CATEGORY: Fluff
FEATURING: pure!Tyler and punk!Josh
TRIGGER WARNING: CAR ACCIDENT
PROMPT: Tyler works at a flower shop. Every day, a stranger with pink hair comes into the shop, buys a single flower, and gives it to Tyler before leaving.
WORD COUNT: Approximately 1,900

It's late afternoon, and the boy with the pink curls still hasn't arrived.

He comes here every day, around one o'clock. I'm pretty sure he works at the Guitar Center across the street; I see him leave it when he comes over to the shop.

When he comes into the flower shop where I work, he doesn't rush, but he doesn't waste his time, either. He goes straight to the pink roses, and looks at them all. We have a nice selection of flowers, but he always chooses a pink rose.

He looks through them, and chooses one. He brings it to the counter, pays for it, and gives it to me before leaving the shop and going back to Guitar Center.

His hair has been the same way since I started seeing him: soft, cotton candy pink on the top, and dark brown on the sides. It's my favorite feature about him. He usually wears either a plain t-shirt or a gray "I want to believe" hoodie, and dark skinny jeans with rips in the knees. Sometimes he wears a black snapback, and I can't see as much of his hair and face as I'd like to. When he doesn't wear a hat, his hair is free, and his pink curls, bunched together on his head, remind me of the roses he buys for me.

I remember the first time he came into the shop, about two weeks ago. Back then, he was just a stranger. A very, very cute stranger. I'd seen him the moment he stepped into the sore; he was impossible to miss. I'd put more change into the register, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I know boys aren't characteristically 'beautiful', but he was. Pure and lovely.

I'd been surprised when, after he paid for the rose, he handed it to me. I'd figured he was buying some flowers for a girlfriend or something. "Are-Are you giving this to me?"

He'd nodded and given me a sweet smile that made butterflies flutter in my stomach. "Yes. It's for you."

I'd carefully taken the rose from his hand. It was very soft pink; like bubblegum, like cotton candy, like strawberry ice cream, like his beautiful curls.

Before I could thank him, he left the shop. I never got his name, or his number.

The next day, he came in again, buying another pink rose and giving it to me. I thanked him with a  smile, but again he disappeared before I could say more.

Every day since then, he's come in, bought a pink rose, and given it to me silently. I've not heard him speak since the first day, but I wish I could hear him talk again. I like his voice. It's deep, but gentle, with a friendly, kind tone to it.

Today, it's nearly three o'clock, and he still hasn't come in. I started to grow worried around two, and now I'm almost afraid. Did he forget about me? Maybe he doesn't like me like I thought.

Jenna, my boss, approaches from the back room. "Your mystery boy still hasn't shown?" I told her all about him on the third day, when she personally saw him give me the rose.

I nod worriedly, fiddling with the sleeve of my kimono. It's black, with pretty flowers and leaves on it. The flowers on it are pink, and I started wearing the kimono on day five, because it reminded me of the boy with the curls. I think he noticed, too: his lips had curved upwards into a happy smile.

Jenna gives me a sympathetic look. "Did you see him go into work today?"

I lift my gaze to the Guitar Center across the street. I almost went in there once, on day seven, to find the boy and ask him about the flowers. I became too nervous, however, and went home instead. "Now that I think about it, I don't think I did. I must have been helping a customer."

"You could always go over and ask about him," Jenna suggests, lightly picking a few dead leaves off of our sunflowers. She has a passion for plants and a brilliant green thumb, like me. "It's not a busy day, anyway. Nobody ever comes in on a Tuesday."

"Are you sure?" I ask, though I'm about ready to flee the shop and run across the street to go find the boy.

Jenna nods without looking at me, her attention on the flowers. "I can handle the store until you get back."

"Thank you. I'll be back soon, I promise." I leave the shop and go out onto the street.

There are a few people out: a jogging woman pushing a stroller, a couple holding hands, an old man looking in a storefront window. I cross the street at the crosswalk and walk until I stand in front of the Guitar Center.

Nervousness begins to worm its way into my stomach. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. What if he isn't there? What if he is, and I have to talk to him? What am I going to say?

I close my eyes for a moment, picturing my safe place: my small but comfortable apartment, with its view of the park across the street. I picture myself nestled under my soft white blankets, sitting on the edge of my bed and looking out the window. It helps calm me down, and my anxiety dissipates.

I take a deep, calming breath, and enter the store. Music is playing over the intercom, unlike at the flower shop, where Jenna and I usually work in comfortable silence. I don't recognize the song, but the lead singer has a soul voice.

