-and that’s something I’m still working on being okay with. There are days I feel like I am literally worthless, and those days are the hardest. But you know, I saw this post the other day about all the bad things we tell ourselves: that we’re not attractive enough or smart enough or interesting enough or we’re only ______ and nothing else – would you say those things to your younger self? If you could face yourself as a little kid and sit them down and say to them all the terrible things you tell yourself now – could you?

Wonsik blinks slowly and looks away from his phone, contemplatively focusing on the petals of the rose lying before him on his workbench as the words sink in.

This post is a bit all over the place and it’s nothing new, really, but this is what’s relevant to me this week and what I’m trying to say is – be kinder to yourself. That’s something I’m learning too. We have to slowly, day by day, learn to stop depending on external validation while at the same time allowing internal self-depredation [I’m quite proud of that line – my high school teacher would be proud too – hi Cho seonsaengnim!!] and instead remember, at all times we’re worth loving. We’re good enough. We need to stop hurting ourselves. Don’t scoff at these things, I know they sound lame – they’re true. Repeat and repeat and repeat to yourself as many times as needed.

So, this is day 433 without cutting, and it’s still a struggle. But it’s getting better every single day.

“This is day 264 without cutting, and it’s still a struggle. But it’s getting better every single day,” Wonsik murmurs under his breath, feeling the scars on his inner arms as if they are an extension of himself; and in a way they are. They don’t hurt anymore, and they’ve long healed over, but they’re there as a constant reminder of a time that Wonsik doesn’t want to ever return to.

He likes the post and reblogs it before putting his phone away, and thinks of Lee Hongbin.

They hadn’t been friends at all in high school even though they’d been in the same year – Hongbin was a beloved basketball star, and Wonsik had been wallowing in a wannabe tryhard phase that had disdained everything mainstream and popular – Wonsik wrinkles his nose in embarrassment at his younger teenaged self as he gathers the roses and arranges them carefully for the bouquet he’s assembling. He’d only found Hongbin’s blog after graduation, and then had his mind blown.

How strange this world is, Wonsik thinks, that someone you’ve never spoken a single word to can save your life.

Wonsik finishes the bouquet, working with deftly gentle hands, and tucks it away in the refrigerated display for delivery later. Now for Hongbin’s flowers.

He isn’t sure how this became a thing, making a small bouquet for Hongbin every time he updates his blog on his own journey with mental health issues to show his support and appreciation; why he can’t just be satisfied with liking and reblogging Hongbin’s posts or leaving anonymous messages like everyone else, he really doesn’t know – and Wonsik really hopes it doesn’t come from some creepy notice me senpai sort of tendency. He’s perfectly fine with Hongbin never knowing whom the flowers come from – Hongbin has started posting a gorgeously-taken photo of each bouquet he’s received the week before with every new post, and to Wonsik, that’s enough. He imagines Hongbin understands.

He’s not sure Hongbin knows that each bouquet literally means something, however – each type of flower spelling out a message. It’s incredibly nerdy but it’s part of the reason why he got this florist job to help get him through university, so he’s not complaining – he’s obsessed with flower language. It’s poetic yet understated, and even if you don’t get it then the flowers themselves are still wonderful anyway. Wonsik likes that, beauty that works on more than one level.

Wonsik sits himself down again and concentrates. Today’s post was about loving yourself, being kind and forgiving towards your perceived shortcomings – Wonsik perks up, thinking of how perfect it is that they got purple hyacinth in yesterday, which could be matched with maybe fringed gentian – he digs out his phone again and checks the notes he’s made specially for these occasions. A sprig of each, with simple white baby’s breath – innocence, forgiveness and intrinsic worth. Blue and white, and –

Wonsik bustles around the shop, pausing halfway to help his co-worker take care of a customer, and finally has the little bouquet ready. It’s actually more accurately a small nosegay – simple and tied non-ostentatiously with brown butcher’s string. A short sprig of purple hyacinth, a single gentian bloom, delicate baby’s breath and a last-minute addition of a few small asters to add love to the equation. Not romantic love; Wonsik feels his cheeks get slightly warm. Love for yourself, forgiveness for yourself, and a wish to return to the innocence we all had before we started doubting our intrinsic worth.

He tallies up the cost and adds it to the till out of his own pocket before scooping up the earlier flower bouquet he had made – that one is really big, full of lavish declarations of love and fidelity – and gets into the shop’s van with a farewell shout to his boss in the backroom.

