A/N: Anon requested florist and tattoo parlor AU.

Aaaand with that I am currently caught up. Sorry to bombard you with notifications!

EDIT: Sorry for the extra notification! Needed to squeeze in an earlier prompt I almost forgot :)


"I fucked up, dude."

The tinkling chime of the bell over the door is drowned out as the frame crashes against the poor little doorstop, which just manages to hold together despite the past abuse leveled upon it by too many overeager customers. Soul looks up from the lazy, half-assed compositions he'd been doodling on a legal pad to see his best friend, Blake Barrett - self-proclaimed Black Star - standing in the doorway, eyes wide with uncharacteristic panic. "I fucked up," he repeats, bolting forward to the counter. "You gotta help me out."

"Okay, slow down," Soul says, shoving the pad to the side. "What happened?"

"Tsubaki's pissed at me. Like, take a baseball bat to my skull pissed. You gotta help me calm her down."

Soul's eyebrows ascend slowly in disbelief. "What did you do?" His friend is not well-known for his tact, something his girlfriend has long since accepted and can somehow overlook. That Black Star has managed to do enough damage to incur her wrath is impressive indeed.

Black Star winces. "I don't - that's not important. I just need you to help me fix it!"

Soul is already shaking his head. "No way, man, I'm not playing the middle man-"

Black Star rolls his eyes. "I don't want you to go talk to her, idiot, I meant I need flowers 'n' shit to apologize. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when stuff like this happens? So gimme some flowers!"

Soul kicks himself for not thinking of it. After all, he is standing behind the counter in a flower shop, surrounded by pots of orchids and hydrangeas, with dirt permanently embedded underneath his nails. Flowers are his business, but Black Star has never once visited as a customer, so maybe it's understandable that he hadn't made the connection immediately.

Automatically his hands reach for the legal pad reserved for ordering, the one decorated with sloppily scrawled treble clefs and jagged music notes trailing one after the other like little ants in a row. He even uncaps his pen before he stills and looks back up, a skeptical slant to his mouth. "You know flowers aren't gonna be enough to make up for whatever shit you did."

Black Star blinks at him. "They're not? But I thought girls ate that shit up!"

"Not all girls. Definitely not Tsubaki. I hope you have a step two, dude, because this better be step one. And it's probably gonna have to be a long list."

Black Star groans and falls forward, his head hitting the counter with a loud thud. "I hate lists. Make me feel all responsible and shit."

"You want the flowers or not?"

"Yeah," he grumbles. "Gotta do somethin' I guess."

"Okay, then what kind?"

"What kind of what?"

Soul rolls his eyes. How his moron of a best friend had ever managed to land the willowy beauty that is Tsubaki, he will never know. "What kind of flowers, idiot. You gotta pick 'em out."

Black Star peels his forehead off the counter, a blank look in his eyes. "I dunno. You pick."

"Better stick with purple hyacinths," he says automatically, his mind quickly running through the options as he has so many times before. "Good for an apology."

Black Star gives him a flat look. "You stay here any longer, you're gonna turn into one of the pansies you sell."

"I'm not the one in the doghouse, begging for flowers, am I?" Soul shoots back.

"'Least I have a girlfriend."

"Not for much longer, you don't."

"Just gimme the damn flowers."

Soul moves away from behind the counter and ducks into the back room, eyes scanning the packed shelves in a search for the telltale purple blossoms. Black Star trails after him, hands shoved in his pockets as he sulks. "You want 'em now or for delivery?" Soul asks, then: "Stupid, you can just give 'em to her now, dunno why I asked-"

"Actually," Black Star interrupts. "You really should be the one to give them to her."

Soul stops and turns around, blinking in surprise. "Why me?"

"Because she probably won't try to rip your dick off when you do."

Soul's eyebrows shoot sky-high. "Probably? Dude, what the fuck did you even do?"

Black Star ignores him. "Look, she's at work now, so you can just go next door real quick and get 'em to her. I got shit to do."

"Step two?"

His friend mumbles something dark that sounds suspiciously like a 'fuck off.' Soul snorts and turns back to flower hunting as Black Star wanders up to the front of the shop. After pushing aside a bushy arrangement of tulips he finds them, fingers picking through the stems with ease. When he's gathered enough he retraces his steps back to the counter, snagging tissue paper and clear plastic wrap to bundle them together into a bouquet. His motions are quick, and soon he has the finished product lying on the counter as he punches the order into the cash register. "That'll be twenty-seven even."

Black Star balks as he reached for his wallet. "For fuckin' flowers? You're fucking kidding me."

Soul shrugs. "Shit's expensive. Think about that the next time you're about to fuck something up."

He bristles, forking over the cash. "Just get 'em to her quick, alright?"

Soul nods. "Lunch break's coming up, I'll stop by then."

Black Star grunts in acknowledgement and tucks his wallet back into his pocket. "See you Saturday for basketball, yeah?"

