(i love you) dearly so .

unless they’re working in the floral shop, it’s rare to come across others with a genuine interest in flowers, including multiple variations of said flowers. alessa has a tendency to overwhelm people when talking about her passions — whether it involves flowers, music, or art. her excitement can sometimes get the best of her. nonetheless, she is so grateful she hasn’t steered basil away. it’s hard to make and keep friends these days.

time travel doesn’t help either.

        “i knew it. i could see it in those shifty eyes.” her head shakes playfully when another laugh falls from her lips. even though it’s a joke, she’d love to have a familiar face in the shop. although she doubts much work would get done. the two would be too distracted and too involved in their own conversations to eagerly help customers. still, it’s a nice thought. “really? well, if you stick around, you’ll end up becoming an encylopedia too. i have way too much up here.” she gestures by tapping a finger to her temple. to be fair, there’s still so much more to learn but she’s confident in her floral knowledge. she’s willing to share everything as long as he’s interested.

alessa’s smile grows wider and wider as the other speaks. she offers a small nod, humming in agreement.

“honestly, i feel the same way. i think every flower is special.” of course she has her favorites but all species are beautiful in their own way. at least that’s how she views them. at the mention of zinnias, her head tilts to the side. “zinnias are a great choice. you have taste,” she confirms. “i can totally see that. i think zinnias match your personality.” running a hand through her hair, she takes a seat next to him, attempting to catch a closer look at the sketch. she can take a moment to rest her feet, right? she’s quiet for a second before giving up another confession. “if i had to choose, i think hydrangeas are my favorite. specifically french hydrangeas. they’re kind of all over my apartment… along with succulents. too many succulents. i have an addiction, i think.”

his grin turns bashful at the remark. maybe if it were anyone else, it would just be something to say, a retrospective claim to familiarity : oh, of course that’s your favorite! that’s so much like you. don’t i know you so well? as if friendship were a competition and bragging rights were the goal, something he’d seen more than enough times from acquaintances and family alike. but basil knows alessa well enough to understand she isn’t the type, that she means it when she says zinnias match his personality — and it’s the nicest, most inadvertent compliment anyone’s ever given him. “really?” there’s a childish curiosity, of course, to ask for specifics — a small flash of egotism to know the similarities — but he’s not about to ruin sincerity with vanity. “i’m flattered. i don’t know if my personality is very colorful and poofy itself,” he recalls his words about his favorite flower with a chuckle, “but i won’t disagree.”

he finishes the outline of one last petal before moving to draw the stem. the sketch is slow as he listens, nodding at the mention of her own choice of flower. “you’ve also got taste. hydrangeas are beautiful. the purple ones are my favorite.” in his limited (and nowhere near encyclopedic) knowledge of flowers, basil only knows colors, not types. in fact, he didn’t even know hydrangeas had types. so he’s not one-hundred-percent sure which ones are french, but he hopes the hydrangeas he’s thinking of aren’t too dissimilar : the ones that could arguably also be called poofy, with all their many petals arranged in colorful spheres.

with her next confession, his mouth quirks a little higher. bright eyes looking up from his paper to smile over at her, amusement tucked in his gaze.

@dearlyso​ 💖

     spencer doesn’t particularly like to chit chat, especially with happy-go-lucky types. their aura exudes delight which is a feeling so foreign nowadays. biting the inside of her cheek, her frozen stare settles on the other. “what the hell is wrong with you?” she spits out almost with a hiss. he has to want something to be this unusually and annoyingly polite. her green eyes narrow with scrutiny. “what do you want?”

maybe if this was four years ago he’d snap back with the same vitriol. maybe he’d sneer and make some snide remark, turn a small disagreement into a real problem because he never knew how to step away — but he’s not that angry little kid anymore. he’s spent a half-hour every week working on that. so as tempting as it is to return her irritation with his own, he refrains, and the furrow in his brow comes from confusion rather than annoyance.

