tea rose: always

The first time he sees her, she’s wearing a black leather jacket, black skinny jeans, and black combat boots. Black sunglasses, too, but she takes those off when she enters his shop.

“Can I help you?” he asks, hoping that she cannot hear the intimidated tremble of his voice.

(He does not know if her smirk says otherwise, or is just a habit. She looks like the kind of person who makes a habit of smirking.)

“Yeah, I’m looking for Suite 244?” Her voice is low, smooth. If he did not feel as if she could beat him up without trying, he might find her attractive. As it is, he does not relax until he points out Suite 244 (a tattoo parlor; he thinks: of course) across the street and she exits with a nod of thanks.

He let out his breath once she’s disappeared into the building opposite his meek flower shop. Now that she is not directly in front of him with her piercing gaze and confident aura, he does have to admit that she pulled off her all-black outfit better than most.

And that it, admittedly, wouldn’t take much to be able to beat him up. He hates exercise with a passion. Probably wouldn’t even fight back.

He shakes his head, exhales. Tries to write away the butterflies in his stomach as fear that she can and will him up if he crosses her.

Well.

He’ll try to avoid crossing her.

.

As it turns out, she works there. At the tattoo parlor.

Her leather jacket is gone, but the sunglasses are perched on top of her head and she still wears her jeans and boots. Also, she has a sleeve of tattoos up her left arm.

And one on her neck.

It’s kind of hot, he won’t lie.

“It was for an interview,” she explains the next time she drops by and he can’t believe he’s there, behind the counter, as she browses through the flower catalogue. “First time here.”

“Are you from out of town?” he asks in an attempt to be a polite, respectful member of society.

She shrugs in response. “Just never came to this part. I used to live near the university, but I moved after graduating.”

“Ah,” he replies. He’s never been that good at being sociable. “Are you looking for something specific?”

“Hybrid tea roses. Do you have them?” She looks at him, hopeful eyes meeting his. She looks a bit like a puppy at a dinner table.

His breath catches in his throat and he turns away, feeling his cheeks heat up. “We should. I’ll check in the back.” They do. He finds one that’s full-blown, white with pink tips, and brings it out for her to inspect.

Her face lights up the moment she lays eyes on it. That’s all it takes for him to forget his initial apprehension from their first meeting. No one who could look this happy at just the sight of a flower could be capable of doing bad things, he thinks, including beating up helpless florists who work across the street.

“I can’t believe you have them! I should’ve come to this part of town earlier. No florists near my old apartment have these. Well, actually, there was only one and it was really small so I’m not–“ She cuts herself off, looking from the flower to him with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, babbling. It’s a bad habit. How much is one stem? Do you have a Chrysler Imperial?”

“Twenty-five hundred won,” he answers, “And yes. We have a large variety. They’re just a little further back in the book.” He nods to the catalogue she was flipping through, surprised to see a sheepish smile on her face.

She has a nice smile. Much better than her smirk. (He’s still a little intimidated by that smirk.)

“I’ll take one.”

He goes back to the storage to find a full-blown Chrysler Imperial, just for her. The transaction is quick. When he hands her flower to her, tucked inside a plastic sleeve, he glances at her card. “Enjoy the flower, Jaeeun.”

“Thanks,” she replies, eyes flicking to his name tag then back to his face, “Yoongi.”

When Jaeeun leaves, one last quick smile thrown over her shoulder, Yoongi has nothing to blame the butterflies in his stomach on anymore.