FLOWER BOY [j.l & p.m]

01 - marigold flowers

01 - marigold flowers

It was the day of the funeral. Despite Paul being a blubbering mess, he found out that during the arrangements for his mother's wake, they had forgotten to get flowers to put upon her casket. So, at the very last minute, Jim handed his eldest son some cash.

"Go to the flower shop across the street from our house," Jim stated lowly so that nobody in the audience would hear. "get some marigolds, yeah?"

Paul, who was tear-stricken, nodded. He got up from his seat, took the cash and quietly walked out of the ceremony. He got on his bike and began to head towards his flat, where the flower shop remained across from it.

The doe-eyed lad tossed his bike on the front lawn and raced towards the shop. He saw an elderly woman open the door and walk out which made it easier for Paul to slip on through the door and into the store, where he was greeted by a flowery paradise.

" 'Ello there!" called a Scouse accent from a distance. Paul turned his head to the left to be faced with a beautiful boy standing behind the counter. He had shaggy, tossled, auburn hair, bushy, tamed eyebrows, a bird beak nose, and a smile that beamed throughout the room.
"Welcome to Flower Power. My name is John, what can I help ye with?"

Paul cleared his throat, trying his hardest not to stutter. He was so captivated by John's exquisite beauty, he was almost certain that he'd make a fool of himself. "Well, John. Uh, I came to buy some marigold flowers. Do you 'appen to have any in stock?"

"Marigolds?" John scoffed, bending down to grab the giant binder of flowers they had in stock. "Those are depressing flowers! They may look beautiful but really, their significance means death. What, are you going to a funeral or something, mate?" He places the binder on the counter, causing it to thud briefly.

Paul looked down, his eyes were starting to dwell up with tears. He gives out a light laugh, smiling a bit. "Actually, uh, I am." he replied, his voice quivering in sadness. "It's my mother's funeral."

John's mouth fell agape, and suddenly he felt like complete shit for even saying that. "Oh." John muttered. "I'm sorry, mate." He scratched the back of his head.

Paul gave him a weak smile. "It's okay," he replied. "Ye didn't know. So it's not yer fault." When the younger lad witnessed John shyly scratching the back of his head, nervous grin plastered on his lips, he couldn't help but feel something spark within his anxious heart.

John looked down at the flower titles the store had in stock, humming as he did so. "Well, mate, I believe we are out of stock on marigolds," John said. He closed the binder up, meeting Paul's hazel orbs. "would another kind of flower do for the occasion?"

Paul shrugged. "That depends," he said. "what did ye have in mind, John?"

John. . .

John felt his heart skip a beat the minute the customer said his name. His lilting, Liverpudlian accent wafted through his ears, and it created a beautiful symphony of one word -- and that one word was his name.

The older lad quirked an eyebrow, smirking at Paul. "Do you trust me?"

Paul, too, quirked an eyebrow. "Uh, I guess?" He replied. "What's trusting a complete stranger got to do with me mum's wake?"

John smirked, leaned over towards the countertop and said: "I believe it 'as everything to do with it, mate." He sauntered back, clapping his hand upon the wooden surface of the counter. "Come on, I'll show ye what I had in mind."

Paul nodded, following suit after John. He didn't know what John was capable of, but the grieving young man prayed that the bouquet of flowers wouldn't be a Venus Fly Trap.

<°>

"White roses?" Jim looked at Paul in confusion. "You spent five minutes at the bloody store and you got white roses?!" He looked around the funeral area where the pastor was reading the bible.

Paul looked down, feeling ashamed. "I'm sorry, Dad." He replied. "I went to get the marigolds, but the guy who worked there said they were out of stock. So he gave me those; said they suited the situation better -- especially during a time of grief."

Jim huffed. "Okay." He pointed to his chair. "Just go sit down."

Paul immediately obeyed, but as the funeral went on, in order to prevent himself from crying, he thought about John.

The flower boy across the street from his house.