Archive of Our Own

The bell above the door chimed with its usual bright ring, and Sangwon didn’t even need to look up from the spray of chrysanthemums in his hands to know who it was.

Saturday, ten a.m. sharp. 

He twisted the last chrysanthemum into the bouquet in his hands, coaxing the stem to sit just so, before glancing toward the doorway.

And there he was.

Tall enough to block the morning light spilling through the glass door, shoulders filling the frame, dressed head-to-toe in black despite the heat outside. Cargo pants, scuffed boots, loose cotton shirt that clung a little at the chest.

It should have been too much—brooding, intimidating.

Instead, Sangwon felt his lips twitch up, as if his body recognized him before his mind did.

“Good morning,” he called, brushing the soil from his palms as he leaned back against the counter. “Back again so soon? You running a secret funeral business or something?”

The man—Leo, he’d learned by the third Saturday—blinked at him, unreadable for a beat. Then the corner of his mouth curved up. Not quite a smile, not quite neutral. A little like he was letting Sangwon in on a private joke.

“Morning,” Leo said, his voice quiet but low enough to settle warm in Sangwon’s chest, “and no, no funerals.”

Sangwon tipped his head, feigning thought. 

“Romantic gesture then?” he propped his chin in one palm, a lazy grin playing on his mouth, “I’m starting to worry about whoever you keep buying these for. Every week? That’s commitment. Flowers are supposed to be special, you know.”

Leo’s expression didn’t change much—maybe the smallest lift at one corner—but he didn’t take the bait either. 

Instead, he wandered deeper into the shop, boots creaking on the old wooden floorboards, and crouched in front of the hydrangeas.

Sangwon let himself look.

Leo always looked like he shouldn’t belong in a place like this—dark ink curling over the muscles of his forearm, hair perpetually messy like he’d just raked his hands through it, shadows under his eyes.

And yet, he moved through the rows of blooms with utmost care, never brushing too close, never knocking a single petal loose. Like the whole shop was something sacred and he was afraid of disturbing it.

Sangwon caught himself smiling, a little softer this time, and pressed a hand to the counter to keep from fidgeting.

When Sangwon had first noticed Leo months ago, he was standing just outside the shop with his hands tucked into his pockets, studying the window display like he was memorizing it. 

He’d assumed Leo was scouting for a client gift, or maybe a plant for his apartment. But then he’d come back the next Saturday, and the one after that. 

Always at the same time. Always asking for something different but never explaining why.

“You know,” Sangwon said now, stepping out from behind the counter with a lazy sort of sway, “most people just pick up a cactus if they want something low-effort and pretty.”

Leo glanced up, a pale hydrangea held delicately between his fingers, the petal a contrast to his black painted nails.

“You, though,” Sangwon continued, stopping just close enough to pluck the flower from him, “bouquets every week? That’s commitment.”

Their fingers brushed, just a whisper of contact, but it shot straight through Sangwon like a spark on dry skin. He swallowed it down quickly, turning toward the workbench as though nothing had happened.

Behind him, he could feel Leo’s gaze, warm and unhurried, as steady as the man himself.

“Guess I like flowers,” Leo said finally.

Sangwon snorted under his breath, reaching for a length of ribbon. “Guess you like emptying your wallet,” he tossed back, trying to be casual. His pulse was still annoyingly quick.

He busied himself with the bouquet, letting instinct guide his hands. 

“All right, mister mysterious,” he said over his shoulder. “What’s the vibe this week? Sweet and sunny? Dramatic and moody?”

“Moody, maybe.”

“Moody, it is,” Sangwon grinned, turning to grab sprigs of eucalyptus, dark dahlias, and—because he couldn’t resist—something thorned. 

“You know,” he said, glancing at Leo again, “you seem like a moody guy.”

Leo leaned a hip against the counter, folding his arms, looking like he belonged there despite being all black clothes and hard edges.

“Do I?”

“Kind of,” Sangwon said, amused, “brooding, all that black. Total misunderstood-artist vibes.” He tied off the bouquet with a neat tug of the ribbon, smirking, “bet you’re a hit with the girls.”

That got him something unexpected—a soft laugh. Low, brief, but real.

The sound hit Sangwon somewhere deep in the chest. His grin softened without permission.

Then, “or boys,” Leo said evenly.

Sangwon’s hands went still for just a beat, his heart giving a traitorous little kick. Then he was moving again, tying off the bow with deliberate calm.

“Well,” he said lightly, turning back to him with an easy smile, “I bet you’re a hit with whoever you want to be.”

For a moment, something unreadable flickered in Leo’s eyes—interest, maybe, or quiet amusement—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Leo reached for his wallet without hurry, pulling out a card and sliding it across the counter. Sangwon wrapped the bouquet in brown paper with practiced hands, the rustle of it loud in the quiet shop.

The card reader gave a soft, final beep.

When Sangwon turned to hand the bouquet over, their fingers brushed again—too brief to be an accident, too light to be intentional. 

It sent a shiver right through him all the same.

“See you next Saturday?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly, like he could make it a joke if he needed to.

Leo’s mouth curved again, softer this time, almost private. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. Then, after a pause that felt longer than it should’ve, “see you, Sangwon.” 

The voice wrapped around Sangwon’s name like a secret.

And then Leo was gone—boots thudding against the pavement, door swinging shut with a dull clink.

Only the faintest trace of him lingered behind. Ink and citrus and something sharp that made Sangwon’s chest feel annoyingly warm.

He leaned back against the counter, staring at the door for a moment before laughter escaped him, soft and incredulous.

He didn’t know why Leo kept coming back.

But whatever the reason, Sangwon wasn’t about to complain.

The café was quiet in the early morning, sunlight pooling across the round tables like spilled honey. The air still smelled faintly of warm milk and the first batch of baked goods cooling in the kitchen.

Sangwon sat in his usual spot by the counter, leg crossed over the other, chin propped on his palm. His coffee had gone lukewarm a while ago, but he sipped it anyway, letting the bitterness roll over his tongue.

“I hate morning shifts,” Anxin groaned as he pushed through the swinging kitchen door, a rag dangling from one hand like a white flag of surrender. “Especially when someone keeps showing up early.”

He tossed the rag over his shoulder and leaned on the counter across from Sangwon, his hair still a little mussed from the morning rush.

“You say that every time,” Sangwon said without looking up from his coffee, lazily swirling the spoon in the half-empty mug.

“And you still show up like you own the place.”

“Family discount,” Sangwon shrugged.

“You’re not family.”

Sangwon finally looked up, one corner of his mouth curling into a slow smile, “then why does your mom always pack me leftovers? Sometimes she even writes my name on them. With hearts.”

“Because she thinks you’re one day away from withering into dust,” Anxin makes a face, “you and that flower shop. Skipping lunch, watering everything but yourself—”

“But there’s plenty of sunlight,” Sangwon said, pretending to be offended.

“You live in a greenhouse.”

“I work in a greenhouse.”

“Same thing,” Anxin muttered, though the edge of his mouth twitched. He reached over, swiping Sangwon’s mug before he could protest, then grimaced. 

“It's already cold,” he declared, setting it back down, “want me to make you a fresh one?”

“No need, this is fine,” Sangwon just traced the rim of the mug with his finger, the motion slow and absentminded. 

For a moment, they were both quiet, watching the street outside as the neighborhood began to stir. 

A delivery truck rumbled past. A cyclist clipped by, ringing their bell twice. The tattoo shop across the road was still shuttered, a dark square on the otherwise sunlit row of storefronts.

Sangwon’s eyes lingered there a moment longer than they needed to, and Anxin noticed—he always noticed—but didn’t comment.

And then, as if the thought itself had summoned him, Leo appeared.

Even from across the glass, Sangwon could make out the dark sweep of his hair falling into his eyes and the relaxed set of his shoulders. Everything was so at odds with the reputation that clung to him like cigarette smoke.

He was dressed in black again, as always—cargo pants, heavy boots that should’ve made him look intimidating. But the sleeveless top catches Sangwon’s eyes, the crawling ink from the top of Leo's shoulders a new sight. 

But what really caught Sangwon off guard was the fluffy white dog cradled in Leo's tattooed arms, tongue lolling happily.

Sangwon's breath hitched, then escaped in a startled chuckle.

Through the glass, Leo caught his eye. And then, it happens. 

The brooding, stormy expression Leo always seemed to wear cracked open, and out came something blinding—an unguarded grin that lit up his whole face.

Before Sangwon could even process it, Leo lifted the dog’s paw and wiggled it in a wave, ridiculous and unexpectedly charming.

He laughed, out loud and unthinking, his own hand lifting in a clumsy wave back. Leo’s lips moved around words Sangwon couldn’t hear but could guess easily enough. 

See you around.

And then Leo was gone, the dog’s tail wagged over his shoulder, leaving Sangwon staring after him like an idiot.

He stayed frozen for a beat, hand still hovering mid-wave, before dropping it and dragging both palms down his face with a groan.

“Damn,” Anxin’s voice cut through the moment, smug and merciless. “You’ve got it bad.”

“I don’t,” Sangwon said immediately, a little too quickly, reaching for his cold coffee just to have something to do with his hands.

“You do,” Anxin leaned across the counter, grinning like a cat who had cornered a canary. “Your whole face just lit up like a drama protagonist. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Oh, please. Tattoo shop hyung walks by and suddenly you’re giggling at the window like you’re in some montage.”

Sangwon swatted at him half-heartedly, which only made Anxin double over laughing. The sound of the side door swinging open saves him from further humiliation. 

Jiahao stepped out, tying an apron around his waist as he walked toward the front. “Should we open up now?” he asks, glancing toward the clock on the wall.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Anxin shoots him a smile. And if his voice softened just slightly, Sangwon definitely noticed.

Jiahao gave them both a quick, polite smile before heading to the window display, adjusting the potted plants one by one. 

The moment he turned his back, Anxin let out a sigh that sounded suspiciously dreamy. Sangwon’s grin came back, wicked this time. 

“Well, hometown hyung, huh? When are you confessing that crush?”

Anxin shot him a flat look, “say one more word and I’ll hit you with a portafilter.”

Sangwon laughed, ducking his head into his coffee like he was behaving, though his shoulders still shook with amusement. 

Anxin mocks his laugh, wiping the counter, “fine, deflect all you want. But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“How long are you gonna keep denying you’re into Leo-hyung?”

“I am not into him!” Sangwon said immediately. Maybe a little too loud, judging by the way Jiahao glanced back briefly.

“Oh, you so are,” Anxin smirked, absolutely relentless, “your eyes literally change when you look at him.”

“They do not!”

“They totally do,” Anxin said cheerfully. “You stare at him like you just want him to eat you whole—”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Sangwon hissed, ears burning hot and pink.

“But to be fair,” Anxin added with a slow, evil grin, “I think he has the hots for you too.” He throws in a wink that further presses the words into Sangwon, shutting him up immediately. 

He busies himself with his mug, sipping what was now room-temperature coffee and pretending not to notice how fast his heart had started hammering.

He did not want to know what Anxin meant by that. And he was absolutely, definitely not hoping it was true.

Anxin watched him for a long beat, then let out a low, theatrical whistle. 

“Oh my god,” he said, almost delighted. “You’re in love with the guy.”

“I am not!”

The café bell chimed just then, announcing the first customer of the day. Sangwon had never been so grateful for an interruption in his life.

The café’s bell jingled again as Sangwon slipped out into the late morning air, the sun already higher and warmer. 

He tugged his canvas tote over his shoulder and started back toward the flower shop, trying—unsuccessfully—to will the heat out of his face.

Anxin’s words still rang in his head. 

You’re in love with the guy.

Ridiculous.

Sangwon wasn’t in love with Leo. He just found him… interesting. 

As anyone would, if they had a mysterious, incredibly good-looking neighbor who bought flowers every Saturday like clockwork. It’s obvious.

That’s not love. That’s curiosity. That’s—

Sangwon was crouching down below the counter when the little bell over the flower shop door jingled. And for a split, traitorous moment Sangwon thought Anxin followed him there to keep teasing him.

But it wasn’t Anxin.

It was Leo.

Standing right there in the doorway, dark hair still slightly wind-tousled, the same white dog now sniffing curiously at the floorboards.

Sangwon stopped dead, tote dangling from one hand. “Oh,” he said, far too eloquently, “I mean, uh—good morning.”

“Hey, morning,” Leo said. His voice was low and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world, “I was in the neighborhood.”

“You live in the neighborhood,” Sangwon said before he could stop himself, then winced. 

Smooth. Very smooth.

But Leo just smiled faintly—one corner of his mouth quirking, as if he liked that Sangwon had said it. 

“Fair,” he shrugged. He crouched briefly to pick up the dog before it could knock over a bucket of baby’s breath, one arm hooked under its small body.

