Work Text:
Rosa Centifolia - Audacity.
“All’s fair in love, war, and business.”
- overheard at the Wharton School of Business, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia.
Carnation - Pride, Barberry - Sourness of Temper
“Should we tell him?” Rey asked, dusting her chalk covered hands off on her apron. She stood back, admiring the large chrysanthemum mural she had drawn framing the Blum Flower Company cafe’s black board menu. Beside her, Phasma carefully pursed her lips, then shook her head.
“He’ll figure it out,” she replied in a clipped tone. “I’m certainly not going to tell him.”
“Don’t you think he’ll be more upset if he’s surprised by it?” Rey pressed, moving behind the counter to begin grinding the morning’s coffee. “At least if we tell him, he won’t be blindsided by it-,”
Phasma snorted, brushing back her cropped platinum bangs. “And if we tell your dearest cousin who moved in next door while he was gone, he’ll get snippy at us, instead of just being foul in general.”
“Good point,” Rey sighed. “You don’t think he’ll come in through the front door today, do you? That would solve the problem…”
“You’re too optimistic,” Phasma snorted, hefting a new delivery crate up onto the counters for Rey to unpack. She turned, reaching to grab her large inventory book, and gave Rey a pointed look as the sound of the back door swinging open startled their early morning silence.
‘Don’t,’ Phasma mouthed, as Rey craned to watch Ben stride into the cafe. She gave Phasma a torn look in response, but bit her lip.
“Ben,” Rey greeted. Coffee’ll be brewing in a bit. How was your, uh, vacation?”
“Stimulating,” Ben said, as he swept in front of the counter and leaned over to deftly pluck his mug from the preparation area. “Milk, sugar, dash of vanilla,” he instructed Rey. “The farm is doing wonderfully, and I’ll be showing the estate and grounds to Farm and Country next time I take a trip down.”
“Tell me you did something relaxing, at least?” Rey prompted as she plucked Ben’s mug from his hands, and began to brew the coffee. “Vacations are supposed to be fun, not doing extra work.”
“Overseeing the farm is fun,” Ben insisted.
“Remind me,” Phasma said, quirking her lips up into a slight smile. “Why did you dump Sven the wedding planner again?”
Ben’s eyes narrowed sharply. “I said he was a workaholic.”
“Ah yes,” Phasma intoned, handing over Ben’s day planner. “I can’t imagine what dealing with a workaholic must be like.”
Although her back was turned to them both, Ben still caught Rey’s faint snicker in response. He swiped the leather Filofax from Phasma’s hands and flipped it open, studiously ignoring them both.
“That was different,” he sniffed. “I have hobbies.”
“Like what?” Rey shot over her shoulder as she wiped down the back counter.
“I garden.” He said.
“You’re a florist,” Rey replied, thrusting his mug under his nose.
“Floral designer,” Ben corrected, before he gingerly took the cup and mumbled a thank you before he gave Phasma a sharp look, warning her off her next wry comment.
Instead, Phasma straightened, and began to brief Ben on everything he’d missed during his week in the countryside. She had already unloaded the morning’s flowers, and Ben sipped carefully at his coffee while she finished her summary and turned towards the order of business for the day.
“Mrs. Leibovitz called this morning, around 3 am, said she had an urgent order,” Phasma started.
“-Wedding or funeral?” Ben asked, tapping his pen against the pages of his planner.
“Funeral.” Rey said, shrugging her shoulders as both Phasma and Ben turned to look at her. “I was the first one in the door this morning, so I listened to the whole machine message.”
“Right,” Ben said, scribbling funeral into his book. “Phasma, call her back as soon as you can. The Leibovitz’s are Orthodox Jewish, and they’ll want the burial done and over with as soon as possible. Tell her we can send over a maximum of twenty smooth river rocks before noon, and then ask her if she wants potpourri sachets for the Shiva.”
“No floral arrangements?” Phasma said.
Ben shook his head. “Unless she wants something different from her usual weekly order that we were going to send over, flowers aren’t really appropriate. The rocks are in lieu of flowers, and the potpourri is just to keep her house smelling fresh for the guests,” he said, before waving a hand. “Next.”
