Zoke Week 2015, Day 1 - Flowers

I wasn't sure how to make a full-fledged story out of this, so I did some short scenes instead!

Flowers were one of Zoey's favorite things. Mike managed to guess that shortly after meeting her; she wore one in her hair, after all. The fact didn't surprise him. It certainly fit her sweet, feminine nature. That nature was one of the things he loved about her, so it logically followed that he loved her appreciation for flowers, too.

But weren't flowers such a cliché gift? That's what had him stumped. He wanted to give her personal things, things she'd definitely love, things that said, "I listen to you, remember what you like, and want to see you happy". He could do that with other things, like when she mentioned looking forward to a band's next album, or when he'd bring her orange-flavored sweets because he remembered it was her favorite flavor. But flowers? How was he supposed to personalize a flower? Weren't those what guys bought their girlfriends because they felt obligated to buy something but had no idea what? Goodness forbid he look like that sort of guy. This new relationship was already defying odds, with her still caring about him after that mess with Anne Maria and after she found out he had DID. For all he knew, things were still on the rocks, and one little mistake would make up her mind and she'd leave. Could he really chance that?

But a few months into the relationship, he took a chance, and when he showed up to pick her up for their next date, she opened the door to see him holding a bouquet. It wasn't anything particularly fancy, but he aimed for reds and pinks among the flowers, knowing she loved those colors. Was that personal enough?

She hugged him so tight when she saw them, and they left for dinner later than originally intended because she wanted to arrange them in her room, painstakingly arranging the blossoms until they looked just right, constantly commenting on their beauty the entire time.

There wasn't a single comment about how flowers were predictable, the easy way out of giving gifts. He'd have to give her flowers more often, then, if they really made her so happy.

He loved it when she brushed his hair. The first time had come out of good natured frustration; Mike's unruly spikes were getting on Zoey's last nerve, and she swore she'd flatten them out given enough time.

Mike warned her. It was hopeless; believe him, he tried! Tried, and gave up on it years ago, instead only putting in enough effort to make it look like it was messy on purpose. There was a reason Vito used so much gel! That was what it took to make his hair behave!

But Zoey insisted, and so they sat in his bathroom for hours while Zoey attempted to flatten Mike's thick mane of hair with a large brush. Just as Mike said, it was an impossible task. By the time she got one piece to lay flat, the last one she worked on would spring back up. She kept at it longer than she had to, before finally admitting that Mike was right, that his hair was doomed to stick out everywhere unless he decided to get it cut close to his head. And Zoey would give up a lot of things before giving up the opportunity to comb her fingers through that thick hair while cuddling, so neither of them were keen on the idea of cutting it.

The hours spent weren't wasted, though. It's how Mike learned how relaxing it was to sit back and let Zoey run her fingers and brush over his scalp. So they'd both do this routine every once in a while, fully in the knowledge that it wouldn't accomplish anything visual. But it did accomplish Mike's pleasure and happiness, so didn't that make it worth the while?

Today he took his usual spot on his bathroom floor, with Zoey kneeling behind him, but today's activity was different. It still felt mostly the same, with her fingers working through his hair, massaging and even lightly tugging in ways that sent happy little shudders down his spine. But this time, her fingers were focused on the top of his head, not moving below his ears, as she worked on something special. Technically, doing this didn't even require much manipulation of his hair at all, but she made sure to do so because she knew he enjoyed it. He appreciated that greatly.

"Okay, I think it's done. Do you want to see?"

"Yeah, can't wait!" Mike stood up and turned to face his reflection in the mirror. A crown of small white flowers perched on his head, entirely from Zoey's handiwork. It took her a long time, and tiny petals and bits of stem now littered the floor, but now Mike could finally have a peek at what she was working on.

