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Yoojung hums. It’s Sunday, the 12th of March, and it’s fairly calm in the small shop, a soft tune coming from the radio over at the counter fills the flower-filled space and the young blond finds himself silently singing along while dainty hands work around the thorns of red roses he’d been handling. While his left holds the stems, his right holds scissors to dethorn the flower and he picks up one after another, working his way through all the possible color variations of the flower his shop holds. It’s a part of his job, one none of his colleagues wanted to do since it takes far too long, so it often fell upon his shoulders, but Yoojung found himself not really caring. The love songs coming through the radio and the heavy snowfall from the outside keep him company; he thinks it odd, when his eyes land on the white blanket covering the streets of Seoul. It’s far too calm outside, considering White day is peeking just around the corner, considering it’s the ideal weather for children to play in and the adults to enjoy a warm cup of coffee from the shop just across the street from Yoojung’s. It really is odd, but he supposes the orange light from the streetlamps and the clumped snowflakes aren’t something worth heading outside for, especially in the late afternoon.
Rarely, a car would pass through the street, a couple of teens heading home from the movies would stop by the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lovely flower shop to admire Yoojung’s flowers for even if just a second and there were also two men, possibly friends, who ran along the streets, huddled up in their heavy jackets and warm scarfs, frozen fingers throwing snowballs at each other with wide grins up on their faces and absolutely no care of the world around them. Yoojung also smiled from where he stood behind the counter, now tending to an arrangement of flowers so colorful, the contrast almost hurt his head. The dim orange light peeks through the windows inside his shop and he continues humming along to the tune, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he leans over the bouquet, adding finishing touches in form of light cream ribbons and tiny pearls to it — Yoojung is waiting for the man who’s ordered them, and he should be around any minute now. So when he hears the bell above his door ring and feels the cold from the outside creep up his skin, he snaps his head up to greet the man. His hair is fairly long, curling around the back of his neck and neatly parted over his forehead, probably dyed, Yoojung notes. His face is long, albeit the young florist can’t study the man much; he’s huddled up in his scarf with only his red nose peeking out, eyes large but friendly and he appears to be smiling, if the gentle upward curve of them is anything to go by. Yoojung reddens in the face, but smiles back.
“Hi, what can I do for you?” It’s a simple question with equally as simple answers, there’s not much to think about, really, because most people don’t know the flowers they want so they only spill whatever occasion the arrangements they want were for, but the more he looks at the newcomer, Yoojung realizes it is, for some reason, very hard for the other to answer. Is it the cold? Is there something on his face that has the other stumbling over his words over and over again? Yoojung waits patiently where he stands, busying himself by fiddling with his fingers while the stranger comes up with an answer, finally.
“I have… I have ordered an arrangement through your colleague,” The man begins, words slightly muffled by the scarf but Yoojung understands and he nods, still waiting in his spot for the other to specify what arrangement. “It’s supposed to be yellow carnations, lavender and yellow hyacinth,” and he finally lets the scarf fall a bit, exposing smaller, yet full lips and an angular chin, the long slope of his nose just prolonging his face and Yoojung thinks just how pretty the man looks. Then, after he finally snaps himself out of his thoughts, the young florist realizes it’s the insanely contrasting arrangement he’d been working on for the past hour, picking out and arranging flowers into one large bouquet practically screaming ‘i hate you!’ and he chuckles, nods and leans underneath the counter to gently pick out a wrapping paper. He’s thinking, as his fingers work around the bouquet, thinking who must’ve hurt this young man so much he’s decided to pick out a bunch of flowers portraying nothing but pure hate and in a sense, it’s quite funny to Yoojung, really. “I hope they’re the right flowers, you colleague picked them out when I asked for hate flowers and I just memorized them,” the man mutters, most likely to himself but internally, Yoojung beats himself because there was no way this was not directed at him, with the ravenette trying to make small talk. Yoojung hums.
“They definitely are hate flowers, that’s for sure,” He affirms, stapling the paper shut at the very top and throwing one more ribbon around the bottom of the bouquet where the stems meet to close it up. Yoojung hands over the arrangement after he receives the cash, ignoring the shocked stare of the other when he checks the price; Yoojung threw in a discount because this bouquet, although it started a minor headache with the clashing colors, had kind of made his day, and so did the buyer. He closes the cash register and just when the young man is ready to leave, Yoojung stops him and offers a small smile. The corners of his mouth don’t really meet his eyes yet, and the pretty wrinkle in the corners of his eyes aren’t very visible either, but apparently it’s enough to stop the ravenette, enough to have him turn to face Yoojung again with curiosity behind his black eyes. The young florist reaches an arm over to where one end of his counter meets the sage green wall of his shop, picking up a soft lavender rose, stripped of thorns and leaves. It’s bare, so Yoojung throws in a couple of baby's-breath and wraps it up in a lavender wrapping paper before handing it over to the man, whose face is once again hidden behind his scarf. “On the house,” and the flower is haphazardly tied with a white ribbon, but it’s still pretty enough to sate Yoojung’s heart, when the ravenette picks it from his hand with bony fingers and a gentle hold. They exchange smiles and just like that, his only customer of the day is gone, disappearing in the heavy snowfall. Yoojung sighs.