     the quietness found within the shop brings her peace – a calmness she finds solace in. in her defense, such a feeling is rare. she finally chooses to enjoy the moment instead of meddling with time. having some nice company is a huge plus. the girl eventually turns to face basil with a small smile. “i wouldn’t say all but a good majority,” she add quietly with a laugh.

although the topic of the language of flowers only incites more excitement. she shifts from behind the counter, walking towards the display with a bounce in her step. “you’re absolutely right!” she starts while throwing her curls into a messy bun. “red roses are the most common ones for love but so are the red variations of chrysanthemums, carnations, and tulips.” alessa answers quickly, unable to hide pure delight. she sits there and ponders for a moment, taking in the display before her. “i always wanted to get a red rose, or any rose for that matter.” her thoughts drift elsewhere before shaking her head and finding his gaze again.

amusement is written all over her features. similarly to his own. “it isn’t a requirement but it may as well be. why so curious? are you trying to steal my job?” another laugh escapes from behind an accusatory tone. that’s when she nears his makeshift art studio. a curious gaze floats down to the sketch of flowers before landing on one flower in particular. “dafodil,” alessa confirms with an approving nod. “are those your favorite? do you have a favorite?”

basil doesn’t even feel the grin growing on his face, but it is — widening, stretching, beaming. it’s hard not to smile as alessa grows brighter and brighter the more she speaks about her flowers. enthusiasm has always been a contagious thing, delight shared over hobbies he’s never held and interests he’s never considered—but now it feels even more so, with the florist and her almost tangible excitement. her sincerity nearly distracts him from her words. 

nearly. 

but he still catches them and nods along with her answer : chrysanthemums, carnations, tulips. and the last tidbit, too. there and gone before she turns back to him, swept away with her gaze. she’s never received a rose before. he’s aggrieved on her behalf, surprised by the admission. if people aren’t giving her roses, he hopes they’re giving her some kind of flower, any flower. it seems cruel to help people pick the things and never receive any in return. for now, he’ll let the comment be swept aside as she poses her questions, but he’ll keep it in mind—right at the forefront with all the other little facts he’s picked up about alessa since dropping by the shop this morning.

        “i might be,” he laughs. “would you be kind enough to let me list you as a reference if i were?” brows quirk, his mouth still curled in amusement. he’s only following her joke, of course. while it would be nice to work surrounded by flowers, he knows he’d be a terrible help to customers, getting distracted by all the petals and colors, drawing everything on any piece of paper he could get his hands on. they’d hate him, and he wouldn’t blame them. but it’s a nice thought nonetheless. he waves a hand as if waving away the joke from the space between them. “even with your recommendation, i probably couldn’t even come close to stealing it. you’re like an encyclopedia of flowers — i didn’t even know chrysanthemum was a word until you mentioned it.” 

he shakes his head before glancing back to the sketch in progress. that big, wide, close-to-a-laugh grin turns into something smaller as he looks over the outlined flower. he hums in reply to her question.

        “so do you know what all these flowers mean?” it’s a question asked with nothing but curiosity. no underhanded motive or sarcastic edge, just genuine interest. only one of many questions that popped into his mind the moment he learned where she worked. “there’s a language, right? red roses mean love...” he glances at the flowers on display before tilting his his head, considering. “i think that might be the only one i know. red roses mean love.” there’s a sheepish chuckle before his gaze flits back to the sketchbook.

they’re tucked in a corner of the shop, where basil has taken up a workbench for himself, pencils and paper scattered atop the surface. he helped himself, really, finding a stray chair and pulling it up to the table. business at this hour is slow enough for it not to be a great offense, he figures, but if alessa asked, he’d move his stuff in a heartbeat. 

in the meantime, he’s been sketching flowers around the shop. as inspiration, he’d claim, but really, it’s an excuse to draw something pretty. he never has enough opportunities to draw flowers—or plants in general, if he really thinks about it. 

he’s got the beginnings of a daffodil sketched before his gaze darts back to alessa.