How Green Becomes Wood

Cooger read the article a bit, but Daizi didn't hurry to it. She'd need to use a screen reader, and she wanted to wait until Dark was at work and Ivy was napping so he wouldn't risk overhearing it.

Dark came in, unaware of what Tristan had been reading, but paused for the briefest moment at the look on his face. Then, as if nothing had happened said, "Traffic is not generally too difficult this time of day."
 
"Good," Tristan said, nodding. He quickly moved on. "The bouquets you make with the various colors of significance are highly popular. I'm sure you noticed these last couple of days. Would you be willing to make more of those?" He gestured toward the neat and tidy stacks of various bits and bobs needed to make a bouquet. There were papers of various rainbow patterns and variations, ribbons and bows, strings, and knick-knacks of various sizes and shapes. While Tristan did not set up any exact displays for anything love-related, not even a Valentine's display, he made certain to have an abundance of all the things related to love. There just wasn't a specific display. "I set up for quite a few, but feel free to help yourself to the rest of the supplies. I expect it may take you a while."

It was a rather odd request. The past couple of days, Tristan had had Dark working in the front and helping all the customers while he occasionally went back to replenish the supplies or make a custom order.
 
Dark glanced towards the stacks and then coolly back to Tristan, "If that is what you require." He did not understand why he was being asked to do so, but it was not his buisness and he agreed to help where he was needed. If this was it, it's what he would do.
 
Tristan rolled into the front room, the sales room, and breathed a quiet sigh. He knew that eventually he'd need to ask for Dark's help out here. The man had drawn a crowd every single day he was in here, and Valentine's Day was crowded to begin with! He really did need more bouquets, and Dark was quicker to remember which colors went with which symbolism, but he also wanted Dark to have some quiet time in the back before he had to face the crowd. He felt it was the least he could do with such an impactful story being released that day.

As he was unlocking the front door and flipping the sign to open, he remembered the paper in the back. He cursed himself quietly, but there was no time to remedy that now. There was already a line. He mustered a smile and hoped that Dark wouldn't look under the table.
 
Dark went to the back and began making bouquets, working diligently and trying to add a variety of meanings. Every time he put a bouquet together, he wrote out a little card listing the flowers and their meanings in his elegant, flowing handwriting and tucked it inside of the bouquet. He'd recall, but he didn't know if whoever bought them would. It wasn't until one of the bells he was working with fell off the table and he got down to pick it up that he noticed the paper.

Picking it up, he looked at it for a few moments, staring at his own face on the page, and then with a sigh set it back down and went back to work, hoping it would not add too badly to his notoriety, unsure why he was so surprised to see someone out in the world had read it, and trying to breathe through the anxiety dredged up by his past being known.
 
For his part, Tristan didn't think much about the paper. He did at first, nervous about what Dark would think if he found it, but, soon, he didn't have time to think about it. It was lost in the sea of people coming in looking for gifts for their loved one, most of them male and sadly hopeless. A decent number of women came, as well, and in that number, many were there hoping to get a glimpse of a certain someone, and others didn't think their man would like flowers and were looking for something else in vague hopefulness.

Tristan lasted on his own nearly an hour. Finally, he rolled into the back to collect the bouquets Dark had made and asked, "Mr. Dark, would you please come help at the front? I need some help with the customers."
 
"Of course," Dark replied, picking up some of the bouquets he had made and bringing them out. Normally, he kept his sleeves rolled down when out on the floor, but since he had been doing the labour of making bouquets, he had put them up. His plan, as he stepped out to help manage the flow of customers, was to roll them back down after the bouquets he was holding were put away.
 
Dark's tattoo sleeves, of course, garnered a lot of attention almost immediately. Lots of shock, some interest, some disgust. A couple of people left the shop almost immediately, but they were in the minority. For the rest, even if they disliked what they saw, they had stuff they needed to do and things they needed to buy. Tattoos were not going to get in the way of that. Several others crowded around Dark, asking for his "help."

Tristan stuck to the register. He was too busy to even feel bad for Dark as he wrapped, bagged, boxed, charged, chatted, and ribboned among fetching chocolates and other small gifts. He had put out a tip jar for the first time, and judging by its contents, he figured he could make up for Dark's humilation after work.
 
Noticing the people who left immediately after seeing tattoos, Dark rolled down his sleeves as soon as he could. As much as he believed the world should just grow up, this wasn't his buisness and he didn't want to hurt Tristan's profits by driving people away. It had only been a few, but it just seemed the wiser decision.

