Work Text:
It was pouring rain during the grand opening of the tattoo shop across the street. Which meant no foot traffic, which meant no customers. It was around 6pm when the owner gave up and started packing it in, and Ghost finally took pity on him.
He had been watching the man through the windows — sitting around, drawing in his sketchbook, pacing back and forth in his brand new, decidedly unpatronized studio. He would even do the occasional set of spontaneous push-ups or jumping jacks, presumably in an attempt to keep himself awake and energized on a dreary day that encouraged anything but.
Of course, Ghost had only been watching out of curiosity, out of a desire and something of a responsibility to know what was happening on his block. As a business owner and resident here, it was only sensible to stay aware of any changes in the area. Plus, the military would never fully leave him; he was on his guard more often than not. So he was just watching the man across the street out of pure necessity.
It had nothing to do with the way his muscles looked in his fitted t-shirt, which was just snug enough to show off the bulge of his biceps and chest in a way that was more than a little distracting. Nothing to do with the way he somehow managed to pull off the stupid mohawk his fluffy brown hair was styled in, the one that made it hard not to imagine running one’s hand through it, maybe giving it a firm tug. Nothing to do with the full sleeves of brightly colored tattoos that adorned the man’s muscular arms, or the few piercings Ghost was able to see from his current vantage point.
Alright, maybe the man had captured his attention a bit, but Ghost was still determined to call it a good-old-fashioned sense of awareness rather than…anything else. Either way, at 6pm, when he saw the man give a hefty sigh and start closing up, he decided to be the first to step into the tattoo parlor that day.
The door jingled as it opened, making the stranger’s head snap up. His bright blue eyes practically sparkled, and Ghost felt his stomach swoop at being on the receiving end of his gaze. He ignored the heat rising in his cheeks and held up a hand in greeting.
“Sorry, not lookin’ for a tattoo. Just wanted to welcome you to the street.” Ghost lifted the small vase he was holding. It wasn’t anything fancy — just a few sunflowers and some baby’s breath arranged with a bit of twine around them. “I run the flower shop across the way. Brought these over for ya.”
A blinding grin split the other man’s face as he stepped forward. “No kidding? That’s bloody kind of ye.” He took the vase and placed it on the desk, shifting it slightly to sit at the perfect angle. “Gorgeous.” His eyes flicked over to Ghost with the last word, making him blush even harder, and extended a hand. “I’m John. Most people call me Soap.”
Ghost took his hand and shook it, once again ignoring the way his touch felt like electricity. “Everyone calls me Ghost.”
Soap let out a laugh. “Didn’t think flower shops did silly names the way tattoo shops do.”
“They don’t. Name’s a holdover from my military days,” Ghost said simply.
“Och, I was military too! Sergeant in the SAS. That’s when I got my first piece, actually.” He held up his right arm and tapped a faded SAS insignia, one of the few colorless tattoos in an otherwise vibrant sleeve.
“Sergeant, eh? Got you beat, Johnny.” A small smile played on Ghost’s lips underneath the simple face mask he wore. “SAS Lieutenant.”
“Piss off, you serious?”
“As a terrorist threat.”
Soap laughed again, moving closer and leaning his arms on the counter. “What’re the odds? So how’d ye go from guns to flowers?”
Ghost hesitated, shifting a bit. “Lost someone,” he said, aiming for casual. “Too many someones. Decided to retire with what was left of my sanity, and bought the shop off an old bird who was retiring herself. Figured if I was done with the military, I might as well try something different.”
Soap nodded, the smile on his face having faded to a look of sober understanding. “Can’t blame ye there.” He looked out the window over to Ghost’s storefront. “‘Bout as different as ye can get, floristry. Ye like it?”
“Yeah, I do.” There was something poetic to be said about helping things grow rather than cutting them down, but Ghost wasn’t a poetic man. Instead, he simply said, “It’s quiet. Peaceful.”
“I bet. Quite the change of pace.”
“What about you? Why’d you leave the SAS?”
“Honorable discharge after one too many close calls.” Turning his head, Soap showed off a pale scar that ran backward from his temple. “I’ve always loved drawing though, an’ I did a lot of it while I was recovering. Eventually I picked up a tattoo gun, and the rest was history. Got lots of mementos from the field, though.”
