"Are you looking for a bouquet for someone in particular?"
He startles, drops the flower he was idly inspecting on the ground. A woman not much older than him arches an eyebrow, arms crossed over a petite frame. He resists a strange, innate instinct to do the same.
"Oh… No. Well, maybe my little sister for later–"
"Then I wouldn't pick white lilies. They represent virginity… Unless you have a strange relationship with your sister."
He clenches his teeth. He needs to get this one, short women be damned. "Right. Cool, thanks. Actually I was hoping–there's a notice on your window saying you're hiring–"
"So you were lying about shopping for your incestual relationship."
"No, I was and that's a really weird joke to make can you just–" he stops. Breathes. Grinds said clenched teeth. "I'd really like to give you my resume and ask for an interview."
She looks him up and down with a murderously skeptical eye. "You know about flowers? The guy who was eyeing white lilies–"
"Get off of that! No, look I guess I don't. But flowers are… I mean they're pretty and I work hard and learn fast–"
"They're pretty?"
That's what I just said, he thinks, but instead he says: "Yeah, that's kind of the point, right?"
She purses her lips, scuffs her little shoe into the ground repeatedly and it's sunny but Ichigo feels a storm coming. "No. No that's not the point. Flowers aren't just pretty, they've been used for humanity for hundreds of years. Most are the few plants that haven't been used for sole survival needs–dietary or medical–but just for the simple joy of looking at them. And we've assigned meaning to each of them: joy, loss, love. Doesn't that mean something to you? Is that incredible or are you just another man thinking he can shove a bundle of flowers under a woman's nose to make her forgive all the wrongs he has done? That this traditionally feminine work is something 'easy' for you and so therefore, why not? Please. I don't have time for lying children." She eyes him for what feels like a stony eternity before turning her heel and scoffing and he just thinks fuck this.
"You know what? I don't know shit about flowers. Frankly, I don't know that I care, yet." She doesn't turn to meet his eyes, but she does stop and really heats him up more, the deigning to not even look him in the eye while he's talking. "I just know that my family has a small town clinic, they're doing okay but my dad's getting older and he's trying to afford my college and I know he can barely do that and my sisters are about to enter university too and I know for a fact he can't handle three tuitions and I've looked all over the goddamn town for a job and none of them want me because of my hair which is stupid because its genetic but whatever bigots are bigots and I need a job and frankly I don't care for that 'flowers are girly shit' because they're just plants and the patriarchy is a pile of shit and I'll kick anyone's ass who makes fun of you for hiring me and–"
"What's your major?"
He blinks, notices in his rant that she's turned her head to look at him, how intensely violet her eyes are.
"Uh… What?"
"You're going to college. What are you studying there, fool?"
He debates for a moment whether he really wants to tell her, now that he's nearly positive he's not getting the job and also who uses the word "fool" anymore? "Um. Language. I'm a creative writing emphasis."
"Then you should be able to learn metaphors. Good enough. Be here to start at 8 am Monday."
Before he can dazedly ask what the hell metaphors she's talking about, she walks away to the back of the shop and Ichigo suddenly understands he has a job.
...
"So… Freesia means 'innocence' and 'thoughtfulness.'"
"That's what the book I gave you says, right?"
"…. Yeah…"
"Then that's what it means, fool."
"Yeah okay Miranda Priestly, calm down. I'm just not really understanding what the difference between that and like–" he wets his fingers, flips the pages of her flower bible rapidly and resists the urge to grin at her disgusted expression. "Here! Like, a daisy, which 'symbolizes innocence and purity' and 'conveys loyal love.'"
"And?"
"Well, they're both innocence–"
"Do 'loyal love' and 'thoughtfulness' sound anything alike to you?"
He tries not to let it show he's working his brain. "In a way–."
"Fool. You don't understand and I won't elaborate until you do. You can work bows in the back again."
The joke's really on her, he internally grumbles as he throws down another red ribbon onto the work table, because if all else fails he is the goddamn king of making bows.
...
Rumor has it around town she graduated from some big league art school at the top of her class.
Then again, it came from Keigo, and Keigo gossips about everyone so Ichigo can take it or leave it.
He wants to leave it, but the way her hands delicately brushes dirt from petals, how she'll arrange flowers in such a fashion that is none other than stunning, how her hands will fold the parchment oh so delicately, oh so gently over her work like some kind of prayer for their long lasting–
It isn't really hard to imagine.
...
"So… Do you have a favorite flower?"
Her hands–always working, always fluttering–still for a moment before she scoffs, continuing to trim stems by his side. The new shipment came in today, and after talking quietly for what seemed like forever with the tattooed, red headed vendor rep (so it really isn't all that much of a woman's industry, after all), she had seemed rather distracted all day.
