THE SHIELD ⇾ one shots and preferences

d.a. | one shot | mitch

You worked in a small, modest flower shop on the corner of Seventh and Lily Street. From the outside, the shop didn't seem like much; it was comprised of chipping, white cinder blocks and a sun beaten green awning that had seen more weather than it should have. The flickering, florescent light above the door read:  Becky's Floral Arrangements. 

But, inside...it was magical.

You considered it to be the Garden of Eden. Plants covered a vast majority of the walls and floor, vines creeping around the window panes. Foliage and flora obviously took precedence over man, and that's what you loved so much about this charming, little building. The air always smelled sweet and light, the scents of dozens and dozens of flowers intermingling and kissing the customer's nose. Large, smudged windows allowed lots of sunlight in through the face of the building, also allowing the occasional sidewalk-stroller to glance into the window and see the beautiful mix of colors.

Overall, the building didn't seem like much to a stranger, but it was stunning to you.

There weren't many customers that came into Becky's Floral Arrangements. There was the sparse regular; a newlywed husband who sought the happiness from his wife, an old man who ordered a dozen roses every week, a random wedding party in need of bouquets. Yet, there was always one man who came in regularly and bought the strangest thing. 

A potted ficus.

Always a potted ficus.

The man came in every Wednesday at promptly three in the afternoon. No matter the weather, the man always wore a leather jacket, blue jeans, and some sunglasses - his shirt was the only variable in the equation. His dirty blonde, reddish hair was fluffy and messy, giving him a look of bedraggling confusion that was nearly attractive. 

He would enter the store, wordlessly browse the other flowers before finding the small ficus collection, select the smallest plant, and make his way to the counter to pay. You would casually strike up small talk, but it was almost awkward. His carefree demeanor was the only thing that made you feel at ease. 

You glanced at the clock, curious and slightly bored.

Good thing it was Wednesday. And it was just a few minutes before three.

You grabbed the misting bottle and strolled over to the ficus display, spurting a fine spray over the slender leaves. Might as well make them look nice for the stranger. 

You heard the dinging of the doorbell, and you knew it had to be him. The familiar sound of soft boots made their way towards you - or rather, the ficus plant that would find his new home. You went to turn and make your way back to the counter, not wanting to impair his decision making process, but he was soon standing next to you, admiring the selection before him.

"Excuse me," you murmured softly, attempting to scoot between him and a shelf of colored daisies.

The stranger raised a brow at you before a smirk crept onto his rose colored lips. "I actually was wondering if I could get your opinion this week. I need someone small and easily transportable," he explained simply, turning his attention back to the plants.

You almost giggled at his words. Someone - as if the plant were his friend. You turned to observe him; leather jacket, blue jeans, and sunglasses, as per usual. His lips were pursed in thought and his attention was focused.

You let your own eyes browse the brick-colored pots before you. A few of the bigger ones sat in the front, and sensing that he hadn't found one he liked, you stepped forward and pushed a few aside. Alas, a small pot was sitting there, gleaming. It was so small, it could practically fit in your hand.

"Oh," the man cooed, reaching forward and gently scooping up the pot in his left hand. He was so cautious, it was as if he was a father holding his newborn child. He briefly looked up from the plant and locked eyes with you. "Yeah, this is definitely the one."

You let out a little huff of laughter as you both made your way to the front counter. He was just so goofy and aloof, it made your heart happy.

You slipped behind the counter and rang up his total. "Three dollars and ninety five cents," you read out to him. He fished into his back pocket, feeling his pocket for his wallet, but coming up short. 

"Shit," he murmured in a panic, setting the plant on the counter so that he could search with both hands. Every pocket he searched yielded no result. His face was slightly redder than normal, and a frown started to blossom on his face. 

You knew your wallet was in the back, and you had a spare five you could let him have. "Hey, don't sweat it," you calmed him. "This one's on me."

"Really?" He asked with childish joy. His smile was bright and vivid, his dimples prominent. "You're the best!" He squeaked, scrambling to grab the potted plant back into his care.

"I have one question, though," you blurted out, unable to hold back your curiosity anymore. He raised a brow, signalling for you to continue. "You've come in her every week, so you either have thirty plants, or you suck at keeping them alive." 

You knew it was kind of a rude suggestion to imply, but you had to know if you were sending the little plant to his death.

The man furrowed his brow and looked down to his hand. "My very first plant, Mitch, met a bad ending...I just have to get one every week in his honor," he admitted honestly. It was obvious that he thought his actions were rational, although it seemed completely odd to you. It was just a plant...what kind of fate could it have met?

"I'm...sorry for your loss?" You sputtered with confusion.

"Hey, you've done your part in continuing Mitch's legacy," he told you proudly, poking a finger into your shoulder. You blushed with embarrassment and looked down at the counter. "I should probably get this little guy back home to his brothers and sisters now."

You nodded, pretending to understand. He winked at you and turn on his heel, quickly walking off towards the door, cooing quietly to his plant. You couldn't help but smile.

You would see him next Wednesday...and maybe, just maybe, you would ask for his name.