Chapter Text
White lilies and red carnations…
Jake put down the funeral wreath he was arranging, vaguely lost in thoughts of death and mourning, and decided to step out of the shop for a minute to get some fresh air. He took delight in the gentle silence inside and adored the scent of flowers and greenery (even the stifling sensation in the air that came with it!), but it could get… overpowering at times.
With spring, the days had become longer and warmer, but not even the blossoms covering the sidewalks in pink or the bright blue sky would (or could) make the loneliness in his heart wash away. He had inherited the flower shop from grandma Jade when she'd passed not long ago and every corner of it was a painful reminder of her absence.
He’d never mingled with his peers after moving to the mainland, not really. Always the old soul or the odd one out, he found it hard to be around other people. But that didn’t stop him from longing for a connection, especially now that he'd been left to figure things out on his own.
… Speaking of which. There he was, across the street; the blond tattoo artist he kept chancing upon without even looking. He watched as he carried some boxes of supplies inside the parlor; a gray, sort of industrial-looking place with a seemingly endless ceiling. Outside a plain decal on the storefront announced “Tattoos and piercings. Walk-ins welcome”.
Jake looked back at his shop and giggled at the irreconcilable clash of aesthetics. Where the stranger’s shop was pure contemporary diaphaneity, Jake’s was old school and chaos incarnate. Indeed, the flower shop was a lot tinier, but filled to capacity with flowers, flowerpots, wreaths, bouquets, baskets, sprays, wrap papers… And where the stranger’s was monochrome, concrete and hard metal, Jake’s was intricate tiles, wood and a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. Even his sign, hand painted and flowery, seemed to scream polar opposites when compared to the unassuming san serif sign across from it.
The blond emerged into the street after some time, shirt damp with sweat after working hard. Their gazes met in passing, forcing Jake to look away. Still, out of the corner of his eye he saw how he plopped down on a motorcycle (his?), pulled out his phone and unwrapped a piece of gum to go with his mindless scrolling break. Huh, so he wasn’t the smoking type.
He took the time to really study him now that his attention was positively elsewhere. He wasn’t too muscular, nor too lanky. He was wearing a pair of triangular shades that obscured his eyes and made him appear cartoonishly aloof (but not stupid, for some unknowable reason). His hair—bleached near absolute whiteness, with bold darker roots showing—was heavily stylized with what Jake assumed must have been a nefarious amount of hair gel. His jawline and nose were angular and straight, peppered with light freckles that seemed to persevere lower into his neck, shoulders and out of sight under his tank top. His skin was predictably inked and pierced all over. Now, Jake couldn't make out the designs from a distance, but he could definitely appreciate how they coiled around his arms and collarbones like a wisteria in full bloom.
When he'd drunk up enough of that sight, he sighed and went back to his wreath, mind now pleasantly filled with fleur-de-lis, acalias, laurel magnolias and tiger lilies. Although Jake could respect the romanticism of the language of flowers, he wasn't an avid believer of it… Nevertheless, something about the blond made him think of temperance and fire.
He didn't quite understand it himself, but how he wished he'd have a reason to step into his world…!
The days passed and Jake continued to try and make a home of the cozy little shop. His apartment was full of boxes of what had once been Jade English’s life and, little by little, he tried to learn her ways through her scribbles and notes.
Although coming up in the rainforest he had a childhood love for plants, it came as no surprise when many flowers didn’t survive under his inexpert care the first weeks. Even so, he wasn’t deterred because this too was part of the trade that he’d come to love through the hardened hands of his grandmother.
Plants needed time and nurture. Some asked for patience, some asked to be left alone, but it always took some knowledge of their oddities to see them grow green and healthy, which Jake could see mirrored in his experiences of grief and solitude.
Everything that had previously seemed eternal had proved to be fleeting and he’d been faced with the reality of adult life and the difficulty of making deep connections in an unfamiliar new setting. Sure enough he got along with the regulars at the shop and his—mostly elderly—neighbors, but now that he was out of college, coming across people his age and progressing past the superficiality of a first (and often last) interaction was immensely harder.
