Chapter Text
Summer
Jinwoo stands at the bottom of the ladder, holding it steady for the long and lanky teen, who grabs a pot from the highest shelf and preciously steps back down onto level ground. The older boy breathes a sigh of relief, taking the pot from his hands. “Thank you, Sanha,” he smiles, and grabs a spade.
“I still find it funny, Jinwoo, that I can reach the highest shelf and you can’t,” the boy giggles, his cowlicks bouncing with his jolly laugh. His t-shirt, a pastel purple colour, is stained with dirt along the sleeves and along his chest, abstractly in the shape of fingers.
“Hilarious,” Jinwoo replies, collecting some soil from the paper bag at his feet and dumping it into the newly retrieved pot. Sanha, his junior, and still a high school student, runs to the back of the shop to get some seeds. From the small cabinet of square drawers, Sanha opens one labelled S.F and pulls out a few oblong black seeds.
“Why are you planting sunflowers?” Sanha asked, grabbing a small towel and wiping the sweat off from around his neck. It was an extremely hot day out, and Jinwoo wishes he weren’t locked up in this stuffy floristry, but he supposes it’s worse than being in the middle of a three-hour lecture.
Park Jinwoo was a university student, and chose the florists a few blocks over as his place of work. When asked why, he immediately answers, because I love flowers. Deep in his heart, Jinwoo feels, however, that the little shop called him with the power of fate. He’d been looking for a place to work for weeks upon moving to the city, and on an afternoon walk as the sky was turning pink, he came across the florists.
A small shop on the corner of the street, away from busy roads but not too far into the residential areas. Business was great, and it turned out to be a well-known, quaint little store. With weathered wooden slats decorating the outside, dozens of hanging baskets on the shade cover and hooked to the ceiling inside, Jinwoo rather fancied the place.
He loved tending to the vines that tumbled over the edges of their baskets, or climbed up the walls. Loved helping customers pick out flowers for their loved ones. Loved the people who simply strolled past to admire, or smell the flowers. Even on these scorching Summer days, Jinwoo loved the florist shop.
Yoon Sanha, still only in high school, came looking for some money to save up for a pair of shoes and a new guitar, and ended up staying because he liked the atmosphere the store held, too. They quickly became friends despite the age difference, and in the lull of business in the early afternoons, Sanha would tell Jinwoo about his life at school, and Jinwoo would reminisce on his days in school.
“How’s Minhyuk?” Sanha asks, perched on the edge of the till counter. He swings his legs, sunlight tumbling in from the window and glowing over his figure.
Jinwoo chuckles, sweeping up some dirt from the wooden floor, trying to dislodge the mud from between the floor boards. “He’s good, Sanha,” he smiles, stopping to rest on the broom handle and stare at Sanha challengingly. “You should accept his number and text him! I gave it to you for a reason!”
“That would be totally creepy,” Sanha replies, rolling his eyes and playing with one of the cowlicks on the side of his fringe. A blush dances on the apples of his cheeks, and Jinwoo pretends he didn’t notice.
There’s a knock at the door, and Moonbin, a friend of Jinwoo’s from University and his flatmate steps inside. “Hello Jinwoo, Sanha,” he smiles, and props himself up beside Sanha. The teenager smiles when handed a chocolate bar, and immediately begins snacking after a quick thank you.
“Hey, Bin. How was the lecture? Boring?”
“Horrifically so,” Moonbin offers him a chocolate bar, waving it before his eyes. Jinwoo happily snatches it up, but still gives an extra piece to Sanha, who seems to have a talent for persuasion. Or, he just looks at Jinwoo with rounded, puppy dog eyes and bats his long eyelashes, and the elder can’t help but snap off a piece and hand it to him. “I got some notes for you, though.”
“Where’s Dongmin? Surely he’d be done, too. I would have thought he’d come with you,” Jinwoo says, watching Bin look down at his lap to hide his pink cheeks. He hooks the broom up and perches himself on a table in the centre of the room, moving to the side a few small succulents in ceramic jars.
