so this was spawned after reading Colours (a v cute bit of natebit over on ap3 that Everyone should go check out) and we got talking and suddenly this became a Thing i've needed my whole life, so here i am writing it bc someone has to

hope yall enjoy!

At what point did innocent, if slightly obsessive, observation become creepy, Nate couldn't help wondering.

It was a train of thought that seemed to be coming up more and more these days, often with several loud, unhelpful interjections from the Anxiety Goblin that liked to stow away on-board. He hadn't yet come up with any conclusive answer, something which festered at the back of his mind, something especially irritating to someone so fixated on finding the answers to everything – or that was the excuse he'd always give to himself every time it happened again, chasing overly-buckled boots and artfully-ripped jeans and a faint haze of smoke.

Oh, would you look at that, once again he'd caught himself staring intently at the man ambling slowly down the street, completely unaware of the eyes following him as he passed by the small, unassuming floristry shop.

It was only once he was fully out of view that Nate finally remembered the flowers he was supposed to be transferring to a fresh tub and not holding clutched to his chest, dripping water down his apron and onto his shoes. Hurriedly dumping them where they were supposed to be going two minutes ago, he wiped himself off as best he could, frowning at the damp left sticking to his fingers; at least the uniform was dark enough that it didn't show too bad and the shop was empty apart from him.

He seriously had a problem.

"That will be twenty-seven pounds fifty, please."

The middle-aged woman started digging through her bag, muttering to herself about loose change and never being able to find what she needed. Nate didn't particularly mind, she'd been polite throughout the transaction and it wasn't like the place was heaving, he reassured her with an only slightly awkward smile, before turning to fuss with the various leaflets on the counter that had somehow fallen out of their perfectly square piles during the day.

But it didn't take long before something entirely different caught his attention.

Crouching just outside the window, was him, the mystery man who clearly had some kind of eye-drawing spell cast over him, because why else would he always be so terrified of even blinking whenever he was in view?

Luckily, he hadn't noticed Nate's weird staring, he was instead focused on the small bouquet of columbines on display.

He wasn't going to complain about that though, it meant that for once the man was close enough and still enough for Nate to get a real look at him. He… was gorgeous, even the wind blowing at his dyed red hair just made it look enticingly tousled and the scrapes of dirt on his high cheekbones gave him a slightly wild edge, which only added to his punky aesthetic.

There was something incredibly enticing about him, though Nate couldn't begin to explain what, it wasn't like he was very punk himself – quite the opposite in fact – and the stranger looked like he must be in some kind of gang; he had to wonder how many fights this man must get into, to give him so many rips in his clothing and grazes on freckled skin.

A gentle cough snapped his attention back to the woman in front of him, holding out a few notes and with a pile of change laid out on the counter.

Rushing out a stream of apologies, he quickly counted out the cash, something he was thankfully very gifted in, and sorted it all into the register, thanking her for her patronage all in the same breath. He couldn't help glancing back over to the window though and he had to physically restrain himself from sighing when he saw the man had already pushed himself to his feet and was slowly walking away, hands in pockets, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

The woman followed his gaze, tutting slightly as soon as he was out of sight. "Can't imagine what a hooligan like that was doing, do you want me to call someone dear?"

Nate forced a carefully polite smile onto his face. "Oh, no, I'm sure he was just looking, I'll be fine."

"Alright then, but you should watch out for people like that! Never know what that sort might be up to." She quickly gathered up her bag and her flowers, sending him one last thank you before exiting the shop. He wondered if she went in the opposite direction to the punk man specifically to avoid him.

By this point, he'd lost count of the number of times they'd happened to pass each other. It wasn't just when he was at work, but sometimes as he was walking home he'd pick up the scent of smoke and turn to see a striped shirt and ripped jeans disappearing around the corner, one time he'd even seen him in the local supermarket – though he'd quickly walked to the next aisle, terrified that if he was noticed he'd immediately be accused of stalking the man… though honestly, he wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't.

He often had to remind himself that it wasn't completely unreasonable to come across someone this often, they lived in a relatively small city and far enough from the main town centre that most people would rather come to the smaller, local shopping district, rather than drive the extra forty minutes, at least to buy the everyday essentials, so you always saw a lot of familiar faces.

Or you would, if you ever paid attention to anyone but the Mystery Hooligan with the lovely eyes and the intriguing appearance; like the worn cover of an old book, practically begging you to dive in and uncover all its secrets.

He'd never actually been seen watching though, thank god, or if he had it'd never been more than a passing glance.

And Nate could hardly blame him for not being similarly captivated, he was a short, plain-looking guy who favoured bland colours and simple shirts, he never dressed up, or went out, or did anything remotely exciting, the only thing that really stood out about him was his hair and even that covered enough of his face that unless you were really looking he'd be easy to mistake for an old man.

Oh, and there was a very slim chance that the stranger was also into guys, but that was a minor point compared to the vast ocean of wildly opposed personalities.

Still, it was a little exciting to imagine being drawn up into that kind of life, by a dangerous, enigmatic punk who wore battle-scars without shame and was never seen without a cigarette in hand… the fantasy was fun, even if he knew logically that he'd hate it.

Autumn was the absolute worst time of year for his line of work; there were no major holidays – or at least not the type that called for flowers, they'd gotten tragically few requests for Halloween bouquets in the four years he'd been working here, which was particularly annoying because he actually had ideas he wanted to try out – and most people were beginning to save for the winter season rampage.

But it did at least give him plenty of time to fuss over the geranium display to his heart's content. Not even Mihael's low grumbling about unnecessary shifts could distract him when there were things to be ordered.

It was a bit of a trial trying to balance his innate desire to sort things into strict, logical patterns, while also letting his more artistic side keep things from appearing too mechanical – a look his boss wasn't overly keen on, though he still thought his minimal designs were just as beautiful as the more traditional, rustic ones they were encouraged to create.

He wasn't annoyed by it enough that he was actually going to kick up a fuss about it, but he'd still sometimes moan about it with Mihael, who shared similar gripes that he wasn't allowed to create his grand, wild, chaotic, 'maximalist' visions.

Their… friendship was an inexplicable one, but it somehow worked. Most of the time.

"Look, I don't know shit about this stuff, why're you asking here? Google exists" Even if his brain-to-mouth filter was seriously lacking.

"C'mon, you're a florist, aren't ya?"

Mihael's groans could probably be heard halfway down the street. "I don't grow them, I just make them look good."

"Seriously? You don't know anything about looking after plants?" The voice was a little deep, slightly rough, but warm and expressive, it clearly sounded more amused than irritated, even though Nate was notoriously bad at picking up on such things.

"I'm an artist, not a doctor! If you're not gonna look this up yourself then- Hey, Cottonball!"

Frowning at the annoying nickname that he had apparently been branded with for life, he glanced over to where Mihael was standing, slouched heavily over the counter.

But that wasn't half as important as the distressingly familiar sight of a tatty, striped shirt and dirt-stained knuckles. Nate swallowed hard against the sudden stone caught in his throat, only half hearing what his friend was saying.

"Go ask him, he's weirdly into that kinda shit."

The man either didn't notice that he was being stared at like a deer would stare at the rapidly approaching lights, or he didn't care, because the second he'd taken a few long steps over, he was crouching down a little and shoving his phone into Nate's face, hands shaking terribly.

"Please, you've gotta help me, I think my plant's dying and I need to save him!"