“Chef Arcadia wanted to confirm her appointment later this week. Her wedding is going to be featured in both The Knot’s national and local publications, and in Bon Apetit, for her menu, so we’re going to need to plan in advance for the photoshoots.”
“Mm, tell Arcadia the appointment is confirmed, and that I have a selection of edible bouquets she needs to taste-test. We can even change centerpieces to match the different events: salad arrangements for the rehearsal dinner, a desert floral and cake toppers for the reception, and for the bachelor and bachelorette parties, I have boutonnieres for mixed drinks,” Ben dictated, pulling out a small post-it to scrawl his thoughts onto. “Think fresh mint mojitos, hibiscus margaritas, or nasturtium blossoms in whatever orange cocktail people like nowadays. Something better than a mimosa.”
“Bee’s Knee’s,” Phasma supplied. “It’s a prohibition recipe. People like pretending that drinking a cocktail is still daring.”
“Well, there you go,” Ben said, draining the rest of his coffee. “We’ve also just planned her bachelorette party. Remind me, and I’ll serve lavender sodas when she visits.”
“Spiked, or virgin?” Rey said with renewed interest, as she poured more coffee into Ben’s mug.
“I’ll put in a dash of vodka in the sodas. If she wants something sans alcohol, we can serve up iced lavender honey lattes.”
“Oooh, noted.” Rey slid the sugar bowl towards Ben, before she exchanged an uneasy look with Phasma.
“Sir,” Phasma said, a note of caution lacing her words, “There is one last item of order…”
Without thinking, Ben took a sip of his fresh cup of coffee, and grimaced when he was met with bitterness. He set the mug down, and began heaping spoonfuls of sugar into the cup, before he gestured for Rey to pass the milk. She wrinkled her nose at him, still annoyed at his lack of etiquette, but said nothing as she slid the pitcher his way.
“I haven’t forgotten.” Ben said dryly. “I’m going to have a few words with him,” he assured his team. “I’m going to tell Hux--,”
“Tell me what, pray tell?” a voice inquired, startling Ben from his seat.
Ben turned, and glared over his shoulder at the equally tall man that had appeared within the closed shop. Mornings at Blum began at 7 am sharp, but Hux had the unfortunate quality of appearing before the doors had even been unlocked. And in his irritation over Hux’s inconvenient appearances, Ben found himself frequently overlooking the fact that he had been the one to supply Hux with a key to the shop.
“The same thing I always tell you,” Ben said with a thin glare. “That you’re a wonderful investor, and a dreadful, pain in my ass, ex.”
“Flattery,” Hux demurred, tapping his hand on the counter as he leaned in besides Phasma, who gave him an unimpressed look. “You’d better behave when my bride gets here,” he warned.
Ben snorted. “When she gets here, I will be the consummate professional, and any mistakes will end with your funeral that I’ll send flowers to, not mine. Until then, you can bite me.”
Hux tsked, his narrow face adding to the severity of his mock-judgment. “Now now, I thought we’d come to amicable terms.”
“We were never amicable to begin with,” Ben said dismissively. “But I suspect you are trying to get me to actively dislike you at this point, now that I’ve reviewed the images of flowers you’ve sent me.”
“Whatever does he mean?” Hux said, smiling at the rest of the room. Rey frowned in return, setting down a cup of black coffee before Hux. Phasma briskly turned away, choosing to ignore Hux rather than encourage him. Disappointed, Hux cast his gaze back towards Ben, who was now scrolling through images on his phone.
“Orchids,” Ben accused. “You sent me pictures of Orchids.”
“Well they’re flowers,” Hux defended.
“Orchids are about as much of a pain in the ass to deal with as you are, as far as flowers go,” Ben said. “Fitting, I suppose.”
“Well what about the other ones, the ones that I said Phrygia liked?” Hux said, leaning in to squint at Ben’s phone.
“Those,” Ben said irately, “Are Opium poppies.”
Rey stifled a snicker behind the cafe counter.
“And the last ones we sent?” Hux pressed, pointedly ignoring Rey’s delighted expression.
