Archive of Our Own

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Leo’s routine never changed. It began the same way every time he had a client, like a reflex he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, question. He washed his hands at the small sink against the wall, careful not to hit his head against the low-hanging cabinets that held inks upon inks. There was no sense of urgency as he washed, a deliberate attention being given to how far up his wrists he let the soap reach, letting the water run longer than necessary as the suds faded and escaped down the drain.

Soap, rinse, repeat, until the motion felt like it had settled whatever had been left unsettled from beyond the door of his small studio. He’d been teased about his habits before, called compulsive when it came to washing his hands, but he disagreed — he was only like this when it came to his work, wanting absolutely nothing to go wrong within the healing process of his clients because of an oversight on his part. He didn't mind it, though, and his clients were patient and understanding enough that they didn't mind the extra time Leo put into washing his hands, the sound of the water running filling the space more than anything else.

It was a quiet insistence that everything in his studio started clean, even if it wouldn’t remain that way for long.

Before long, inks would smudge across carefully laid out paper towels, droplets of black mixing with vibrant hues as he swapped between different colors seamlessly from years of familiarity. He was always careful, of course, but it was an unavoidable side effect of his artistry.

Leo’s tools were already waiting for him as he turned back to his station set up, just where he had left them prepared for his client, and yet he still chose to arrange them once more — not because they were wrong, but for him, order mattered in a place where permanence was the outcome. Needles and ink caps were set down in a precise line, each one aligned with a memory of how they were supposed to be reached for, not how they happened to land.

Beyond that, gloves and wipes were in their own familiar spots, ready for Leo to grab as he needed.

It wasn’t ritual, exactly, or compulsive — it was control, but far more gentle than that word implied. It was something closer to respect for what was about to happen on skin, how permanence would no longer just be an idea but a reality, how he only had one chance to follow the guides he set for himself with precision, unable to afford a single mistake. In a world where imperfection meant being human, Leo couldn’t allow himself to embrace that philosophy.

In his world, imperfections and mistakes meant a ruined canvas that couldn’t be tossed away and a painting that could never be restarted.

But that was what the stencil was for, to ensure Leo could embrace perfection without losing his humanity. That was what came next, anyhow, a handful of copies of the same stencil waiting beside his tools. He could never really trust the stencils at first glance, even if his client had agreed that the sketches he had presented them with were perfect.

He leaned in, his eyes narrowing a touch as he compared the topmost stencil to the sketch beside it, mapping the paper intention onto a living surface. There was always a small gap between those two things — what was drawn, and what would ultimately be worn. And Leo… Leo lived in that space, thrived in it, and wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

It was routine, the steps he took to prepare his canvas — his client’s skin, bare and shaved so not a single, barely-there hair remained to interrupt Leo’s work — before he was placing the first stencil against his client’s skin, adjusting the initial position by just a few millimeters, just enough that it would sit far more honestly on the body’s curve, before he paused again, not touching anything further.

The pause was important.

It was, after all, the last moment when nothing had been committed yet, when everything could still, technically, be reconsidered, and adjusted further, whether the client wanted the tattoo to be higher or lower, and little more to the left or the right — all the reason why Leo had extra stencils prepared, to account for any adjustments that might need to be made.

Leo remained quiet for a moment, letting his weight shift backwards in his seat, the transfer paper of the stencil peeled away already, leaving a bright purple behind in its wake.

“Does that feel off to you, Yejin?” He asked, breaking the silence and finally glancing up from the stencil and towards his client properly. Most artists would have committed to the placement already — the stencil looked fine at first glance. It was balanced, and centered neatly along the curve of his client’s forearm, but fine wasn’t the same thing as right. And thankfully, Leo wasn’t most artists — he’d rather his clients correct placements before ink was put to skin.

He watched the way Yejin kept flexing her wrist unconsciously, the slight tension in her fingers every time she looked down at the design — nervousness, maybe, or an uncertainty she hadn’t fully admitted to herself yet.

She hesitated, “Maybe… a little lower?”

Leo only hummed softly, melodic and chesty, already wiping off the stencil that had been pressed against her skin before the sentence had fully finished, smudges of lavender in its wake as he tosses the soiled cloth into a nearby bin.

“You keep looking at the empty space beneath it,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders once. “I figured you wanted more room to breathe.”

That earned him a startled blink, like Yejin hadn’t realized that someone else had noticed.

The corner of Leo’s mouth twitched upward, just slightly, as he reached for another stencil sheet from the stack beside him. He was careful as he adjusted the placement, lower this time, his fingers carefully smoothing it against Yejin’s skin with practiced precision before peeling away the transfer paper, sitting back in his seat once more.

Better.

Yejin relaxed immediately, the tension leaving her shoulders in a way that had nothing to do with the soon to be tattoo itself — Leo noticed that, too, of course.

Behind him, one of the small glass vases near the front window caught the morning light as the clouds shifted outside, the water reflecting holographic shapes onto the walls as pale yellow daisies leaning lazily towards the warmth. They were fresh — fresher than the rest of the studio ever managed to stay on its own. They were arranged in a way that looked effortless until someone spent enough time around flowers to realize just how intentional the arrangement actually was.

Sangwon had dropped them off two days ago without announcing himself first, which wasn’t strange in the least, stepping into the studio with damp sleeves and shoulders from the rain. He had quietly replaced the older arrangement before Leo had even looked up from his sketchbook.

“You know, you’re supposed to throw them out before the water clouds over,” he’d said while trimming the stems shorter with scissors stolen from Leo’s own station. ”Not after.”

Leo had ignored the criticism entirely.

The flowers were, of course, still there.

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

The buzz of the tattoo machine faded into silence the moment Leo clicked it off, leaving the studio strangely hollow in its absence. Despite that, he could still hear it faintly in the back of his mind, a constant presence to keep him company no matter where he was.

For a few seconds, neither he nor Yejin spoke as Leo moved through the final touches — wiping down the tattoo and clearing it of excess ink, letting the skin settle for a moment and allowing Yejin to admire the new addition to her body before covering it in second skin.

The quiet after an appointment always seemed to feel different from the quiet before — heavier, somehow, full of the lingering adrenaline clients carried within them after finally committing to something permanent. Leo peeled his gloves away slowly, turning them inside out before dropping them into the bin beside his chair.

Yejin was still staring at her forearm — there wasn’t any nervousness in her gaze this time.

Leo noticed the way her shoulders had finally settled, the tension that had been living between them at the beginning of the appointment nowhere to be found now — good. That was how it was supposed to be, a moment of recognition for the finished product, and not regret. He knew fully well that, despite the tattoos scattered along different parts of her arms and legs, Yejin wasn’t entirely comfortable with Leo yet — not because he made her uncomfortable in the least, but because she was still one of his newer repeat clients, a rapport between them not fully built yet where she could feel like herself in front of him just yet.

He didn’t take offense to it at all — Yejin chose to come to him from here on for a reason, and not anyone else. That alone had to mean something.

“You were right about lowering it,” she admitted eventually, still looking at the fresh ink wrapped carefully beneath the protective film.

Leo only hummed quietly in response as he began breaking down his station — ink caps first, then needles, only to wipe down every surface in the same methodical order he always followed.

“Now when did I suggest lowering it? Wasn’t that you who asked me to lower it?”

He caught Yejin rolling her eyes out of his peripheral.

“You placed it higher on purpose, to see if I would say something about the placement, even though it was where I asked for it during our consultation. You suggested lowering it then, and I didn’t listen. It was only seeing the stencil on my skin and the space beneath it that I understood why lowering it was a better idea.”

Leo only smirked in amusement, quiet and barely-there as he turned his gaze back to Yejin.

“You say that like I don’t do this professionally.”

That earned him a quiet laugh — maybe next time he sees Yejin, she’ll be a touch more comfortable being herself around Leo, instead of unsure of herself.

By the time she left, the afternoon had shifted softer around the edges, sunlight spilling lazily across the front windows in long, golden strips that caught against scattered sketch pages and the glass vase near the counter. Leo barely looked up when the bell above the studio door rang again a few moments later.

Not a client — he didn’t have anyone scheduled for another hour at the very least, and the pause between the bell and the footsteps was far too familiar for that.

He heard a quiet, disappointed sigh.

“Those flowers are surviving purely out of spite at this point,” Sangwon said from somewhere near the front counter.

Leo continued wiping down the armrest of his chair before finally glancing over his shoulder, giving Sangwon a proper look. There was a paper bag tucked beneath one arm, and damp cuffs rolled haphazardly toward his elbows. His dark hair was slightly wind-tossed, like he’d rushed over between errands, with faint green smudges near the base of his fingers, more than likely from stripped stems or leaves.

He was breathtaking, mess and all.

“They’re alive, aren’t they?”

“Barely.”

Sangwon clicked his tongue softly as he crossed the room toward the vase by the window, his fingertips brushing lightly against one of the daisy petals before lifting the arrangement to inspect the water inside. His expression pinched immediately, tightening further as the petal he had just touched fell from the flower head.

“Leo.”

“What?”

“This water is cloudy.”

This was a familiar conversation — and still, Leo shrugged one shoulder lazily, turning back towards his station. “You say that like it means something to me.”

Sangwon sighed again. “It means your flowers are suffering.”

“They’ve survived worse.”

“That isn’t the comforting statement you think it is, hyung.”

After that, the studio settled into something far quieter, conversation slipping easily into the background while Sangwon moved around the space like he belonged there. And, maybe he did — Leo had long since stopped noticing when small things inside the studio changed at Sangwon’s hands, like flowers replaced before they wilted completely, empty mugs disappearing from counters, the faint scent of fresh greenery lingering hours after he left.

He had never questioned it, allowing Sangwon to do as he pleased with the space despite it not being his.

At some point, by the time Leo had meandered back to his front counter, Sangwon had set the paper down beside Leo’s elbow, leaning against the counter easily and casually.

“You forgot lunch again,” was all Sangwon said as reason — Leo’s brow pinched, only slightly, because how could Sangwon have known that Leo skipped lunch?

He looked down at the bag, then back up at Sangwon. “I was busy.”

“You’re always busy.”

“Gotta make money somehow,” Leo mused, curiosity getting the better of him as he opened the bag — takeout, for sure, as Sangwon was about as good of a cook as Leo was, which was a kinder way to say absolutely awful. Tuna kimbap and a few drinks, as if Leo didn’t have a small fridge with drinks for himself and his clients beneath one of the counters. “How’d you know I skipped lunch?”

Sangwon didn’t answer right away, instead choosing to straighten up from where he had been leaning against the counter, his fingers still faintly damp from the flowers. He glanced around the studio like the answer could be found in the mess of ink caps and half-finished sketches.

“You always say you’re ‘almost done’ when I come by,” he said finally, as if it would explain anything, when in truth, it explained nothing at all.

Leo could only snort quietly, already peeling open the kimbap container with one hand. “And that would be because I usually am.”

“Mm.”

It wasn’t a noise of agreement — it was skepticism dressed up as politeness, because Leo was never truly almost done until it was time for his shop to close.

Sangwon shifted slightly, taking the paper napkins that Leo hadn’t noticed him place more neatly beside the bag. He did that sometimes — quiet corrections and small adjustments to things that didn’t technically need any fixing.

Leo never stopped him.

“I stopped by the cafe on the corner first,” Sangwon added after a moment, a casual off-handed statement that Leo was supposed to look more deeply into, without any context as to why. It was bait, and Leo knew it. And still, he rose to it.

He paused mid-bite. “Why?”

“Because you skip meals,” Sangwon said simply, as if it was a fact he’d chosen to document for a long time rather than something he’d chose to act on. Leo still didn’t see the correlation between the cafe they frequented when their days off aligned, and the convenience store kimbap Sangwon had brought him. “And because you get irritating when your blood sugar drops.”

“I don’t get irritating.”

Sangwon finally looked at him then, not saying anything immediately. Instead, he held the look for a second too long — flat and patient, unimpressed in a way that wasn’t unkind, but the kind of look you gave someone you were used to and knew well.

Leo clicked his tongue.

“…I get slightly more efficient,” he corrected, which was as much of a lie as it would be if he said he didn’t unintentionally skip meals.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Mm, no, but it’s what you meant.”

Sangwon laughed faintly, a soft sound that seemed like it wasn’t supposed to exist, at least not in the context it appeared in. He turned away, shaking his head before his quiet laughter could turn into anything more obvious, stepping closer to the window again as if checking on the dying daisies had become urgent.

They weren’t, and they both knew it — not when Sangwon would likely replace them within the next day or so, knowing how they would end up in Leo’s care.

The studio stayed warm with the afternoon light, dust motes drifting lazily through the space between them.

“Cheesecake,” Sangwon finally said after a moment, not bothering to turn around. “I stopped by the cafe to get a cheesecake for us to share later.”

A basque cheesecake, if Leo knew Sangwon as well as he thought he did. It was both of their favorite, and a long-standing tradition of theirs to share one when either one bought one. Leo didn't respond, not with words at least, acknowledging Sangwon’s statement with a quiet hum. And, after a moment, Sangwon spoke again, softer and less teasing than before.

“You don’t have to wait for me to bring you food,” he said, still paying attention to the daisies, his focus on the empty space where the petals had fallen. “You know that, right?”

Leo glanced down at the kimbap in front of him, and then at the drink sitting beside it — a vanilla latte, iced, the only kind of coffee that Leo tended to semi-enjoy thanks to its sweetness. He liked it, though — when Sangwon brought him food, even if his friend found it an inconvenience.

He was sure Sangwon would have said something by now if he truly hated bringing Leo food, even though Leo didn’t once ask him to bring him anything.

Without looking up, Leo replied softly, “I didn’t say I was waiting.”

Sangwon hummed again, though this time, he didn’t argue.

Somehow, that was louder than if he had.

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Sangwon always thought that flowers were honest in a way that people weren’t.

They always told the truth whether anyone asked for it or not — how long they’d been cut, how much attention they were given, and what kind of care had been withheld. It was one of the reasons he liked working with them — there was no pretending in something that wilted in real time.

The magic came second.

It never looked like magic, not really. It wasn’t a matter of incantations or wild gestures, there was no visible shift in the air or with the light. The magic lived in Sangwon’s choices instead, like the way he trimmed a stem shorter than necessary, or left a bloom slightly angled toward the window, or even tied a ribbon a fraction too tight because intention could be carried in pressure as easily as in softness.

People called it arrangements, and Sangwon called it listening.