So his eyes followed that blond nape across the street whenever it crossed his field of vision, always curious to know if its owner knew the same loneliness he did. Always conjecturing what his voice might sound like, the meaning behind the ink on his skin or the eternally straight line of his lips.
He let that curiosity develop into a silly little crush, the first he’d ever had on someone his gender. And he watched from a distance until the thrill of the unknown led his steps towards the parlor.
Despite his initial confidence, he stood stock-still in front of the door when his brain finally caught up with his body.
“Gee, Jake, what are you even going in the lion's maw for? It's not like you and the easy on the eye bloke have any unresolved business…” he told himself. “Ah! But I should acquaint myself with him since we're practically next-door neighbors, shouldn't I…? Zoinks, it's basic communal courtesy, of course I should!”
He took a deep breath and turned the knob on an impulse.
“...Not only I should, but I shall or my name is not Jake English, grandson of Jade English!” he declared aloud as he pushed the door open, only realizing he'd left the privacy of his mind when the bell chimed above him and the stranger raised his eyes from the counter with a question mark plastered on them. It didn't get past Jake how he was in the middle of a phone call.
“Uh. Alright, Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” he snorted, much to Jake's dismay. If only to add to the humiliation, he pointed at the phone to let him know he was busy. “... Nah, it's nothing. A coverup that big is going to take three sessions at least. Hourly rate, yeah. Yeah, man, that's what I'm saying. Cool. Cool, yeah, let's do that. You too, man.”
An expectant silence followed when the blond hung up. He was about a million times more intimidating (and handsome) up close. His voice had a monotonous delivery to it which Jake hadn’t expected, but that suited him just fine.
The brunette made a humongous effort not to openly stare at his tattoos. And he succeeded, for the most part.
“... Hello there?” he opted to say with a toothy smile. “Good day we’re having today!”
“Sup. You're the guy from the flower shop,” the blond replied. He'd obviously know since they crossed paths on the daily, but Jake found his heart fluttering at the acknowledgment all the same. There might truly not be anything weaker than a heart pining for a complete stranger.
“Hah, that would be me, in the flesh! Jake English’s the name!”
“Hm. Dirk Strider,” the blond nodded, lips still a thin line. “So? To what do I owe the pleasure, Jake English?”
“Uh, um. Erm… I’ve been clapping my eyes on you as of late and I wanted to have a squint at you up close, I suppose?” he blurted out awkwardly. The blond’s eyebrows shooting up in a mix of puzzlement and disapprobation said about everything that needed to be said. “Your—tattoos, I mean! Good God…”
“... My tattoos?”
“Y-yuppers, it’s quite the picture you’ve got in there, huh? What, with all the thingamajigs on your neck and… clavicles? It’s like a picture book, really…” Jake sputtered as his eyes inevitably began individually noticing the designs on the stranger’s skin. Intrusive as that was, he continued with that line of conversation. “D’oh! With those flames and the seagulls carrying… Swords?—Japanese style, right? The swords? I reckon I forget the names of most things pertaining to the Land of the Rising Sun, but the imagery on you does have that japanophile feel to it…! The bones on your arm and the cyborg bits too are… very impressive. Very theatrical, if I do say so myself! They sure make a fellow look, uh, tough as nails! Y-yes... Not that I meant that in any oldfangled or prim and proper capacity, mind you, I do appreciate the enthrallment and modernity of an inked body! It’s just—I can spy they go further than meets the eye. And—and you’re pierced all over, so I figure that makes a shedload of teeny-tiny punctures!” Jake passed an eye over the door behind him, for a second wondering if he should just dart off and end his misery once and for all. “Great kiskadee, what a blabbermouth… All that to say, getting inked everywhere must have hurt… a lot…”
“Oh. I mean, not really,” Dirk shrugged after looking down to his chest and arms. “Are you unsure about getting one?”
“Wh—uh, a tattoo? Me?” No way, no way. “I don’t know about that… Although… Where would you say it’d hurt the least?”
“Depends on your pain tolerance level, but arms are manageable for most people, especially if they’re toned like yours,” Dirk considered after a brief glance. Jake felt his blood rush to his face at the attention. “The upper and outer part, anyway.”
