Flowers are annoying. They’re annoying because they die and you find it particularly absurd caring for something that dies so quickly. They’re annoying because the idea of them is nice but the life duration of them is not. They die within a week, two weeks tops if you have a green thumb. And of course, you don’t. You can barely care for a pet rock, in which case, your rock’s name was Ore and you lost Ore. Ore is probably still stranded out at sea. You made the mistake of wanting to give Ore a bath in the ocean and should have known that rocks don’t float. You were 5. You were really naive at 5. 

There’s a certain disdain that you have for these colorful buds that go beyond a normal person’s hatred for a thing. Besides the fact that you hate how flowers die so fast, you hate being given flowers. They don’t bode well with you and leave a sour taste in your mouth and not to mention—your memories. Flowers are the worst gifts because they remind you of Luhan and you don’t want to be reminded of Luhan. You wish thoughts of him would die as quickly as flowers do. But they don’t and it is infuriating.

As much as you hate flowers, you receive them on the regular. From patrons of your shop, business partners, family members, potential romantic trysts, but never from Luhan. It is maddening.

Positively—maddening. 

You suppose you’re not very deserving of flowers from Luhan—not that you want them from him. That’s a lie. You want flowers from him even if you hate flowers. Sad to say, kindness isn’t one of your strong suits. You’re not delicate like a flower and are constantly reminded by your mother that you need to be more refined. You are kind and nice—just not to Luhan. It’s strange with him which is likely why he has never brought you flowers. 

Was it mentioned that Luhan is the florist right next door? 

Probably not. 

But it doesn’t matter. You still really hate flowers.

"The next item on our task list—" you skim all the way to November, highlighting what needs to be completed by the end of the month. "Florists. I sent out a list of potential vendors a few days ago. Did any of them pique your interest or want me to contact for more information?" 

Sehun and Yeol stare at each other for a few moments. They’re getting married next year in May but like many young professionals, planning a wedding doesn’t fit into their schedule. As an event coordinator, you are there to ease the stress away for them and in turn, volunteering that all the stress fall upon you instead. You get things done and sometimes have to be a little bit adamant so that they are finished to your clients satisfaction. Maybe that’s why your mother keeps telling you to be more elegant. Your work ethic seems to hinder such prospects.

"We are thinking of Sweet Root Village,” Sehun says and you nearly face palm. 

That’s Luhan’s store. 

You make a note of it after letting them know that they’ve made a fantastic decision because Luhan’s the best in the city. You lie. Not that Luhan isn’t the best—he really is. Your lie is that they’ve made a fantastic decision. It is a great decision for them—just not for you because now you are forced to interact with him again. And talking with him is something that you’re not very good at doing. 

Scheduling a meeting mid-morning the next day, your palms are sweaty, pulsating with heat at the thought of working with Luhan on another project. Past ventures with him weren’t terrible but they weren’t smooth sailing either—mainly you nitpicking every little piece that he created. Not that you wanted to. The problem is that he’s only seen you in your Event Planner mode—the serious, work-alcoholic drone and that version of you tends to be—not—very—nice. Usually, you can suppress your brusque way of speech but it’s different with Luhan. And it’s only with him. You get short with him. Blunt, curt. All bundled up in one full package whenever you are near Luhan. 

You tried blaming the flowers but deep down—you know it’s because you like Luhan and don’t know how to express it clearly. You wonder if your hatred of flowers stems from your love of Luhan. You hope not. 

Entering his shop, you are greeted with warm autumn colors—oranges from the Gerbaras and Dahlias. Rich purples from Calla Lilies and Roses and the vibrant reds from Chrysanthemums and Yarrows. You hate flowers but it doesn’t mean you don’t read up on them and appreciate their value. 

"Hey—give me one sec," Luhan’s disheveled hair peaks out from behind a tall centerpiece that is made from a mixture of grasses and grain stalks. That’s how good Luhan is. He can make dull, hay-looking plants appear beautiful and attractive.

He must have the hands of a god.

No time for swooning.