Hongbin has never caught him leaving the flowers in front of his door – carefully to the side so that anyone walking in or out will not accidentally step on them – which Wonsik is very pleased about; he has no idea how that conversation would go, though it would probably be better to be caught by Hongbin and not Hongbin’s parents or sisters. Hongbin has lived in his neighbourhood for years, which makes it even more strange that they’ve never been friends. Differently-revolving planets, Wonsik supposes, with orbits just never meant to meet.

Wonsik delivers the huge bouquet to a heavily-pregnant housewife – her face lights up in awe at the sheer size of the thing and Wonsik smiles to see it. Proud gestures of love are always his favourite to deliver.

He drives the van back to his neighbourhood, and he wonders if he has time to stop at home and grab something to eat before he has to be back at the shop; he putters to a halt and swings out of the driver’s seat holding the little bunch of flowers for Hongbin, jogs up to the house and leaves it in their usual spot. Done. He glances at his watch; if he eats in double-time he should be able to make it back to the shop in about half an hour –

“Wait! Wait, please – flower delivery person! Sorry!”

Wonsik wheels around in surprise, and cannot help the awkward gasp that escapes him as he sees Hongbin loping down the road from his open front door towards him, the little nosegay held in one hand. Wonsik freezes, mind going blank – this is not supposed to happen, and he’s never planned what to do if it does – does he come up with some lie? Does he just confess everything? He’s painfully aware how creepy this looks, honestly; secretly sending Hongbin flowers every week with no note or name like some kind of stalker even if the intention is purely innocent.

The part of him that isn’t panicking is taking in the sight of a Hongbin that he only knew in high school from afar when forced to go for basketball games in the name of school spirit or when casually passing him by in the corridors and canteen; his hair is lighter now, dyed a honey brown, but the rest of him is just as Wonsik remembers. Wonsik begins to panic even more – does Hongbin remember him?

He’s thankful for the cap he’s got on pulled low on his head, even if that won’t help him much if Hongbin looks at him closely. Wonsik hadn’t been popular in school, though, so hopefully Hongbin won’t have any idea who he is.

“Sorry, but can you tell me who sent me these?” Hongbin asks when he reaches Wonsik, holding up the flowers, and Wonsik blinks. That isn’t the question he’s expecting.

“What?”

“You’re the one who delivered the flowers, aren’t you?” Hongbin hesitates, and then jogs around to check the van idling behind Wonsik that has the name of the florist shop painted in pretty letters on its side. “See, this is your van, right?”

Wonsik is totally confused. Did Hongbin see him leave the flowers? The van looks completely normal from the front, so that means Hongbin couldn’t have seen the shop’s name and logo until two seconds ago. The shop doesn’t even have a uniform or company shirt or anything – why is Hongbin so sure he’s the delivery boy?

“Um, yeah, it is, that’s who I work for,” Wonsik says, stalling for time and trying to figure out what’s going on.

“Are you, like, bound to secrecy about your customers?” Hongbin asks, then gives a little half-laugh. “Man, I got so excited thinking I could finally find out who’s been sending me flowers every single week. You really can’t tell me?”

Wonsik takes a deep breath. “No, I can’t, I’m sorry, not if the customer says not to.”

“So they specifically said not to let me know if I asked?” Hongbin tries to dig deeper.

Wonsik purses his lips and shrugs, not trusting himself to say too much. Hongbin gives a little groan and hops a little in place, adorably frustrated. Wonsik watches the way his hair fluffs as he bounces.

“I was in my room on the second floor and from the window saw you walk up to the house with the flowers and I didn’t even think, I just ran down. They’re always delivered on the same day, every Friday. Is it you who delivers them? No, probably not, you probably rotate with the other shop workers,” Hongbin muses to himself to Wonsik’s increasing bewilderment. “Oh god, I wish I knew who was sending them. I’m so curious I’m going to die.”

“Do you-” Wonsik ventures, hoping he sounds disinterested enough. “Do you not like getting the flowers?”

“Oh! No, that’s not it,” Hongbin’s eyes widen almost comically. “I look forward to it every Friday, actually. I always wonder what flowers I’m going to get today. You see, I run a blog, and I think whoever’s sending them is doing so as a sort of response to my posts. I think. It’s lovely, to be honest. Nobody ever gives guys flowers.”

“Well, I think I can tell you that the flowers are put together – I mean, the customer gives us specific instructions for the flowers. Each type has a meaning.”