That was the beauty of magic, in Sangwon’s eyes — it was all about intention. A calming bouquet wasn’t calming because he wished it to be, but because he had built it from things that did not resist stillness with the intention of serenity. A clarity sachet wasn’t clarity because it forced truth, but because it removed everything unnecessary around it — turbulent thoughts fled minds and allowed for the rational thoughts to surface.

Sangwon had rules for his magic — careful ones, that were unwritten, but absolute. He would never use it maliciously, or to create negative outcomes. He would only use it to help people in the smallest of ways, such as with sachets and positive intentions.

And he never, no matter how easily it would be, would use it on Leo.

That rule was the oldest of all of them.

In truth, Sangwon’s magic had never been about control.

That had been the first thing his grandmother taught him, years ago when it first surfaced, with dirt beneath their fingernails and dried lavender hanging from the ceiling of her personal greenhouse in uneven bundles. Flowers could encourage, soothe, and steady, but they could never create something that didn’t already exist in some form. Magic only followed what was already there, guiding emotions towards the surface gently, rather than planting new ones where there had been nothing at all.

Flowers were simply an extension of oneself, a way to extend how far Sangwon’s magic could touch and aid people.

And that was exactly why intention mattered so much in Sangwon’s work.

A bouquet that had been assembled for someone who was grieving would wilt differently than one that had been made for comfort. Arrangements that had been built to soothe anxiety would hold softer scents and lighter blooms, with petals that encouraged stillness instead of demanding attention. Sachets were far more concentrated than arrangements, small bundles of crushed petals silently enchanted within a delicate cloth, stitched carefully together to carry emotional intention more directly — courage, clarity, restful sleep, even honesty. It was never enough to override the recipient’s mind, and never enough to force a feeling into existence despite the possibility, but it was enough to quiet the noise overtaking their mind.

It was enough to make someone listen to themselves more honestly — Sangwon was especially careful with that kind of magic. He was careful with where it went, and who it touched, and far more careful with the amount of magic poured into the sachets themselves.

Most people only saw pretty flowers and neatly tied ribbons when they walked out of his shop, entirely unaware that the arrangement tucked delicately into their arms had been built specifically for the way they spoke, how their mannerisms spoke louder than their words did. Sangwon was good at that, noticing how their shoulders tightened or loosened as they spoke, or if their gaze drifted elsewhere when they mentioned someone they loved but didn’t know how to talk to anymore.

It was intimate work, in its own way — which was exactly why he refused to use it on Leo.

It wasn’t as if he thought Leo would react badly if he ever found out about Sangwon’s magic — somehow, Sangwon knew that Leo wouldn’t, with the way he accepted the strange little things and quirks about people with an ease that was entirely too unfair. Leo was the type of person who would simply observe someone, and adjusted around them naturally, before he continued to move forward as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

The actual issue was the fact that Leo mattered too much.

Magic was subtle, but subtle didn’t necessarily mean harmless. Even clarity magic could change things, no matter how gentle it was, shifting emotional pathways and lowering walls that people may not necessarily be ready to lower on their own — especially because sometimes all clarity really meant was finally admitting something you had already known for a long time. And if Sangwon ever touched Leo’s emotions with magic, even accidentally, he would never truly know afterward where the line between influence and honesty had been.

And that on its own was a thought he couldn’t bear, not with anyone, but especially not with Leo.

Because what they had now, with their long-standing friendship of nearly eight years, was quiet lunches at Leo’s studio counter and wilted flowers stubbornly left alive for too long, and coffee and tea orders memorized without discussion… that was real. Unnamed, for sure, and undefined, but it was real enough that Sangwon protected it with the same careful attention he gave to every arrangement leaving his hands, perhaps even more.

There was no reason to compromise what was already comfortable for them both.

Sangwon’s gaze drifted towards the small collection of sachets waiting near his back worktable, each one labeled neatly in his own handwriting before being tucked into drawers or wrapped alongside finished orders — sleep, calm, comfort, clarity, all commonly purchased or silently hidden sachets that went along with orders.

One sachet stood out among the others — love.

Sangwon stared at that one for longer than was necessary.

The sachet itself looked — and was — harmless enough. Lavender crushed together with rose petals and held inside of a soft cream fabric that had been tied closed with a pale pink ribbon. It was a simple thing with gentle magic, a rare thing that people requested that was intended to promote self-love, but could turn the tide of feelings, and make a feeling of adoration and longing more intense. In some cases, it could become a call to awareness, and for others, a confidence booster in confessing to someone.

And sometimes, the cruelest thing love magic could do was make someone honest about feelings that they had already spent years learning how to live around.

Sangwon’s fingers brushed absently against the ribbon, warmth pulsating beneath his fingertips as his magic reunited with itself, before he finally exhaled softly through his nose, setting the sachet aside with perhaps a touch too much care.

Not for Leo — never for Leo.

When it came to Leo, Sangwon wanted to do everything properly, without influencing him with magic.

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

It was only after a busier than anticipated day that when Sangwon flipped the sign on the front door from OPEN to CLOSED, the entire flower shop felt overwhelmingly alive. Not fresh, but alive, and Sangwon would be the first to tell you that there was most certainly a difference.

The shop held a type of dense floral scent that settled lightly into the air after a long day of trimming stems and disturbing pollen, with water changed far too many times and some spilled on the ground, mixing with forgotten soil and fallen petals. The scent clung to both his clothes and skin, woven into the pushed up sleeves of his off-white sweater, and caught beneath his fingernails alongside faint traces of dirt and crushed greenery.

He’d long since already dimmed the overhead lights down to a softer setting for the evening, which left the shop bathed in warm amber tones that only served to soften the edges of everything they touched when mixed with the sunlight that had begun to fade beyond the buildings around him. Ribbon scraps littered the worktable nearest to the register in uneven curls, abandoned alongside scattered stem trimmings and strewn sheets of floral wrapping paper, some of which were half-folded, and others somewhat crushed from his hand pressing too hard against the delicate material.

Sangwon exhaled slowly through his nose as he moved to the workbench, gathering the loose ribbons into one hand — his shoulders ached, not so much in a way that was painful, but with a sort of heavy exhaustion that came with standing for too many hours in a row. There were still orders waiting unfinished near the back counter that he would need to finish for the morning. At the very least, two of the arrangements were wrapped already, though a third was still spread apart in pieces across the table, waiting for Sangwon to finish deciding if it needed more greenery to soften the color balance.

He moved with ease around the shop, dodging displays that seemed to want to greet him personally until he made it to the half-abandoned arrangement, picking up where he left off with the third of the arrangements, stifling a yawn as he pulled the vase of flowers he planned to use a little closer. He could easily go home and set his alarm for earlier than usual and make it an early day — but procrastination never solved anyone’s problems, and Sangwon had deadlines to meet.

He was halfway through trimming the stems of pale cream roses when the bell above the shop door rang softly — which was strange, only because he had been sure he’d locked the door after flipping the sign around, but it wouldn’t necessarily be odd for him to have forgotten.

He didn’t look up from the arrangement, “Sorry we’re clo—”

The apology died midway through the sentence as he looked up, seeing Leo standing inside the doorway, spinning a key around his finger, a plastic convenience store bag dangling loosely from his other hand, dark hoodie sleeves pushed carelessly towards his elbows, shaded black vines that curved around his right forearm standing out starkly against his skin. His hair looked slightly flattened on one side, as if he’d been leaning against something earlier, and there was a faint smudge of purple from the stencil ink near the inside of his wrist that he’d apparently missed while washing up.

“You lock your door surprisingly fast,” Leo mused, the bell above him returning to silence, lips pursed in thought as Sangwon’s body relaxed at the realization that it wasn’t a customer ignoring the sign and he had forgotten to lock the door, but rather it was just Leo, who had let himself in.

He glanced at the clock mounted near the register. “It’s after seven.”

“And yet I still made it inside.”

“More like you let yourself in. I didn’t give you that key to bother me while you’re bored, you know.”

Leo shrugged easily, entirely unashamed by the accusation that was entirely true. “My last client ghosted me.”

Well, that certainly explained the convenience store bag. Sangwon sighed as Leo didn’t bother waiting for permission, crossing deeper into the shop and setting the bag down on the only clear corner of Sangwon’s worktable before climbing onto the stool tucked beneath it as if he belonged there. Maybe he did — Sangwon had long since stopped questioning how it was so natural for Leo to fit into spaces that were meant simply for Sangwon.

Sangwon’s attention returned to the roses in his hands. “What did you buy?”

“That depends; are you planning on pretending that dinner isn’t important again?”

Sangwon sighed quietly — it was part of the natural order of things, he supposed. Leo would forget his lunch, and Sangwon would take it upon himself to make sure Leo ate in the space between waking up and going home, whereas Leo would take it upon himself to make sure Sangwon had dinner if Sangwon stayed late to finish arrangements he hadn’t been able to get to.

The look on Leo’s face told Sangwon that he only took Sangwon’s sigh of defeat as an immediate victory. Maybe it was in Leo’s world — all Sangwon knew was that the convenience store bag crinkled softly as Leo pulled out two containers of kimbap, one canned coffee, and one canned black tea. The can of coffee scraped lightly against the table as Leo pushed it towards Sangwon, one of the kimbap following it shortly after.

It was second nature for Sangwon to catch both automatically with the heel of his palm before it could collide with the vase beside him.

“You know,” Sangwon mused after a moment, placing one of the roses into the arrangement he was working on, “Normal people usually don’t invite themselves into closed businesses.”

“Mm, sounds fake. Also, I have a key.”

Sangwon snorted quietly before he could stop himself, shaking his head as the shop settled into a comfortable quiet around them. It wasn’t silent, as silence was a luxury that Leo never afforded Sangwon, but something far more familiar. There was the low hum of the floral cooler near the back wall, filling the pauses between conversation while paper rustled beneath Sangwon’s hands as he wrapped the bouquet.

He wasn't too sure when Leo had sniped the sketchbook that he had abandoned near the register weeks ago, but at some point, he had, flipping through the sketches that had been done by the very same hand turning the pages. Sangwon had meant to return it to Leo shortly after he had left it behind, but time seemed to have slipped away from him all too easily and quickly.

“You changed this one.” Leo’s voice had Sangwon lifting his head, eyes turning to the sketch on the page. He had stopped on an older floral sketch that he had done, and Sangwon vaguely remembers watching Leo sketch it in the very spot he was currently sitting in, taking inspiration from the lilies Sangwon had been working with that day.

“You drew the lilies too heavy,” Sangwon answered simply, shrugging one shoulder. “They needed something lighter, so I fixed them for you.”

Leo hummed softly as he studied the page, not the slightest bit offended about Sangwon’s comment. “You think about flowers the same way I think about body placements.”

“You say that like it’s strange.”

Leo chuckled. “I think most people would call both of us a little strange.”

“And most people also think baby’s breath is just filler.”

Leo paused. “Is it not?”

A brief, barked out laugh of disbelief escaped Sangwon before he could hold it back, looking at Leo as if he had said something personally offensive, knowing fully well that Leo would never say something to truly offend Sangwon, especially when it came to flowers. Leo looked up at Sangwon briefly at the sound — for half a second, Sangwon forgot entirely what he had been doing.

It happened sometimes, usually at inconvenient moments, when Leo looked far too comfortable sitting in Sangwon’s shop after closing hours, one leg hooked carelessly against the stool rung while he drank his canned black tea like he had nowhere else in the world he needed to be, twirling a pencil between two fingers, the light catching on the few simple rings he insisted on wearing, drawing Sangwon’s eye to the vines that disappeared beneath Leo’s hoodie sleeve.

Sangwon looked away first.

“So, did your client reschedule?” he asked, mostly to redirect his own thoughts, and to bring them back to their initial conversation.

Leo groaned quietly, “No, which means I got my station all clean and tidy for nothing.”

“You should still be cleaning your station,” Sangwon pointed out, not bothering to look up at Leo, knowing full well that he had slumped over, elbows against the workstation.

“I do clean my station,” Leo huffed, clicking his tongue. “I clean it meticulously, in fact.”

“You say that like it deserves praise.”

“Well, it deserves a little praise.”

Sangwon could only shake his head at Leo’s griping and praise-seeking, reaching automatically for another sheet of the wrapping paper, continuing to work on the bouquets meant to be picked up in the morning. The motions were familiar and practiced, coming to him easily. A fold of the paper here, changing the angle there, tying a ribbon into a neat bow after adjusting the stems to be slightly shorter against the paper edge — he knew it all by heart.

His hands moved easily while Leo continued speaking, his voice low and relaxed as he shifted towards a halfhearted complaint about a client requesting “something minimalist”, only to arrive with roughly seventeen different reference photos that were so drastically different from each other that he didn’t know where to begin.

Truthfully, Sangwon only caught about half of the story, the other half disappearing beneath his own quiet awareness of Leo’s presence within reaching distance from him.

In truth, it was a distraction in the most gentle way, and beyond comforting, almost dangerously so.

Despite himself, Sangwon smiled.

“People always say minimalist when they actually mean complicated,” he mused, fixating his attention on ensuring the ribbon he had just tied was perfect.

“I’m serious,” Leo lamented, an endearing whine trailing along his words, causing Sangwon to huff quietly with laughter.

“I know you are.”

“You aren’t listening.”

“I am.” Halfway, at least, which should be enough to answer any question Leo threw at him.

“Yeah? What’d I say, then?”

Sangwon hummed. “Something about reference pictures.”

Leo laughed quietly. “You barely were listening, then.”

Sangwon shook his head, unable to come up with a convincing argument as he finished the bouquet he was working on, thankful that it was the final order he had to work on. As soon as he put it into the cooler to wait for pickup, he’d only have the usual left — Leo’s flowers.

It had become a habit somewhere over the past few years, where Sangwon would gather the cut flowers that hadn’t found a home by the end of the day — like the ones whose stems he had accidentally trimmed too short, or something that didn’t match an arrangement like he had thought it would, that Sangwon still deemed too beautiful to throw away simply because they no longer met his own impossible standards — and create a bouquet out of them for Leo.

Leo complained every time, and yet the flowers still ended up in his studio, closer to his station than the ones Sangwon brought over personally, but never close enough to contaminate his work area.

Without thinking, Sangwon reached for a fresh sheet of wrapping paper, and then another, not quite noticing as the second sheet caught for just a moment against something soft before settling, his attention drifting back towards Leo, and the way he dragged a pencil lightly against a blank sheet of the sketchbook.

“So, what happened to the client that wanted the dragon?”

Leo scoffed, “They decided that dragons were too aggressive.”

Sangwon paused. “They asked you for a dragon.”

