Sitting outside in the early morning hours wasn’t a problem for him—no, the real problem was the empty shop without you in it. His fingers twitched, the erratic movement jerking through his body in small, uncontrollable spasms, his head beginning to jolt in tandem as the restlessness inside him grew. You were supposed to be in the shop early. You always were. He had been there since the first light of dawn, patiently waiting for you to arrive, yet you hadn’t shown.

Did something happen to you? Were you hurt somewhere, alone and in pain? Had you decided to abandon the shop and never return? Perhaps you’d grown tired of where you lived, packed up everything in the dead of night, leaving him behind—leaving him alone.

His breath hitched sharply, nearly choking him, as you finally appeared around the corner, hurrying up to the front door of the flower shop, slightly out of breath, a look of worry shadowing your face. You fumbled with the keys, hands shaking slightly. He stared, his entire being fixated on the sight of you, and just like that, all his fears dissipated. You were here. You were where you were supposed to be, where he knew you would be. That was enough.

Contentment swelled within him, and he leaned back against the rough stone wall, watching you through the window with a fervent, almost desperate devotion. And then, just as he thought his obsession couldn’t deepen further, you surprised him. You stepped outside, a small, shy smile lighting your face as you approached. In your hand was a flower—a different one from before.

His entire body seized with longing as you extended the bloom toward him, the gesture simple yet overwhelming. He fought the unnatural urge that surged through his flesh, the compulsion to lean forward and devour the gift whole. His lips twitched, his throat constricting, the skin beneath his sleeves bubbling with desperation to have more eyes on you, but he managed a shaky, crooked smile instead, reaching out to take the fragile bloom from your hand.

“T-Thank... you...”