Hongbin goggles at him, and Wonsik almost wants to laugh at how big his eyes have gone. This is entirely surreal – he couldn’t have imagined the possibility of standing here in the middle of Hongbin’s street talking to him still dressed in what looks like his pajamas at 2pm – actually talking to the person whose blog he follows religiously and has gotten him through dark, low days.

“Yeah, um-” Wonsik gestures towards the flowers Hongbin’s holding. “That’s baby’s breath, I’m sure you know it, it stands for innocence. The little ones that look like daisies are asters. They’re a symbol of love. As for the bigger blue ones, the spiky one is purple hyacinth and it stands for forgiveness, and the last one is a gentian which means ‘instrinsic worth’. Altogether the whole meaning of this bouquet is love and forgiveness for yourself, as well as innocence and intrinsic worth. You can interpret the combination of flowers in a few different ways, of course, but generally this one is about truly loving yourself and all you are.”

Wonsik forces himself to stop before he starts rattling off a novel, and then wills himself not to blush, feeling a little burst of pride inside his chest at the worshipful look Hongbin is giving him.

“That’s amazing,” Hongbin shakes his head slowly, in the midst of an epiphany. “That’s exactly what my blog post was about. This person has been sending me flowers based on my blog posts! How awesome is that?”

 Control your face, Wonsik tells himself sternly. Do not look too pleased. He settles for a genuine smile and nod. “Flower language is pretty interesting.”

“Now I’m going to have to go back and look up the meanings of all the other bouquets I’ve got from this person,” Hongbin perks up as the thought hits him. “I’ve been getting them for nearly three months now, that’s nearly twelve bouquets.”

Yup, ever since I started at the florist, Wonsik thinks. Few days more and it’ll be exactly three months. “Do you keep all of them?”

“Of course,” Hongbin replies instantly. “It sounds silly, but – don’t laugh – it’s a little bit of love in the world, isn’t it? That this person takes the time to think of different flower combinations to send me based on the things I talk about in my blog. They’re thinking of me. That’s amazing,” Hongbin repeats, soft and thoughtful.

Wonsik clears his throat. “Well, whatever you blog about, it must be important.”

“Must be,” Hongbin smiles at him, a true smile warm and gorgeous direct from the heart. Wonsik is lost for a moment.

“Um, I’ve got to-” Wonsik gestures behind him at the van, and Hongbin’s eyebrows shoot up in realisation.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kept you,” he apologises, one hand over his mouth and the other holding the flowers to his chest. “Please, go. And thank you. Maybe I’ll see you next week.”

Wonsik climbs into the van, and is thankful for the slightly tinted windows so Hongbin can’t see his blush as Hongbin waves goodbye to him. Hongbin likes his flowers. Hongbin has kept every single one of the bouquets he’s sent.

He turns on music as he drives back to the shop and hums along happily. A little bit of love in the world.

When he gets back to the shop there is one thing he needs to do first, however; he goes over to stand in front of his co-worker in a position he’s sure she can see all of him, and then begs her attention for a moment.

“Noona, do I look like a delivery boy to you?”

She looks at him for a second and then bursts out laughing. “That cap with that polo t-shirt, Sikkie? Really? And both in orange?”

“This is fashion,” Wonsik mumbles as he looks down at himself, offended.

“Delivery boy fashion,” she agrees, grinning.

*

And lastly, to end out this week’s post, I know I never really talk about anything other than the main point of this blog, but last week I found out something that I have to share with all of you. I start each blog post with a photo of flowers – some of you have left messages asking where I get them from and whether there’s a point to them and so today I want to talk about them. Basically I have been getting these flowers delivered to me at my house every Friday for the past three months. I have no idea who’s been sending them and I know the thought of the person knowing where I live is actually kinda scary – and at first I admit I was a bit freaked. But after a while I started to look forward to the bouquets coming without fail every afternoon the day after I do my weekly blog update.

There’s never any note with them, just the flowers.

Well, yesterday, I managed to catch the delivery guy just as he was leaving! I don’t know why I haven’t thought of this before, since the flowers are always delivered roughly around the same time

Wonsik cringes. That’s because he has no classes on Fridays and so can work a full-day shift at the shop.

and I think he was a bit reluctant to tell me anything because apparently the person sending the flowers to me doesn’t want me to know anything about them. But he did tell me this – that each bouquet is made up of flowers with meanings behind them. BASICALLY, every single bouquet sums up the main points of what I post every week. Last week I called for us to be kinder to ourselves and stop beating ourselves up over perceived flaws, and the flowers that were sent to me meant, collectively, self-love, forgiveness and intrinsic worth. Oh, and innocence. Isn’t that wonderful? We all need to go back to the time before we started hating ourselves. The innocence we had when we didn’t doubt our intrinsic worth. Wow.