The next time they meet, Yoojung isn’t alone in the flower shop. Rather, there are many people lined up to pick up arrangements for their beloved ones, gathering last minute presents and asking for custom bouquets with meaningful messages Yoojung didn’t quite care about and a couple of his lovely colleagues scattered about trying to help. It was White day, the snow outside hadn’t quite melted yet — quite the opposite, actually — and the weather was ideal for fun play dates and couples to grab some warm coffee. The line by the checkout operated by Junhyung, whose shy nature showed a lot if exposed to customer’s questions; Yoojung decided months ago that Junhyung won’t be on his shifts alone then, not because he couldn’t rely on him, but because he doesn’t like exposing his part-timers to anything they were uncomfortable with. Luckily for them, there was Sungho, who’d often offered to accompany Junhyung on his shifts and it worked like that fairly well, so Yoojung isn’t surprised when he looks over and sees the aforementioned hyung talking to the waiting customers with a smile on his face, while Junhyung works the cashier and checks out all the people in front of him.
Yoojung isn’t as busy as the others then, and so he just wanders about the small shop, picks out all the flowers needed for the boys working behind the counter and occasionally stops by to wrap the arrangements. The five of them work in perfect harmony, waltzing around each other with ease and offering kind smiles and Yoojung then thinks how glad he is to have built such a comfortable and warm environment. “Oh! I’ll take this one, Junji. Go help Sungho-hyung with the arrangements,” Yoojung offers a smile and dances around the boy, ruffling his long, platinum dyed hair while he’s at it, just to pull an over exaggerated groan from the younger. “Hi! How can I help you today?” he beams at the familiar face, trying to ignore the line of people behind him, annoyed that they had to wait longer. Yoojung supposes that’s life, though; you can’t always get what you want, even if it’s just waiting in a line. They only have one register at the shop, so if these people wanted their flowers, they’d have to wait, he thinks. The ravenette smiles. Yoojung’s knees wobble.
“I’ve just asked for a couple of Lotus flowers, I believe it’s the bouquet over there,” The man asks and points at a small arrangement of white flowers. Each of them has five large petals with a black center and a rich, fruity smell. Yoojung nods and reaches an arm to gently put them to the side of the register so he could ring them up. This time, however, the ravenette notices the discount hiding in between the flower names and asks about it, voice a little rough but still gentle, silent where it reaches Yoojung’s ears and the florist shrugs and wraps the flowers, adds in a pretty white Gardenia and ties the small bouquet with a baby blue ribbon. “Thank you,” the man offers a smile, small and almost unnoticeable hadn’t Yoojung been studying his features. Yoojung smiles back and lets Junhyung wrap the bouquet in a festive paper, before he’s talking to the next customer. The ravenette moves aside, to where Junhyung is working on his arrangement, but the young blond can still feel his dark eyes on his frame as he works the cashier for people who’d already got their flowers done.
“Oh, a Gardenia,” the ravenette hears, certain he wasn’t supposed to and he tears his gaze away from the young blond for a short minute, fixing them on the bouquet that is now hidden under the decorative wrapping paper. He hums and it’s a question, he’s expecting an answer, but there’s none offered back, just his bouquet and a smile from the young, platinum haired florist. “Thank you for coming in,” the florist offers and the ravenette takes it as his cue to leave. He mumbles a ‘thank you,’ then takes his leave and something in Yoojung twists and turns, his heart aches for the man that had just disappeared into the late morning sun with the soft breeze ruffling his black hair, but he quickly composes himself and resumes working with the people waiting before him. Junhyung giggles, Sungho smacks him on the back of his head. “Hyung, I’m just helping them out!”
Their third meeting is a week later. The sign on the door is flipped to ‘Closed’, yet Yoojung had left his doors unlocked; he wanted to run across the street to grab a cup of coffee when he’s done putting away the new batch of flowers they’d received just that morning. The truck with the fresh flowers came unexpectedly, the company agreed to come by on a Wednesday afternoon, yet there he was, on an early Monday morning, in his pajama bottoms and his hair disheveled from the early morning run three floors down to pick up the delivery, sorting out the flowers by color. On Mondays, the shop didn’t open up until the late afternoon, so none of Yoojung’s colleagues were around to help him with getting rid of the old, withering flowers, nobody to help him clean out the metal buckets and fill them with fresh water. He didn’t mind much, although the helping hand would be appreciated, he thinks.
