Chapter Text
A/N; I was listening to Heathens while i wrote this. Love that new suicide squad soundtrack.
Enjoy.
###
"Why are people so fucking boring?"
Ray looked up from where he was rearranging the geraniums in the corner. Frank was sprawled out in a chair with his feet up on the counter and legs spread, like he was trying to be a pornstar. His feet were almost in the little bonsai they kept there, and as a few guys walked past the store Frank watched them avidly. Ray didn't want to be the one to tell him that he'd never be able to attract anyone in the dreadful uniform they were forced to wear. Salmon pink slacks, khaki polo shirt, black shoes. If anyone could look hot in it, it was Frank, but that didn't make it any less awful for Ray. Also, it wasn't like younger guys ever came into the store - it was called Pansy's Picks, for God's sakes.
He didn't actually answer the question, because he didn't know what it was in referral to. But he could guess, because there was one pet peeve Frank had about the store.
"I mean," Frank continued, unperturbed, "can't we get an interesting fucking order for once? All these people want is their boring heterosexual flowers for their boring heterosexual life partner because they forgot their boring heterosexual anniversary."
"I like the red roses," Ray said. "They're not that bad."
"You're a disgrace, Toro," Frank replied flippantly. "Don't buy into it, that's what they want."
Ray turned back to look at the slightly wilted daisies. He'd need to change their watering amounts - usually if he left one of the other workers to do that, they overwatered. Maybe he'd put a sign up or something to remind them not to drown the plants. He didn't want anything to go to waste - flowers were important, both for people and for nature. Ray liked the flowers a lot - liked the solid tulips and the delicate bluebells and the simple daisies. Being offered the managerial position here had been a dream come true. Ray hadn't had amy aspirations in high school, hadn't been outstanding at anything but soundmixing and naming flower types. This job had been his saving grace, almost. He was actually here because he liked the flowers, unlike Frank.
After a year, Ray still wasn't entirely sure why Frank was here at all - before Ray had inherited the managering job for Pansy's, he'd been going up somewhere north to meet up with a band label who was interested in his YouTube channel. Because Frank thought, spoke, breathed music. He'd even made Ray install a sound system in the store, and Ray still didn't understand why he wasn't out doing things. Frank didn't really talk about it, and Ray was too nervous to ask in case something bad had happened. He couldn't tell if Frank was happy or unhappy with working here - he never complained about the job itself, did all the work he needed to and sometimes more, but Ray didn't think that Frank belonged here.
"Hello?"
A young girl approached Ray, one hand twirling in her blonde hair nervously. Ray offered her a smile and stood up, still holding a pot with a single bamboo shoot in it. Frank always complained about the weird plants they kept here, because this was supposed to be a florist's, dude, not a jungle. And it wasn't like people wanted to buy the cactus flowers. Ray kept the exotic plants anyway.
"Hi, welcome to the store. Can I help you with anything?"
The girl looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm looking for some flowers for my boyfriend... maybe some roses...?"
Ray didn't look at Frank as he nodded. "We have a nice range of yellow ones just in stock, would they interest you?"
"Do you have any... red ones?"
He could almost hear Frank's aggrieved sigh from the counter, but refused to look over there. "I'm sure we do, just give me a moment and I'll find some for you."
He wandered into the back of the store to where they kept the extra stock. The roses on display always got taken first, so this was an everyday routine, pretty much. He walked over to the large stock of red roses sitting in an unkempt heap - of course, he'd let Frank unpack it all again and this was what he got. Dammit. He let out a tiny sigh before rooting around for the nicest-looking ones, picked out three that were barely blooming yet. They looked nice, but something in the back of Ray's mind agreed with Frank, wanted someone to come in requesting something from the African plains or the mountain ranges in Europe.
He sighed and returned back to the front of the store, where Frank was already ringing up the order. The girl was looking at him working with a blush still high on her cheeks, but Frank was ignoring her profusely. Ray found a nice piece of white ribbon and tied the flowers together, then handed them to Frank. He smiled at the girl again, who didn't smile back but glanced at Frank again. Oh. Well, maybe the uniform wasn't that much of a deterrant after all. Frank pulled out the little tabs to write someone's name on, stuck it to the ribbon efficiently, and slid the flowers across the counter to the girl.
"That'll be nine dollars," Frank said flatly.
"Um... oh! Yes, of course."
The girl gave him the change and Frank dropped it into the till. She paused for a few seconds, long enough that Ray was concerned and Frank actually managed to look over at her. She was shifting from foot to foot absently, eyes fixed on Frank's name badge. It's not that nice of a badge, Ray thought absently. It was just one of those plain ones from Walmart with Frank's name in sharpie, it didn't warrant that much attention.
