“alright, maybe you could tell me about that over coffee or something and we could actually speak to each other, catch up?…” 😍

“I’m worried about you….”

Hey guys, so on Facebook there’s this popular fan page that wants to kind of put together a project where we make recordings, pictures, written words whatever you want to convince the writers that we want to see japril on the show when it returns.

There’s been some doubts recently with everything going on if Japril will be ignored as a ship next season BUT we might have a say in the narrative.

Try your hardest to send something in! This is active participation instead of just complaining you know!!!

Hi everyone, this is a small drabble inspired by this prompt http://dailyau.tumblr.com/post/151667685713/i-work-at-a-flower-shop-and-youre-a-tattoo-artist

I’ll post another OS/update one of my MC on Wednesday again after my exam :)

Hope you enjoy!

xxx

He does this every other day. Walk into their store, right after he closes his, sits on a stool right across the counter, where she sits day in and day out, faking smiles, forcing small talk and curating bouquets of flowers for other people when she’s never gotten one herself. Yet, she loves her job. It’s her own shop, and she has a set of loyal clientele and makes a good profit, especially considering the fact that she only opened up this store about 4 months ago. Also, it doesn’t hurt that he works right across her.

He owns a tattoo parlor, one of those old school ones, that hosts a niche selection of clients who are willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money to get their bodies inked. She grew up in a very traditional household, Christian and conservative, tattoos were heavily discouraged. It also doesn’t help that she’s always been a little afraid of needles. But there have been times, when she’s looked across the street, and seen him bent over a person’s body, heavily concentrating on his art, that she’s seriously considered getting one. Regardless, she gets her best view of him across her own shop.

It started about a month ago, when he’d walked into the store, and she’d been a little enchanted by him. His face, his eyes, his lips, and even the gorgeous sleeve tattoos that he had. He was a textbook version of the kind of boy April’s parents always warned her against. The one her hormonal infused teenage dreams couldn’t get rid of. And his smile. Oh god, his smile. She hadn’t really heard what she found herself agreeing to, but his voice was low and sharp, and she figured he could convince her to help him bury a dead body, no questions asked.

They hadn’t spoken much after that, except for the hellos, thank yous, you’re welcomes and goodbyes. There’s no small talk, and she appreciates it in a way. But she wants to talk to him, she wants to get to know him. She’s just spent the last few weeks working up the courage to do it. He comes in here, sits and sketches flowers for a good hour and then leaves.

“Have a good day.” She smiles at the man in front of her who just ordered a batch of flowers, for his wife, Megan. He’s a frequent client, and she finds it endearing that he buys her flowers almost every week. Lucky girl.

The bell chimes, as the door closes behind him, and April turns around to clear up her workspace. It’s just the two of them. She’d sent off her two other employees early today, considering how it had been a slow day.

“He’s cheating on his wife.”

April looked up all of a sudden, a little confused as to whom the voice belonged to and realized he was speaking. Jackson. She’d caught that much. He was still sketching, his hand moving effortlessly across the paper, but she was pretty sure he’d spoken up.

“What?”

“He’s cheating on her.” He repeats, and finally looks up.

“Jacob?”

“Yep.”

Her eyes widen and she wonders how on earth he knows that. It’s ridiculous. Jacob seems like a wonderful man.

“How do you know that?” She asks, a little curious and also a little giddy, because he was talking to her.

“Well, for starters, he says he’s been married for 15 years right?” He asks her, tapping his pencil on his book. She nods.

“Well, no man who’s been married to someone for that long still buys his wife flowers every single week, unless he has something to feel guilty about or apologize for. It’s sweet, romantic, at first. But overtime, the novelty wears off, and she doesn’t expect it. You say I love you very differently when you’re married for that long.”

“Like how?” She asks, a little too curious.

“Well, you do the dishes without them asking you to or you put the kids to bed while the other person takes a bath. Flowers become insignificant next to those.”

She smiles at him, because he’s right. All that sounds much more considerate than flowers. Even she can admit that.

“That’s the only reason?” She perks an eyebrow, and shoots her that half grin she’s starting to get addicted to seeing.

“Well, there’s also the fact that he buys 3 bouquets every week. The same one twice, white and red roses, and the other one is purple tulips. Surely, one woman likes either/or, not both. If that was the case, he’d buy three different kinds of bouquets.” He closes his sketch pad, and stands up.

She leans against the counter, brows furrowed, “So the odd one out is for the mistress?”

“Bingo. The mistress whom he calls, sweetheart. He addresses the other two to, Megan or my beautiful wife. The third is always sweetheart. He never gives a name for that bouquet. And I’m willing to bet that’s because it’s not Megan. Probably Carol.”

She giggles at that, but he’s starting to make more sense now and it’s making her realize how naive she could be sometimes. She’d definitely not be giving Jacob anymore discounts in the future.

“What an asshole.”

“I know right?”

They laugh, and for the first time, the air lightens up, and she finds that she likes him a whole lot better.

“You’re very observant.” She comments, as he leans forward against the counter, and she catches a glimpse of a sketch poking out of his book.

He shrugs, “I also have a photographic memory. That helps.”

She’s impressed.