“Peonies. Which would be an excellent choice -- except you’re having a winter wedding, and they bloom in May,” Ben swiped the screen to the next photo. “Honestly, Hux, I’ve been having a hard time figuring out if she’s supposed to be a trophy wife, or you’re her trophy husband. You’ve been a major investor in Blum since the beginning, and you still have no idea why there’s not a Peony in sight mid-December.”
“Can’t it be both?” Hux said, taking a draught of coffee. “It’s a new era. Equality of the sexes.”
“Charming,” Ben said dryly.
“You just don’t understand how things should be done, in old money families,” Hux said, unruffled. “You marry someone who’s suitably appropriate, you mutually agree upon your affairs, your children hate you, and you aggressively deny any problems. Find me a floral arrangement for that.”
Rey made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, before she turned away to continue her work. Phasma, for her part, had left the room halfway through the conversation. Ben didn’t give Hux the satisfaction of rolling his eyes.
“I’ll never understand you,” he said, choosing to sweep past Hux and head towards his floral studio. “I’m going to head to the front. We’re opening soon, and I have to explain to your lovely bride-to-be that I can give her a wonderful deal on foxglove for your boutonniere.”
“And you think I’m the charismatic one. Look at you, making friends left and right,” Hux said, keeping in step with Ben. “How’s your method working with our new next-door-neighbors?”
“I haven’t met them yet,” Ben said. “Why?”
Hux gave Ben a weaseley smile that made him feel uneasy. “Oh,” he said with a tinge of delight in his voice, “…I won’t spoil it for you.”
Buttercup - Childishness, Marigold - Disdain
WELCOME!
Are you…
DRUNK? ON DRUGS? UNDER 18?
OBNOXIOUS? SELLING SOMETHING?
PLEASE COME BACK WHEN YOU ARE NOT.
Please use other door.
- Painted door of the Well Lettered Tattoo Parlor
Old Town, Philadelphia.
Beatrice Maria Isabella Gutierrez Dameron - just Bea, thank you - gave her cousin a dubious look. “What’s with the pink?” she asked, raising a brow as she surveyed her older cousin’s newly opened shop.
“It’s not pink, Bea,” Poe replied, shouldering her schoolbag. “Dios Mio, what the hell do you have in this thing? Drugs don’t weigh this much.”
“My Textbooks.” Bea scoffed, rolling her eyes at Poe’s joke. “And it is pink. Look at it!”
“I told you,” Finn said as plopped down into his seat at the front desk. “People are gonna think it’s pink paint. Hot pink, sure, but pink.”
Bea gave Poe a pointed look - the kind that only a capricious sixteen year old could wield.
“It’s magenta,” Poe corrected. “Nothing wrong with pink. But the color scheme is Cyan - Yellow - Magenta - Black. CYMK. It’s a true primary color!”
“Everyone’s gonna wonder why you didn’t choose red,” Bea said, folding her arms over her chest. “And if it’s supposed to be a CYMK color scheme why did you add lime green? And leopard print? And brown leather chairs?”
“Because,” Poe said, with a huff, “I’m the boss, and I can do what I want.”
Finn stifled a laugh. “Alright boss-man,” he said, smiling as he rearranged the voltron figure that he’d posed on the studio’s front desk.
“Anyways,” Poe said, turning to look over at Bea. “You know the rules. No minors on the studio floor, but this place has a loft we re-vamped, and you can hang out there,” he explained, gesturing for Bea to follow him through the parlor area past Wedge, Jessika, and Karé’s chairs to the small staircase.
“The old owner used it as storage space, but we took half of it and made it into a nice lounge,” Poe said, climbing the dark staircase. “You got a tv for after you finish homework, the old playstation, and a little couch. Plus if you want to draw, there’s one of the older tables for sketching.”
He paused, looking back at his cousin, waiting for her reaction. She stopped, and scanned the lounge, before she leaned over the metal railing and peered down. Bea flipped her long brown braid over her shoulder.
“Well?”
“Shh.” Bea said, tossing out a hand back towards poe.
“What?” Poe replied, dropping into a whisper as he set Bea’s bag on the floor of the loft.
Bea ignored him. “Oy!” she shouted, startling the group below. “Hey Finn! Your line-up is lookin’ good from up here!”
“Jesus,” Poe said under his breath.
