Inspiration.

He figured that most people wouldn’t think that you needed inspiration if you were a florist. You just put together flowers that looked good. To be honest, you could randomly grab flowers, tie them together with a ribbon and people would still find it beautiful and he loved that about his job.

But inspiration was everything.

Flowers weren’t just something to please the eye, you could tell stories, relay messages, confess feelings. Flowers had centuries of symbolism and meaning embedded in them. In 1800s Europe, flowers were so heavily condensed with meaning and had become a vital form of communication that codebooks were used to decipher or design the encoded message behind floral arrangements. He was fixated on that aspect of his job, that’s why he only accepted orders through in-person or phone calls, he liked speaking to his clients, learning what the arrangements were for and what message they wanted to convey.

History told heartbreaking tales of gods and goddesses who had turned into flowers due to unrequited love and pain. It also told stories of iconic figures birthed from the cradling embrace of flowers and flowers being used as curses.

Flowers told stories better than most books could.

After his window was replaced, he holed himself up in his back room, trying to keep up with the inspiration that had invaded his mind and translating it into a piece of art. He didn't know if it was possible to turn his vision, his muse into an arrangement that could do it justice, but he couldn't stop. It wasn’t for any particular order and he already knew he wouldn’t put it up for display. This one was just for him.

He had painstakingly shifted through his stock of white gardenias, picking the select few that’s petals were as thin as tissue paper, folding softly like the curve of a waterfall. He slipped in a few darling white sweet peas and accented the arrangement with rich dark green leaves of an Italian Ruscus.

It was rare for him to stick with such a simple colour palette of greens and whites but nothing else looked quite as right as what was floating around in his mind. He had lost track of time until Triple starting mewling, pawing his calf for attention, crooning for food.  What felt like hours later, he slipped in the last branch of angel’s breath, he stepped back, an explosion of satisfaction ran through him.

Breathtaking.

He pulled out an old polaroid and snapped a few pictures from different angles. Picking his favourite one, he flipped it over and picked up a pen before staring at the arrangement. He reached out and touched one of the petals, silky and delicate but sturdy and eye-catching despite its simple colour. He chewed on his lip trying to think of a name. He named all of his arrangements, usually after mythological characters but this one felt different. He slowly wrote out the name before slipping it into a photo album that held all of his best work. An informal portfolio.

“Holy hell, that’s ridiculously pretty.”

Jaehyun’s head jerked up and a grin grew when he spotted his friend by Triple, scratching him between his ears. “Taeyong, you didn’t call.”

“I didn’t think I was going to come in until I heard about the window.”

Jaehyun frowned, “How did you hear about that?”

“Okay fine, I was going to come in, but I ended up chatting up one of the aunties next door and she is a wealth of information.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes this time. He knew Lee Taeyong since they were in highschool but while he went on one path, Lee Taeyong leaped headfirst into business school before opening up a successful chain of restaurants. 

When Jaehyun first began venturing into floral work, Taeyong started ordering from him weekly to dress his restaurants. Jaehyun knew that for half the price, Taeyong could buy bulks of flowers, put them in vases, and replicate the same ambiance but to his best friend, it was an investment. He thrived on the risk, challenge, and thrill of doing business which was why he didn’t hesitate to co-sign Jaehyun’s loan.

Jaehyun shook his head and led his friend to his back room, flicking on the kettle as he passed. “Luckily it was just the window, they didn’t touch any money.”

“What did the cops say?” Taeyong asked as he accepted the cup of tea but set it down on the counter untouched, he hated tea. He was more of an espresso type of man.

Jaehyun paused, his cup at his lip as he thought back to the detective who gave him her card, her contact information,  and spoke to him in the middle of the night to put his mind at ease. The same one who thought flowers were pointless at funerals and thought a sense of security was important enough to be treated as a loss. The man who replaced his window hadn’t charged him when he gave him Ayeon’s name as well. “They were helpful.”