Something about that image—the tattoos, his entire arms on display, the soft way he held the dog—made Sangwon’s brain short-circuit for a moment.

“Are you here for flowers?” Sangwon asked finally, drumming his fingers on the counter only to give his hands something to do.

Leo nodded once, patting the dog’s head, “yeah.”

“You’re early,” Sangwon said before thinking, then realized how that sounded and added quickly, “Not that I mind, just—usually you come later.”

Leo’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary, “guess I wanted to beat the crowd.”

“Right,” Sangwon glanced around the completely empty shop, then back at him, “the weekend flower rush. Look how busy my shop is.”

For the first time, Leo actually laughed—not the small, quiet chuckles Sangwon was used to, but a real, warm sound that caught him completely off-guard.

Sangwon blinked, then grinned helplessly, because damn it, it’s a nice laugh.

“All right,” he said, walking around the counter and towards the aisles of fresh blooms. “What’s the vibe today? Bold and dramatic? Or should I pick something that matches the little guy over there?”

Leo shifted the dog to one arm and leaned his hip against the counter, easy and relaxed. 

“Surprise me.”

That sent a flicker of something warm through Sangwon’s chest—trust, maybe, or something dangerously close to it.

“Careful,” Sangwon said lightly, reaching for the clippers. “You might regret giving me free rein. I can get very artistic.”

Leo hummed, low and nonchalant, “I’ll risk it.”

When Sangwon glanced up, Leo was watching him again—steady, quiet, the kind of gaze that felt less like casual observation and more like being read cover to cover. 

Sangwon had to force himself to focus on the flowers, not the way Leo’s forearms flexed where they rested on the counter, tattoos shifting faintly with the motion of his hands as he stroked the little white dog’s ears.

“You’ve been staring for a while,” Leo said suddenly, his voice breaking through the quiet snip of shears.

Sangwon nearly cut the wrong stem, “what?”

“Chunbae,” Leo said, nodding to the bundle of white fluff cradled easily in one arm, “you were looking at him.” The dog blinked at Sangwon with a lazy sort of curiosity, tongue peeking out. 

Right. The dog. Chunbae.

Definitely not Leo’s arms flexing whenever he moved them. Sangwon’s ears went warm anyway.

“He’s cute,” he managed, trying to make it sound casual.

Leo’s mouth curved, soft with pride. “Thank you,” he said, “he loves hearing that.”

Of course he does, Sangwon thought, but the smile that rose to his lips was real. Something about the little dog was disarming—soft as a cotton puff, perfectly content in Leo’s hold.

Then, Sangwon reached for a bucket tucked low behind the row of carnations, fingers brushing against cool stems until he found what he was looking for. A bundle of new arrivals, petals still damp from transport. 

“He’s kind of got the same vibe as these,” he said after a beat, pulling them free.

Leo tilted his head, curious, as Sangwon began arranging the bouquet—white roses just starting to unfurl, sprays of baby’s breath like a scatter of stars, dusty miller leaves catching the light with their silvery fuzz.

“See?” Sangwon said, voice quiet, almost shy as he worked. “Soft and gentle, like he belongs in a field somewhere.”

Leo’s gaze dropped to the bouquet, then back to Sangwon, and the look in his eyes made something in Sangwon’s chest tighten.

“Yeah,” Leo said, and there was something warm, amused, in the way he said it. “That’s him.”

Chunbae yawned as if in agreement, and Sangwon had to bite back a laugh. His fingers lingered on the wrapping paper a second longer than necessary, trying not to think about how close Leo was standing, how his forearm brushed the counter every time he shifted.

Sangwon risked a glance, and nearly swallowed his tongue.

He still hasn't entirely recovered from Leo swapping his usual long sleeves for a sleeveless top, leaving the full sweep of his his arms and the edges of his shoulders bare. 

Leo’s skin gleamed faintly where the light caught it, smooth and warm-looking, muscles shifting as he adjusted Chunbae against his chest.

It was too much. Way, way too much.

Sangwon wrenched his eyes back to the bouquet, ears burning, knuckles white on the shears.

Who walks into a flower shop looking like that at nine in the morning? Who had the right to look that sexy while holding a small, fluffy dog?

Focus, Sangwon ordered himself. He forces himself to think about anything else—stems, ribbon, the proper ratio of filler to blooms. Literally anything else.

“Almost done,” he said too quickly, the brightness in his voice brittle even to his own ears.

Leo doesn't reply.

When Sangwon dared another glance, he found Leo watching, as steady and calm as ever. There was no pressure in it, no expectation. 

But the weight of that gaze made Sangwon’s pulse thrum harder, made his hands work faster even as his chest felt unbearably tight. Every snip of the shears sounded too loud in the quiet shop.

He tied off the ribbon with unnecessary precision, exhaling through his nose before finally turning, bouquet in hand.

Don't look at his arms. Don't look at his arms. Shit, I looked—

And that's when Sangwon sees it.

A small birthmark, barely visible beneath the crawling design of Leo’s shoulder tattoo. 

It was nothing special—an uneven little shape, the kind most people would overlook—but the sight of it punched the air out of Sangwon’s lungs.

Familiar. Too familiar.

His breath caught, but his body moved on instinct, extending the bouquet toward Leo, then accepting the payment.

Their fingers brushed—like they always did—but this time it was worse, a crackle of static that shot up Sangwon’s arm and bloomed in his chest, leaving him rattled.

“Thanks. I’ll see you around?” Leo’s voice was softer this time, almost tentative, like he’d noticed something had shifted between them.

“Yeah,” Sangwon nodded, the word snagging in his throat, “see you.”

The bell over the door chimed as Leo left, the bouquet tucked carefully under one arm, Chunbae’s ears bouncing with every step.

And then it was quiet again.

Sangwon stood frozen, shears still in his hand, staring at the space Leo had just occupied as if the air there might still hold the shape of him. 

His heart beat hard enough to hurt.

That birthmark.

It had been years, but Sangwon would know it anywhere.

Sangwon remembers being nine.

Barefoot and breathless, sprinting through a field washed gold by late-afternoon sun. Wildflowers brushed his knees, dragonflies spun lazy circles in the air, and ahead of him someone was laughing—bright, unrestrained, the kind of sound that made you want to chase it forever.

“Wait for me!” Sangwon called, nearly tripping over his own feet as he ran faster, “Jongyoon hyung!”

The other boy slowed just enough for him to catch up, turning with that wide, easy grin that always made Sangwon’s chest feel warm. 

His shirt collar had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the small, oddly heart-shaped birthmark there.

Sangwon had poked at it without thinking, giggling, “I still think you have the coolest birthmark ever, hyung.”

Jongyoon had rolled his eyes but didn’t push him away, just grabbed Sangwon’s wrist and tugged him along toward the creek.

The memories came in fast after that.

Flower crowns wilting in the heat, secret forts made of stolen blankets, Jongyoon teaching him how to whistle between his fingers, Sangwon drawing clumsy hearts in the dirt and pretending they weren’t for anyone in particular.

And then, the last day of summer.

Jongyoon sitting on the back steps, scuffed sneakers tapping nervously against the wood.

“My family’s moving back, Sangwon,” he’d said quietly. “To Australia.”

The words hadn’t made sense at first.

Sangwon had just stared, throat tight, until Jongyoon reached over and ruffled his hair.

“I’ll write to you,” he’d promised. “And maybe we can call sometimes. It won’t be goodbye forever.”

But it had been.

One letter had arrived months later—slanted handwriting, a pressed flower between the pages—but no more came. 

Sangwon had called the number written at the bottom until the paper nearly fell apart, but no one ever picked up. 

Eventually, his family's house in town was sold. 

Eventually, he stopped waiting.

Or at least, he thought he had.

Sangwon lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

The room was dark except for the thin bar of moonlight spilling across his desk. His sheets had long gone cool, but his skin still buzzed as if he’d just stepped out of the shop an hour ago. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it—the small, heart-shaped mark on Leo’s shoulder, so familiar it had felt like a punch to the chest.

Sangwon rolled over and pressed his face into his pillow, but it didn’t help. His heart was still hammering, as if it could shake the answer loose from his ribs.

No way.

No way.

And yet, the memories came rushing back in fragments. 

That summer, golden and endless. Jongyoon’s grin, the birthmark on his shoulder, the way he’d ruffled Sangwon’s hair when he’d cried on the steps the day they said goodbye. 

It won’t be goodbye forever.

Sangwon sat up abruptly, restless energy crawling under his skin. 

He flicked on the overhead light and crouched by the cabinet where he kept old things—shoeboxes filled with ticket stubs and pressed flowers, stacks of half-forgotten photo albums.

He rifled through them until dust coated his fingertips, flipping page after page. 

School trips, birthdays, graduation photos. A thousand photos of himself or of flowers, but not a single one of that summer. Not a single one of Lee Jongyoon.

Frustration prickled hot in Sangwon's chest.

He grabbed his phone, thumb hovering for a moment before typing, quick and clumsy.

hey mom

do you still have a photo of me and my friend that moved to australia?

He hit send before he could overthink it and let the phone fall onto the bed. The room was quiet again, except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. 

Sangwon sat there, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor until his vision blurred.

Could it really be him?

The next morning, Sangwon looked like he’d gone three rounds with a hurricane.

He couldn't be bothered to style his hair, his shirt was halfway tucked, and there was dark smudges beneath his eyes that no amount of concealer could have fixed.

“You look like hell,” Anxin said helpfully from behind the counter when Sangwon shuffled into the café.

“Thanks,” Sangwon muttered, sliding into his usual seat and thunking his phone down on the table. “Coffee. Please.”

Anxin brought it over with a curious glance, “what’s got you looking like someone just stepped on a bouquet you made?”

Sangwon turned the phone toward him, screen lit. 

The photo was grainy, sun-bleached from age—two boys sitting in a field, knees scuffed and grins wide. Nine-year-old Sangwon looked exactly as he remembered. Small, cheeks full, clutching a fistful of daisies. 

Beside him was another boy—taller, tanned from the sun, his hand propped on top of Sangwon’s head.

“That’s him,” Sangwon said at last, the words coming out almost hoarse.

Anxin leaned over the counter, peering at the screen, “that’s who?”

“Tattoo shop. Leo hyung,” Sangwon exhaled sharply, shoving a hand through his already-messy hair. “I think. God, I don’t know.”

He swiped to the next photo with a shaky thumb. 

This one was brighter, taken on a beach somewhere—two boys with sunburned noses and gap-toothed grins crouched beside a lopsided sandcastle. Jongyoon’s arm was flung around Sangwon’s shoulders like it belonged there. 

And there, clear as day, was the mark. An almost-heart shape, dark against his sun-tanned skin.

“Look,” Sangwon said, voice dropping as though they were discussing state secrets. He zoomed in until the photo blurred, pixels fraying into squares. 

“See? Right there. On his shoulder.”

“Yes, I see it,” Anxin’s brows rose slightly, “what about it?”

“Yesterday...” Sangwon pressed his palms flat against the counter, as if bracing himself against the weight of the thought, “I saw the same mark. On Leo hyung. Same place. Same shape.”

Anxin just stared at him for a moment, long enough for Sangwon’s stomach to tie itself in knots—until a slow grin broke across his face, dimples flashing. 

“You’re serious.”

“I’m—” Sangwon groaned, dragging both hands down his face until he could peer at Anxin through the gap between his fingers. “I’m losing my mind. I didn’t sleep at all last night because of this.”

“Well,” Anxin tilted his head, then shrugged, completely unbothered, “it’s… possible.”

“Possible?” Sangwon’s voice pitched up in disbelief. “I’m spiraling over here and all you’ve got for me is ‘possible’?”

Anxin handed the phone back, leaning his chin into his palm, “then stop spiraling and go ask him.”

“What are you even—” Sangwon gaped at him. “What am I even supposed to say? ‘Hey, you don’t know me that well but are you my long-lost childhood best friend who disappeared to another continent?’”

“Yes,” Anxin said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sangwon let out a strangled noise, half laugh, half despair, and slumped forward onto the counter. 

“I can’t just casually drop that on him!” his voice was muffled against his sleeves, “what if I’m wrong? What if it’s just some random guy with a cool shoulder birthmark and I’ve been projecting like a lunatic?”

“Then you’ll look a little weird for five minutes,” Anxin shrugged. “You’ve survived worse.”

“This is not the same as getting caught crying to that busker last year.”

“It’s exactly the same,” Anxin replied, entirely too calm for Sangwon’s liking. “Except this time, there’s a non-zero chance it ends with you finally getting laid.”

Sangwon’s head shot up, ears instantly red, “that is not the point!”

“Feels like part of the point.”

He glared, snatching his phone back and clutching it to his chest like a shield, “I’m not asking him today.”

“Of course, you won’t,” Anxin sighed over dramatically. “So you’re just gonna keep sitting in this café every morning, staring out the window like a rejected extra from a music video?”