"...I don't suppose you'd...want to go out sometime...Frank?"
"Sorry, you're not my type," Frank said dryly.
"And... what is your type?"
"Fat cocks," Frank said without missing a beat.
The girl went bright red. "Oh God, I should've known, you work here..."
Frank looked like he was about to get up and throw her down in one of those illegal wrestling moves, so Ray intervened. "Thank you for shopping at Pansy's," he said cheerfully.
"Are you two fucking? Cute!"
Ray felt his cheeks catch on fire. This girl clearly had no perception of what was an appropriate question. This didn't seem to affect his co-worker, though.
Frank leaned forward, his eyes lit up dangerously. "Every day," he said. "You interested in a threesome?"
"Frank!"
"I was just fucking with her," Frank answered easily, leaning back in his chair. "Get out of here before I kick you out."
The girl got out fairly quickly.
Ray didn't stop blushing for an hour after that.
###
"I just wish it was more interesting, you know," Frank whined.
He'd been working this job for a year, and it wasn't the worst job he'd ever done, but the customers were so boring. Red roses for my valentine, red roses for my crush who won't like me back, red roses for an anniversary gift for my wife who is probably allergic to anything else. It made a person like Frank Iero go quietly nuts. Or loudly nuts, whatever he felt like at the time. Frank hated the roses with a passion, and he hated the customers who bought them even more. He also hated the uniform they wore, the name of the store, and where it sat right next to the local university. The only things he didn't hate about Pansy's Picks were the orange lilies (Ray had told him once they signified hatred) and Ray Toro himself.
Frank loved Ray Toro. Not in a gay way, even though Frank was at heart very gay indeed, and Ray was... probably not straight, even though he never talked about it. (Frank suspected, after that time they went to a club and he caught Ray eyeing a guy's crotch.) They'd been best friends since that time the assholes at school shoved Frank into his locker and Frank discovered music sheets. Ray had taught him half of what he knew on guitar - the man was a genius and a great teacher and Frank had no fucking idea why he liked hiding in this pokey little store instead of going out there and being a rockstar. Because Ray could do it, if he tried. Frank wished he'd play more often.
The point was, he loved Ray but he loved Ray not in a gay way, which rhymed and made him giggle out loud.
Ray glanced over and gave him that half-pitying, half-sympathetic look he always got when Frank complained about the store. At least Frank was still allowed to have his piercings in. One place he'd worked at had made him take them out every time he worked a shift and it had been fucking annoying. Frank knew Ray was just trying to manage everything properly. He did his best, really, and Frank got that, but it was so hard to have the same thing, day in day out, when there were absolutely no interesting people in Belleville, New Jersey, none that were interested in a slightly decrepit florist store. Well, except for Ray. Who Frank loved but not in a gay way. Man,
"Can we change the uniforms, please, Ray?" This was the thirty-second time he'd asked this.
"Do you have a design idea?"
"Do I look like a fucking artist to you?"
"No."
"Ray. Can't we just wear black?"
"No," Ray answered, just like he had the other thirty-one times Frank and he had had this exact same conversation. "Come up with something that is actually an idea, and I'll talk to the owner about it."
Frank let out a loud sigh and smacked his forehead against the counter. It hurt, but it didn't hurt enough that he could complain about it. Ray seemed unperturbed by the action (probably because his dramatics were usual), fiddling with a strangely coloured flower until it was facing the ceiling. Frank opened one eye and watched him wander around the store, watering some plants and spraying others with his homemade bug killer. Ray didn't even treat this place like a florist - it was more like he had a plant nursery that just happened to sell cheap flowers. But hey, each to their own, right?
The clink of the door opening had Frank raising his head. He wasn't usually excited by customers, but sometimes the odd eye candy would appear in front of him like a blessing. The guy that walked in was fairly hot, just the barest hint of stubble and bright, clear eyes. Frank imagined how the stubble would scrape on his own skin and started daydreaming about it. Mm, that'd be nice. He hadn't hooked up with anyone in ages, it fucking sucked. Let alone actually have a relationship, God forbid. It wasn't that he was unattractive, he just... couldn't find anyone he actually clicked with. It was hard being a gay guy with asshole tendencies around here.
He looked up as the guy approached him. Mm, yes. A solid eight out of ten. "Hi," he greeted. "What can I do for you?"
The guy looked contemplative. "I'm looking for some red roses for my girlfriend...?"
Frank let his head thunk back down to the counter and ignored the man when he asked if Frank was okay. He heard Ray trying to run damage control as he lifted his head slowly and then let it fall back with a loud thunk. Fuck the entirety of his pitiful life. Fuck it. Fuck it all.
