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   "Hey, noona," Junhong says as he rolls into the shop on his skateboard, barely ducking his head before the door catches him in the face. 

  "Yah, Junhong," I say, grabbing him by the sleeve, making the skateboard fly out from under him, hitting a table. The flowerpots on top of it tremble, but thankfully, don't fall.

   I turn to him, trying to make my disapproval clear in my expression, but it's difficult, considering the fact that he is so much taller than myself but with the face of a child.

  "Didn't I tell you not to skateboard inside of the shop? Remember how you broke that birdhouse last time?" 

   He gives me a sheepish smile, one that I can't help but return.

   "Sorry, noona," he says, playing with my bun as I turn to right some flowerpots, angry at myself for not being angry. Strands of my hair come out of place and fall down my neck. "I didn't mean to break your rule..."

   I smile softly and brush his hand away. "Of course you meant it, Junhong, and stop it, you're messing up my hair."

   He continues to play with it until Yongguk comes out of the garden and smacks his hand away.

   "Yah, why are you here?" he asks, not angrily, but not exactly kindly either.

   He pouts. "I can't come to visit my hyung?"  

   Yongguk immediately softens and chuckles, ruffling his hair. This makes him protest because there is still smudges of soil on Yongguk's hands.

   "You can visit, of course, but today, you can't make any trouble. There's a new worker coming and we can't afford to make him want to leave the very first day."

   Junghong looks offended. "Me? Make him leave? What kind of monster do you think I am?"

   We both narrow our eyes on him.

  Before he can say anything else to defend himself, a familiar voice shouts from outside the shop. 

  "Yah, Zelo! Are you coming or what?" 

  It's Youngjae, Jongup and a few other friends of theirs. I recognize a very hyper fellow that Junhong once introduced to me, Yook Sungjae, I think, and another one, named Ilhoon. 

   Grinning, he rushes up to grab his skateboard from the ground and rides out the door, shouting as he departs, "I'll be back soon, hyung!" He blows a kiss in my direction and gives me a wink. "Saranghae, noona!"

   The sound of their laughs and hoots falter and fade away as we watch them depart.

   Junghong always gives me those types of teasing, saying that he loves me and wants to be with me for the rest of his life until he dies and all of that other stuff, ever since he was around seven years old, and he never said it without a laugh. Now, after ten years, he still doesn't give up the joke.  

    I shake my head, smiling,  and bring my hands to my hair, about to redo my bun. Yongguk touches my hands softly and brings them to my sides, then motions for me to turn around. I oblige. 

   "What do you think he's planning?" I ask him as he takes out my hairtie and commences remaking my hairdo. Although his hands are so big, he tugs at my hair softly, as he always has. 

   He laughs his deep rumbling laugh. I can feel his breath gently stir the stray strands on my neck.

   "No one knows," he replies.

  I've known Yongguk for ten years already. We attended the same elementary and high school, and I met him three years after my parents passed away and was sent to live at my aunt's home. At that time, his parents had just died during an airplane crash, and we first acknowledged one another when we saw each other at the grocery store by ourselves. My aunt never had time to do the groceries, so she usually sent me to do it. Yongguk and his younger brothers were sent to live with an uncle who didn't care for any of them and was rarely at home, so he was the one who did all the things a parent would normally do. 

  Since he is four years older than I am, he took to taking care of me as well as his dongsaengs, which he is very used to. I practically grew up alongside all of them, Yongguk especially. And when I told him that I wanted to make my own business at a flower shop, he agreed to be my business partner, and so we opened up Petals.

   To me, he's one of the most important people in the world.  

  "It's done," he says, patting my shoulder. 

  "Thank you," I reply, turning around and smiling at him. 

   He smiles back. 

  We continue on with our daily obligations. I go around watering all of the pots and sticking tiny tags which contain the title of each individual plant inside the soil, while Yongguk sorts out the new seed packets we ordered and organizes the bouquets at the front, all the while carrying out the tiny demands I ask of him as we work. 

   One of the best things about Yongguk is, he's a commendable worker. He carries out jobs efficiently and quickly, without complaint, and with a smile on his face instead. 

  The thought brings my mind back to the new worker we're supposed to be having today. I look down at the watch on my left wrist, eyebrow s crinkling together. He's about twenty minutes late. 

  "Yongguk-ah - " 

   My words are cut off by the sound of the front door opening with a tinkling noise from the windchimes. 

  Time seems to slow down as I turn my head to see who had come in.

