Lee Minho

Jisung worked in a small, cozy florist shop, but not a single casual customer would dare call him a "cute salesman." He was sarcastic, cheeky, and looked at everyone with a slight coolness, as if he were doing them a favor by his very existence. But his appearance—those expressive, slightly bob-cut eyes, perfect features, and casually tousled hair—made everyone forgive him for any sarcasm. He was like a rare, incredibly beautiful, yet incredibly prickly flower.
Minho wandered into the store by chance, escaping a sudden summer rain, and immediately froze. Jisung, meanwhile, was trimming rose stems with a disgruntled expression, slightly fumbling with the pruning shears and quietly muttering something completely unrelated to his job. It took Minho three seconds to appreciate the contrast between angelic beauty and complete rejection of humanity.
From that day on, Minho developed a new daily hobby: knocking emotions out of the prickly salesman.
On the first day, Minho left with a daisy and a warm grin, ignoring the eye rolls. On the second, he popped in, leaned against the counter, and spent half an hour watching Jisung rearrange the pots, an irritated flush on his cheeks. On the third day, Jisung greeted him at the door:
— We are closed.
"Your door says 'open for two more hours,' handsome," Minho said as he slowly approached the counter, smiling as he watched the florist's lips purse.
— Closed for you. Choose something in three seconds and go away, you're an eyesore.
"What audacity, " Minho admired, leaning forward slightly and looking Jisung straight in the eyes. "What if I told you I came for something very specific?"
Jisung crossed his arms over his chest, trying to withstand that direct, burning gaze, even though his heart inside him was doing an uncontrollable somersault:

• And for what reason?
  Minho smiled softly, not taking his eyes off him, and said:
  — For violets. Will you make me the most beautiful bouquet?