flower crowns // l.s.

✿8✿

Harry had taken a taxi to his grandmother's, deciding that it was time for a trip to the garden and to check up on the lady. His grandmother was wealthy; very wealthy. Turns out, their grandfather was practically sitting on a fortune and she got everything when he passed. The house she's in is absolutely huge and has a very big green house in the back where Harry grows his flowers. He absolutely loves spending time here when he can, especially since she always has amazing food prepared. As the taxi began pulling up the driveway, Harry sighed happily, because not only would he be away from everyone and spending time with his dear grandmother, but the flowers. So many beautiful flowers that are waiting on him. He got out, paid the man, and grinned once he turned towards the white, two story house. The gables only made it look bigger and even more expensive, really. Harry always loved how many windows there were; it's so open and beautiful. He couldn't remember exactly how many acres she had bought, but it's enough to make it look like she owns an entire country farm.

Harry didn't even have to knock when he went to the door; she was already waiting on him and greeted him with open arms. And he loved it. This is his home, this woman, the way she seemed to always smell like French lavender and honey, but her home seemed to always smell like she was cooking a breakfast feast is where his home is. And it smells like biscuits and bacon—Harry adored it and buried his face in her neck even more.

"You've grown about ten inches, haven't ya? Jesus, boy, stop growing on me!"

Harry giggled and clutched her tighter.

"Okay, you'll be feelin' those extra five pounds if you keep doing that, Harry."

Harry shook his head and pulled away, kissing her cheek and then letting her go so he could walk into the foyer and take his shoes off. "How've you been, Gran?" He asked whilst taking each shoe off by his heels.

"Good. And lonely, you should visit more often. But what about you? You look thin, come eat so we can talk about your work and your friends and just gossip," she said, beginning walking down the hall. "Ooh, I just love that gossip."

Harry followed after her when his shoes were off, heading into the kitchen with widened eyes once he seen the food that was on the island. "Holy shi—"

"Watch your tongue, there. Help me bring this into the dining room."

Harry did without another word, picking up the basket of rolls and pot of Mac & Cheese. A home-cooked meal he didn't have to prepare himself? Oh, he was in heaven. Carefully, he put down each pot or pan of food, not wanting to accidentally spill anything on the delicate, white tablecloth that was lacey at the ends and had little red flowers to add to its soft look. He was going to ask where she got that, because it's beautiful and maybe he'd find himself something there that he'd like, but his grandmother was already shoving him into a seat and piling his plate full of food and pouring him a glass of sparkling grape juice because she knew it was one of Harry's favorite drinks. He feels like a king. As soon as she's done with Harry, she begins to make herself something, and really, Harry thinks that's just utterly wrong, so he stands, takes her plate away from her, tucks it underneath his arm, and guides her over to her chair. (She started to protest, but Harry wasn't having any of it, so she gave in, let Harry push her chair in once she was nice and comfortable, and began making her a plate of food.)

"How's the business going?"

"Pretty well. I'm saving up for this building that might be good enough for me to buy and make it an official thing."

"Oh, really? Hey, I've got more than enough money, so how about I help out in this?"

That wasn't what Harry wanted at all. Nobody knows he's looking at buying a building and becoming a legitimate florist with his own store and little cards with his contact information. It seems like a dream that's so far away.

"No way, Gran. Nuh-uh. I'll do it all myself, I won't need your money, keep it."

There was a long silence after that and Harry found it rather odd, so he looked up from his plate of food and stopped picking at the elbow-shaped macaroni, only to find his grandmother smiling at him fondly with her chin rested in the palm of her hand. "So proud of you, boy. So, so proud."

And Harry just nearly cried. That's all he's ever wanted to hear. Someone's proud of him—his grandmother is actually proud of him and he's doing something right, apparently, if he is. So maybe he does start crying and she's quickly at his side, rubbing his shoulders softly and soothingly, telling him it's okay to cry and that everyone needs to let it out every once in a while.

"I just— I'm so—"

"I know, it's okay, Harry. It's okay."

It takes him a moment to settle down, having to wipe his eyes on the soft napkin that was folded into a triangle, and then he was telling his Gran that he loved her and she was saying it back and Harry needed this. He needed someone telling him that he's loved and that someone's proud of him because he thought that he was all alone. Being alone is terrible and it makes him feel worthless and alone and being alone makes him sad because he's alone, and his thoughts are all jumbled together because he can't even think about how awful it feels to be alone, with no one there for you, no one to laugh with or talk to. "I just felt alone," he mutters quietly.

"Oh, sweetie. You're never alone. You've got me, those two friends of yours . . . you're never alone, all right?"

"I miss mom," he sputtered out, then wiped his nose on the napkin.

Gran inhaled softly, ran her soft fingers through his thick hair, and then gave his arm a tug. "Come on. Looks like we won't be eating for a bit, so let's get comfortable in the lounge."

Harry nodded, pouted with his lower lip stuck out, crossed his arms, followed his grandmother into the living room (which was bigger than his own apartment), sat down on the white leather sofa, and Harry just wanted to curl up and fall asleep since this is probably the most comfortable and luxurious thing he's ever rested on before in his life. And it's huge. So huge and soft and pretty. Her living room reminded him of a Victorian styled one, with vintage curtains and a wooden coffee table with a small vase of fake flowers in them. The ceiling, Harry estimated, is about twelve feet tall or more. It amazes him every time he enters her living room by just how beautiful it is.

He didn't talk just yet. He calmed down. And he needed to calm down. Living life is a series of heartbreak and ups and downs (maybe more downs than ups), but the key to living life well is calming down. You can't spasm every time someone hurts you or tries to tear you down. Just breathe. Inhale and exhale and try to keep calm because life can be a beautiful thing if it's given a chance. Poor Harry, though. He doesn't know if he can give it a chance.