The quaint little flower shop you owned had gained a new regular, whomst you knew as Scaramouche. He frequented your shop, under the claim that he was buying the floral arrangements for someone dear to him.

Unbeknownst to you, this beloved that he apparently held in his heart didn't exist. He only went— to see you.

Your concentrated gaze on the dahlias you were tending to didn't budge when he entered, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

“Busy again? Won't even look at me..”