr. florist! i'm so damn sorry for, um, everything. i'm so sorry."

mr. rose floundered into the shop looking nothing short of disorderly. his hair, habitually arranged in opposing directions to explain a distinguished part in the center, was disheveled and tangled from the amount of times he ran his fingers through it.

he fidgeted with his hands and glanced downward, infrequently sniffing and rubbing his eyes on his sleeve.

i was split between whether to grimace or grin. he practiced that nickname for me again, mr. florist. simultaneously, he was weeping over something i did not understand, and it seemingly involved me.

didn't you tell me recently not to apologize over something that isn't my fault? besides, you haven't done wrong to me. why are you so upset?

"it's all my f-fault, isn't it? oh, if i had just paid more attention, if i had just listened to you for once... maybe this wouldn't have happened to you... i'm so sorry!"

his tears were gushing from his features like pitiful cascades i had no notion how to settle. in these circumstances, it was wearisome to determine whether to stand gracelessly in their presence alike a fool or to mitigate their feelings, which both could have consequences.

i deliberately picked up my pencil, eyes fixed upon mr. rose, and timidly scrawled on the pad to him.

you're speaking vaguely, mr. rose. i don't understand.

the sobbing, which had started to quieten, now rose in decibels, as if he was singing a libretto. i stood there stiffly alike a fool, not certain of what i was supposed to do.

"since the beginning," he stammered, his words slurring synchronically so considerably i could scarcely understand. "it has always been my fault, h-huh?"

i pointed back to my former message. he kept reciting 'my fault' in a mutterance, but i didn't comprehend what he intended one iota. did he and his fiancee get into a quarrel?

he attempted to speak, but all he could do was sob. i stretched my tremulous arm to his back whilst staring at the ground. i had no plan of how to sympathize with someone, especially a character with such a susceptible framework as mr. rose. i wasn't sure what switches i should touch and ones i should roam away from, but at least, i did the modest minimum.

he soothed himself to coherent speech, took an abysmal breath, and massaged his eyes with his stained sleeve for the final time before clearing his throat.

"i'm pretty sure," he said, panting, "that i am the reason you're, y'know, dying."

i was astonished exceeding belief at the words that scattered so effortlessly out of mr. rose's mouth. how had he known? was this simple speculation? had he pieced such diminutive erudition into a puzzle during the time he did not offer away to gifting roses to arbitrary civilians on the road?

would he neglect me for this? was this rendezvous the last time i would talk to him?

dumbly, i desired that by this, he didn't recognize my predilections. i understood that if he were to discover my secrets, and leave my shop perpetually, it would be my shattering force. i would take my own breath before the roses had an opportunity to.

assuringly enough, i could delineate myself reconvening with my sister for the last time, downing coffee and giggling with her, knowing that i had taken a vial of medicines beforehand.

i could visualize myself stealing away everything plainly for the one person that was my downfall from commonality and my exclusive spring of delight at the same time.

mr. rose peered at me with an exasperated eloquence. was i overthinking again?

"uh, a while ago, i had, um, looked up your disease."

by the expression on my face, his eyes significantly increased and he held his hands up in probity. leisurely setting them down to his side, he articulated tentatively.

"i was curious! who wouldn't be, seeing someone cough up flowers?"

he blathered on, describing something i knew i had, and candidly couldn't get away from. it aggravated me to the last strand on my head. refusing to look at my own partially aggressive writing, i quickly scribbled something down and pushed it to him.

mr. rose, if i wanted someone to explain it to me, i would've gone to the doctor.

he gasped and put his hands over his mouth, inaudibly squeaking in the act. it was too appealing; i would've laughed if it wasn't an austere order for me to keep my lips sealed.

"hey, uh, mr. florist... do you have feelings for me?"

the continuous inhaling and exhaling i was doing immediately stopped. mr. rose stood there, an expectant yet ubiquitous appearance on his face, his arms folded together.

by the way he shifted his feet, or the way his eyes whirled onto the numerous paintings and wallpaper scratches behind me, i could tell that he knew. he had already formulated an evaluation of me, and finalized it; this portion was merely for attestation.

i felt my eyes beginning to water, but i flickered them away. was there surely anything i could do? he knew so much about me from a simple click, there are only so many facts i can hide from him.

would it be more beneficial to lie to him about my death, or would it be more suitable to be truthful? if i avowed my feelings for him, would he bequeath me in the shop with a twenty-dollar bill?

are my disclosure and my genuine dignity deserving of the risk?

i grasped the bundle of flowers and gave it to him as if it was my last. i smiled, held my head still, and gazed into his eyes, though my own were blurred.

"yes! oh, goodness, yes. i love you so much, mr. rose. it frightens me, my love for you. it hurts me more than your words ever will. and now that you've realized that... i-i don't know what to do."

i began to eccentrically tremble in my spot, audaciously weeping in front of mr. rose. as much as i wanted to run away into oblivion, to escape the bile invariably building up my throat, it was like my heels were attached to the floor. no matter how greatly i willed my body to move, it did not yield.

although mr. rose was the one who shed tears first, it seemed like i was the one who couldn't keep a dry face.

he sighed and began to pat my back.

"you shouldn't give up yet," he said with a grin. "you still need to learn my name, right?"