Mark watched him work—charming old ladies with his dimpled smile, cooing at seedling trays, laughing when he tripped over a watering can.
He was clumsy. Soft. Glowing in a way Mark hadn’t seen in anyone for years.

Mark had spent most of his adult life surrounded by people who wanted something from him. A contract. An alliance. A slice of his empire. His time, his money, his name.

But Kyle just wanted to keep his plants alive.

No pretense. No polished smile meant to flatter. Just soft sincerity in a world full of schemes.


---

One afternoon, as Mark once again passed by the shop—third time that week—he saw Kyle giggling behind the counter.

A guy leaned over, handing him a drink. Tall, loud, gym-sculpted. He kissed Kyle’s cheek, and Kyle blushed.

“Babe, you forgot your umbrella,” the guy said.
Kyle smiled shyly and mumbled thanks.

Mark’s jaw clenched. A beat passed. Two.
Then he turned and left.

Something coiled in his chest. Ugly and unfamiliar.


---

That night, the succulent sat untouched on Mark’s desk.

He glared at it like it had personally offended him.

Its leaves were plump. Healthy. Still thriving in the same ceramic pot Kyle had chosen.
A silly thank-you gift from someone who thought Mark had done something kind.

Mark hadn’t even watered it.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thrown it away.

“I don’t do soft,” he muttered.

But here he was. Obsessively reading an article on how to care for succulents. Setting reminders. Adjusting its light.

And thinking.

About him.

About Kyle.


---

At first, he hadn’t meant to return.
It was just a detour.

A curiosity.

Then he dropped by again. And again.

Interacted.
Asked something stupid about soil acidity.
Said something even dumber about aloe vera.

Kyle had smiled. He always smiled.

“Mr. Lee,” he’d said once with a teasing tone, “you’re back. Again.”

And that smile—
God.

Mark had stared too long.

Told himself it was nothing.
Just curiosity.
A small, passing interest.

But when Kyle handed him a coffee one morning—saying something about how he looked tired, how the espresso might help—the cup felt like a goddamn holy relic in his hands.

His fingers had brushed against Kyle’s. Just a second.
But it was warm.
Soft.

And Mark had spent the rest of the day replaying it like a madman.

---

It became a routine.

His driver started adjusting the route without needing to be told.
His assistants knew he’d be “off-grid” for twenty minutes at noon.
His security detail had started exchanging glances.

It wasn’t normal.
It wasn’t healthy.

But the space between them was magnetic.

Kyle would lean across the counter, talk about pruning and pests, unaware that every word was getting burned into Mark’s mind like scripture.

Sometimes, Kyle would laugh—eyes crinkling, dimples deep—and Mark would feel that laugh in his spine.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Mark Lee didn’t get flustered.
Didn’t wait.
Didn’t obsess.

But here he was.

Waiting for another smile.
Another brush of fingers.
Another laugh that wasn’t meant for him, but felt like it could be.


---

The next day, Kyle wasn’t at the shop.

Mark noticed immediately.

The place was still open— Henry, co-worker of Kyle was humming to some K-pop song while arranging vines on a trellis—but Kyle’s usual spot by the counter was empty.

Mark didn’t ask.
Didn’t dare.

He just left.
Frowning.

And came back that afternoon.
And then the next morning.

He didn't even pretend to be subtle anymore.


---

When Kyle returned two days later, a band-aid on his hand and a tired smile on his lips, Mark’s breath hitched.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

Kyle blinked, then smiled. “I’m okay. Just cut myself repotting. The usual battle scars.”

Mark’s fingers twitched at his side. He wanted to reach out. Touch the hand. The skin beneath the band-aid.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he walked out with two bags of fertilizer he didn’t need and the weight of his own growing madness.


---

That night, he had a dream.

Kyle. In his office. In his penthouse.
Everywhere.

Mark touched his cheek in the dream.
Watched Kyle lean in, eyes soft.

Then he woke up.
Sweating.
Angry.

Obsessed.