"All flowers have their own spirit, what makes them unique–"
"You've said that a hundred times over, Kuchiki. I'm asking a simple question: what's your favorite?"
"I don't have one, honestly." He thinks he hears a small chuckle after he rolls his eyes. They work in silence for a moment before she speaks again.
"How about this. Let's make this a lesson for you: what flower would represent me–"
"Iris," he says without much thought, thinking really of her eyes but the more he considers it the
more he knows it to be true. "Purple," he adds as an unnecessary afterthought. Eloquence. Wisdom and Complimentary.
She doesn't respond, but he can tell she's secretly pleased.
...
The first time he sees her deal with flowers for a remembrance occasion is Inoue.
She comes in, bubbly as ever and he kisses her quickly on the lips in the front and really hopes the two women won't meet for some odd reason he can't pinpoint but no shit here she comes waltzing from the back and Inoue sticks out her arm pleased as punch, says I'm Ichigo's girlfriend nice to meet you and Ichigo winces but Rukia is? Pleasant?
Not that she isn't ever unpleasant with any other person but him– just remarkably professional that comes off as a bit arrogant. She will almost always make a sale, but Ichigo has noticed a sort of grimace on men's faces as they walk away with bouquets in their hand–as if they had hoped to just flirt with the pretty ()but icy flower lady and not at all purchase actual flowers.
But he breathes a little easier when he sees Rukia smile back, even laugh at Inoue's latest quirky dream story. She eventually asks if Inoue would be interested in taking home some flowers today and suddenly the mood changes as Inoue stalls with an "Actually…"
Ichigo doesn't know how he had dated this girl for six months and not known about Inoue's brother.
Suddenly she is unfurling her story like a napkin, fiddling with her hands as she tries to nonchalantly mention it's the anniversary of her brother's passing, and she's just been so busy with work and school and friends that she hasn't… Well. She hasn't been to his grave since last year, which is so embarrassing because he was really just the kindest and most caring person she knew, in fact he was the reason she was who she was and she hopes he doesn't think she forgot about him–
Rukia squeezes her hand before going to the back, leaving Ichigo alone with this girl he realizes he's never known.
When she comes back after what seems like forever, she's got a bouquet in her hand.
"I think your brother might really enjoy these," she says softly, laying it gently into Orihime's arms like an infant. "I put some hydrangea in it, for gratitude and heartfelt emotions. Sunflower, for adoration and dedication. And finally.. A stalk of statice. For remembrance, but it also signifies 'success.' You're doing okay, Miss Inoue, and I'm sure your brother is so proud of you."
After a refusal to accept payment and a receival of infinite thanks, Orihime is gone and Rukia moves wordlessly past Ichigo.
...
"You didn't have to do that." They're trimming stalks later that day: what seems to be their special time to talk like normal people, and Ichigo admits that for some reason, he kind of relishes it. "Refuse the payment, I mean. I can just pay for it tonight after close, if you'd like–"
"Not at all. I usually give reduced prices for funeral flowers anyway. Since this was for a significant other of an employee…. I was happy to give it." She pauses in her work. "Orihime is a kind girl."
"…Yeah," is all he can think to say, and they work in more silence before he suddenly realizes something. "Wait… What do you mean you give reduced prices for funerals? I hate to… Like, it's horrible, but isn't that where you make most of your business?"
"It could be, but I don't want it to. When you've lost someone… The last thing that should come with a heavy price tag is something beautiful, don't you think?"
Ichigo thinks of golden hair and sun dresses and being scooped up into thin, warm arms and all he can do is nod.
"So… I mean. Have you struggled with the business before then, or…?"
"If you're worried about your job, don't. I have my resources."
"I'm not worried about the job, Rukia, I just–why then? Why do you do this? You can like flowers, you can like giving flowers to people but you don't have to make a business out of it–"
"Do you expect to make much money writing?" The question isn't harsh, per se, just direct–but it catches Ichigo off guard.
"What…?"
"You may be a fool sometimes, but it seems you know enough about the world to realize potential consequences for your dreams. That you may have to take on another job you don't like. That you may continue to struggle with bills, maybe eat beans and rice every other week for awhile. But that's the thing, isn't it? It's for your dreams, your goals–what life is screaming at you to keep doing because otherwise: what are you doing here in the first place?" She stops her work to pick up a peony (happy life, good health, prosperity. Compassion.) and does something uncharacteristic: she puts it to her nose and smells it. After a moment, she continues: "This isn't the only thing I do, it isn't my only dream. I paint, I sketch sometimes. I have as equal a love for both. But that… Traditional visual art is a little more selfish, its for my own self expression. And for some–maybe many–they'll understand it and like it and that's wonderful. I'm humbled. But some may not and that's all right too. This is what I can contribute in a smaller way, to a singular person instead of a group or myself as a whole. I am allowed to express myself, to create poetry and meaning through natural, breathing things. And, better yet… I get to give them to people. To say, 'here you are, I made this just for you–'"
He kisses her, suddenly (wonderfully) and there's no thought involved and he should be embarrassed but he's not and all he can think is there's some floral smell to her but what flower what is the flower that clings to her like she was the hand to create it? He doesn't know quite yet he needs to kiss her some more to find out–
She releases herself from him gently and looks at him with something in her eyes like sadness or pity or whatever it is he doesn't want to tell because ah. There it is.