Soap turned his head the other way, showing Ghost the hearing aid looped over his ear. It was decorated with silver spikes that matched the carefully curated piercings there. The smile was back on Soap’s face, and his eyes glinted with something like mischief when he explained, “Demolitions expert. Did a number on my hearing. Then of course there’s the fucked up knee, the killer migraines from the head injury, so on n’ so forth. I’m sure you’ve got plenty o’ yer own.”
Ghost scoffed. “That’s for sure.”
It was all too easy for them to fall into conversation after that. In fact, Ghost thought he had maybe never met someone so easy to talk to. They talked about the military, about Soap’s move to area, about the regulars who frequented Ghost’s shop. They talked about Soap’s tattoos, and about the black and gray sleeve hidden under Ghost’s jacket. They talked about their favorite drinks — Soap’s preference of coffee over tea, Ghost’s preference of bourbon over scotch, and both’s disapprovals of the other’s choices.
Something about Soap just felt comfortable. Maybe it was just because they were both military, both SAS specifically, that Ghost found it so easy to connect with the man. Or maybe was just him. Soap was vibrant, loud, full of life. When you spoke with him, you had his full attention, like nothing in the world mattered more than your conversation. His laugh was contagious, and Ghost found that being the cause of that laughter was almost instantly addicting.
He found himself starting to open up almost against his will.
Before he knew it, almost an hour had passed, and night had solidly fallen over the city. Soap looked up at the clock on the wall and startled.
“Fuck, didn’t mean ta keep ya so long. Hope I wasnae talkin’ yer ear off too much,” he chuckled.
“Not at all. Wouldn’t have stuck around if I didn’t want to.”
“Aye, I can imagine ye got no problem tellin’ people tae fuck off when yer sick of ‘em.”
“It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”
Ghost continued to linger as Soap finished closing up, still chatting away. Eventually they found themselves outside, Soap turning the key in the door and officially ending the work day.
“Until next time then, yeah?” Soap beamed, punching Ghost lightly in the shoulder. “Thanks again for the flowers. Really brightened the place up.”
Ghost smiled back, and on his way home, thought how the place was plenty bright already just with Soap being there. He then immediately rolled his eyes at himself and tried to calm the butterflies that seemed to have made a home in his stomach, though he didn’t have much success. Soap had rooted himself firmly in Ghost’s thoughts within moments of meeting him, leaving him with all kinds of embarrassing, warm, fuzzy feelings he assumed he had long since outgrown.
This new tattoo shop might be a problem.
Ghost didn’t have to wait long for “next time,” as it turned out. Soap stopped by just a few days later, greeting him with a wide grin.
“Mornin’ Ghost!” he said cheerfully.
“Soap.” Ghost greeted him with a nod, keeping a firm, neutral expression to hide the way he suddenly lit up inside. “How’s business?”
“Startin’ ta pick up a bit. Actually, that’s why I’m here. I want tae draw up some new flash, n’ I could use references for some floral designs. Figured lookin’ at the real thing beats finding pictures online.” Soap looked around the shop, taking in the wide array of flowers Ghost had on display, and let out a whistle. “Fuckin’ beautiful in here. Not a bad place to spend the day, aye?”
“Beats the battlefield.” Ghost smiled under the mask, secretly warming with pride. Though he’d never admit it, he had put a lot of effort into making the shop as cozy as possible. It had become something of a haven for him after he left the army, something entirely his own to build however he liked.
The man himself might stick out like a sore thumb among the decor, but the shop was where he was most comfortable. Where he felt like he fit. It was quiet and cozy, safe and tucked away from the harsh edges of the world.
There were string lights threaded into lush foliage hanging from the rustic wooden beams, quiet orchestral music playing through hidden speakers, even a fish tank tucked against the back wall. And of course, his favorite element of the store —
“Och! Christ, who’s this bonnie wee bairn?”
A small gray cat had made a quiet appearance, looking up at Ghost with bright yellow eyes and greeting him with a small meow. She was missing one of her back legs, but was still plenty nimble without it, hopping up on the counter and rubbing against her owner fondly.
Soap moved closer, holding out a hand and waiting for approval, which the cat immediately granted by way of a forceful headbutt.
“This is Cat,” Ghost said.
Soap’s hand paused where it was stroking the cat’s fur, and he looked up Ghost with a blank expression. “...Cat?”
