Four O’Clock
apheeweek day seven: Midnight + Flower shop AU + Sveest
“They’re called Four O’Clocks ‘cause they only bloom at night. D’ya wanna see ‘em?”
(also on ao3)
Aaaaaaand final day of apheeweek! I get to complete my goal of writing all the Nordic/Estonia ships. :’)
The image of Berwald having a personal garden inside his flower shop is too cute to pass up, and I found some exclusively night-blooming flowers and I feel like they fit him, specifically Four O’Clocks
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I’m not a wedding planner, thinks Eduard. He thinks this thought several dozen times on his way to the flower shop. He isn’t a wedding planner, but he is planning a wedding. Toris’ wedding specifically. How he landed a partner is beyond Eduard; between the two of them, he always considered Toris the one that lagged behind.
Then again, Toris has a fiance. And a house. And a better paying job. And now, with these realizations, he also has Eduard’s playful contempt.
Latin stares back at him on his phone screen as he pushes open the glass door to the shop. It’s quaint, aromatic (It’s a damn flower shop, of course it is.), and comfortable, like home.
Eduard never gets out in nature much. Most of his job allows him to stay at home, programming websites for small local businesses. He only leaves to buy groceries, or see Toris or Raivis or Tino. And he never needs to see any of them, so he doesn’t leave. It’s a bit lonely he supposes, but he doesn’t mind.
He opens his mouth to call a greeting, get the attention of somebody, but nobody is around. He checks the time. It’s just after seventeen, so somebody should be around. The shop closes at eighteen. He waits for another minute, staring at the Latin on his phone, trying to identify what Toris wants for the wedding in the shop based solely off name, but he has little success staying in one spot. When nobody comes to help him five minutes later, he makes himself comfortable and begins browsing alone.
Among the flowers, his fumbling to find whatever Toris asked of him leads him to a closed-off room. The lights are off, but the sunroof lets in the last bit of sunset the approaching fall allows before winter takes over. Eduard raises his hand like a visor over his eyes and rests it against the glass to peek in. His eyes dart between his phone and the flowers he can make out before he decides nothing in there is what he’s looking for. He rolls his eyes at the futility, turning around.
He all but jumps out of his skin when over six feet of blonde intimidation stares down at him.
Dropping his phone is the least of his worries. The stranger in front of him is big, extremely big, and his arms are as big around as Eduard’s head. The man’s glasses sit precariously on the very tip of his nose. An apron, presumably the shop uniform, is tied over his tight black shirt and dusty jeans. His hands are stuck in his pockets, and with his back straight he stands so tall Eduard has to crane up to look at him from his semi-crouched, surprised position.
The man mutters something, but Eduard can’t hear him. His eyes fall to the apron where a name is stitched into the blue fabric. Berwald. He blinks.
“Can I help ya?”
Eduard snaps out of his thoughts when the tall man, Berwald based off the stitching, speaks. His voice is gruff, raspy, as if he doesn’t use it much. Based on how quiet the shop is, he probably doesn’t. Weakly, he replies, “Uh... my friend, he’s got a wedding, and he wants me to find him some flowers. I don’t know what they are-”
In the middle of him speaking, Berwald kneels down and retrieves Eduard’s fallen phone from the floor. He pulls of the corner of his apron and wipes the screen. Once he drops the apron, he adjusts his glasses and looks at the screen. Silently, he walks away with the phone. Eduard presumes he’s to follow Berwald, so he does.
Not three minutes pass before Berwald locates every flower Toris had listed. He plucks one from every vase and offers the makeshift bouquet to Eduard. “These’r’em.” His voice rumbles so low in his throat, and if he weren’t so intimidated he’d admit it’s kind of attractive how deep Berwald’s voice is. He always did have a thing for people stronger than him. “Y’can get whichever ya like, or ya can call yer friend an’ ask him which he’d prefer. Whatever works fer ya.”