Anyway. I went to go research all the other bouquets that I got, those that weren’t too dried out yet, and they really do correspond to each week’s blog posts. I’m just speechless, really. Someone took that much effort to think up what flowers should be put together as a beautiful little summary of my posts, and then sent them to me quietly. I don’t think they’re trying to be creepy. It’s an amazing gesture.

I think it’s obvious that whoever’s sending me the flowers reads my posts, so thank you. Thank you so much. I love the flowers. Thank you for giving me something this good in my life.

And you know what… the delivery guy was really cute.

Wonsik very, very slowly turns rose-red.

*

“This outfit again?” Hyemi noona raises an eyebrow at Wonsik, and Wonsik tries to look uncaring. This isn’t feasible – he can’t come to work every Friday dressed in this orange get-up just because Hongbin thinks that this is his delivery boy uniform. Also the presumption here makes him want to crawl under a table – he’s wearing this because he wants to ‘accidentally’ meet Hongbin again, because Hongbin thinks he’s cute.

He wonders if he hadn’t been both the sender of the flowers and the deliverer of them if he would be really put out somehow that Hongbin seems to be more taken with the messenger than the message, but that point is moot. At some time down the road Wonsik’s going to have to tell Hongbin that he is actually the one who’s been sending him the flowers all this time, and then that’s going to be a mess. For now, he just wants to present his Hongbin-approved cute self for more exposure to Hongbin’s sunshine smiles. At some time down the road, he thinks while slapping himself mentally. Just where does he think this is going?

Today’s bouquet is going to be the most difficult he’s ever put together not because he can’t decide what to put in, but because he has to stop himself from composing a fawning message of admiration and adoration in flowers.

Hongbin’s handsome, of course he is – but this isn’t about that. This is about finding out that someone is going through the very same thing you are, and taking strength from their struggles and fight to keep going. It’s ridiculous to feel like he knows Hongbin, even though they’ve never been friends and the image one portrays online can obviously be manufactured, but. But. Everything Hongbin has written is something Wonsik can relate to deeply. If nothing else, he’s sure that Hongbin out of everyone in the world for sure would understand what he’s gone through as well as the current progress to get as far away as possible from the times when he felt the only way to stop hurting was to hurt himself more. 

And Hongbin thinks he’s cute.

Wonsik is a bundle of nerves walking when he finally drives up to Hongbin’s house later that day. The front door is closed, and Wonsik doesn’t know if he was expecting Hongbin to be waiting in the road for him or something – he gives himself a little shake and walks up to the door. He’s here at exactly the same time as last week. If Hongbin wants to catch him he has roughly two to three minutes to do it.

He lays down the little bunch of pansies and white violets on the doormat, appreciating how the purple-tinged white of the violets contrast with the bright rainbow of the pansies, and determinedly turns away. Hongbin had said he was cute, not proposed marriage.

He’s halfway to the van, making his peace with his disappointment, when the door bursts open and Hongbin flies out of it once again wearing pajamas.

“I overslept!” Hongbin gasps, the fact that it’s two o’clock in the afternoon clearly insignificant, and then stops, overcome with awkwardness and gradually becoming aware of his bedhead. “Uh. Hi.”

Wonsik is so utterly charmed he doesn’t know what to do with himself. From the hair sticking out every which way to the socks on his feet Hongbin looks unreal, like every dream of the sweet boy-next-door come to life. Wonsik distracts himself from staring by going back to Hongbin’s door and picking up the small bouquet to give him, but when he hands the flowers over into Hongbin’s eagerly-outstretched hands he catches sight of Hongbin’s scars.

The pajamas he’s wearing are a soft tee-shirt and shorts, the shirt an old one from high school that Wonsik has as well. The sleeves have become a little short, and from where they end halfway up Hongbin’s biceps faint raised scars peek out, marching down the inside of his arm until they end around his elbow. Wonsik would recognise them anywhere, because he has the same ones in almost exactly the same place.

Hongbin follows his gaze and Wonsik can tell, instinctively, that his first reaction is to quickly try to cover them up somehow. He feels the agitated impulse as if it’s him whose scars have been chanced upon, and before Hongbin can do so Wonsik pulls up one of his own sleeves as well.

Hongbin lets out a little ‘oh’ and reaches slightly for him, as if he wants to touch Wonsik’s scars with his fingers.