Ghost nodded.
A grin slowly crept across Soap’s face. “Ye’re takin’ the piss.”
“That’s what she is, isn’t she?”
Soap laughed. Ghost’s stomach flipped.
“S’pose so. No point in beatin’ ‘round the bush, aye?”
Cat immediately took a liking to Soap. He cooed softly to her as he scratched behind her ears, then moved to under her chin, chuckling when she closed her eyes and started purring like a motor.
“She’s a fuckin’ sweetheart, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, she’s a good one. Found her sick and dying in the dumpster outside not long after I got here. It took her three months to stop hiding in my closet; now she eats premium tuna out of a crystal dish and hogs my entire bed,” Ghost scoffed.
“And she deserves nothin’ less,” Soap said conspiratorially, still cooing at Cat.
Eventually he straightened up, giving her one last stroke before going back to his browsing. Cat immediately hopped off the counter to follow, weaving between his legs and rubbing up against him incessantly as he drifted around the displays.
“You got a favorite flower, LT?” Soap looked back at Ghost over his shoulder, smiling as he met his eyes.
Ghost’s face immediately flushed warm. Grateful for the mask, he cleared his throat and spoke. “This isn’t the army, Johnny. You don’t have to call me by my rank.”
“Well, you’ve got a nickname for me. An’ ye never told me yer real name,” Soap pointed out, his eyes twinkling.
Ghost paused, then moved on. “Never could pick a favorite. People ask me all the time, an’ I always say something different.”
“So what do ye say today?”
“Today…I think it’s gloxinias.” He moved to a bucket of single stem flowers and chose vibrant purple bloom. The petals were lighter at the edges, almost white, and curled beautifully as they layered on top of each other.
He stepped closer to Soap, holding up the flower. “Beautiful color. Ought to make a good tattoo.”
Soap stepped closer to Ghost, reaching up to take the flower. “Ye know, I think ye’re right.”
Soap’s bare fingers brushed Ghost’s gloved ones as he took it, sending sparks up Ghost’s arm from the point of contact. His heart pounded in his chest as his brain unhelpfully supplied the traditional meaning of the flower he had chosen.
Gloxinia — love at first sight.
“How much do I owe ye?” Soap asked, bringing the flower to his nose and taking in the scent, a hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes never leaving Ghost’s.
“For you? On the house, Johnny.”
“Very gentlemanly of you, LT.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.”
Was Soap flirting? Was Ghost flirting back? When had they moved so close to each other?
“Miaow?” a small voice inquired.
The moment broke as Cat pawed lightly at Ghost’s foot, looking up at him expectantly.
Ghost checked his watch. “5:30. Supper time.”
“That late already?” Soap looked out the window and across the street. “S’pose I should get back to work. Thanks for this.” He raised the flower and smiled brightly. “See you soon.”
Moments later he was out the door, and the room somehow felt emptier than it had before he entered. Cat walked to the door and watched him walk across the street, turning back to Ghost when he was out of sight.
“Brraow,” she said knowingly.
“I don’t wanna hear it, Cat. Come on, let’s get your tuna, yeah?”
“Mrrp,” she agreed.
After that, two men found plenty of excuses to visit each other at work. Soap stopped by to pick out new references every so often, and Ghost gave him a different “favorite” every time. Red carnation — affection, admiration. Sweet pea — “thank you for a lovely time.” Iris — courage, hope.
When the weather started to turn colder, Soap came bearing hot drinks as well. Coffee for himself, tea for Ghost. It didn’t take long for Soap to pick up on Ghost’s preferences either — and Ghost thrilled every time he took the first sip of a perfect cup.
Some days he dropped by just to say hello before setting up for an appointment. Other days, since Soap’s shop opened a couple hours after Ghost’s, he would come in early just to spend the extra time with him. No matter what, he always greeted Ghost with the same smile — the one that instantly lit up the whole room, the one that made it seem like seeing Ghost was a gift that Soap was always delighted to receive.
Ghost wondered if he looked that happy to see everyone, or if he was special. He found himself hoping it was the latter, and daring to think maybe it actually was.
Ghost often visited the tattoo shop as well, bringing bouquets that he claimed were starting to wilt too much to sell — a flimsy lie, since the blooms were always in perfect condition. In reality, Ghost spent hours selecting his best flowers and agonizing over arrangements.