His embarrassment.
He shirks off his apron, grunts out a "sorry" before leaving.
...
He breaks up with Orihime about a week later.
It's amicable: she is visibly disappointed but they both agree they would love to stay friends, hoping to go out to breakfast once in awhile to get to know each other as buddies better.
He hasn't returned to work since though.
...
He's awoken at nine in the morning by the doorbell.
It's been a month since he's even been within a half mile radius of the shop, and he knows it's probably for the best but he's been dreaming a lot about sharp words and fluttering hands and flowers and he's just starting to think fuck flowers–
The guy with the red hair and tattoos is on his doorstep holding a bundle and Ichigo's not sure whether he wants to laugh or cry.
"Yo. This weird, since we've never talked but, uh–" He lifts the bundle in one hand. "Rukia wanted me to give this to you. Said you'd get what it's for? Or should? I don't know. Just giving this as a favor for a friend."
"…Thanks?" Ichigo signs the package, waves an awkward goodbye to the guy and peeks into the wrapping and of course.
He doesn't understand how, but of course she knew what day it was.
A simple bouquet of Queen Anne's lace and a white stargazer lily: for sanctuary and sympathetic remembrance. A condolence card attached reads: For your dearest remembrance.–Rukia and Ichigo's heart hits the floor of his stomach with a thud.
Still, he continues on the day as he usually does: puts on a nice shirt, buys his mother's favorite chocolates and a contribution to family picnic, kisses his sisters and allows his dad one hug. The only difference is he leaves the grave early, asking his family (and mother) to forgive him because he's got to do something early the next morning.
...
When Rukia unlocks the front door to the shop the next morning, an alert Ichigo standing in the middle of it is not what she expects.
"Yo. Good morning."
He shoves a bundle into her arms, and she looks down. A haphazard bouquet droops in her arms and she raises her eyebrows inquisitively at him. "Ichigo…"
"First of all: I quit."
She blinks. "Yes, I gathered that when you hadn't shown to work in a month."
"Cool. Glad we got that covered. Because I kind of suck at this job–"
"A tad, yes."
"Rukia, shut up for one moment and let me talk, okay? I kind of suck at this job and flowers are cool and can be manly as hell if you dismantle society's preconceptions of what manly means… But they're not my thing. Writing is. But I like that thing you said about making poetry with living things and I kind of tried to do that with that bouquet in your hands but the flowers are older because you haven't received a new shipment yet and I had to break in here earlier than that with my employee keys which I hope you overlook because I'm trying to be romantic and also the fact that you knew about my mom's death without me telling you is also kind of creepy so we're both kind of creepy so there. Now. What do you think?"
She inspects it, and Ichigo tries not to wait on bated breath. "A rose, an iris, a gardenia, and a bird of paradise…" She looks up at him with a challenge in her eyes. "Why?"
He sucks in: he'd been ready for this. "So I picked the red rose because… I don't know. We all know what it means and it's kind of cliche. But it's classic, it's universal and something we all can recognize. I thought it fitting. I told you you were like an iris, once, and I think that may still be true–but honestly you're… A lot of different flowers. Maybe all of them, in a way. I think I really get it now when you said you didn't have a favorite, because really they're all your favorite. Or something. And the gardenia is an admission that the receiver is lovely, and. Um? The bird of paradise." He pauses. "The bird of paradise indicates exciting anticipation. Which is where I kind of am right now."
A beat passes. She eyes him with an unreadable expression, and he thinks shit shit this was so fucking cheesy, what if she's with the guy at his doorstep yesterday, what if she really did just mean her condolences–
"There is no cohesion at all with any of these flowers. They look awful together."
His heart sinks. "Uh… Yeah okay I know and I wanted to come in earlier to see what you had but my alarm didn't go off in time so I was scrambling to get here and–"
"You really made for a terrible employee," she murmers, and all in ten seconds she's put the flowers gently down on the counter and taken the three steps toward him and turned his face in her hands down to hers and he feels those lips again and there.
Iris.
He was right.