“Three months more and it’ll be a year since I stopped,” Wonsik tells Hongbin, both worrying that it’s giving too much away as well as needing Hongbin to know this. “You?”

“About a year and two months,” Hongbin replies, looking up at him. Wonsik holds his gaze for a long moment; two, and then ducks his head.

“The flowers are pansies and white violets today,” he says. “It’s an invitation.”

“Invitation to what?” Hongbin asks, instantly agog with curiosity.

“Happiness,” Wonsik replies simply. “The violets literally mean ‘let’s take a chance on happiness’ and the pansies mean you’re in someone’s thoughts.”

Hongbin lets out a long breath, staring at Wonsik. “What does that mean?”

“What?”

“Does that mean the sender is thinking of me, or do they mean what I wrote in my post, that I’m thinking of someone-” Hongbin abruptly breaks off and becomes very interested in inspecting his flowers.

Wonsik is glad Hongbin can’t see him blushing.

“Violets and pansies are edible,” he blurts out. “Pansies especially taste really nice.”

“Really?” Hongbin doesn’t lift his head the whole way, and the pink dusting Hongbin’s cheeks make Wonsik want to run back to the shop and cart back every single ranunculus they possess and bury Hongbin in them – I am dazzled by your charms.

Wonsik tentatively reaches out and when Hongbin doesn’t stop him, picks off a few petals off the pansy blooms, offering some to Hongbin in one hand as he puts the others in his own mouth. He loves the taste of pansies, always surprisingly tart and not at all what you would expect a flower to taste like. Hongbin takes the petals and eats them, and his astonished reaction at their flavour is thoroughly satisfying.

“Mmmmmffff!” he gestures urgently at his mouth, eyes wide, and Wonsik has to laugh at his excitement. “Oh my god!”

They try the violets next, and their sweetness as a contrast to the pansies’ citrus-like taste sends Hongbin into more raptures. They end up eating the whole bouquet together, leaving only the stems and leaves.

“Well, that was a nice breakfast,” Hongbin jokes, taking the now-empty bouquet from Wonsik. “I still want this. I have to take a photograph of it for next week’s blog post.”

“What do you blog about?” Wonsik asks, feigning ignorance. He doesn’t want Hongbin to go back inside.

“Well-” Hongbin gives him a quick look, then holds out his arm, the inner side with the scars turned outwards. “This, basically. Why I used to cut. Why it’s important that I never cut again.”  

Wonsik nods, and he doesn’t even realise what he’s going to say next until he says it. “I’m going to get a tattoo to cover up my scars. But I don’t know what exactly yet.” Wonsik closes his mouth, slightly stunned at himself. He’d been toying with the idea for some time, of course, but saying it out loud like this makes it real and definite. He certainly hadn’t intended to tell this to Hongbin, of all people, but then again, of all people, Hongbin’s the only one he could tell.

“When you look at yourself you just don’t want to see them,” Hongbin offers, and Wonsik feels a rush like Hongbin’s taken the very words out of his mouth.

“I don’t know how well a tattoo will be able to cover them, but,” he agrees. “At least it’ll be something.”

“Look, do you want to – my parents are out, and I have class soon, but I can make us something to eat and we can talk-” Hongbin begins, smiling tentatively, but then remembers with a jolt Wonsik’s still on the job. “Oh my god, ignore me, I must be still half asleep.”

“I can give you my number?” Wonsik forces himself to say through his shyness, and Hongbin actually puts a hand into his pajama shorts pocket to find his phone before he remembers his phone is still inside the house.

“Oh, I mean, you can give me yours,” Wonsik corrects himself, wanting to smack himself in the head as he digs out his own phone from his jeans backpocket. We’re both disasters, my god. How wonderful.

*

Three days later Hongbin texts him a picture, and Wonsik stares at it, startled.

i thought i’d help you with the tattoo is what Hongbin sends by way of explanation, and it’s a hand-drawn single eustoma stalk; black ink on white paper, just the outline and shading but looking fresh and realistic nonetheless – of course, Hongbin has mentioned a few times in his posts that he draws sometimes for leisure. Wonsik doesn’t need to look up what eustomas mean – they’re his favourite flower.

- You researched eustoma meanings?

- fitting, isn’t it?

Contentment and peace, sweetness and kindness towards others and yourself. Yes, it is fitting, Wonsik thinks, as is the heartfelt emotions for someone else they symbolise, and the wish for a long and happy life.

- It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you took the time to draw me this.