“Exactly.”

Sangwon snorted, his hands continuing to move without a second thought, paper folding after aligning stems, unwinding ribbon only to draw the cut piece around the bouquet, pulling it tight and smoothing the paper carefully before tying a practiced knot.

“There.” His voice was no louder than a murmur, talking more to himself than to Leo, who only barely looked up from his sketchbook.

“Those for me?”

“When are they ever not?”

Sangwon didn't have to look to know that Leo was rolling his eyes with a level of practiced affection — he knew full well that Leo wasn't going to reject the flowers, and would take it with him when he leaves.

“You know, they’re going to die because you insist on trusting me with living things.”

Sangwon shrugged. “They’ll survive.”

“You say that every week.”

“I’m usually right.” He wasn't, and he knew it.

“You’re objectively not.” Leo snorted, shaking his head, giving Sangwon one of those pointed looks that suggested that they were going to enter an endless loop of playful arguing that was, in the end, completely pointless. There was a quiet huff of laughter that left him as he closed the sketchbook, tucking it under his arm alongside the bouquet.

“I’m taking my sketchbook back.”

“You’ll leave it behind again in a week,” Sangwon teased, a sing-song lilt to his voice as Leo let himself out of the shop, the bell ringing behind him as a farewell. Sangwon sighed fondly and quietly as he watched Leo disappear beyond the veil of the door, shaking his head once before deciding to clean up.

Nothing appeared out of place, as expected. Sangwon turned back toward the worktable, already thinking about tomorrow morning's orders as he gathered ribbon scraps and discarded stems into neat piles, the shop slowly settling back into its familiar order.

He never once thought to count the sachets he believed he'd left behind.

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

For circumstances that Leo wasn’t fully sure of, the bouquet Sangwon had given to him the night before looked far healthier than it had any right to.

He noticed it while unlocking the studio, the flowers still vibrant and full of life with the stems upright despite spending the entire night wrapped up on the passenger seat of his car. Sangwon had always insisted that flowers were sturdier than people gave them credit for, but Leo had been unconvinced — though in this situation, he might be slightly more convinced than before.

He set the bouquet down on the front counter, re-locking the door behind him before moving further inside to wake up the rest of his studio, the familiar sequence of his morning routine unfolding around him almost automatically — the lights came on first with a flick of a switch, then the music, bass-heavy beats filling the silence of the studio, though never too loud. Then came the coffee machine, filled with fresh water for clients who may need an extra kick of energy that came with a fresh cup.

It was when Leo turned to open the front blinds that he took note of the vase by the window — it wasn’t the bouquet that Sangwon had set up the day before, but one a few days before, the flowers still standing tall, but not for much longer with the way the water had begun to cloud.

He frowned, gaze fixated on the water.

“…Right.”

It was odd that he noticed it — normally, Sangwon would have scolded him before he ever noticed.

It was out of routine for him, and yet Leo still found himself carrying the vase to the sink, taking out the slowly withering bouquet and putting it to the side, emptying the old water and rinsing the glass clean before filling it again. He didn’t think twice before slipping the new bouquet out of the wrapping, placing it delicately into the vase.

It was only natural to open the blinds as the vase was returned to its previous home, the pale blooms catching the morning light instantly as it spilled through the front windows.

Better — though he certainly stood there for longer than necessary, looking at the arrangement and trying to figure out why it felt better than usual. It was… strange, in a way, for him to notice the difference the arrangement felt when he had never noticed before.

It was… nice.

He exhaled quietly — his first appointment wasn’t for another hour, and the cancellation from the night before left him with an unexpectedly quiet morning, able to complete extra tasks he would have normally left for the morning. He spent another moment staring at the empty slot in his appointment book before exhaling quietly, reaching for his keys again.

Might as well do something with his extra time.

The walk to Sangwon’s flower shop had become so routine over the years that Leo barely thought about it anymore, and only thought of what to bring along when he went. This time, it was food from the convenience store on the corner — he knew that the likelihood of Sangwon having breakfast was slim to none.

It was nothing fancy — a coffee for Sangwon, black tea for himself, a pair of egg salad sandwiches, and a large cream bun to share.

It was to no surprise that when Leo fished out the key to Sangwon’s shop and pushed the door open to hear the chime of the bell, Sangwon’s back was turned, the pale cream color of his sweater sleeves rolled neatly towards his elbows as he worked at the longer table near the center of the shop.

Vaguely, he could hear Sangwon curse under his breath, exhaling without looking up.

“We’re not open for another—” Sangwon turned, the irritation leaving his expression instantly. “Oh.”

Leo’s lips quirked in amusement, lifting the convenience store bag slightly.

“You sounded disappointed for a second there.”

“I thought I had forgotten to lock the door again and you were an early customer.”

“Mm, worse, sorry, sweetheart.”

Despite himself, Sangwon smiled, shaking his head.

“You. You’re a menace.”

“A menace who brought breakfast.”

“I can see that.”

Leo hummed quietly, setting the convenience store bag down on the edge of the work table before climbing onto the familiar stool he had sat on the night before, and every other time he had visited before. Beneath him, the stool rocked slightly with his weight before settling again.

Neither of them spoke for a minute as Sangwon continued to trim stems with a quiet concentration as Leo popped open his black tea, watching the small pile of greenery grow beside Sangwon’s hands.

“You moved the ranunculus.”

The observation left his mouth before he’d really thought about it — he hadn’t intended to say it, but it was enough to catch Sangwon off guard, pausing in his trimming to look up at Leo.

“…I did.”

“They were in the window yesterday.”

“Mm, the sun was too strong.”

Leo nodded, turning to look at the flowers that had replaced the ranunculus, unfamiliar with the blooms as Sangwon returned to trimming.

“What did you replace them with? They’re pretty.”

“Lisianthus — they look similar to roses, but are more heat resilient. I thought they might enjoy the sunlight a little more.”

“Makes sense. The white petals stands out more there, too, and makes the shop seem more open and brighter.”

Leo’s comment made Sangwon pause once more before returning to his work.

“…You noticed that?”

Leo blinked. “Yeah?”

“I didn’t think anyone would.”

Leo shrugged. “I notice details, Sangwon. It’s part of my job. But I can say that both flowers look happier now than they did yesterday.”

Happier?

What an odd way of phrasing the observation, the words settling almost strangely between them as it processed. Why had he said that? He could have just kept it as an internal observation, and not an external thought. Which was only odd in the sense that whenever Leo noticed something new about Sangwon’s shop, he kept it to himself.

He brushed the thought aside, dismissing it almost immediately. Sangwon had already gone back to wrapping another bouquet, hands moving easily and with practiced familiarity as sheets of cream colored paper that matched his sweater folded neatly around fresh flowers. Pre-made bouquets, easy for customers to grab and go, essentially, that made great apology gifts or gifts for an unexpected trip to visit an ill loved one. Something that didn’t require Sangwon to focus on a specific composition, but delivered a similar message in the end.

Leo watched him quietly, eating as cleanly as possible to avoid getting crumbs everywhere as Sangwon worked.

Leo had always liked watching people who were good at what they did — or, at least, that was his excuse for watching Sangwon work during his free time.

Then again, it wasn’t a total lie — when he had free time in the shop, he liked to watch Xinlong and Jay perform their piercings in a handful of minutes compared to the hours he, Jiahao, and Leejeong spent tattooing people. And, of course, his own shop wasn’t complete without Jake’s infectious energy at reception, remembering repeat clients without hesitation, getting to know them while they waited.

That was what Jake was good at — making clients relax before their anxiety gave them second thoughts about what they were about to do.

There was just something so satisfying about seeing years of practice condensed into movements and actions that didn’t require any type of conscious thought.

“You tied that one looser.”

Leo pressed his lips together — he hadn’t meant to say it out loud; he had intended to keep it an internal thought, but it had escaped before he had a chance to swallow it back.

Still, Sangwon looked down.

“I did?”

“You, uh… you usually pull the ribbon tighter.”

Sangwon made a noise. “I do?”

“Well, when it’s for strangers, or an unfortunate situation, the type of easy to grab bouquets you make, yeah.”

“…What… Leo, what are you talking about?”

“The ribbon.” Leo cleared his throat, gesturing vaguely with his black tea. “You wrap bouquets tighter when the flowers have to introduce the person giving them, or are meant to say something before the person hands them over.”

Sangwon didn’t respond, not immediately — only tilted his head at the bouquet in front of him.

“But when they already know each other, like the people giving and receiving them, and are a just because bouquet, you leave more of the stems showing.” He watched as Sangwon ran a thumb over the ribbon he had just tied, clearly turning Leo’s words over in his mind. Leo frowned as he realized what he had said. “…I don’t know why I know that.”

Sangwon didn’t answer immediately, only continued running his thumb over the ribbon.

“I never told you that.”

“…You didn’t have to.”

Sangwon turned his head, looking at Leo with a raised brow. “…No?”

Leo only shook his head. “I’ve watched you work enough to see the differences.”

The silence that followed made Leo wonder if perhaps it would have been better to not say anything at all — he’d known Sangwon for eight years now, which on its own was a long time to spend around someone, but to add in all of the late nights Leo had spent just watching Sangwon work… of course Leo had noticed things.

He had just normally kept those observations to himself. Today, it seemed, they just kept slipping out before he could catch them, which was… strange. He’d never had an issue with keeping his observations about Sangwon and his work to himself.

Absentmindedly, his thumb ran along the side of his black tea can, collecting the condensation before it could reach the workbench, trying to figure out why today things were different, why he couldn’t keep his thoughts inside.

It didn’t feel wrong different, just… different.

He watched as Sangwon reached for another bundle of flowers, his eyes drifting to Sangwon’s hands, to the fact that he had long, tapered fingers that held anything they touched gently, unable to handle things any way but gently. They weren’t perfectly soft, of course — Leo could see small calluses from handling pruning shears and florist knives — but still made every movement look elegant. Where Leo’s hands were precise, Sangwon’s hands were fluid.

“You’ve got dirt under your thumbnail.”

Leo winced — he had done it again, saying what he was thinking before he had the chance to filter himself. Instinctively, Sangwon looked down, lifting his hands and curling his fingers in towards himself to examine them.

“…I do.”

It was something that Sangwon only missed when he was tired.

At the very least, Leo had caught himself before he had spoken his thoughts out loud — or so he thought, until he saw the corner of Sangwon’s lips twitch as he looked up at his friend.

“…Did I say that out loud?”

“You did.”

Leo laughed quietly to himself, “And here I thought it stayed a thought.”

Sangwon looked at him curiously, a silent encouragement to elaborate on his thought process. It wasn’t as if Leo was embarrassed by voicing his thoughts — if anything, he was more confused as to why his thoughts couldn’t seem to remain just that; thoughts.

“I don’t usually…” He rubbed the back of his neck as he searched vaguely for the right words, eyes darting everywhere to avoid looking at Sangwon directly. “…Say everything.”

“Well, you’ve always been good at noticing things,” Sangwon mused, turning back to the bouquet he was working on, turning stems over between his fingers to examine the bloom at the end, deciding whether they were able to join the others in an arrangement.

“Yeah,” Leo agreed easily, looking down at his tea, lips pressing together for a moment, tight enough to where they’d turn a little redder than usual. “I just normally decide that what I notice doesn’t need saying. Except today, apparently, it does.”

Sangwon didn’t reply to that, only hummed softly as he focused on his work. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable — in truth, Leo preferred it. With the silence, there were no questions being asked that he didn’t have the answers to or an explanation for — they could just exist in the same space together in silence, with Leo watching Sangwon work.

Of course, all things came to the end — meaning, Sangwon finished the bouquets he had been working on, gathering them in his arms and stepping away to place them near the middle of the room, easily accessible by customers without being in the way.

Fondly, Leo watched him go. Without thinking, he smiled, shaking his head fondly as he began to gather his things.

“I should head back and let you finish your opening routines,” Leo mused with a satisfied sigh, rolling his shoulders as Sangwon looked over at him.

“Sounds good, have a safe walk back. Tell your circus I say hello.”

“As if you won’t see them later yourself.” Leo already knew it well — Sangwon would show up a few hours later, lunch in hand, ready to fake-scold Leo for not bringing lunch. “See you later, Won.”

“Mhm, I’ll see you.”

It wasn’t until he was halfway back to the studio, his mostly empty tea swinging loosely from one hand, that the conversation replayed itself — the flowers, the ribbon, the dirt beneath Sangwon’s thumbnail… they were all thoughts he had said out loud, all without meaning to.

It was as if the moment the thoughts had formed, his mouth hadn’t found a reason to keep them back the way it usually did.

The idea made Leo frown to himself.

“Huh… that’s fuckin’ weird. Whatever.”

He couldn’t explain it, and wasn’t about to try to, brushing off the idea as a fluke. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter — it was, after all, only Sangwon.

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Flower shops were never exceptionally busy outside of the holiday seasons — Sangwon’s, of course, was different.

Part of that was thanks in part to Sangwon’s magic, the other part was simply the fact that the location was convenient. A short walk from a train station in the heart of Seoul, making it easily accessible from nearly anywhere, and en route to the nearby hospital.

It was a convenient set up, making his shop a little busier than the average one — by the time midafternoon had settled over the flower shop, any type of rush that would have crossed the threshold had all but disappeared.

The late morning turned early afternoon crowds had filtered back to their respective business — some to visit loved ones, some picking up celebratory bouquets for coworkers or friends — which left only the occasional customer to drift in and pick up a preordered bouquet or browse the cooler in thoughtful silence. Soft music drifted through the overhead speakers, though it was nearly drowned out by the faint hum of the cooler wall.

Junseo had claimed the front register hours ago, which Sangwon didn’t mind — he would always greet customers with the same easy smile, carefully wrapping purchases in brown paper to protect Sangwon’s personal wrapping.

Some days, Sangwon was convinced that Junseo and Anxin were the reason he had more repeat customers than what any florist would consider normal, to the point a few could be considered regulars. But a busy shop was a good thing, and Sangwon would never refuse the business.

Plus, having Junseo and Anxin around left Sangwon free to disappear into the backroom. Despite Leo’s pre-opening visit, nothing changed the fact that it was inventory day.

Now, surrounded by shelves lined with spools of ribbon, squares of linen, dried herbs, and carefully labeled glass jars, Sangwon worked through the familiar checklist almost without thinking.

Twenty-three rolls of white ribbon, two unopened packs of cream tissue paper, and enough dried lavender to last for another week.