Sangwon opened his mouth, closed it again. The worst part was, he probably was going to do exactly that.

“I mean, how bad can it be?” Anxin’s grin was infuriatingly calm. “Worst case, you sound insane. Best case, you get closure. Or, you know,” he smirked, quirking a brow, “a date.”

Sangwon groaned and dropped his head to the table, “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Anxin said breezily, already turning back toward the espresso machine. “Drink your coffee and wake up. At least look hot while you’re losing your shit.”

Sangwon groaned again, dragging both hands down his face until his hair stuck up at every angle. 

He felt like a caricature of someone losing their mind, and unfortunately, Anxin was right—he wasn’t about to do anything to fix that.

Through the café window, the tattoo shop across the street was already opening its blinds.

The flower shop was too quiet.

Sangwon stood in the front of the shop, broom in hand, staring blankly at the same patch of ground he’d already swept three times.

Late afternoon light filtered through the front window, dust motes floating lazily in the air, and every little sound—the buzzing of cars and people, even the rustle of trees—felt sharp enough to scrape. 

Across the street, the tattoo shop blinds were still up, the neon sign outside beginning to flicker into life as the last of the sun’s light spread across the street.

Through the glass, Sangwon could just make out the top of Leo’s head as he leaned over the counter, talking to someone.

Sangwon’s pulse jumped like he’d been caught spying. He whipped his head down, pretending to be very interested in rearranging a half-dead eucalyptus bunch.

It’s fine. He could just wait until next week. Or the week after. Or never. He didn’t have to know if Leo was Jongyoon, people lived their whole lives with unresolved mysteries.

Sangwon sets the broom aside.

If I keep this up, I’m going to lose my mind.

The usually bright bell above the flower shop door rang as he entered, but now it's more daunting than cheerful. 

Sangwon pressed both palms to the counter, willing his heart to stop hammering against his ribs. He tells himself he needed to ask Leo today, he’s lost too much sleep over this.

He’d just go over there. Casually. Buy coffee. No, wrong place. Get a tattoo—oh god, no. 

Ask about aftercare products? Is that even a thing?

Sangwon catches sight of his reflection in the shop’s mirror and groans. 

His hair was ruffled from where he’d run his hands through it, his apron was slightly crooked, and his ears were already going red just thinking about walking in the tattoo shop.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered out loud.

But he was already moving. He smoothed down his hair, took a deep breath, then another.

One step toward the door. Then back.

He dragged both hands down his face and tried again.

Just ask. Just ask. Worst case, you sound insane. Best case—

His stomach did a slow flip. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the best case. He blames Anxin for the thoughts.

The bell above the shop door jingled as a customer came in, startling him back to reality. He plastered on a smile, wrapped their bouquet, rang them up—and all the while, the decision burned in the back of his mind.

By the time the shop was empty again, he’s already stripping off his apron and tossing it onto the counter. 

This was it.

He turned the sign to Sorry, We’re Now Closed! then locked the door. His heart hammered like he was about to walk into battle as he stepped out into the fading sunlight.

The walk across the street felt longer than it should have.

Too bright, too loud—cars rushing past, a gust of wind tugging at his clothes, the clatter of someone unloading crates a few doors down. 

All of it felt far away, though, as Sangwon stopped just short of the tattoo shop entrance.

Through the glass, he could see Leo behind the counter, head bent as he sketched something on a tablet. The lines of his arm shifted as he moved, the curve of his shoulder visible under that cursed sleeveless shirt he’s wearing again.

Sangwon swallowed hard. He stayed there, frozen on the threshold, one hand hovering just over the door handle. 

He should just go in. Just open the door. 

He stepped back.

Then forward again.

Turned away, then turned back.

“Lee Sangwon, you look insane,” he mutters to himself, voice small and conflicted.

His reflection in the glass stared back at him, pale and wild-eyed, like he’d just run a marathon. He combed a hand through his hair, tried to breathe.

You’re not here to get a tattoo, he told himself. You’re not even here for business. You’re here to ask if he remembers you. Tell him you think he’s the boy you cried over when you were nine.

The thought made his stomach twist.

Just then, the bell jingled. 

Sangwon startled so hard he nearly tripped backward. 

The door swung open, and there was Leo, filling the doorway, Chunbae peeking out from behind his legs like a little white shadow.

“Hey,” Leo said, his mouth curving slightly, “you've been there a while.”

Sangwon’s heart stuttered.

“Uh—” he scrambled for words, for air, for anything that would make this look normal, “hi, I—yes, I have.”

Leo’s brows lifted, curious but not unkind, and he stepped aside just enough that the smell of ink and antiseptic and faint coffee spilled out into the street.

“You coming in?”

It shouldn’t have sounded like a challenge, but Sangwon’s pulse jumped like it was one. He nodded too quickly, because what else was he supposed to do, and stepped past Leo into the shop.

The tattoo shop smelled faintly of cedarwood, a cool reprieve from the late afternoon heat. 

The interior was sleek—dark walls, neat rows of framed sketches, the hum of a small speaker tucked somewhere near the counter.

Sangwon had seen the place countless times from outside a window, but being inside was different. 

The polished black counters. The soft buzz of a machine somewhere in the back. And Leo, standing there, casual as anything in a sleeveless black shirt, his hair pushed back like he’d just run a hand through it.

Holy shit, is that—

Sangwon’s breath caught.

A fresh tattoo curled just under the nape of Leo’s neck, dark against the skin, disappearing beneath the collar. He was so busy staring that he almost missed the question.

“Thanks for visiting,” Leo said, leaning an elbow casually against the counter, “how can I help you?”

A nape tattoo, oh my god—

“That’s hot,” Sangwon blurted.

A beat of silence.

“Uh,” Leo blinked, startled, and then his mouth twitched as if he was fighting a laugh, “sorry?”

Sangwon’s ears went up in flames. 

“It’s hot! Today, I mean,” he said quickly, fanning himself with one hand like that would sell it. “It’s—wow—so hot outside. Right, Chunbae?”

He crouched down just in time for Chunbae to bound over, tail wagging, blissfully oblivious to his existential crisis.

Leo’s laugh rang warm and unrestrained above him, and Sangwon’s mortification melted into something else—soft, dizzy, dangerous—as he glanced up and saw that grin in full.

“Yeah, it is hot,” Leo said, still smiling as he grabbed a remote from the counter and clicked the air conditioner’s fan higher. A stronger breeze swept through the room, cool enough that it raised goosebumps along Sangwon’s arms.

Sangwon stood, cradling Chunbae to his chest like a shield, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. 

Because there it was again—the birthmark.

Just barely visible where Leo’s shirt gaped at the shoulder, the faint curve of it catching in the light. Sangwon’s stomach dropped, heat flooding his chest all at once.

He couldn’t look away.

He had to do this now. Before he lost his nerve, before the universe changed its mind and took this chance from him.

His throat felt too tight, but he forced the words out anyway.

“So, Sangwon,” Leo said lightly, nodding toward him, “you here for a tattoo or—”

“Weird question,” Sangwon blurted, louder than he meant to. His pulse skittered like a rabbit in his throat, “but… did you live in Hwangdo as a kid? By any chance?”

The silence hit like a held breath.

Leo stilled. For one impossible second, all the easy warmth drained from his face as he simply looked at Sangwon—like he was trying to place him, to fit him into some memory half-buried by time.

Sangwon’s palms went clammy.

For a terrible, stretched-out second, he wished the floor would just open up and swallow him whole. He could laugh it off, backpedal, leave before Leo could answer.

But then Leo nodded.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, carefully, like he was feeling out the shape of the memory too. “Cheonsu Bay. How’d you know?”

The world tilted.

Sangwon gripped Chunbae a little tighter, his heart slamming so hard it felt like it might shake him apart. 

The name, that summer, the sunburnt laughter and the field of wildflowers—all of it flooded back so fast it was dizzying.

It really was him.

Leo wasn’t just Leo.

He was also Jongyoon.

The first morning on the street smelled like varnish and dust, sharp and clean in a way that clung to Leo’s skin.

He propped the tattoo shop’s door open with a cardboard box, the metal frame squeaking against the pavement. Sweat slid down the back of his neck, sticking his shirt to his spine as he hauled another crate inside. 

The place was still in shambles—half-painted walls, a scattering of ink bottles and machine parts across the counter, chairs stacked like dominos in the corner—but standing there, breathing in the faint bite of disinfectant and wood polish, Leo could already see it taking shape.

It would be a home soon enough.

His cousin’s “temporary favor” had turned into something far more permanent the second Leo said yes.

“Just manage the shop while I’m overseas,” his cousin had said over the phone, voice warm, persuasive. “You’ll love it. Quiet neighborhood. Good food. Nice people. Perfect reset button.”

Quiet, sure. But not with his friends here.

“Yo, we’re almost done!”

Junmin’s voice echoed from the back as he emerged, clipboard tucked under one arm and a streak of white paint on his jaw. 

“Inventory’s sorted. Harry’s nesting in your back room already, by the way.”

“I found the power drill!” Harry’s voice floated in from the back, bright and entirely too pleased with himself.

“Great,” Leo dragged a hand over his face, hiding a laugh. “Because that’s what I needed today—Harry with power tools.”

“Pray for us,” Junmin said under his breath, rolling his eyes affectionately. He tipped his chin toward the street outside, “come on, tour time. You might as well know who your neighbors are before we barricade ourselves in here for the rest of the week.”

Leo hesitated for a beat, glancing around the shop—at the boxes still waiting to be unpacked, at the morning light cutting through the window and hitting the freshly lacquered floor—then grabbed the rag draped over a chair and wiped his hands clean.

“Fine,” he said, pushing the door open with his shoulder.

Outside, the street was waking up. 

A bus hummed by, the air heavy with incoming summer heat and the smell of roasted beans drifting from somewhere nearby. 

The narrow row of shops glowed gold in the early light, their signs still dark, shutters just beginning to roll up.

And for the first time in a while, Leo felt something in his chest loosen.

Maybe his cousin had been right.

“That’s the Zhou family café,” Junmin said, tilting his head toward the little shop across the street. The awning cast a square of shade onto the pavement, and the faint smell of espresso drifted over to meet them. “Best coffee in the neighborhood, fresh pastries. Cute barista, too.”

“Then there’s the Parks’ restaurant next door,” Harry called, leaning out the shop doorway like he couldn’t stand to miss the gossip. “You’ll meet Donggyu eventually. Kid’s a saint. He sneaks us side dishes every time we eat there—like, illegal amounts.”

“And that one’s the Lee family flower shop,” Junmin’s hand lifted again, pointing across the street, directly parallel to the tattoo shop. “Smells like spring in there all year, and the florist is really nice.”

Leo’s gaze flicked toward it, more out of habit than curiosity.

“Well, that’s one place I wouldn’t visit,” he said, almost absently, rubbing the back of his neck.

Junmin turned, brows raised. “Why not?”

“Because he’s allergic to flowers,” Harry supplied before Leo could answer, bounding over to sling an arm around both their shoulders. “Tragic life, tragic lungs. Two minutes in there and he’d sneeze himself straight into unconsciousness.”

“Dude,” Junmin snorted. “That’s both sad and pathetic.”

Normally, Leo would fire back. Call them both dramatic, shove Harry off, something.

But the words caught in his throat as the shop door swung open.

For one disorienting, suspended second, everything else—the street noise, Harry’s arm around him, Junmin’s quiet laughter—faded into a dull, distant hum.

Then suddenly, Leo could hear everything.

The soft creak of the flower shop door. The faint, musical rattle of windchimes overhead. And underneath all of it—loudest of all—the rush of his own pulse, hammering like someone had turned the volume all the way up.

The person in the doorway stepped out into the light, framed by it as though the morning had been waiting for him. 

His sleeves were rolled past his elbows, forearms dusted faintly with soil, hair falling into his face as he carefully carried a potted plant to the display shelf out front.

Leo went still.

It wasn’t a conscious thing—more like something in him simply lurched, like a gear locking in place after years of spinning loose. 

His breath hitched in his throat. 

The world didn’t just slow down, it seemed to tilt on its axis, everything rushing forward too quickly and too vividly. His palms felt weirdly empty. His chest ached with something sharp and urgent.

“Who’s that?”

The question came out rougher, lower than he meant it to, like it had been pulled out of him by force.

Junmin followed his gaze and shrugged casually, like he wasn’t witnessing the end of Leo’s entire internal equilibrium.

“Oh, him? That’s the Lees’ kid, Sangwon. He runs the shop now.”

Lee Sangwon.

The name landed in Leo’s head like a stone dropped into deep water, sending out faint, distant ripples that brushed against something almost familiar, almost remembered—too far away to grasp.

But that wasn’t what caught him.

What caught him was everything else.