“Like, for example, I know that your favorite flowers are sunflowers because you love that they turn to the direction of the sun and you also love them because not many people do. You hate roses, they’re too clichèd. Nothing special. Merely a product of mass commercializations thanks to Valentine’s Day. You love when people come here to buy flowers for their friends and family, because you think people shouldn’t just buy flowers for their romantic partners. You hate Debbie. She takes so long in the store asking you so many questions but always buys the same bouquet and you love Mr.Norris who buys flowers everyday to keep in his dead wife’s grave and you don’t mind even a little bit that he only remembers to pay you thrice in one week. You’ve never gotten flowers, but you’ve always wanted to. It’s the way you longingly stare at every bouquet. Which is a shame though, because who wouldn’t want to buy you flowers?”

He stops at smirks at her once more, and she stands there looking at him in complete and utter shock. She’s in awe, but also a little embarrassed, particularly at the last line. Although a part of her is a little warm and fuzzy that he thinks someone ought I have bought her flowers.

“Wow.”

“I’m like The Mentalist.”

“But way better looking.”

She says this, and it takes her a minute to realize what she’s done. But she’s sees his eyes fall to hers, and a grin spread across his face, and she blushes like the red roses she hates.

“I’m glad you think so.”

He nods at her, and turns to leave. She stops him before he gets to the door, because all this reminds her of a question that remains unsolved, “Then why do you need to come to the shop everyday to sketch the flowers? Can’t you recall them from memory?”

“Oh, I can.”

She waits, hoping he’d elaborate because he hadn’t exactly answered her question yet.

He takes a minute. Turns away, and holds the door open, and she figures that’s all she’ll get on that, when he speaks up, “The flower isn’t the only beautiful thing worth looking at.”

And with that he leaves, leaving her behind to contemplate how the conversation she’d had with him had ended up being a million times better than the ones she’d been having in her head. She was flustered, and when the next customer came in, her last for the day, she had to give in a little extra to keep herself from getting dazed. He was a smooth talker, she thought, smart, funny, talented and he had a way with words. She’d love to get flowers from him.

xxx

April, walks in the next day, half an hour late, thanks to some early morning traffic, and she walks in apologizing profusely to Samantha, a gardener she’d hired.

“No problem. We only had one customer in. And the delivery wasn’t too hard considering how it was really really close by.” Samantha grinned wide, and pointed to the beautiful bouquet of sunflowers, perched on her counter.

“Then why are they still here?”

“Because they just got delivered to the customer.” She says, handing April the bouquet, and she takes a second, standing there, holding the flowers in her hands, and blinking. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“What?”

“Enjoy.” She winks at her, and walks off towards the employee room.

April stands there confused, and instinctively looks out the window across the street, and faintly blushes when Jackson looks up at her at the same time and waves. She waves back and she can’t tell if she’s seeing it in her head, because of the distance, but she could swear he was wearing a smirk.

She sets the flowers down, running her fingers across the petals, before she notices a small card attached to it. She opens it up, a little afraid because this is the first time she’s getting flowers and she wants it to be special.

To April,

There’s a surprise inside the right hand side drawer. Enjoy!

- Jackson

She quickly puts the card down her heart racing and she gets a quick glance across the street to find Jackson staring intently back at her. She blushes once more, and turns her attention to the drawer, pulling out a piece of paper. She gasps as she realizes that he’s spent the last week sketching something other than the flowers. Her. It’s a lifelike drawing of her, behind the counter, smiling, surrounded by a bunch of flowers, tapes, ribbons and whatnot. She runs her hands over the grainy dried paint, and takes a moment to realize this is actually happening.

She turns the paper around and sees a sunflower in the back, tiny, beautiful, bright yellow. Next to it are the words, ‘You should get this’.

She stares at it for a minute, “Samantha, can you take care of the counter for a second, I’ll be right back.”

She walks right out, and into his store, all the while looking at him look at her, and happy that the confusion is now on his part.

She walks in, the place buzzing, literally. She feels a little out of place, in her yellow sundress, and bandanna wrapped hair, but she sees him walking towards her and it doesn’t feel so bad anymore.

“So?” He asks, but she knows he already knows why she’s here.

She holds up her wrist, points to the area of skin to the right side.

“Here.”

His smile return, wide boyish grin, and she finds herself melting again.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

He turns back to get his sketching paper, and she’s a little unsure of what to feel about how sure she is about this. He’s strange. Not him, per se. This pull. She doesn’t need to question it just yet.

“Oh there’s this special offer that we have. Free tattoo on one condition”

“What’s the condition?”

“You have to go on a date with me.” He shrugs, and leans back and waits for her reply.

She opens her mouth, closes it, and realizes she must look ridiculous.

“That’s a pretty good deal.”

“It is.”

She pretends to think for a while, “I’ll take it.”

xxx

| Author’s Note | Feeling very poetic at the moment and decided to form this work, inspired by Japril (Jackson Avery and April Kepner) from Grey’s Anatomy. A little confusing, but that’s how I write poetry. Technically, freeverse but with a little form. No Beta. Enjoy! |

They get lost in translation. But really that’s just not right, They don’t talk, final answer. Not about the biggest things, Never about the big things.

They lost a baby, a boy, But really the lost themselves. They didn’t speak. Not a word, Not with her leaving to heal. Never with how she didn’t.

They tried to use their own words, But gave up, used their bodies. They ended up with divorce, Not like she healed, nor did he. Never did they feel that pain.

That feeling of hopelessness, The ever-consuming thoughts. Inklings of abandonment, Faking a healed persona. In all engulfing silence.

That anguish won’t always stay. The trust might not ever mend, Inklings of unsaid may lurk. But I believe they will heal, And if they do they will grow.