- i’m happy to do it :D

- This is kinda perfect. I might just use it.

- bring me when you go!

*

I will die of mortification if he ever sees this, but – I’ve got a crush. On the guy who’s been delivering the flowers to me. ‘Crush’ doesn’t even cut it, and it’s crazy because it’s been barely three weeks but I’ve got it bad – butterflies in my stomach when he texts and everything. I feel like I’ve somehow become 15 again. It’s exhilarating but god, there are very good reasons why I don’t want to be 15 again.

He’s an ex-cutter too. What a coincidence, right? He says he’s stopped cutting for about 9 months now and wants to tattoo over the scars and I know that feeling so well. There are some days you don’t mind them there but there are other days when you just want them gone. This guy, he’s really into flower meanings and he knows so much about flowers and plants and stuff that I went online to research what the perfect flower tattoo to cover up the scars would be and I came up with eustomas. They’re usually used for weddings because they symbolise love and kindness for others as well as yourself, peace and happiness. Peace and happiness. I think we could all use some of that in our lives.

So I drew him a tentative tattoo design. It sounds so presumptuous, doesn’t it? But he says he loves it and might actually use it. I’m ???? aaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

We’ve been texting every day. Part of me is terrified I’m going to it up and another part of me wants to it up, so we’ll see. The eternal struggle towards healthy behaviour continues.

He’s gorgeous. I really like him.

*

Once the tattoo begins to heal Wonsik can’t stop running his fingers over it. the raised parts of the tattoo interfere with the parallel lines of the scars, and Wonsik likes this new unfamiliarity. He’d told the tattoo artist to make sure the tattoo touches every single scar – if he can’t undo them, he can do his best to erase them.

Hongbin likes the tattoo, too. Wonsik suspects that a big part of why he’s so proud of it.

“Maybe I should get one as well,” Hongbin remarks, playing with the fallen petals on Wonsik’s workbench. He’d smuggled Hongbin in during his lunchbreak, and Hyemi noona has been giving Wonsik saucy looks the entire time. “Something to put over my scars, too.”

“What would you like?” Wonsik asks, loving how Hongbin looks today. Soft hair, soft skin, soft eyes, soft heart. “Skull and crossed bones?”

“Yes, of course,” Hongbin rolls his eyes. “The more hardcore the better.”

“A dragon,” Wonsik suggests. Hongbin throws chrysanthemum petals at his head. “A shark? Just like you, with too many teeth.”

“I have the same number of teeth as you do,” Hongbin doesn’t rise to the bait. “I was actually thinking a flower, like yours. Something to represent hope.”

“Irises represent hope,” Wonsik tells him. “They’re pretty. Purple.”

“Like your purple eustoma tat?” Hongbin asks, perking up, and then looks away in embarrassment. Wonsik wants to kiss him so badly.

When it’s time to go Wonsik slips a single red rose into Hongbin’s backpack, and watches him walk away to catch the bus to go to school. He’s not sure how long Hongbin is going to take to realise the flower is there with its attendant message, but he’s willing to wait.

He actually doesn’t have to wait very long – ten minutes later Hongbin is in the shop once more, grabbing a surprised Wonsik’s hand and dragging him out through the front door without saying a word.

“What does a red rose mean?” Hongbin demands once they’re outside – the thought occurs to Wonsik that Hyemi noona must be dying of curiosity. “Just so I have it clear.”

“Beauty, respect and love,” Wonsik mumbles, and Hongbin steps forward towards him, shaking his head.

“How long did you take to choose this rose?”

Wonsik shrugs, at a loss. He’d searched for the best rose in the shop, to be sure, but it’s not like he’d been timing himself.

“it’s perfect,” Hongbin tells him, tone almost disbelieving. “I can just see you going through every single rose you have and then carefully peeling away any petal that doesn’t pass muster. Cutting carefully every thorn off the stem just to make sure that you have a perfect long-stemmed rose to give me. What kind of Disney fairytale did you step out of?”

Wonsik shrugs again, beginning to blush.

“I take your rose and raise you another ten. No, another hundred,” Hongbin says fervently. “Kiss me already.”

Wonsik does so. It’s a while before Hongbin lets him go.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Hongbin smiles up at him, tender and sweet. “Are you not going to send me any more bouquets every week?”

Wonsik’s jaw drops. “I can explain-”

Hongbin holds up a hand. “It’s actually pretty easy to figure out. The only thing I don’t understand is you going around in that orange outfit.”

“It’s fashion!” Wonsik protests.

*

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