“I see, I see… The prospect of sitting for hours on end in excruciating pain, though… Oof!”
“Haha. If it tranquilizes you, the pain can be described as a prickling sensation rather than something beyond human endurance. That being said, I wouldn’t recommend going into a five hour session as a first-timer, starting small would be the smarter move.”
“How small are we talking about here?”
“I don’t know, man, I can go as small as you want. Quarter size is pretty popular among virgins.” Dirk searched about the counter and held up a quarter coin for Jake to see.
“V-virgins you say!?”
“Dude. Tattoo virgins. Uninked people?”
“Oh! Oh, of course, haha! It would have been a discourteous assumption otherwise! Haha, oh, gee! Got me flabbergasted for a second…” Jake guffawed, flustered. “You, on the other hand. You must have crossed that threshold of—libertinism in days of yore, hm?”
“...”
“What?”
“Did you just—Did you just call me a bitch?”
“No! What? No. I’m talking about tattoos! Getting tattoos!” Jake shook his head, even more flustered.
“Anyway, yeah, I took to absolute debauchery at sweet, sweet sixteen. Haven't stopped ever since,” he shrugged.
“Whoa!”
“Yeah.”
“But I really didn't mean to imply—”
“It's fine. I did call you a virgin first.”
“Still, I realize I haven’t been putting my best foot forward after barging in uninvited. Truth be told, I’m a smidgeon intimidated by establishments of this sort. I’m… out of my element, as it were…”
“No, yeah, I noticed. But don’t sweat it, many people are scared shitless their first time. Getting a tattoo is a big decision, after all,” Dirk tried to reassure him. He wasn’t especially sweet and his poker face seemed to burn holes right through Jake, yet his tone had a calming ring to it.
“But that’s not even what’s happening here! I’m just a socially inept dunce with a knack for putting it in my mouth!” Jake thought to himself. Unable to confess that, he continued to let himself be nudged towards the possibility of actually getting a tattoo. Somehow he wanted more of the regard that he was being shown. He wanted to know more about Dirk Strider. “That quarter size you mentioned… How many hours would that take?”
“Depends if it’s detailed or not. You have a design in mind?”
“Um, well, I didn’t get that far, no…” Jake confessed, but just then it came to him. Something to wear on his skin. “A flower! A cranberry flower!”
Cranberry. Cure for heartache, that old book on the language of flowers by his nightstand said. Perhaps it was stupid, and perhaps it was even more unfair to have big expectations after the encounter, but if ink was all it took to get a bit more of the stranger’s time, Jake thought it wasn’t too big a price to pay.
Like two birds of feather, both men seemed to lead a lonely existence.
Dirk snickered, face a little softer than before.
“Uh… Is something funny?”
“Nah, just thought how fitting it is for the flower shop guy to get a flower tattoo. Cranberries, huh?”
“Well, yes, I guess that’s the first thing that came to mind… Silly as it is!” Jake frowned.
“I’ve done flowers before, let me see if I can find them.” Dirk began rummaging through his drawers, nodding for Jake to draw a little closer to show him (which he did obediently). “So. You in charge of the flower shop now?”
“What do you mean?” Jake asked, kind of lost in the blond’s eyes. Although still veiled by the dark glass and focused elsewhere, the distance between them allowed him to catch the slightest streak of color… Bright like a tangerine and burning serene like a fire.
“I haven’t seen the old woman in a while. Mrs. English?”
“Oh, uh. Ms. English, actually.” Jake snapped out of it.
“My bad. You said you were her grandson. Or screamed it, more like. How is she doing?” Dirk asked distractedly as he laid another binder open on the counter. Jake’s eyes were focused on the flowery designs as he considered how to break the news to him.
“She… isn’t, isn’t doing—Unfortunately she went the way of all flesh,” he finally said.
“Shit, damn. When?” the blond asked, fingers still for a moment.
“... Back in February.”
“Shit. I guess she won’t be getting that tattoo,” Dirk told himself more than he told Jake, albeit rather tactlessly. “My condolences.”
“It is what it is! But a tattoo? My grandma? You’ve got to be hornswoggling me!”