His pencil moved steadily across the clipboard balanced against his forearm — chamomile, rose petals, dried eucalyptus, rosemary, everything was exactly where it belonged, just as Sangwon had expected, making his inventory routine a breeze.

Of course, an easy time with inventory also gave his mind room to wander, and all thoughts led back to Leo, just as they always did. Leo had been… different, earlier. It wasn’t dramatic, and no one else would have noticed if they weren’t Sangwon. Perhaps, had he not been so close with Leo, Sangwon wouldn’t have noticed, either.

But he had, and it stuck with him.

Sangwon drew a slow breath through his nose before setting the clipboard aside, moving towards the next shelf — less of inventory, more of making note of what types of sachets he had made recently, and what he would need to make more of soon. He’d moved them from the front of house before Leo had arrived earlier, not wanting energies to mingle with the sachets before they were ready to be sent off.

He reached automatically for the small wooden box he had placed them in — sleep, calm, comfort, clarity, love… Each bundle sat neatly folded in front of its sister, the thin pieces of ribbon differentiating them and peeking out from beneath soft linen fabric.

He counted them once, then twice, slowing as he counted a third time as he recounted the love sachets, his brow furrowing as he came up with the same number each time. Where there should have been four, there were only three.

For a long moment, he simply stared at where the fourth sachet was supposed to sit.

“…No…”

It left him so quietly, Sangwon wasn’t even sure if he had said it out loud, or simply thought it. He counted again — still three, nothing had changed, and the fourth sachet didn’t miraculously reappear.

Setting the box on a mostly empty shelf, Sangwon began removing everything inside with methodical precision, making note of what color ribbon each sachet he pulled out wore. His hand ran along the inside of the box, checking the felt lining before crouching down and peering beneath the shelves, in hopes that the fourth love sachet had simply fallen out.

With each passing moment that Sangwon didn’t find the missing sachet, his heartbeat began to climb, breath coming out more and more shallow with each exhale, eyes widening with worry.

No.

No, no…

The sachet had to be somewhere, he had only made one new love sachet that week, so it should be in the box with all of the others. He remembered hand stitching the final corner closed, remembered tying the pale pink ribbon around the neck, he remembered—”

“Sangwon-ah?”

Junseo’s voice broke through Sangwon’s hazy thoughts from the front of the shop, startling Sangwon sharply enough that he’d nearly dropped the box to the floor.

“Y-yeah?”

“A customer wants to know if we still have those ceramic vases. You know, the blue ones?”

Sangwon closed his eyes, exhaling slowly and softly — he didn’t want to concern Junseo, or make him think that something was wrong, even though something was so very, very wrong.

“…Top shelf in storage.”

“Got it, thanks.”

He could hear Junseo’s footsteps retreat, and the chime of the bell above the door. There was the sound of laughter and paper crinkling — the usual sounds that Sangwon could hear in his shop, and yet Sangwon couldn’t relax, his stomach settling somewhere near his knees at the thought that he hadn’t kept perfect track of something so important.

He exhaled slowly, and tried again — yesterday, the sachet had been there. He had some morning deliveries to tend to, accomplished by Anxin, and then there was the sympathy arrangement he had put together. There had been Mrs. Han’s 50th anniversary bouquet that he had truly outdone himself on, and then the corporate centerpiece, but none of those could have been right, because the sachet hadn’t been made until the early evening.

There was nothing, nothing at all, nothing except—

Leo.

His hands stilled, only half the sachets returned to the box as the memory of the night before returned, mostly in fragments. He remembered Leo sitting on the stool at Sangwon’s workbench, the same as he had that morning, only he had found his sketchbook by the register and had begun to use it as Sangwon worked on bouquets.

There was the fact that Leo had brought… dinner? Yeah, Leo had brought dinner — nothing fancy, just some convenience store kimbap and drinks. They had been talking about… something. A client canceling on him, leaving his evening free, and how people tended to believe they were strange.

“And most people also think baby’s breath is just filler.”

Leo paused. “Is it not?”

Right — Sangwon had laughed, mostly in disbelief, and mock offense that Leo had even said something so outrageous to him, but entirely without the intent to offend him. He could remember rolling his eyes and reaching for another sheet of wrapping paper, the cream color of the tissue wrapping around the bouquet for the order that had been picked up after Sangwon had opened earlier.

His attention had been split, focused halfway on the order he had been preparing, and half on Leo talking about something mundane — his station’s cleanliness, if Sangwon could recall correctly, and how he had been fishing for praise on keeping his station clean, which Sangwon thought was simply ridiculous.

He had continued working, finished up the last of the order he was working on, before making Leo’s bouquet, folding paper around stems and tucking the corners, tied off with a ribbon, except… there had been resistance from the paper when putting together the flowers for Leo. A faint catch between two of the sheets of tissue, and a small thickness where there shouldn’t have been one.

He hadn’t noticed in the moment, pressing the papers flat without looking, because Leo had said something to distract Sangwon further, making him laugh and his eyes crinkle, vision blurring as he finished the work and sent Leo off.

His blood ran cold.

“…Oh… fuck.”

He exhaled quietly, leaning back against the shelving, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as the memory settled completely, and Sangwon could find nothing about it to argue with. The sachet hadn’t fallen behind a shelf or been misplaced, nor had he forgotten where he’d put it.

He’d sent it away.

With Leo — the one person he swore he would never touch with magic of any sort.

He couldn’t help it as his thoughts went back to the conversation he had shared with Leo that morning, forcing back the nausea at the implications.

"You tied this one looser."

“You wrap bouquets tighter when the flowers have to introduce the person giving them, or are meant to say something before the person hands them over.”

“But when they already know each other, like the people giving and receiving them, and are a just because bouquet, you leave more of the stems showing.”

"I don't usually say everything."

Sangwon’s eyes pinched shut, tight enough to where bursts of colors appeared behind his eyelids.

No — it didn’t have to mean anything, not when Leo was observant and had always been observant. None of the thoughts Leo had were new, and none of the observations had come from the magic… right?

Somewhere, the certainty he was trying to cling to fractured, his grandmother’s voice echoing in the back of his mind as he attempted to regain control over his spiraling thoughts.

“Love magic does not create, but rather it uncovers. It quiets the reasons people hide from themselves.”

His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, cinching it against his waist.

“If that’s all it did…” he murmured to himself, the quiet of his voice muffled by his hand, “…then why can’t I tell where it ends?”

Because that had always been the fear, hadn’t it?

Not that Leo would suddenly feel something impossible, that feelings for Sangwon would develop overnight and his feelings would be returned finally, but that every smile, every lingering conversation, and every kind word from that moment forward would carry a question that Sangwon could never answer — was this Leo?

Or, was it the fact that Sangwon had stolen the chance to ever know for certain if all of the thoughts and feelings Leo would say were truly his?

Junseo called his name from the front of the shop once again.

“Sangwon-ah, there’s another pickup.”

Sangwon exhaled softly, opening his eyes and blinking away the blurriness that lingered.

“…I’ll be right there.”

At the very least, his voice sounded steady enough — Junseo didn’t question him, so it was enough for him. He took a few extra moments to return the remaining sachets back into their box, each one settling into its familiar place with a quiet certainty — all except for the sachet that mistakenly left with one Lee Leo.

He didn’t linger on it as he returned to the front to help Junseo.

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

By the late afternoon, the rain that had begun around noon had settled into something a little more steady, though it was quiet enough that it blurred into the background noise of the city. It left lazy streaks of water across the windows of Leo’s studio, and softened the streetlights outside into hazy ribbons of gold and white.

Inside, life continued on as per usual.

A tattoo machine buzzed somewhere towards the back where Leejeong was finishing the last of a client’s watercolor shoulder piece, the sound of the humming rising and falling with practiced rhythm. At the reception, Jake sat with one earbud tucked beneath his hair, half-listening to music while drumming along to the beat with a pencil, answering appointment emails between phone calls. Jiahao, with no clients for at least another half hour, occupied the chair beside Jake, balancing his appointment book for the next day while absentmindedly clicking a pen.

“You’re aware you paid a non-refundable deposit, right?…No, I’m just making sure you’re aware you won’t be getting that back if you cancel your appointment.” Jake sighed quietly, dropping his pencil in favor of pinching his brow between his fingers. Jiahao snorted quietly. “Yes, you can reschedule, but he’s booked out for another three months, and his books fill quickly.”

“Oof,” Jiahao murmured, tapping his pen against his book lightly, scratching something into an empty slot. “That’s rough. His books are hard to get on to begin with.”

Jake scratched his ear beneath his headphone. “His next available date if we’re looking to reschedule that fits your time block is… Well, it puts us into early September which is almost four months out. Like, I can contact you if he has another cancellation or something, but if you’re dead set on booking with Leo, you’re looking at September… 5th, at around 11 am. If you’re not dead set on Leo, Jiahao has openings much sooner, and he’s also a fine line specialist.”

“You’re sacrificing me now?”

Jake ignored Jiahao. “Okay, so I’ll reschedule you for September 5th at 11 am. Please be aware, though, if you reschedule again in September, we’re going to have to cancel your appointment entirely. Leo only allows two reschedules before he fires you as a client, and this is your second reschedule. I understand life happens, but please consider that this is also his livelihood, and by rescheduling constantly at the last minute, you’re preventing him from taking another client in your place. He’s being lenient with his policy, so please try and make September work.” Jake shook his head. “…Yeah, thank you. You have a good day as well.”

“I take it they had some choice words for you at the end there?” Jiahao mused, watching as Jake put the phone back on the hook.

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Jake grumbled, turning around in his chair. “Your 2 pm cancelled for tomorrow, Lele.”

Leo looked up from his station.

“…Again?”

“Yeah, guess the universe wants you to take a break.”

“That’s not how scheduling works, or how making money works.”

Jake grinned. “It should. It could if you didn’t insist on working basically every day. When was the last time you took a vacation, huh?”

“I’m still going to make a post on Instagram about an opening tomorrow.”

Jake clicked his tongue in disappointment as Leo returned to the sketchbook in his lap.

That made three cancellations over the course of two days — the one from the day before, one for that afternoon, and the one for the following day. It wasn’t something Leo was used to, these strange and unusual gaps in his schedule that left him not quite knowing what to do with. Of course, he understood life happened — getting sick or injured, or just basic life happenings like an unexpected expense. It was why he had his two reschedules policy, to allow for people to recover from whatever happened suddenly and still get the tattoo he had drawn up for them.

He just wasn’t used to it happening consecutively like this.

It didn’t help that he didn’t have another client for another two hours or so — cleaning hadn’t taken nearly as long as he had hoped, and reorganizing his stencil and ink cabinet had only made him realize it was already organized the way he wanted, and after roughly twenty minutes of pretending he wasn’t restless, he’d surrendered to sitting on one of the couches along the wall, the sketchbook he’d taken back from Sangwon in his lap as he sketched out some flash designs.

That was how it usually went, anyway.

The bell above the front door chimed — Leo didn’t bother looking up.

Jake laughed quietly, “He’s in the back.”

“I figured as much.”

Leo found himself smiling, hearing the exasperated answer and sigh of defeat. He didn’t bother lifting his head, only continued sketching.

“You know,” he said as Sangwon appeared between the shelves, hair damp from being caught in the rain. “One day, they’re going to stop announcing you.”

“No I won’t,” Jake called, a teasing lilt to his voice. “He’s basically on payroll at this point.”

“I’m definitely not.” Sangwon snorted, running a hand through his damp hair.

“You bring us flowers and water our plants.”

“I also grow them, and you’re no better at keeping them alive than Leo is.”

“It counts.”

Sangwon laughed under his breath, the sound disappearing almost as quickly as it came. He turned his head towards Jake, tilting his head teasingly, brows raised as he crossed his arms.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind going forward.”

Jake gasped dramatically, pointing towards the door. “Banned.”

“Mm, but see, your boss is my best friend, so I don’t think that’s really gonna work, Jakey.”

Jake’s lip curled lightly, sinking in his chair. “Rude.”

By the time their light banter had dissolved into quiet smiles, Sangwon had already settled into the spot beside Leo, looking over his shoulder to watch him sketch. Sangwon was quiet, his chin hooking onto the shoulder of the arm that held the sketchbook.

Leo didn’t so much as flinch, letting his pencil trail over the paper, the light sound of graphite against paper being drowned out by the music bouncing off of the walls of the studio. At the reception desk, someone’s phone vibrated, and from Leejeong’s space, Leo could hear him and his client laughing together about something.

Sangwon hummed lightly, his throat pressed against Leo’s shoulder in a way that allowed him to feel the vibrations from the sound. “What are you working on?”

“Flash designs. I have plenty of free time now that I have yet another cancellation. Debating filling in their slot tomorrow with a first come first served flash day and choose from what I’m working on now, or seeing if someone wants to book that slot first. I dunno which I’d prefer at this point.”

“A break, perhaps, instead of a client?”

“You sound like Jake, now.”

Sangwon smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Then maybe you should listen. You’re always working, hyung. A break isn’t going to kill you, and neither is a day off.”

Leo hummed, a noncommittal sound as he continued dragging his pencil along the paper. “I’m listening.”

“No, you’re hearing us.”

Leo looked up at Sangwon, his brow pinched in confusion. “…There’s a difference?”

Sangwon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, usually.”

Jake snorted from reception — Leo didn’t have to look over to know that he was making an impossible to describe face.

“There is when multiple people are telling you the same thing.”

Leo frowned, thoughtful as he glanced between the three of them, as if he were genuinely considering the possibility of a day off.

“I don’t even know what I’d do with a day or afternoon off.”

Sangwon’s answer came immediately, “Sleep.”

Jiahao didn’t bother looking up from his appointment book as he added, “Eat.”

Jake, shrugging one shoulder, pointed towards the front windows. “Touch grass.”

Leo blinked. “I tattoo people.”

In return, Jake only stared at him. “…Okay.”

“You said touch grass,” Leo mused.

“I know what I said.”

“I don’t understand the correlation.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, mate? Touching grass has nothing to do with tattooing people.” Jake sighed, running a hand down his face. “You really need to get outside more if that’s your first reaction.”

From his station, Leejeong laughed. “You work with tattoo artists and piercers, Jake. Normal conversations aren’t exactly part of the job description.”

Jake swung his arm around, not bothering to look in the direction of Leejeong’s station.

“You stay out of this.”

Leejeong and Jake’s quiet bickering faded into the background, the rain continuing to tap quietly against the windows. Someone’s phone buzzed at reception again before falling silent.