"So... what do you think?" Zoey asked, a nervous smile on her face. "You can take it off if you want-"

"It's really pretty!" Mike exclaimed, an honest grin stretching his mouth. Zoey had recently gotten into making flower crowns, and had made a few for other cast members who asked. She asked Mike if she could make him one the next time she worked with his hair, and he readily agreed. He loved seeing her craft work, and it wasn't as if he was so insecure in his masculinity that a few flowers could absorb his manhood from his brain. Still grinning, he pulled Zoey into a hug so that both were visible in the mirror. "Is your phone in here? Take a picture!"

"You really like it?" Zoey said, brightening.

"Of course!" Mike wouldn't normally wear flowers, not because he was opposed to them, but because they just weren't something he'd actively seek out. That was more Svetlana's interest than his. But he'd gladly wear anything Zoey made him, and proudly show it off and tell everyone whose talented hands were responsible for it. Anyone who judged him for it just didn't know how great it was to have such a giving, creative girlfriend.

"Got the picture!" Zoey said. "You really don't mind me posting this?"

"Not at all! Go ahead!" Mike assured her. Then, a thought crossed his mind that he had to laugh about.

"Is something wrong?" Zoey asked.

"Nah, I just thought... what if Vito woke up right now and saw himself wearing a flower crown? What do you think he'd do?"

Zoey laughed along with him, and soon they couldn't speak, too amused by the idea of Vito pitching a tantrum as if feminine things caused him physical harm.

Rose colors had meaning to them. Mike never realized that, but according to this page on his computer screen, all these different colors meant all these different things. Svetlana must have used the computer last and left this page up, either due to her own interest or because she wanted Mike to know.

Red for romance? That made sense. He'd given her plenty of red roses, and he agreed fully with that intent. Nothing wrong with romantic gestures in an established relationship. Hell, the color's association with romance was stereotypical at this point. But if red anything meant romance, then as common as it was, giving Zoey red gifts wasn't wrong. Besides, regardless of its meaning, she loved red.

Yellow for friendship? He'd given her yellow roses, too. He had no objection to giving her something that meant friendship. True, some partners might be offended to receive such a gift, interpreting friendship as something lesser that omitted the possibilities of romance alongside it. But Mike saw it another way; if he didn't value her friendship so deeply, he wouldn't be in a relationship with her. That friendship enhanced his love for her rather than downplaying it. He knew she understood that. Maybe he'd give her more yellow roses to emphasize the point. She was his best friend, and he meant that in the best possible way.

Pink for sweetness? Mike smiled; what a perfect loved color for the sweetest girl he'd ever known. He barely knew her to have a mean word in her entire body, and when she did, she'd been pushed further than anyone ever should be. He'd definitely give her more pink roses. Did the color meanings extend to other flowers, he wondered? The clip she usually wore in her hair more closely resembled something like a daisy, but whatever the flower type, if pink flowers meant sweetness, he couldn't imagine a more fitting flower for her to wear.

...wait, salmon? What the heck color was salmon supposed to be? Whatever it was, it signified desire... no one in Mike's head had any suggestion for what the color salmon looked like, although Vito had a crude joke about how a fish was the perfect color name for something representing desire, if you knew what he meant, wink wink. Pointedly ignoring that, Mike looked up what that color could be, more out of curiosity than any intention to put the knowledge to use. Purposely giving flowers to express that particular sentiment seemed way too blunt for his tastes. A quick search suggested to Mike that salmon was a shade of pink slightly darker than what Zoey wore in her hair, the one that meant sweetness.

His heart dropped as his eyes drifted to the bouquet he chose for that night's visit to Zoey's house. That was salmon? Crap, did Zoey know the meanings of rose colors? Would she read too much into it? It was just a coincidence! She liked pink! He just went for a shade of pink!

Mike wished he could keep his internal worries quieter, because Vito and Manitoba seemed to find the whole thing hilarious, judging by the distracting laughter that echoed in his head.

Well, it ain't a lie, now, is it? Manitoba pointed out. You've definitely got strong feelings for the sheila. Your feelings for her are all over the brain clouds. Even the more... heh, personal ones.

Yeah, and it ain't like you ain't had her before! Vito agreed. Way I see it, you give her those flowers, you're gettin' some tonight! Don't see what's so bad about that!