"'Course. See you later." They bump fists before Black Star flings the door wide again, rattling the loose doorstop and sending the bells attached to the top into a chiming frenzy. Soul, long since used to his friend's theatrical entrances and exits, ignores him and sets the flowers to the side where they will wait until lunch.

It's a slow day in the shop, and by the time lunch does roll around, Soul is itching to escape the humid air and dull atmosphere. He fumbles around for the plastic little clock that sticks to the window and carefully sets the time he'll return - he'd scorned the practice his first week of work, but after Marie, his manager, gave him a stern talking-to about his "responsibility to customers"and the "importance of maintaining her business' integrity," Soul always made sure to put some kind of notice up whenever he left for breaks, if only to avoid another of Marie's lectures.

Flowers in hand, he walks the half a block it takes to reach Tsubaki's place of employment: a stylish little tattoo parlor tucked in right next to the flower shop. A small bell rings when he opens the door, and Soul wonders not for the first time why every single store in the damn town seemed to have an obsession with bells.

"Oh, Soul, hello!" Tsubaki is manning the counter, a glossy magazine spread out before her to ease her boredom. Her waiting room is just as vacant as his shop, but that's to be expected on a Wednesday afternoon. Business might pick up after lunch, but for now they both wait and entertain themselves.

"Hey, Tsubaki," Soul greets, walking up to the counter. He lays the flowers down in front of her, an action which does not go unnoticed.

For a second, her brows draw together in confusion. Then the realization hits and her eyes narrow. "He sent you, didn't he?"

Soul shrugs. "Hey, it's just an order. Told me to bring these to you during lunch."

"He couldn't bring them himself?" Tsubaki asks mildly, but when her voice is like that, her mood is anything but.

"He's out trying to fix whatever he did," Soul says, because Black Star is his friend and he can't not defend him just a little.

Tsubaki sighs and reaches out to touch one of the flowers. "I'm sure he's trying at least."

There is still some amount of suppressed irritation flashing in her eyes, though, so Soul drops the topic for something a little safer. "Looks like a slow day for you, too."

Tsubaki shrugs. "We did get a couple of people in here this morning - a piercing and a consultation. Our new artist is working on that piece now, actually…"

A new voice joins their conversation with uncanny timing. "This is ridiculous, Tsubaki, I don't know what that idiot was thinking-" A petite blonde storms out of the backroom, a sketchpad clenched in one hand, a thoroughly chewed pen in the other. She freezes unceremoniously in the middle of the room and Soul is about to introduce himself when he realizes that it's not him she's staring at, but the bouquet of flowers resting on the counter. "I need those."

"I - you what?"

"Those flowers, what are they?"

"...Hyacinths?" Soul blinks stupidly at the newcomer, then turns to Tsubaki, his confusion clear.

Tsubaki doesn't miss a beat. "Soul, this is our new artist, Maka. Maka, this is Soul. He works in the flower shop next door."

Maka, however, isn't paying any attention, as she has already dived into her sketchbook, gaze intently focused as she nibbles on her pen.

"She'll come up for air soon," Tsubaki says matter-of-factly. "I've learned that you can't really hold a conversation with her when she's working on a piece."

"Alright?" Soul takes the opportunity to examine her without fear of her noticing, though he tries to keep it quick (Tsubaki is right there, after all).

This artist, Maka, is a good head shorter than he, though something in the way she stands tells him that she more than makes up for it in personality. Her hair is tied back into pigtails, an odd choice considering her profession, but she manages to pull it off. He thinks he can catch the hint of a tattoo under her sleeve, but she looks back up and pins him with a pair of piercing green eyes before he can really be sure. "Still not right," she sighs, and tosses her pad onto the counter.

The page is covered in sketches, most of which are encircled by a ring of flowers. Soul doesn't recognize most of them, as they all seem to be strange amalgams of blossoms that sit patiently in the back room of his shop.

"I can't find the right flower," Maka sighs, tugging on one of her pigtails. "That moron didn't bother with the specifics, and nothing I come up with fits!" She slams the pen down on the pad and scowls. Soul is still at a loss, but before he can try to come up with anything at all to say, Maka whips her head around to stare at him. "You."

"Me," Soul says uncertainly, as though that hasn't been the tone of the entire conversation.

"You work in a flower shop, don't you?"

They had established that literally fifteen seconds ago, but Soul nods anyway. "I do."

"You need to let me see your flowers."

Soul's mind blanks and he desperately orders himself not to pervert that into some weird innuendo. Because Maka is not at all attractive in any way, and he is not at all intrigued by her. "Okay, I guess. I'm assuming you want to go now?"

She nods. "Stupid client wanted this done before closing, never mind that designs like this are a bitch to make. At least I can charge him for a rush order. Tsubaki, you're okay to man the counter?"

Tsubaki scans the empty room and smiles at her coworker. "I think I'll be alright."

Soul points to the bouquet. "You want me to take those?"

