It is only after he makes sure that Mother has had her breakfast and duties have been handed over to the caretaker that Minjae dutifully opens the shop. There are loads of orders to fill over the weekend, and even though it means he gets less time to finish his work, it fills him with a strange sense of fulfillment nothing else comes quite close to. It takes a good hour to set up the racks and arrange vases of flowers, fresh and ripe for cutting. There's an order for hydrangeas and tulips that he needs to get squared away by the end of the day, and if he's going to be the only one on the job, he knows he needs to get started.

There's a nagging feeling at the back of his neck, and when the door opens with a familiar chiming ring, Minjae looks up, and his fears are instantly confirmed. He can fee the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Her presence is unassuming yet overbearing all at the same time. Minjae swallows the lump in his throat. A customer is a customer, even if he doesn't want to welcome them for fear of what might happen.

"Uh-- welcome," he greets, feeling his throat turning parched. His workbench is cluttered with fresh stalks, organza and paper littered everywhere. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his work apron and blinks a few times, "...How can I help you today?"

by sixsmith.