The sun caught in Sangwon’s hair like gold leaf, the faint flush of heat against his cheeks, the way he absently brushed a few petals from his sleeve as he turned back toward the shop.

Pretty wasn’t the word. Pretty wasn’t even close.

Leo swallowed hard, feeling something dangerous spark to life in his chest.

Allergies be damned.

He had to meet Sangwon.

Saturday mornings were supposed to be for sleeping in.

But Leo had been lying awake since eight, staring at the ceiling of his still half-furnished apartment, thinking about a pair of soft eyes and the sound of windchimes.

By ten, he was standing outside the Lee family’s flower shop, glaring at the door like it had personally wronged him.

You’re just getting flowers, he told himself. Totally normal. People do that. People buy flowers for their… living spaces. Air purification. Whatever.

He shoved the door open before he could think himself out of it, and immediately regretted everything.

The smell hit him first. 

Green and bright and dizzyingly sweet, like stepping into a greenhouse. His nose twitched. His lungs seized up in betrayal. 

Oh, god. How long could a person hold their breath before passing out?

“Welcome.”

Leo nearly jumped out of his skin.

Sangwon stood behind the counter, framed by shelves of blooms, smiling like he was built from soft light and quiet mornings. 

Something in Leo’s chest imploded. The breath he’d been holding escaped in a shaky rush, leaving him weirdly lightheaded.

“Oh, uh—hi,” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again, “I, uh—need…” He trailed off. What did he need? Why was he here? The names of flowers suddenly evacuated his brain all at once.

Sangwon tilted his head, patient, waiting.

“I—uh—” Leo’s brain was a white screen, he scanned around the shop looking for anything that he knew. The bucket of long stemmed yellows caught his eye as he turned. 

He blurted the first words that came to mind, “sunflowers. Right. I need a bunch. Of those.”

There was a beat of silence. Leo almost dissolves to the floor.

Then Sangwon’s mouth curved, and he laughed.

Laughed.

It was quiet and small, the kind of laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes and showed just the faintest edge of his teeth—and Leo swore something physically left his body. 

His knees nearly buckled. He gripped the counter for dear life, praying he didn’t look like he was about to faint.

“You’re from the tattoo shop that just opened, right?” Sangwon asked, already moving with easy grace, pulling sunflowers from a bucket and arranging them, cutting the stems short and stray leaves away.

Leo nodded mutely. Words felt like a risk.

“Thought so,” Sangwon said, still smiling as he tied the bouquet with a strip of twine and slid it across the counter. “Then consider this our shop’s welcome gift.”

Leo stared at the flowers like they were some holy artifact. “Are you… are you sure?” he managed to ask, voice weirdly hoarse.

“Of course,” Sangwon said, with warmth in every syllable, “have a good day.”

After a poor excuse of a whispered ‘thank you’, Leo barely made it three steps out of the shop before he sneezed so hard he saw stars. 

Then again. 

And again. 

He staggered to the curb, clutching the sunflowers like a lifeline, and groaned.

God help him.

He was absolutely going back next week.

By now, the flower shop had become part of Leo’s Saturday ritual—drink an anti-histamine pill, walk over, try not to embarrass himself too badly.

He was already grinning a little as he rounded the corner, the sun warm on his shoulders, rehearsing the easy “good morning” he’d finally gotten comfortable saying.

Then he sees Sangwon.

He was standing in front of the flower shop, sleeves rolled up, a garden hose in hand, brows furrowed in concentration as he watered the line of potted daisies along the sidewalk. 

The whole scene looked like something out of a commercial—sunlight glinting off the wet leaves, the faint mist catching in the air.

Leo’s chest went stupidly, ridiculously warm.

He opened his mouth to call out, but nothing came out. 

His eyes widened in surprise as the hose sputtered, then roared to life, sending a full spray of water straight at Sangwon.

“Shit—” Sangwon yelped, fumbling with the handle too late, completely drenched from chest to knees.

Leo’s heart nearly leapt out of his throat. “Hey, holy crap—that was a lot,” he rushed forward before he could think, nearly tripping over himself. “Sangwon, are you okay—”

Just then, Sangwon turned toward him.

And Leo’s world just stops.

The baby-blue shirt Sangwon was wearing was plastered to his skin, nearly translucent now, clinging to the delicate lines of his chest and his absurdly tiny waist. Droplets of water traced paths down his throat, catching in the dip of his collar.

Leo forgets how to breathe.

“Oh, hi, good morning,” Sangwon said, like nothing in the world was wrong, smiling sheepishly as if he hadn’t just delivered a fatal blow to Leo’s nervous system. “I’m okay, I just need to go change. This stupid hose has been a problem since—”

Leo nodded automatically, not hearing a single word after I’m okay. 

His entire body was hyperaware of every inch of Sangwon standing there—dripping wet, laughing a little at himself, looking so soft and so unfairly good it almost hurt.

He fixed his eyes on Sangwon’s face like a lifeline, like if he looked anywhere else, even for a second, he might just combust on the spot.

“Right,” Leo said faintly, clearing his throat when his voice came out lower than intended. “Yeah. Go… go change. I’ll, uh—be here.”

Sangwon grinned at him, and Leo swore his heart physically tilted in his chest.

He was so, so doomed.

The Saturday rush hadn’t started yet, which meant the café was quiet and an avenue only for them.

Morning light poured through the windows in golden stripes, pooling on the wooden floor and catching on the steam curling from the espresso machine. The air smelled like ground coffee and warm bread, soft and comforting.

Leo sat at the table nearest the window, shoulders loose but heart a little too quick. 

He told himself he’d just wandered in on instinct, but the truth was obvious—he hadn’t been able to sit still all morning with today’s tattoo appointment in the back of his mind. It's going to be some long, grueling hours.

Just then, the door chimed.

Sangwon walked in, and the rest of the café faded into background noise.

Leo had to stop himself from staring like an idiot.

Sangwon moved toward the counter with the quiet ease of someone who belonged everywhere—a soft hello for Anxin, a small smile as he scanned the menu he probably already had memorized.

His hair was slightly mussed, a breeze-tossed mess that made him look more boyish than usual. 

There was a faint pink still on his cheeks from the morning chill, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing pale wrists and delicate veins.

God. He looks—

Leo swallowed, forcing his gaze down to his half-empty cup. 

Don’t stare. Don’t be obvious.

When Sangwon turned, drink in hand, and caught sight of him, his expression lit up—just slightly, but enough that Leo felt something unspool in his chest.

“Oh,” Sangwon said, crossing the room toward him. “You’re here early.”

Leo shrugged, trying for casual despite the fact that his pulse had just jumped. “Couldn’t sleep in,” he said, his voice a little lower than usual, “figured I’d grab coffee before it got busy.”

Sangwon slid into the seat across from him, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.

“Smart,” he said, wrapping his hands around his cup. “This place turns into chaos after ten.”

Leo nodded like he knew, even though he’d never been here past mid-morning. 

Mostly he was just trying to memorize how Sangwon looked in this exact moment—quiet, soft, framed by sunlight like the universe had decided to be cruel and hand him something this perfect.

And just like that, the whole room felt warmer.

They started talking the way they had been doing more and more lately. It was nothing earth-shattering at first, just the usual Saturday chatter.

Sangwon told him about the stray cat that had apparently decided the flower shop’s ribbon bin was its new toy chest. Leo nearly spit his coffee when Sangwon described walking in on the crime scene—petals scattered everywhere, the cat sitting smugly in the middle of the chaos like it owned the place.

“And you didn’t kick it out?” Leo asked, grinning over the rim of his cup.

Sangwon made a face, half-indignant, half-affectionate, “obviously not. I just… bribed it to leave. It likes smoked salmon, I think it’s been waiting for me to restock.”

Leo chuckled, warm and easy.

The conversation rolled on, gentle as a tide, until something shifted.

Sangwon was halfway through describing how the delivery guy had tried to bribe him with free carnations or lilies, after messing up an order when Leo cut in, tone deceptively casual.

“Carnations, lilies… would it matter?” he said, leaning on his palm, one brow lifting. “Pretty sure anything would look good if you’re the one holding it.”

It slipped out before Leo could think better of it.

For a heartbeat, Sangwon just blinked at him—eyes wide, lips parted—like someone had hit pause on the world.

And then the tips of his ears turned scarlet.

The reaction hit Leo like a punch to the ribs. He swore he could feel the sound of Sangwon’s startled laugh in his chest, soft and quick, like it had caught him off guard too.

“That was…” Sangwon muttered into his cup, trying to hide behind it, “...really cheesy.”

But it was different. 

That laugh, quieter, shyer. Something about the way his mouth curved like he was trying not to smile too wide made Leo’s stomach do an unhelpful flip.

And then he sees it, the faint flush creeping up Sangwon’s ears, spilling down over the tops of his cheeks like watercolor bleeding into paper.

Leo’s pulse jumped so hard he nearly knocked his coffee off the table.

No. No way. 

That wasn’t just polite laughter.

Sangwon cleared his throat too fast, fingers drumming against the cup like he needed something—anything—to do with his hands. 

He didn’t quite meet Leo’s eyes, and that, more than anything, sent a rush of heat through Leo’s chest.

Was that real? Did I just…?

Something loosened in him then, slow and warm, like sunlight spreading across his ribs. Hope.

For the first time since this whole ridiculous, sneezy, heart-thudding mess began, Leo didn’t feel like he was drowning.

Maybe he hadn’t been imagining the way Sangwon’s gaze lingered. The way his voice softened, just barely, whenever he said Leo’s name.

Maybe he wasn’t just some customer cluttering up Sangwon’s Saturday mornings.

Leo leaned back in his chair, letting the smallest, most dangerous smile settle on his face like a secret.

Maybe he just had to be braver.

A little louder. A little more obvious.

Maybe then Sangwon would look at him the way Leo had been dreaming of since that first day—not like a neighbor, not like a customer, but like someone he might actually want to keep.

“Did you live in Hwangdo as a kid? By any chance?”

Leo blinks at the question. 

The words stretch out, slow and deliberate, as if the world has softened around them. 

Hwangdo… 

His throat tightens, a knot of memory flickering. He nods, voice quiet, careful, “yeah, Cheonsu Bay. How’d you know?”

He watches Sangwon. And for a heartbeat, his mind stutters, scrambling for logic. 

Did I ever mention living in Korea before moving to Australia? Leo’s certain he hasn’t, not once. So how did Sangwon—wait.

Lee Sangwon.

It takes a moment, then another, before his brain catches up to what his heart already suspects. Memory bursts forward, unbidden, jagged and vivid.

A boy with small, round-cheeks. Tenacious, a wild little comet with endless questions and wide, earnest eyes. 

The boy who had followed him through the sun-bleached streets of Hwangdo, through alleys fragrant with salt and spring blossoms, asking things he hadn’t even known he could answer yet. 

The boy who had leaned into laughter like it was a secret meant only for them.

Sangwon. My Sangwon.

And now—this Sangwon.

Flushed cheeks and soft, waiting eyes. Chunbae cradled against his chest with that tender, unconscious care that made everything around him soften. 

The slight tilt of his head, the careful way he shifts his weight, the almost imperceptible bite of his lip—it all speaks of a nervousness that tugs at Leo, at once familiar and new.

His little Sangwon. His wildflower field Sangwon.

This is him now?

The thought knocks the air from Leo’s lungs. His chest tightens, not in pain, but in the dizzying weight of recognition. 

Time collapses, the years folding over themselves. The impossibility of it should stun him, but it doesn’t. It’s overwhelming in a gentler way—a quiet, consuming awe.

Here he is. 

The boy who once chased sunlight and questions and dreams across star-studded skies. Only a lot taller now, yes, but somehow softer in ways Leo never could have predicted. More himself than ever.

And Leo’s heart, irrational and insistent, catalogs every detail. 

The curve of Sangwon’s jaw, the hesitant warmth in his eyes. Every inch of him, every echo of the past, and every trace of now—it refuses to be ignored.

He swallows. His pulse thrums loud in the hush between them, a private percussion that sings he’s here, he’s in front of me.

“No way,” Leo’s breath catches, quivering as if the words themselves were fragile, “Wonnie?”

The sound of his own voice startles him, sharp and raw, and for a fraction of a second he worries he’s misstepped—until the change on Sangwon’s face unfurls like sunlight breaking through clouds.

A wave, gentle and inevitable, washes over him.

The tension drains, line by line, from Sangwon’s features. His shoulders relax, his chest eases, and his eyes, once taut with uncertainty, bloom with a quiet, almost fragile relief. 

A sigh he hadn’t known he was holding escapes him, mingling with the air between them, and he places Chunbae back on the ground. 

A soft laugh, then a breath that says finally.

“Hi, Yoon hyung.”

Simple words. Light as a feather, but they strike Leo like a bell in the stillness. 