"Guys..." Mike groaned. "I can't just tell her I'm into her like that, can I? I mean, I guess she knows, considering what we've done, but... actually saying it, even if it's with flowers and not out loud... it seems creepy."

Ah, I'm sure she'll take it as a compliment, Manitoba said. Ladies love feeling wanted, don't they?

More important than that, you give those to her, and if she gets it, you're getting laid! Those are some magic flowers! I've gotta get me some of those! Between what they mean and how sensitive I'll look for knowin' it, I'm gonna bag myself a sensitive chick!

The two more masculine alters continued discussing just how useful those flowers sounded, oblivious to how low-key Mike wanted to be about those particular emotions.

Well, he already bought them... and he had no idea if Zoey knew anything about rose color meanings... despite feeling like these flowers would stamp evidence of teenage boy lust all over his face, he decided to go ahead and give them to her, just as he would have if he never saw this guide.

She thanked him for the flowers with her usual huge hug, and later, accompanied a verbal reiteration of her gratitude with a deep kiss. Things only progressed from there.

The last thing Mike heard before falling asleep that night was Vito's voice, in all of its smug glory. Heh. Told ya they'd work.

Mike stood outside her bedroom door, unsure of what to do or say from here. Man, he really messed this up again, didn't he? Why did he keep doing this? Every time he found himself distressed, the answer seemed so clear; don't bother Zoey with this. Reject her help. Understand she means well, but don't drag her down into the same pit he found himself in. He did this out of love for her, he swore. As much as he craved her comfort, he couldn't be so selfish as to expect her to put up with him when he found himself in a self-loathing slump. Besides, if he hated himself, he probably deserved it and therefore didn't deserve to even exist in the same building as her. 'Can't love others if you can't love yourself', right?

But she didn't see it that way, and to Mike's confusion on his worst days, she never would. She never saw his pushing her away as a favor; instead, it made her wonder if she'd done something wrong. Their talk today when she asked if he felt okay didn't go at all the way she hoped, and it led to her storming off to her bedroom, tears in her eyes. Mike tried knocking to get her attention, but she wouldn't answer, eventually leading him to give up for the moment. Somehow, his depression hurt her as well. How did that work? Did she really care about someone like him that much? Why? She needed to know he was okay before she could be okay, and if he wouldn't let her help, she felt useless, as if she couldn't accomplish the one thing in life she really wanted. If Mike didn't want her to try to make him happy, she felt like a failure.

But Mike wondered how his happiness could matter so much to someone else. How he could matter so much to someone else.

It made sense on brighter days, when he was more capable of accepting Zoey's affection. But on a day like this...

He looked down at the paper bag he clutched in his hands. Without much else to do when she wouldn't talk to him, he stepped out for a moment in an attempt to find something that would brighten things. This was probably such a cheap, lazy gift. But he had to do something, and he didn't have the energy for much else... he couldn't leave Zoey like this without at least trying to cheer her up.

Is that how she felt when he was upset?

Even when put that way, it still didn't make any sense...

"Zoey?" he called quietly as he lightly knocked on her bedroom door. No answer. "Zoey, can I come in?" After more silence, he tested the doorknob. She hadn't locked it, and she didn't look up to acknowledge as it creaked open. Instead, she remained on her bed, curled into a ball. She was no longer crying, but she didn't seem any more cheerful, either. Mike took a seat on the bed next to her, still to no reaction. "I'm so sorry..." he continued, not even sure if she was listening. "I shouldn't keep pushing you away. Even if I can't always understand it, I know you care about me... I care about you, too, and thinking about it... it would definitely hurt me if you didn't want anything to do with me... I don't know why I always have so much trouble seeing that. Even now, I am. But... but I shouldn't have pushed you away. I shouldn't have hurt you. I'm sorry." He stroked her hair as he spoke, including tucking a strand behind her ear to give himself a better look at her face. Tears stained her cheeks and puffed her eyes, and guilt impaled Mike right through his heart. "Zoey? I love you..." He placed a fleeting kiss on her temple, but even that drew no response. "Okay... I'll leave you alone. I'll be on the couch if you need me, and I promise if you want to talk, we can talk. ...but no pressure. Whenever you want to. If you want to." He reached into the bag and withdrew a single rose with vibrant red petals and a long stem, all synthetic instead of real. Did the fact that it was fake make it thoughtless? Mike had no idea. All he knew was that he had to try. After placing the object on the pillow in front of Zoey's face, he left to wait where he said he would, determined not to leave her house until he worked all this out.

