Title: Roses are Red
Author: cutecoati
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The young shop assistant is really annoyed by now - why is he always being pushed aside by his employer whenever the blond man enters the shop? Perhaps an old lady can enlighten him today?
A/N: *is still totally floored about invite* This is an older ficlet of mine which I rewrote a bit for posting it here.



The shop assistant had withdrawn into a corner, his obvious attempt not to sulk betraying his youth. Despite an amused twinkle in her eyes, the old lady who had been observing him for quite some time, smiled gently at him. "Is Madama Fiorella giving you a hard time?"

"She never allows me to attend to him," he pouted, yet blushed at being so easy to read. "He has to be very wealthy; maybe that's why she's so eager to- I mean," he stammered, horrified that she might suspect him of speaking ill of his employer or, even worse, of spying on customers. "I only g-guessed, because of his demeanour, his appearance. Oh, I'm not - I'm just thinking about this. W-wondering. I m-mean, you'd expect someone like him to buy something really special, really expensive. And we've got such magnificent offers right now - here, take a look at these orchids, they're enchanted to sparkle when being approached, or these bellflowers, they actually are sounding like-" Realising that he had involuntarily withdrawn to the safe grounds of reeling off this week's advertising speech, he bit his lips in embarrassment, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of crimson.

Although she apparently had to try hard to stifle a grin, the old lady gave the boy a reassuring nod. Her eyes, though, never left the tall, slim, almost gaunt figure of the blond man who, simply by raising a pale eyebrow, made a submissive Madama Fiorella rush back into the stockroom over and over again, present flower after flower to him - all of which he had been refusing so far by a nearly imperceptible tilt of his pointed chin.

"So, he doesn't live up to your expectations?" the lady asked, the tone of her voice light and her hands plucking at her concrete-like white bun, but her dark eyes brimming with emotions the boy wasn't sure he could read, sad and wistful yet tender and- caring?

"No-oh. He really looks like being able to purchase the whole shop on a mere whim. But no, nothing enchanted, nothing extraordinary for him; it's always only one single red rose - though, he insists on- no, he doesn't insist, doesn't have to, it's just- See, you wouldn't dare, wouldn't eventhink of anything but get him the most beautiful one. I'd really," and with a sudden outburst of confidence he leant closer to her, "really like to know who he is. He's so. So. Just have a look around, it's always like that, whenever he enters, he immediately attracts everyone's attention but seems to be totally unaware of-"

He stopped at hearing her draw a deep breath, almost a gasp. And when she spoke, her voice sounded almost harsh, offended. "What do you mean, you would like to know who-?" She broke off, fumbled briefly with her square glasses and reached out to pat his shoulder. "Oh, no, no. I'm sorry, boy. No, of course, you wouldn't know who he is, you're far too young. Haven't seen him for years myself, actually. I don't know- I wonder for whom he's buying- oh, maybe..." gradually, the old lady's voice had become lower, softer, as though she were talking to herself, "After all these years. God, I so hope that he's overcome- that he's finally beginning to-"

But when the man went by - as oblivious to her presence as to the murmurs and glances of the other customers - she caught sight of the shimmering ribbon which was wound around the green stalk of the red rose.

Imprinted letters, shining silver on golden silk.

The old lady fell silent, holding her breath, her right hand pressed onto her quivering mouth. Exhaling deep, she lowered her head, closing her eyes as if in pain.

Our love lasts forever.