Every memory, every missed year, every heartbeat between them hums quietly beneath the syllables, reverberating in the space that has always existed, waiting for this moment.

Leo swallows, lips parting. 

The world has narrowed to the curve of Sangwon’s smile, the tilt of his head, the way he holds himself now—and everything he thought he’d lost comes rushing back, bright and undeniable.

Without thinking, without any space for reason, Leo’s moving. 

Around the counter, the small distance between them collapsed in a heartbeat. His hands reach instinctively, pulling Sangwon close, and the world tilts on its axis as he breathes in the warmth.

Sangwon stiffens for a fraction of a second, surprised, then melts into the embrace, his arms rising slowly and carefully, until they settle around Leo’s waist. 

It’s hesitant at first, a gentle echo of the small boy who used to follow him through that small coastal town—but it strengthens, grows, and suddenly Leo feels the years dissolve.

His own pulse races, a frantic drumbeat, as if the universe itself is marking the reunion. The scent of Sangwon—faint florals, faint memory of salt air and the sun—fills his senses.

“I missed you, Jongyoon hyung,” Sangwon murmurs into his chest.

The sound is both a beginning and a memory. 

Leo tightens, almost afraid to let go, as if releasing Sangwon might shatter the delicate miracle of this moment.

And in the hush between them, all the lost time folds neatly into nothing, leaving only the undeniable truth.

Sangwon is here, and he is real, and he has always been waiting for this.

The sky outside is a dusky purple of early evening, soft as pressed violets, when Leo turns the key in the lock. 

They end up in a tiny noodle shop tucked on the corner of a quiet street, the kind of place with fogged-up windows and laminated menus that have seen years of loyal customers. The fluorescent light buzzes faintly overhead, casting everything in a golden hum.

They sit at a corner table, shoulders just far enough apart that the space between them feels electric. 

The conversation starts slow, faltering, like two people relearning the shape of a language they used to speak fluently. Years stretch between them like a bridge they’re crossing one careful step at a time.

“Who knew we’d meet here again?” Leo says at last, addressing the thought both of them have had since the revelation. 

He toys with his chopsticks, spinning them in his fingers before setting them down, smiling in that crooked, almost disbelieving way that still feels too vulnerable.

“Through the years, I began to think you were imaginary,” Sangwon laughs softly, eyes curving with the sound. “If it weren't for my mom keeping our old photos, I’d swear I made you up.”

The words land like a stone dropped gently into a still pond, rippling outward in Leo’s chest.

“Guess you owe her a thank you,” he murmurs, grinning, but there’s something tender beneath it, something unspoken.

Sangwon’s mouth curves, small and warm. 

And for a moment, they just sit there, letting the silence stretch in a way that doesn’t feel heavy anymore.

The noodle shop is warm and humming softly, steam curling up from their bowls. 

They’ve shed the stiffness of strangers but not quite settled back into the ease of childhood—they’re somewhere in between, balancing carefully on that invisible line.

“You were always so sure I’d forget about you first, remember?” Sangwon tilts his head, a smile tugging at his lips. His chopsticks pause midair as if the memory tastes sweeter than his food. “You’d make me promise, every week, that I wouldn’t.”

Leo huffs out a laugh, low and a little self-conscious, and pokes at the last few noodles in his bowl, “what can I say? I was terrified of it happening.”

“You didn’t have to be,” Sangwon’s voice dips, quiet but steady, like he wants him to know this. “I was so happy when I got your first letter. I must have read it twenty times.”

That makes Leo’s head snap up, “you got my first letter?”

“Yeah,” Sangwon nods, his thumb tracing the rim of his bowl, slow, thoughtful, like he’s rubbing the memory into the present. “I even tried to call the number you put in it, but it didn’t work. No answer, no one called back.”

“Oh, god,” Leo groans, dragging a hand over his face. “That explains so much. I must've given you the wrong number in that first letter, that’s so stupid.”

Sangwon looks up then, half amused, half fond, his mouth curving, “that’s… very you.”

“Hey,” Leo protests, but it comes out smiling. He leans forward on his elbows, urgency bubbling up despite himself, “but I sent more letters. I’m sure I put the right number on those. You never got them?”

Sangwon shakes his head, slow and a little rueful, “we moved to Seoul a week after your first letter came. I sent one back, with our new address. Maybe it got lost somewhere between there and Australia.”

Leo leans back in his seat, the weight of it all settling in his chest. 

For a moment, he just watches Sangwon across the table, the way his hair falls against his cheek, the faint crease in his brow like he’s still turning the past over in his head. 

Then Leo exhales through his nose, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips.

“Or maybe the universe just had other plans.”

Sangwon glances up, curious.

“Maybe it wanted us to meet again when we’re older,” Leo continues, his voice softer, warmer. “When we’d know what we meant to each other better.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Sangwon blinks, startled—and then laughs, quiet and a little pink in the ears, “sounds like a line from a drama.”

“What can I say?” Leo shrugs, grinning crookedly. “I’ve always been dramatic.”

“You have,” Sangwon doesn’t deny it this time. His voice comes out gentler, like the memory of it is something he doesn’t mind carrying.

Leo tilts his head, letting the smile grow slow and real, “and you always liked it.”

Sangwon tries to roll his eyes, but it’s ruined by the reluctant curve of his mouth, the kind of smile he used to give Leo when they were kids and he’d gotten caught up in some mischief but couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

And Leo just sits there for a moment, soaking it in—the warm light, the soft sound of Sangwon’s laughter, the quiet hum of the city outside. 

He thinks that maybe, just maybe, the universe had gotten it right.

By the time they leave the noodle shop, night has draped itself fully over the city. 

The air is cooler now, brushed with that faint metallic tang of incoming autumn. Streetlamps throw warm circles onto the pavement, catching in Sangwon’s hair when he steps through them.

Leo had insisted on walking him home—said it like a simple offer, but he’d been oddly relieved when Sangwon didn’t refuse.

They walk side by side, close enough that their shoulders nearly brush. Chunbae trots along at their feet, his tiny bell chiming in time with their steps, filling the small gaps between their words.

“It’s so different,” Leo says after a stretch of quiet, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Walking here, I mean. Feels like the city stays awake with you.”

Sangwon glances at him, smiling faintly, “what, compared to Hwangdo?”

“Yeah, and even where I grew up in Australia,” Leo said, hands in his pocket. “Back there, everything would shut down after dark. You could hear your own footsteps, like the whole world was holding its breath.”

“Must’ve been nice,” Sangwon says softly.

“It was,” Leo shrugs, his lips quirking, throwing Sangwon a glance, “but I like this too. The noise, the lights. Seoul feels like it’s alive.”

“You sound like a tourist.”

“I am a tourist,” Leo says, grinning, bumping his shoulder lightly against Sangwon’s. “But I think I’m getting more and more reasons to stay forever.”

Sangwon huffs a laugh, and something about the sound makes Leo’s chest warm in a way he can’t quite name.

They walk a few more steps in silence before Sangwon speaks again, his tone thoughtful, “you know, I still remember the first time you showed me your birthmark.”

Leo blinks, surprised, “you do?”

“Of course,” Sangwon’s mouth curves as though he’s tasting the memory. “We were out in the field, remember? You made me swear not to laugh.”

“Oh god,” Leo groans, covering his face with one hand, “that was when I had to leave early because I wouldn’t stop sneezing, wasn't it?”

“It was the day we found out you’re allergic to flowers.”

“Right,” Leo smiles, shaking his head. “You still made me stay until sunset though. I was miserable.”

“You were,” Sangwon laughs, head tilting forward, “but you stayed anyway. I thought that was… kind of cool.”

The memory makes Leo’s chest ache unexpectedly. The idea that even as kids, Sangwon had been looking at him like that, quietly taking stock of him.

He’s so lost in the thought that he almost misses it when Sangwon suddenly stops walking.

“Oh my god,” Sangwon says, blinking at him with wide eyes. “Why have you been buying flowers all the time when you’re allergic to them?”

Oh, right.

Leo freezes, caught like a deer in headlights. 

Shit.

For a half-second, he considers lying, brushing it off. But there’s no playful mischief in Sangwon’s tone, just genuine bafflement.

“Uh,” Leo starts, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I just… like flowers?”

Sangwon squints at him, unconvinced, “you always go to the shop, too. You could just ask someone else to buy them for you.”

The tips of Leo’s ears go hot before he even realizes why. 

He glances away, suddenly fascinated by the glow of a streetlamp overhead, by the slow swirl of a stray leaf’s shadow passing through it.

“Maybe,” Leo mutters, softer now, “I just like seeing the florist more.”

The words hang there, suspended between them like the night air itself has stilled to listen.

Sangwon blinks, caught off guard. Then color blooms high on his cheeks, spreading like watercolor across his skin. 

“Oh,” he says faintly, almost like the word escaped before he could stop it.

Leo risks a glance at him and immediately wishes he hadn’t—or maybe wishes he’d done it sooner—because Sangwon is looking at him with this startled, flustered little half-smile that makes his stomach turn over.

They keep walking, but slower now, as if the ground itself has gone treacherous. 

By the time they reach the front steps of Sangwon’s apartment building, their silence feels less like absence and more like a live wire between them, thrumming with everything they didn’t say.

“Thanks for dinner,” Sangwon says at last, his voice low, shy enough that it feels almost secret.

“Anytime.”

Leo’s hand flexes uselessly at his side, as if his body is trying to act before his brain can catch up. As if some part of him already knows that what he wants is to close the last inch of space between them.

Sangwon stands there for a moment too long, like there’s something else sitting on the tip of his tongue. 

The entrance light glows faint and golden above them, casting shadows across the lines of his face. For a second, it feels like the whole world has narrowed to this doorway–this quiet, this breathless beat of pause.

Then Chunbae barks once—sharp and insistent—and the spell breaks.

“Good night, hyung,” Sangwon murmurs, but his voice is softer now, like it lands closer to Leo’s chest than his ears.

Leo swallows hard, nodding once, “good night, Sangwon.”

He starts to turn, meaning to give Sangwon space before he says something he’ll regret.

But then, a small tug at his sleeve.

It’s so light Leo almost doesn’t feel it, but when he glances back, Sangwon’s standing there, fingers still curled in the fabric like even he’s surprised by his own action. His ears are flushed pink, his mouth slightly open like he’s scrambling for words.

“Uh—” he clears his throat, and the sound is so quiet Leo has to lean in just to catch it. 

“Text me when you get home.”

For a moment, all Leo can do is stare at him, at the way Sangwon’s gaze darts quickly to the ground like he hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding as soft as it did.

“I will,” Leo says, and his voice comes out steadier than he feels. Inside, something in his chest is doing its damnedest to combust.

Sangwon nods once, quick, like he’s said too much already, and retreats into the building lobby.

He bows one last time before disappearing into the corner, the smile on his face one that’s already engraved itself into Leo’s mind.

And Leo just stands there, staring at the empty area, pulse drumming in his ears. 

The night is cool against his skin but he feels warm, dizzy almost, like the ground just shifted under him.

The world outside looks exactly the same—quiet street, the same streetlamps, the same distant hum of traffic. 

And yet he knows, with a kind of bone-deep certainty, that something has changed.

The café was in its late-morning lull, warm light spilling in through the windows and catching on the edges of tables. 

Leo sat hunched over his sketchbook at a corner table, pencil tapping against the page. He wasn’t even drawing anymore—just sort of dragging the graphite around, pretending to refine a design he’d already finished.

Across from him, Jiahao slouched comfortably with a cold brew, chin propped on one hand. “You know,” he said finally, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually finish a sketch when you’re here.”

Leo didn’t look up, “I finish plenty of sketches.”

“Uh-huh,” Jiahao leaned over, peering at the page. 

“You’ve been shading that same corner for, like, twenty minutes. What are you even—” his gaze flicked past Leo toward the wide café windows, where the Lee family’s flower shop sat across the street, all soft pastels and hanging plants.

“Oh,” Jiahao grinned. “Never mind. I get it now.”

Leo’s pencil froze. “Get what?”

“You’re not distracted, you’re lovesick,” Jiahao said cheerfully, a smirk on his face. “And our cafe just happened to have the perfect view of Sangwon’s shop.”

Leo acoffed, flipping the sketchbook shut, “I am not lovesick.” But the heat creeping up his neck said otherwise.

“Right. Sure,” Jiahao took a lazy sip of his drink, unfazed. “Anxin told me, by the way. About you and Sangwon being childhood best friends that got separated.”

Leo winced, “Sangwon’s right, Anxin talks too much.”

“That’s literally his job,” Jiahao’s grin only widened. “Anyway, that’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? You move here, randomly end up right across the street from your long-lost childhood friend? That’s like… fate. Or a cliche drama plot. One of the two.”

“It’s not—” Leo stopped, dragging a hand through his hair, “it's not that deep.”

