Chapter Text
Days were getting longer and longer; spring was blooming in every place one could look, and summer could not wait to show its nose to the people of London on this morning of April. The grey and sad atmosphere of winter had finally left its place without waving goodbye, with the cold wind on its back. The streets of Hampstead Village were filled with charming smiles and children skipping to get to their whereabouts; some store owners were finally reopening their sunny-season shops to receive the new customers who had only been waiting for this.
This was the case for Argenti. It was now his time to reopen his flower shop; it was his time to enjoy and spread his passion for flowers to every passer-by. The florist had established his shop on Roslynn Hill, an adorable avenue filled with small businesses. There, anyone could have found anything their heart desired: food, books, games—even love. Nothing was impossible to find on such a whimsical-looking street.
As Argenti’s customers were flooding the entrance of the white and pale green shop, the one on the other side of the street, Rangers and Sons, a hardware store, wasn’t given the same luck of more than five customers a day. Boothill, the owner, was instead given the gift of time; he had all day just to replace some pieces on shelves and stare outside the window, watching the people of London and its tourists wandering on the street. But his favorite moment of the year was indeed when the sun finally came to nourish the flowers in front of his store, making the flowers bloom to life, and this brought him so much happiness that only newlyweds would understand—not because he truly liked flowers; they were pretty, really pretty—but what made him smile at every sight of it was the man with his bright red hair maintaining them alive.
Every morning, when Argenti would start watering every single plant in his boutique; every midday, when the man would quickly eat a healthy lunch while cutting petals and thorns off roses; and every evening, when the florist closed the store with his key, trailing away while humming a gentle lullaby, Boothill could not stop staring. Maybe because it had become some kind of habit for him—not for any other reasons, he would tell himself. Whoever would have their shop in front of him would get the same attention, beautiful man or ugly witch.
He never glared at Argenti in a stalker way; he solely needed something to entertain him on his long days, and when the cold air of winter hit Roslynn Hill, the last tulip seeds were sold, and every single petal had fallen to the ground, he would go back to his melancholy of a life. Of course, the income of a hardware store with barely anyone buying screws or a hammer couldn’t be great. The money he made maybe would be enough for a simple life alone, and really, he would not mind at all a poor-quality life if he really was alone. Unfortunately, he had a daughter at home feeding on barely enough food to survive. Even if being a parent was some kind of burden for Boothill, never had he been given a gift as wonderful as his daughter—an angel who deserved a whole world to herself, somewhere where her every dream could become reality, somewhere where she didn’t have to scrape every last bit of food on her plate.
It’s in those winter months that he looked at photos of her on his phone and wondered if everything would have been different if he didn’t have this metal prosthetic arm. Maybe he could have offered a much better life to his child; maybe he could have had a better education too. Yet he shall never know, because a life with only one arm would be quite different.
So it was in this routine of staring, replacing shelves, and thinking about the past that Boothill lived. He wouldn’t dare change it; he was scared that everything would turn to ruin in an instant and that the life of his family would be doomed. But if he never tried, how could it ever get better? He had to do something; he had to change—
“Is someone here?” asked a soft voice coming from the door of the store, with the ring of the small bell hanging above it.
A magnificent head of red hair shone in the soft sunlight of the morning; the reflection of it could brighten the entire room by itself. Argenti was in Boothill’s shop for the first time in four years; it was the first time he had ever spoken to him.
“Y-Yeah, I’m here. Could I… help ya with anythin’?” said Boothill, with his accent trying to sound nonchalant in front of the man he had been observing every day he had the occasion.
“Oh, yes please, Mr. Boothill. I simply need some nails to put up some new special shelves for a new plant. It’s quite exotic and needs a certain support, and I need to make it myself, even if I really do not have a single clue how I shall do this,” explained the florist with a smile on his face. “You must find me quite ignorant to not know how to do such a simple thing. I am not a very manual man, if you understand what I mean, my dear.”
Boothill's jaw was laying low as he continued speaking. How did he know his name? And… my dear?! He could feel the flush on his cheeks appearing slowly; to stop it, he decided to shake his head vigorously to make it disappear before Argenti would notice.
“Oh! How ill-mannered of me to not properly introduce myself first. My name is Argenti; I’m the florist right in front of Rangers and Sons, The Garden of Colours,” the man bowed down and grabbed the store owner’s hand, pressing a light, polite kiss on his hand like in medieval times, “and you are Boothill. I’m sorry if I have not asked you directly when I installed myself on Roslynn Hill, but the moment I saw your beauty radiating from the window of your office when you were looking outside, I had to ask around a bit to know the name of such a man gifted by the god of beauty.”
The numerous pieces of information thrown at the poor Boothill were too much to analyze all at once, but one stood out more than the others: he thought Boothill was beautiful?
“Nails, ya said? Lemme take a quick look in the back,” managed to say Boothill before running away.
His feet ran to a small closet where he kept a broom and some more stuff to clean the floor and shelves. Now, here he could breathe heavily in peace. Thoughts were pushing in and out of his brain, entering by one ear and, just like a car bumping into another, pushing out the one from before. Argenti. In. His. Store. Right now. Oh gosh. He might have managed to hide his blushing face from the man, but if he would see him now, it would be an entirely different situation—nothing different between him and Argenti’s bright hair.
One big breath. Two big breaths. Time to go!
Wait—no, another big breath.
Boothill finally left the dark and dirty closet while brushing off the dust that had stuck to his apron. He tried his hardest not to look at the man still standing by the door while whistling a light tune.
“Haha, stupid me. Forgot that nails were right next to the door,” said Boothill, making an effort to seem natural. “Here ya go, Argenti.”
The name rolled perfectly on the man’s tongue; never had he said his name out loud, and to his—and also Argenti’s—ears, it sounded weirdly special.
Argenti was glad to be finally able to have a conversation with the man. He had known that Boothill was aware of who he was; he had seen him countless times staring at him while he was talking to customers.
“Thank you, darling. So how much do I owe you?” He searched his bag while saying the words. “Where did I put my wallet now?” he grumbled.
Boothill took a few seconds to think. Stop the routine. Do something with your life, Boothill. The words his brain screamed finally made him say something.
“On the house, man. Don’t worry about it!”
“Oh, I can’t accept this, Boothill,” started Argenti. “Well, at least let me invite you somewhere—dinner, maybe? What would you think about this, beautiful?”
Boothill’s lips trembled before he answered to the proposition. “S-sure. That sounds fun—a hell lot of fun.”
“Well, that’s settled! I’m glad we could finally talk, Boothill. I hope you will come tell me hello at my shop next time you don’t have customers instead of staring at me,” said Argenti, with a quick wink aimed at him.
And just like that, they waved each other goodbye and went back to their usual work, but each of them had the smile of a victor that day—a smile that none would dare pull down even for a second.