“He went to his agency. They called him half way through the lecture asking him to come in for a photoshoot,” Moonbin explains, reaching over behind him to throw his rubbish in the small trash can. Dongmin, another one of their friends (from university; an art student), was scouted around half a year ago for his incredibly alluring, stunning looks. Now a model, Dongmin is often featured on advertisements, and Jinwoo still finds it odd to see him in the middle of Minhyuk’s dance magazines, selling facial creams.
“When did the boss say we could close up?” Sanha asks the oldest boy, cocking his head to the side. “I have so much homework to do, probably a stack taller than me,” he exaggerates, levelling his hand with the top of his head.
“Nah,” Bin interjects, shaking his head. “Probably only Jinwoo’s height,” he smirks, and the pair laugh at the boy opposite them, a scowl curling his features.
“Boss said we can close at 5,” Jinwoo says, checking his watch, rubbing his thumb over it to smudge away the dirt. “It’s 4:30, you can go. I’ll let it slide – there’s no one here, anyway.”
“Scandalous!” Bin mocks.
“Don’t tell the boss!” Sanha grins, scooping up his backpack. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jinwoo. Bin, I don’t know – I’ll see you when I see you,” he waves as he clambers out of the shop front and down the street.
In the silence that follows the boy’s departure, Moonbin speaks up. “Any idea where Minhyuk is? I’m dying to learn this new dance I saw on YouTube this morning; I think he’d like it.” Jinwoo shakes his head. He has no idea. He’s probably at the dance studio, anyway, or studying for the upcoming finals (he was still in high school, too, though above Sanha).
“I’ll call him. He must be at the Taekwondo studio.” Bin shrugs, waving goodbye as he pulls the phone to his ear and exits the shop.
The shop is empty, for the most part of the afternoon. All the cleaning had been done, and all Jinwoo had to do was lock up at 5PM and head back to the flat. He sits behind the counter, watching the sun fall through the slightly distorted glass, watching shadows twist and grow over plants as the sun lowers in the sky. The yellowy warm glow reminds Jinwoo of the peaceful countryside, of endless green fields and running streams.
When school goes on break, in Autumn, he’ll head back out for a mini holiday, he decides.
His watch ticks over to 4:59, and Jinwoo collects the key and makes his way to the front door. Reaching for the handle, he hears a distant and stretched, “Wait!” and turns to look at the source. A man, not much older than Jinwoo himself, is sprinting down the pavement towards the store, hand raised in the air.
He comes to a skidding halt before Jinwoo, who stands rather stunned, as the man leans over his knees and huffs heaving breaths. “Are you… closing?” He mutters between breaths, and lifts his head to stare at Jinwoo.
Usually, Jinwoo would be pissed that someone arrived on closing time and asked to purchase something. It was time for him to go home, and he wasn’t being paid overtime. However, this man peers up at him from behind his long, curled eyelashes, with golden brown eyes to match his light, golden hair.
Though his hair is dishevelled, face red and blotchy and covered in a sheen of sweat – Jinwoo thinks he’s quite pretty. He’s sure he doesn’t look any better himself, probably smeared with dirt. Attempting to hide his blush, the ash-haired boy slides the key into his pocket, opening the door. “Yeah, but I can make one last purchase for you,” he smiles, and leads the man inside.
“Oh,” he replies, grinning. “Thank you so much, you’re a life saver,” he smiles, playing with the button of his smart shirt.
“Not a problem,” Jinwoo smiles politely, and for once, it really isn’t. He perches behind the counter and watches the handsome stranger browse through the large supply of flowers and bouquets. “Do you need any help choosing?” He asks, and the man looks up at him with wide eyes and a smile, shaking his head. Content, Jinwoo continues to stare.
Eventually, the customer brings up a bouquet of yellow and pink garden roses. He places them gently on the bench, fingers twirling in the twine that holds the stems together. Jinwoo punches the price into the machine, “Are these for anyone in particular?” He asks, holding gaze with the stranger for a moment as he asks.