“Leo,” Jiahao’s voice went dry, “you have not shut up about him for a month. You nearly sneezed yourself unconscious to buy flowers from him every week. And you’re seriously going to sit there and tell me it’s not that deep?”

Leo groaned and slumped back in his chair, “I’m not—”

“Gone?” Jiahao supplied helpfully.

“Yes.”

“You’re so gone it’s embarrassing.”

Leo picked up his pencil again, twirling it between his fingers like that would keep his hands busy and his face from betraying him, “you’re annoying. If you weren't someone I knew from Australia, I’d ignore your ass.”

“Right, sure you would,” Jiahao laughs at him, then juts his chin towards the window. “Go see him, ask him out or something.”

Leo blinked, “what?”

“You heard me. Go.” 

Jiahao gestured toward the general direction of the shop across the street, “he’s literally right there. You’re impossible to talk to when you’re in this mood—just go talk to him and come back when you’re done being stupid.”

Leo hesitated, glancing out the window despite himself. 

The shop looked soft and inviting in the amber light, and he caught a flash of Sangwon’s silhouette through the glass as he moved to water a display.

His chest did that thing again—that annoying, tight little ache that had been there since the day Sangwon’s laugh had gone pink around the edges.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling until Jiahao groaned.

“Damn, you’re hopeless,” Jiahao muttered, waving him off. “Go. Before I drag you there myself.”

Leo shoves his sketchbook into his bag with a decisive snap, stood, and shoved his pencil behind his ear. 

“Fine.”

And he was already crossing the street before he could talk himself out of it.

The bell above the door chimed softly when Leo stepped inside.

The shop smelled like damp earth and fresh blooms, cooler than the air outside. Sunlight fell in thin, golden stripes across the floor.

Sangwon was by the front display, crouched low as he adjusted a bucket of roses. He didn’t seem to notice Leo at first, sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his eyes.

Leo just stood there for a moment, letting himself look.

Something about Sangwon’s focus—the little crease between his brows, the way he carefully spun the stems until they sat just right—made Leo’s throat go dry.

Then Sangwon glanced up.

“Oh, hey,” he said, smiling, and just like that, Leo forgot how to breathe.

“Hey,” Leo managed, leaning against the counter to keep from looking like he was about to collapse. “Uh, thought I’d stop by. Didn’t get my weekly flower run in today yet.”

“I was wondering why you’re late today,” Sangwon straightened, brushing his palms on his apron. “You really are committed to this whole ‘flowers every week’ thing.”

Leo grinned, “what can I say? Your shop’s good for my health.”

That earned him a soft huff of laughter, quick and warm. Then, with the faintest smirk, Sangwon said, “yeah, not like you’re allergic or anything.”

Leo blinked, thrown just enough to grin, “hey, I’m surviving, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” Sangwon teased, reaching for the roll of wrapping paper with practiced ease. “The number of times I’ve watched you walk out of here holding back a sneeze is actually impressive.”

Leo laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Guess that’s my version of suffering for beauty,” he said, only half-joking.

That made Sangwon’s mouth curve—not just polite, but soft, unguarded, like the joke landed somewhere it wasn’t supposed to.

“What are you thinking today?” Sangwon asked, turning back with shears in hand.

Leo hesitated, the answer already there, unformed but certain. Then he stepped closer, closing the space between them without even meaning to.

“You pick,” he said.

Sangwon blinked, “me?”

“Yeah,” Leo’s grin tilted, almost shy. “Whatever you think would look good.”

For a moment, Sangwon just looked at him, like he was reading more into the words than Leo had dared to say. Then he smiled, slow and warm, and nodded.

Leo watched him work, as he had the previous many weeks. But it somehow feels more charged now, somehow more meaningful.

The careful, quiet way Sangwon’s hands moved as he selected stems, trimming, arranging, adjusting. It was deliberate, practiced—every placement considered, every line of color in balance.

And all at once, Leo’s brain was tugged somewhere else.

Back to the summer when that same boy would follow him through fields, all wobbly legs and loud laughter, only to go home with knees scraped raw and tears streaking his cheeks. 

Back to the afternoons when little Sangwon would insist on making him flower crowns. Messy, uneven things that left pollen on his hair and had Leo sneezing into the grass until his ribs hurt—but he’d wear them anyway, keep them on his nightstand even.

And now, here he was—no longer the clumsy kid Leo remembered, but someone who moved with precision, who chose every flower with intention, who fit each stem as though the whole world might shift if he got it wrong.

“Do you always do this?” Leo asked before he could stop himself.

Sangwon glanced up, a little puzzled, “do what?”

“Make sure things look perfect.”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped Sangwon, low and almost self-conscious, before he looked back down at the bouquet, “habit, I guess.”

Leo leaned against the counter, letting himself stare a little too long, “seems like a good habit to me.”

And there, just then, was the faintest flicker of color blooming at the tips of Sangwon’s ears. 

It was quick, almost nothing. Almost.

When Sangwon finally handed the bouquet over, their fingers brushed just barely. But it was enough to send a rush of heat straight through Leo’s chest, sharp and dizzying, like being caught mid-step.

“Thanks,” Leo said, softer now, like his voice might give him away if he let it rise too loud.

“See you next week?” Sangwon asked, his smile just a little too soft, too careful.

“Maybe sooner,” Leo said, the words slipping out before he could think better of them.

He left with that smile still tugging at his mouth, the bouquet warm against his arm like it had a pulse of its own.

The bell jingled shut behind him, the sound fading too quickly into the morning air.

And then, Leo stops.

The street was quiet, washed in gold by the late-morning sun. Dust motes hung in the light, the air sharp with the smell of fresh bread from the bakery down the block, coffee brewing somewhere close.

He could still hear Sangwon’s laugh in his head, still feel that fleeting brush of fingers across his own. His chest felt too tight, too full, like there wasn’t enough room in it for the rush of feeling pressing against his ribs.

What am I doing?

Buying flowers every week. Hovering at the counter like some lovesick idiot. Waiting, for what? For fate to do the work for him, like the reunion? 

For Sangwon to just magically know that Leo had been carrying this weight, this want, since the day he stepped onto this street and saw him?

No.

Leo turned on his heel before he could think better of it, shoved the shop door back open, the bell jangling far too loud in the quiet.

Sangwon glanced up immediately, blinking in surprise, “did you forget something?”

Leo’s mouth went dry. His heart was a wild drumbeat, hammering against his throat, “no. I mean—yes. Maybe.”

Sangwon tilted his head, waiting.

Leo took a breath that barely reached his lungs and forced the words out before he could swallow them back down.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Sangwon blinked at him, slow, as if to be sure he’d heard right, “tomorrow?”

“Yeah, since it’s… you know, Sunday,” his voice sounded too casual, too quick, like even his tongue was panicking.

“The shop’s closed,” Sangwon said after a beat, a question laced into the words. “So, I guess I’m free. Why?”

“Good,” Leo raked a hand over the back of his neck, every inch of him suddenly hot. “Let’s go out, then? Only if you want to, though. No pressure. Just—just a date. Or not a date. Totally up to you.”

The words tumbled over themselves, tripping out of his mouth faster than he could catch them, and for a horrifying second he thought he might just pass out right there in front of the counter.

And then, Sangwon laughs. Soft and startled, like it had been pulled out of him without warning.

It was the kind of laugh that hit Leo like a hook under the ribs, pulling tight and not letting go.

“Okay, hyung,” Sangwon said, still smiling as he wiped his hands on his apron. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Great,” Leo sagged, relief flooding him so fast it almost made him dizzy. “Perfect. Cool.”

He was about to say something else—maybe a joke, maybe something stupidly earnest—but Sangwon beat him to it.

He turned back, and his look was all soft eyes and softer edges. “It’s a date, then?” he asked, voice quiet but steady.

For a second, Leo was sure the ground dropped out from under him.

“Yeah,” he managed, grinning now, helplessly. “It’s a date.”

Sangwon had been pacing for the past half hour.

From his bed to the closet. From the closet to the mirror. From the mirror back to the bed, where three entire outfits were already lying in a crumpled graveyard of bad choices.

He tried on the fourth shirt of the day, tugging at the hem like it might magically look better if he just stared hard enough.

“Don’t overthink it,” he muttered under his breath.

But then two seconds later, he was already peeling it off, swapping it for something else, glaring at his reflection like the mirror was personally mocking him.

It was just a date. Just a date.

Except it wasn’t.

It was with Leo. With Jongyoon.

With the boy who’d been running laps around Sangwon’s thoughts for weeks now, who’d made every normal day feel like someone had shifted the axis of the earth just a few inches to the left.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror again—hair slightly messed from the frantic changing, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt—and cursed under his breath. 

His pulse was doing this awful, dizzying thing, like it had no concept of pacing itself. Then, his phone buzzed, the sound went off like a gunshot in the silence of the room.

Sangwon jumped, nearly knocking over the glass of water on his desk, before fumbling for the phone with clammy hands. It’s a text from Leo.

im outside. but just take your time. :)

Sangwon froze, staring at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. His heart was suddenly too loud in his ears.

He turned back to the mirror, chest rising and falling fast.

Okay.

Okay.

He could do this.

He raked a hand through his hair, smoothed it back down, and took a step closer to his reflection, as if proximity might make him braver.

“You are not going to embarrass yourself,” Sangwon tells his reflection, voice low and firm.

But the longer he stood there, the more it felt like his reflection was staring back at him with this quiet, knowing look. Like it knew exactly how many times Sangwon had imagined this day, this exact moment, and how close he was to bolting back under the covers instead.

His palms were sweaty, his throat tight. And his chest is unbearably, horribly light, like it might float right out of his body.

He grabbed his jacket before he could change his mind, shoved his feet into his shoes, and headed for the door.

The second Sangwon stepped out of the building and saw him, every thought in his head stopped dead.

Because there he was. Leo.

Leaning casually against the railing like some careless daydream, jacket hanging just right, hands tucked into his pockets. 

The sunlight caught on the curve of his jaw, turning the sharp line of it into something almost unbearable. His hair was mussed in that infuriating way that looked like he’d barely tried, like the universe had just decided to be generous.

Sangwon’s breath stuttered.

This is his childhood best friend. The same kid who used to trip over his shoelaces chasing him through the fields. The same kid who’d grown up and asked him on a date yesterday like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And now.

Now, he was standing there looking unfairly, devastatingly good, and Sangwon had the ridiculous urge to run straight back inside before he humiliated himself.

But Leo’s head turned at the sound of his footsteps, and that escape plan evaporated.

His gaze swept over Sangwon slowly, deliberate enough to make his stomach flip. 

For a beat, Leo just looked at him, and Sangwon was suddenly very aware of every piece of clothing he was wearing, or of the way his hands hung uselessly at his sides.

Then Leo smiled. Crooked, almost shy, but devastating all the same.

“Don't get me wrong…” his voice came quiet, almost like he hadn’t meant to say anything out loud. “I think this literally every day, but you’re really—” he paused, searching for a word, then landed softly on, “pretty.”

Sangwon felt the tips of his ears go up in flames.

“You too, hyung,” he blurted, far too fast, like his brain had short-circuited. He immediately wanted to sink through the sidewalk.

But Leo just smiled, wider this time, something bright curling at the edges of it.

“Good start to the date, then,” he said, and somehow that broke the tension, made the air around them feel a little less impossible.

Sangwon let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and managed a small, helpless smile back.

They started awkward—of course they did—walking side by side with a little too much air between them, every step careful, like they were both afraid to break whatever fragile thing they’d agreed to try today.

But the silence didn’t last.

It couldn’t, not with Leo.

He was too easy with his words, too quick to tease, too good at asking questions that Sangwon found himself answering before he could think to feel nervous. 

And the longer they talked, the easier it became. Like finding a rhythm they used to know by heart.

The first stop was a tiny art gallery two blocks away, one Leo had been meaning to check out. Sangwon stood quietly at his side as they wandered past canvases splashed with color, pretending not to notice how often Leo’s gaze slid toward him instead of the art. 

When Sangwon caught him once, Leo didn’t even look embarrassed. He just grinned like he’d been caught doing something small and secret.

They grabbed lunch at a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop, squeezing into a corner booth with their knees almost brushing. 

Sangwon nearly choked on his noodles halfway through when Leo started telling a story about Junmin and Harry accidentally locking themselves in the shop’s storage room overnight, only to be saved by Leo at three in the morning.

By the time Leo got to the part about Harry swearing he saw a ghost, Sangwon was laughing so hard he had to cover his mouth with his sleeve, and Leo just watched him with a look that was part delight, part awe.

Somewhere between the gallery and the ramen place, somewhere between Sangwon bumping into Leo’s shoulder by accident and mumbling an apology, and Leo wordlessly sliding the last slice of pork belly into Sangwon’s bowl with a little shrug, something shifted.

The air around them eased.