As time went on, different kinds of flowers made their way into the mix. Lotus — overcoming adversity, rebirth. Zinnia — lasting affection. Eventually, pink camelia — “longing for you.”
Most often, though, the stars of the bouquets were the yellow tulips. They became a standard of the arrangements, adding to the bright colors of the studio and complimenting Soap’s vibrance in a way that Ghost thought was especially fitting.
It became common to see Ghost at the tattoo studio, tending to new, exotic plants, or to see Soap at the flower shop, sketching in his journal with a gray cat slung around his neck.
It was different for Ghost, having someone so constantly in his life. It was something he could get used to, if he let himself.
Unfortunately, as the holidays drew closer, the weather grew more miserable, and Ghost’s mood did the same. The days were windy and frigid, making it too easy to stay holed up inside, isolated from the world. Too easy to ignore the lights and laughter and festivity breaking through the cold. Too easy to get lost in the vague sense of dread and misery that came with old wounds.
Ghost could feel himself retreating into his mind, his walls going up without his permission. Walls that — if he was being honest with himself — had slowly been crumbling in the warm light and easy company of a certain Scot.
Ghost knew Johnny could tell something was off. He didn’t miss the subtle look of concern in those torturously bright blue eyes, the generous touches that made it feel like his skin was on fire. But it was clear that he didn’t want to pry, that he would patiently for Ghost to open up, whenever, if ever that happened.
It was one of the things that drove Ghost insane the most. The way he was just so genuine, so caring. He wore his every emotion on his sleeves, plain and simple for the world to see. If he was angry, you would know it. If he was sad, he wasn’t afraid to feel it. And when he was happy? God, it was infectious. Johnny radiated sunshine like his heart was made of light, like he had more love to give than he knew what to do with.
It was just about a week before Christmas when Ghost made a decision. He walked into Johnny’s shop, sending the bell on the door jingling. Johnny looked up from his journal and came to life when his eyes landed on Ghost. He hopped up from his chair and moved to the counter, grinning from ear to ear.
“Hey, LT! Didnae expect to see ya today. Figured you’d be home on yer day off, no?” Johnny asked, the look on his face making it clear the surprise was more than welcome.
“Decided it was time for some new ink. It’s been a good ten years or so, and there’s a new artist in the area who I’ve heard is pretty good.” Ghost smiled behind the mask. “Got time to squeeze me in?”
Johnny’s eyes gleamed, his entire being radiating pure joy. “I’ve always got time for you, Ghostie.”
Ghost’s heart fluttered at the stupid little nickname.
“What do ye wanna get done?”
Ghost reached up and placed a bundle of flowers on the counter. It was wrapped in plain paper and tied together with a simple ribbon. Small, unassuming, personal. “Thinkin’ about putting it on my thigh.”
Johnny picked up the flower, taking them in. “Sounds great. Why don’t ye come take a seat n’ I’ll draw something up?”
Ghost rounded the counter and settled into a plush armchair as Johnny sat on the sofa and started sketching.
“Can’t wait tae finally tattoo ye. And first piece in ten years? What’s the occasion?”
Ghost shrugged. “Almost Christmas, innit?”
“That it is. I’ve certainly gotten tattoos for lesser events.”
“Any you regret?”
“Life’s too short to regret puttin’ art on yer skin.” Johnny let his comment sit for a moment before adding, “Except the dick I got on my lower back when I was drunk on leave once. Might have been art in its own way but I got that shite covered up as soon as I could.”
Ghost laughed out loud. They chatted for a while longer before eventually falling into comfortable silence, the only sounds coming from the speaker playing quiet rock music and from Johnny’s stylus on the screen of his tablet.
Ghost enjoyed watching Johnny work; it was clear he was in his element, and he was good at what he did. And adorably, he stuck the tip of his tongue out between his teeth as he drew, deep in focus. Clean lines flowed from his pen with practiced grace in a way that was almost mesmerizing.
He didn’t realize he was staring until Johnny glanced up at him and grinned.
“Ye can come closer n’ watch if ye like. I’m used tae workin’ with an audience, and this’ll be on yer body forever, so I don’t mind if ye supervise.”