“No, I swear. A golden daffodil” he almost smiled at the memory. “Said she’d get it tattooed on her wrist when she turned ninety five.”
“Not for the world! On her wrist?” Jake also smiled. “So you knew her.”
“Not really and definitely not intimately, but I held onto deliveries for her when she was away. Talked robotics a couple of times too. She gushed about her grandson every opportunity she got.”
“Yeah? And what did she say about him?” Jake laughed, chest tighter than he felt comfortable acknowledging.
“That he’s a chatterbox and a natural airhead. Too sensitive for his own good, but that the world could use more golden hearted young men like him? Stuff like that,” Dirk shrugged. “She also kept trying to sell me on how pretty and handsome you were, for whatever reason. Grandmas. Guess it comes with the job description.”
“Aw, jeez, grandma, why’d you go saying those things about me…” Jake tried to speak nonchalantly, but instead broke into a ragged sob. Great, just what was missing in the scene; tears and snot. Jake was not a pretty crier.
“Fuck, man. Are you—” Dirk stretched his hand towards him—unsure what to do about the sudden outburst—but drew it back before entering his space. Jake didn’t notice, he was too busy trying to wipe his tears before more materialized… Quite the task.
“E-excuse me, I think I’ll just—I have to go now!” he announced when he realized it was futile. And just like that, he took off, only turning back once he was physically outside the parlor. “I’ll be—I’ll be back!” he promised through the glass.
“For the tattoo or…?” Dirk asked a second too late, confusion at par with concern. “Ghibli ass tears… What the fuck,” he breathed, eyes fixated on the shaky back disappearing behind the door of the chaotic flower shop across the street.
Jade and Jake English.
Daffodils and cranberries... What an intriguing pair.
Once in the safety of his apartment, Jake gathered some papers and an envelope and let his hand make sense of his head for him.
What he had to say was yet to be uncovered, but to whom to address it to wasn’t even a question.
Dear grandma,
Its been a while hasnt it! The cherry trees are already in full blossom and things are peachy keen in the land of the living… Youd probably turn your nose at the way im running the shop (heck maybe you are from wherever youre watching) but im fending for myself just fine… Methinks anyhow! We havent put up the shutters yet at least… And by we i mostly mean i. Whoops-a-daisy. Slip of the tongue.
Funnily enough all ive gotten lately has been funeral arrangements… Chance can be one tactless gent! But its as you used to say: every flower withers and the earth keeps spinning!
Not going to bamboozle you, its been a few sad weeks without you. Almost two entire months went by already but blistering barnacles if it still feels unreal. I still tear up when your name comes up in the mail and i dare not go near the freezer in fear it might be the last of your cooking i get to eat… Haha! Thats… a bit embarrassing to admit but its the honest truth.
So yes! I suppose ill write now and then. Let you know about the hijinks i get up to. Becoming a ghost penpal to your only grandson might not even be the weirdest youve seen. You had quite the bizarre life after all!
Ah. But what else was there… Aha! Today i talked to this strider fellow across the street… You know. The scary looking chap with the spiky blond hair and the tattoos and the unconventional spectacles. He asked about you. It would appear that you two were acquainted but somehow he hadnt heard about your passing. He was a little strange about it… Then again i might be getting a little something inked by him because of a misunderstanding so water off a duck’s back…!
Speaking of which. You never mentioned anything about getting a tattoo, you sneaky gran you! I looked daffodils up on that book you gave me out of sheer curiosity and they apparently mean regard in the language of flowers… I dont think you ever believed in any of that baloney but i found the poems on the appendix to be rather sad.
Maybe ill dry some and seal them with this letter. I think youd like that.
I miss you every day but ill live!
Your grandson who is extremely handsome and a jabberer and who loves you very much despite you embarrassing me and making me cry in front of a well-favoured stranger,
Jake
DAFFODILS.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden Daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle in the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company;
I gazed and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought!
For oft when on my couch I lie,
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.
Wordsworth.
TO DAFFODILS
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet, the early-rising sun
Has not attained its noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hastening day
Has run But to the even song;
And having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you or any thing.
We die,
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain,
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.
Robert Herrick.