Finn pushed back from his desk, and craned to look up with a grin. “Thanks Bee-Bee!”
“Also your Superman figurine fell over,” she added.
“Oh,” Finn said, looking back over his shoulder. “Yeah, thanks,” he said, righting the figure on the shelves beside him. “He’d still beat Batman in a fight.”
“Puh-lease,” Bea snorted. “Superman knows that, which is why he gave Bruce the kryptonite ring—,”
“Are you two done?” Poe tapped Bea’s shoulder. “You have homework.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bea sighed. “I got it,” she huffed. Bea pulled away from the railing and stuck out her tongue at her cousin. “Where’s the music?”
“Stereo’s downstairs, but I splurged a little - there’s some speakers throughout the joint,” Poe said with a little pride.
“Nice,” Bea remarked, launching herself onto the overstuffed couch that had been shoved against the loft wall. She paused, falling quiet, before she looked back at her guardian. “…Hey Poe? When you showed me this place it was all…pastels and crap. But this is great. I’m proud of you.”
Poe grinned, biting his lip as he glanced around his new parlor with pride. “Thanks prima,” he said nudging her bag over towards her. “I’ll check up in a few hours and we can grab dinner.”
“Got it,” Bea said, rifling through her backpack to pull out her books.
“Study hard,” Poe said, waving a hand before he trudged back down the staircase. When he hit the bottom steps, he leaned over to peer towards Jessika’s workspace.
“Musical requests?” Poe prompted.
“Free Bird!” Snap yelled with a laugh.
“Fuck off,” Poe shot back, “This is why your musical privileges are suspended.
“I only played What’s New, Pussycat because of that comedy bit—,” Snap protested.
Jessika groaned, setting down the pen she’d been using for her linework. She gave Poe a hassled look, and then, giving Wedge a playful glare, she spoke. “AC/DC. Because we’re a tattoo parlor, not a discotheque.”
“What about you, Karé?” Poe said.
“I’m seconding Pava.” she said dryly, tucking a pencil behind her ear. A curl of bright gold hair fell over it, and she rubbed at her undercut absently, pointedly ignoring Snap’s trembling bottom lip.
“Out-voted my man,” Poe said to Snap. “Hit it Finn,” he directed. Finn pushed back in his chair, rolling until he hit the stereo system. He reached back, and he flicked through the docked iPod quickly, pulling up the song he’d been looking for. With a little flourish, Finn hit play while Poe jumped from the bottom step of the stairs to the floor.
“Alright,” Poe said with a satisfied bob of his head, shooting his team an infectious smile as the opening chords of T.N.T. began to play. “Let’s do this guys. Finn, what’s the night look like?”
“It’s good, it’s good —,” Finn said, scribbling over the desk schedule. “Got at least one booking for each of the ladies, and Snap is on walk-in duty.”
“Solid,” Poe smiled, glancing up at the studio’s door. “I’m gonna be back at my workstation working on inking my sketch. I’ve got a four-thirty, and I want to have that finished. Yell if you need anything,” he said, before turning.
“Will do,” Finn called, before he turned back to his own sketchbook, dutifully copying Sailor Jerry flash sheets Poe had given to him as part of his apprentice training.
As he strode back to his pink — magenta — workstation, Poe brought up his hands to finger an imaginary fretboard, jamming along to the track that pumped through their speakers.
Sensing the opportunity, Jessika turned in her chair, adding her own air-drums, hitting the beat. When the riff struck, Poe slid to his knees, bending backwards as he wailed. Karé and Wedge joined in, jamming out the competing chords before Bea finally leaned over the loft rails and yelled “Give us Highway to Hell!”
Finn broke into a grin. “You got it Bea!”
“Yeah!” Poe pumped his fist as he rocked back to his feet. “Crank it,” he shouted, rocking past Pava and Karé with a flourish.
“Living easy!” Snap sang.
“—Living free!” Poe responded, head banging his way back to his chair.
“Season ticket on a one way ride - Askin' nothin’—,”
“—Leave me be! Takin' everythin' in my stride—,” Poe belted.
“—don't need reason,” Jessika sang.
“—don't need rhyme,” Poe grinned, jumping on his chair.