Ghost’s face flushed with embarrassment, but after a moment’s hesitation, he stood and relocated to the couch, sitting next to Johnny and feeling his heart rate picked up just a bit.
The piece was gorgeous — just enough realism to capture the natural beauty of the flowers, captured in Johnny’s signature pencil-drawn, sketchy style. It looked like a botanical illustration from someone’s personal notebook.
“How do ye like it so far? Anything ye wanna change?”
“Fuck — no, it’s perfect, Johnny.”
“Ye sure? I won’t take it personally if ye don’t like somethin’ about it.”
“I love everything about it.” Ghost’s voice was urgent and genuine; the piece was more beautiful than he could have imagined. And it was so clearly Johnny’s work, making it all the more special.
“Good.”
Johnny smiled over at him, and Ghost became aware of just how close they were. He had to fight the urge to reach out and touch, to feel him under his fingers. He stood abruptly, clearing his throat and excusing himself to the bathroom.
Before long, Johnny had finalized the design and set up his station, and Ghost had changed into a pair of loose gym shorts. Johnny settled himself in a chair and looked up at Ghost expectantly.
“Ready to start?”
Ghost nodded. “How do you want me?”
“Uh…” It could have been Ghost’s imagination, but Johnny seemed to blush almost imperceptibly. “However ye like, really. We could have ye lying down, sitting up. Whatever’s yer preference.”
Ghost’s mouth twitched up into a smirk as he settled down into the chair waiting for him. He rolled up one leg of his shorts, baring his pale thigh for Johnny.
“Alright, I’m just gonnae prep you. Yer thigh, I mean.” Johnny was suddenly having trouble meeting Ghost’s eye, the color in his cheeks more noticeable at close range.
“All yours, Johnny.”
Ghost watched Johnny swallow, hesitating just a moment before focusing in on the task at hand. His touch was entirely clinical — gloved fingers working dexterously to shave and clean the area before applying the stencil. But everywhere Johnny made contact with his skin burned, sending a warmth to his chest and a heat to his gut.
“How does that look?”
“Perfect.”
“Alright, let’s get started then. Let me know if ye need a break, aye?”
Johnny finally put needle to skin, and it didn’t take long for the sharp pain to dull into something almost strangely pleasant as Ghost’s mind began to cloud over. He was still hyper aware of everywhere Johnny touched him — his firm grip where he stretched the skin, his muscled arm resting on his thigh as he worked. If he were a weaker man, he could see himself covering every last bit of bare skin with Johnny’s art just to feel his hands on him.
Ghost’s eyes lingered on Johnny’s arm, on the bright tattoos patchworked together to make a sleeve. One in particular caught his eye — a simple pair of wings with a date underneath, about three years back.
He nodded toward the piece. “What’s the date for? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t mind. It’s for my sister, Ella. She uh…” Johnny cleared his throat. “She got sick. We lost her after a pretty long fight. She was always my biggest fan, always tellin’ me to go after my dreams n’ all that. Don’t think I would have opened this shop without her support.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. She had a fuckin’ fantastic life, though. I think she lived more in 23 years than most people do in 80 or 90. Said she didn’t want us to mourn when she was gone, just to celebrate. So we did both.”
“She sounds pretty amazing.”
“She was.” Johnny paused. “She would have liked you. Would have dug your whole vibe, I think. And she would have loved Cat.” He smiled, and fell silent again.
A beat passed, then Ghost found himself speaking before he could think to stop.
“The flowers are for my family.”
He saw Johnny’s eyes flick up for just a moment. He didn’t say anything, just listened.
“They, uh,” Ghost cleared his throat. “They died. Years ago. Blamed myself for a long time. Still do, sometimes. But they wouldn’t want me to keep carrying that.”
Johnny was quiet, waiting to see if Ghost would continue. He didn’t.
“What were their names?”
“My mom was Margaret. Peggy, they called her.” Carnation — a mother’s love.
“Tommy was my brother, and Beth was his wife.” Lavender — healing, resilience. Edelweiss — courage, devotion.
“And—” Ghost fought to keep his voice from breaking. “Joseph was their kid. He was just five when it happened. ‘Bout to start school.” Daisy — purity, innocence.
He fell silent, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
“Fuck…” Johnny breathed. “I’m so sorry, Ghost.”
“...Simon.”
