Bed of Roses

For You

     Ignoring the events of last night, I am completely fine! I'm back at the shop, I've got an energy drink, and I can assure you I am mentally okay! Sometimes all a man needs is some time with nature. Or time away from people. Either one works.
    It's quiet here in the shop, which is a relief from the near-constant noise of the city. Even so, the silence still worries me. Call it paranoia, call it vigilante instinct, but either way, the silence almost never promises anything good. Maybe there's a fight taking place somewhere near the shop, as much as I doubt it.
     Or maybe it's just a slow day, the Universe's way of telling me to take my long-needed break. I hope that it's the second one, honestly. I have been working hard, both as an entrepreneur and as a vigilante. If it is a sign to take a bre-
     Ding! The sound of the bells ring throughout the shop, rudely interrupting my train of thought. "Hello, welcome to the Cornerstop Flower Shop! How may I help you," hopefully the prick who's just come in wants an anniversary bouquet. Just something simple is all I ask for, really. It's wishful thinking, considering the fucker's wearing a goddamn Rolex.
    "Just something to show my secretary how much I appreciate her," he mumbles, fingers resting carefully on the delicate petals of a rose. A red rose. I am sensing some unacknowledged feelings. Maybe I'll slip some red roses into the bouquet, just for the hell of it. All of my friends are bitchless, no need for me to let this poor sod be bitchless too.
     Arranging the bouquet was easier said than done. Of course, I added the usual agrimonias, goldenrods, purple heathers, hydrangeas, and dark pink roses. At first, I wanted to add red roses, but after careful consideration, decided that was too obvious. So I added asters and jonquils instead.
     With everything arranged, I head back to the counter and grab a business card. I write the names of the flowers, just in case the lucky lady wants to look them up. After all, the least I can do is help these two get their act together. Prime only knows they won't do it themselves.
       There's a high chance they would've done just fine without me interfering, but life is all about the now. Besides, I'm looking forward to the call that comes with it. It's not causing problems on purpose if I'm genuinely trying to help.
     "Here you are sir," he takes the bouquet, eyeing my next few movements carefully. "Don't you fill out an order ticket or something, mate?" He must have known those two guys who came in last week, otherwise he wouldn't have known about that. "That's only for delivery orders. Anything that goes to a third party has to have a ticket with it, to ensure it was given to the correct address or person," isn't that just common sense?
      He waves goodbye, finally leaving me to do my own thing. Apparently peace isn't an option today, cause in walks Scarlet Lily and Dahlia. I had thought that we had agreed to never see each other again after last night. I'm assuming I was in my civilian outfit. I'm not sure though, since  I was barely lucid for half of it.
     "Kid," Dahlia's voice is deeper than I remember it being. Voice changer, probably. "Welcome to Cornerstop Flowershop, how may I help you," I really hope that these two are here for some flowers. "How are you holding up? After last night and all," oh this poor fool is just as awkward as Ranboo.
     "Perfectly fine big man! Anyway, what can I get ya," please for the love of Prime just let me do my job in peace. "Enough with the customer service act," how dare Scarlet Lily tell Big Man Tommyinnit what to do! "Ooh how scary! A theatre kid!" Am I gonna die for that? Probably. It was worth it to see the look on Scarlet Lily's face though. And to hear Dahlia's failed attempt to suppress laughter.
      After that, they left. Probably because Dahlia's entire reputation is for being stoic and emotionless. If even one person saw him laughing in my store, a whole new scandal would've taken the media by storm. For some reason, the Hero Agency just can't have that. Kinda harsh if you ask me.

      "I'm telling you Phil, that was the kid," Wilbur yells from his spot on the couch. "Why can't you just get up and go talk to him," Techno just wants to watch his shows in peace, was that too much to ask for? Phil steps into the doorframe that separates the hallway from the living room and kitchen area.
     "He seemed okay when I asked him for that bouquet I got earlier," Phil reasons. "Seemed okay doesn't mean that he is okay Phil. Tech and I literally had to stop him from jumping off the edge of a building," Wilbur flings his hands around wildly as he speaks.
    "He needs help. He looks to be about sixteen, malnourished, and unnaturally tall," Techno wasn't sure how tall, but he somehow knew how skinny. "He looks like he barely sleeps at night," Wilbur adds. "Wilbur, you don't sleep at night," Phil pokes his son in the leg, prompting him to move.
     Wilbur huffs. Technically he does sleep at night when he's not on patrol. He just doesn't stay in bed, and that's on having Disassociative Identity Disorder. Which he weaponizes, constantly. Why have a medical disorder if you can't weaponize and make jokes with it? "I do sleep at night! Ghost, however, doesn't. I can't believe my own father can't distinguish his son's alters," Wilbur flops over, hand over his head as though he's just fainted.
     Phil rolls his eyes at his son's antics. "Even though you, or a facet of you, gets sleep, the other facet does not. Your body is still forced to be active, even if Ghost is in control," Phil reminds him. Wilbur blows a raspberry at his father. Techno chimes in on Phil's behalf, "You know he's right, Wil. Take it from someone who passed an AP psych exam."
     Wilbur isn't putting up with this shit today. "Techno, you never even took the class. You just took the exam, therefore you aren't qualified to lecture me on how my mind works," he gives his brother a playful nudge. Techno doesn't even bother fighting back. "Back to the task at hand. Who is this kid and how do we help him?"
     Phil walks into the kitchen, preparing a nice cup of coffee for all three of them. Normally he'd have gone to Creeper Cafe, a coffee shop that's ran by an old friend of his. That was normally. Today though, his boys have something important to tell him, something that no one else can know. Today they were having a conversation for only them to hear. A conversation not meant for prying ears to listen in on. Today is a special occasion.