Sure, he could have sent anyone to pick up flowers. In truth, he could probably buy an entire greenhouse and get it staffed in a couple of weeks. But the idea of shoving this job on someone else felt wrong somehow. Something about it felt cheap, even though it’d save him a couple of hundred dollars. The same feeling came up when he tried to order delivery or grab a bouquet online.

They might not be each other’s plus one anymore, but she was still special. That meant she deserved the personal touch. After all, you only became DA for the first time once.

So, after a few minutes of sniffing around, he came upon a local florist with some great reviews. And, the few bad ones it had, read like an episode of Conspiracy Theorists Gone Wild. Who would peddle poisons out of a flower shop? The places were meant to mend relationships, not bring them to a screeching, very deadly halt.

The door opened with a merry little jangle, just like he’d expect from a place like this. The smell of tea and baked goods followed the auditor stimulus. But his enjoyment lasted all of two seconds before his eyes started watering and his body shuddered with a god awful sneeze. The Porygon-Z at shoulder level made beep of alarm, erupting in a shower of pixels . “BZZRT!” Up went its arms. Down. “BZZZZZZZT!”

That sounded like a ‘bless you’ to him. “Thanks, Sixy.” He wiped his nose, the tickling already creeping back up. Swallowing down the sneeze, he made his way to the countertop. There, he found a beautiful woman—like something from a Hallmark movie—folding flowers.

“Alola!” Oz sniffed. “I was wondering how fluent you are in—” His eyes watered. The tip of his nose gave a Bunnelby wiggle. “--ACHOO!” At least he covered his nose this time.

Well, this wasn’t exactly his best attempt to impress a lady. His baby blues were watering. The noble Adebayo nose, meanwhile, was warped by sneezes to come.



Twitch went the nose. “I’m just—’ At the question, Oz held up his hand for pause as he unleashed another sneeze. ACHOO! “--psyducky.” Taking a few steadying breaths, he opened his mouth to speak, only to pause again. Sitcom rules said the second he opened his mouth the allergies would make a wicked comeback. “Just never been in a—” Another swallow. “--Hallmark movie before.”



He allowed his cornflower eyes to roam the shop at large. The displays really were like something out of a magazine (or cheap chick flick). Though that did beg the question. Who would he be in one of those Christmas flicks? The city boy looking for small-town comfort? The jilted ex desperate to take his girl back from the flannel Adonis? Or would he be the villain coal miner looking to destroy Christmas?



The offered handkerchief was met with a slight incline of his head and a small nod. “Thank you, but—” This time he turned his head away, just in time to watch the Roselia disappear around the corner. His hand tugged a similar fabric swatch from his own pocket, the ‘A’ full of Victorian charm and sensibility. “--Fs are for flunkies."


He grinned at his own joke, finally circling back to his original question. “I need someone fluent in flower.” His normally jovial face darkened somewhat. “I need something that says slay, girl, slay and I love you.” The CEO sighed. “BUt not I love you.” The last thing he wanted was to give her any awkward feelings.



He had enough of those for both of them.



Near the cash register, Glitch-626 appeared in a shower of pixels and sparks. It flicked in and out of focus as he approached

Ozni may have noted her confusion, but the Adebayo train showed no signs of stopping. People either figured out how to catch up or got left behind. That was Welcome to the Jungle 101. Though it should be noted that he certainly could talk like a normal person. Or, at the very least, like a stuck-up snob with a master’s degree. It just wasn’t very fun.

Maybe he should have told her he was a germaphobe. Though it looked spotless, there was no telling what pollen and pathogens that chunk of fabric had laid in. If he’d done that, she might look less like an irritated Greek muse. “Sure, Big Bird.” His nose wrinkled again. “Those words work too. But alphabets are all about association, amirite? For you ‘A’ may be apple.” For Oz, the letter ‘F’ conjured up old cartoons and comically red pens. More recently, it brought to mind capital letters in company live streams. “But for me it’s Adebayo.” If he’d been wearing a suit, he’d have brought out his own handkerchief for a play date.

But only total squares stuffed fancy napkins in their hoodies.

The man let her finish before he started talking. Which, with a brain like his, was hard. “We’re definitely on the right track.” Oz started as he swallowed a sneeze. “It just can’t be my wealth. She liked me way more when I was just a non-profit coordinator.” His fiance, who hailed from a well-off family, had always romanticized the poor. The woman thought beauty could be found in distended bellies and hungry eyes. A great lawyer but a bit off in that regard. Though he figured that naivety had faded in time. “I just want her to knowr I’m proud of her, but not in a way that’s romantic.”

Memories of naked legs and tangled sheets came to mind. The light scent of the For a moment, blue eyes turned wistful. “We broke up.” But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be her biggest cheerleader—pom poms, mini skirts, and all!

The Porygon at his side drifted towards the shopkeep, moving to peer curiously at her screen. “Zzzzzr! Beeeeeep!” His stubby arms windmilled.

The man’s mind ran on science doctorates, memes, and pop culture references. Which was made worse by how fast it ran. It was like some mad scientist had put a case of Monster Energy in his gas tank. And, for some reason, they’d made the brakes spongy. Oz smiled right through her bewilderment. He trusted a lovely woman like her would catch up soon enough. After all. every one knew Big Bird. Guy was the GOAT.


The talk of purple roses drew his eyebrow up. “Purple, huh?” He sniffed as he wiped his nose with his kerchief. “What kind of purple are we—” Oz swallowed a sneeze. “--talking?” He muffled the next outburst beneath his sleeve.”Scusi.” The CEO murmured with a grin. As he followed the woman into her greenhouse, he was reminded of an old musical. One with a man-eating momma plant and a _ton_ of alien plant babies. Maybe she even had one of those Carnivines out back. That was why this place had only one bad review.


As she discussed the flower’s meaning, he nodded. “I always find this meaning stuff funny.” This rose was about valuing others while red was viewed as romantic and yellow ones for babies and old ladies. “Some random hated Fridays and now there’s a whole horror franchise.” Oz had to admit the blooms themself were gorgeous—even if he’d never been super comfy with chopping up living things and shoving them into holes. In other context, that would be a horror movie.


With the explanation done, the man would nod. “You’ll forgive me for not admiring it myself.” Oz murmured at the talk of its scent. It could straight up turn him into that girl from the Excorcist. “But the flower itself sounds perfect.” It was the kind of thing that’d make her roll her eyes at him. But beneath it there’d be a tiny little smile that was worth more to him than all the money in his McDuck vault. “I’ll take a uh dozen?” He winked. “Or whatever's overboard in florist.”


“You have anything else? Maybe something yellow? One of those giant novelty cards?" The strippergram was already scheduled. Oz would query as his Rotom finally returned to his side. It started sprouting out recent hashtags from his social media account. “I don’t want her thinking I’m a one-trick Rapidash.”