“Ah, yeah,” the man grins, and Jinwoo feels disappointment trickle down his spine. Who was he kidding, anyway? He would never see this handsome man again – what did it matter? Jinwoo was a dreamer, that was for sure. “Her favourite colour is pink, and mine is yellow.”
He hands over the money to Jinwoo’s open palm, taking the flowers in his hand. “Thank you so much for staying behind for me,” he smiles softly, holding the flowers close to his chest. “As a proper thank you…” He trails off, picking a full, round, pink garden rose and plucking it from the bouquet. He places it on the table before Jinwoo’s hands.
Jinwoo raises an eyebrow, but blushes nonetheless.
The guy raises his free hand. “Stupid gift, I know, considering you’re surrounded by them. It’s the thought that counts, right?” He grins, and when Jinwoo nods, he laughs softly, the giggle ringing aloud. Heart melting at the sound, the ash-haired boy behind the counter holds onto the stem of the rose, grateful to Sanha in this moment for cutting off all the thorns.
“Have a nice evening!” Jinwoo calls after him as he exits. The stranger waves through the glass store front, before rushing off back in the direction he came from.
Jinwoo leans back in his seat, running a hand down his face. He twirls the rose between his fingers, smiling softly. “Woah…” he mutters to himself, wishing he’d gotten a name of some sort to place with such a pretty face.
+
It would be a lie if Jinwoo said that he hadn’t thought of the stranger in the four days since they met in the early evening. He’d even told Moonbin about the man, on the way to the convenience store to buy an ice cream each.
They’d sat outside the corner store, opposite each other on a round table. “When was this?” Bin asks, sighing as he feels the cold cream cool his body down.
“Yesterday. At closing time,” Jinwoo answers, thinking about the way the sunlight shone over his features. He knew it was crazy to reminisce on someone he might possibly never see again. Perhaps that was why he told Moonbin, to be assured he was insane, to give him the ‘okay’ to forget him.
However, Jinwoo obliterates that thought from his mind as once again, on closing time, the stranger appears on the corner. Jinwoo leaves the key in the lock, “Would you like to come in?” He calls out to the forlorn looking stranger, who’s beaming grin sends a jolt right through Jinwoo’s heart. Crazy.
He jogs down the path, and into the little store, thanking Jinwoo profusely. “I need another one of those bouquets, if you have any?” He waits for Jinwoo in the centre of the room, the sunlight painting yellow streaks over the dips of rolls of his features. Letting him select the bouquet, Jinwoo steps behind the counter. “You’re too kind, letting me come in again at closing time. I’m sure I must be annoying,” he says, gently placing the flowers over the desk, turning them so the bow of twine rests on top.
Jinwoo smiles, dialling up the numbers into the machine, and the customer pulls out his wallet. “It’s fine – I like it here, especially serving such a nice person,” he comments, and the stranger lifts his head from stroking the flower petals, grinning widely. Inwardly, Jinwoo curses himself – why didn’t I flirt?! This was my opportunity!
“Well – I’m glad it’s you again,” he says, holding the flowers in his hands. This time, he pulls out a yellow garden rose, and holds it out for Jinwoo. “I may frequent. When I come back, I’ll request…?” He trails off, asking for the name of the florist.
“Jinwoo. Park Jinwoo,” he smiles, gently taking the rose from between the man’s long fingers. “Thank you…?”
“Myungjun,” the stranger – Myungjun answers. “Kim Myungjun,” he echoes Jinwoo’s words, lips wrapped around a bright grin. “I’ll see you later, Park Jinwoo,” he waves gently, and closes the door behind him.
Jinwoo successfully claimed a name to put to the handsome face. Now, he feels he’s wrapped around Kim Myungjun’s finger like the twine around his bouquets. He feels both elated and pathetic – the feeling of new love weighed down by the poignant fact that the handsome man was only a stranger to him.