Minho’d never had much use for flowers. His mother loved them, though, and there’d always been a vase of flowers – usually roses – kept fresh in a crystal vial of water at the stand at the end of the hallway. Their scent permeated the house, and every time Minho caught a whiff of the scent of roses he’d instantly be reminded of home, and his mother’s smile every time she arranged a new bouquet. 

 

When they won, the MC presented Onew with the weighty glass trophy, but handed the rustling crepe paper and clear plastic bouquet of flowers over to Minho, and cradling the flowers in his arms, the scent of roses, mixed in among the smell of the other blooms, reached his nose and Minho sniffed harder and thought of home. A sharp pressure on his shoulder then – it was Kibum, leaning over to sniff at the flowers too.

 

Minho turned and handed the bouquet (which smelled of home, home, home, his childhood) to Kibum, and Kibum took it gratefully, smiling at Minho through the tiredness that had been an exhausting day of no sleep save for a couple minutes’ snooze between schedules in the van. 

 

And Minho thought nothing would ever equal the brightness of Kibum’s smile at him.

 

Not the sight and smell of flowers, but only for a million roses.