“That’s unexpected.” Taeyong snorted. “But do you know who did it?”

Jaehyun said nothing but sent Taeyong a knowing look, making his cheerful friend frown, “I can lend you whatever you need, you know that.”

“B—”

“It can be a loan. I’ll even charge you interest if that’s what you need to accept my help. I’m being serious.” Taeyong said as he crossed his arms.

Jaehyun nodded, “I’ll keep it in mind, honestly, if this keeps up, I might take you up on it.”

He could tell Taeyong wasn’t fully satisfied with the answer but he moved on, “How’s the business? Keeping you busy I assume?”

“Yeah, I’m taking it slow for the next little bit, I just finished a big order for a funeral for the precinct across the street, kept me working through a few nights.” He took another sip of the tea, letting it calm him.

Taeyong nodded, “I read about it in the papers, two cops got shot doing some drug thing. One dead, the other was injured. Young ones too. Our age, I think?” He shivered, “I can’t imagine a job where you might actually die.”

Jaehyun took in a long breath and shook his head, “You have to have some type of faith in the justice system to risk your life like that.”

“Oh , there it is.” Taeyong picked up a newspaper that Jaehyun had tossed to the side with all the other mail. He unfolded it and laid the front page on the table.

Jaehyun almost ignored him until one of the pictures made him do a double take. He lifted the paper up and let his eyes graze over the larger picture of a bright young man beaming in his uniform and landed on the smaller picture of the detective, Yoo Ayeon, in the same uniform with a fraction of the smile the other man had. Her hair was pin straight, her eyes dark and unreadable but held responsibility and authority. His scanned the write-up for her name.

“Officer Huang was at the scene with Detective Yoo who had sustained a non-life-threatening gunshot injury. A month has passed but investigations are still on-going of the Delco group.”

She was there. She was there when the officer died, and she was picking up flowers for his funeral. No wonder she showed so much disdain, flowers must've seemed so banal compared to what she had seen. He wasn’t sure what someone who had gone through that type of trauma looked like, but he would’ve never drawn her with the same composure that Ayeon brought with her.

“You’re zoning out. Do you know that guy?” Taeyong asked as he leaned towards his friend.

Jaehyun pulled his eyes away from the picture and stared at him, “No, not him. Are you going to stay for lunch?”

“Can’t. If I leave my team on their own during lunch rush, they may start stabbing each other with kitchen knives. You can always stay at one of my apartments if you don’t feel comfortable at night here.” Taeyong reminded.

Jaehyun looked back at the picture of a woman who had gotten shot, watched a colleague die, still picked up flowers for his funeral and offered to drive to his shop in the middle of the night just so he could feel safe. “I think I’ll be okay.”

-----

When Ayeon opened her eyes that morning, the first thing she thought of was the fact that she had no recollection of getting into bed last night.

She didn’t remember leaving work, getting into her car, driving to her apartment, eating dinner, getting washed up or falling asleep. She vaguely remembered Jaehyun and maybe she spoke to him? It was all a blur. She closed her eyes, her head swimming, but nothing came up.

Did she black out?

Before the panic could fully sink in, she heard her phone ping, she reached out, her muscles sore and stared at the text.

Soya: Where are you??? We’ve been waiting since 9!

Ayeon: Wdym? Waiting for what?

Soya: Please tell me you’re joking. Breakfast? We made plans!

Ayeon frowned, it was her day off, why would she be meeting Soya? She would’ve remembered if they made plans. Confused, she scrolled up and stared at the last message she sent.

Ayeon: Sounds good. I’ll see you guys at 9.

She didn’t remember this exchange at all. This had never happened before, even when she would go out all night with her friends, she never woke up with no recollection of the night before. She had never fully forgotten an entire conversation, much less a chunk of her day. Sending an apology text with a promise that the next meal was on her, Ayeon jumped in the shower, hoping it would wake her up and everything would come back to