The invisible tension between them—that tight, buzzing thread—loosened into something softer, warmer.

By the time they ended up at the park with iced drinks in hand, sunlight filtering through the trees and falling in dappled patterns over their shoes, Sangwon could actually look at Leo without feeling like his entire body might catch fire. 

And when Leo caught him looking, he didn’t look away this time.

Just smiled.

And Sangwon smiled back.

Somewhere along the path, somehow, their hands found each other—hesitant at first, just fingers brushing, then twining properly together as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Neither of them said anything about it.

But Leo’s thumb pressed against Sangwon’s knuckles once, soft and shy, and Sangwon’s heart nearly tripped out of his chest.

The sky had just begun to bruise with twilight by the time they turned onto Sangwon’s street. 

The air was softer now, cooler, carrying the faint smell of rain before it falls. They walked close enough that their shoulders brushed every so often, fingers still loosely laced together. 

Neither of them had let go since, and neither seemed in any rush to.

It wasn’t a tight grip—just the easy, absentminded kind that said this feels nice. 

Every time Sangwon’s thumb shifted, brushing against the back of Leo’s hand, it sent a warm little pulse up his arm.

The conversation had shifted too—no more light stories, no easy jokes. Instead, it felt quieter, heavier in a good way.

“What about you?” Sangwon asked after a pause, his voice softer than it had been all day. “Why’d you come back to Korea?”

Leo was quiet for a moment, gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he said finally, “I guess I always felt like something was missing. Australia was great, but… it never really felt like home. I thought maybe coming back would fix that.”

Sangwon slowed just enough to glance at him, “did it?”

Leo looked over then, and for a beat too long—he didn’t look away. His expression softened, like something in him had been set gently down.

“Yeah,” he said, a small, lopsided smile pulling at his mouth. “I think it did, starting to.”

The words settled warm and heavy in Sangwon’s chest. His mouth opened, ready to reply, when a single drop landed on his wrist. 

Cool. Sharp.

Another followed, and another, until the sky split open with sudden rain.

“Shit,” Sangwon laughed, startled, as they both instinctively broke into a run. 

Water splashed around their ankles, soaking their jeans, and Leo grabbed Sangwon’s wrist without thinking, tugging him along as they sprinted for cover.

They didn’t stop until they were under the awning of Sangwon’s building, both bent slightly forward, laughing between uneven breaths.

Sangwon pushed wet hair out of his eyes, his cheeks flushed, rain dripping down the curve of his jaw. “You should wait it out,” he said, breathless but smiling. “No point walking back to your place drenched.”

Leo was grinning too, chest heaving, droplets running down the line of his throat, “only if you don’t mind.”

Sangwon’s laugh softened into something quieter, “I don’t.”

They climbed the stairs together, water still clinging to their clothes, the sound of the rain filling the narrow hallway. 

Neither of them said anything, but the silence wasn’t awkward—it thrummed, alive, charged with something that hadn’t been there before.

Sangwon had practically shoved Leo toward the bathroom the second they stepped inside.

Because there was no way—no way—he was surviving seeing Leo standing there, shirt plastered to his skin, dark fabric outlining the sharp lines of his abs.

The ink on his forearm had glistened under the rainwater, the nape tattoo peeking from under his collar, both of them too much for Sangwon’s brain to process.

So he pushed him toward the shower with a muttered, “you go first, hyung,” before he could start crying into his palms.

When Leo came back out, he was drowning in Sangwon’s clothes—an oversized sweater in a soft pastel that looked almost ridiculous on him, and sweatpants that were just barely too short at the ankles.

Sangwon had expected Leo to look silly, he didn't expect him to look that good.

Infuriatingly good.

The color made him look brighter, adorable even—a completely different picture from the black-clad, inked-up version of him Sangwon usually saw across the shop counter. Somehow, that contrast was worse.

Or better.

Or both.

Sangwon busied himself with towels and cups and literally anything that wasn’t staring.

He handed Leo a towel and tried not to think too hard about how his heart flipped watching him dry his hair, movements slow and unhurried, like he belonged there. 

The whole thing felt weirdly, terrifyingly domestic.

Sangwon’s apartment wasn’t big, just a single-room studio, but it was warm. Lived in. 

The little pots of succulents lined neatly by the window caught the dim light from outside, their green softened by rain. Leo smiled at them as he walked past, soft and curious, and then his gaze snagged on the shelves.

“Can I…?” he asked, gesturing toward the photo frames.

“Go ahead,” Sangwon said, grateful for something to do as he stirred two mugs of hot chocolate.

Leo stepped closer, crouched slightly to get a better look at one frame, then another.

“This is you?” he asked, picking one up—a photo of Sangwon as a teenager, grinning on a hiking trail, dirt streaked on his cheek.

“Yeah. High school trip.”

“You look like you got in trouble.”

“I did,” Sangwon admitted, smiling faintly at the memory.

Leo laughed under his breath, setting the frame back carefully before his gaze softened, “oh, how are your parents, by the way?”

Sangwon’s hands slowed on the mugs. 

“My dad passed a few years ago,” he said quietly, surprising himself with how even his voice came out. “Just after I graduated high school. My mom moved back to Hwangdo not long after.”

Leo didn’t say anything right away, just nodded, expression open and gentle, “that must’ve been hard. And now, you're in Seoul by yourself?”

“It was,” Sangwon shrugged, sitting down on the carpeted floor beside Leo with their drinks, settling it down on the low table with a soft clink. “But this place has become home. Even when I thought about leaving, I always came back here.”

He hesitated, fingers curling around his mug, “the shop is… the last thing my dad left me. I didn’t want to let it go.”

Leo’s smile melted into something soft and sincere, “you’ve done a good job with it.”

“Thank you,” Sangwon swallowed past the lump in his throat, “I just…want to keep a piece of him here.”

Leo nodded slowly, “I get that. Moving away felt like I was leaving everything behind.”

He takes the mug in between his hands, letting the heat seep into his cold palms. With Sangwon’s expectant eyes, Leo continues, “I think that’s why I came back, I didn’t want to forget any of it.”

The words settled between them like something fragile, something that asked to be held carefully.

The rain against the window had gone from a downpour to a softer patter. The whole apartment felt hushed, the air thick with steam from their drinks.

They were sitting close enough that Sangwon could feel the heat radiating from Leo, could smell the faint sharpness of his fabric softener on his borrowed sweater.

And then Leo turned his head, just a little.

Their gazes caught.

For a suspended, breathless moment, it felt inevitable. Like the space between them was going to collapse whether they let it or not. 

Sangwon’s chest tightened, every nerve on edge, waiting.

But Leo exhaled a shaky breath and leaned back just slightly, breaking the spell.

“We should probably wait until our first date’s actually over before we do anything dumb, huh?”

Sangwon let out a quiet huff, part relief, part disappointment. 

“Probably.”

The tension didn’t break, not really. It just shifted, curled deeper into the quiet between them, like an ember waiting for the right breath of air to set it blazing.

By the time the credits rolled, the storm outside had deepened into a steady, drumming rain—a soft percussion against the windows that seemed to fill every corner of the room. 

The apartment felt smaller somehow, warmer.

Sangwon stretched, rolling his shoulders with a yawn, then crossed the room to flick off the television. 

The quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, just weighted, like the air had grown heavier with the weather.

“You should stay,” he said, nodding toward the curtains where the rain streaked down in silver rivulets, blurring the glow of the streetlights outside.

Leo hesitated, half-smiling like he wasn’t sure if Sangwon was serious, “I don’t want to intrude—”

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor,” Sangwon interrupted, too fast. Leo’s brows rose, and the corner of his mouth curved into that infuriating little grin, “you’re kicking yourself out of your own bed?”

“Obviously,” Sangwon said, but the tips of his ears were scarlet, giving him away.

Leo laughed under his breath, shaking his head, and before either of them could argue further, the decision had already been made.

Somehow, they both ended up on the bed anyway.

At first, they sat cross-legged, leaving careful space between them. Sangwon fussed with the blanket as if it needed smoothing, and Leo leaned back on his hands like he was trying to look casual and failing. 

The rain filled the silence, steady and unrelenting, as if the world outside had shrunk to just this room and this moment.

Eventually, Sangwon let himself sink back against the headboard, and Leo followed, the mattress dipping with his weight. 

The golden lamplight softened the edges of everything—the lines of Leo’s face, the faint sheen in Sangwon’s hair from where it had dried after the shower.

Sangwon’s fingers worried at the edge of the blanket, twisting the fabric around them. 

He could feel every shift of the mattress when Leo moved, every small sound Leo made. The quiet exhale through his nose, the faint creak of the bedsprings when he shifted his weight.

The room felt suspended, like they were balanced on the edge of something they couldn’t name.

“You’re really bad at letting guests take the floor,” Leo said finally, his tone light, but there was something testing in it, like he wanted to see what Sangwon would say.

Sangwon’s gaze flicked to him, caught in the glow of the lamp. “You’re not just a guest,” he said quietly.

That made Leo turn his head, slow, deliberate. His eyes searched Sangwon’s face like he was trying to decide if he’d really heard him right. 

“Not just a guest, huh?” he said softly, almost like a challenge.

Sangwon swallowed, pulse loud in his ears, but didn’t look away, “you know you’re not.”

For a moment, Leo didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Then his expression softened, and he let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh.

“Good,” he murmured, so low Sangwon almost missed it. “I’d hate to be just anyone to you.”

The silence that followed was different this time. Heavier, but not uncomfortable. 

Sangwon’s pulse was too loud in his ears. He shifted, lying back so he was flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Leo followed suit, and now they were side by side, the space between them impossibly small, a few inches that felt like everything and nothing at once.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Sangwon could hear everything.

The low, steady hum of the air conditioner, turned on despite the weather. The rain against the window, a soft percussion that filled every pocket of silence.

Leo’s breathing, slow and even beside him, so close it felt like it lived in Sangwon’s chest instead of Leo’s lungs.

And then there was his own heartbeat, too loud, too fast, as though it wanted to be heard. Sangwon breaks first.

“Hyung,” he whispered into the dark, “you asleep?”

Leo stirred, turning his head slightly. His voice came low, warm with sleepiness but edged with amusement. “Not yet,” he murmured. “Were you hoping I was?”

Sangwon huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself. The sound made something flutter unsteadily in his chest.

A pause stretched between them, the kind that made it harder to breathe.

“Hyung, do I…” Sangwon hesitated, fingers curling tighter into the blanket pooled at his chest. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Leo went still. Slowly, he turned onto his side to face him, brows drawing together.

“What? No,” he said, startled enough to sound almost offended. “Why would you think that?”

“I don't know,” Sangwon ducked his head under the blanket until all Leo could see was the crown of his hair, “earlier, when we were talking, and during the movie—”

“Sangwon.” 

Leo’s voice gentled, steady and low in the dark, “even at gunpoint, I’d still choose to be here. With you. Why would I be here if you made me uncomfortable?”

The words landed like a weight and a relief at the same time. 

Sangwon made a quiet, helpless sound and pressed his face so far into the blanket that his hair stood up in chaotic tufts.

“I just…” his voice thinned, “I thought we were gonna—”

Leo tilted his head, “we were what?”

The word came muffled, but Leo caught it anyway.

“...Kiss.”

For a second, Leo’s mind blanked so completely he might have forgotten how to breathe. 

“Oh,” he said finally, brilliantly, stupidly.

Sangwon groaned and buried himself further under the blanket, as though the mattress might swallow him whole.

“That sounded so much better in my head,” he mumbled, his voice all frayed edges now. “I just… earlier, it felt like the perfect moment, and then you pulled back, and I thought maybe I was being too forward, or expecting too much—”

“You weren’t—”

“—and now I’m embarrassing myself because we’ve only really known each other for a little while, aside from the whole childhood thing, but I really like you, and—”

“Sangwon.”

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this, that I wouldn’t make it weird, but now—”

“Lee Sangwon.”

This time Leo reached out, hooking two fingers into the edge of the blanket and pulling it down with slow, deliberate care until Sangwon’s flushed face and glassy eyes were visible.

“You aren't being too forward, and you’re not making me uncomfortable,” Leo said, and the softness in his voice made Sangwon’s chest feel too small. “Not even close.”

Sangwon’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, “then why didn’t you…?”

Leo’s gaze flicked away, just for a second—not from avoidance but because even looking at Sangwon this close felt too much.

He laughed under his breath, low and a little shaky.

“Because if I kissed you,” he said, his voice gone rough, “I don't think I’d be able to hold myself back.”

The words seemed to hang in the air between them, charged and heavy, until Sangwon could hear nothing but rain and blood in his ears.

“Oh,” Sangwon said again, quieter this time.

Leo shifted back a little, preparing to roll onto his back, to let the moment pass before his own self-control fractured. 

But then he felt it.

