The scent of mint

"How can I help you?", asked the middle-aged lady behind the cash desk. She was the owner of this flower shop probably. It wasn't that hard to deduce after all.

"I've seen your notice on the front window. You're looking for a part-time employee, right?" Maybe it wasn't the most polite way to ask for a job, but did he really want to work there? He could have accepted Matsuda's offer to tutor him; his parents were well-off enough to pay for it an accaptable amount of money. Well, it wasnt that he didn't like Matsuda, but the vision of spending his free time with that pristine mind of his... Utterly annoying.

"Ah... Yes, we are," the woman stated hesitantly. The first impression wasn't making any good for him. He nearly forgot wearing the same shirt for a week wasn't the most acceptable outfit choice. Or maybe his messy hair wasn't as good looking as he thought? "Do you have any experience in floristry?"

"Fortunately, I do," he answered smiling lightly. Sometimes his smile worked on people, thought he wasn't sure why. In his own opinion he looked childish this way. "I've been working in a flower shop last summer, I can bring my recommendation, if it's necessary."

"We'll see what you can do," she looked at him less reluctantly than before. "Please, come tomorrow. My son will show you around."

...

If he knew what torture laid behind the tempting illusion of a flower shop in the calm district, he would have probably thought it through more profoundly. A few simple words, nothing much as it seemed in the beginning. It wasn't that he fell in love at first sight, nothing of that kind. He was to selfish and distant for such things - never caring for anyone beside himself, working on his own account, chasing the past ceaselessly (or maybe running away from it? he was no longer sure).

The first time he saw Light, he didn't think much about him - he was another well-off kid, a perfect student with nothing much in his head, just like Mikami, his unberable classmate, always thinking he's so much better then everyone. They were attending the same high school, but he was never aware Light's mother was a florist. Was it something to hide? And even though Light was kind to him - he would say exaggeratedly kind, if it didn't seem so natural for the owner's son - it didn't feel meaningful. Of course, he was good looking, polite and probably educated, but there was no depth in it at all. Or so it seemed.

The second time they met, he was sitting behind one of the long tables stuffed with fresh flowers; their scent was intoxicating and at times he felt like suffocating, barely managing to end his work without constantly getting outside or opening the window. But sometimes it was nice to sit there, composing boquets delicately, trying to put feelings in it. Feelings behind the flowers were his favorite part of this job - one day he was putting long red roses in a bunch and somebody was going to say words of love and want with them, but then next day he could be making a funeral wreath cutting white cullies to form a last goobye. He was never experiencing much emotions himself; it seemed he was hollow at times and nothing much was happening in his life - his past with the distant memory of an orphanage and the present filled with school work and daily struggles - what was there for him to feel? But through the flowers he was at least able to imagine what his life could be like: one day full of passion, then sorrow, then happy moments of friendship and gratitude.

Today he was working on a celebratory bouquet for a famous singer; her assistant was supposed to come for it in an hour. He read an article about the woman and found out she was defined as eccentric, but full of youthfull energy. It seemed people liked her these days and she was returning to Japan after a succesful world tour to held a final concert in Tokyo Dome; it certeinly was something big. He looked at a photo the assistant left him - the woman (or rather girl, she couldn't be older then him) had blond hair and brown eyes and seemed cheerful, maybe even a little bit childish. At first he was going to use yellow roses, they were the best choice for such occassion, but they woudn't go well with her hair... But maybe if she was eccentric, orange ones should do? He wasn't using them often, not many of their clients were fond of them, but he read somewhere that orange roses stood for pride in one's achivements, so it sounded like a proper choice.

As he was seetling down to work, the door clicked and somebody came in.

"Hello," the boy greated him politely. He always thought about Light as a "boy", even though there was not much age difference between them.

He nodded his head, not bothering to look up.

Fortunately the boy didn't start any small talk and sat down behind the cash, checking his mother's bills and accounts. One time she said Light was into economy and indeed he was helping her with the business. Quite impressive for a high school student, at least an average one.

Timed passed in silence; he lost himself in composing a perfect bouqet for Misa Amane. The orange roses were spledid and unusual, a perfect fit for a modern artist.

Suddenly, a shadow covered his desk. For a brief moment he thought the light went out, but it was an absurd thought; the flower shop had an accumulator in the backyard and the street lamps were still shining brightly in the chilly evening air. As always, he was seeking for a thrill. But there was none of it, only Light standing in front of his work place, successfully separating him from the ceiling lamp.

"I don't think the orange ones are the best choice," he said firmly, a small frown on his face.

"And why do you think so, if I may ask?" In fact he didn't want to know; it wasn't like Light had any idea about flowers. Or symbols. Or anything.

"Well, isn't orange a colour between yellow and red? It symbolises a change, a desire to progress from friends to lovers," Light's voice was different now, as if he was lecturing him and was highly annoyed with his lack of knowledge.

"In official occassion - and I suppose finishing a world tour is one of those - orange stands for wraping up a project," he replied, looking back at the bouqet. He had no time for this conversation, even if Light knew something about flowers. "Not everything in this world is about romantic feelings."

He thought it would finish their chatt, but it didn't seem so. Light was still hovering over his desk and with every passing minute he seemed more and more exasperated.

"What can you know about feelings?" the boy asked angrily. What was wrong with him today? "Maybe the assistant is madly in love with her, but she sees them only as a friend or a co-worker?"

"If it is as you say - which I highly doubt to be honest - orange will be nothing less than perfect according to what you've just said."

