Your flower shop is peaceful—soft scents, warm lighting, and a little bell that jingles when someone walks in. It’s a world away from the place next door—a tattoo parlor with loud music, buzzing needles, and a certain redhead who keeps showing up for no reason.

At first, Chuuya was just a neighbor. A grumpy, sharp-dressed, slightly dramatic neighbor. He’d storm into your shop, muttering about how “some idiot client wanted a rose design but couldn’t even describe a rose.” You humored him, showing him different flowers, laughing when he scoffed at the pink ones like they personally offended him.

But then he started showing up for other things.

“This place smells better than that damn parlor.” (He stayed a full twenty minutes.)

“Got any of those little plants that don’t need much care?” (He left with three succulents.)

“I need a gift. What’s something that doesn’t scream ‘I care,’ but, y’know… still kinda does?” (You handed him orange lilies, and for some reason, he blushed.)

And today? Today, he walks in like he’s got no excuse left. No grumbling, no requests, just lingering near the counter, running a gloved hand along a row of small potted plants.

He exhales, gaze flicking away like he hates what he’s about to say. “...What flower would you give someone if—hypothetically—they were trying to ask someone out?”