"I'll be closing the shop for a few days after New Year's," Piko told Len one morning whilst touching up a small, custom bouquet that was to be bought right after the shop's official opening time. Despite that, business had slowed down considerably after Christmas Eve. Len could tell as much by the lack of tenseness in Piko's shoulders- he'd been alternating between being stiff as a board and slumped on the nearest surface these past few days.

So it was a given that he'd want some peace and quiet after the holiday rush. "You deserve as much," Len replied easily, watching the florist tuck some additional greenery into the bouquet.

Piko blinked, then pursed his lips. "Is that right," he murmured, pale lashes casting shadows upon the dark bags still under his eyes. And for the first time since he'd met him, Len realised just how frail Piko looked, stripped off of all his usual ferocity and underlying zeal. Suddenly, he was neither an ethereal being, pale like light among nature's colourful beauty, nor the force of nature with liquid passion running though his veins Len knew him to be. No, suddenly- suddenly, he was just thin limbs with sickly white skin stretched across them; he was glassy aquamarine eyes and routinely working hands.

And it was kind of terrifying.

"How about you finish today's orders and call it a day?" Len asked, and it was tentative, because he worried too much. He worried that one wrong word would cause the thin porcelain that made up Piko's body these days to crack.

But it didn't. Instead, the florist's eyes landed on him, as soft as the tiny little smile gracing his lips. "I could do that," he replied, directing his gaze back towards the flowers, yet never letting the gentle expression slip. Len couldn't help but smile, too.

"You should," he told Piko, who hummed softly and, with the tired, unguarded quirk of his lips and the late-rising winter sun's light dying his pale hair a glowing orange, looked more beautiful than anything Len had ever seen.