   At the door, there is a young man, looking about my age and with features that are considerably charming. He is carrying a small bag, a twinkle in his bright eyes, and a smile dancing across his lips. His hair is cut short and a light chestnut brown, and it seems so incredibly soft, like if I run my hands through it, it would be as if I were touching silk, or feathers. There is only one word that I can use to describe this boy, and it is that he is simply enchanting.

  He assesses the shop with curious eyes until his gaze lands on me. 

  His tiny smile grows into a grin. 

  "Annyeonghaseyo," he says, bowing lightly. His voice is smooth and soft, almost like music. "My name is Jung Daehyun." 




*~(~*~(~*~(~*

Bang Yongguk's POV: 

   "Deh?" I walk to where Sarang had called me from, pulling off my gloves, a smile already tugging at the corners of my lips. 

  But when I come to, there's someone else with her. 

   He's slightly shorter than I am, with boyish features and a grin stretching across his face. In his hands, he holds a small plastic bag. 

  He's already dressed like one would look like for a day working in a flower shop: jeans and an open plaid shirt over a grey tank top. There are white gardening gloves covering his hands, and a small shovel sticking out from his back pocket. 

  He bows to Sarang, and when he looks up and notices me, he bows again.

  Before he can speak up, I give him a smile as welcoming as I can make it and walk over to him, grabbing his hand and shaking it. He has a good grip. 

  "You must be Daehyun-sshi," I comment, looking him up and down. He may be shorter than I am, but he's surely got a good build. He may even be compelling enough to assist Sarang as well as I can when I am away at my other jobs. 

  He nods his head. "Deh, that's right," he says. When I let go of his hand, he pulls up the bag he'd brought and sets it onto the table. "Ah, I brought something from home for you guys. The Ahjumma who's housing me insisted that I do so..."

   He motions for me to open it. 

   I look to Sarang amusedly and she's looking back with a placid smile on her face. She nods for me to look inside. 

   I do, and, smiling, pull out a rounded cream-colored cake, bordered from the outside by a plastic carrying container. There's no writing at the top, save for a flowing, curling design along the curved sides in light blue icing. 

   Sarang looks obviously delighted. 

  "You baked that?" she inquires, looking at Daehyun-sshi with bright eyes. She'd always adored it when a boy could cook, like when Himchan made her entire birthday dinner last month. 

  "I, uh, had some help from Ahjumma," he admits, rubbing the back of his head, the grin still remaining on his face.  "Well, the drawing at the front is mine."

   Sarang looks back at the cake and appraises it once more. "It's really well done," she says. "So intricate." She lays a hand against his shoulder; it's a sign that she always does when she decides that she thinks well of a person.

   However, before her hand even fully settles against his shoulder, he moves back so quickly it's almost as if Sarang had attempted to electrocute him. His elbow bumps into a small pot and it flings towards the floor, shattering easily. 

  "Oh!" Sarang exclaims, bending down immediately to clean up the broken shards. 

  "Sarang-ah, you're not wearing gloves!" I say, but it's too late; she's already cut herself. 

  I bend down next to her, where Daehyun is also on his knees, clearing the floor of broken pieces. She lets me take her palm in mine and assess it, turning it over slowly in my hands. It's a small cut, thankfully, on her pointer finger. Small drops of blood drip from it and fall to the floor, making a tiny pool on the white concrete. 

  "It's fine, really," she says, a smile still on her face, trying to reassure me. 

   Daehyun-sshi looks pale and shocked as he eyes the blood on the floor. 

  "Sarang-sshi," he says, his voice slightly breaking. "I am so sorry." 

  She shakes her head and pulls her hand away from me. "I'm fine, Daehyun-sshi, don't worry." She stands up with grace, her long skirt sweeping against the floor and rustling against my cheek. "With a bandage, it'll be okay." She offers him another smile. 

   Before he can say anything back to her, I get up and begin tugging her away in the direction of the back storage room.

   "We'll be right back, Daehyun-sshi," I say nodding towards him. "Could you just dispose of the broken things in the waste basket over there?" I point to a black bin on his far right. "The broom's beside it."

   He nods shakily and starts walking towards the direction I indicated.

   "You don't need to come with me," Sarang admonishes, patting my arm as I guide her away. "It's just a cut."

   "I know," I reply, looking back at her and smiling.

   But as we sit on the stools and I take out the first aid kit and begin to sanitize the tiny wound, I can't help but let my mind go back to the time when Daehyun-sshi pulled away from Sarang. 

   Because Sarang didn't see the expression on his face when he did so. He was looking at her, but he didn't have that happy, hesitant look that he had on a second before. There was a pure, almost passionate hate burning in his eyes, like the simple thought of her laying a finger on him was as disgusting as a cockroach falling atop his dinner plate. 

