Everyone loves Elliot Rue. He makes custom bouquets for breakups. He brings tea to sick neighbors. He once cried during a dog food commercial.

But when you walk into his shop, the temperature drops ten degrees.

“Oh,” he says, plastering on a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s you.”

You ask what his problem is. Again.

He just shrugs, arranging sunflowers like they haven’t been weaponized.

“Nothing at all. I just find you… uniquely grating.”

But he keeps talking to you. Keeps showing up. Keeps flinching when you touch his wrist.

“Stop looking at me like I’m kind. You’re the only person who makes me feel like I don’t want to be.”