The snow outside had begun to melt, Yoojung noticed, the weather’s progressively warmer; he’s running around the shop in a knitted sweater now instead of his two hoodies, and he’s able to go outside in his lighter coat. The heavy black coat he’d been wearing all of winter had begun to hurt his back, he thinks to himself, as he unwraps his green apron from around himself and neatly places it on top of the counter, careful of all the scissors in its pocket when he brushes his fingers over it. Just when he’s about to reach for his wallet and the keys to the shop, the bell above the door rings and he turns, ready to go off about how the shop is closed and for the person to come back later. But he doesn’t, and he feels his ears reddening, partially probably in embarrassment. “Hey, uh, we’re closed right now,” he mumbles, voice wavering slightly because one, he hadn’t had his breakfast yet and just the simple thought of having to postpone it any longer had him scowling, and two, in front of him stood the prettiest man to exist. The ravenette smiles, apologetic and with a gentle ‘oh, I’m sorry,’ he’s reaching for the handle. Yoojung panics. “No, no, what can I do for you?” he tries to save the situation, hastily and haphazardly wrapping the apron around his body again, the metal making an uncomfortable sound as it hits other metal. He feels the tip of the scissors dig into his finger uncomfortably when he tries smoothing it out a bit and he hisses, but masks his pain very quickly, the corners of his mouth almost reaching his eyes as he looks back up at the ravenette, who’d had stepped closer by now.
“I am just… looking for something pretty for my apartment,” The ravenette proposes, voice hushed and Yoojung thinks, thinks about a flower or two that could describe this man and still bring warmth and calmness into his home. The florist hums and walks over to the buckets of flowers he’d put aside in the far back of the shop, hidden by arrangements and winding vines that slither up one of the sage green walls. It feels homey, cozy and the ravenette smirks, lopsided but content, as he leans against the counter and watches the florist crouch to pick up large, pink flowers alongside some white from the other side of the bucket rows. It’s silent between them, save for the old radio playing from somewhere behind the cashier — Yoojung had moved it somewhere else during the weekend since it had been a distraction and a burden to work around — until it really wasn’t and the ravenette had gathered the courage to ask, “What’s your name, may I ask?” He proposed, voice firm yet still quite uncertain around the edges and Yoojung smiled when he finally picked the flowers he wanted and gathered himself to walk back towards the counter.
“Depends,” Yoojung offers with a giggle, dainty hands working on the rather small arrangement of flowers with precision. He adds some baby’s-breath and some foliage so it isn’t as empty and ties the bouquet with a pink ribbon before wrapping it up for the man. “Depends on what you want it to be,” He continues, as he’s ringing up the flowers, sneaking in the discount once again and he giggles again when he notices the disapproval on the other’s face, be it because of the discount or the fact he’d been teasing him. “But you can call me Yoojung for now,” he settles and the ravenette nods and pulls out his wallet.
“That was 50% off, right?” the ravenette asks and Yoojung only nods, not trusting himself with his words anymore given the man is now standing directly in front of him, only slightly towering over him, yet his presence was much stronger, much more prominent than it was mere minutes ago. Yoojung’s cheeks paint a pretty coral pink when he looks the other in his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips while doing so. “See you soon, Yoojung,” and with a lopsided grin, he was gone, disappearing into the early morning streets of Seoul, full of people commuting to work and school. The florist looks down and scoffs.’you’re unbelievable, pretty boy,’ he groans, counting up the cash he’d been given for the small arrangement of flowers. The ravenette had given him twice the original price of the flowers.
Collecting himself, Yoojung finally decides it’s time to eat, time to collect his thoughts and rest his mind for a short minute. So he forces himself back up the three flights of stairs to his home, changes into better clothes and grabs the important belongings of his. The café over the street is known for their coffee and pastries, so who was Yoojung to miss out on a good breakfast for once in a while, hm?
And just like that, spring soon became summer and with the new season came new flowers that reminded Yoojung further of the young ravenette visiting his shop. The tiny little crush from the very beginning of March became silent pining he’d been teased for from all his colleagues, reddening cheeks and slight stuttering more obvious than ever. Yoojung was head over heels for Kyubin. That’s right; after realizing back in March that he had left knowing Yoojung’s name but not vice versa, the young ravenette had came in running, apologizing swiftly and offering his name to Yoojung, who’d been giggling behind the counter like a madman. That morning, they had spent the breakfast together, getting to know one another over some coffee and pastries from the bakery next door. Yoojung hadn’t learned much, other than that Kyubin was much older than him, had finished his mandatory service in February and that he wanted to be a police officer. Yoojung found that fascinating, especially when he mentioned mounted forces. Yoojung wasn’t all that interesting.
