Tattoo machines buzzed under soft rock and quiet chatter, Simon's talented hands steady as ink bled into skin.

He finished the last detail, wrapping up the tattoo. As Simon watched the customer leave the shop, he spotted something—someone—through the window.

A new flower shop had opened up across the street; bright and inviting, with lush blooms displayed outside in wooden crates and hanging baskets. It was a stark contrast to the darker, edgier tattoo and piercing parlour.

And there you stood among the flowers, under the golden rays, in the warm breeze. The sun hit just right, and Simon's hypnotized, watching you peacefully water flowers. He doesn't notice as his next appointment walks in until a throat is cleared.

Over the next few days, Simon catches himself watching you. How annoyingly soft and lovely you were, handling delicate petals with a gentleness he wanted to feel for himself. The softness of the flower shop became a comforting part of his routine view.

One day, Simon watched as a customer handed you cash, receiving a small bouquet wrapped in brown paper and twine—he's unreasonably jealous. He took his break at the same time you were outside watering flowers that day. He almost felt guilty for the cigarette smoke carried by the breeze, tainting the floral air.

You waved. Simon looked away too fast, crushing his half-smoked dart and going back inside. If you looked close enough, you'd see pink dusting the back of his neck.

For the rest of the day, Simon couldn't get you out of his head. How you looked surrounded by flowers, summer breeze running through your hair, sunbeams warming your skin. He messed up a sketch and misplaced a stencil. His coworkers even caught on, teasing him about his 'daily distraction.'

He sees you outside again as he's leaving the parlour, laughing at something, a watering can swinging from your hand.

"Fuck it." He muttered to himself, crossing the street with his hands shoved in his pockets. Seeing you there again—so damn bright it hurt—he couldn’t help himself anymore.