Luhan wraps the harvest centerpiece with a lavender satin bow and twirls it around, asking for your opinion. “How is it? Pretty, right?”

"I’m not here to analyze a pile of grass, Luhan." You mentally groan and want to slap yourself. What you meant to say was that the arrangement is gorgeous in the way that the shape weaves in and out to create an airy form that is whimsical and free. Everything that he makes, does, even his entire existence is an unexplainable artistry. Why couldn’t you say that? Maybe if you meet him when you are off work-mode things will be different. Probably not. You’re terrible with him—terrible to him. No wonder he doesn’t give you flowers. “Sehun and Yeol. Their wedding is on May 2nd and their colors are off-white, green, brown, and hints of yellow. What flowers will be in season?”

You take a seat at his work counter and open your tablet. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze burrowing into the sides of your face before sliding the centerpiece away for safekeeping. There might be a chance that he is afraid you will shred his work into pieces.

He leans onto his wooden work space, watching you type. “White roses—

"Roses are ugly," you interrupt briskly. Another mental gripe. What you meant was that Yeol doesn’t like roses. It is in her 'do not use' column for flowers. Your words are too strict. They’re harsh and severe and you want to desperately show him a more relaxed version of yourself. 

Luhan is accustomed to your terse remarks. It’s almost like a never-ending cycle for him. He’s worked with you on numerous events. At first, your blunt comments were off-putting but he now finds it endearing and can see that it’s your unusual way of being so flustered around him. It’s a sweet appeal that only he is capable of seeing from you. He’s seen you interact with other vendors including different florists. The way you communicate with him is amazingly different. “Does she like Peonies? Those might be the perfect option. They’re off-white with hints of yellow at the center buds. I can add some Orchids—

"No Orchids. They look like brains."

He snorts charmingly at your comment, “Alright. No orchids. Hydrangeas are great too.”

You continue to type, nodding here and there to his additions of flowers and only cutting in when there’s a flower mentioned that you aren’t fond of seeing. “It will be a bit of an earthy wedding. Rustic what have you. She’s interested in—

"Herbs?" Luhan finishes your sentence. With so many collaborative projects together, he easily knows your thoughts. He’s making you feel unsettled again. "Sage, Mint, Rosemary and Thyme can add to the green that she desires."

Luhan looks for that something in you. Whenever there’s another project together, he lists off flowers that he thinks you might enjoy even though he knows your hatred of them. But with each meeting, all he receives are simple nods, okays, and a distant form of you that he’s not quite sure how to reach. Nevertheless, he still tries.

"Okay. Can you get the contract to me—

"It’ll be in your inbox by 5PM tonight," his comforting smile bounces off of the lights from the sun but you don’t return even an ounce of the same respect. You want to, of course you want to but your lips don’t listen. Why won’t they do what you want? Your eyes continue to watch as he begins to pull out other arrangements to complete. 

"Good. Okay." You start to back away from his work table, opening up the space again for the flowers that he treasures so much. You walk by a bouquet addressed to the older lady that owns the fabric store two stores down. Another vase that you pass by is being sent to Mr. Byun, owner of a fine chocolate establishment across the street. The next one is a fiery pot of Celosias addressed to Mr. Jeong — the post man. As you finally grasp what you are seeing in the store, you notice that they are all flowers and arrangements being sent to everyone on the block. Each signed from Luhan and none of them are for you. A sharp prick stabs into your heart as you try to steady yourself.

"Is everything okay?" You find Luhan standing next to you, his arm almost reaching for your shoulder, thinking maybe it is physical support that you need. 

You look at him and then blankly at all of the flowers in the store. “Uh—yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” You’re definitely not fine.

It hurts. Numbly, you leave the store without taking one glance back at Luhan. He must hate you so much that even with the holidays coming up, you are not deserving of one flower crafted from his hands. You get it. Of course you get it but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. You don’t even think Luhan and Mr. Byun get along all that well. They have this ongoing battle where Luhan believes that the smell of the chocolates are detracting from the smell of the flowers and Mr. Byun complaining that the flowers are giving him allergies. You haven’t ever seen Mr. Byun sneeze.

