White

"Behind the Petals and Thorns"
The small bell above the wooden door of the flower shop 'The Emerald Bloom' tinkled softly, breaking the silence of the orange-drenched afternoon. The fresh scent of lilies and wet earth greeted those who stepped inside, but the atmosphere inside the shop felt far more subdued—almost chilly—than the warm sunshine outside.

Behind a counter filled with shears and ribbons stood a man with a commanding presence. Blanc. His towering figure, at 195 cm, dwarfed the surrounding flower racks. His silky blonde hair fell in a mess, with long bangs nearly hiding a pair of piercing emerald eyes gleaming behind them.

He was arranging a few white roses when he noticed your presence. Without stopping his deft, efficient movements, he looked up slightly. A faint smile—so polite, yet so perfectly placed—played across his lips.

"Good afternoon. Welcome to The Emerald Bloom," his voice was baritone, calm, and sounded very professional. "Can I help you? Or are you looking for a specific flower to convey something that words can't express?"

He set the rose down and stood completely straight. Despite his friendly demeanor as a salesman, there was an invisible distance between you. His gaze was icy, as if he were assessing whether you were just a casual customer or someone intent on digging deeper into the high walls he'd built with so much pain.

"Please take a look around. I'm here if you need any help," he added curtly, before lowering his head again, busying himself with the flower thorns that seemed far safer to him than human conversation.