Leo turned his attention fully to Sangwon, resting the sketchbook against his thigh, absentmindedly tapping the eraser of his pencil against the cover as he observed his friend. Sangwon’s sleeves were rolled beneath his elbows, exposing his bare forearms. There were damp strands of hair brushing across his forehead, escaping from where he’d pushed them back earlier, and tiny droplets of rain clung stubbornly near his temples.

Leo pretended his gaze didn’t linger there for a moment longer than intended.

Then, quietly, “…You still don’t have one.”

Sangwon looked up, though he didn’t meet Leo’s gaze, only followed it to Sangwon’s forearms.

“Hm?”

Leo gestured towards the bare skin shown to him, resisting the urge to reach out and trail the tip of his index finger along Sangwon’s arm.

“A tattoo.”

He was stating the obvious, of course — Sangwon wouldn’t have gotten a tattoo without consulting Leo first, or even asking Leo to do it, particular about who touched him. Still, Sangwon laughed quietly, shaking his head.

“No, I don’t.”

Somewhere, out of the corner of his eye, Leo could see the way Jake froze, before he slowly and dramatically lowered the pen in his hand.

“Oh no.”

Beside him, Jiahao sighed, though he didn’t seem surprised in the least at Leo’s comment, shaking his head as he put his appointment book down, done futzing with it in a way to pass the time.

“Here he goes again.”

Sangwon’s brows pinched together, looking between Jake and Jiahao.

“What does that mean?”

Jake pointed directly at Leo. “This isn’t the first time he’s made that comment. It’s basically a recruitment speech at this point!”

Leo frowned. “It’s an observation, Jake, not a recruitment speech.”

“It’s an observation you make every other week at this point.”

“That feels like an exaggeration.”

Jiahao shook his head. “It’s really not. You mention it often enough that we know when it’s coming, usually after you’ve visited his shop multiple times in a week.”

From his station, Leejeong paused, leaning back in his seat to look out at the group.

“You’ve been trying to tattoo him since before Jake worked here, man.”

Leo didn’t think that was quite accurate — it couldn’t have been that long, surely? But with the way Jake nodded emphatically, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe his desire to tattoo Sangwon had been going on longer than he thought.

“I’ve literally inherited this conversation,” Jake stated, causing Sangwon to laugh softly as Leo sighed — it really couldn’t have been that long. “I think we started keeping a tally of every time Leo mentioned it since I started here.”

“You’ve been keeping track?” Sangwon asked.

“Well, we weren’t at first,” Jiahao stated, shrugging his shoulders as he looked between Sangwon and Leo. “The problem was that it just kept happening, and Jake started noting whenever Leo brought it up. Turns out, it was a lot more often than we realized.”

Jake shrugged. “Once you give something a way to be measured, it makes it way easier to track when it happens.”

Leo ignored them both, his attention remaining on Sangwon and his still-bare forearm.

“You’ve really never wanted one?”

Sangwon turned toward Leo, following his gaze again to his own arms.

“I don’t know.” He smiled a little sheepishly, shrugging one shoulder. “I guess I never really thought about it, or found something that felt… important enough. Like, I know some people get tattoos just because they like them and think they’re fun, and others get them because they hold a level of meaning to them. I think… I’m more of the type to have ones that hold meaning, and just… never had an idea for one.”

Leo’s expression shifted, just a touch, as if he had a thought that had decided to surface before he had time to decide whether or not to speak it out loud. Much like his other thoughts that day, though, it seemed imperative to share.

“What if I told you… I already have one?”

Sangwon blinked. “…Have one what?”

“A design.”

The silence that followed was… suffocating, to say the least. Jake slowly turned in his chair, the pen that had been in a loose grip falling from his fingers to the floor with a dull clatter. Meanwhile, Jiahao gave a quiet but audible huff, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity following Leo’s statement.

“…Excuse me?” Jake asked, clearly unsure of whether he had heard Leo correctly or not. Leo only looked between Sangwon, Jake, and Jiahao, entirely unbothered.

“I drew one.”

“…For who?” Sangwon hesitated in his question, only for Leo’s brows to pull together, genuinely confused by the question. Who else would it be for if the topic was Sangwon? Were the rest of them stupid, or simply playing dumb?

“You, of course.”

Another silence followed, only broken by the creaking of Jiahao’s chair as he leaned back, clicking his tongue. “Told you.”

Jake’s hands dragged down his face, exhaling slowly in exasperation. “You skipped, like… four conversational steps, including a consultation.”

Leo frowned. “Did I? I don’t think I did. Besides, when designing something with someone in mind, you don’t need an actual consultation. You only need one when someone decides to commit to something, or comes to you with an idea. I’ve been working on this with him in mind for a while, just waiting for him to say the word that he wants a tattoo. I don’t think there’s any harm in that.”

Jake flailed his arms in continued exasperation. “That’s still skipping steps! And how long is a while, anyway?!”

Sangwon only smiled, curiosity behind it now as he leaned forward, pressing the tip of his finger against Leo’s sketchbook, as if it held all the answers.

“When did you draw it?”

Leo thought for a moment. “…Last autumn?”

Jake’s head snapped toward him again. “Last autumn?! Leo, it’s almost June. You’ve just… had a tattoo design for Sangwon sitting in that sketchbook for, like, eight months?!”

Leo shook his head — it had never been a one and done day design. It had evolved over time the more Leo spent his free time with Sangwon and in the flower shop, observing him and the way his arm moved, taking notes of how each tendon twisted with his movements. He’d adjusted it the more he’d studied the flowers Sangwon worked with the most frequently, making sure that the likeness was perfect rather than just from memory, because imperfection in a tattoo that was dedicated to Sangwon just wouldn’t work — it had to be perfect, without any exceptions.

“No, not sitting. I’ve kept working on it over the last few months.” When Leo wasn’t met without jokes or commentary, he continued, looking down at the sketchbook in his lap and Sangwon’s finger. He let his thumb brush absently over the edge of one of the pages, thoughtful. “I kept changing little things as time passed. I’d realize some of the leaves didn’t look right, or that certain flowers didn’t grow facing the direction I’d drawn them in.”

Sangwon was quiet for a moment, watching Leo carefully. Then, “…Why?”

“Because when I look at you—” Leo stopped, his brows pinching together as he realized the words he had begun to say were meant to only be a thought, but had escaped before he could think better of it. It was an odd feeling, as if he had taken things one step further than he had intended to. Then, quietly, he continued, “…I already knew what belonged there.”

Sangwon didn’t answer — he didn’t trust in his own ability to after that. He had known Leo was observant, almost infuriatingly so, but this was a new level entirely that had him, ultimately, speechless.

Outside, the rain continued its steady rhythm against the studio windows, filling in the silence that no one in the studio seemed willing to break. Jake had turned back around, turning his back to Sangwon and Leo, greeting Jay quietly as he returned from his break. Jiahao laughed softly at whatever Jay said in return, followed by the quiet buzz of the tattoo machine once more in Leejeong’s station.

Life carried on around them as usual, and yet neither Leo nor Sangwon moved. Instead, Leo looked back down at the sketchbook in his lap, pretending he wasn’t aware of the weight of what he had just said. He absently smoothed the edge of the sketchbook down beneath his thumb before exhaling softly, turning his gaze back to Sangwon.

“…So,” he mused, drawing Sangwon’s attention back to him. “Do you want to see the design?”

Sangwon glanced down at the sketchbook and the flash sheet Leo had been working on, before looking back to Leo.

“…Yeah,” his voice quieter than he’d intended, though he knew Leo had still heard him. “I think I do.”

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Sangwon wasn’t sure how long it would take to get used to it. Not because anything was wrong, but it was simply because it was strange seeing ink on his skin now where there had been nothing yesterday.

He’d caught himself staring at it three separate times before the shop had even opened — first, it had been while rolling up the sleeves of his cardigan. The second time had been while washing his hands, and third had been when he’d reached for his keys before unlocking the front door to the shop.

Each time he saw it, it surprised him. It was unfamiliar to him, the grayscale lining his arm, but familiar in the sense that it was a part of him, something he had known all his life.

Leo… had outdone himself, really.

The tattoo followed the inside of his forearm in a gentle sweep, beginning just above his wrist before climbing naturally toward the bend of his elbow, the vine curving where his muscles shifted beneath the skin, weaving through open blossoms and smaller leaves that looked as though they had simply decided to grow there.

He rotated his wrist slowly beneath the morning light, careful not to twist too far and pull the second skin too much. The flowers seemed to move with him — not in a literal sense, but in the way Leo had intended them to.

Sangwon didn’t even realize he was smiling.

He didn’t look up from the tattoo as the bell over the shop door chimed, followed by a dramatic grunt from Anxin.

“Morning, hyung.”

Sangwon hummed in acknowledgement, barely glancing up when Anxin placed the two empty buckets from the storage room beside the work bench, a tired sigh leaving him.

“…You’ve been staring at that thing all morning.”

Sangwon blinked, lowering his arm and turning his head up to look at Anxin, who had chosen to rest his head in his palm, leaning against the work bench. “…Have I?”

Anxin snorted. “You almost walked into the hydrangeas.”

Sangwon made an affronted noise. “I did not.”

“You absolutely did, hyung.”

Sangwon could only shake his head, reaching for a pair of pruning shears, letting the familiar weight settle into his hand before reaching for a stem of baby’s breath. The tattoo shifted, and the familiar voice of Leo teasing him surfaces, saying you always twist your wrist like that.

His hand stopped, eyes focusing on one of the leaves on his arm.

“You know,” Leo murmured, wiping excess ink from Sangwon’s skin with practiced care. “I initially drew these facing the other direction.”

“What changed?” Sangwon couldn’t help but ask, gaze fixed on the ceiling above him, knowing that if he tried to watch Leo work, he would end up unintentionally ruining the design by tensing his arm or twitching at the wrong moment.

“You did.” Leo didn’t look up, only continued driving ink beneath Sangwon’s skin with deceptive gentleness. “You always reach for flowers from the left first, even when you have the same or a similar set to your right. So, the vine should follow that movement instead.”

The pruning shears closed with a quiet snip, working mindlessly as he replayed parts of their conversation to himself. Tiny white blossoms settled onto the worktable as Sangwon swallowed. He’d never noticed that he always instinctively reached for the left first, yet somehow… Leo had, and had put in such careful details into a design meant solely for Sangwon.

He watched as the tattoo shifted again as he reached for some nearby ribbon.

“This leaf,” Leo used his pinky to tap beside one of the smaller branches, not yet stained into Sangwon’s skin. “I redrew this one six times.”

“Why?”

“Because it was wrong.”

Sangwon’s brow furrowed. “Wrong how?

Leo shrugged, before pressing the needle back into Sangwon’s forearm. “The first four times, it was drooping, and I couldn’t figure out why it was bothering me. The fifth time, it was because I realized the species grows upward, so the transformation from down to up looked off. Then, it finally looked right the sixth time.”

He had never held any expectation for Leo to remember flowers, and yet he had done just that and more — he had learned and remembered how they grew, specifically for Sangwon.

His fingers slowed to a halt as he tied the ribbon around the bouquet he had been working on, lips turning downwards as he frowned. Somewhere behind him, Anxin had decided to busy himself with repotting some of the flowers that had outgrown their homes.

Eight months… eight months of looking, of revising, of noticing the way Sangwon worked and what he worked with the most often. The fact that Leo had paid that much attention to know which flowers Sangwon favored for a bouquet, to do the research needed to know how they behaved… the realization settled in the center of his rib cage, unbearably gentle as he thumbed over the ribbon in his hold.

Sangwon had always believed he was the observer between himself and Leo, that he was the one who paid quiet attention, the one who memorized drink orders and lunch habits, and the way that Leo would always rub at the bridge of his nose when he concentrated for too long because his vision would get blurry.

He had never considered, not even once, that perhaps Leo had been watching him just as carefully, if not more.

His left hand came up, thumb brushing absentmindedly over the second skin that trapped the ink in place. The linework was impossibly clean, as was expected of Leo’s work. Every petal opened exactly where and how it should, and every leaf turned toward an imaginary sun.

Sangwon knew that every tattoo that Leo did was beautiful, but something set this one apart from all the others — it wasn’t that it was more beautiful than any other, it was because it was his.

“This vine… I lost track of how many times I redrew it.” Leo sucked in air through his teeth, referring to the very vine he was working on in the moment. “It had to be at least fifteen before I finally got it.”

“Fifteen? Seems excessive, even for you.” Sangwon huffed out a quiet laugh before chancing a glance at Leo. “…Why so many times?”

Leo didn’t look up to answer, “It wasn’t following your arm.”

“…My arm.”

“Yeah, like… the way you move.” Leo lifted the tattoo machine, allowing himself to look up at Sangwon, meeting his eyes with complete sincerity, voice gentle. “I was never just drawing flowers, Sangwon. I was drawing you.”

Sangwon’s chest tightened.

Yesterday…. yesterday Leo’s words had sounded honest, painfully and impossibly so that Sangwon hadn’t questioned it at all. Today, though… Sangwon didn’t know what to call them. Because somewhere inside Leo’s studio, probably somewhere among his station and tucked safely into a drawer it had no business being in, was the love sachet he had accidentally sent off with Leo.

If magic had nudged those words free, and had lowered walls that Leo had never intended to lower, then every single interaction with Leo since, and every memory Sangwon had replayed when lost in thought, was standing on uncertain ground.

He couldn’t be sure which words Leo had meant to say, and which ones had fallen through the cracks.

His fingers instinctively curled around his own forearm, as if the tattoo would escape if he let it go despite the way it was permanent, etched into his skin and unquestionably real.

Everything else, though?

Sangwon wasn’t so sure about.

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Sangwon had almost convinced himself that he was used to the tattoo after a few days — almost.

The tattoo was no longer the strange part — he’d since removed the second skin with Leo’s permission. The gray wash ink had settled into and against his skin exactly the way Leo had promised it would, and there had been barely any ink fallout thanks to the fine lines. Sangwon could look at his arm without the shock of no longer seeing bare skin.

It was something he could work with, now, able to reach for flowers without stopping to admire the way the vines shifted beneath his wrist. He could wash his hands without turning his arm beneath the light to admire it, and he could even roll his sleeves up without thinking about Leo — mostly.

“Hyung.”

Sangwon looked up from the container of rhododendrons in front of him at the sound of Anxin’s voice. Anxin stood across from him at the work table, holding a clipboard against his chest with both hands, his expression conveying everything Sangwon needed to know — he had been watching Sangwon for long enough that the expression Anxin wore had shifted from a mild curiosity to something dangerously close to amusement.

“What?”