“—Ain't nothin' that I'd rather do—,” Karé joined in.
Poe rocked back on his feet, and pointed at Finn, who had been watching. “-Goin' down—,” Poe sang.
“—Party time,” Finn replied, “—My friends are gonna be there too—,” he crowed, before pointing back up to the loft, where Bea was still watching.
On cue, Bea leaned back and began to belt along to the song, “—I’m on the hiiiiigggghhhhwaaaay to heeeeelllll,” she wailed, before the whole shop joined in.
“Highway to hell!” they yelled, as Poe began to rock his hips along to the beat, shouting along with them. He leaned back, moving his fingers faster. Poe beamed as his squad of misfits and tattoo artists threw up devil’s horns and whooped.
They carried on, their impromptu karaoke emphasized by Jessika’s sketch pencils being wielded in place of drumsticks, and Wedge’s air-bass silently thumping them along. Poe beamed, a ripple of pride and adrenaline running through him as he looked over his new studio proudly — his squad rocking along despite how difficult it had been to get everything together for their shop’s opening.
“Hey Mama, Look at me!” he crowed, leaping from his chair to the floor, dancing past his friends to headbang with Finn at the front desk.
“Yeah, Finn!” Jessika whooped, laughing as Finn rocked up to his feet and began dancing aggressively with Poe, tossing his head back. Poe shimmied, leaning back to back with Finn as they riffed.
“Don’t!” They yelled in unison, “Stop! Me!”
It was then that the front door of the studio burst open — revealing a startlingly tall man with a furious glare and a spray of Buttercups stuffed into the front pocket of his black apron.
“Would you please shut up?” he snapped, accusatorially thrusting a marigold towards Poe. “I have a hysterical bride-to-be next door and you are giving everyone a migraine. I cannot even believe that I have to inform you that blasting your insufferable music is inappropriate during regular business hours—,” he seethed, before stopping short to take in his surroundings.
The red flush of anger drained from his face, and when he caught sight of Poe, his expression contorted. Dark eyes tracked Poe, first looking over him from head to toe, and then staring at the tattoos that wrapped over Poe’s biceps in bright sleeves. The other man was scrutinizing, taking in the sight of Poe’s tattoos with a critical eye — an ‘El Corazon’ loteria card, a trio of Guatemalan worry dolls, a pilot’s compass, traditional roses — before lingering when he spotted the bright rainbow flag inked into the shape of a heart on Poe’s inner arm. Though he was rarely self-conscious over his tattoos, Poe felt a prick at the back of his neck as the man stared at the gay flag, looking stricken, even pained.
Poe simply stared back, uncomfortable. The man before them had features just as sharp as his tongue — with pale skin, dark eyes, and nearly jet-black hair that swept over his ears. He might have been handsome, Poe thought, if he hadn’t looked so personally affronted by Poe’s tattoo shop and tattoos.
“My god,” the man finally said, quickly staring past Poe and Finn - who had righted themselves - to take in the sight of tattoo flash sheets framed on the walls, and rows of inks gracefully lining new shelves. Finn scrambled to turn down the stereo while Poe anxiously smoothed his fingers over his tattoo sleeve.
The newcomer continued, brushing past Poe in a half-daze as he looked down at Jessika, Wedge, and Karé, and paused when he hit the center of the main room.
The man frowned to himself, and turned back towards Poe, giving him a slightly baleful look. “You’re a tattoo shop,” he remarked, sounding like he was referring to a type of plague.
“Sorry,” Poe managed, stepping to the other man’s side. “But who the hell are you?”
The taller man glared down at him, before he jabbed a long index finger towards the breast of his black apron, where looping calligraphy read ‘Blum Flower Atelier.’
“I,” the man said, tucking the geranium into his pocket, “-am the owner of the floral design establishment next door. I assume this is your-,” he struggled for a moment, searching for the most appropriate word, “-tawdry shop?”
“Yes,” Poe said, straightening to glare up at him, “This is my tattoo studio. Although I would hardly call us tawdry—,”
“—And I’m sure you would hardly call your decor unseemly,” the other man countered sharply. He leaned forwards as if to say more, but stopped sort when the door opened again, a brunette scrambling in behind him.
