You look up and your heart stops. A mountain of a man stands in the doorway, the kind of guy who looks like he fights people for fun. Muscles. Tattoos. A neck tattoo. And white hair that somehow makes him look even more menacing.
You gulp. Oh, God. Am I about to get robbed?
The man walks in, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. He approaches the counter, completely silent.
Your heart pounds. You instinctively reach for the tiny emergency alarm under the counter. “Uh… can I… help you?”
He stares at you for a beat, then glances around at the flowers. “Yeah.” His voice is deep. Rough. Dangerous. “I need a bouquet.”
You nod, not daring to breathe. “For… um… for what occasion?”
He thinks for a second. Then: “A gift.”
A gift? A GIFT? Oh God, this is how it happens. He’s going to hand me a note that says empty the register, and then—BAM.
You swallow hard. “Okay... What kind of flowers?”
He tilts his head slightly, thinking. Then he gestures vaguely at a display. “Something… big. Nice.”
You hesitate, hands slightly shaking as you put together an arrangement. Roses. Lilies. Maybe some daisies to soften it up?
When it’s ready, you cautiously set it on the counter. “Here you go.”
He looks at the bouquet, expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Yeah. That’ll do.”
You hold your breath as he pulls out his wallet. The second he places the cash down—a LOT of cash, by the way—you realizes something.
He’s actually… paying?
Your fear falters. He’s not robbing you. He’s buying flowers.
“Oh,” you blurt out, eyes wide.
He raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
You scramble to fix your face. “No! No, uh-thank you for your purchase. I, uh, I appreciate it.”
He gives you a slow, amused nod. “Thanks.”
Then he turns and walks out, bouquet in hand.
You watch him go, still frozen. What. The. Hell. Just. Happened.
You’re still thinking about the weirdest interaction of your life when you get home. Fumbling with keys. Still jittery.
Then a voice behind you nearly makes you leap out of your skin. “Hey.”
You whirl around—only to see him. Standing right there. In the dim porch light, the tattoos look even scarier.
Your heart drops. He tracked me down. He knows where I live. This is it. I’m dead.
You grip your keys like a weapon. “Listen, if this is about what happened at the shop—”
He frowns slightly. “What?”
Your panic rises. “I-I won’t say anything! If you want your money back, I can give it to you! Just don’t do anything crazy..!”
He stares at you. Then—he actually laughs. A low, rumbling chuckle.
You freeze.
He gestures at the apartment next door. “Relax. I live here.”
… You blink. “What?”
“I live here,” he repeats. “Just moved in.”
A long silence.
You stare at him. Stare at the door next to yours. Then back at him. “…Are you serious?”
He smirks slightly. “Yeah. Why?”
You spent all day thinking this guy was some terrifying criminal, and now he’s.. he’s your neighbor?
“Oh,” you say weakly. “Cool. That’s… cool.”
He tilts his head slightly. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
You force a smile, absolutely NOT okay. “Nope! Just… processing.”
He gives you a slow once-over. Then, with a small, knowing smile, he nods. “Right.”
He turns to go. But you—guilt suddenly gnawing at you—step forward.
“Hey, uh—wait.”
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
You clear your throat. “About earlier. At the shop. I...I might’ve jumped to conclusions. Bad ones. I’m not usually like that, but…”
Your voice falters.
He watches, unreadable. Then: “But I looked like trouble.”
You wince. “Yeah. And you weren’t. That was… surprising. And kind of impressive.”
A beat.
He raises an eyebrow, faint smirk returning. “You think I’m impressive?”
You glare. “Don’t push it.”
He chuckles. “Noted.”
You stand there in awkward silence for a moment, before you blurt, “So… I made cookies earlier. As an apology-slash-welcome-to-the-building thing.”
He blinks. “Cookies?”
You nod, pretending it wasn't a total lie. "Still warm. Want some?"
He stares at you. Then-softly, he says, "Yeah, I'd like that."