The Flower Tattoo || Ministar

One

Every day. Every day Vik walked to work. And every day Vik saw him. The boy. He couldn't reference to him in any other way, as they had never spoken to each other. He was just the boy. The boy that worked at the tattoo parlor.

Vik would walk 6 blocks every morning and every evening, and so would the boy, walking from the opposite direction. Each time, they would meet at the same spot and both enter into their respected workplaces; The boy into the tattoo parlor, and Vik into the flower shop just next door. And every day, Vik would smile, and the boy would only offer a slight tug of the lips in return, but it's was enough acknowledgement for the small Indian boy, as he didn't receive much of it on a daily basis.

The average modern societal citizen might refer to Vikram as gay boy, daisy mucker, petunia, flower boy, etc., or at least that's what most of the people who would even step foot in the quaint shop would let slip through. However, Vik didn't see them as much of insults as he did motivation. Motivation only to be skinnier, quieter, and less gay, if that was even possible.

Though it may have been seen as slightly unethical, it's how Vik grew up, and he hasn't changed. Barely eating, there wasn't anyone to monitor him or his food intake. Of course, he may have passed out on multiple occasions, but Vik could only think of it as part of the job, constantly reminding himself that his 'work' would eventually pay off.

Each day, when he entered the shop at 7 on the dot, the scattered aromas of the different groupings of flora around the shop made for a promising distraction from the constant hunger that tore at his insides, deciding he would eventually come to terms with it.

Coming from a background full of alcoholics, drugs, and abuse, Vik considered himself lucky that he even stood in his spot today. He had his own apartment, though it was dingy and unkempt, his own job and income, though it was quite unsteady, and internet, though he had no people around he could truly rely on. He considered himself sane, and that was all that mattered to him.

Simon, on the other hand, had a much different story from poor, poor Vikram Barn.