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It was morning. He'd forced himself awake, not trusting the alarms would keep him. Tea helped. Tomorrow would be hell. His sleep would be off; he would be dreadfully tired when he got home. He knew if he slept too early, he wouldn't sleep the next day. But after the awful morning, he was bound to have, Lawrence would need rest. He'd just get to bed early; it would be hard to screw up a schedule he'd taught himself since he was a child. The sky was the prettiest light blue he'd ever seen. It was an icy color, the type he'd see in the mirror after washing his face and slipping the 'numbing' liquid past his lips. There wasn't a lot he liked about the dreadfully lanky man that was across from him in the mirror. He was blonde and tired, half-dressed with black bands wrapping each bicep like ribbon. Lawrence drank the liquid, not bothering with measurements. Just sipping until he felt a bit lighter. Most of the time, he didn't need the herbal concoction (he'd made it himself; god knows it did have no real medicinal value.) He used it anyway, knowing this. To be blunt, it was drugged. That was the appeal. Why he didn't bother with measurements and started his mornings like this often, it was the only thing that encouraged him to walk out the door. That didn't mean he was an addict, though. He could stop. He just didn't; the fuzzy feeling provided him with a fake ankle-deep comfort. It was comfort, nonetheless. The icy blue was cold; it was the most appealing part of the person in the mirror that looked back at him. He liked his eyes but found the color deceiving. It was the icy turquoise color one might see in photos of the artic or any painfully cold climate. The water looked tropical but was surrounded by frost regardless. It was like a blue river. Pretty, yes, but blue rivers would always be a misleading, shallow comfort. The prettiest waters ran grey. He knew that well. They were warm. Not icy. The sky was still lovely, but he couldn't enjoy it. The morning sky made him feel sticky. Made his teeth feel slimy under his tongue because he knew what waking up this early always meant. It always means forcing himself out of the door, out of his comfort, out of the dark. Lawrence hated them.
Lawrence hated people. Everything about people upset him. He lacked the social skills to connect with them easily; they were all so loud, they were all so unpredictable. He needed comfort in rhythm and control. People gave him the exact opposite. Lawrence observed people, tried to figure them out sometimes. It never worked. That was probably because social situations made him feel like he was on roller skates. Lawrence was awful at reading people too. Seldom did he believe he could find footing. He just lacked behind, watching them behind blonde strands. Watching them was easier. And it allowed him to learn things that would help him in those few situations where he'd have no choice but to interact with them. It was hard. Hard to get a rhythm in something completely lacking pattern.
He was in the store when it happened. The tiled floor had lines of mold, and some of the large person lengthed coolers were leaking. It was annoyingly bright as well. And cold. He was in the store shopping, something he hated more than anything. It was impossible to avoid people when he needed to do this. Get out and shop. He always does the same thing, pushes it back as far as he can manage before he entirely runs dry of everything he needs, telling himself it was because of budget or because he still had enough of, well everything, to hold himself over. But that was a lie. he just didn't like people. Lawrence was in the store when you were stopped in front of the window explaining to someone who, unfortunately for her, spiked you as a possible significant other. She had made the misconception (which you had blatantly and purposefully lead her to) That you both were head over heels in love, soul mates.
"I don't love you." You shrugged. It was blunt. It caught the attention of more than just him. People who didn't usually watch, as he did, looked too. It wasn't a thing people normally hear. They weren't exactly singing your prayers, neither was he. You didn't care that it embarrassed her, the poor fool that was smitten. Through the conversation(argument really), he had picked up only what you had told. You said to her that you were here because you were bored. Because if you tell a person what they want to hear most, they'll act like your lap dog. It's easy to make people do what you want when you know how they want you to act. It was manipulative floral-like behavior. He sympathized with the girl you were currently belittling. He understood how toxic and poison flowers could be to people like them. Except he didn't even know her name, and she wasn't anything like Lawrence, so he looked away after a small sympathetic frown to her.
"I just... wanted to get somewhere finally." She was boring. You didn't love her; you were just bored. That's what you told her. Relationships were often just for fun with flowers. He couldn't judge truthfully; he had never been in one that was serious himself. He just couldn't find very many people that weren't flowers like you. not that he was considering- ... he wasn't. Lawrence assured himself of that.
At first, Lawrence felt distaste toward you for it. It wasn't personal. You just reminded him of something like lavender. Only good for pollinators and yourself. Which shouldn't be read wrong, Lawrence didn't mind pollinators; actually, he quite liked bees, and any insect really. He loved how they drank from flowers and would stick close to the plants in search of things like aphids. It was endearing. The flowers, on the other hand, (Which Lawrence still felt were only good for decor and mild beauty and bugs.) they were liars; You were probably a liar too. Someone who only wanted to hurt and benefit and waste until the day they died.