“He-” Eduard swallows the lump in his throat. “Toris is at a fitting today until half past eighteen. He won’t be done until after you close...” Berwald doesn’t respond, and as is his nervous habit, he fills in the silence. “Well, I could call him and ask him! Let me just have my phone and I can-”
“’s fine,” dismisses Berwald. He offers the phone. “I don’t have any other customers, an’ no plans tonight. Y’can call ‘im when he’s done. Unless,” his eyes turn away, and curiously he seems embarrassed, “y’got other plans. Which if ya do, don’t need t’stay. Come back tomorrow.” The makeshift bouquet, which Eduard hasn’t taken yet, raises up and hides his face. Even with the blockade, he can clearly spot a blush upon Berwald’s cheeks.
Instead of answering him directly, Eduard gestures to the side room door where Berwald initially surprised him. “What’s in there?”
If he’s not mistaken, Berwald’s eyes widen a fraction in surprise. It’s like the guy expected Eduard to be bolting out the door instead of asking him a conversational question. His expression softens and a small smile peeks through the gaps in the bouquet. “My garden.”
“What kinda flowers do you have planted?” Eduard’s not sure why he’s asking questions and not leaving. It’s probably the way Berwald seems to relax, and the way a bit of light glitters in the back of his eyes. It’s cute. Even on such a large, intimidating, scary man, the glimmer of happiness at being engaged in a conversation is cute and it makes Eduard want to talk to him more.
“Mostly this one kind. They’re called Four O’Clocks ‘cause they only bloom at night. D’ya wanna see ‘em?” Without hesitation, Eduard nods. Berwald sets the bouquet of Toris’ flowers on the front desk and on the way to the personal garden, he stops and flips the sign at the front of the store to indicate the shop is closed. It makes a bit of nervousness pool in Eduard’s gut, but he ignores it. Berwald doesn’t seen the type to... do something like that.
Berwald digs a key out of his pants pocket and unlocks the door. He slides through and holds the door open until Eduard’s inside. He shuts it and makes his way along the edge of the garden, kneeling halfway. Eduard follows carefully, not wanting to lose his balance and crush what appears to be a loving project by Berwald.
“These.” Extending a finger towards the center, Berwald indicates a vibrant mix of yellow, white and pink flowers. Eduard leans forward, hands on his knees as he gets a better view. The flowers are in pristine condition, and it’s evident gentle care and consideration went into their upkeep.
Eduard breaths out, “They’re so pretty,” and he hears a proud rumble come from Berwald. He glances out of the corner of his eye and the blush is back on his face. His hand is raised in an attempt to hide it, but Eduard can still see tinges of red. He tries not to grin, but he can’t help it. “I can tell you really put forth effort to make these the best they can be. Tell me about them.”
Berwald catches his eye, and his blush increases. “If I did that, we’d here here ‘til midnight.”
“Well,” Eduard squats to be less than eye-level (even down here Berwald is so much larger, and it makes his pulse skip a little), “you said you don’t have any plans.” He raises his phone and shuts it off right in front of Berwald’s eyes. “Now I don’t either. You have any tea?”
Getting lip from Toris’ partner for not getting the flowers ordered will be well worth it. Eduard has more important things to do, like stay up until well past midnight chatting with a handsome, surprisingly shy stranger about his garden. Even when his eyes grow heavy, he can’t bring himself to point out it’s nearly one in the morning.
Eduard falls asleep around four o’clock on Berwald’s couch, and he wakes up with an apron smelling of flowers and an earthy scent covering his body along with a blanket. The pillow his head rests on smells so nice, so much like Berwald that he figures he can sleep another few minutes. He shuts his blurry eyes and hums peacefully.
What Eduard doesn’t notice is the pillow he cuddles is, in fact, Berwald’s chest, and the owner of said chest is a flustered mess when he smiles and presses closer. As he drifts off again, he barely feels a hand rest on his shoulder comfortingly, protectively.