“I was in the neighborhood.” 

“I needed flowers for my father.” 

“I just wanted to thank you again.” 

Each excuse felt weaker than the last, flimsy shields against the truth, and he didn't care, he needed to see him.  

The man’s phone was still off, and the unanswered calls gnawed at Jisung’s patience. He couldn’t wait any longer. So, he was here now, standing in front of the flower shop, his palms slightly sweaty as he pushed the door open.

A rush of floral fragrance hit him immediately, fresh blooms, damp earth, and something sweet lingering in the air. The shop was awash in colors, with vivid reds, soft pinks, and creamy whites arranged in neat rows that stretched from floor to ceiling. It was beautiful, almost overwhelming. Jisung walked slowly, his eyes darting between the aisles, searching for a familiar face.    

But there was no sign of him.  

A pang of disappointment settled in his chest. His confidence wavered. ‘What if he’s busy? What if he’s not working today?’ His doubts crept in, but he pushed them aside. He had come this far. He wasn’t leaving without answers.  

“Looking for someone?”  

The voice came from behind him, deep and smooth, and it sent a shiver down Jisung’s spine. He turned slowly, his heart racing.  

There he was.  

The man stood a few feet away, his arms crossed casually over his chest, a faint smile playing on his lips. He looked just as Jisung remembered, tall, effortlessly handsome, with an air of quiet confidence that made Jisung’s breath catch.  

“Yeah—um… eh,” Jisung stammered, his words tangling in his throat. He felt his cheeks heat up, and he quickly looked away, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.  

The man chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Cat got your tongue?”  

Jisung forced himself to meet his gaze, though his heart was still pounding. “I… I just wanted to thank you,” he said, his voice steadier than he expected. “My father really liked the flowers you chose for me.”  

The man’s smile widened, and something about it sent a strange flutter through Jisung’s chest. “Happy to hear that,” the man said, his tone light but genuine. “So you only came here to thank me?”    

Jisung hesitated, his mind racing. “Well… not just that,” he admitted, his voice softening. “I tried calling you, but your phone was off.”  

The man raised an eyebrow. “You called me?”  

Jisung nodded, his cheeks warming. “A few times. But it kept going to voicemail.”  

Hyunsuk exhaled through his nose, his smile turning faint. “I’ve been… busy.”

Jisung knew better than anyone what busy meant. Work had consumed most of his life too. He suddenly felt a little self-conscious. Had he been too pushy? Too persistent?

“So… d-do you work here?” Jisung asked, desperate to fill the silence.    

The man raised an eyebrow, before his eyes dropped to the apron tied around his waist. Jisung followed his gaze and immediately flushed. “Oooh. Of course you do… how silly of me.” He let out an awkward laugh, running a hand through his hair.     

Hyunsuk smirked, amused. “We haven’t been properly introduced, have we?” He extended his hand. “Hwang Hyunsuk.”   

Jisung stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before taking it.  

A jolt of something sharp, unexpected, ran through him at the first touch. Hyunsuk’s palm was warm, his grip firm but not overpowering. The contact sent an odd warmth spreading up Jisung’s arm, settling somewhere deep in his chest. His breath hitched, and for the briefest moment, he forgot how to let go.

“Jisung… Lee Jisung,” he said finally, his voice slightly unsteady. He smiled, his eyes closing into little crescent moons.  

Hyunsuk chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “Your smile is beautiful.”  

Jisung’s breath stuttered. His fingers twitched against Hyunsuk’s before he quickly pulled his hand away, turning toward a nearby bouquet of white roses to hide his burning face.

“These are nice,” he blurted.  

Hyunsuk stepped closer, the space between them shrinking. “Those are Iceberg Roses,” he said, voice smooth. They –bolize purity and innocence. Over there are Jubilee– they’re a bit more vibrant, – for celebrations. And these–” he gestured to another arrangement, “are White –. Classic, elegant. They’re often used for – or remembrance–” 

Jisung nodded absently, but his mind wasn’t on the flowers. It was on Hyunsuk. On the way his voice curled around the words, the way the soft light from the shop’s windows caught his features. The faint scent of sandalwood that clung to him, mixing with the floral air.  

“You’re not listening, are you?”   

Jisung blinked, startled. “I-I was,” he lied, his face heating up again.  

Hyunsuk laughed, the sound warm and rich. “It’s okay. I’m used to people getting distracted when I'm telling about the flowers.”  

For a moment, they stood in silence, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Jisung’s mind raced, searching for something -anything- to say. But before he could find the words, Hyunsuk spoke again.    

Jisung hesitated, heart hammering. The truth clawed at his throat, raw and insistent.  

“I… I wanted to see you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in Hyunsuk’s expression. Something warm. Almost tender. 

“Well,” Hyunsuk said softly, “you found me.”  

Jisung swallowed, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. ‘Yes, I found you.’ 

For the first time in his life, Jisung had found someone. It felt foreign. Unsettling. But at the same time, it sent butterflies dancing in his stomach.  

They exchanged contact information, promising to meet again. And as Jisung walked out of the flower shop, the warmth of Hyunsuk’s hand still lingering on his skin, he found himself hoping, really hoping, that this was just the beginning.

(⁠◍⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠◍⁠)

Jisung wasn’t used to waiting for messages. He wasn’t the type to check his phone every few minutes, anticipating a reply. Yet here he was, lying on his couch, phone resting on his chest, the faint glow of the screen illuminating his face in the dim room.  

He had sent Hyunsuk a simple message hours ago:  

**Did you get home safe?**

It wasn’t anything dramatic. Nothing that demanded an immediate answer. But the longer the silence stretched, the more restless he became.  

...to be continued

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