Is it because you hate flowers that he’s purposely not giving them to you? But you think the idea of flowers is fine. Does he think that because you hate flowers, you don’t want flowers from him? Is it because you hate flowers that he thinks you hate him and don’t want anything to do with him? Or—is it because you hate flowers that Luhan hates you for hating on his art? Because that’s definitely notthe case. You don’t know. It’s all so confusing now. It’s an absolute mess. With your hand stuck on the door handle to your office, you know you won’t be able to concentrate with all of these absurd questions flying around your head. You turn and walk back to his store.

"I don’t hate you." You feel your chest rising up and down from nervousness and are unsure if the person you are showing him is the regular you or the event planner you. Surely, the former. It has to be the former. “Do you hate me?”

"What?" There’s a bit of amusement in his tone. You are hopeful.

You look everywhere but into his eyes. His stare is very burdensome. You’ve felt it the moment you met Luhan. It honestly feels like he takes the life of your heart away. “I mean. I know I come off rude and really inattentive about flowers and think that they’re not all what they’re cracked up to be. But I just find it infuriating that something so beautiful dies so quickly. You know? That’s really the only reason why I hate them so much. I don’t hate you. Is it because I hate flowers that you hate me?”

It is becoming rather difficult to stay calm at a time like this. You doubt you are making any sense and he probably thinks you’ve finally lost it at this point.

He grins and you can’t deal with that childish smile. You wish he would stop being so darn cute and adorable. “I know you don’t hate me and to answer your last question—no, I could never hate you.”

"Then," you look at everything—at all of the brightly colored flowers. "You’re giving one to every person on the street. Even my assistant has one." Walking over to the purple roses, you feel a bit childish, whining about something that everyone is receiving but you. It is childish but you can’t help but want an explanation. 

He takes a step closer and you know that your heart will not be calming down any time soon. “I haven’t given you one yet because I haven’t been able to find one good enough,” he holds out his left hand, implying that you should take it and follow him. ”Fake flowers are bad Feng Shui and not to mention you just plain-outright despise flowers. You leave me in a really difficult predicament because I can’t give you something that I love in which that you hate. And like you said, you hate it when flowers die. What’s a florist to do?”

Luhan guides you to the work bench, settling you down on the wooden stool. You rub your hand and feel the warmth screaming from his touch, longing for more. He walks over to the other side of the table and ducks below, looking for something in the cabinet spaces. When he finally reemerges, he hands you a book. “Open it,” he encourages with eager eyes.

Your hand brushes along the edge of the cover that has your name on it. Your heart gets stuck in your throat, not prepared for what is coming. Turning the cover, you are welcomed with a pop-up of Heliotropes. There’s a bundle of the intense purple petals but the surprising part is that these flowers have been pressed and then intricately re-worked to pop-out of the book when the page is opened. Under the flowers is written in his handwriting is 'Heliotrope — Eternal Love'. The next page you turn to is 'Honeysuckle — Bond of Love'. The white flowers bloom out of the page but still retaining their pure color. It’s made in the same way as the Heliotropes—dried and carefully shaped again to make it seem like they were never pressed. With each page, a different flower is showcased—from Jasmine flowers to Roses. Under the Rose petals, he writes, 'I know you think Roses are the most grotesque flowers but you can't deny the meaning behind them'.

Luhan watches as your expression softens and he senses that he’s found that spark. “Now you know why I never give you flowers.” His hand grazes your skin and find that no one has ever put this much thought into your needs or wants. It is the first gift that has completely left you awestruck. “And you understand that these flowers won’t die. They’ll never die.”

In a way, you are interpreting his words as his love for you will never die and the thought of it sends your spirits to a high that you’ve never felt before. 

"Please say something," he’s leaning on the work table. You have been quiet all this time, still in wonderment at how Luhan was able to turn your hatred of flowers into an endless love.

"I’m afraid I’m going to say something stupid and ruin the moment."

Luhan laughs under his breath and his eyes glisten with happiness. “Good. So you don’t hate them.”

"I don’t think I can say that I hate flowers anymore, Luhan."