Tsubaki hesitates, her fingers barely brushing the stems of the flowers in front of her. "What do they mean?" She knows that Soul doesn't recommend flowers that don't have a meaning, but he thinks she already knows the answer.

"Apology."

She sighs. "I thought so." Her fingers tighten a little bit more, and Soul knows she won't part with them.

"See you later," he calls, the bell above the door chiming once more as Maka leaves the shop, pad and pen back in her hands.

Tsubaki hums in acknowledgement as the door swings shut behind them. Maka is already five steps ahead of him, itchy and eager to dive back into her art. Soul shakes his head and follows after her, wondering what exactly he's gotten himself into.

She waits impatiently as he unlocks the door and takes down the CLOSED sign, silently lamenting that he hadn't been able to stop by his favorite deli across the street for lunch. He knows he won't go hungry, since Marie has taken to squirreling snacks in various cupboards in the microscopic break room, but he he'd really been looking forward to a turkey on rye. Now he'll have to content himself with crumbling granola bars and chewy fruit jerky.

The second he enters the shop Maka slips through behind him, already lost in her examination of the plants that litter the shop's many rickety tables. The lights flicker on with a mechanical hum, casting the room in a momentary bizarre glow as the filaments heat up, but she doesn't take notice. Her pen is too busy scratching the surface of the paper.

Soul leaves her to her devices and takes up his place behind the counter, settling back on the stool and hunching forward over his own doodles. It doesn't take too long for his gaze to drift upwards, back to the girl he has let wander around his shop. She mouths words to herself as she works, eyes narrowed as she peers down to examine every minute detail. The elegant curves of the petals, the vibrant gradient of the colors, the knobby turns of the stems - nothing is hidden from her gaze. He wonders if she can see people just as clearly.

He doesn't know how long she works, but it's long enough that he goes back to his doodles in an attempt to pass the time. At some point she discovers the back stockroom and ducks inside, and though strictly speaking it's not allowed, he already knows that trying to stop her will be quite a feat indeed. So he lets her have her freedom, one ear open for the sound of pots falling and smashing to the floor. But no such thing happens, and he relaxes back into his disinterested slouch as the clock above him continues to tick away.

"They look like birds."

Soul starts a little at the sudden interruption, looking up to see Maka standing in front of him, her drawing pad and pen laying on the counter. She isn't looking at him, but at the doodles he's been working on. He glances down at his handiwork, then back up with a questioning look on his face.

"I know it's music, but they almost look like crows sitting on telephone wires, don't they?" She points to the piece in question, a snippet of composition he'd tucked away in the top lefthand corner of the pad. He squints and turns his head a little, but his musically-wired brain can't seem to picture it.

He shrugs. "Whatever you say. Did you find what you needed?"

She beams at him and it feels like someone's punched him in the chest. "Yes! I don't know what they're called, but I found the exact thing in the back corner. Thanks for letting me traipse around your shop, by the way. I didn't mean to intrude." She smiles at him sheepishly, revealing a pair of dimples that don't help him regain his breath in any way.

The sarcasm is natural as he scrambles to collect himself. "Yeah, you were really disrupting the peonies over there." She gives him an unimpressed look, and he snorts and waves his hand. "Really, it's no problem. Most interesting thing to happen all day, actually. It isn't too busy here in during the week, believe it or not."

"I'd imagine." She gets a curious look on her face then, and Soul knows what's coming before it happens. "What I can't imagine, however, is why someone like you would be a florist of all things."

"Hey, I just work here," he grumbles. "Marie's the florist."

"Same question still applies: why here?"

He knows he won't tell her the real answer, the one that no one else knows. He pictures his grandmother in her garden, lecturing him about how to properly care for irises, and his heart throbs painfully. He clears away the lump in his throat and says gruffly, "Pays better here. Less crowded a lot of the time."

Maka purses her lips a little and he knows she doesn't believe him. He feels no guilt, though - he doesn't owe her his life story. "Makes sense," she finally answers, and he's relieved she hasn't decided to pursue it. After a quiet moment she asks, "You really don't think they look like crows?"

She's looking at his legal pad again. He shakes his head, immensely enjoying the frustrated expression on her face. She grumbles a little as she gathers her supplies, and as she does so, he realizes suddenly that this is it, her time in the shop is coming to a close. It makes him feel sicker than he's comfortable with.

Before she reaches the door she stops, turning on her heel to look at him. "Do you mind if I stop by again? In case I need to look at more flowers, I mean."

He finds himself shaking his head before his brain even sends the command. "Come by whenever you like."

He doesn't think she will, but she takes him up on the offer. Every few days she drops by, sketchpad in hand to record her finds. Every few days he watches her, contemplating the girl who works next door, who sees crows and telephone lines in quarter notes and staffs.

She is a force of nature, and he finds himself edging ever closer, hoping to be swept into the storm.


Posted 5 January 2015