He paused, lifting the needle from Ghost’s skin and looking up at him. “Simon.” A hint of a smile graced his lips. “Thanks for tellin’ me.”
“...Thanks for listening.”
The rest of the appointment passed in relative quiet, until finally Johnny shut off the gun and sat back.
“Alright, take a look, tell me what ye think.”
It was beautiful. It was everything he could have wanted. It was elegant, it was colorful, it was full of love. Simon tried to say as much, but found himself struggling to get the words out. Instead he simply nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you, Johnny,” he whispered.
“Thanks for trusting me.”
* * *
Soon enough, the tattoo was wrapped, the pay was settled, and Simon was getting ready to leave. He felt lighter, warmer, more alive. Maybe it was the endorphins, maybe it was some kind of catharsis, maybe it was just Johnny. Most likely it was a combination of all three.
Johnny lingered nearby as Simon put on his jacket, clearly wanting to say something. He bounced on his toes, not meeting Simon’s eyes, mouth screwed up as he chewed his lip.
“Something on your mind, Sergeant?”
“I, uh, I’m just about to close up here. Ye fancy goin’ for a drink? Could use somethin’ tae warm ma bones.”
Simon paused. They had spent countless hours in each other’s company at this point, but it was always during work hours, always at one shop or the other. This felt different, heavier. He smiled.
“Thought I wasn’t supposed to drink for a couple days. Tattoo being an open wound n’ all.”
Johnny spluttered. “Oh, aye, ye’re right, that’s, uh—”
Simon took pity on him and put him out his misery. “Could go for a fizzy drink, though. Get the blood sugar back up.”
The smile that spread on Johnny’s face was practically blinding. “Oh! Good, great. Let’s do it.”
He scurried around the shop with a renewed energy, closing up in record time. It was only moments later that they were on the other side of the door, bundled up in their coats as Johnny locked the door.
Christmas was just around the corner; twinkling lights lined the streets and a light snow fell steadily, coating the ground with fresh powder. Simon and Johnny were safe from the elements under the small awning over the shops door, and it was as Simon looked to the sky, admiring the beauty of it all, that he saw it.
Butterflies erupted in his stomach, his face heating instantly. He took a breath, and opened his mouth.
“You cheating on me, Johnny?”
Johnny’s head snapped up from where he was still fiddling with the lock. “What?”
Simon pointed above their heads. “Pretty sure I don’t sell those. Don’t tell me you’re seeing another florist on the side.”
They both looked up at the small sprig of mistletoe hanging directly over them. When Simon looked back at Johnny, a bright pink had spread across his cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold.
He swallowed hard before looking back at Simon with a small smile. “Aye, well…got sick of waiting for ye tae make a move. Thought I’d try to speak your language.”
Simon’s heart was pounding in his chest, and it was suddenly hard to think straight. He couldn’t keep the soft smile off his lips. “You’ve never even seen my whole face.”
Johnny stepped closer. “Are you ugly?”
“Quite the opposite.”
He hummed. “I believe that.”
They drifted closer, just inches apart.
Slowly, Simon reached up and pulled off the ever-present mask, stomach twisting as Johnny’s breath hitched.
“Ye weren’t lying.” He reached up and rested a gentle hand on Simon’s jaw, tracing his thumb over his scarred lips. “Can I kiss ye, Simon?”
“Think you have to. Those are the rules, aren’t they?” Simon’s eyes flicked up to the mistletoe as his hands found Johnny’s hips. If they were shaking just a bit, he would have to blame the weather.
“In that case…”
Johnny pulled him in, pressing their lips together almost reverently, and Simon saw stars.
The kiss warmed him to his core, filling every inch of him with light. He tugged Johnny closer and deepened the kiss, sighing into his mouth. They only broke apart when they were both smiling too much to continue.
“Worth the wait,” Johnny murmured as he rested his forehead against Simon’s.
“Still, why don’t you let me take you to dinner sometime to make up for it?”
“I’d like that.”
It might have taken them a bit longer to get to the bar than they intended, but neither was bothered by the cold as the stood outside the shop, wrapped in each other’s arms.
A few days later, when Simon made good on his word, he showed up to dinner with a bouquet full of what he had finally decided were truly his favorite flower.
Yellow tulips — “there’s sunshine in your smile.”