“Ben, please—,” She said, exhaling, before she turned to Poe, “Hi, I’m Rey. I think I only met Finn earlier this week,” she said quickly, “—I’m so sorry about my cousin. Would you believe he has an acute case of medical stupidity?”
From the side of the room, Finn snickered.
“Ah,” Poe said with a bemused look.
“I have no such thing—,” Ben snapped, turning to scowl at Rey. “You knew about this. You knew, and you didn’t say anything,” he accused.
“Ben if you wanted to control who moved in next door, you should’ve bought the shop instead of investing in the Chatsworth Farm,” Rey countered, holding her ground.
“Chatsworth is a crucial investment for us. The only reason I didn’t purchase this building is because Hux didn’t deem it worthy of the investment — because he’s far too concerned with Phrygia, who is currently next door causing a scene!”
“And this isn’t a scene?” Rey cried. “Why can’t you just make friends? Give a nice hello before you start yelling, like I did. Try small talk, for once—,”
“Small talk?” Ben said aghast, “You know I don’t—don’t just talk about the weather with—,” he cast about, glancing back at Poe, “-with complete strangers.” He frowned, looking away quickly when Poe caught his eye. “I don’t exactly find him particularly charming,” he sniffed.
“Enough,” Poe stepped forwards to interrupt, “Can you two argue about this somewhere…else? We’ll turn the music down,” he offered, gesturing back at his studio space. “And try not to continue with any more impromptu concerts.”
“Right, right, sorry. We’re definitely leaving,” Rey said hastily, before she gave Ben a warning look and punched him in the arm, wincing as her fist made contact with her cousin’s bicep. She pulled her hand back, and shook it out quickly, frowning at Ben.
“Have a good day Finn. And, uh, neighbor,” she added.
“Poe,” he replied uncertainly. “Poe Dameron.”
“We bid you farewell, then,” Ben said as he bowed stiffly, and then turned on his heel.
Rey followed quickly after him, mouthing a ’Sorry’ to Finn before they both left the shop in a hasty retreat.
The shop fell quiet for a long moment, before Bea broke the silence. “…Is he for real?”
“Bea,” Poe said sharply.
“He was somewhat - odd,” Karé offered. “I can’t believe he said you weren’t charming, Poe. Of all people, he seems like the one lacking in charm.”
“Sort of rude, wasn’t he?” Poe said with a shrug. “Guess you can’t please everyone.”
“I mean,” Jessika said, “I think he did just bow on his way out. Does that count as polite?”
“So that was real,” Snap said, sounding impressed. “And I didn’t imagine it.”
“Nah,” Finn replied, giving Poe a guilty look as he shrugged. “That dude is completely wild. His cousin’s cute, though. She came over yesterday when I was setting up and gave me some cookies from their cafe.”
“Cookies?” Snap said in a wounded tone, “And you didn’t share?”
“They were for me,” Finn said, looking somewhat embarrassed as he idly scribbled in the shop’s appointment book.
Poe rolled his eyes. “Get back to work, you lot.”
Purple Violets - Daydreaming, Larkspur - Levity, Haughtiness
Ben didn’t speak about the incident for three days.
When he’d returned to the shop, Hux’s fiancee Phrygia had continued her tantrum, keeping Ben so distracted that he all but pushed the outburst of his mind. It was easy to overlook his own flare for drama when both Phrygia and Hux seemed hellbent on reenacting episodes of Gossip Girl. In the end, Ben had only received positive reactions from either of them when he’d suggested the most gratuitously expensive floral arrangements he could think of.
Once they had left, however, Ben replayed the incident in his head. At first, he was certain that he’d been right in being upset — Hux’s refusal to even bid on the neighboring business had allowed a tattoo parlor to move in. Where Blum was a sophisticated jewel-box of flowers set against dark rosewood veneered walls, the new incarnation of ‘Well Lettered’ was a loud, garish looking shop.