So Kyubin came and went, often grabbing small bouquets to keep in his apartment — or so he told Yoojung multiple times. The young florist had never learned what or who were the loath filled arrangements for and thought it probably didn’t matter much; if it did, he probably would’ve known, the ravenette really liked to gossip. It was okay though, so did Yoojung, and maybe that’s why they often spent hours just talking over the counter while Yoojung helped other customers around. They could talk about anything and everything, the good and the bad, yet even then, the ravenette had never really asked about the flowers Yoojung had been wrapping in for him. It was a pity, really, because Yoojung had been portraying his feelings through them this whole time, ever since they first met. Maybe, the time will come, Yoojung thinks, as he works his hands on sorting out the buckets of flowers, moving them in their color order.
He halts when there is a call of his name from the front of the shop and the sweet scent of coffee fills the entire place. Yoojung smiles and runs through the chilly room filled with a fresh batch of flowers to the cash register, tying his green apron around his waist haphazardly. “Coming!” He calls from the cold room, checking himself in the glass panel of one of the large, ceiling high fridges where they kept their heat-sensitive flowers, before he runs out and changes shifts at the register with Sungho, who’s sporting an all-knowing smile. “Thanks, hyung,” he grins, before running in, almost stumbling over his feet when he squeezes past the older man in the open doorway. “Your hair is different!” and it is, it’s a lighter shade of brown with black peeking at the crown of Kyubin’s head and it’s cut to the length he’d been sporting earlier that year, his mullet just about curling behind his neck and Yoojung couldn’t help but grin, complimenting the new change. Kyubin blushes. Yoojung’s smile widens.
“I have… I have something to ask you,” The now-brunette asks, face painted a deep shade of red, it has Yoojung wondering if he’s feverish. It feels like utter nonsense — it’s the middle of June, there’s no way Kyubin would get sick now, but you never know; and as he’s about to lean over the corner to press the back of his hand over Kyubin’s forehead, he’s stopped by the older’s fingers wrapping around his wrist. “A friend of mine saw all the flowers you’ve given me in a herbarium I’ve been keeping. He told me about the meanings,” Kyubin adds, and now his ears are burning a bright red also, his hold on Yoojung’s wrist falters and the blond lets his arm fall. Oh. Oh.
“Yoojung-”
“Taeyeob. It’s Taeyeob,”
Kyubin nods, eyes falling toward the counter for a split second, before meeting Taeyeob’s, lower lip painfully trapped in between his teeth as he rethinks his words. “Taeyeob, I need to know if you meant all of this,” he says and Yoojung’s knees feel weak. He can’t quite read Kyubin’s expression right now, can’t fully recognize any emotion in his eyes and it’s freaking him out; he can’t fuck up, not now. Not when he’s so sure about his own feelings towards the older man in front of him, not when the both of them are so, so vulnerable like this. Not now, not ever. So he nods. And Kyubin follows. It feels insincere, awkward and Yoojung feels way too vulnerable in this position because Kyubin is so goddamn unreadable where he stands in his tank top and shorts, two iced lattes in front of him on the counter.
“You… kept them?” Yoojung asks in return, voice wavering, careful where it slips past his lips and it has Kyubin nodding again, firm and so incredibly stiff. Yoojung doesn’t know what to do, the air around them is heavy and his head is full of unspoken thoughts he’d been trying to keep from bubbling over and spilling. The only person knowing about the relentless pining is currently hidden somewhere in the back with the rest of their fresh flowers, most definitely eavesdropping like he always does and there’s nothing to distract the young florist. He’s pinned underneath a piercing gaze, one so incredibly narrow and harsh it has his eyes welling up with unshed tears he’d sworn to never let show. He’s fucking this up, and there’s no way of stopping him. “The last ones I gave you were white hydrangeas and forget-me-nots, they mean heartfelt honesty and true love,” Yoojung then mumbles in hopes of saving himself. “The first ever flower was a lavender rose — love at first sight,” He adds then, fingers working behind his back to untie the apron that’s just haphazardly hanging around his neck, anyways, and he blinks back his tears.
“Good,” He hears when he turns his back to fold the apron neatly atop the counter behind him, recollecting his thoughts silently in the short second there’s nothing but pure silence filling the space in between them. Yoojung thinks of words he could and probably should speak, yet comes up empty handed when his eyes meet Kyubin’s again, throat going dry and he sighs. Please say something, he begs internally, lips a thin line, knuckles going white where his hands are gripping onto the edge of the counter for support. “Fucking good, because I feel the same way,” And Yoojung feels like he can breathe again, his head falls and he has to crouch down to the floor, fingers tangling in his hair for a moment because fuck, his heart is beating out of his chest again.
“Let’s go on a date, then?” Yoojung mumbles and for the first time this morning, he’s happy to see Kyubin nodding.