The shop, Len mused, was different during business hours.

Even when there weren't any customers around, everything looked different, bathed in brighter sunlight or even the soft yellow of street-lights. The air smelled different too; the scent of cut stems was stronger, near overwhelming, whereas the underlying note of freshly brewed chamomile tea was completely absent.

Currently, Piko was tending to a man, tall and clad in a nice suit, going over his order in hushed tones. Len could do little but watch the florist's face light up and then turn pensive, over and over again, from where he stood, awkwardly holding onto the box containing the mug he'd bought. (The whole thing looked like a rectangular accident, rather than a present, even after his and Rin's combined efforts to make it look nice. At least it had a bow on top.)

"And to what do I owe the honour, Mister Kagamine?" was the question that ripped Len out of his trance and he was surprised to find that suit-man had, apparently, left without him even noticing. So he just blinked at Piko, who looked at him with a smug grin and a hand on his hip.

"I wanted to—" Len began, and, because his brain was apparently dead, simply thrust out the mangled-looking present. Piko stared at it, scrunching his nose, before gingerly plucking it from Len's hands and shaking it. "It's a belated Christmas present, if you so will," he said softly and Piko's expression became even more pinched.

"I don't need useless stuff," he replied, then stared at it. "What's with that wrapping? Did you get a toddler to do it for you?"

"Rin and I both gave our best," Len said and maybe- but just maybe- pouted a bit for dramatic effect. "We aren't professionals at wrapping things."

Piko snorted and slipped a finger between the folds of the paper, tearing it. "Are you seriously getting lippy with me? How—oh," he halted, and stared at the box, covered in photographs of its contents, in what Len thought to be awe. "You got me a new mug."

Even if he'd tried to, Len couldn't fight the smile begging to take over his face. "I thought you'd like it. Especially after breaking your old one," he told him, and he felt lightheaded as he kept grinning like an idiot.

But Piko just scowled. "It's ugly as sin," he said, and that statement came as a punch to the gut for Len. Yet, before he could apologise, with a barely-there quirk of his lips and mirth in his eyes, Piko met Len's gaze head-on. "I love it. Thanks, Len."

"Didn't you call it ugly just now, though?" Len croaked out, entirely bewildered, because, really, disbelief was a pretty mild word. Yet, Piko's small smile just turned into a smirk.

"Of course it is. But I think it's a good ugly," he answered. Then, he paused, opening the box and slipping the mug out to examine it properly. And, much to Len's horror, the colour in the photos had, apparently, been wrong all along.

"It's pink."