  "What's wrong?" Sarang asks me as I wrap a cloth bandage around her finger. "You look like something's disturbing you." 

  I look at her and can't help but smile. 

  "It's nothing," I say, shaking my head and patting the back of her hand gently. "Just...just try to be careful around that guy." 

  "Daehyun-sshi?" she asks, and chuckles softly. "Yes, he seems a bit clumsy, but that's alright, he'll adapt to the shop over time." 

  "No, Sarang, that's not what I mean," I begin, but she pats my cheek, stopping me with her grin. 

  "You might be misunderstanding him, Yongguk-ah," she tells me. "You're too cautious of people. I'll just make sure not to force any skinship on him. He seems a bit shy." 

  Sarang was always too trusting when it came to people. She's the kind of person who believes that there is a profound goodness in everyone, and that if she treats them well, that goodness will eventually be brought out. 

  "Sarang-ah," I try again, but she pinches my cheeks until my voice falls. 

   She laughs at my face and I betray myself by laughing along with her. 

  When she lets go, she gives me a one of her strict faces that looks more cute than anything else and says, "Give him a chance before you judge him, Yong-ah." 

  And she gets up and walks out of the storage room, her long skirt trailing behind her, leaving her familiar scent of flowers and shampoo wafting in the air. 

  When I'm sure that she's gone, I bury my face in my hands. 

  "That's not fair, Sarang-ah," I murmur softly to myself. "You're not being fair."

  *~(~*~(~*~(~*

Jung Daehyun's POV: 

   I sweep up the broken bits and swiftly dispose of them into the black bin. Bits of dirt and soil had made smudges on the concrete, so I take a nearby cloth and, after wetting it with some water from a watering can, begin to scrub at the floor. The dirt comes off easily. 

  When it's clean, I get up to put the bin away, when I spot a pool of red on the ground. 

  It's Sarang's blood. 

  It's strange; when I had seen that cut on her finger, and watched as a dark shade of red began to bloom from the wound, a weird sort of lump had formed inside of my throat, and I could practically feel the blood drain from my face. It wasn't entirely my fault; she had touched me in the first place, without my consent, in one rash, unexpected movement...

   It's acceptable that I would react this way, I tell myself. Because one day, there will be much more of that same blood on the ground, and it will be because of me. 

   I stare at the red droplets for a short moment before taking the cloth once more and getting down on my knees. 

  "You're a hard worker," a high, feminine voice remarks. 

  I look up to see Sarang, already bending over to take the cloth from my hands.

   The fact that she looks almost nothing like how she was when she was six still cannot register in my mind. She is a woman, now, with all that a woman entails, but with the gentleness and grace and innocence of one clearer and more distinct than others. One may even say that she is beautiful, more so than the average girl.  

   But I cannot even think to acknowledge these facts. It would be foolish to do so. 

  "I'll finish up here, Daehyun-sshi," she tells me, smiling. "Yongguk's going to leave soon, so I suggest you go to him and ask him what you should get started on first." 

  I nod my head, but before I stand up, I feel a tug on my shirt. 

  "Daehyun-sshi," she says softly when I look at her. "Don't be too distant, okay? Let's try and be good friends while we work here." Another smile. 

  Distant. There's the word again. I look distant. Noticeably so. 

   I give her a grin as open and friendly as I can possibly make it. 

  "Deh, boss," I say, nodding. I attempt to walk away once more. 

  "And Daehyun-sshi!" 

  I restrain myself from clenching my fists, irritation flowing through my veins. 

  "Deh?" I ask, turning around. 

  And in that moment, I freeze, staring at her.

  For some reason, the smile that she gives me seems different than the others, in the brightly lit room of the shop. The sun gives the scene a warm yellow glow, and the flowers that cover every open surface of the room offer a heady, sweet scent to the air. And all of a sudden, she reminds me of someone, someone that I saw long ago in a framed photograph, surrounded by a halo of flowers, in the clutched fingers of my father.

 

  ... Umma.

 

   My stupor breaks when she answers.

   "Call me Sarang."

   She waits while I recollect myself so that I may answer her.

   "Yes," I say, "I will. Of course I will."  

  And I walk away.

Thank you for reading the third chapter of "Love in Murder"! 
   Sorry if it may be a bit boring at the moment; the real events will begin in the next chapter, I promise you ~ This is mainly an intro :) 
   Please leave a comment at the bottom and subscribe if you can! It was a bit rushed, and it's not fully proofread yet, so excuse any errors I made! 
~TheNightCircus~