###
Ray looked over at Frank puzzledly, then down to the piece of lined paper on his lap. Ray had thought he was out the back, rearranging stock, but no. He was barely visible in the corner like this, and he looked almost like an elf. Not that Ray was going to tell Frank that. He was sitting in the corner of the room under the orchids, and a leaf from somewhere was sticking up out of his hair like it had grown there. Most concerning, though, was the scribbling mess on the paper Frank held. Was he actually... trying to draw a new uniform? On lined paper, with a sharpie? Ray would commend his dedication, but the pictures weren't really...
"I'm not very good at drawing," Frank observed, looking down at the lopsided stick figures.
One looked like it had a carrot for a nose. The other had a cloud for hair, so Ray assumed it was supposed to be him. "No, you aren't," Ray agreed.
"What were you trying to draw?"
"A fucking uniform. A cool one," Frank muttered grumpily. He looked tired - they'd been unloading the new shipments all night, and Frank had insisted on coming to the store today instead of going home to sleep.
Ray sat down next to him and Frank leaned against him, hair tickling Ray's neck. He picked up the notepad and sharpie and relocated it to his own knee, flipping it over to a new page. Frank made a sleepy nose into his collarbone and Ray sighed, uncapping the pen as Frank fell asleep. He smelled kind of like apples, or at least his hair did, which was kind of strange to Ray because some part of his brain had expected Frank to smell like music. Which was weird, yeah, but it was Frank. Frank was weird anyway. It wouldn't have been a huge stretch of the imagination.
A buzz echoed in Ray's ears and he realised (surprise surprise) Frank had earbuds in. He picked one from Frank and settled it in his own ear, letting the heavy guitar lull him into thoughtful silence as he began drawing.
"You can't draw either," Frank mumbled.
"You drooled on my shirt," Ray retorted, although there was no venom in his voice.
Frank rubbed his face against Ray's shirt and sat up. Ray considered making him wash the shirt but decided he didn't really care. It wasn't like he enjoyed wearing this thing either. "We should hire someone to design that shit for us."
"It wasn't like we could make anything good with lined paper and a sharpie anyway," Ray said.
"Some people can," Frank said through a yawn.
"We're not artists."
"Which is why we need an artist. Ray, go find us an artist."
"I'm not paying an artist to design a uniform for us that might not even get approved."
Frank frowned. "Who said anything about paying? Go seduce one, Toro."
Ray felt himself blush. "No."
"Why not? They'd probably do it for free for a chance to touch this."
"Get your hands out of my hair!"
"Nope!"
Frank giggled into his hair cheerfully, practically on top of him by now with one knee in Ray's stomach and the other keeping balance. Ray didn't try to escape - Frank was a wriggly fucker and he'd immediately end up in a position about twenty times more uncomfortable than this one. Instead he patted Frank's tattooed bicep and tried to get them upright again. Of course, this was when a customer came into the store, to find the cashier straddling the manager and the manager going bright red with embarrassment.
"I'll - um, I'll come back later..."
Frank snorted loudly.
Ray shoved him onto the ground and stood up, and that was when his entire world shifted. Or, at least, someone else shifted the world. It was clearly an act of the Gods, because as he stood up to call back the slightly mollified young girl who'd disappeared down the street, he was smacked into by someone else walking into the shop at high speeds. Seriously, he should have a no running sign around.
He caught them automatically, then looked into slightly confused brown eyes and realised he was way too close to this guy. He backed up a few steps, still blushing (he couldn't help it, it just happened) and eyed the person standing by the door. Because they were kind of... well, hot. The first thing he noticed was the mess of dark hair contrasting with the white skin half-hidden under a grey beanie, then the piercing stare he was being given. Problem was, Ray had no idea what that stare actually meant. (And look at those legs, holy shit.) The guy had some sort of expression on his face, Ray just couldn't tell whether it was a 'oh my god you creep' stare or an 'I'm a serial killer and you're next' stare or even a 'I need red roses desperately' stare. He got the feeling he was staring too, but kind of blankly.
"How do I passive aggressively say 'fuck you' with flowers," Mikey Way asked, not realising he was changing everything with one little question.
###
Gerard Way didn't like Pete Wentz.
He'd made this obvious many times throughout the years his younger brother had dated the man. He'd complain every time he saw Wentz's shit-eating grin, would disappear into the basement whenever he came over their house, would whine to Mikey later that he was bad news. Quite reasonably, Mikey hadn't broken up with Pete just because Gerard didn't like him, but the problem was that Pete enjoyed poking fun at Mikey's older brother. Yeah, he could've lost a bit of weight in high school, but that shit was over and done with. Wentz didn't need to bring it up every time he saw Gerard. It was infuriating, and Gerard had to resist the urge to smash in his face at every opportunity.
