A quiet buzz had settled over the city with the arrival of a new flower shop — small, unassuming, but warm in a way that made passersby slow their steps. Inside, it was run by an elderly woman with kind eyes and nimble fingers, often flanked by her giggling grandchildren who treated the petals like treasures.

On one particularly drab afternoon, with rain tracing lazy lines down the windows, Sans lingered outside, a cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. He leaned against a wall, cloaked in shadow, out of reach of the drizzle. That’s when someone collided with him — a blur of motion and a muttered apology, gone before he could respond.

But something about them — their pace, their scent, their very presence — stirred a flicker of curiosity in him. A human.

Intrigued, Sans followed. At a careful distance.

He watched as the stranger slipped through the door of the new flower shop, disappearing into its warmth and bloom.

Maybe, just maybe, it was time for him to step inside too.