Dedication: For the lovely Amalia, via the Paneville secret Santa 3
Flower shop & tattoo parlour au.
grow me a garden made of dreams
1.
Neville was early for opening.
Sighing to himself, he jumped gently onto his counter, crossing his legs. From up here, he could see the way the roses he had planted in the greenhouse had bloomed, glorious in the way they spiraled up.
The sun was still rising in the windows of his shop, a cotton hue with soft golden hints. Moments like this, Neville felt invincible.
And then the door burst open and the bells above it rang, echoing with a gleeful sort of cheer.
Pansy Parkinson was carrying two cups in her hands, her short black hair falling in choppy layers across her shoulders as she walked towards. Dressed in a red t-shirt dress, wearing heels sharp enough to kill and scowling, she looked dangerous.
"Morning, darling," she said carelessly as she got close enough to speak, passing him one of the cups. Neville smiled at her, kissing her cheeks as he accepted the steaming drink. It was chamomile tea, calming and warm on his tongue as per usual.
Pansy loved mocking his taste in drinks. A smug night owl, she rose hours after him and consumed the largest possible size cup of bitter black coffee. Once, he had made the mistake of trying it, and had promptly been unable to sleep for a week straight.
"Morning, love," he said back.
She nodded at his words, as if he had passed some sort of test, and leaped onto the counter beside him with a cat-like grace.
"You wouldn't believe the kind of requests I've got this morning," Pansy began, crossing her legs at the ankles while she shook her head in distaste. "It's repulsive, I'm telling you. The more days I am alive on this godforsaken planet, the more I am convinced people have lost their fucking minds."
Neville grinned, trying not to burst into laughter too early into the story. The sky outside was beginning to mimic day more than night and Pansy, despite her disgust with the early hour and the current state of humanity, was soft against his shoulder.
"Tell me everything," he said.
…
2.
Neville slipped into the doorway of Pansy's tattoo parlour behind a customer, making sure Pansy wasn't distracted by the sight of him. He knew she'd be glad to see him, she always was, but she'd be far too curious about why he was there.
Despite everything, Neville loved being in Pansy's tattoo parlour. She had named it 'Edgy' after he had gotten sloshed at a holiday party one year and ranted about his former—and rather short-lived—career as a teacher, where his students had tried to one-up each other with a disarming disregard for the rules or basic human decency.
Today, however, was different. Pansy was strong, cunning, elegant, but she was also human, and at seventeen, she had left behind her family, society, and the lifestyle she was accustomed too.
"You know, despite how much of a living, breathing sap you are, I wasn't expecting to see you here so early. I had faith enough in you to think you'd show up mid-afternoon at the earliest."
Neville turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the span of a millisecond, feeling like he was a kid who had been caught stealing from the cookie jar.
"I was worried about you," Neville admitted. "It's the holiday session and I… I don't want you to have any regrets. I know you miss them."
Pansy's face softened a smidge as she rolled her eyes. The action had an underlayer of fondness to it that showed she wasn't as annoyed as she acted.
"I really don't miss them. I know you miss yours when you're far from them, but it's not the same thing. They'd die for the sake of their reputation before they'd even remember my fucking birthday."
Neville sighed, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around his girlfriend. Pansy shifted uncomfortably, still not a fan of physical contact despite the years they had been by each other's side. Still, as he held her, she relaxed enough for him to rest his chin on her head.
"I'm sorry, Pansy," he told her earnestly, trying to convey all the emotion he had in him to her. "I love you."
Pansy rolled her eyes, but winked at him. "I love you too, Mr. Cheesy. Now get out, I have work to do."
Neville smiled. Four years later, and she hasn't changed in the slightest.
…
3.
Neville stumbled into his shop, feeling like every part of his body had rebelled against him. Drinking at Dean's bachelor party had been a terrible idea from the start, but he hadn't had the heart to say no to one of his oldest friends.
"Tired?" A smug voice asked and Neville rubbed his eyes blearily, cracking them open a smidge in order to see Pansy sitting on top of one of the ladders he used to water plants.
Neville glared half-heartedly. "What do you think?" he asked, pointing down at his appearance. "And what are you doing up? You don't wake up until noon on the days you don't work."
Pansy's smile seemed to slip for a second, but the look of hesitance and worry was gone long before he could comment on it, only to be replaced by a smirk. "I'm here to boast, of course," Pansy said, dropping down from the top like a superhero. "Why else would I be here?"
Neville didn't have an answer, just a groan in response.
…
4.
"My parents mailed me a letter," Pansy said easily as she tattooed a small vine on his thighs. He had never even considered tattoos until he has met his girlfriend, but after her parents had mocked tattoos and sent her down the path of becoming an artist, Neville had found himself covered in them.
Resisting the urge to jerk and hurt himself, Neville took quick and shallow breaths. "They did what? But it's been years since you've spoken to them—unless you want to now, it's your choice—"
"Relax." Pansy rolled her eyes. "I'd sooner prefer to attend my parents funeral than any kind of meeting with them. They sent me an invitation to a gala, where they wanted me to meet someone. Probably some spoiled son of their friends. Well, they can go fuck themselves."
Neville watched her closely. There were none of the telltale signs of her dishonesty, but Pansy was an amazing storyteller and liar. If she wanted to hide something, she could.
But he trusted her. Trusted her when she said she loved him, when she said she didn't believe in the prejudices her parents had taught her anymore, when she ran away with him to brighter shores. This changed nothing.
Neville forced a smile. "I don't think they'd… do that," he said, blushing. "Maybe they'd pay someone to do it for them."
Pansy stared at him for a second. Then, she howled with laughter and burst into happy tears
...
5.
Pansy was crying.
Neville hadn't gone to sleep that night, had been busy with the overload of Valentine's Day orders that plagued him every year like a curse, and by the time he was finished, there had been no point of going to bed anyways. Instead, he had chosen to go and open up shop early, only to find the love of his life crumbled on the floor.
It was the fragility of the situation that tore at his heartstrings. He had seen Pansy in all her states, but she looked so young and so vulnerable curled up in a ball on the floor.
"Pansy?" he asked softly, hugging her to him. The roses got in his way of bringing her closer and he batted at them in annoyance. "Love, what's wrong?"
Pansy sniffled. "Nothing," she said in a haughty tone that reeked of lies. "I'm perfectly fine."
Neville stared at her. He knew she didn't like discussing feelings, but it was hard to lie in her current position, and he refused to go on pretending everything was alright.
Maybe it was the eye contact. Maybe it was the early hour. Maybe it was the fact that they had been through everything from running away to getting their jobs to putting each other back together on the worst of nights.
"I'm pregnant," Pansy choked out, smoothing her hair down in a twitchy movement. "And we aren't even married!"
Maybe it was stupidity or love or hope, or maybe it was none of those things entirely, but it happened anyway.
"We aren't," Neville said slowly, "but we could be."
Pansy stopped. She watched him. And then she sighed, the way elderly people did in disgust.
"That was a terrible proposal," she said, hiccuping during a laugh and wiping tears off her cheeks.
"I would love to marry you, and to have this child with you. I don't have a ring, but I will," Neville promised, trying to convey to her how much he meant this. He wanted to make her proud, to be the kind of parent she had never gotten the chance to see. Their child would know love, he vowed.
And finally, slowly and steadily, Pansy smiled, and it felt like a rainbow after the rain, like coming home after you had been gone for so long.