She eventually came down to comfort him, and for one of the first times in their relationship, he allowed himself to sob openly in front of her, to cling to her, to make an utter mess of himself. Against his expectations, she willingly embraced and soothed him, without a single word to imply he was a burden or an embarrassment for doing this. He'd try his best not to melt down so often, but maybe he could get used to this being safe.

She didn't say a word about the rose, but she kept it displayed on her bookshelf for a very long time.

He was in the hospital again. This had become routine, but man, he still hated it so much. His doctors could toss every calming technique and experimental pill they wanted at him, and while they were much better than nothing, they weren't miracle workers. Inevitably, a particularly painful memory would surface, or an alter who struggled with healthy coping would take control, and the next thing he knew, Mike would wake up in a hospital bed, cuts and burns all over his skin. At least the doctors here were skilled at making him feel like this was for his sake. Instead of treating him like an out-of-control animal that had to be restrained for the good of everyone else, they did everything in their power to keep him comfortable. The treatment they gave his wounds was impeccable, and they'd try their best to fulfill almost every request he could think to make.

Almost every request. Until he could go a certain length of time without trying to self-harm or lashing out at a nurse, only trained personnel were allowed in this area of the hospital. Legal issues, they said. There could be a huge mess if one of the others hurt a visitor, especially if someone decided to sue. It's not that they didn't trust Mike, they assured him, but some of the others...

Mike hated to admit it, but they had a point. Some of his alters hated strangers, and they weren't out enough for anyone on the outside to be anything but a stranger. Add the stress of being in an unfamiliar place and in a lot of pain, and things could get incredibly ugly.

Mike knew that. He understood that, even if it took him a few visits to come to terms with it.

But he got so lonely. They'd let him talk to people on the phone, but before long, that wasn't enough. He missed actually seeing people, actually receiving comforting physical contact.

If he could go long enough without lashing out, they'd move him to another area of the hospital. They'd still need to keep him to finish caring for his injuries, but at least he'd be allowed to see other people. But long enough hadn't passed yet.

"How are you feeling today, Mike?" asked the nurse as he walked into the room.

"Lonely," Mike admitted. "You're sure no one's allowed to visit? Just once?"

The nurse shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, buddy, but not until things calm down. I understand that you're not dangerous, but that's a pretty nasty gash you've got on your arm this time. Can't let that happen to anyone else. It stinks, I know... and I know you wouldn't hurt anyone..."

"But some of them would, I know..." Mike said, having heard this speech a million times before.

"I've got something you might like, though. Some people came by to see you. They kept asking if they could come back here, even when we said no... they really seemed to miss you. I'm guessing they're important. It was a redheaded girl who had a little boy with her. I don't know the names, since they didn't check in with me. Do you know who they'd be?"

"Zoey and Cameron were here?" Mike asked, too focused on that to correct the nurse on the fact that Cameron was older than both him and Zoey. "Are they still here? Can I say hello?"

"They left eventually, after we kept saying no," the nurse said. "Zoey's the girl? She was crying as Cameron led her out, telling her you'd be okay..."

"Aw, man..." Mike threw himself back down into a laying position, his head bouncing off the pillow. His friends were hurting and he couldn't even do anything about it?

"I was told to deliver some things from them, though." The nurse stepped out of the room for a moment, then wheeled in a tray with a potted plant and a huge bouquet of flowers on it. "The room could use some brightening up, right?"

