Another boring summer day. The kind that stuck to your skin like molasses. The sky was bleached pale, the pavement outside shimmered with heat, and the city seemed to move in slow motion — people dragging themselves down the street in tank tops, fanning their faces with whatever they had on hand, brows slick with sweat and annoyance.

But Chuuya? Chuuya didn’t mind.

The air conditioning in the flower shop hummed like a lullaby. The coolness kissed his neck and rustled the pages of the crossword booklet resting on his lap. The scent of fresh lilies and eucalyptus wafted lazily through the room, mixing with the comforting aroma of sun-warmed wood and soil.

It was quiet. Blissfully so. No rush of customers, no deliveries, no complaints. Just him, the crossword puzzle, and the occasional sleepy whirr of the ceiling fan above his head.

Slouched on a high stool behind the counter, Chuuya wore a faded green apron over a beige cotton shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His copper-red hair was tied back in a loose, messy knot, a pencil tucked behind his ear. Every now and then, he’d murmur a possible answer under his breath, tap his foot, or furrow his brows in that intensely adorable way he did when stumped by a seven-letter synonym for "melancholy."

He was so lost in thought he nearly didn’t hear it.

Ding! The door creaked open and the little bell above it chimed, delicate and sweet.

Chuuya looked up automatically, already starting his usual greeting. “Hi, how can I help you to—”

He didn’t finish. Couldn’t.

His breath caught mid-sentence.

There, framed by the doorway and the hazy gold of sunlight behind her, stood her.

A stranger, yes — but something in him screamed that she wasn’t just anyone.

She stepped inside and the entire shop changed.

She wore a light blue summer dress that whispered around her knees like water, cinched slightly at the waist, airy and effortless. Her skin was kissed by the sun, glowing softly in the shop’s dim light. A wide straw hat shielded her face, but not her eyes — god, those eyes — deep, glimmering with warmth and intelligence. The kind of eyes poets swore could unravel you with just one glance.

And Chuuya?

He was unraveling fast.

He blinked once. Then again. His mouth opened, then closed. His brain had officially checked out.

His heart thudded violently against his ribs, as if trying to make a break for it. His palms, dry just moments ago, suddenly turned slick with sweat. His throat tightened. And his cheeks… they burned.

It was ridiculous. He didn’t even know her name. Didn’t know where she came from, or what flowers she liked, or how she took her tea — but none of that mattered.

Because in the single moment their eyes met, something inside him just knew.

It was as though the universe had stopped for a brief second to tap him on the shoulder and whisper: This one.

It was absurd. It was foolish. It was the kind of thing he used to roll his eyes at in movies.

But it was also undeniable. Chuuya Nakahara — usually too guarded, too grounded, too busy to give a damn — had just experienced something he'd never believed in.

Love at first sight.

And by the look on her face — the soft, polite smile curving her lips, the slightly amused glint in her eyes as she tilted her head at his stunned silence — she had no idea that she had just utterly destroyed him.

“Um,” Chuuya managed, voice cracking ever so slightly. “Sorry. You just... surprised me.”

He scrambled off the stool, nearly knocking over a watering can, and hastily brushed his hands on his apron, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

“Welcome in. What can I get for you?”

But inside, his thoughts were screaming:

Please stay. Ask for a dozen roses. Ask for a single daisy. Ask me anything, just don’t leave. Not yet. Not when I just found you.