You didn't deserve to wilt naturally. So he followed. and observed. And he carried this out for a while despite how much he hated people. And the day. And the sun. He could appreciate it (the sun, not the day or the people) in some regards, though; plants wouldn't flourish without it. But you were so... different. And it wasn't in a good way.
So he followed. He followed until you stopped in front of a petite flower shop. It was small, quiet, and carefully painted a nice teal that covered the flaying planks with wood rot. In honesty, it was a setting he didn't mind; the colors were nice, like the yellow cursive writing or the blue striped canopy that shaded the front of the store. The shop’s sign, with that yellow he had mentioned, was rusted at the nails and looked laced in neon that hadn't been turned on in years. The flowers were fine. They were plucked from their plant, their bushes, their roots. They were already dead really, wilted or not. (Which they weren't; they were vibrant and would spike anyone else as absolutely gorgeous, but to Lawrence, they were dead the second they had been clipped.) You walked in, bought a bouquet, and walked out.
In a few yards, you were home. Lawrence watched, not interested but knowing as you glided into the busy apartment complex, setting down the still dewy freshly bought flowers on the counter. You hadn't closed the door yet. You were on the third floor; he counted the windows. Key cards or keys... Lawrence pondered it. The building didn't look like a particularly nice or expensive complex; it'd surely use rusted locks easy to wiggle and pick. Lawrence could do it, right here, right now. You didn't deserve to wilt. And it angered him. which was rare too. But no. there were too many people around. He only considered the thought for seconds.
Lawrence couldn't let it go at first; the look of sticky embarrassment red on the girl's face. You humiliated her. It made his arms feel itchy, and his chest feel tight. Sticky red embarrassment was all too familiar. So he came back. You were around the small square of park where you and presumably some friends gathered sipping at iced drinks and sharing loaded fries. You didn't seem comfortable around new people, unlike how he had imagined. It was only new people too. He noticed this when a few new faces joined the group sat on the bench around you talking to two of your friends. You went rigid. New people made you tense. They took the bounce out of the steps you took. When you found your footing, you got back to the flow. He didn't know why or how. What about people set you off and pulled you back? It took two weeks of watching before he decided you weren't worth it. There wasn't anything interesting there. You were just a flower. You didn't deserve a natural wilting, but then again, neither did most. he wouldn't clip you. he wouldn't pick the flower. You weren't worth it. Sticky red embarrassment was familiar, but by now, the nameless girl in front of the shop had probably cooled, so why wouldn't he?
But then you tapped his shoulder.
He was there with you; it was night. He'd mostly just followed you or anyone else at night. Lawrence would just poke around and then leave because people weren't worth the trouble. That was the oddest thing about him, even in his own opinion. He didn't like people; they made his skin crawl. But how they worked made him curious. What separates him from other people? It had to be something. Lawrence knew that, and it didn't surprise him, but thinking about what separated him from others often kept him awake at night. It was a thought, a series of thoughts, that vexed him. He wasn't like a drop of water in the sea. That wasn't a vanity thing;(Quite the opposite, he loathed that dissociated part of himself.) he'd just experienced so much. He was wired weird. Lawrence was wired weird. But you stood there, and you tapped his shoulder. Lawrence spun on his heels in the empty lot just a while off from your apartment building. What would you say? You'd have to have known. You knew he was following, and you knew he had been. It didn't matter; he would deny and walk away, and you'd never see him again, and he'd remind himself not to bother with flowers or people or anyone. Especially not flowers that couldn't even be bothered to wilt without giving anyone any strife at all.
"Aren't you the guy who makes us box succulents separately?" No. That couldn't be why you had seemed so familiar. He wouldn't have forgotten your face. Besides, this couldn't be that perfect. No, no, it wasn't perfect. It was awful. It was awful; it meant nothing but trouble for him. You were lying to him, playing him. or something.
He didn't respond. So you did for him.
"You are!" You clapped your hands together with a small smile. It made him flinch a little.
"Do I... know you?" Obviously, he did. He knew this, so did you; he just needed you to tell him. Maybe it would get across that he didn't want this. He didn't want this interaction with you.
"Well, not formally, I guess, but I work in the plant department of home depot. It's hard to forget you; you're like one of the two people who choose to get plants at ten-thirty." You were right. he was. Why had you taken the nightshift? It interested him a little. Just a little. Maybe it was because you didn't like new people. They made you go rigid as you had in the park. That's why he only got his plants at night as well, to avoid people. You and Lawrence weren't similar. You had close to nothing in common; he wasn't sympathizing with you; he was analyzing you.