And maybe he'd considered it a blessing that they'd never actually dated each other - for some reason they were happy to be friends with benefits forever - but this was ridiculous. Wentz had definitely crossed a line by explaining to Mikey in explicit detail how he was going to fuck the entire cheerleading squad. Including the coach. Seen as he hadn't been in high school for many years, this was even weirder than it would've been if they were. Mikey was largely unimpressed by this display, especially when Pete had also demanded Valentine's flowers from him. But hey, now they had an excuse to go in the flower shop and ogle the hot cashier.
"Uh..."
The guy with the curly hair seemed confused, looking at Mikey and then back at the cashier, who was staring wide-eyed at them. Gerard wondered if they knew how to make something like what Mikey wanted. This had been Elena's favourite place before...
"My man here sure can find you some of that," the cashier said finally, still on the ground.
"I... um... yeah," the other guy said. His nametag said Ray on it in neat block letters. "Come to the back and I'll show you the stock we have?"
Mikey shrugged and glanced back at Gerard, who shrugged back. You're going to be okay by yourself, Mikey communicated through an eyebrow twitch. Gerard nodded agreeably and Mikey turned back to Ray, let him lead him to the back of the store.
"You two are Godsent," the cashier groaned, flopping down onto his back.
"Thanks?"
"You're welcome," he said, hair curling over one eye messily. It was cute, in a punk sort of way, and Gerard could see the glint of a lip ring. Hot. He'd known about the guy from Elena, who had told him last year that he'd like what he saw. She hadn't been wrong - much like everything else, she was never wrong, and Gerard took a few absent steps towards him before offering his hand. The cashier let out the most ridiculous giggle he'd ever heard and took his hand, and Gerard helped him up. He overbalanced and nearly dropped them both on their asses but grabbed a bench just in time.
"I'm Frank," the cashier said.
"Gerard. That's my brother, Mikey."
"Ah, so you're the moral support," Frank chirped.
"I guess."
Gerard looked down and realised they were still holding hands, let go like he'd been burned. Frank seemed unaffected by the action, lifting himself up to sit on the bench. He knocked over a small pot with his hip, and watched it crash to the ground with his eyes bright and interested. They were interesting, sometimes hazel and sometimes green or gold in the light. And they were - staring at him. Oh. He'd been gazing at Frank for a while, hadn't he. Whoops. Frank didn't seem very upset that he was stuck with a total weirdo in his store.
"So," Frank said conversationally, "was it a girlfriend?"
"It was a guy," Gerard answered, wincing. Please don't let him be homophobic, please don't let him be homophobic-
"Finally," Frank said with an eyeroll. "Do you know how hard it is to find other gay people in this place?"
Other gay people? "Oh. You're - ?"
"Don't worry, I'm not gonna hit on your brother," Frank replied easily. "He's not my type. I like people with facial expressions."
"Hey," Gerard said. "Mikey does have facial expressions."
"Sure."
"He does," Gerard insisted.
Frank giggled again and oh, that was unfairly cute. It should be illegal. He wasn't allowed to do that ever again or Gerard would probably have a severe heart attack or something. He looked for some sort of distraction, looked down and saw a crumpled slice of paper. When he reached down to pick it up, Frank laughed again. When Gerard looked down he saw... a mess? Part of it looked like a deformed sheep.
"What is this?"
"Uniform designs," Frank laughed.
Gerard looked at the pink and khaki ensemble Frank was clothed in. "I can understand why you'd want a new one."
"Mm. But we're not artists," Frank answered. "We can't even draw stick figures."
Gerard blinked down at the drawings. "Uh... it's got charm."
"It's crap. Worse than crap. I don't know where you see any charm in it."
"Art's different for everyone," Gerard reasoned. "I'm an artist, I should know."
"You're an artist?"
Frank's lips stretched in a grin.
Gerard felt a shiver down his spine.
###
Mikey remembered his grandmother as a woman with exquisite taste.
Elena was one of a kind, to both him and Gerard. She represented hope, in a way, something utterly different from everyone else. He remembered years and years of stories, the smell of cigarette smoke, ugly patterned scarves and strange flowers. He remembered Gerard sitting next to him, enraptured by Elena even more than he himself was. He hadn't even started drinking then. It was probably the simplest time in Mikey's life, sitting there happily amongst the flowers as Elena told them tales in a low, cheerful voice. The stories were always Mikey's favourite thing about going to Elena's, but the flowers were a very close second.
