Chapter Text
“Stay out here.”
Langa isn’t even sure why he’s doing this. It was just a pick-up, he could have had any of the palace staff do it for him with the snap of his fingers. But, for some reason, he wanted to. Maybe he just needed to get out of his room. Get some fresh air that wasn’t coming through an open window in a meeting room. Be able to have at least a few minutes where he could pretend he wasn’t an heir to the throne.
He wanted to go out alone. His guards were not fond of the idea.
“Your Highness, I think it would be better if we went inside with you, just in case.”
“The shop is completely empty. I’ll be fine in there for a few minutes. You two can stand guard outside.”
Both guards sighed in unison, but didn’t push anymore. A plus side to being royalty, people don’t question you more than once.
The bell above the door chimed as Langa entered the shop. A poof of red hair stood behind the counter, holding a bouquet in their hand.
“Welcome!” the person’s voice echoed throughout the shop.
When the florist turned around, Langa could have sworn his breath got caught in his throat. His skin was tan and sprinkled with freckles, a stark contrast to Langa’s own pale and clear complexion. His fiery red hair was being held back by a colorful bandana, one that matched the flowers surrounding him. And his smile–god, his smile–it lit up the small room they were in. His teeth were crooked with a gap between the front two, but it fit him.
Once the man caught a glimpse of Langa, he looked like he had seen a ghost.
“Oh! Um- good afternoon, Your Highness!” he quickly bowed, still holding the bouquet in his hands. The flowers promptly hit him in the face.
Langa’s face scrunched up uncomfortably, “You don’t have to bow, please.”
The florist immediately stood back up at his words, scratching the back of his neck, “Sorry, it’s just been drilled into my head, y'know?"
“I understand. No need to apologize.” Langa approached the counter, “I hate when people act all formal towards me.”
“Really?”
The prince nodded, “Yes. I don’t mind if you act… causal? Around me? As casual as you can be, anyways.”
“Oh,” the florist seemed to visibly relax at that, “That’s… calming, to say the least.”
The prince’s eyes watched intently as the florist adjusted the flowers in the bouquet he was holding, spreading out the petals to make it look fuller. His eyes roamed, moving to his clothes, then his face, then his hair, taking in every detail. His clothes looked worn, a few patches sewn into random places, and his tongue poked out between his lips as he focused. Langa found it endearing. And his hair, it was… curly? Frizzy? No, maybe it was more wavy….. All of them? Yeah, that seemed right.
“Do you need anything? Did you have an order or something?”
Right. Yes, that’s what he was here for, not to ogle a florist.
“Um– yes. I requested a small bouquet of peonies to be made two days ago. I heard it should be ready today?” Or at least he hopes that’s what he heard. His memory wasn’t the best when he needed it to be.
“Oh, yes! I believe I made that one earlier, actually…” The florist turned his back to the prince, looking over a shelf that held multiple bouquets of different flowers, each one more beautiful than the one before it.
“Ah, here it is!” the florist grabbed a bouquet of light purple peonies. He handed it over to Langa with a smile, “Here you go.”
He took them with a slight tremble in his hand. Why was that? He’s had to interact with people all the time, it was part of being a prince. Talking to this florist shouldn’t be making him nervous.
“What are they for? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Langa looked back up to the florist, his blue eyes meeting warm amber ones, “They’re for my mother. She’s been working a lot lately, so I figured I’d get her something small.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. Are peonies her favorite or something?”
“They are.” There was a small silence, both boys staring down at the peonies in Langa’s hands, “Do you know the meaning of peonies?”
Langa didn’t expect himself to ask that, and seemingly, neither did the florist.
“Hm…” he thought, “I believe it’s good luck, honor, love, prosperity, things of that sort. Although, the colors can hold different meanings.”
“Yes,” a small smile pulled at Langa’s lips, “You have a very good memory.”
“You’ve got to have one if you work in a flower shop for years.”
“Years?” Langa wondered. The florist didn’t seem that old. In fact, he seemed quite young, “How long have you been working here?”
“Uh, since I was 14, so about… 3 years? But my mother owns the shop, so I’ve been helping her with it since the moment I could walk.”
‘’Your mother owns this shop?”
“Mhm! Her and my step-father opened it when I was about 3 or so.”
That explains why he’s so knowledgeable. He had been working with flowers pretty much his whole life.
“So, you are… how old now?”
It was quick math, but Langa was not good at quick math.
“I just turned 17 last month.”
Oh.
“You’re… young.”
“I’m your age, am I not?” the florist asked, raising an eyebrow at the prince.
“Yes, well– I just mean you’re younger than me.”
“Oh. Yes, I suppose you are right.”
Silence fell over them once again, and Langa’s eyes went back to wandering. There was just something about this boy that drew Langa in. Maybe it was his abnormal looks, or his warm personality, or his voice that was slightly scratchy, but still soothing, or-
“Do you need anything else?”
Langa’s thoughts were once again stopped as the florist spoke to him. Right. He had all he needed. There was no need to stick around any longer.
“Oh– no, no. That’s all.” He swallowed around the lump forming in his throat. Why was that even there?
The florist smiled, “Well, I hope the queen likes the flowers.”
Langa could have sworn his heart skipped a beat when the florist smiled at him, “She will. Thank you.” The prince then turned on his heel, heading towards the door.
“Have a good day, Your Highness!” the florist called out from behind him, right as the door closed behind Langa.
“Is everything in order, Your Highness?” One of the guards asked when Langa stepped outside.
“Let’s go.”
“What– Your Highness?”
Langa kept walking towards the palace.
“Your Highness!”
―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―
Langa didn’t get back to his room until late that night.
He slumped against his door, the peonies he picked up earlier laying slightly damaged on his desk after being hastily thrown into his room before a meeting he had to attend.
He sighed, making his way over to his desk and picking up the bouquet in an attempt to fix it. Or at least try to.
It ended up looking worse than it did before. He tried to remember how the florist had spread the flower’s petals, making them look full and fluffy, but he couldn’t do it the way he did. He huffed in frustration, setting the bouquet back down and plopping down on his bed.
He was upset. Not only because he had messed up the gift for his mother, but mainly because he has messed up the florist work. It probably wasn’t too hard to make a bouquet, especially for someone who had been doing it for years like the florist had, but still.
He was sad he had messed up the florist work. The florist that knew what each flower meant, the florist with fiery red hair that matched his personality, the florist with warm eyes, and tan skin, and freckles, and a pretty smile, and–
Ok. What is he doing? Why is he laying in bed thinking about some random florist he just met that day? He had more important things to be thinking about. Like politics, and the future of the kingdom– his kingdom–and when he’s going to give his mother those peonies. The peonies that the florist had put into a beautiful bouquet. The bouquet that the florist had tied with a pink ribbon. The florist who smiled at Langa like he was just any other townsfolk, not a prince. The florist–
Alright, he’s not getting anywhere.
He groaned. Maybe he was just tired? Yeah, it had been a long day, he was just tired. That’s the reason he was thinking like this. Definitely. 100%.
Langa got up and went to his closet, changing into his nightly clothes before collapsing back onto his bed. He put a pillow over his head, maybe that would help. Help him stop thinking about the florist, and the way he looked at him, and the way he talked to him, and–
Maybe it wouldn’t help.
This was going to be a long night.