"Lawrence..." He offered his name sheepishly, his eyes falling to the dandelions peeking through concrete. You gave yours back in return. He wasn't surprised.
"Listen, I--" He tried to push it away, walk off, the whole interaction made him uncomfortable, caught him off guard, but you stopped him. "Hey, you should come by tomorrow. I wanna hear more about your weird plant boxing."
"To the uhm, store?" Lawrence scratched at his neck, pulling some of the blonde from his ponytail. It was that easy? You didn't have a chance even to give him a yes or no. He didn't nod, just walked off. He'd need to find somewhere else to shop. Online. Online would work. Maybe... it would only be a last resort. An hour's drive out to get plants wouldn't bother him too much. Online was always hard with his complex anyway. They never dealt with mail right. He was sure the other people in the apartments didn't have as much care for things like plants as he did. They'd throw out the small box of oyster mushrooms and spores if they got the wrong package.
You called something after him, but he just tensed, tucking his head on either side of his shoulders and walking faster. You were what he expected; still, it caught him off guard. It wasn't easy to talk to people. Oddly enough, he found it even less easy to talk to people who could carry a conversation themself. Feeling like he couldn't pull his weight in the interaction made him deathly afraid of being a bore. A bore to the point the other party would leave the conversation, the interaction altogether. Lawrence had trouble sleeping well that night- morning.
The tea did help. Lawrence cursed himself when his alarm went off. His small allowed cot with blankets and a single comforter was easily the safest part of his home and life. Nightmares weren't pleasant. But they were always fake. That was the safest thing about the world. About the unconscious state of sleep. Lawrence hit the top of the alarm clock shutting it off and getting back to insulting himself for his absolute garbage luck. If he had only done the shopping a day earlier, all of the past few week's problems would be about as vivid as his earliest memories. He got dressed, showered, washed up, misted his plants, skipped breakfast, and walked. The warehouse was walking distance, thankfully. That's gas money saved that he could invest in other interests. Lawrence had a shift that tiring, hazy day. It was short and uneventful.
Until he saw you, and you walked toward him with a wave, your hair short and not bouncing like the rest of you as you step. It didn't have enough weight to shift with the rest of your grace. It had scared him the other night, that grace among a lot of other things. Stuff like how the smallest things that stuck out about him meant so much to you, or at least meant enough to mention. Maybe it was just that Lawrence's requested special care for the plants was just that unnatural. Maybe. If not, what else had you noticed? What else had he missed...? Lawrence wouldn't look at you. You were getting too comfortable around him; all you'd shared was a name. It was obsessive. And, a little familiar... Despite his silent begging, you stuck by him while he worked, not following when he needed to leave to get a few things done.
At least you weren't interfering with his productivity. Lawrence had a way of keeping his thoughts and anxieties detached from himself as he worked. It made him focused. A good worker. You kept trying to stick by and catch a conversation. It made him nervous. You were giving him too much time, too much possible time to screw up with. He'd noticed you brought headphones with you everywhere. He should remember that. Lawrence didn't have a specific taste in music, but maybe it would keep people from trying to talk to him. That would be a polite way to openly say, 'please dear God, don't look at me or talk to me or get near me,' right? It was bad. he could avoid you dodge your workplace, stop risking days out. But he had stuck around too long, and you had noticed, and you stuck. Lawrence couldn't avoid everything, especially not when dodging you made you attach to him in ess convenient ways, like his workplace. It was stupid of him to ever bother with you. You were worth nothing he had to give; now you were making room. All he ever got from this was problems. You were beginning to annoy him. You were beginning to irritate him.
"So you really like the night, don't you?" You chirped to him, pulling him out of his head. You were following him on the walk home. He couldn't shake you yet again.
"Yeah, I guess..." Lawrence chewed at his cheek, scrapping more of the blonde behind his ears and into the band of his ponytail. "Can I, uhm, help you?"
You tensed a bit. That pleased Lawrence. He just had to keep hinting. You were beginning to catch on, that he didn't see this as any more than pestering.
"No- uh, no, I just. I just live a little bit up. I thought I'd- no, I'm fine." It irritated him. He nodded and walked off again. You stayed a little further behind him until you turned into the small cafe.
"Hey! Hey Lawrence! Hey, I-" He didn't turn; he only did the same odd thing Lawrence always did and always would when you yelled for him. he tensed his shoulder tucked his head, and walked, eyes on his feet. He didn't see you for a few days, and he only thought about that because it relieved him. he wasn't used to anything other than isolation. Except for the times he was forced, and the times he personally chose to follow, observe, and very, rarely interact. there had been a few that he had fixated on enough to speak to or-
Someone fixating on him, however, was... uncomfortable.