"You... You simply don't get it!" The boy snapped, looking around the shop as if searching for something. "If they did love her, they would like to give her something sweet, innocent and kind!" Light was definitely gettin absorbed by his vision and in the end he simply thrown a bunch of pinkish roses at his desk, saying only: "Use those. Fifty-six."

He left soon after, leaving him wondering what just happened right in front of his eyes. Why was Light like this? It seemed there was something about him in the end.

And he started wondering, what could it be.

...

Sometime later, when he was aimlessly checking the news on TV, a reported stated that Misa Amane and her long-time assistant – someone named Rem - got together after the final concert of her world tour. He listened to it in awe, sadly admitting he shouldn't insist on using the orange roses. Maybe he really didn't get it?

...

Months passed - it became a routine for Light to come to the flower shop to check the accounts and in no time his presence stopped bothering him. Sometimes they would even talk, at first mostly about flowers - which one should be used for that bouqete? - but then it became clear that Light has many interesting things to say. And for the first time in his life, he wasn't bored. The boy, or rather Light, because he instinctively started thinking about him with his name, wasn't so polite any longer. Behind the mask of a perfect son he was witty, intelligent and stubborn. The play he was putting on every day was definitely a thing; when he wasn't even considering what would people think about the way he talks or sits or eats, Light was creating an intirely different human being to deal with life. It was a bit terryfining, but nonetheless impressing. And he liked it about Light - the way he would talk only with him, the silent judgement when a client would try to lecture them on flowers, even the way he was bringing him sweets every now and then, even though he didn't like them himself.

In no time he discovered that he wanted more of it - Light's muffled laugh, his irritated tone when he was stating obvious facts, the way he was reading his mother's calculations. It was entirely new; he never felt somthieng like this before. So it was confusing. He tried to act indifferent, but he was catching himself staring at Light when the other wasn't watching. Or thinking about him, when he should be doing something different, like his homework.

Now, every time he was working on a lover's bouquet, he would think about Light. He couldn't help it. It seemed common sense left him forever when he stepped into this flower shop for the first time many months ago.

Should he do something about it? It wasn't like he would want to date Light, he just enjoyed their conversations, that something they had between each other, whatever it was. For the first time in his life he felt clueless. He was never the one to feel things. There were people before who stated they had a thing for him, but never the other way around.

And at the same time he felt restless. One night he couldn't sleep, because the mere thought about Light getting a girlfriend or a boyfriend terrified him so much. He had to do something. Knowing, whether he had any chances with Light, would be much better than just waiting for it to pass. Or - heavens forbit - excelerate.

...

"For you," he said simply, handing the bouquet to Light, trying to look him in the eyes. It was... challenging. Especially because he felt tempted to run away. And maybe fall from a cliff in the meantime. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you," the boy said, sounding at least sligthly suprised. Well, they were in a flower shop, what other gift was he expecting? "It's definitely... impressing."

Of course it was - there were twigs of purple lilacs, and tiny white periwinkles, and inconspicuous flowers of clover, and blue borage. Even a little pinch of mint to add something refreshing to the intoxicating scent of lilacs. And it was all deliberate.

But was Light smart enough to understand it all? Maybe confessing through a bunch of flowers wasn't the easiest or clearlest way to do it, but nothing was easy or clear between them too. And if Light didn't understand, there were no consequences beside his sunken mood. He never experienced a heartbreak before.

But Light was still studying the bouquet, frowning just like he did during that unfortunate orange-or-pink-roses evening, probably trying to understand the meaning of it all or maybe figuring out a response. The waiting was cruel and way too long, with every second dragging behind and taking little bits of hope with it. What was he thinking? He was an endless fool to believe that someone as good as Light would like to... There was no hope for it to begin with. But why was it taking so long? He dumped a few people before and never had any problem doing it. Will he have to look for another job now? Being around Light would be unbearable, if...

"Mint? Really?" Light said finally, rather amused, though there was a nervous note in his voice. A small smile was forming on his lips. "That's a pretty melodramatic choice."

"Why?", he could only ask, staring at the bouquet too.

"I'll keep memories and hope? Well, I can't say it's not a smart choice, especially if you're not sure what the anser will be like," he chukled slighlty. Was he teasing him?

"We've got a lot of cloves, if you want to use them," he tried to joke, but his voice nearly cracked awkwardly at the end. Who was he trying to decieve?

"I gave you my answer long ago," Light said, more serious this time. What was he talking about? The look in his eyes... Was it a promise? What was his answer? He couldn't think clearly.

Suddenly, it hit him.

"The roses," he whispered, afraid his voice would crack again. It seemed millions of thought were running in his head at the same moment. He really was clueless that time.

"Yes, the roses," Light agreed, placing the bouqet aside. He was extremely close now, so close he could count the freckles on his nose. "It took you so much time to figure it out and yet you think you're so smart."

"I..." he tried to say somthign in his own defence, but it was so hard to gather thoughts when Light was looking at him like that. Was this what he wanted? Certainly a part of his mind was feeling like jumping in it wihtout a second glance, but what was there for him? He wasn't good enough probably and the thought of being hurt still haunted him. Trying being happy for once would be nice he guessed. But how could he be sure?

"You think way to much," Light said finally, a hint of impatience in his voice. And then, as if he was the one waiting for an answer for far too long, Light kissed him. Gently, yet pressurring him ever so slighlty.

It was - how did he say it? Sweet, innocent and kind?

The scent of roses lingered in the air.

AN: I know it's not a perfect story, but I haven't written anything so light-heartedly in a long time, so please bear with me :')