He definitely didn't love the crowds, and would absolutely require time alone in the dark after he went home, but he he agreed to do this and he was handling it as best he could. Admittedly, he did enjoy getting to chat about symbology and love when he was helping to advise the most hopeless of the guests, he enjoyed being poetic.
 
It was a whirlwind of a day, and Tristan made a note to hire at least one other person temporarily during the season next year. Each year was getting more and more busy, which was great for his business, but he only had two hands and couldn't rely on the goodwill of a semi-family member and a teenager still in school. It would eat into his profits, but hopefully more help would mean more profits.

Whenever he could, Tristan sent Dark into the back to make more bouquets or collect inventory for the front, anything to give him at least a few minutes of quiet. He, himself, took no breaks, but he did make sure Dark had half an hour for lunch, undisturbed. He knew he could close the store and give himself a break, that he probably needed a break, but it was only once a year. It was his version of a Black Friday. The sales he made today could be put toward improving the shop tremendously! So, he kept going even through lunch, the same as the days before, without pause.

At last, the day ended. Tristan flipped the sign to closed, helped the last customer lingering in the shop (an older teen with eyes for Dark), lowered the blinds, and locked the door. He rolled back from the windows and slumped in his chair. "What a day," he said tiredly. His leg trembled, but he didn't even bother to try to hide it. He was too tired to care.
 
Dark had noticed Tristan was refusing to take breaks, but with how busy the shop had been, he wasn't able to quietly suggest he do so. Instead, he worked as hard as possible to try to lighten Tristan's workload. When the day finally ended, and Dark was free from mild sexual harassment and the larger group of kind or stressed people, he walked over to Tristan, "You look tired."
 
Tristan managed a tired chuckle and rubbed his forehead. "Oh, I am. I very much am. But there is only one more day of this! And then some stragglers the day after, the ones who realized they forgot the day and need to make up for it or some such. You did really well today. Thank you. I could not do this without you."
 
Tristan waved a hand vaguely. "There is no time during this season. No time at all. I can later." He rolled to the counter slowly and picked up the tip jar. It was heavy from coins and nearly overflowing with bills. Turning himself around, he handed it to Dark. "There you are, sir. Your Valentine's Day bonus! Here's to hoping it's not all pennies and ones, right?"
 
"You are very welcome. I suppose I could, but then I'd have to get rolling again. Sometimes, it's easier to keep moving forward, even if that forward momentum is more of a fall than anything else," Tristan said cheerfully. He hesitated a moment, fighting internally. Then he brushed it aside and smiled at Dark. "Same time tomorrow for one last day?"

He remembered the paper as they headed for the back door. His eyes darted toward where the paper hid and back to Dark before he could stop himself. He looked away, choosing not to say anything. Dark was a very private person. Even if part of his story was literally published in the paper, he didn't think Dark would want to talk about it.
 
Dark watched Tristan for a few moments, "I think I am too old to not schedule in times to rest. At this point in my life, if I overwork myself today, it will take longer than tomorrow to recover." Then he caught Tristan's glance back to the article he knew had been read earlier and sighed very softly. "I suppose I should leave you to your buisness. I will return tomorrow."
 
"That is probably wise advice that hopefully someday I will remember to take," Tristan said with a tired smile. "Thank you again for your help. I really could not do this without you, and you, specifically, are extremely good at what you do."

He waited until Dark left in his car. Then he dragged himself into his own car, barely able to hold himself upright and get his chair into the backseat. If the chair hadn't been necessary for literally getting around, he'd have left it there. When he arrived home, he considered sleeping in his car instead of going through all the trouble to get to the front door. He took a few minutes to just sit and rally himself before getting out, getting his chair while clinging to the roof of his car, and then headed inside. As he heated up some instant noodles to eat with some sliced spam, he knew Dark was right about the rest, and he knew his body was going to make him pay for the past few days. He just needed two more days. Two more days, and he'd close for the weekend, he promised his body. Tomorrow was the big day, the day after was the "make-up day," and then he could be closed and sleep all day. He just needed to survive two more days.
 
There wasn't a clear way to get through to Tristan, and frankly Dark wasn't quite sure they had that relationship yet, so he just went home. Maybe tomorrow, if it seemed necessary, he may be able to exert more pressure tomorrow. It probably would be necessary.

Until then, it was nice to go home and decompress. The following morning, he left his confused daughter and dear wife on Valentine's day and drove back to the flower shop.
 
Tristan was already there, as was his habit, exhausted, having spent most of the night having random dreams about flowers, Iraqi wars, and children running through hospitals. He still greeted Dark pleasantly and was genuinely happy to see him. He wasn't as good at hiding his emotions as Dark was, not even close, but he was good enough for the average customer who'd be coming to see them that day.
 
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