Sangwon’s fingers curled into the front of his sweater, holding him there.

Leo paused.

Sangwon peeked up at him, hair mussed, eyes wide but steady, “then… don’t hold back.”

Leo’s breath caught sharp in his throat. 

His hand lifted almost without permission, cupping Sangwon’s jaw, his thumb brushing over skin that was hot from nerves.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, and his voice was hoarse now, every word thick with restraint.

Sangwon’s grip slid higher, catching Leo’s wrist and keeping it there like an anchor. His answer was quiet, but there was no hesitation this time.

“Kiss me,” he said, “and don’t hold back.”

In one quick motion, the space between them wasn’t space anymore.

Leo kissed him like he’d been holding back for years.

Like every smile, every glance across the flower shop counter, every almost-touch had been building toward this single moment.

It started slow, tentative—a brush of his lips against Sangwon’s, testing, asking—but Sangwon made a small, desperate sound in the back of his throat, and Leo was gone.

The kiss deepened, all restraint melting away as he tilted Sangwon’s chin up and pressed closer, their noses bumping, their breaths mingling warm and quick.

Sangwon’s hand slid from Leo’s wrist up to his jaw, fingers curving against the line of it like he couldn’t bear to let him go. 

His other hand fisted in the fabric of Leo’s sweater, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

Leo’s thumb swept along Sangwon’s cheekbone, gentle despite the urgency thrumming through him. Then, his hand slid back into Sangwon’s hair, cupping the back of his head as though to anchor him there.

Sangwon felt like he was burning from the inside out, every nerve ending alight. 

But he still leaned into it, still kissed Leo back with the kind of need that made his chest ache.

When they finally broke apart for air, their foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths coming ragged, warm against each other’s lips.

No other words were needed.

Leo’s fingers stayed tangled softly in Sangwon’s hair, his other hand still cupping his jaw, as though letting go would undo everything.

Sangwon swallowed hard, his pulse a wild drum in his throat, and let out a quiet, shaky laugh.

Outside, the rain kept pouring, steady and relentless, until it felt like the rest of the world had blurred away. 

Like the only thing that existed was this small, golden-lit room and the two of them finally, finally, exactly where they were supposed to be.

The next morning, the world felt brighter—or maybe it was just Sangwon’s mood. 

But the rain had cleared, the streets shone with puddles catching sunlight, and even the coffee shop seemed warmer than usual.

Sangwon and Leo dropped by the café before opening their shops, a decision he immediately regretted the second Anxin saw them walk in together, holding hands, and Leo in Sangwon’s clothes.

“Well, well, well,” Anxin said from behind the counter, leaning on his elbows with the smuggest grin in existence. “Look who decided to start living out his fantasy.”

“Shut up,” Sangwon muttered, dropping Leo’s hand like it was on fire to swat at his friend.

Leo just laughed, infuriatingly unbothered.

By the time Sangwon went to pick up their drinks from the counter, Anxin had his phone out, sending a barrage of kissy emojis in the group chat.

“You’re dead,” Sangwon said flatly, throwing one shelled pistachio at Anxin from the mixed nuts tray.

“I’m thriving,” Anxin shot back. “You, on the other hand—” he gave Sangwon a slow once-over, “you’ve got that post-confession glow. Or did you finally get laid?”

“Die,” Sangwon said through gritted teeth, ears burning. He grabbed his and Leo’s cups and stalked back to the table.

Leo looked up at him with that small, amused smile that did things to Sangwon’s chest, “everything okay?”

“No,” Sangwon said, sitting down with a thump, “yes. Please don’t ask.”

Leo just chuckled, taking his coffee.

On their way back from the café, the air still smelled faintly of rain, damp earth and asphalt sweetening the morning.

Their hands brushed a few times before Sangwon huffed quietly, gave up pretending it was an accident, and just laced their fingers together again—trying to act casual about it even though his pulse spiked.

Leo’s thumb brushed over his knuckles, “you always get this pouty when someone teases you?”

“I don’t pout,” Sangwon said immediately.

Leo grinned, humming, “you’ve been pouting since we left the café.”

“I am not—”

“You are. Exactly like you used to.”

Sangwon shot him a look, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t remember?” Leo tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “You’d sulk every time I won at any game. I used to let you win just so you’d stop glaring at me like I’d ruined your whole life.”

Sangwon scoffed, but his ears burned, “wow, okay. Guess you’re never winning anything ever again.”

Leo just laughed, bright and easy, and Sangwon felt the corner of his own mouth twitch despite himself.

They reached the flower shop with a few minutes to spare before opening. The shutters were still drawn, the street quiet.

Sangwon’s hand tightened slightly in Leo’s before he let go to fish for his keys. His voice came softer this time, almost offhand, but not really.

“I really thought you forgot about me,” he said suddenly, eyes fixed on the lock.

“Forget about you?” Leo blinked, caught off guard. Then, gently, “Sangwon, you were my whole world back then. That was the one summer I couldn’t ever let go.”

“Dramatic,” Sangwon muttered, fumbling with the keyring like it had suddenly become a puzzle box, the tip of his ears burning.

“You were ten,” he added under his breath. “You were just a kid.”

“You were a kid too,” Leo said easily, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“And yet,” he leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world, “I still remember you asking me if we’d still be friends when we were ‘old and boring.’”

Sangwon groaned, “don’t—”

“And,” Leo went on, grin widening as though he knew exactly what he was doing, “if boys could marry each other.”

Sangwon nearly drops his keys. 

“Oh my god, stop,” he hissed, ducking his head, trying to shield his flaming face as he bent to unlock the door.

But Leo wasn’t done. 

His voice softened, cutting through the drizzle still hanging in the air, “do you know how seriously I took that? I spent years wondering where you might be, if you were okay. Come to think of it, do you still want to marry me—”

Sangwon kissed him.

It wasn’t graceful—more like the words had wound him too tight and the only way to shut him up was to just do it. A quick, startled press of his mouth to Leo’s, instinctive and warm and terrifying.

And then it was over.

Sangwon jerked back, breath caught somewhere in his throat, the keys biting into his palm. His heart was hammering like it wanted out of his chest.

“I…” his face went scarlet, eyes darting anywhere but Leo’s. “Oh my god.”

For a moment, Leo just blinked at him, stunned still. Then he laughed, low and a little cracked around the edges, like he couldn’t believe what just happened either.

“You’re being too cute right now, Lee Sangwon,” he said, softer than his teasing grin should have allowed.

“What—” Sangwon started, but Leo was already leaning in, one hand coming up to cradle his jaw.

This kiss was nothing like the first. 

It's slow and deliberate, a careful kind of hunger that made Sangwon’s knees threaten to give out. His free hand curled in the front of Leo’s shirt without him even realizing it, pulling him closer.

When they finally parted, Sangwon was breathless, face burning hotter than ever.

“We’re… we’re late to opening,” he managed weakly.

Leo’s smile curved, warm and devastating. 

“Worth it.”

The bell above the tattoo parlor door chimed softly as Sangwon stepped inside, the smell of faint ink lingering in the air.

Harry was the first to spot him from behind the counter, already pulling his jacket on. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite flower boy,” he said, grinning. “Here to whisk Leo away?”

“Not today,” Sangwon replied, hugging the paper bag in his arms a little closer. “Thought I’d hang out here instead.”

“Domestic,” Junmin said as he came from the back. “Careful, or you’ll make him soft.”

Before Sangwon could retort, the backroom door swung open and Leo appeared, wiping his hands on a towel. His face lit up instantly. 

“You’re early,” he said, already crossing the floor to wrap Sangwon up in a hug. He smelled faintly of soap and ink, his hoodie soft against Sangwon’s cheek. 

“Oh my god,” Harry groaned, grabbing his bag, “not in the shop, you two. Some of us are still single.”

“Yeah, watch yourselves after we leave,” Junmin added with a smirk, clearly enjoying himself. “Don't taint the sacred workspace.”

Leo pulled back just enough to glare at them over Sangwon’s shoulder. “Get out,” he said flatly, face already pink.

“Yes, boss, we’re leaving,” Harry snorted. “See you, Sangwon!”

The bell chimed again as the two of them left, Junmin laughing all the way to the door.

When it was quiet again, Leo glanced down at the pot inside the paper bag Sangwon was still holding. His brows arched, “what’s this?”

“Oh,” Sangwon looked down, suddenly shy. “I ordered them, they just got delivered this morning. They’re for you.”

“For me?” Leo echoed, something soft creeping into his voice.

Sangwon nodded, cheeks faintly pink, taking out the pot and placing it carefully on the edge of the front counter.

“They’re camellias. Hypoallergenic, so they won’t make you sneeze.”

Leo’s chest squeezed, sudden and overwhelming. He couldn’t help it—he grinned, all warmth, leaning down to drop a kiss on Sangwon’s nose. 

“God, I love you,” he murmured. “Have I ever told you that?”

Sangwon’s giggle was quiet, fond. He tipped his chin up, brushing a quick kiss over Leo’s lips, “every day.”

“Not enough,” Leo said, half-dramatic but entirely sincere. Sangwon rolled his eyes fondly, tugging his tote bag open, “then maybe this will make up for it.”

He pulled out a small photo album. Its edges slightly worn from being passed through the mail, and held it out. 

“My mom sent a package from home. This was in it.”

Leo took it carefully, thumbing through the first few pages.

It was like being hit with a tidal wave—the two of them grinning with gap-toothed smiles, full cheeks, arms around each other, and flower crowns crooked on their heads. 

A summer frozen in time.

“Wow,” Leo said quietly. “You kept these? All these years?”

“Of course,” Sangwon said softly, stepping closer until their shoulders touched. He leaned in to look at the photo album with him, “I know we’ve been dating for a year now, but… seeing these just reminded me we’ve been us a lot longer than that.”

Leo glanced up at him then, and something in the look they shared made the entire room feel suddenly, achingly small. 

The afternoon hum of the shop faded into a blur, just them and the album between them.

There were reminders everywhere that this wasn’t just simply dating anymore. 

Sangwon’s slippers were by the entry way of Leo’s apartment. Leo’s leather jacket hung on the hook of Sangwon’s kitchen, his tattoo equipment stored in a corner of Sangwon’s living room because it was easier to go to work from there some nights. 

Their toothbrushes stood side by side in the same ceramic cup. Their socks ended up mismatched in the same laundry basket.

While it’s two different places—it’s both their apartment now, though they hadn’t really said it out loud.

And it all made perfect sense.

Sangwon’s fingers brushed over the photo, then he carefully slipped something out from between the pages. 

A single flower, pressed flat and laminated. Its pale petals looked almost translucent, a memory made permanent.

“This,” Sangwon said, holding it out with a careful reverence, “this was the first flower you ever gave me. From the hill we climbed up when we were kids.” 

His fingers brushed the plastic over the delicate petals, lingering almost painfully. 

“I think…” his heart thumped so loudly he could feel it in his throat, a mix of nerves, nostalgia, and something unspeakably tender. 

“I think I want it tattooed on me.”

Leo blinked, caught mid-laugh, and then his chest tightened. 

He couldn’t speak—couldn’t quite believe the words he’d just heard, or that they came from Sangwon, who always seemed so composed, so quietly certain. 

There was something luminous in the way Sangwon looked at him now, something like the first bloom of spring forcing its way through frost.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, and let the silence stretch. 

The shop was quiet except for the faint hum of life beyond its walls and the afternoon light spilling across the tiles, making the yellow camellias beside them glow like little suns.

Sangwon’s eyes flicked down at the pressed flower again, tracing its curves, imagining it etched in ink, imagining it a permanent reminder of this moment, of all the moments. 

His fingers trembled slightly. He felt exposed, vulnerable in the most exhilarating way.

“I…” Leo finally breathed, a laugh threading through his chest, unsteady and warm. “You really want me to tattoo you?”

Sangwon nodded, the shy curve of his smile tugging at the edges of his lips, “yeah, I want to keep it forever.”

Leo’s grin softened, shifting into something quieter, something almost sacred. 

He leaned in, forehead pressing against Sangwon’s, letting the warmth and the faint scent of ink and flowers mingle.

“You,” he said, voice low and reverent, “you're the one thing I’ll never let slip through my fingers again.”

Sangwon’s chest tightened, and a laugh broke free—soft, unrestrained, carrying all the relief, joy, and love he’d been holding back. 

He kissed Leo then, gentle at first, lingering, letting the world shrink to this one room, this one shared breath, this one blooming forever between them.

And in that quiet, golden afternoon, the shop became more than a place of ink and flowers. 

It became a testament.

To the inevitability of them, to the way life could carve its poetry into skin and memory, to the way destiny sometimes chooses the softest, most unassuming hands to hold its most extraordinary gifts.

Because some flowers are meant to be pressed into permanence, and some people—the right ones—are meant to be carried, heart and soul.

Always.