Anxin’s lips twitched. “Nothing.”

Sangwon narrowed his eyes as Anxin’s lips fully curved into a smile — one that made Sangwon immediately distrust anything that was about to come out of Anxin’s mouth.

“You’ve been weird,” Anxin commented, tone casual as he observed Sangwon.

“You say that like that’s something new.”

“Well, weird in a different way.”

Sangwon only snorted, shaking his head before returning his attention to the rhododendrons. “That’s not helpful.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Clearly. Don’t you have something else to be doing?”

Anxin laughed, wandering away before Sangwon could throw a stem at him.

The conversation after that disappeared with the quiet of the shop, leaving Sangwon with the soft scrape of the pruning shears and the faint music that Anxin had played from somewhere near the register. Beyond the shop, the city moved through another ordinary afternoon, with people passing the front windows with their umbrellas tucked beneath their arms, the rain having stopped roughly an hour ago.

Sangwon clipped another stem, and then another, the tattoo shifting beneath his sleeve, poking out the slightest amount to greet him each time he moved. He ignored it — mostly.

When the bell over the front door chimed moments later, Sangwon didn’t look up, not immediately at least. He didn’t have to, to be fair, as there was a particular rhythm to the footsteps that crossed the shop floor, familiar to the point that he would have been able to identify them without hearing the voice that followed.

“You look busy.”

Sangwon’s fingers paused around the stem in his hand — there it was, that stupid little flutter in his rib cage that had absolutely nothing to do with magic.

He looked up to find Leo standing to the side of the workbench, one hand tucked into the light jacket he wore, and the other holding two iced drinks, neatly tucked away into a bag labeled with the name of the cafe they tended to frequent. His hair was slightly damp around the edges still, though Sangwon couldn’t tell if it was from the weather, or because Leo had chosen to wash it before coming to the shop.

“You say that like you don’t regularly watch me work.”

Leo hummed, but didn’t make another comment. Instead, he lifted the bag, tilting his head somewhat. “I brought bribery.”

Sangwon’s gaze dropped to the bag, seeing the familiar, pale brown shade through the thin plastic — an iced vanilla latte, his go-to order from the cafe.

“You didn’t have to,” is what he found himself saying instead.

“I know,” Leo responded so easily and casually that Sangwon nearly forgot what he had been about to say. His mouth closed, only able to watch as Leo pulled the vanilla latte out from the bag, placing it in front of Sangwon, deliberately avoiding the piles of trimmed stems.

Sangwon could only stare at it before looking at Leo, watching as he pulled his own drink out of the bag — black iced tea, lightly sweetened, just enough to take away the bitterness. Leo’s usual order, no matter the season.

“You remembered.”

Leo’s brows pinched together. “Remembered what?”

“My order.”

“Of course I did. Sangwon, you’ve had the same drink for years.”

“Ah.” Sangwon looked down — it had been a stupid thing to say, an observation at best that was meant to stay silent and nothing more. But there was something in the way that Leo responded that made it feel as though Sangwon had been caught looking too closely at something that hadn’t exactly been meant for him.

He reached for the cup. “Thanks.”

“Mm.” Sangwon expected it to end just like that, in the sense that Leo would leave, go back to his studio and Sangwon would be left with Anxin’s not-so-subtle but gentle ridicules of how much Sangwon liked Leo. However, the opposite happened, in fact — Leo didn’t leave, and that in and of itself was the problem.

No, instead Leo chose to stay, leaning against the edge of the worktable instead, looking over the flowers that Sangwon had been sorting through with the vague interest of someone who had no idea what any of them were called, but had learned enough over the years to tell when Sangwon was pleased or frustrated with an arrangement.

Sangwon exhaled quietly, and tried to return to work — really, he tried to, separating the baby’s breath into smaller clusters and trimming away the weaker stems before setting the healthier blooms aside.

Unfortunately, Leo watched, and Sangwon could feel him watching, making Sangwon far too aware of each movement he made.

Eventually, without looking up, Sangwon sighed, “What?”

“Nothing.” Leo’s easy and far too casual answer irritated Sangwon, just a touch.

“You’re staring.”

Leo hummed, “Am I?”

Sangwon groaned, “Yes.”

Leo only hummed again — Sangwon glanced up, lips already twisted into a half-hearted scowl, only to find Leo smiling. It wasn’t a wide smile — it could barely be counted as a smile at all, really, but enough where his eyes softened and the corners of his lips pulled up.

It was gentle, annoyingly so that Sangwon had the need to immediately look away, back to his work, and hope that Leo didn’t notice the way the tips of his ears burned. He hated this — not Leo, of course, because he could never hate Leo.

He hated that he had this strange, new awareness of every tiny thing Leo did, how every insignificant sentence Leo uttered suddenly felt like it might have something more to it, a deeper meaning that Sangwon wasn’t able to see.

He swallowed thickly as he tied the stems of the flowers he was working with together.

“How’s the tattoo?” Leo suddenly asked, casual and to fill the silence left between them. Sangwon’s fingers tightened around the ribbon, lips pressing together as he willed himself to calm down.

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“It’s healing.”

“That’s good, but that’s not really what I was asking.” Sangwon looked up at Leo, watching as he shrugged. “Do you like it still?”

For a moment, Sangwon wondered what possessed Leo to ask such a question. It wasn’t as if he could simply change his mind about it and peel it off of his body — it was a part of him now, designed and carefully crafted by Leo with Sangwon in mind. How could he not like it?

The question also brought all of Sangwon’s questions to the surface — did Leo mean it? Did he mean it when he said he was drawing Sangwon? Did he mean it when he had said he already knew what belonged there? It was enough of an opening as any, taunting him because there was plenty of opportunity to take the question and run with it, and try and find the answers he wanted.

He made a face, positive that his confusion was perfectly conveyed.

His lips parted, “Hyung,”

Leo’s expression shifted immediately, his attention sharpening at Sangwon’s voice.

Sangwon hated how quickly and easily he noticed that, too.

“Yeah?”

Sangwon could do it — he’d spent days thinking about it, turning Leo’s comments over in his head until they no longer resembled words, but rather formed into a shape that vaguely resembled Leo himself. He had spent days wondering which parts of the things he had said belonged to the magic surrounding him, and which parts belonged to Leo.

All he had to do was ask.

“About the tattoo…” Leo waited, gaze transfixed on Sangwon, waiting for the next words to fall from his lips. Sangwon swallowed. “…You really took eight months?”

Shit. That wasn’t what he wanted to ask. He had every intention of asking a real question, of determining what was real and what was just a veil of half-truths, not… that.

Leo blinked, his mouth twitching in amusement. “That’s what you’re asking me?”

Sangwon felt his ears grow warmer, spreading into his cheeks.

“I was curious.”

“You could’ve asked me that the other day.”

“Well, I’m asking you now.”

Leo snorted, amused. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Leo shifted his weight against the table, before giving up, choosing to sit down on his usual stool. He glanced towards Sangwon’s exposed forearm.

“Yeah, it took eight months, but I didn’t work on it every day.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

“There were some weeks I didn’t touch it at all.”

Sangwon’s thumb brushed against the ribbon, turning his eyes towards it, catching the tattoo out of the corner of his eye.

“But you kept coming back to it.”

“Of course I did.” Sangwon’s chest tightened at how immediately Leo answered, how easy it was for him to admit that he never gave up on the piece that decorated Sangwon’s skin.

“Why?” Sangwon pressed his lips together after asking, glancing up at Leo, realizing that maybe he had asked the wrong question when Leo looked at him. Though when Leo’s expression changed in the small ways it tended to when he was thinking, glancing down at Sangwon’s hands, Sangwon thought perhaps it had been the right question to ask.

“Because it mattered.” Leo didn’t seem to notice when Sangwon stilled, instead choosing to reach for one of the stems of baby’s breath that Sangwon had discarded, turning it slowly between his fingers. It was almost strange to see Leo holding a flower that Sangwon hadn’t given him directly. “I don’t spend that long on things I don’t care about, or aren’t important to me.”

Sangwon stared at him — there was something dangerously close to an answer within reach, one that he could easily take without too much more prodding. All he had to do was ask one question, simple but weighted — did he do it because he loves Sangwon?

His heart stuttered — no, he couldn’t ask that. There would still be no honesty behind the words, the influence of the sachet lingering behind. Even if the words were honest, there was the small problem of if Leo had even wanted Sangwon to know the truth.

Sangwon wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know.

Sangwon swallowed, choosing a different direction. “Do you think it’s weird?”

Leo looked at him, tilting his head. “What?”

“The tattoo.”

“Well, no, considering I designed it.”

“That’s not what I mean. Do you think it’s weird that you designed something like this for me without me asking? Don’t get me wrong, I really do like it, and I think you did a wonderful job with the design and translating it from paper to my skin. I’m just… I guess I’m wondering why you did it when I didn’t ask you to.”

Leo’s brows furrowed for a moment before his expression shifted into something a little more sheepish before he looked at the baby’s breath in his fingers.

“I did it because I wanted to.”

Sangwon stared at him, his own brows pulling together.

“That’s not really an answer.”

“It is, though.”

“It really isn’t.”

Leo shrugged, unbothered by Sangwon’s notion about Leo’s answer. “You’re the one who agreed to let me tattoo you.”

“After you showed me the design.”

“Still counts, Sangwonnie.”

Sangwon huffed, “That is not how that works.”

Leo only laughed — Sangwon found that he hated it, just a touch, but not because he disliked Leo’s laugh, but the complete opposite. He liked it too much. He watched as Leo set the stem down, leaning back slightly with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Besides, I already knew what I wanted to do. It was getting the design to translate perfectly from my head to the paper to your skin that was the challenge.”

Sangwon held his breath for a moment, “How?”

Leo looked at Sangwon in confusion. “How what?”

“How did you know what you wanted to do?”

Leo huffed, confusion giving way to amusement, “Because I’ve known you for eight years.”

It should have been enough for Sangwon, a simple answer that answered all of Sangwon’s questions. Instead, Sangwon found himself staring at Leo, searching his expression for some indication that there was more beneath Leo’s words.

There wasn’t, of course — if there was, Sangwon couldn’t find it.

He looked down at his arm, focused on the way the tattoo curved quietly beneath his skin, a new question at the tip of his tongue.

“Do you think,” Sangwon began slowly, cautious with the words he was choosing, “that you can know something about yourself without actually realizing you know it?”

At Leo’s silence, Sangwon immediately regretted asking, shaking his head and reaching for another stem.

“Never mind—”

“Yeah.”

Sangwon paused, his fingers resting lightly on one of the stems. Leo’s answer had been so quiet, Sangwon had to wonder if he’d imagined the response. When he looked up, he found that Leo was watching him.

“Yeah,” Leo repeated, making sure that Sangwon heard him this time. “I think you can.”

“Why?”

Leo shrugged. “People aren’t always good at admitting things to themselves.”

Sangwon’s fingers curled around the stem. “Even when they already know?”

“Especially then.”

Sangwon’s heart was beating too hard to where he could feel it in his throat — with every question, they grew closer to a barrier that Sangwon wasn’t sure was meant to be crossed.

“…Do you think they’d want someone else to tell them?”

Sangwon’s stomach dropped as Leo’s gaze sharpened. He’d gone too far, asking questions that didn’t need attention. Leo didn’t say anything for a moment, considering the question as his thumb rubbed against the edge of his own wrist, tracing a long since healed tattoo that Sangwon couldn’t remember Leo not having.

“Probably not.” Leo’s expression remained thoughtful, even as Sangwon stared. “I mean, if it’s something about themselves, shouldn’t they get to figure it out?”

Sangwon glanced away. “Yeah.”

“At least, that’s what I think.”

Sangwon couldn’t tell if the ache forming in his chest was relief or grief. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out. His gaze dropped to his tattoo again, the flowers as still as his arm was.

He drew in a slow breath, “Leo.”

“Mm?”

There were so many things Sangwon could say, things that he wanted to say.

I love you.

Have you ever thought about me that way?

Did you mean what you said?

Was that you?

Was it the magic?

Instead, he was quiet, looking at the drink Leo had brought him, the condensation slipping down the side of the plastic and onto the table.

Sangwon smiled despite himself.

Leo pushed away from the table after Sangwon didn’t respond. “I’ll leave you alone, let you get back to work.”

Sangwon’s fingers twitched against the stems still in his hold. “You don’t have to.”

Leo paused, and Sangwon’s stomach dropped — he had been so quick to say something to stop Leo from leaving, he hadn’t thought about the follow through, or what Leo could possibly do while Sangwon worked.

Even still, Leo nodded slowly, more to himself than in response to Sangwon, pulling himself closer to the table again, waiting for Sangwon to say something else, to make his feelings known.

Sangwon cleared his throat, forcing himself to look down as he busied his hands with the arrangement in front of him.

“I mean… you can stay if you want.”

Leo was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”

And that was it — no further prying, no trying to get Sangwon to elaborate further on anything he’d said, just… accepted it, letting the quiet naturally settle around them, familiar enough that Sangwon could almost pretend that nothing had changed. His fingers moved along the stems of the arrangement, his ears twitching the slightest amount as he heard Leo pull out his sketchbook.

Sangwon hadn’t even noticed the messenger bag that had been slung over Leo’s shoulder when he’d walked in, only the bag containing the drinks Leo had stopped by their favorite cafe for. That was a detail that made it harder for Sangwon to pretend that nothing had changed — because things had changed. There was a tattoo on his arm that Leo had designed with Sangwon in mind, and Sangwon had come within a breath of asking a question he had been carrying for days.

There was something deeper that he understood, something that was far more frightening than any answer he could have gotten — he didn’t want Leo to tell him the truth as to how he felt. Not yet, at least, not if there was even the smallest chance that the answer would be pulled from somewhere Leo had kept close to himself, safe and secure.

Because Sangwon could live with uncertainty and silence, but he couldn’t live with taking something from Leo and calling it a confession, not with potential lingering effects of the sachet influencing Leo’s every decision.

His fingers pulled the ribbon tight, securing the arrangement in place.

If Sangwon confessed to Leo first, there was a chance that Leo could accept his confession, but only due to outside influence.

And if Leo confessed first… Sangwon wasn’t sure if that would belong to Leo entirely, either.

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

The next few days didn’t bring Sangwon any closer to clarity — if anything, they only served to make Sangwon more aware of how little he could actually know.

