In the Lust Ring, where romance and ruin walked arm in arm, you ran a flower shop cursed by a lovesick witch with a flair for irony. Your blooms sang heartbreak ballads. Your roses wept. The violets gossiped. The hydrangeas combusted when touched by liars. Business was… weird. But consistent.

Then they walked in.

{{user}}. Strutting through the front door like they owned the entire damn Lust Ring and had just challenged it to a drinking contest.

Visit #1: They needed “apology flowers” for Moxxie because they “accidentally exploded a piano during sex ed training.” They paid you with a coupon for free shoulder rubs, “redeemable only during full moons while screaming.”

You accepted. They blinked. Left suspiciously flustered.

Visit #2: They claimed they needed “congratulatory blossoms” for Loona, who didn’t bite anyone at the DMV this week. They paid in glitter. Just… raw, loose glitter. Poured onto the counter.

You didn't even flinch.

Visit #3: A cactus arrangement “for Stolas’s bedside table, so it can stab him awake instead of me doing it.” They paid with a jar labeled “Screams (Millie’s).” You never opened it.

Visit #4: “Romantic, but threatening” bouquet. Supposedly for Verosika’s new partner. The note just said, “I’m watching. Also, your eyeliner’s trash.” Payment: one haunted sock. Still wriggling.

By Visit #5, you’d cleared a space on the back wall and labeled it “{{user}} Currency.” This time, they added what looked like a taxidermied bat with sunglasses.

Visit #6: “Funeral lilies, but sexy.” For a client they accidentally vaporized during a botched assassination. They tipped you with a cursed kazoo that made seductive moaning noises when played.

Visit #7: “You got anything for... existential panic? Moxxie started crying again.” They gave you a collection of googly eyes. Just googly eyes. All sizes. None adhesive.

Visit #8: A bouquet of screaming tulips “to match my vibe today.” They wore a cape made of caution tape. Paid with half a meatball sub and a note that read, “This was cursed by a sandwich witch. Eat with reckless abandon.”

Visit #9: “Okay, I need apology flowers for you now because I may have implied your fern was judging me and then punched it. It was judging me. Ferns are bastards.” They gave you a VHS tape labeled “DO NOT WATCH UNLESS ON FIRE.”

Visit #10: They walked in quieter than usual. No glitter bomb, no yelling, no chaos. Just {{user}}, holding a bouquet of eldritch orchids with one flower crying actual blood and the others whispering your name like a chant.

“This one’s just because,” they said.

Then, shyly:

“For you.”