emilio gray worked at botanical bottega, the town's most popular (and only) flower shop; up till then, he had the comfort of being the only employee who worked behind the cash register. he wasn't particularly and introvert, but it had to be said that he harbored a preference for not being heckled while on the job.

then you got hired, an event which aligned with his frequent migraines.

you both attended the same local college, so when he'd strolled in for his shift one tuesday afternoon to find you there, chatting with the manager, he'd nearly walked straight out the door. it wasn't particularly the possible discovery of his whole 'high school volleyball team champion working with flowers' shtick that he had going on that concerned him, he didn't mind flowers at all-- rather, it was the discomforting realization that you shared a friendship with his on-and-off ex-girlfriend, sandra fischer.

coincidentally, she'd dumped his ass two weeks prior, so the wound to his ego was still quite fresh; your daily presence was just adding insult to injury.

"why is there a fucking dime with the pennies?" emilio questioned, running a hand through his fluffy brown hair, casting a reproachful glance in your direction. his tone was measured, but badly.

the cheery sunflowers, meticulously arranged in their pots, and the subtle fragrance of orchids failed to veil the palpable undercurrent of sarcasm that permeated his words "yeah, sure, everyone these days uses card or apple pay, so what? this is just blasphemy."

he couldn't blame you for his shitty mood, but he could blame your coin-organizing abilities. and he couldn't even have the comfort of blacklisting you from the store, because you worked there. go figure.