Maybe he had been a bit too easy on himself all this time... he knew he had probably followed you because he hoped you'd prove him wrong. Prove him wrong in so many ways. Like he always did. Like he always did, no matter who or what was involved. He had done it with the brunette a few months back, the redhead he'd met up with that still had yet to return messages since he left. You hadn't proved anything; you had just irritated him. He didn't want to see you, deal with you. he didn't want to get anywhere near you. You would just cause him more problems if he attempted to clip you now. He wouldn't be able to go through with it. Rhythmically, because truth be told, he's never planned things like this. They've just... happened, and ended the same each time.
"Howdy, stranger!" You gave him a small smile gluing to his side as he walked to work. This part of his day-night... was unavoidable. He might start trying to adjust hours... that would mean more people less you. it was beginning to sound worth it. You'd done this three times. Three times.
"Hey, I was actually wondering if you want to get lunch."
He- ... what?
"I-- I'm sorry?" Lawrence hadn't expected that. Which also made him uncomfortable. This discomfort was beginning to become a habit with you. It was annoying him. Lawrence was very swiftly approaching anger.
"You know... lunch. Like the meal?" You laughed before continuing,
"At a restaurant, or a cafe, or hey- even a diner! A diner sounds good... I haven't been in one since I was a kid." Lawrence had stopped walking now. He thought about it. And thought about getting rid of you. No more problems. You were giving him a perfect open-armed opportunity.
You continued to ramble.
"Okay... sure."
He'd never really done this before. Especially not when it came to flowers. He didn't worry about what'd he'd wear or what he'd ruin. It didn't matter to him. He never plans these things. Planning to hurt something seemed... criminal. Less justifiable than 'it just happened,' and that's how it had always happened. It just happened. This wasn't going to 'just happen.' but that was okay because it needed to be done.
You straightened out your jeans, slipping the belt into its place under the thin denim straps. You liked Lawrence because you couldn't read him. You looked up, and the person in the mirror looked more like you than they ever had before. How were you supposed to change yourself if you had no idea what he wanted? You had spent the last few years convincing yourself you were alive. Everything around you was breathing and interacting, and you were too. You spent today convincing yourself you were finally a person. It wasn't hard to do. You slipped the headphones over your ears, mushroom socks bundled at your ankles. The fungi were all types of colors, mostly reds against the solid rich black background. Your steps were light. People noticed and smiled when they saw you. it was hard not to feel happy when you practically polluted the air with that good sunny mood you possessed today. "Community Gardens" Played in your ears. It was nice. And with fingers raked through your short hair, you spotted Lawrence, cupped your hands over your mouth, and yelled, waving and rushing over. He was taller than you, much thinner, and much more timid. He was hiding behind blond strands, his hands drifting around himself nervously. They were fidgeting. He had no idea what to do with them. Lawrence's eye drew worried when he became all too aware of everything at once. His awkward stance, his lanky legs, his unkempt hair he hadn't bothered to comb or make neat. he was just so wrong and out of place. You're hollering made him freeze as your sudden movements usually did. It was a nervous twitch in his mouth. To you, it was a smile. It made you feel so light.
"You know, I'm happy you agreed to come."
Lawrence stared at his drinks, refusing to look up from his food. It was very easy to see he wasn't comfortable around you. Maybe this would be as open to you as he could get. You liked that. you were you right now. "You're hard to read, Law." He looks up at the nickname, not smiling but his frown thinning. "I kind of like it! it's easy to be a real person around you."
"Are you not very real, often?" Lawrence finally answers you; you're quick to keep the conversation going.
"I guess not, but it's kind of hard to be me. or, well, anyone that feels real around people." He almost smiles again.
"Like flowers..."
"Yeah, I guess so!"
You smiled as you felt the ice between you break. You had found it, Lawrence's comfort. The middle ground between you both.
"You must like plants a lot, yeah?"
"I'm an oleander after all..."
"Hey, that's cute!" You both could smile at this.
Lawrence kept on with you like this. He was sure it wouldn't last; he took comfort in that. But, for now, he liked the thought that you weren't just fixating on him; you were depending on him to make you the person you were today. It made him feel like he could mold you into something better. You were such a liar. But the lies were pretty. You made him do things, like go to the fair shop more and talk to your friends. Lawrence was acting a lot like you now. He was doing what you wished so he could twist and turn you, stretch you how he liked. And it lasted for a long while. You were buried in the prettiest sunniest part of the mossy muddy forest. It was like a grotto from hell. In all honesty, you weren't very important to you. But you were a pretty flower. And the forest was swampy bone ridden and smelled of honey and rot. It still held the prettiest flowers, and among them were you.