Leo was still Leo, and that should have been a comfort more than anything. He still sent Sangwon pictures when he probably should have been working, mostly of flowers he couldn’t identify correctly to be annoying — most of the time, he left the search in the Naver bar, with just a color he’d chosen followed by the word flower. He still complained whenever Sangwon replaced the flowers in his studio before they were technically dead, and he still forgot to eat when he got busy, still drank his tea too quickly, and still left his sketchbook behind somewhere in Sangwon’s shop often enough that Sangwon simply stopped bothering to return it.

There was nothing that was particularly different about Leo, and yet Sangwon had begun to notice everything, even more than he had been before.

Every time Leo said something unexpectedly sincere, Sangwon wondered if the sachet was at the root of it. Every time Leo looked at him for longer than necessary, Sangwon found himself wondering if that look had always been there or not, or if it was something new, dictated by that terrible little sachet that never should have ended up in Leo’s hands.

To make matters worse, was that Leo never seemed bothered by any of it, and had never mentioned the sachet, had never mentioned anything strange, and hadn’t even asked Sangwon why he had been quieter than usual — which, somehow, made Sangwon feel worse.

By the time the fourth day had come and gone after their conversation in Sangwon’s shop, where he had come too close to asking all the things he never wanted to find the answers to, Sangwon had managed to convince himself that he could simply leave things alone and the way they were.

The sachet had been an accident, and the magic was gone. It was never meant to linger in the first place, and whatever happened afterward would eventually settle into something Sangwon could understand, and if it didn’t… Sangwon would learn to live with it.

It was easier to believe when he was alone. It was considerably harder to believe when Leo appeared at the flower shop in the evenings, just before closing, and with a plastic cup balanced between his fingers, a familiar crease in his brows that appeared whenever he’d spent too long concentrating.

Which was the dilemma Sangwon was facing right then, as Leo placed the coffee on the counter, leaning against it just after.

“Your latte.”

Sangwon looked at the latte, and then at Leo.

“You brought me coffee?”

“You’re making that sound suspicious.”

“It’s late.”

“It’s decaf.”

Sangwon pressed his lips together — Leo knew just how to silence him with points that Sangwon couldn’t argue with. Leo sighed, mild offense crossing his expression with the conversation he’d walked into. He wasn’t truly offended, Sangwon knew that much — Leo would have been wearing a much different expression if he was.

“You said you wanted one.”

Sangwon’s fingers tightened slightly around the bouquet he had just finished wrapping.

“When did I say that?”

Leo stared at Sangwon, silent for a moment, before his expression changed into something far more incredulous. “Yesterday.”

“Ah.”

“You asked me yesterday.”

“Right…” Sangwon had forgotten entirely — it had been a passing comment, from what he remembered, and not exactly a specific request, but it seemed as though Leo had interpreted it as one anyway.

“You’re weird,” Leo teased, and Sangwon swallowed, because there it was again, lingering in his space. It was something small and something ordinary that never would have mattered to anyone else; Leo had remembered.

But of course Leo remembered. Leo remembered things all the time, and Sangwon knew that. He’d spent years learning and discovering just how observant Leo was, and had only recently discovered that perhaps… Sangwon had been underestimating him.

The idea settled uncomfortably in his chest, a feeling he’d begun getting used to ever since the sachet had gone missing. Well, perhaps not missing, but misplaced.

Leo nudged the cup a little closer. “Drink it before the ice melts.”

Sangwon looked down at the latte, trailing to where Leo’s hand connected with the drink, and then to the tattoo visible beneath the pushed-up sleeve of his shirt, similar but drastically different to Sangwon’s.

His stomach twisted, thinking about his own tattoo — not that there was anything wrong with it, because there wasn’t. It was beautiful, and Leo had made it for him. Leo had spent eight months watching Sangwon closely enough to know how his body moved and how flowers grew, about the directions Sangwon instinctively reached towards while working on a bouquet.

His stomach twisted for other reasons, too, like the fact that he had no idea which parts of everything Leo had said belonged entirely to Leo, and because he was beginning to realize that he couldn’t keep asking himself that question without eventually asking Leo — and revealing the existence of magic, and the confession of the love sachet.

“Sangwon?”

Sangwon looked up at the sound of Leo’s voice — Leo was watching him, a curious, if not, somewhat concerned, look on his face.

“What?”

“You’ve been staring at my hand for, like, thirty seconds. Everything good?”

“I was just thinking.”

Leo smirked softly. “That’s usually when you get into trouble, you know.”

Sangwon wanted to smile at the teasing, he really did. But the weight on his chest made it difficult to engage with Leo’s lighthearted teasing. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips.

“Leo.”

Something must have betrayed him in his voice, because Leo stopped teasing, his body relaxing into something a little more calm, giving Sangwon his full attention.

“Yeah?”

Sangwon breathed out softly. He didn’t answer right away, much like the other day, leaving the shop quiet aside from the low hum of the refrigerated cases and the faint sounds of traffic from beyond the doors of the shop.

He could still choose not to say anything, still having time to change his mind. He could finish closing, could let Leo wait for him to finish before they both needed to head home. He could continue to pretend that uncertainty was kinder than the truth, because the sachet had already taken enough from him, such as his certainty and his ease, and the ability to look at something real without wondering whether or not he’d somehow caused it.

There was no reason to allow it to take Leo’s choice, too.

“I need to tell you something.” Sangwon’s voice was quiet, just enough for Leo to hear. In an instant, Leo’s expression changed — it wasn’t anything dramatic, but enough for Sangwon to notice, and enough for Sangwon to know there was no taking it back. He had rehearsed this conversation so many times over the course of the last few days that, by the time it came to have the actual conversation, none of the words he had prepared sounded right.

For Sangwon, it was easier to explain flowers. It was easier to explain something tangible like flowers than the way magic worked when it lived quietly inside the stems and petals Sangwon worked with, or the way it could be folded into sachets and tied away beneath ribbons. It was easier to explain flowers than to explain intention mattered, and magic could only follow what already existed, and that nothing could truly be created where there had been nothing before.

More than that, it was considerably harder to explain that he had accidentally given Leo a love sachet, and harder still to explain how he had spent years making sure he would never do exactly that.

Sangwon looked down at his hands — would Leo even believe him?

“I have magic.”

The following silence wasn’t entirely what Sangwon had expected. Leo’s brows pulled together in confusion.

“Okay?”

That also wasn’t exactly the response Sangwon had expected from Leo. He had expected an accusation of magic not being real, that Sangwon was making things up, not just a simple okay.

“Okay?” Sangwon echoed, because maybe he just hadn’t heard Leo right, was all. “What do you mean okay?”

“You said you needed to tell me something.”

“Well, yes, but—” Sangwon cut himself off, exhaling through his nose to keep himself from stammering further. “You don’t understand.”

“So, explain it to me, then.” It was such an irritatingly Leo response that Sangwon couldn’t even truly be mad about it — because of course Leo would say something so simple and reassuring, and wouldn’t immediately default to calling Sangwon crazy.

Sangwon swallowed, because that was far easier said than done — but it was too late to retract the statement, to claim he was just kidding, because he had Leo’s full attention, waiting for him to give an actual answer.

He exhaled again, slowly, eyes still focused on his hands. “There are different kinds of magic,” Sangwon said eventually. “And not everyone does the same thing I do.”

Leo remained quiet, a silent urge for Sangwon to continue.

“Mine is… emotional, I guess. That’s the easiest way to explain it. I can work with feelings and such, but I need something to carry it through, and for me, that’s flowers.” He watched as his fingers curled in towards his palms before straightening out somewhat.

“The flowers themselves aren’t inherently magical. They’re just the medium I learned to use when my magic first appeared. My grandmother was the one who taught me how to work with them, and how to put intention into an arrangement and let the magic follow it.”

Leo hummed, “So, when you make those weirdly specific bouquets—”

“They’re not weirdly specific.”

The corner of Leo’s mouth twitched. Sangwon ignored him.

“The flowers give the magic somewhere to go. The choices I make matter — what I use, how I arrange it, how I cut the stems, even down to how I tie the ribbon. The intention has to be there first. I can’t just… decide I want someone to feel something and make it happen.”

He paused, tongue darting out to wet his lips slightly.

“Sachets are different. They’re more… concentrated because the magic is contained in something small, instead of able to flow freely through the flowers. Calm, sleep, clarity, comfort… love.” Sangwon’s teeth pressed into his lower lip. Leo’s expression didn’t change in the slightest, but for Sangwon, things felt a little… heavier.

“Love magic doesn’t make someone fall in love. It can’t create feelings that aren’t already there. I can’t make someone love another person just because I want them to.” His fingers laced tightly together. “But it can make existing feelings harder to avoid. It can lower the emotional barriers someone has built around themselves, and it can make something they’ve been ignoring… easier to recognize.”

Sangwon swallowed again, finally lifting his head to look at Leo, even as his fingers tightened further together in his lap. “Sometimes it just makes something you’ve known for a long time impossible to keep pretending you don’t know.”

“I’m telling you all of this because… there was a sachet that you ended up with.” Sangwon could see the minuscule way Leo’s expression changed, just a small twitch of curiosity — or what Sangwon hoped was curiosity. “I didn’t mean to give it to you.”

Sangwon turned his gaze back to the floor, the confession between them.

“It was an accident. I was wrapping the flowers, and it got caught between the papers. I didn’t notice until afterward that it was missing, and by then… you already had it.”

Leo didn’t respond, remaining silent until Sangwon was done.

“I never use magic on you,” Sangwon continued, because that felt important to clarify, the most important of everything he had to say. “I’ve never used it on you, not intentionally. I wouldn’t.”

His voice caught slightly — because that had been the truth, hadn’t it? That had always been Sangwon’s rule. It had never been because Leo couldn’t handle it and not because Sangwon thought he would react — he was proving that now, as he patiently sat through Sangwon’s rambling.

It was always because Leo mattered too much.

“I made that rule a long time ago,” Sangwon said through an exhale. “I made it before I even knew what I was going to need it for. And I broke that rule by being careless with the love sachet that ended up in one of the bouquets I gave you instead of safely put away with the rest of the sachets I make. That’s a mistake I really… I can’t forgive myself for that.”

Sangwon fell quiet for a moment, staring down at his hands now rather than the floor.

The problem had never been the magic itself, rather what the magic meant when it touched Leo — that the possibility that something honest between them could become impossible for Sangwon to trust, simply because he had interfered with it.

“I didn’t want to change what you felt about me. I didn’t want to make you say something because I’d made it easier for you to say it. I didn’t want you to look at me differently because of something I’d done.” He pressed his lips together. “And I especially didn’t want to find out that something you said to me was only something you said because I accidentally influenced it.”

His eyes burned, thankful that Leo couldn’t see his expression.

“I don’t know what it changed.” That was the part that terrified Sangwon the most, not knowing what was or wasn’t real between them any longer. “I don’t know what was already there and what wasn’t. I don’t know if it only made you less hesitant, or… I don’t know.”

There was no reason to make the uncertainty feel and sound smaller than it was, or make it seem less meaningful — because it was everything Sangwon felt, and had to let exist between them in the moment.

“If you meant those things, I want them to belong to you.” His voice had gone soft, barely above a whisper. “Not because of me, or magic, but because they’re yours.”

When Sangwon finally looked up, Leo’s expression was impossible to read. His chest tightened at the idea that Leo could possibly be upset with him.

“I just… I thought you deserved to know.”

Leo was quiet for a moment, longer than usual, and not because he didn’t have anything to say. If anything, he had too much to say, and for once, wanted to make sure he was saying the right thing. He exhaled softly, gaze dropping briefly to the tattoo on Sangwon’s arm.

“That tattoo was designed before the sachet,” he finally said, Sangwon’s expression shifting. Before Sangwon could interrupt, Leo continued, “So was bringing you lunch, or dinner. Me knowing when you skip meals, knowing what you order, knowing when you’re tired just by looking at you… all of that was before.”

Sangwon’s fingers tightened together.

“I didn’t even know there was a sachet,” Leo added. “I threw the wrapping paper away a day or so after you gave me the bouquet. If it was in there, I never noticed it.”

Leo leaned back slightly, arms crossing over his chest as he thought.

“I don’t know what it did. I’m not going to pretend I do, either.” His brows pulled together, trying to recall the past few weeks, and when things had possibly changed. “Maybe it made me say things I’d normally keep to myself. Maybe it made it easier to stop thinking about whether I should say them first.”

Leo glanced towards Sangwon. “But the thoughts were already there. That’s the part you’re getting wrong. Whatever the sachet did, it didn’t make me notice you.”

Leo’s eyes dropped again, following the line of the tattoo poking out from beneath Sangwon’s sleeve, just as perfect as the day he had done it.

“I spent eight months designing that. I watched how you move, and which flowers you work with. I changed the design because I noticed things you didn’t even know you did. There was no sachet when I began sketching that tattoo, to the day I decided it was worthy of being put on your body.” His mouth twitched faintly. “You think a little piece of fabric made me do all that?”

Sangwon looked down. “When you put it that way… no.”

“Good.” Leo’s thumb rubbed absently against his own bicep in thought, lips twisting somewhat before clicking his tongue, exhaling through his nose. “Because I do think the sachet did something. I’m not stupid. There were things I said over those few days after you gave me that bouquet that I probably would have kept in my head otherwise. Things I didn’t realize I’d been holding back until they were already out of my mouth.”

Leo paused, nodding to himself for a moment. “And, honestly?” His lips twitched as Sangwon finally looked at him. “It was kind of nice. Not the magic, but the part where I didn’t have to second-guess every thought before I even said it.”

Leo could feel his expression relax, softening as he met Sangwon’s gaze.

“I realized I like saying things to you. I like telling you when I notice something, and I like letting you know when I miss you. I like telling you when something you’re doing is driving me insane. And,” he paused for a moment, as if contemplating his next words. “I like telling you that you’re pretty, which is something I actually haven’t told you as much as I’ve wanted to.”

Leo ignored the faint, strangled noise that Sangwon made.

“The sachet might have made all of that easier. I don’t know. Maybe that’s all it did. Because once I realized I could say those things without the world ending, I really didn’t want to go back to pretending I didn’t think them.”

Sangwon was quiet after that. Leo let him be. He didn’t think either of them needed to fill the silence just because it was there. After all, Sangwon had just spent the last several minutes giving Leo an explanation that had probably terrified him more than Leo could truly understand. There was no reason to rush toward an answer just because the conversation had reached a plateau — there wasn’t necessarily an answer to begin with, so much as a conclusion.

Eventually, Sangwon exhaled, his shoulders loosening a fraction.

“So you don’t think everything was because of the sachet?”

Leo frowned slightly. “No.”