Elena bought a new flower every Thursday. Sometimes it would be a whole plant that she would continue to grow and nurture, sometimes they were just a single stalk to be dried later and preserved into a book. The best thing about Elena's flowers were their origin. She would never dream of buying daisies or tulips or anything mainstream, and Mikey loved as a child to point to a flower and ask 'where's he from?' And she'd say something like 'the Russian plains' or 'a special place in the Amazon forest.' And she'd tell him about her favourite flower shop, how they'd always manage to find all these exotic things and give her exact care instructions along the way.
Elena loved Pansy's Picks, so Mikey did too.
"Um... so, can I ask what this is all about?"
Mikey glanced over at the guy currently rifling through the shelves of plants, looking for a passive agressive 'fuck you' bouquet. This had been the best idea he'd ever had, and the shop workers seemed somewhat excited about it. Elena had been right about the guy he assumed was the cashier - he was definitely Gerard's type. This one, though, he was interesting. He'd expected his request to be refused and then there was this guy, hair sticking all over the place and dirt on the side of his nose, finding flowers like it was his life work. Hell, it might be, Mikey didn't know.
"What kind of a person are they? The person this is for, I mean," the guy said.
"An asshole," Mikey answered simply.
"Hm," the guy said thoughtfully, turning to rifle around in a box. He opened a book, flicked through it with concentration written all over his face, and then nodded, hummed again, and put it down. Mikey watched with absent interest. This guy was interesting - like, who would wear pink and khaki together without being a five year old girl or wanting to die?
"Okay, so I'm thinking and I have an idea," the guy said. "Meadowsweets mean 'uselessness,' -"
"We need that one then," Mikey cut in with the faintest hint of a smirk on his face.
"- orange lilies for hatred, yellow carnations for 'you have disappointed me,' and geraniums for stupidity," the guy finished.
"Perfect. I think I'm in love with you," Mikey said drily.
The guy choked on air and went bright red. "I - um - er -"
"Calm down."
"I- I'm fine!" He didn't look fine, though.
Mikey blinked lazily and leaned against a shelf, watching as the guy spluttered and flailed his arms around. Wow. He clearly wasn't used to any kind of attention. It was kind of charming in a funny way. He looked past the shelves, saw a pile of red roses on the ground, and wrinkled his nose at them. Why were they on the ground like that? Like, they deserved to be there because they werered roses, but why? The guy noticed and stopped flailing about, looked to see what he was making faces at.
"Do you... like red roses?" The question was hesitant, like he was worried about the answer.
"Can't stand them," Mikey said.
The guy positively beamed. Mikey was concerned he'd need glasses again after the brightness of that smile. It felt similar to when he'd touched an electrical cord once and it made his fingertips buzz and tingle.
"So, the flowers," Mikey reminded.
"Oh! Yes, um... we don't have any of the meadowsweets in stock, so... we can get them in a few days, it won't cost any extra," he said hurriedly.
Mikey didn't really care about the cost, but hey. Now he had a reason to come back here and talk to this guy more. If Elena had liked him, he must be okay. She'd mentioned the new manager, said his hair was a 'wonder that could only be seen with one's own eyes.' Mikey agreed with her wholeheartedly. He was resisting the urge to bury his hands in it as the guy wandered past him, back to the main part of the store. Mikey followed him and settled his elbows on the counter comfortably before glancing back to see what his brother was doing.
Gerard and the cashier were bent over something, heads nearly touching, talking in low, excited voices. Gerard's fluffy white hair was contrasting sharply against the guy's dark black hair. It was then Mikey noticed the smudge of eyeliner around the cashier's eyes and nearly burst out laughing. Nearly. Because wow, Elena had been completely right. It was a surprise they weren't fucking on the desk yet. That guy had just like, arrived from one of Gerard's wet dreams, probably. Mikey wondered what it was they were looking at.
"Okay, so... I'll need your name and phone number for the order," the guy said.
"Mikey," he said distractedly.
"I'm Ray," the guy - Ray - said.
Mikey hadn't actually asked him what his name was, but hey. Whatever. Now he didn't have to keep calling him 'the guy.' Ray slid a form and pen across the counter and Mikey signed it absently, looked down at the scribble of his name on the paper. He'd never get used to being an adult who actually had to signthings. It was a wonderful novelty that had not worn off in the few years it had been since he'd reached adulthood.
"So... three days?"
"I'll be back," Mikey said, unnecessarily.
He grabbed Gerard by the back of his jacket on his way and dragged him off.
###
"Hot," Frank said.
"I know," Ray whined, face buried in his hands.