Beauty is constant part of life. It can be found anywhere and everywhere, everything we see and hear and smell and even touch, like the flowers I work with every day of the week. They're the most beautiful things I know of.

But they're still second to the boy with eyes that seem to reveal all his emotions, actually the window to his soul, the boy who sits in the same seat as I do in the class next to mine at school. The one I recognize because he's tall, and so quiet.

The one I recognize because I saw him taking several careful pictures of a flower I had planted in a pot and left standing near the several other potted flowers arranged alongside the walls near the school gates.

It was just another flower in the long row of flowers the school had planted in an effort to show off their supposed 'green thumb,' except no one other than myself and a few older students attend the joke they call 'gardening class.' Yet, this boy had noticed that it hadn't been there before and found it pretty. It had been a rose, a simple, regular rose. I had known it wouldn't die since it was pretty cold weather.

"Welcome to Matsuki's Blossoms," I say like a broken record when I hear the door open and the little bell jingle. Why do we have that, anyway? I wonder in irritation. It's been a long day and I'm tired. The bell jingling so cheerily annoys me for some reason, which makes me think about the fact that I should have gone home and taken a nap, but I'd never pass up a chance to do my part-time job at my family's flower shop.

It's not like I have a bad life, but peace is hard to come by when you live with a big family, and our small flower shop, despite being pretty popular, isn't constantly crowded like it always is at home. Plus, the scent, despite some describing as sickly sweet, is something that comforts me. It's the scent of flowers blossoming, of earth, of plants.

The scent of nature. What's not to love?

When I draw my gaze away from my phone, I'm surprised to see the customer is someone I recognize. The boy who took the picture of my rose at school. The boy I've always thought is good-looking, with the paint smudges on his hands, faint but there.

"How may I help you?" I ask politely. He casts his glance all over the shop, or at least the parts of it he can see. He looks sad and confused at the same time. He doesn't know how to find the appropriate flowers, I guess.

"I'm...looking for flowers," he says. "For a friend of mine."

I decipher the tone of his voice and gather that this friend means more to him than that. Whoever they are, it seems as if he cares a lot about them.

"For what occasion?" I ask, getting to my feet and walking around the counter. As I'm nearer to him, I become consciously aware of my short height. He's so much taller than I am, at a solid six feet. I don't know many other teenagers our age that tall.

It must be in the genes, the same way his dark brown eyes that glittered with happiness the last time I saw him, taking the pictures of the flower, which now look intense with emotion, are a rather pretty pair of eyes. His strong features, most of all his full mouth, are set tightly. I don't know if I should be concerned that his normally tan skin is pale.

"She's..." he hesitates. "She's in the last stages of cancer, and I want a flower that..."

He stops again and doesn't continue. I immediately understand what he wants and say, "follow me," an order he complies with immediately. I don't know why my tone sounded more like an order than anything. Maybe it's because I want him to find the perfect flowers.

I show him a flower with large petals of yellow tinged with bright red at the tips. "These are primroses," I say. "Some say this one is the most overlooked when it comes to romantic flowers." I note the flush in his cheeks with some satisfaction that I was right. "They can either mean 'our love is eternal,' or 'I can't live without you.'"

"They're pretty," he says, "but that makes it sound like I think she's going to die. I told her I'm sure she'll pull through."

But you know it's hopeless, I think sadly. Poor them. Battling cancer is no easy task, and neither is watching the person you love battling it. I decide I can give him something a bit more subtle but just as beautiful.

I lead him further down the aisle and point out flowers with larger, fewer petals than usual in an almost blindingly bright yellow. "This is the alstroemeria, also called a Peruvian lily. It symbolizes traits of loyalty like devotion, support, and survival."

His eyes widen when I look at him. "They are also known as a gesture to stay strong and keep your head high. They're more of a friendship flower than anything, but..."

This time he blushes, catching my meaning. "Thank you," he says. "Can I have those?"

"Of course," I smile. I start picking several of the beautiful blossoms, putting bunches of them together to form a medium-sized bouquet. I want to give him more, but we're running low on alstroemerias.

I take the flowers over to the counter, rummage around under it, and find the rubber band I was looking for, using it to hold the stems in place while I pulled out a roll of gift-wrapping paper and cut out the appropriate amount, placing the flowers at a corner of the square and bringing two ends over it together and tape it in place.

Then I undo the ribbon at the end of my long braid, shape it into a delicate little bow, and use some double-sided tape to stick it on the gift-wrap paper. I always wear a ribbon at the end of my braid for quick use, in case I need to make a rush order and I can't cut out a piece of it in time. This isn't a rush order, but it feels like I need to really hurry up all the same.

While I do this, I'm acutely aware of the boy's eyes on me. When I glance up once, he seems surprised, his mouth hanging open slightly. "What?" I ask.

He blinks. "Nothing," he says. "You're just so...efficient."

"Years of practice," I say simply, handing it to him. I name the price and he quickly pays, and although I'm supposed to be charging him, given the circumstances of him wanting these flowers, I feel kind of bad. He just wants to give some flowers to the girl he loves, who's battling cancer.

"Thank you," he says.

"No problem, and thank you as well," I smile again, realizing that it's difficult not to smile in the presence of such a sweetly innocent face that shows all his emotions at full brightness. "Come by again!"

"I will," he smiles back at me and makes his way out of the shop, leaving me smiling to myself in an idiotic way. It takes a while to wipe it off my face, and when I do manage to, it's because I think about how sad the boy looked when he first came in.

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WORD COUNT: 1266

A/N: blue writing another book to simp about riki? yes. this is another excuse for me to admire the loml and write angst since it's been difficult to write the other one so...