He glanced down at Sangwon’s arm again, at the tattoo that had existed in the confines of Leo’s sketchbook long before either of them had known there was anything to possibly be afraid of.

“If anything, I think the sachet made me less careful. And honestly… I’m not sure I even want to be as careful as I was before.” Sangwon’s eyes met his, and for a moment, Leo held his gaze before looking away, finding the edge of the table far more interesting. “But that’s not something I’m going to figure out tonight.”

A tiny breath of laughter escaped Sangwon, sounding more like relief than anything else.

“No,” Sangwon murmured his agreement. “But I don’t think I want to be careful anymore, either.”

Leo nodded once.

For tonight, that was enough.

 ❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

The following afternoon was as ordinary as any other.

Leo had two appointments scheduled before closing, and one reschedule that had left an inconvenient gap in the middle of his day, and a growing list of things he needed to remember to do before he headed out for the day.

To add to the ordinary, somewhere in the background, Jake complained about the printer, and Jiahao complained about Jake complaining about the printer. Leejeong had disappeared into the back room in search of something he had insisted he had put there himself. The only out of the ordinary occurrence taking place was the steady streams of clients Jay was getting, mostly walk-ins for simple piercings rather than scheduled piercing appointments.

Other than that, nothing about the day suggested that it would be different from any other.

And yet, after lunch, Leo had caught himself looking toward the front door whenever the bell chimed. He kept telling himself that it meant nothing, that he was simply being nosy on who Jiahao or Leejeong’s clients were, or who Jay was going to pierce next.

In truth, he had spent most of the morning doing that, actually — telling himself that things meant nothing. He had to tell himself that the way he had woken up thinking about Sangwon before he’d even opened his eyes meant nothing, or the fact that he had reread a message from Sangwon twice before answering. Then there was the fact that Leo had nearly texted him during his first appointment of the day just to ask if he’d eaten yet, before realizing that was absolutely ridiculous, as he still had a job to do.

None of it meant anything — except it did, and Leo knew it.

Leo had also spent most of the previous night replaying the conversation they had, thinking about everything Sangwon had confessed to him. He didn’t necessarily think he was obsessively going over it — he’d gone home and showered, had a late night snack, and tried to watch a drama that Xinlong had suggested to him.

But he had also spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at the ceiling while replaying everything Sangwon had told him — about magic, about the sachet, and the fear behind every careful word spoken since the incident.

The longer Leo had thought about it, the more he could see why Sangwon had worried about the things Leo had said, even if to Leo, those worries were completely unfounded. Technically, the sachet hadn’t changed anything, had only complicated them somewhat.

The tattoo had come before the sachet. The lunches and dinners, the memorized orders, the small observations that he’d collected without noticing — they’d all come before the sachet. They had all come from knowing Sangwon for eight years, and not because of some accidental love spell.

Leo still wasn’t sure what had changed, and he wasn’t exactly sure he would ever know for certain. But at some point, maybe around 2 am, he’d stopped trying to separate every thought he’d ever had since ending up with the sachet into neat categories of mine and not mine — some things simply belonged to him, and that was enough.

This time when the bell above the front door chimed, Sangwon was standing just inside the studio when Leo looked up.

Sangwon’s hair was slightly windblown, a few strands falling delicately across his forehead, a paper bag carefully tucked beneath one arm. His other hand was wrapped around the strap of his messenger bag.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, simply looking at each other. Then, Sangwon lifted the paper bag slightly.

“I brought food.”

Leo glanced at the clock, “It’s almost three.”

Sangwon nodded, “I know.”

“You’re late.”

The corner of Sangwon’s mouth twitched, “I was working.”

Leo sighed, somewhat dramatically, “You’re always working.”

Sangwon snorted, “So are you.”

Leo couldn’t deny that one, honestly. From the reception desk, Jake glanced between them, pausing in the email he was writing. Jiahao noticed Jake going still, turning his own gaze between them. Nobody said anything, the silence enveloping the studio until Sangwon cleared his throat.

“I can leave if you’re busy.”

“No,” Leo looked away, aware of how quickly he had responded when Sangwon blinked curiously at him. “I mean— it’s fine if you stay, you know I don’t mind when you’re here.”

The conversation was all too familiar to the same one they’d had the day before, when Sangwon had quickly said that Leo could stay when he had gone to leave.

Sangwon’s lips curved up into a small smile, stepping further into the studio, “Okay.”

Behind him, the bell chimed delicately as the door swung back into place.

It still should have felt like any other afternoon — it wasn’t as if it was Sangwon’s first time in the studio, or his first time visiting Leo. He’d been there countless times before. Sangwon knew where each chair was and whose station was whose. He knew which floorboard creaked near the reception desk, and he knew Jake’s go-to coffee order, and which drawer Jiahao stashed away spare pens. He knew which plants Leejeong had watered and then forgotten about, and which ones Leo had managed to kill despite being told they were impossible to kill.

Nothing about Sangwon being there was unusual — except that Leo couldn’t stop looking at him, and Sangwon seemed to notice.

“You’re staring.”

“I am not.” Leo defended.

Sangwon snorted, “You are.”

Leo ignored the comment, looking back towards his station, away from the too sharp ears of Jake. Jiahao, at the very least, had since disappeared back to his station to prepare for his upcoming client. Without question or argument, Sangwon followed Leo without another word, settling into the chair beside Leo’s station normally reserved for guests of his clients, setting the paper bag on the counter.

For a quiet few moments, they didn’t talk. Leo finished cleaning a set of tools as Sangwon watched, allowing the studio to move around them. From a distance away, Jake answered a phone call, Jiahao sang quietly along with the music playing overhead as he prepared for his client, and Leejeong laughed at something his client said. Jay was nowhere to be visibly found, off with a client in the back, piercing with precision.

It was just… ordinary. Painfully so, but ordinary.

Eventually, when he had no more tools to busy himself with, Leo reached for the food, making a quiet noise of surprise seeing his usual order within the bag.

“You remembered.”

Sangwon looked at him as though the statement was strange.

“I always remember your order.”

Leo paused — because it made sense. After all, Leo always remembered Sangwon’s order, why wouldn’t Sangwon remember his? Maybe that was something he finally understood — it was never about just one moment that he needed to linger on and think about. It was years of moments like these that dictated everything Leo thought and felt.

Leo opened the bag, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sangwon didn’t look at Leo as he answered. Instead, he looked down at his hands. Leo noticed, of course — he noticed a lot of things about Sangwon over the years, like the way his fingers worried at ribbons when he was nervous, or the way his thumb pressed against the side of his index finger when he was thinking hard about something. There was the way he would go very still when he was trying to decide whether something was safe to say, and the way he had a tendency to ramble on for explanations if someone didn’t interrupt him.

Leo waited, knowing that Sangwon was deep in thought, based on the way his left thumb was pressed against his left index finger. Eventually, he broke the quiet with a deep inhale.

“Did you think about what we talked about yesterday?”

Of course he had. For hours on end, whenever he didn’t have a distraction in front of him, his mind would find its way back to that conversation.

“Yeah.”

Sangwon nodded slowly, “So did I.”

The stillness that followed made Leo wish that his station was closed off the way Jay’s was, or that he had the key to Xinlong’s, just for some privacy, with the fact that neither of them seemed particularly interested in pretending that this was casual anymore.

Leo set the food down without opening it.

“What did you think about?” Leo found himself asking, though he was sure he could have guessed, could have predicted what the answer was without needing to ask. Sangwon’s gaze shifted towards his tattoo, before up towards Leo, meeting his eye.

“Everything.” Leo waited for Sangwon to continue, regarding him gently as Sangwon inhaled slowly. “I kept thinking about how I needed to know exactly what the sachet changed before I could say anything.” Sangwon’s fingers tightened together. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to know that. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to know exactly what the sachet changed. Maybe it made you say things you wouldn’t have said otherwise, or made you realize things faster, or made it easier to say things you’d already been thinking.”

Sangwon paused, exhaling slowly, his voice growing quieter.

“And I don’t think I can spend the rest of my life trying to pick apart the words you said to figure out what was influenced and what wasn’t. So, I’m not going to.” Leo’s expression softened further, watching Sangwon’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Because I know what I feel.”

For the first time since he’d walked through the door, for the first time in what was probably days, Sangwon looked entirely certain and fearless. His expression had Leo’s heart climbing into his throat, able to feel the way his pulse quickened with anticipation at Sangwon’s next words. He could predict them, sure, but hearing them… hearing them was something entirely new.

“And… what is that?” Leo was almost afraid to voice the question, unsure if he had actually managed to voice it.

“That I love you. That I’m in love with you.”

Leo went still — for once, there was nothing between them that needed any explanation. Leo had known, of course, that Sangwon loved him, but it had always been under the assumption that he loved Leo as a friend. But to hear that Sangwon was in love with him… that was different. He let the words settle, holding his breath for a moment, letting it all process.

Around them, the studio seemed to become strangely quiet despite the fact that nothing around them had changed — Jake was still on the phone at the reception desk, Leejeong was still working on his client, Jiahao had begun working on his, and from Jay’s piercing room, a drawer opened and closed.

And still, Sangwon waited, his gaze unwavering from Leo, resolved in getting some kind of answer. Leo could see the nervousness buzzing beneath Sangwon’s skin, echoed in the way his fingers pressed together so tight to where his knuckles were white, and the small bounce in his right leg… but there was no hesitation, only sincerity.

He meant it, with every fiber of his being, and somehow, it made Leo’s chest ache painfully, far more than anything else — because wasn’t that everything he’d wanted to hear from Sangwon for… years, now? He supposed, if he really thought about it, he could have figured it out sooner, too — in the ways Sangwon always carefully cared for him, making sure he was healthy and eating, finding reasons to see him by bringing him flowers that were never overly necessary, carefully crafted to suit Leo’s taste and the studio aesthetic.

Maybe, somewhere, Leo had known all along, and had just been waiting for Sangwon to realize.

“I know.” Leo said, breaking the silence, surprising Sangwon with the statement. Maybe he hadn’t exactly known, but he could pretend, at the very least.

“You—”

“I know.” A faint smile tugged at Leo’s mouth. “At least, I was hoping that was the case, more than I knew.”

“That’s— then that isn’t knowing, Leo. Why were you— you’re so—”

Leo laughed softly, Sangwon’s stammering speaking volumes, “Yeah. I know.”

Sangwon’s expression fell into somewhere between disbelief and amusement, until Leo reached across the space between them, his hand finding Sangwon’s without searching. Leo watched as Sangwon’s expression morphed into something far more curious, even as his fingers instinctively intertwined with Leo’s.

“I love you too. I’m in love with you, too.”

Sangwon’s fingers tightened against his. There was no magic to sway Leo’s words, no invisible shift in the air that would indicate interference. Just the warmth of their hands entwined, and a certainty in Leo’s voice that had Sangwon exhaling slowly, looking down at their joined hands, before back up at Leo.

“So…”

Leo laughed quietly, already knowing what was coming. And still…

“So?”

“Are we dating?”

Leo hummed, as if he were actually considering the question.

“Well, if you really think about it, we’ve basically been dating for years.”

Sangwon’s eyebrows rose, “That is not how dating works.”

“Maybe not officially.”

“Leo.”

Leo sighed in mock defeat, “Fine,” His expression turned playfully gentle, lifting their joined hands to his lips, smiling against the back of Sangwon’s hand. “Yes, Lee Sangwon, we’re dating.”

Leo watched as Sangwon’s shoulders finally relaxed, his ears reddening at the fact that Leo’s lips were still pressed to the back of his hand.

“…If you’re going to kiss me, at least do it right, stupid.”

Leo laughed softly, lowering their joined hands, yet keeping them locked together.

“Insulting your boyfriend already? How mean of you, Sangwon.”

Sangwon only rolled his eyes, though the tugging at his lips betrayed him. “Are you going to keep talking?”

“Probably.”

“Leo.”

“I’m teasing.”

Leo’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, swallowing back the nerves that didn’t need to exist before he leaned forward, his free hand coming up to rest lightly against his cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye the moment before he caught Sangwon’s lips with his own.

There was something far too natural about kissing Sangwon that Leo had to wonder what he was so nervous about. After eight years of knowing each other, of years of sitting beside one another in comfortable silence as Leo sketched and Sangwon read, of years of sharing lunches and walking home together, of finding excuses just to stay a little longer… kissing Sangwon somehow felt less like something new and more like something that had been missing all along, joined together with putting a name to what had always been there.

The kiss didn’t last exceptionally long — after all, they were still at Leo’s place of work, and there were still prying eyes around, yet when they parted, Sangwon didn’t move far. His eyes remained closed for another second before opening again, his cheeked flooded with warmth and redness.

“…Better.”

Leo smiled, a quiet laugh under his breath.

“High praise.”

“I didn’t say it was good.”

Leo snorted, “You’re holding my shirt.”

Sangwon glanced down, cheeks reddening impossibly more at the realization that the fingers of his free hand were, in fact, curled into the front of Leo’s shirt. He immediately loosened them.

“I was making sure you didn’t fall.”

“From where I’m sitting down? Right.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Leo laughed quietly, shaking his head in amusement. For a few seconds, they remained like that, their hands intertwined between them, both of them wearing identical smiles that neither of them really seemed able to properly hide.

Then—

“So, does this mean we get to call you boyfriends to your faces now?”

Leo didn’t bother looking up.

“Jake.”

“What?”

“Go back to work.”

Jake groaned, “Ugh, fine.”

Silence, or at least the closest the studio could get to silence, returned. Sangwon only shook his head, though the smile on his face gave him away. Leo squeezed his hand once, looking entirely too pleased with himself as Jake turned back to his work.

“You’re impossible.” Sangwon mused quietly.

Leo only grinned, “And you love me.”

Sangwon’s expression softened, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

And that was it — there was no magic or sachet needed, not when it was just the two of them, Sangwon and Leo, in the same familiar studio they’d occupied hundreds of times before, doing the same small things they’d always done. Now, though, there was simply a name for it all, and nothing needed to change.

Sangwon would still open up the flower shop the next day and delegate tasks to Anxin and Junseo, Leo would still forget to eat lunch, and Jake would still complain about the printer. Jiahao and Leejeong would tattoo their clients, and Jay and Xinlong would still give clients new piercings. The flowers Sangwon would bring would still wilt when they were neglected, and bloom when they were cared for.

And Sangwon would still notice all of it, only now, when Leo reached across the counter for his hand, Sangwon would know exactly what it meant.

He didn’t need magic to tell him.

In fact, he never had.