I'm distinctly aware that my floral, feminine kimono sets me apart from the customers I see; most of them look rather hardcore, very in their elements. I am a bit of a musician myself (I play the piano, and sometimes the ukulele) but these people look very different from me; they have a tough, punk look to them. I approach the counter, feeling the eyes of a few regulars watching me.

"Can I help you?" asks the man behind the counter. He has stringy, bright red hair, which captures my attention immediately. He has a slightly feminine look about him; he looks almost delicate, with a slight build. He wears a black jacket and black skinny jeans, with combat boots. A black band t-shirt peeks out slightly from under his jacket, but I can't read all of it. His name tag bears his name: 'Gerard'.

"Um...yes, I hope so." I lightly tug on the edge of my kimono sleeve, something I do when I'm nervous. "This is going to sound a little odd, but do you have an employee here with pink hair?"

Gerard nods his head. "Yeah, why do you ask?" 

I tug a bit more on my sleeve. "I work at the flower shop across the street...every day he stops by and buys me a pink rose, but he didn't show up today."

Gerard's lips curve upward in a smile. "You must be the flower boy, then."

I feel a blush creep across my cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"He talks about you all the time, how you light up whenever he comes into the shop, how you always say thank you and smile at him when he gives you the rose, how you always take it home with you when you leave." Gerard smirks. "He definitely likes you."

I blush more. "Are you friends?"

"Friends and coworkers." He holds out his hand. "I'm Gerard."

I take his hand and shake it. "Tyler. So...do you know where he is?"

Gerard takes his hand back and leans on the counter. "Nope, never showed up for work. Probably he decided to skip work today, family emergency maybe."

"Oh." I turn away slightly. "If I come back tomorrow, will you let me know if you hear anything?"

"Of course." Gerard turns away as well, to face a rack of guitars on the wall.

I walk to the door of the Guitar Center, stopping at the last moment. "Wait, Gerard. What's his name?"

Gerard takes a guitar off the rack, and turns his head back towards me. "Josh."

Josh. 

I like that name a lot.

The next morning, I'm in the shop, helping a customer ring up her purchase. It's a middle-aged woman, buying a bundle of assorted flowers for her elderly mother.

Just as the customer leaves, Gerard enters the store, surprising me. He looks so out of place here in his dark clothes, surrounded by flowers; like a drop of black paint in a colorful portrait. He must be feeling like I did yesterday in Guitar Center.

Gerard scans the room until his eyes settle on me. He heads over to me. "Tyler."

"Hello, Gerard." I'm in my element here, and I feel I can trust Gerard, so I'm more relaxed than yesterday. "Can I help you?"

"I'm not here to buy anything, I came here with word about Josh." Gerard shoves his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Oh?" I rest my arm on the counter. "So what happened?"

"Our boss got a call this morning from a doctor in the hospital a few blocks away. Josh was hit by a car on the way to work."

My lungs freeze as terror grips my chest. 

He's gone? 

The boy with cotton candy hair is gone?

Gerard must sense my fear, because he puts a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. "No, no, it's okay, I promise. He's alive."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Is he okay?"

"One leg is broken, and the other is fractured, but he's not dead. They're keeping him another few days just to be sure, and then they're letting him go. He won't be able to come to work for a while, but he's going to be just fine."

"Thank God." I hesitate with my next question. "Which hospital?"

Gerard smiles, like he knew I was going to ask. "Ruby Memorial, Room 21. And yes, they're letting him have visitors.

On my lunch break, I leave the shop and get into my car. Normally, I go to Taco Bell at this time, but today it will have to wait. I have something more important to do.

I drive to Ruby Memorial Hospital. It's a big building, and as I park I worry about finding him.

I enter the building and head to the reception. I approach a woman sitting at a desk and ask her where Room 21 is. She gives me directions with a smile, and tells me that he'll be glad to have another visitor. Apparently, his family have been in to see him already.

After carefully following the directions the woman at the desk gave me, I arrive at Room 21. The door to the room is open, and I knock very softly on the wall before entering.

My breath catches in my throat. He's beat up, that's for sure. He wears a hospital gown, and two casts, one on each leg. There are purple bruises on his arms, and another splash of violet on his cheek. His eyes are closed, and his chest rises and falls softly; he must be asleep. His pink curls look messier than usual.

I very slowly approach his cot, not wanting to disturb him. He looks younger when he's asleep, somehow even more pure. I hesitate, then lean in and very, very gently kiss his unbruised cheek.

I leave my name and number written on a small card on his bedside table, along with a bouquet of pink roses, before disappearing.