But while he’d emphasized repeatedly to Rey that he had no interest in befriending the other man despite her clear desire to build up a rapport with the tattoo shop, Ben was left with the niggling thought that perhaps he had overdone it. And - to his dismay - the more he thought of it, the more Ben felt a creeping sense of mortified regret. True, Poe had been inconsiderately loud, and his business was less than an ideal compliment to Blum. But had Ben found it difficult to disregard his memory of the beautiful, complex tattoo designs that had decorated the walls. While he couldn’t see Poe sharing his clientele, the level of artistry he’d seen in Poe’s work had been compelling, to say the least.
And then there had been the tattoo - a bright pride flag filling the outline of a heart that was nestled on the inside of Poe’s left arm. While Ben hadn’t intended to fixate on it, it had caught him off guard. Whenever Ben awkwardly passed his new neighbor in the back alley, he found himself sneaking furtive glances at the outline of the rainbow, burning it into his memory. He’d also found himself staring openly while he took out his compost — unnerved by how Poe looked while taking an easy drag from a lit cigarette. Poe Dameron was undeniably handsome: with toned armed arms, sleepy brown eyes, full lips, and a nose that was almost as prominent as Ben’s.
By day four, Ben was left with the miserable awareness that despite his prickly demeanor and insistence that he wanted nothing to do with the neighboring business owner, he also found Poe unnervingly attractive. So attractive that every time he had run across Poe since, he’d found himself at a loss for words. He’d taken to grunting in acknowledgement before awkwardly leaving whenever they passed each other.
This time, after he’d only just barely managed to escape Poe’s attempts at conversation, Ben had fled to fastidiously prune his bonsai trees in the hopes of being left alone.
It didn’t work.
“Not that I particularly care,” Phasma said as she stepped beside the table Ben was working at, “But why do you keep frowning at your cherry tree?”
“I am not frowning at it,” Ben said stiffly, setting down his shears. “I am concentrating so my mind doesn’t wander.”
Plasma gave him an inscrutable look. “Since when does your mind wander?”
“Since-,” Ben started, before he sighed, and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t. Or well, I didn’t. But I was trying to be mindful of what I was cutting.”
“Are you still brooding over Hux?” Phasma asked, sounding pained by the very mention of the shop’s investor. “I thought you said he was an insufferable prick.”
Ben snorted. “He is,” he agreed, sweeping his trimmings into a pile on the table. “Actually, I wasn’t thinking about Hux,” Ben admitted.
“But clearly something is on your mind, because you keep sighing about it loudly every few minutes, and it’s driving me nuts. So spit it out,” Phasma said, pursing her lips.
Ben glared at his employee, then fixed his gaze back on the graceful bonsai before him.
“If you must know,” he said, ignoring Phasma’s eye roll, “I was thinking about how someone’s appearances can make them seem…agreeable.”
“Agreeable?” Phasma said dryly. She crossed her arms. “You mean attractive.”
“I mean agreeable,” Ben said tersely. “I was thinking maybe I should apologize to our neighbors for being so…irate with them.”
“But you think the tattoo parlor will spoil the general atmosphere of our curb appeal and scare off our customers,” Phasma pointed out. “Whether or not you were rude to them is hardly the real problem. They threaten our atmosphere.”
“I—,” Ben said, faltering, “I did say that, yes. But you know what Hux always says…”
“Have no friends, and keep your enemies close.” Phasma recited, amusement flickering across her face.
“…Right.” Ben said, setting aside his bonsai to pick up another small potted plant. “Which is why I’ll leave this at the back door,” he said, lifting the pot to show Phasma the small, spiked cactus that was planted within. “With a note, of course.”
“And this has nothing to do with how attractive you find him as an artist?” Phasma asked, glancing down at the succulent. “Why not just go for it?”
“I don’t know where you got that idea,” Ben said, quickly scrawling an elegantly lettered message over a small notecard that he tucked into the side of the pot.
“I don’t know why I’m pretending I’m interested in the answer,” Phasma said with a shrug, before she pushed away from the table. “Have fun with that,” she added, before she headed back towards the front of the shop, leaving Ben to quickly reread the message one last time before he picked up the cactus.
When he was satisfied, he slipped out the back door into the shared alley, and set the plant neatly on the side of the stoop that Poe sat on while taking his breaks.
He could only hope that Poe would understand.
— Sorry for being such a prick,
- Ben
