A flower for you

Absinthe finished writing his list, stood, and strolled out to his garden. Among the dozens of plants, mostly vegetables, flowers bloomed and flourished. He had carefully picked which to plant this year, selecting only the ones he would give to his mate.

First, of course, was geranium. Hanging from a trellis, three pots of the plant swung, their large leaves waving at him in the breeze. Geraniums were easy, especially when hung in the air—giving the roots the air circulation they needed. Absinthe was easily tall enough to pinch off the dead flowers, tossing them aside into one of the beds to let it compost. Once the handful of red sticky flowers were gone from the plants, Absinthe took his shears out of his belt loop, carefully selecting the longest stems to cut and remove. He stopped once he had the sixth stem in hand, tucking them into the small basket he brought out with him.

Next was clover, the white flowers and round leaves were spread all around the beds. Ignoring that it crept over and into the garden beds, Absinthe truly appreciated these flowers, especially since he didnit have to do anything to take care of them.

Kneeling in the damp clover, Absinthe gently sorted through the leaves, dew drops collecting on his fingers as he did. He carefully plucked out the longest stems, gathering an even amount of flowers and leaf clusters, knowing that adding a small amount of greenery to his bouquet would help balance everything.

Last was crocus, the delicate purple flowers that defied any coaxing from Absinthe. He had to wait until they were ready to bloom, their unpredictability endlessly frustrating to him. So, when he noticed them beginning to poke out of the beds, he was filled with excitement. He only had to wait a few days for them to be in full bloom, which happened to be today.

After he had what he felt to be a good amount of the small purple crocuses, Absinthe brought his full basket back inside to begin crafting the bouquet. Setting it down on the table, he laid out an off-white dish towel to wrap everything in. He pulled out the long geranium stems first, arranging them at the back of the towel, ensuring that the tallest were in the center, while ones on the outer edges faced slightly outwards to give the bouquet a fuller look.

After he was satisfied with the geraniums, Absinthe pulled the clovers out of the basket. He spent a minute sorting them from shortest to tallest and separating the green leaves from the white flowers. Beginning with the leaves, he set them towards the top of the bouquet, letting them poke out form between the geraniums, alternating in what he hoped was a somewhat natural-looking pattern. Once most of the leaves were placed, he moved onto the flowers, grateful he had found so many with long stems. He began building up a small mound, shorter flowers in front.

Lastly the crocuses. Absinthe gently placed them interspersed with the clovers, focusing them on the top of the pile, what would become the front of the bouquet. A few of the blooms had already wilted, which he set aside to return to the garden once he was finished.

Humming to himself, Absinthe stepped away from the table and bouquet to grab a ribbon to hold everything together. He carefully slipped it under the towel before using the corners of the towel to gather the bouquet more tightly together. He folded down the corners where they met in the center and tied the ribbon to keep everything in place.

Happy with how it turned out, Absinthe began laughing. He knew Mimosa would hate it, but secretly love it.

She always acted hostilely around him, but he knew how much of a softy she really was. She would love the clover and crocus of course; Absinthe carefully picked the flowers with sweet meanings to cover up the joking harsher meaning behind the geraniums. The clovers were a reminder of their love, "think of me." The crocus was a nod to how happy Mimosa always made him feel: cheerfulness:

The pair had a long history of fighting, and originally butted heads almost nonstop before a mutual friend pointed out their affection. After years together, they still fought regularly, but with a different, more loving. context to it. That's where the geraniums came in; stupidity. They had been stupid in fighting for so long before realizing their mutual fondness, stupid in how much they still fought, and stupid in love with each other. It was a perfect bouquet.