Mike shot back up at the sight of the flowers and eagerly held out the one arm he could move without immense pain. The nurse picked up the potted plant first. The pot held a bush, devoid of flowers but flourishing with bright green leaves. After placing the bouquet in Mike's good hand, the nurse held up the tag so Mike could read it.

Get better soon, buddy! Everyone misses you! - Cameron

"Thanks, little buddy," Mike said to the bush, as if Cameron could hear him through it. He had a feeling Cameron had grown this himself; his study of butterflies involved a lot of planting in order to attract them, and it had given him a much greener thumb recently. After giving Mike time to read the tag, the nurse set the pot on his bedside table, then handed him the bouquet with the same routine, holding up the tag once Mike had a good grip on the stems.

I can't wait until you come back home! I love you! - Zoey

Mike smiled even wider; of course Zoey would give him flowers. Such beautiful ones, at that.

"Thank you!" Mike exclaimed. "Thank you so much! Can I call them? I need to say thank you!" As the nurse crossed the room to bring Mike the phone, Mike brought the flowers to his nose and inhaled deeply. Their subtly sweet scent relaxed him immediately, dulling the edge of his lonely frustration.

They smelled just like her.

Zoey stepped back from her shelf, having just rearranged it to her liking. To think, for sixteen years, she had no one to call a friend. Then one reality show later, she had dozens of people her age who cared about her. Some loyal fans often sent her gifts and support, she'd met other nice people who worked on shows for the same network, and of course, she had the tight knit group formed from her fellow cast mates. She had plenty of people to lean on, people she would gladly do the same for if asked. The friends she made on Total Drama meant the world to her, and the photos and gifts from them that sat on this shelf could cheer her up with just a glance.

Of course, she had to admit to a bit of bias. One particular cast mate took up a good portion of the shelf. Maybe it was because he gave her the most gifts, or maybe it was because she really did care for him the most. But no one ever took any offense to her apparently playing favorites. She adored Mike, and Mike adored her. Everyone could see that, and no one who meant anything to her had any interest in changing that. He'd given her plenty of gifts since they met. Plenty of them were functional gifts, like movies and clothes, that she kept elsewhere, but she also had a lot to display on this shelf. There was the medal, of course; the first one broke during the show, so he gave her a new one shortly after they both got home. (She had no idea where he was getting these things, but getting to look at something with his face on it was a very, very good gift.) There were the numerous photo strips they got done whenever they passed on of those booths, plus plenty of other photos taken both for Total Drama publicity purposes and outside of it, a lot of them in nice frames. He gave her lots of plush toys, often winning them in crane games or at carnivals, and the ones that were too small for her to hug to sleep got displayed here.

And of course, there were the flowers. Plastic and paper flowers she'd had forever, that she'd never have to throw away. Fresh flowers in pretty vases that she had just watered. Older flowers that were starting to wilt, that she'd feel bad about throwing away, but the guilt would be short-lived, because she knew that soon he'd replace them, especially if he saw the gap in that area of the shelf.

Before she started dating, when everything she knew about relationships came from teen magazines, she saw a lot of mixed messages about boys who gave flowers as gifts. Either they were the best partners possible and she should act passive aggressively to any man who didn't psychically divine the perfect time to give the perfect flowers, or they were a stupid, shallow gift and any man who even thought about giving flowers as a present clearly didn't think of her at all and she deserved better.

Oddly enough, she never found any advice that might differ depending on how she felt about flowers.

She wouldn't have hated him if he didn't give her flowers, or any other sort of present. Gifts were great, but what she really needed was for him to care for her emotionally, to be her friend, to trust her and be someone she could trust right back. If he stopped giving her gifts, she wouldn't dump him just for that. Especially not if he honestly couldn't, due to issues with money or energy. Gifts were just a nice bonus.

But oh, she had to admit, what a nice bonus it was. And she'd never consider the flowers to be boring or uncreative. In fact, some of the best decorative gifts he ever gave her were flowers. She loved each and every flower he ever gave her.

That was probably why he kept doing it. And that knowledge made the gifts even better.